Like the Neighbours starlet that decides to release a pop album, Darren Sylvester was Australia's photography darling that decided to release a pop album, recreate The Carpenter's back garden from the 1970s, and identically replicate New Order's 1980s electronic drum sampling machine. Never wanting to get stuck in a creative rut, Sylvester accidentally-on-purpose got signed to Remote Control Records using a vinyl he created for the sake of art, with no musical experience.
He has now returned to his photographic roots with his latest exhibition. Lifelounge chatted with the versatile virtuoso.
Georgia Frances King: So tell me about the image that’s on the flier for your latest gallery showing in Sydney. You’ve always loved mixing gaudy signs of consumerism with personal narratives. What’s the story morning glory?
Darren Sylvester: In this case, it was this kid going home after school, and going to Subway. And as he and his partner go to their respective homes, she gives him a letter to read when he gets home. And this is that moment. And he’s going to be stuck with this moment for the rest of his life. His first breakup… with Subway! [laughs] And of course Subway is one of the interesting things here, because I was interested in the time at how much excessive packaging you got with a sandwich at Subway. So metaphorically as well, I wanted it to be like the sandwich was exploding from the letter across the table.
GFK: So your preferred medium is photography right now?
DS: Yep. I think it’s time to do that again. I do like sculptural works, but I don’t really know… how? [laughs] But I pushed that as far as I could with the drum machine [in 2009, Sylvester created an exact working replica of the drum machine that New Order used in the 1980s]. That was an extension of trying to do a sculpture that was… err…
GFK: Practical?
DS: Practical! Exactly… The drum machine sculpture was a piece that could physically work...
It’s a haunting reflection of the past, because it was a New Order drum machine… When I wanted to buy a drum machine,
that one was the one that I wanted. But it didn’t exist anymore. And then I realised that they were never commercially made – there were only ten of them made. I found a guy in Germany who had a broken one, and he drew up some plans for me. And from them, I made one exactly the same… It runs on floppy disks, so it’s very archaic.
GFK: Sorry, what? Fl-floppy disks? They still exist?
DS: Yeah! I had to put in a postal order with Dick Smith because it was really hard to find floppy disks… It’s stupid technology. It’s not the most responsive thing.
GFK: Well in that case, why did you want to make it in the first place?
DS: I think it’s just the aesthetic of it, and the annoyance… Sometimes that’s the motivation for me to do things. If it doesn’t exist, I want to rebuild it.
GFK: Were you one of those kids who tinkered around with toasters and stuff?
DS: Yes. Yes. Very much so. I don’t know if it’s like – I don’t want to get too deep and meaningful here – but a denial of my own mortality or something? To find out that something is gone, I have to bring it back.
GFK: So it’s a little like how you don’t realise how much you love someone until you lose them?
DS: Yeah, someone once wrote that by bringing pop culture back, you put some sentimental, romantic light over it in the same way you talk about getting lost loves back: they’re not truly gone. You can bring almost anything back. Never say goodbye, that kind of thing.
GFK: Why do you feel the need to bring things back? Do you not like the world we’re living in now? Do you want to be born in another era?
DS: No, not another era. Definitely not – the here and now is all good. It’s just the denial that things end. They should be able to keep going.
GFK: Interesting theory.
DS: It’s like when someone breaks up with you or breaks your heart – you kind of have this thing with, "We’ll see each other again" or "Eventually we’ll get back together". So that kind of makes you see things through tinted rose-coloured glasses. I’m trying to make those things come back again – except they’re physical objects instead of feelings. Or something like that.
GFK: Well, you do that on the record too – it’s so nostalgic. What about the music?
DS: Well the funny thing about the record was that I never thought that anyone would actually hear it. It was recorded 14 months ago. And it’s still going. And I find that so surprising and fortunate. But I thought that it would be made for an exhibition, and then not get heard of again.
GFK: So the album was actually just intended as a backing track for a gallery? Did you have any musical background before you said "I’m going to make a record"?
DS: [laughs] No, no! I had an acoustic guitar in the house that I’d had since I was 15, and that was it… I just went to Allan’s Music and spent about $3 thousand and then I cabbed home with a bunch of gear and quick-start manuals.
GFK: Were you brought up in a creative household?
DS: No, not at all. My dad was a bank manager, and mum worked in a clothing store part-time.
GFK: How did you become 'you' then?
DS: I remember having this conversation with my brother when we were very young. And I just said, "I don’t want to do what Dad does…" I’m not a religious person; I know that we only live once, and I don’t want to do
that for 40 years, with a bad wage, a rented house, and working in a bank… I knew by 14 or 15 that I wanted to do art. I knew I wasn’t that smart, and I knew that I wasn’t going to become a lawyer or a doctor, particularly going to a public school in Byron Bay! And so I could only grasp on to the one ticket out. And that was art.
GFK: So you thought, "I don’t want to be poor – I’ll become an artist"?
DS: That’s right. That’s exactly it.
GFK: Well that’s a little unconventional. I guess everything you do is. You really do have your fingers in lots of pots.
DS: My dealers would often say, "What the hell are you doing?" because five years after I became successful [as a photographer], I did a show of paintings… which of course didn’t sell. It was a massive risk. But I knew it was about longevity. And I know it still is…
GFK: So what do you call yourself in that case?
DS: Just an artist.
Darren Sylvester's latest showing is at
Sullivan+Strumpf
Fine Art (Paddington, Sydney) until April 18th. His self-titled album is out now through Unstable Ape/Remote Control. More at
myspace.com/darrensylvesterband.