BY STEPHANIE ESLAKE
Think of the word “emo” and you might be propelled straight back to your youth. Long black sleeves. Eyes lined. Ears blasted with a healthy dose of MCR.
On the surface, it’s an aesthetic that some consider cringeworthy; others, nostalgic. But for composer Dan Thorpe, “emo” is a way of life. And while he may have stored his old collection of long black sleeves in the cupboard, he is nevertheless exploring the depths of what it truly means to be emo; to be human. And he’s curated (and composed for, and will play in) a concert all about it.
Emo Phase aligns with Dan’s 30th birthday, and is a celebration of music that makes him “feel like a f*cking rockstar”. It’s also a celebration of life, and all the gritty things that happen as we live it. There’ll be music from the past 10 years of Dan’s life, as well as a new work from composer Cat Hope. There’ll be music from Nico Muhly and Kezia Yap. And it’s all presented by the Forest Collective.
In this interview, Dan talks us through the music and meaning of emo. By its nature, emo gets emotional. So please be aware there may be some triggers for you — in the concert and interview — including discussion about mental illness and trauma.
If you need support, please contact your GP, visit headspace, or call Lifeline on 131114.
Still with us and ready to learn about Dan’s emotionally charged work? Let’s do it.
Dan — curator/composer/pianist is a pretty big bundle of roles for a single event. Why did you want to do this?!
Look, it depends who you ask. Some would say ‘work ethic’, others would say ‘he’s a control freak’, others still might say ‘he has a personality disorder’.
To actually answer your question, though, I hadn’t even thought about it this way. I guess typically, ‘concert pianists’ don’t tend to program their events or compose for them. But I’m not a real concert pianist. It’s been pretty much in line with my career thus far to put together a convincing program and present it to an audience — so why not go hard and do it on this scale?
It’s always such a pleasure to plan out a journey for an audience, and to deliver it is to double your pleasure. And let me tell you, I’m trying to generate as much serotonin as possible in these ‘trying times’.
Your event is called Emo Phase. I love the way Forest Collective promoted your event on its socials: “Lots of people have an emo phase, Dan Thorpe’s just lasted a bit longer.” Tell us, what does it mean to be an emo?
The serious answer to this question is probably somewhere in my love of post-rock/punk/screamo, and how much heavy music in general has shaped how I think about sound, talking to Big Emotions™️, structuring 30+ minutes of music with distinct internal substructures, etc.
But perhaps more potently, for me it’s about thinking about who I was 10 years ago when I started performing professionally; about that guy’s weird relationship to music and being alive, and thinking about my friends who were making similarly intentioned music to me but in bands. And how a lot of them are still alive, too. How we’re all still emos on some level, but how that has changed for us and grown with us.
I’m still in my emo phase in that I’m still convinced music can address things we can’t fully voice, or perhaps scream out things we’re not meant to talk about publicly.
But on a lighter note, I’m still in my emo phase in the sense that I want to play shreddy, bashy music that makes me feel like a f*cking rockstar without sacrificing emotional complexity.
As you head towards your 30th birthday, what sort of emo have you become?
As my psychiatrist put it: ‘You keep saying you’re a Sad Gay Dad. How do you feel about just being a Gay Dad?’ She’s right, of course. And I do seem to be drifting more and more in a positive direction, which is really putting my extensive collection of black long-sleeves out of commission.
I still love heavy music — currently heavily f*cking with Gouge Away, Ostraca, and GLOSS — and I don’t plan on that changing any time soon.
I’m 30 in [redacted] days, and I think for me perhaps what’s changed the most about my work is it’s not exclusively about Big Emotions™️ any more, which has been nice. Turns out I really enjoy being both cheeky and funny while playing the piano, too. Who would’ve thought? But the Big Emotions™️ are still there sometimes, and I feel really proud of how I communicate them and explore them.
I think that’s roughly what sort of emo I’ve become; a coherent[ish] one.
So what does it mean for a concert to have an emo theme? That is, what is the “sound” of emo? Obviously, there’s more to emo music than MCR (as much as some of us may love that band…).
The emo theme-o — I’m so sorry — is really a proxy for growing up.
There are still some strong themes, as discussed a little later in this interview. But for me, this concert is a celebration of making it — both in the ‘holy sh*t, I’m a concert pianist now, what the hell?’ sense, and in the ‘no longer suicidal’ sense.
That said, there are some f*cking rock and roll moments in this show; shreddy, emotional, and virtuosic.
Also, I will hear no bad words against MCR. Gerard Way is a thembo god, and we don’t deserve them.
I’d like to take a serious turn with you, now. There are a number of trigger warnings for this event: mature language, sexual content, loud noises, mentions of death and trauma. Can you tell us a bit about the source of this content in this concert?
Oh sure! I mean, mature language and loud noises are just an unfortunate consequence of me being in a room; you’ve read this interview, you know. It’s perfectly fine to not be all right with that: check back in another time when I’m playing more quiet work — it does happen!
The others are a bit more serious, and I’ll address them properly. I don’t personally believe in spoilers, but if you do, maybe don’t read this next bit.
The new work I’ve made for this concert uses a poem by Richard Siken called You Are Jeff. I speak the poem throughout the piece and it can be found online in full here. The work touches on death, grief and lust.
At a few points, I shout quite loudly over the piano. If these trigger warnings apply to you, I’d encourage you to read the poem if you have the capacity, and make a call based on that. I will say, there’s not violent content in this show, which I think is important when considering coming.
So when working with art that can be triggering, what are some of the safeguards you put into place to ensure the mental health of artists and audiences is respected and treated with sensitivity?
Great question. I made a decision quite a long time ago that I wasn’t interested in making work that gave audiences permission to get off on my queer pain. My work tries to focus on healing and moving forward. I think this is the main way I’ve protected my own mental health in this process, and I think it’s healthier for audiences, too.
We need to make spaces for big conversations, and to be honest how to do this is something that’s been modelled to me by other queers more than perhaps artists. Setting boundaries is core to this, I think; it’s been a really important skill to develop for me.
Your work You are Jeff will be premiered; so will Cat Hope’s Lampi. Why was it important to you to include new works in this event? And on a broader level, how have you found the process of collaborating with these other composers, including Kezia Yap and Nico Muhly?
Oh mate, if I could express to you about how excited I was when Cat said ‘yes’ to writing me a piece; what an honour.
It’s always surprising to me performers don’t want to work with composers. There’s something so rewarding about bringing an idea to life; being the first person to play something. I think part of this, for me, is I play things that require a lot of my input. For example, the first work on this program — Lightjar by Kezia Yap — was a piece I commissioned such a long time ago. And the beauty of a work like that — with so much improvisation and chances for play — is it continues to evolve with me. Same with Cat’s work; I’ve been playing her music for so long, and how I play it has changed so much.
In the case of work like Nico’s, which is substantially more notated, I suppose ‘fixed’, I’d argue the same is true. And the beauty of working outside of the ‘canon’ is there’s so much more room to put your spin on it.
Also, there’s something about new work that tells us a bit about what it is to be alive right now. I feel committed to communicating to people in a relevant, immediate way, and new work makes this easy. There’s plenty in old work too, don’t get me wrong, but I really do feel this strongly about new work in this way.
I have one final question for you: do audiences rocking up to Emo Phase need to wear black?
Look, the dress code isn’t explicitly Hot Goth but it’s encouraged.
See Emo Phase from 23-25 April at Industrial School, Abbotsford Convent. This event is presented by the Forest Collective.
Images supplied. Design by Samuel Leighton Dore; photograph by Mariah Anzil.
