My younger brother used to spend hours recording songs in his bedroom. This was back in the early 90s, when he was about 15 or 16. He used two old tape players to create multiple tracks, overlaying the audio from one tape to another to create the scuffed final song–a palimpsest of noise. Until recently the songs only ever existed on a single tape in a drawer somewhere.
There’s something innocent and wild about the bedroom recordings that I love; the way they capture the yearning confusion of being an artistic kid in a tough, small town called Te Kuiti. I still remember hearing Girl looks good for the first time, driving home from university late one night. I pulled over to replay it, looking out into the darkness, thinking about my brother.
Girl looks good
Beneath the trees