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The Many Disguises Of Jacob Diefenbach
There’s no doubt that Jacob Diefenbach is destined for great things. He’s performed around the country supporting the likes of Kate Miller-Heidke and Paul Capsis and now this talented Brisbane based singer songwriter is about to release his next EP – ‘Master Of Disguise’. He talks to Same Same’s Anthony Smith about catharsis, growing up, tight t-shirts and Cher.
Describe Jacob Diefenbach and your sound for someone who has not heard of you.
At its core, it’s piano-driven story-telling that’s broadly in a pop/cabaret vein. My vocal sound doesn’t fall into any traditional or contemporary ‘male sounding’ category, and can be a bit of a shock for some people at first.
You’ll find that what I do spans a range of styles and influences, from classical to electronic. Each song is very much his own governor, as far as how he will be told, but piano is the unifying thread throughout.
Can you tell us some more about your new EP, Master Of Disguise? How is it different from your earlier release, Ripping Stories For Boys? What do you feel was your motivation for this release?
I think I’ll start with the second part of that question first. Ripping Stories For Boys was a cathartic process for me. The CD waded through, and looked back on, my experience with the male institution – from growing up in Central Queensland, resenting that I wasn’t the son my father wanted or understood; all the way to tight shirts, Cher, and one-night-stands.
Ripping Stories For Boys was my way of sorting out what it meant to be ‘man’. Football made me feel awkward, and the exuberant bravado exchanged between men was like a foreign language. Life on the ‘scene’ offered an intoxicating alternative and felt like something I could understand and hold onto. But it was filled with its own kinds of traps, contradictions and disappointment.
By the time I released Ripping Stories For Boys , I was already moving away from, and making sense of, that time in my life.
Now, to the first part of your question, Master Of Disguise are snapshots of the different people I (and we) are in day-to-day life. It was born from a time when my working, personal and musical lives were clashing like vast tectonic plates. It struck me how firmly fixed and automatic these masks become. I am the office bitch, struggling musician, boyfriend, pleasure seeker and pain addict.
New Age Nothing, which is the fourth track on the CD, probably best captures this idea.
Ripping Stories For Boys had a very minimal production feel to it. Has this changed with Master Of Disguise?
Most definitely. Master Of Disguise is a colourful and dynamic CD. It was just so much fun to create. Like I said before, each song was his own master. I followed that through to some varied conclusions, like Dirty Boy’s hypnotic, moog-driven haze; Master Of Disguise’s bombastic eighties-driven bass lines and sparkling piano-lines; and Human Glue, which has a touch of sass and a big, anthem-like finish.
Some of the songs on Ripping Stories For Boys were very personal. How did you find the reactions of the people around you after hearing the album?
I’ve always been surprised and deeply moved by how much people have let these stories into their lives. The space that separates performer from punter is only a couple of metres, but the gulf between human hearts is vast. Music lets us communicate with people in a deeply personal way. Performer or punter, you can feel when that connection happens. That’s a good set. My experience, generally, is that people respect and welcome honesty.
As far as my folks go, it’s a great answer to the age-old question, “Son, what’s happening in your life”? Through music, I’ve been able to share (and unload) some pretty heavy baggage. I’m not sure I could have done that in conversation. The same goes for my friends. They take the music as it is, and know not to press me for lengthy explanations.
I try to write things in such a way that the listener isn’t bound by one interpretation or viewpoint. I love telling stories with objects, people and places, and try to avoid trademark “emotion words”, which can be fixed and unchanging.
In the end, it’s how the listener plugs the music into his or her own life experience that makes it worth anything at all. I’ve been blown away, and humbled, by the reactions of people to Ripping Stories For Boys. I hope that people will discover something entirely different, and entirely their own, in Master Of Disguise.
I noticed you mention Brisbane gay nightclub The Beat a lot in your album. Do you still go there occasionally? You had some very stern things to say about modern gay culture in Ripping Stories For Boys. Do you still feel this way?
It mentioned it just the once! (In the track Golden Boy, Caged.) I think it stands out and works, because The Beat is the type of landmark that most gay guys have called ‘home’ at some time or another in their lives.
I’m not slagging The Beat or places like it, and I don’t think any less of people that go there. It’s more about how these places can change for us over time. I see so many of the feelings I’ve had – and still have sometimes – painted on a varied line-up of eager, bored, and “come-get-me” faces.
The negativity you hear on Ripping Stories is more about the choices I made at a particular time in my life. I made some pretty shit decisions and had some pretty messed-up priorities. For young, gay boys – and young people – it’s a time that draws out our insecurities, with a lot of surface gazing.
We all know the story: boy gets liberated, gets more than a little trigger happy with words like “darling” and “fabulous”; boy gets burned; boy grows up a little. I still have a fair share of growing up to do.
Whether you do the emo thing – or deck yourself out in Country Road and start talking like you spontaneously grew two extra sets of testicles – it’s a story – and a time in our lives – that most of us can identify with.
In Ripping Stories For Boys you talk about growing up in Central Queensland and speak about the trials you faced. What advice would you give to young gay men and women in this same situation?
I feel like Dr Phil. There should probably be a flashing, bold disclaimer at the start of any advice given by me! But these are few bits and pieces I’ve picked up in my short time on Earth:
Hang in there. You’re worthwhile, even if you’re copping shit. What men in souped-up Holdens shout at you as they’re passing down the main street of Gladstone isn’t gospel. People will normally give you shit about the things they want most for themselves.
For young gay men and women, the promise of tolerance and “being your own person” is one of the Big City’s most enticing traps. In many cases – mine included – that promise ends up being less about freedom, and more about changing everything you possibly can about yourself.
If you’ve had a tough time in your town, queer strongholds like Fortitude Valley or New Farm (in Brisbane) look a little like the Garden of Eden. I guess I’d say: don’t forget about the world outside. You’ll be diminished by its absence. There’s a year of my life spent almost exclusively in the company of gay men, and I can’t get it back. I think I alienated a lot of really good friends over that time.
Growing up outside the city wasn’t all bad. Don’t forget home. It’s not a leper colony, but some guys treat it that way. Stay in touch with Mum and Dad, or the people who accepted and loved you just the way you are. There could be people you grew up with who chose to stay in their hometown. You shouldn’t treat them like they’re beneath you.
How was playing with the Dresden Dolls? Did you get to talk to them much?
Playing with the Dresden Dolls was an unforgettable – really, really rewarding – experience. I only spoke with Amanda a couple of times, and never had a chance to chat with Brian.
At the Roundhouse in London, Amanda would gather all the performers around in a circle and run over the details for the night. It doubled as a sort of pre-show pep talk. She’s that rare kind of person who’s able to make a troupe of like – I don’t know – 40-plus performers feel valued, worthwhile and indispensable as individuals, and vital to the success of the show.
You delve into what it means to be a man in current society. How do you think this differs for straight and gay men?
Do you have a couple of hours? I’ve gone on far too long already, and I have too much to say on the topic. A lot of it goes around in circles and I can only go on my experience, which is incredibly biased.
I’ll just say that I don’t think either persuasion is easier than the other. Gay or straight, we’re always battling against/trying to fit into the expectations, pressures and expectations set down by society. Some are the same; some are different.
I hear a lot of Tori Amos in your songs, who else would you say inspired your music?
There’s Tori, of course. She’s tops. Like Tori – but drawing no comparison to her phenomenal ability – I was classically trained on piano and that’s been a huge influence for me. Growing up, I had a big, big appetite for new music. Anything from Bach to Bartok would do, so long as it got my attention. I’ve always had a taste for dark, dramatic, urgent and powerful music. It’s no surprise, I guess, that I’m a big Danny Elfman fan. From the age of about 10 to 18, I didn’t really have any idea of what was playing on the radio (though for some inexplicable reason, I do still have a copy of Cher’s Believe CD single in my CD rack). Instead, I’d buy CDs of film scores and listen to them over and over.
How do you feel about the Brisbane music scene in its current state?
I think the Brisbane scene has a whole lot of talent. There’s some incredible stuff happening, but I guess that’s only one side of it. Traditionally – and still, though to a lesser extent – Brisbaners don’t have a great reputation for supporting live, local independent acts. But Brisbane itself is changing fast, and so is this aspect of its culture, I think.
Why do you think most gay men can’t see past Anthony Callea and Britney Spears?
What a good question. I can only comment in general terms, because I don’t want to – and can’t – paint all gay men with the same brush. I think it’s a lack of exposure and lack of interest.
Gay men are sold are certain image of themselves. If you take the ‘Queer Eye’ conception of the modern gay man, we’re all fast-talking, immaculately dressed, and brimming with an infectious, boundless energy. That flows out into how and what we consume across a lot of areas.
How much of this is a product of our own desires, or just what we are sold? I don’t really have an answer to that, but there doesn’t seem to be a broad range of musical styles featuring in that picture.
Check out Jacob’s official website here, or his myspace here.
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AussieG
said ages ago