5 songs that reminds Gabriel Lynch of home
by Gabriel Lynch
Every nomad has a home to go back to when he is weary of his travels. In the meantime, there are songs to remind him of home. While Australian singer/songwriter Gabriel Lynch makes his way through Asia to promote his debut studio album, Passerby Chorale, he recalls songs that remind him of his home down under, instead of writing songs that remind people of said places..
#1:Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport by Rolf Harris
“Have you heard of that? No? Don’t. It’s the worst. Rolf Harris is famous for playing the wobble board, a metal board that goes woob woob woob.”
#2:Belter by Powderfinger
“Best Australian band by a mile.”
#3: The Australian National Anthem
“Why, Of course. It has some of the best wordings ever. There’s a phrase in it: ‘Our home is girt by sea’. You’d never use the word ‘girt’ in any other kinds of context.”
#4:Khe Sanh by Cold Chisel
“It’s not that I don’t like doing cover songs, but people would request the worst covers in the world. If you’re in an Australian pub, you’ll be asked to play ‘American Pie’, even if it has nothing to do with Australia. But the yobos, those Australians who go to pubs and create trouble, they love it. And then, we have Cold Chisel.”
#5: The Cat Empire
“They’re really popular, and they play these amazing, feel good, party songs with some Latin influences. Before they were famous, they played at this small jazz pub, and it was packed up every Friday night for years. People would come and dance and drink and have a good time. By the time they got around to releasing their record, they have record labels surrounding them desperately, and they ended up getting the best record deal the country has ever seen!”
Is it possible to be listening to an Australian singer/songwriter, and be reminded of somewhere across the globe like Ireland? Perhaps. If it is possible to be inspired to write a song about Florence, somewhere in the deserted attic of Iceland, why not?
There is an interesting story behind Lynch’s debut studio album, Passerby Chorale, and strangely enough, while listening to the album, it is as if we have bought an extra ticket to wherever his jetsetting feet decide to bring him next. Like we are getting the firsthand experience itself, being tourists in all the cities Lynch has once found himself in.
There is a lightness in Lynch’s voice that seems to carry his written words so effortlessly immaculate, with a tinge of Irishness in the subconscious slur and subliminal music compositions. His voice, sometimes solemn like a hymn of quieter cities like Reykjavik, sometimes proud and aviating like a gratifying soldier standing erect, bleching his national anthem from the depths of his patriotic heart.
Going through Passerby Chorale is like passing by the many unfamiliar cities Lynch has been to during his travels around the world. Those distinctive and idiosyncratic sounds each cities have. Those traffic noises and bustling crowds that melt into a kind of music in the songwriter’s head. Yet. As a foreigner, try as you may to live like Romans do, you cannot seem to do it the right way. Like you don’t belong to this chorale. So, you compose your own chorale, a passerby’s chorale, chronicling those moments when you don’t fit in, and those when you do.
Passerby Chorale as a whole is pretty much like that. The chord cadences and note arrangements Lynch composed, were unlike the run-of-the-mill sequences you would hear from the usual singer/songwriter. Sometimes, the scurry of the notes across the piano keys that turns unexpectedly like the moody tides in the ocean. Other times, the phrase switches so suddenly that you feel uncomfortable in your skin just listening to a song about love. Like falling in love with a new girl so effortlessly, yet at the same time, scared that she might disappear and leave your heart wringing red on your sleeves.
Sometimes, it’s a solitary walk along the Firenze Santa Maria Novella railway station in the wee hours of the morning, thin films of snow giving the buildings around you a light glaze. So eerie. So wrong. Yet somehow, it feels so right. Other times, it’s a skip instead of a walk across Central Park, watching joggers struggle with their dogs outrunning them down the pavement, and families on plaid blankets sipping wine and eating cheese crackers. And that burst of energy called hope at the center of your chest that beats with the quick witted guitar riffs: “Then maybe, just maybe what you’ll do / Is start singing to yourself when you’re thinking about me too.”
Sometimes, it’s standing at the edge of Ireland, the ocean breeze against your face as the violin moans towards the waters, echoes thrown back that speaks of the same sorrow. Other times, it’s the slow rock of the chair on the sweltering porch in West Virginia. The cornfield as far as the eyes can see, but not far enough to see if the mirage of the love of your life is moving closer back to you, but instead walking farther away from you. You pluck on the banjo strings in your arms to the rhythm of the rocking chair, your mind filled with gentle love, as your voice calls out feather lightly: “Sweetheart, please come back to me.”
It goes without saying that there is versatility when it comes to Lynch’s music. Sure, he may just be a man with a guitar singing lovesick love songs. But in his heart, there is also a traveller, who has been to the ends of the world, and transpired what he has felt, and somehow what he has seen, into this album.
Gabriel Lynch will be performing at the Mosaic Music Festival in Singapore on March 15 (Thursday) at the Esplanade Concourse area and on March 16 (Friday) at the Esplanade Outdoor Theatre. Both gigs are free.
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