You say Paper Mâché was a painless process—do you think this one was a bit more painful? Maybe painful’s not the best word…

I would say painful. I would say moments of pain, definitely. It was just a difficult record to put together. We’re not trained musicians or anything. This was musically challenging to make, especially for the drummers—lots of different time signatures and rhythms and changes. [Also] thinking conceptually about how these songs are going to mash together and trying to visualize how it would all come together, trying to have everything planned before you go and record it. It was just difficult. The editing process was difficult, too. Many times I had started to think we had bitten off more than we could chew and I think that’s why it took so long to make. We wanted to keep persisting with it, and it eventually came together.

So are you guys are happy with it, in the end?

I don’t think we would put a record out if we [weren’t]. That’s why we made two records while we were working on it—we weren’t happy with it yet.

You’ve mentioned before that you guys were trying to put out two records per year. After this process, is that still your idea?

I think this record will be our only record this year. We need a bit of a chill-out break for a second. We’ve been touring flat-out, and it’s hard to make records while touring. We’ve got some other ideas in the pipeline, but it’s early stages at this time.

You guys came on the radar, at least for people in the U.S., when you were playing CMJ in New York in Fall of 2014. How much time had you spent in the country before that?

Not so much—maybe it was our second trip.

I was wondering if that was your first experience with playing multiple shows in the U.S.

It definitely was. CMJ was two or three shows a day. We’ve done that sort of thing a few times after that. At the time, it was crazy. In Australia, you can’t do that; there’s not enough people to play to.

What’s it like going from playing for people in Australia to playing for people in New York City who have maybe never heard of you?

It’s cool. I don’t think we really knew what we were in for. You can kind of analyze the crowds or whatever, but at the end of the day, most of the time, people are people. Most venues across the world are more or less the same. There are definitely differences, but it’s comforting in a way how similar everything can be once you’ve stepped into a band room or go to a bar or a club or a pub or something. It’s all the same.

Do you think there’s any more pressure playing in another country where people may not know you as opposed to playing around where you grew up?

I get way more nervous to play when I know there’s people that I know in the crowd, definitely, especially if my parents are there. I don’t know—that’s only pressure that you put on yourself. It’s a tough one, I think it’s probably easier playing overseas, especially places you haven’t been before. There’s not really any expectations. The more you play, the more people have expectations, the more people have seen you before and places you’ve been before, that sort of thing.

You have a relationship with Daptone Records in Brooklyn. How did that come about, and how has that relationship developed?

I guess it was pretty serendipitous. It was on the very first trip [to the U.S.], and we had some time and songs we wanted to record. We were Googling some studios in New York and just trying to find somewhere. We had a small home-setup rig because we were traveling. I don’t think we had a proper setup to do the whole band. We were looking around, and we kind of knew about Daptone—they made some phenomenal records that we’re fans of. We put the feelers out there and ended up figuring out we had a friend of a friend who actually works there. It was a real coincidence. We got put in touch and that was it. We did one day there that time—that was kind of finishing off I’m In Your Mind Fuzz. We recorded Quarters there and we recorded Nonagon Infinity there, too.

What was it like recording in the House of Soul? I’ve heard several artists talk about how much of a family it is with the people and the label over there.

It’s amazing. Initially, I was definitely pretty intimidated. They’re sort of total vintage nuts. I guess I just didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know if they would think that we’re a stupid rock band or something or we didn’t have cool enough gear, but there was none of that at all. They just love music, and we ended up establishing an awesome family relationship with them. We have a few buddies there now that we always catch up with when we’re back in New York. It’s such a cool studio. It’s fully analog—there are no computers in the whole place, only tape. There’s not even a computer or a screen there, which is so nice to hear the music as opposed to always staring at waveforms, always staring at volume meters. You can [record] everything to an eight track. To me, it was kind of a challenge with a seven-piece, but it’s no problem to them. You get a different sound, you play with a different energy when you’re rolling onto the tape. It’s a cool place. I want to record there every time we go to New York and have more than a few hours to spare.

That vintage sound you’re talking about, I think that fits really well with you guys.

I think we’ve always had a similar aesthetic. We’ve always used tape and have always experimented with lots of old gear, but not in a purist way. I don’t have a problem recording fully to the computer if it sounds good. I’m definitely not a purist, but I think there is a lot of merit in exploring everything. And it just sounds cool. There are things you can do with tape that you really can’t pull off with a computer. I think we definitely drew a lot of inspiration from those recording sessions.

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