Sydney is a city that loves to mythologise itself, in music especially.
Not that other cities don’t, of course. But there's something specific about Sin City, something behind the totally ephemeral but somehow entirely understoodness of 100% SYDNEY SHIT. An almost underdog status – slightly unserious for a city so big and wealthy – yet, understandably born from years of cultural suppression and despondency. There’s a defensiveness and loyalty from creatives in this city: ok yes, this place is kind of wretched, in many, many ways. But when you crack it, if you can overcome the stifling humidity of moroseness and stasis that seems to hang over this suburban sprawl of a city – that feeling can’t be beat.
There’s an undeniable earnestness to Jerome Blazé’s sophomore album, Living Room. Inspired by his experience moving from the country to the city, it’s fully direct in its concept, to “capture Sydney musically” (the city skyline and all on the front cover making sure you’re on track, just in case). Recorded entirely inside his own living room, it’s informed as much by what’s outside it: chirping birds, the bustle of street life, sirens. Nodding towards our own tortured city, it’s a theory of “imperfectionism” – a deliberately arranged one as such. The ringing of a doorbell or the rustle of a pop filter are given equal importance to the recorded music itself, meticulously placed with Jerome Blazé their architect.
All aspects of Living Room receive this consideration: the rich and vivid music videos, the single and album artwork, and the album’s accompanying, eclectic live program, Golden Hour in the CBD. All flow back to the record’s concept: a personification of the spirit of Sydney solidarity, an exploration of community not just theoretically but in reality. The tone is set from the very beginning: “I can’t do this on my own” are the first lines spoken by Jerome Blazé on the record, and while his piano and voice anchor the record (both still modestly nestled amongst the sweep of sounds across it) it’s his direction of a long cast of Sydney musicians that gives the record it’s life.
Two main streams of local music meet to create the interior arrangement that is Living Room. The first is modern-classical tinged indie: some of the cities most talented technical musicians (Sarah Levins, Hinano Fujisaki, James Tarbotton, Lily Innis among others) fashion gently hopeful, ‘anything is possible in the big city’ arrangements that call to mind Sufjans Stevens’ Illinois, or that one Schweppes ad.
The other is more groove based, with contributions from the alternative RnB/neo-soul/hip-hop panorama of Sydney crew Full Circle (through both live instrumentation and sampling), but also the spirit of the lounge jazz/lo-fi jam scene bubbling across the city. Both streams on Living Room combine to create what Blazé coins ‘chamber soul,’ representative of the collaborative spirit and cross-pollination-across-scenes already present across the city.
Living Room’s most dramatic moment comes early, on ‘Is This What I Have Missed?’ Worried lyrics pair with a scratchy, discordant cello, ’Sydney/Dormant/Dull/Dense…Pressure’s got me down,” It’s a moment of uncertainty before the revelation of Living Room’s thesis. Undoubtedly it's easy to get suffocated here, to get swallowed up and spat back out. But that’s what mythology is made from; having to work that little bit harder to make something amazing. No one’s going to give it to us – we have to build it together.
Words by Lindsay Riley