Andy Clockwise in the Afternoon

I first became aware of Andy Clockwise the first evening I went to Cranes, last May, 2008.
Andy had a part I think in the night’s edition of Thunder from Heaven. He stood out, and I had to meet him.
Later I was pulled to a show at Spaceland sometime in summer. Honestly, I was deep in thought, with a preference for black metal, that evening.
After many occasions seeing Andy Clockwise perform, I admit his music has gotten under my skin. I caught myself humming “my generation” in a haze one day, and realized that his music has become an unavoidable part of many people’s lives in a very meaningful way.
Upon a request to review Jan. 2 Hotel Café show, I felt under the gun, why surely I’ve seen so many Clockwise shows by now. Why is it I can’t stop going? How could I possibly review someone’s art, someone I feel honored to consider a friend?
How could I contain my bias, or hide my ignorance of his life’s work?
It occurred to me I could not fabricate a story without speaking to him in person. Upon contacting his manager, I was granted access to interview Andy.
The happy coincidence of befriending the spectacular team behind Alisterz.com provided for a three part interview, with questions from Janine, Canise, and myself.
Honestly, Andy is such a riot to speak to, that fulfilling my selfish need for brilliant witty scintillating conversation, I must admit, was my primary objective. We sat down at Crane’s tavern on El Centro on January 21 2009, a day after the inauguration.
The questions came to me in a panic one day. As though Andy alone held the answers . . . or might provide the missing code to unravel the angst besotting my soul.
Some spiritual link prevailed in my need to find out more.
I could not thank him enough for the blessed experience of knowing the fabulous set of pretty young things, artists, writers, and musicians that congregate in a clockwise fashion.
The signification of Andy’s art transcends a catchy tune. His genre-transcendent repertoire and stage presence are evocative of
the unnamable stage greats of yore.
If his role in the upcoming film “Everything will happen before you die,” or the recent celebrity sightings at his shows are any indication, great things are afoot for the clockwise generation.
What generation?
And Andy Clockwise’s moniker originated with a ha! ha! funny school joke, meaning, counter-clockwise or Anti-clockwise, in Australian English.
And he has total denial of the name Andy Kelly, today at least.
I can’t help imagining that something about Andy provoked this counterclockwise christening.
Was it his secret life as a tagger, a street graphic artist? Or the tales of spending his entire boarding school allowance on mouthwash to keep his dorm mates tipsy, or the abandon with which he plunges into his crowd ripping drinks straight out of the unsuspecting hands of his devotees? Imagine Andy, mid-song, embracing unknown women to the boyfriends’ chagrin. It might give one an indication of the revelry, the recklessness, and theatrical harmony, that dwells within those moments on stage.
Something about him was going against the grain. My first question regarding freedom of information and technology as it affects the art and business of music met with a resounding hearty affirmation. Albums are not written in the same way, anymore, he said.
Ahh—the danger of making cassette tape dubs, the illicit piracy involved . . . ahhh the . . . nostalgia for the old forms . . .
His answer: it’s like anarchy, I love it!
What boggles my mind is his humility and his humanity.
Not one to toot of his own horn, Andy has already blasted through the indy music scene in Australia, topping alternative charts. Widespread accolade, and media attention suffused with ardor for his enigmatic, magnetic stage presence abounds in major newsprint.
What I don’t understand is how are we so lucky, to have him in our midst?
He doesn’t seem to acknowledge his charisma, and luminous drawl he has on a fervent fans. His drive to connect and be recharged creatively in symbiosis with his fans is ignited by a sincerity, a shameless joy, an innocent love of music and people.
I asked him about his current band.
Stella he met when she was nineteen, one of the best drummers ever, he states “you just don’t find drummers that good.”
Josh Norton on bass and with “magical harmonies,” and Nick Maybury on guitar. Sal and Smitty come in at times, as does Lady Tigra. He’d love to play with a full orchestra one day.
His personal world is not spoken of . . .
What extra form of creative expression does he indulge in?
Boxing.
Unabashed Beyonce fan and Amercicanophile, he raves about the excitement of all things American, enamoured of the first Hershey bar.
His parents were in a pentacostal band, with two songs only, played over and over.
Genre-hopping is a part of his admission that he is “very easily bored.”
To stay centered he says,
“I drink, and I box. How macho.”
His debut album about characters in Sydney was culled from his personal observation of their lives. If Andy could do anything to help someone, he would help his friends.
Oh and he does! Lavishing love upon them, calling them geniuses, legends, we are, and we become, in his presence, more magnificent, in the exaltation he gives to his audience. Both celebratory and satirical, the song “Everybody’s in a band” reminds us that every one of us might be or channel talent in some way.
Andy’s accolades fly back at him like a boomerang. Genius, legend, ha!
The charming effervescent champagne buzz of his stage presence lingers to the wee hours. The private 4am drum circle on pots and pans, or the Celtic ditty sing-a-long, reminds me that frenetically artistic energy is priceless. What an unspeakable treat, to know Clockwise and the greater milieu of his friends . . .
Going to an Andy show . . . but two days after a rollicking New Year’s Eve, was but another contact with an unmistakable force.
Peeling the curtain back, I clambered near the stage to spy his drummer’s efficiency and vigor, and the much besought Nick Maybury on lead guitar.
It was an exhausting evening, as my friend pulled me off to an industrial club.
“Runaway with the runaways” is a new song on the upcoming album “Socialite.” We talked about Los Angeles, as a town of escapists with a “peter pan complex,” says Andy, wonderful, endurable, despite the automobile culture, when Andy might’ve liked something more pedestrian, with museums and little places to walk to and get tea.
A convergence of world cultures, and so many dreamers dwell here.
His father played music, his mother mandolin, and his sister is a music teacher, and he never much thought of music, he says.
Killing fascists seems to be an enduring theme, haunting an early touring choir so designated.
The Moth Requiem is an unreleased project which came up in answer to a preposterous query regarding a rock opera.
Not really a rock musical but . . .
Theatricality is endemic to his shows. It’s hard not to get wrapped up. The Cinespace Camerata Sunday night gig in December was phenomenal. Here were the electro rock 18-23 year olds rocking out with Andy, unable to contain themselves, I heard them, saying “he’s so good!”
Andy notes that every crowd is different and elicits a different response.
Hotel Café is a milder mannered, but appreciative, crowd.
I heard he was crawling on the furniture at Bardot.
I still have little to say, maybe even less than before.
Except go. Go to his shows. Don’t miss out. And if you are so lucky as to meet the man, you will be charmed.

Mary Eng
1-21-09