Down To Earth

Understandably guarded, Dylan Carlson won't answer his telephone unless he knows who's calling. As I introduce myself to the voicemail, his partner— Earth's current drummer/percussionist Adrienne Davies — picks up before handing me over to one of modern music's most persevering survivors. When he talks, he not only answers questions, but approaches each one as a touchstone to broader topics, often with an edge of unpredictability — much like the live show which will be arriving in Australia this September. “This tour we'll be improvising on the main riffs or melodies from the songs and seeing how it goes, I guess,” allowing himself a little nervous cackle. “We're touring as a three-piece. It's going to be me, Adrienne and Don McGreevy [on bass] who played with us on Hex. Lori Goldston can't tour as she has two children, and Karl Blau doesn't want to tour any more, so I guess it'll be a classic trio lineup. There'll be some of the new album [the beguiling Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light Vol II] and then some older material that we haven't played in a while. That's definitely a big part of the show. Some of the older material we've altered from the way it was on the album somewhat.”

Emerging in the early '90s, Earth were a breed apart from their grunge-y Seattle contemporaries, playing what Carlson refers to as “weird metal” — a droning, molasses-slow version of instrumental hard rock. Since those early days there have been numerous lineups and an increasing openness to new instruments and ideas, but the philosophy of playing fewer notes with maximum effect has remained a constant. With an emphasis on attention to small sound details, one might expect that Carlson's focus would bind him and his instrument in an intense relationship onstage. “That's what I like,” he ponders, “but also that you're responding to the audience as well. That's what I like about Fairport [Convention] when they play live — the subtle shifts and peaks that happen. I appreciate the larger gestures as well. I grew up as kind of a metal-head, which is all about the grand gesture. But I also really like the subtle peaks and valleys of a song, and hearing different versions of the song from different shows. It's always going to be different every night in a weird way, but I embrace that. It's like in the studio, with what I call 'happy accidents'. You come into the studio with certain intentions, but then the interplay between you and the recording technology and the other people playing moves you in ways you couldn't foresee, and it ends up becoming something cooler than something you could have come up with on your own.”

It might surprise those familiar with Earth's early output — particularly the thick, muddy power-tones of Earth 2 — to hear Carlson ruminating over the finer points of folk acts such as Fairport Convention. Essentially, he views musical traditions as intrinsically interrelated. “I guess with American music, there's a huge influence of African-American-isms through music like jazz. There's also Scotch and Irish folk music that came in with the Hillbillies. All that intermixing is to me what created rock'n'roll. It's all linked. Leadbelly, Hank Wangford, the lyrics of 16th Century broadsheets that were transferred to America; to me it's all part of a continuum,” he explains. “I've been researching a lot about Occult history and aspects of folklore, and how American hoodoo has a lot of the same stuff because white convicts were chained to American slaves in the South and their stories intermixed.”

His interest in the ordinary, uncelebrated people whose legacies form vital links in the evolution of music reveal his modesty; a trait reinforced by lessons learned from the early stages of his career, where he became snared in the traps that have claimed so many other promising artists. “I think as a musician, when you grow up you're saddled with all the classic apocryphal stories, from Mozart on, about how there were raging parties and the music was so great. I think it's a destructive stereotype. When I first started doing music, I was doing drugs and I became what I think of as an asshole,” he declares unhesitatingly.

It was during those early years that Carlson committed the single act for which he is most infamous. Believing that it would only be used for self-defense, he purchased the gun with which his close friend Kurt Cobain committed suicide. He gave up music altogether for seven years whilst battling the consequences of various misadventures, including legal and drug problems, and catching a rare form of Hepatitis B that caused him to turn yellow and swell up like a balloon.

“Eventually I wised up and realised. I went through many years of not playing music and getting my act back together, as they say. I think a lot of times as a musician, people think they're so much more special than everyone else and blah, blah, blah. I think that's total bullshit. It's a fake. You've got to put in the work, and if you put in the work, it pays off. I was not putting in the work. I think I spent my time serving two masters, as they say. When I finally got my shit back together and I started playing guitar again, I wasn't planning on doing Earth again. I was just going to start playing again because I wanted to start playing again. I just try to be humble and grateful for what I've been given. I look at it like, everything that was good in my life came from music and then I changed that purpose. It's no-one's fault, but I started messing up and bad shit started happening. So I'm going to stick to music. I'm very grateful. Not a lot of people go away and come back and have anyone care. Those people are fortunate that there are other people who go, 'give 'em a chance'.

Carlson's willingness to credit others who've helped him — rather than bask in the plaudits — is truly humbling, especially as the consensus of opinion strongly holds that the music he's made since his return is his best. But given his experiences, surely there's some advice he'd like to have given his younger self, if he could?

“I don't want to give too much advice. I don't regret anything just because I like where I'm at now, and I wouldn't be here now if it wasn't for those…” his voice trails off under a laugh, which could almost be a sadder sound. “I guess I would say, just make sure you do the work. It's funny how I hear all the time people talk about being talented or musically gifted, but no one's born that way. People either put in the work or they don't, y'know? Hendrix was a great guitar player. He practiced, whatever, 18 hours a day and played all the time; that's why he was a great guitarist.”

“There's no quick road or easy road,” he summarises. “I guess that would be my advice.”