For Those Who Listen: Charles Jenkins

Eighteen months ago, during a summer in which I was not a happy little puppy, some caring friends dragged me out to a Brunswick pub to see some guy they called Chuck, play a few songs with his mates. I found myself downing several cold pints and listening to some of the finest lyrics and quality musicianship I'd heard in years. For the first time in months, I forgot to be sad.

I don't remember many specifics from that arvo. I know that I told the drummer it was “the best gig I'd seen in aaages!" I thought that the guy on the moog was un-fucking-believably good and I texted my mother saying that if “she was ever worried that I might top myself, just give me a live gig and some cold beer and I'll come good." Then I threw up out the back. Best night I'd had in months.

Chuck at The Retreat. Image: NMJoyce2015

Fast track a year and half and I've quit my job, moved back to Bendigo, enrolled at La Trobe Uni, and own three Charles Jenkins and the Zhivagos albums. This is how I now find myself writing a blog for new subject, Writers in Action, as part of the Bendigo Writers Festival. I'm quite curious about the interaction between artists and consumers of art, musicians and fans, writers and readers.

Jenkins is, once again, on this year's festival bill, presenting a song writing workshop for secondary students, as well as a session about songwriting with fellow well-respected singer/songwriter, Liz Stringer. I figured this would be a prime opportunity to interview him. "He's a decent bloke," I thought, "he'll help out." And bugger me, if Chuck hasn't come to the party.

I wondered who else I could rope into this exercise. I asked Georgia Fields, another singer/songwriter who has worked with Charles in the past, to offer up her own observations about him. Between the three of us, we discussed where songwriting sits in a writer’s festival program, the quirks of audiences, and the dry work involved in researching Melbourne’s history. I need a beer just writing about it.

Jenkins recently completed a history project as part of the City of Yarra’s Leaps and Bounds Festival, putting the intimate histories of Melbourne into song. A short run of CDs were made available for those unfortunate enough not to make it to the live gig. Of course, I snapped up a copy of ‘The Past is Never Where You Think You Left It’ as fast as I could. The songs feature the Melbourne [Star] Eye wheel thing, love on the tramlines, and everyone's favourite: Little Audrey.

Jenkins had plenty of material to work with. "The history of Melbourne project has been novel and interesting. There are no shortages of ideas. Bearbrass, Batmania, Bill Buckley— the list is endless."  Historical research can be a dry undertaking and when I ask Jenkins about the process of distilling all that raw material into a memorable song, he grabs at the analogy. "Distilling is a good word to describe the process, as you do throw in the raw ingredients and hope that over a period of time something potent will result."

Fields, an accomplished musician and songwriter herself, says that Jenkins is a "master storyteller". Personally, I've always felt that the sign of a master is how easy they make their craft appear to the untrained ear. Of course, the way Jenkins tells it, it's much more complicated than that. "It can take a lot of effort for something to appear to be effortless. It’s important to never let the listener hear the process. Facts can be removed and replaced by the impact of those facts, and lyrical ideas can sometimes be shoe-horned into existing musical ideas."

Fields notes that Jenkins' songwriting output is incredibly prolific. "It seems that he is writing every day. He is so committed to his practice; it is an intrinsic part of the way he experiences life on Earth. His commitment and creative output are nothing short of inspiring." She also maintains that his meticulous approach to his songwriting practice makes him an ideal presenter at writer’s festivals: "He has a lot to offer in the dark art of lyric construction." I asked her if Jenkins had ever given her any specific advice. Yes, she says, "The first line has to be incredible. The second line has to be even better."

Jenkins recognises that all writers understand the importance of rhythm and melody in their choice of words, so the idea of a songwriter presenting at a writer’s festival shouldn't be surprising. "Most people I know who love music, love books as well and besides,” he says, "songwriters that don’t read much are obviously asking for trouble."

The Bendigo Writers Festival gives Jenkins the opportunity to run a songwriting workshop for school children on one day, then share a stage with Liz Stringer the next. In his words, " I’m quite fortunate." What about the audiences? Are there any differences between audiences at a music festival and those at a writer’s festival? Simple really, "There are less elbow patches at music festivals."

Fields maintains that a Charles Jenkins and the Zhivagos live set is incredibly suited to the music festival circuit, and that audiences are putty in the band's hands, even very young ones. She relates a particularly fond memory of an early-evening show at the Apollo Bay Music Festival: "An armada of school-aged children were ramming each other up at the front of the stage, and generally going berserk. It was wonderful to watch."

I asked Jenkins how important it is for musicians to have a direct relationship with their audiences. Jenkins replies that "it's easier to be friendly than not". Which is probably how I ended up chatting to the poor bugger in the first place. He thinks he's a terrible conversationalist: "I can bring a potentially lively and lengthy discourse to a quick end like no other. I do try not to talk too much before a gig, as bellowing over the volume of the other acts on the bill can ruin the voice." It seems that chatting to people is unavoidable, in smaller venues anyway. "Even if I wanted to entertain the idea of distancing myself from those that enjoy what I do, I wouldn’t be able to. It’s not as if I can Concord and Limousine my way to the side of the stage of any place I generally play..."

Jenkins has been playing live gigs for so long that his audiences have, according to Fields, become quite well-trained. She talks about his audiences as being ones that appreciate song-craft and lyricism. They are more likely to listen carefully, so as not to miss any gems. "They know not to talk or, if they’re going to, they know that he might very well tell them to shut up." Having seen him do exactly that a number of times, I can confirm that Jenkins is certainly upfront about being up front. In Fields' words, "He establishes an atmosphere from the stage that says, ‘I am performing, you are listening’. It’s actually something very special."

Even in the short time since I added Jenkins to my list of "must-see shows", I've noticed that the same faces show up at gigs, whether at a solo acoustic set on a school night, or at a full dinner and evening show, with the whole band on a Saturday. When I mention this, Jenkins' response is itself a mini story. "There are quite a number of long-term, recognisable faces at shows, thankfully, and some that come and go. You see them meet at your gigs, flirt, fall in love, have babies, disappear, then divorce and re-appear with different partners."

Unsurprisingly, there isn't much else Jenkins would rather be doing. "I'm lucky to be able to do a number of different things that all revolve around songwriting, and I have no desire to remove myself from that situation. Except maybe to take up Canasta or any other game associated with the rummy family of cards. Or bee-keeping.  Or fishing with my hands."

I have a pack of cards and I owe him a pint of the dark ale. Cards night at my place this weekend.

August, 2014.

P.S. This story is dedicated to my mate Jules, who introduced me to Chuck and between them both, helped me forget to be sad for a little bit.