New Zealander Thom Powers on what's it like to lead the Naked and Famous in Los Angeles

Categories: Interviews

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The Naked and Famous was founded in Auckland, New Zealand in 2008 by Thom Powers and Alisa Xayalith when the two were students at the Music and Audio Institute. Taking its name from Tricky's "Tricky Kid," the Naked and Famous isn't exactly what you'd call trip-hop. Rooted in alt rock, the Naked and Famous write richly melodic pop songs with an expansive spirit and uplifting sense of momentum.

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The outfit's 2010 debut, Passive Me, Aggressive You, reached number one in the band's homeland, an impressive feat for a record released by the band on its own label, Somewhat Damaged. After some extensive touring in support of the record, the Naked and Famous relocated to Laurel Canyon in California, where it worked on its sophomore album.

In early 2013, the quintet entered Sunset Sound studio to record what would become In Rolling Waves, and this past summer, it went to London to mix the songs with legendary studio engineer Alan Moulder. The end result is an album of surprising depth and rich sonic detail that rewards those who listen closely, while also working as a group of solidly crafted pop songs imbued with a sense of wonder and hopefulness.

We recently spoke with guitarist and co-vocalist Thom Powers about working with Moulder, finding greater opportunities in making a career in music outside of New Zealand and how his passion and ambition in the band has lead it to outdo its previous efforts.

Westword: You wrote the beginnings of the songs for In Rolling Waves at home, did demo recordings in Wales and Australia, and recorded the album we've heard in Laurel Canyon or Hollywood. How do you feel the final recordings benefitted from that process?

Thom Powers: That sounds very scattered, right? It doesn't seem like a plan. I think virtually every band I've ever really got to speak with, or read interviews with, it's very similar in the way that they're trying to make an album or get the band an identity and try to make it a real thing takes a long time. There are very few people in the world that can do one thing from A to B and go, "Right, that's finished." One week you have a bout of inspiration, and you might work on two songs, and might just be lyrics, and the next week, you work on drums and write a few different songs, and it's terrible, and you don't get anything done, and all your ideas are sucking. So the scattered process is pretty natural.

For us, it was just a coincidence that we were in Wales when we had a break and we could afford to do some writing. And that's something that I always push for, as far as us scheduling and how it works. It's one of the elements that keeps us together because we have this almost, a little bit, corny family vibe to the band, where we've been living together for this long and we barely spend any time apart.

Every time it looks like there's going to be a break while we're touring and there's nothing to do, I sort of go, "Well, let's find some empty studio. Let's find a house to go and work in. Let's find a place to be productive." That tends to keep us all on the same page to a certain extent. We don't have to meet back up and start from scratch all the time.

That's definitely helpful. Anyone who's a musician or other creative type knows, as you suggested earlier, it's not some pre-packaged, connect the dots type of process -- it's more spontaneous and organic than that.

Exactly, and I think the reality of becoming a professional musician -- or from my experience, or what I have noticed -- is that your opportunities to be creative and to recreate the kind of behavior that made you want to start a band in the first place becomes more and more sparse because you're always working on something you're already doing.

But when you're an unknown musician, you're just trying to make an album, or you're trying to make a song, or you're trying to get things moving. The passion is there without the end product in mind. In that respect, it makes a lot more sense that every time you think you have a free moment to just go, "I'm going to be writing. Everyone leave me alone, I'm going to this little studio and hang out and do some work." Maybe nothing productive comes out of it, but the process itself is important to stay on top of.

New Zealand has produced some of the most interesting music of all time. Like bands on Flying Nun and so forth. Presumably you were exposed to a lot of that music growing up there. Did any of those older bands have any impact on the kind of music you do?

Yeah! That's totally fantastic that you know about Flying Nun because it's such a hit and miss kind of thing. When you speak to real music journalists that have an extensive knowledge of music history and what comes out of certain places and the scenes that developed and bring up things like Flying Nun they're like, "Yeah, I know Flying Nun!" Then the conversation is exciting. Sometimes you bring it up, and you can tell you're speaking to someone's who's maybe my age and has just gotten into journalism and they're like, "What?..."

Flying Nun is an integral part of being an alternative rock band in New Zealand, and at one point or another, you stumble across it and you figure out what it is. And even if you don't exactly adopt a love for a lot of the music, I think just the legacy that's behind it is something that's quite unavoidable. One of the Flying Nun bands that had a massive influence on us was the Mint Chicks. Do you know The Mint Chicks?

Oh, yeah! That's the band that Ruban Nielsen of Unknown Mortal Orchestra used to be in, right?

Yeah, UMO, and his brother Kody has a band called Opossum. There was a period when we were just starting to make music in 2008. The Mint Chicks had been around for a little while, and then all of a sudden, they were just the coolest band in New Zealand, and they were just all over mainstream TV and pop radio, and it was a really big deal. It made you go, "My god, you can be in an alternative band and it can be successful. You don't just have to be playing in a shitty dive bar every week.

So that was a monstrous inspiration to us. But I guess, sadly, because they were a New Zealand band a lot of what we wanted to follow as far as a trajectory was very New Zealand-oriented. I guess that's a trap of being a creative person in a very small, creative environment -- you get narrow-sighted, you get tunnel vision.

It's interesting you say that because it happens here, too. Some acts stay a local band, and they're amazing, but similar type of phenomenon.

Yeah, you get stuck in this state, right? We've got a friend's band, who are a California band at the moment; they've got a crowd in California, but they haven't really gone anywhere else in the States. They're called No. They're just starting out, but they're a testament to the idea that you really have to find a way to crack into the wider scale of America.

One of the guys that started No is a New Zealand band, and now it's a full '60s band with another New Zealand guitar player that I grew up with. They were living right around the corner from us in Echo Park this whole year. It was kind of crazy because I grew up up the street from the guitar player. They're kicking off and deciding to do stuff in other parts of the country' but at the moment they've just played lots of shows in California.

Obviously you recorded the album in Laurel Canyon or Hollywood, or at least spent time living there while you recorded it: What was the deciding factor staying there?

Oh, it was just a pretty crazy, arbitrary decision. We ended up traveling a lot, and ended up back in Los Angeles often, and it was always fun when we were there. We were sitting around the table one day, and I was like, "Wouldn't it be cool if we could all just say that we'd lived in Los Angeles at one point in our lives?" Everyone said, "Yeah, alright. Sweet." It just seemed an easy place to acclimatized to because one of our managers spends half of his year in Los Angeles. So there was a safety net of knowing someone who could help us set up. That was a very appealing aspect to it as well.

Laurel Canyon was just where we could find the biggest house that seemed to suit us. It was a happy accident because it was a fantastic, retro palace from the '70s that had not been renovated since. Jesse [Wood] was so excited to show me, and he was taking me around the house, and I was like, "This looks awful." He was so excited because he thought it was amazing. After one week of living there and figuring things out, I thought, "Okay, cool, this place is sweet." Then it really became home. All those press shots we did for the record standing in front of a pool, on a roof and in a doorway? That was at that house.

How long did you live there?

Just over a year.

What did you like about living in Los Angeles compared to living in New Zealand?

It's just a very different culture. New Zealand feels very real to me and Los Angeles felt very surreal at first. Just because it's right next to Hollywood, and Hollywood is like one of the most ridiculous cultural oddities on the planet. It's really strange. It's peculiar. It was fun to be around and to feel very disconnected and very on the outside, sort of feeling like tourists the whole time, even when we were really adjusted to the place. We didn't really spend any time hanging out with Hollywood types or anything like that. We were living close to Studio City doing our own thing and making the life that we wanted to live here.

[We eventually] moved to Echo Park a few months before we started touring [because] that was the place where we really hung out, and that's where our rehearsal studio was. So we were driving there every day a couple of times, and we went to all the bars around there and went to gigs. It was really fun. By the time we were at Studio City, it was very insular. But toward the end, it became very fun and social, and we went out and met people and made friends. I was really happy there, I think.

Are you based out of Los Angeles/Echo Park now, or do you feel like you're going to go back to New Zealnd?

We're definitely not going to return to New Zealand. And I feel bad about saying that because I feel like it might sound like it's insulting to New Zealand. But if you have the opportunity to leave the country as a creative person, you just have to take it and not let go of it. Because if you let go of it it's an opportunity you won't get again.

It's incredibly expensive to leave and just difficult to connect with the rest of the world from New Zealand. We have no intention of letting go of this. I feel like most of the career that we have and the work that we do and all the focus that we have has a lot to do with the American, the U.K. and the European music industries.

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