SPLAT! INXS MAKES THE SOUND OF SUXS

INXS frontman Michael Hutchence is draped casually across an easy chair in a suite at West Hollywood’s Sunset Marquis Hotel. An industrial vacuum cleaner rests behind him, as several maids ponder the formidable task at hand. “Another rock ’n’ roll band,” their eyes seem to say. “Another mountain of rock ’n’ roll refuse to be disposed of.” Hutchence, though, is oblivious to their stirrings; he has more important things to ponder.

A pretty girl sits on the floor beside him, her arms wrapped possessively around his dangling legs. The singer’s hair now reaches his shoulders, framing his pouty, full-lipped face in David Lee Roth-like splendor. In his free hand he holds a plastic fork, with which he tentatively pokes at the peel of a perfect banana someone has left on the adjacent table. Consciously or instinctively, Hutchence is primed for the role he’s been called upon

to play; every sigh, every “mmm.”

every absent gesture murmurs, “rock star in the room.” And yet, amid this almost theatrical display of too-hip dilettantism, the guy still radiates basic OK-ness. Neat trick—-I wonder how he does it.

Hutchence and his five bandmates came delectably close to staging a major breakthrough in 1986 with the platinum Listen Like Thieves LP (which got as high as #5 on the Billboard chartf How, then, does a no-nonsense Aussie band like INXS respond to the considerable pressure that comes with the task of making what is surely the biggest record of its career?

“You throw it all out the window,” Hutchence answers with just the right sort of defiant half-smile.

Not surprisingly, an air of anxious anticipation brewed among the top brass of Atlantic Records as they awaited the completion of the follow-up album. When the master tapes finally arrived at the corporate offices, the bigwigs were somewhat nonplussed by the sounds coming out of their JBLs. INXS had responded to the daunting challenge they’d faced with Kick, a record that was, urn, interesting, but, urn, sort of, well, unusual. All hard edges and open spaces, Kick doesn’t behave like the biggest record of a band’s career is supposed to. It doesn’t readily reveal an obvious hit single, either— seven of the 12 cuts were or are candidates. It’s unXpected, but not INXSible.

“I mean, of course there’s pressure,” Hutchence clarifies, jabbing the fork into the banana. “It would be stupid to say, ‘Oh, we just didn’t worry about that.’ We worried about it. But the most pressure comes from inward—there’s six of us to all give each other enough pressure for anybody. What we did was, we started off by recording about 10 songs in the pressure mode, and then we stopped for a month. We wanted to have a listen—stop and smell the roses,” he jokes. “To have that luxury, we thought, would be great, so we did. And then, in the meantime, we came up with a whole bunch of new songs in a completely different way of thinking. Like: ‘Go for it. Satisfy yourselves completely. Don’t worry about what you think your fans want, don’t worry about what you think the record company wants.’ And Andrew (Farriss, the band’s primary writer) and I were going, ‘Yeah, yeah—this is it!’ So we trashed a few of the old ones and put in the new ones.”

“It wasn’t that it didn’t feel right initially,” clarifies guitarist/keyboardist Tim Farriss, one of three brothers who form the core of the Aussie band. “It just became better.”

So along with the pressure, their almost-breakthrough album bought them some largesse.

“Ultimately,” Hutchence reflects, “what’s good works in the end. And what’s good for us—and we’re the best arbiters of that—I think works best for the fans, even, because they appreciate that we’ve done what we really want to do.”

Atlantic, says Hutchence, “may have been a bit surprised by the first track, ‘Guns In The Sky.’ I’m sure it shook people up, but they expect that from us.”

“Opening with ‘Guns In The Sky,’ is sort of asking to cause trouble, anyway,” Farriss admits/boasts. “I guess in a way it’s a cheeky thing that we approached the album in the way we did. But we’ve always had this policy that we wanna please ourselves first—that’s all we wanna do. Ten years from now, we don’t wanna look back and say, ‘Listen to that hit record we made just to have the biggest hit record in the world—ugggghhh! Why did we do that?’ Y’know? I don’t want my kids to listen to a record that we’re not happy with. We wanna make the record that we wanna make—that we can sit and listen to and all be fans of and feel good about. That’s our ‘quest,’ ” he finishes, softening the seeming self-importance of the statement with a quick laugh.

“This album is the product of the same guys living and working together for 10 years—it’s the album we’ve always wanted to make, anyway,” Farriss further asserts. “Chris Thomas produced again. We’ve never used a producer twice before. We found that recording Listen Like Thieves with Chris was just so much more fun—to just play live in the studio and have the songs so worked out that we were actually playing them like we would live.”

“Chris is funny—he really doesn’t do anything,” Hutchence reveals, not at all judgmentally. “When I first worked with him on Listen Like Thieves... I remember this really clearly. OK, this is Chris Thomas”—he stiffens, getting in character— “ ‘Awright, then, play the song.’ We all go, ‘Right,’ and we’re playing along, and then we come back into the control room. Now, at this point, a normal producer would be in there, going, ‘It’s gonna be grrrreeaaat! They’re gonna come in here and love it! I’m gonna be such a hero!’ But no—we come in and he goes, ‘Right,’ ’cause he’s a very straightforward guy, Chris, he’s not your boogie-down. He says, ‘Let’s have a listen,’ and he turns it up really loud with no effects—nothing—just a microphone. Then he turns it off and he goes, very quietly, ‘D’ya wanna do it again?’ And you’re sort of on the floor cringing. ‘Yes, yes, we’ll do it again. We understand.’

“It’s this wonderful, natural process of arriving at a song. And then, at the end of the day or the end of the week or however long it takes, he does the same thing, turns it up real loud, and you go, ‘That’s it.’ So there’s no shit put on it until the very end, during the mix, when he puts on a few little things. By the time the production’s done, you’ve really listened to the album, virtually. No big secrets. It’s great. More people should make albums like that. ’Cause what you’re hearing on this album is real.” By this time, the banana is no longer recognizable as such.

“Excuse me,” says the maid. Nobody seems to notice.

This band outright refuses to concoct a consistent, identifiable sound. Kick, veering sharply from the widescreen Listen Like Thieves, singlemindedly juxtaposes clipped, funky-but-Chic rhythms and hot-wired punk urgency—an odd but gripping combo. Where did that come from?

“I dunno,” says Farriss.

Good answer.

The only readily identifiable sonic aspect is Hutchence’s unmistakable voice.

“Well, that’ll be enough,” Farriss figures.

“Mmmmm... ” says Hutchence, staring pensively at the brown and yellow mass on the table. He mumbles something about change being “the common denominator.”

Farriss is more forthcoming: “We understand that we’re supposed to have a specific sound, because people keep telling us. But this is the ball game for us— this is what we wanna do. And I think it’s a matter of educating people about what INXS are about.”

So what are INXS about?

Farriss: “Not doing anything twice.”

Hutchence: “The form and function of our music is just the way we do it. The way we record it is the way it sounds— that’s why a song turns out the way it is. We just don’t take that easy option of layering, layering, layering—that sort of sculptural process—”

“Until it becomes a different song,” says Farriss helpfully.

“With us, it’s all ‘splat!’ ’’ says Hutchence, perhaps describing his feelings about the helpless piece of fruit he’s mutilated.

Are we to take it that there’s no specific theme to the album, then?

“At the very least, I suppose, an idealism, a positiveness,” says Hutchence, running the tines of the fork through his hair.

According to the singer, unfettered idealism and positiveness are muchneeded priorities these days, both here and in his homeland.

“In Australia, there have always been those kinds of bands that are picked up by Australian record companies to look like overseas acts. Y’know, there’s an Australian version of, say, Bananarama”—interesting choice, Michael— “not that obviously, but you can feel it. I mean, it’s bad—I don’t like it. I don’t like throwing cash at bands... unless they’re good; unless they really .deserve it. But even still, there are problems.”

What about the Aussie alternative scene?

“There’s some crap. The whole concept that you have to be underground to be good is rubbish. The underground, small-time record scene is there for a reason, and it’s been abused. It was there out of necessity, because there was some major overlooking going on by the big companies. And this stance of, ‘Hi, I’m small-time and I’m gonna stay that way, so I must be good’—it’s a pity. Because there’s a lot of good bands down there that get duped into thinking that way. I don’t know what it is. In Melbourne, that’s all it is.”

It’s pointed out that a similar situation exists in the U.S., supported by college radio.

“Exactly,” says Hutchence, bending the plastic fork between hjs thumb and forefinger. “It’s all outward. But there’s some great stuff, too. See, a guy like Paul Kelly—he’s been overlooked in a big way, and he’s ending up in this shtick of ‘college’—and the guy’s brilliant. It’s a part of the process of doing it, I guess. But see, when we first came over here, we expected college (interest) and a few more years of playin’ around—and that was fine. So what’d we do? An Adam Ant tour! And his whole thing had gone down the chute by the time we hit his tour, and our single was going crazy. So we had this hit, and Adam’s like not very happy, and ‘Don’t come to my par-fy, you motherf—s.’ He just went crazy, and we didn’t get it—being big in another country before you even arrive there.”

Nope, INXS hasn’t had to suffer for success—it has come naturally, through talent, timing and sheer good fortune. Nor has the band yet felt compelled to devise a master plan.

“When you start thinking about tomorrow today,” Hutchence submits, “if your life doesn’t turn out tomorrow like you wanted it to, then you start getting disappointed. And also, you screw up today by thinking about tomorrow. You can really screw yourself up thinking about ambition too much. We just do it—we play our gigs, record our albums, go on vacation, come back and repeat the process. Luckily, it’s been working for us. Maybe that’s the secret.

“I mean, we don’t leave anything open,” he clarifies. “As far as how we do things, we’re very businesslike. But only in the sense that we’re efficient. We don’t—”

“No one f—s with us!” Farriss snaps/ quips, getting to the heart of the matter.

Since the ’60s, though, the ambitions of rock musicians have also been associated with certain causes. People expect serious bands to have serious things on their minds.

Hutchence: “They should, too. This is the most highly-educated, most politically and socially aware generation—couple of generations—ever. Even more so than the ’60s—at least they’re straight now. We’re talking hard-core conscience. And I don’t think you can treat people like idiots and preach to them. At the same time, I don’t think it’s a natural thing when bands write something political—it’s part and parcel of life today.” The fork snaps loudly, breaking into pieces under the pressure of his fingers.

On the other hand, “I think political music is a lazy man’s politics. Throw your record on, dance around with a beer in your hand, ‘Well, that’s my political activity for the day—what’s the single?’ It’s crap. Hopefully, a couple of our songs will trigger things in people’s minds, make ’em curious, maybe open up their eyes. But mainly it’s a motivation. There’s no answers—that’s just outright idealism. Knee-jerk politics in music just shits me.

“ This is wrong!’ ‘CONK, CONK.’ It’s boring. If you wanna get political, folks, get out there and read books, read magazines, watch TV, keep your eyes open and do something about it.”

Hutchence is rolling now. ‘‘The same goes for highly political bands. Some of them actually do good, but a lot of them are wankers, and they should go out and become social workers, y’know?

‘‘Like the Redskins are a Labour Party band; they do ads and rallies for the Labour Party. God! Are they willing to take responsibility for everything the Labour Party does? It seems like a wank to me. Music is a greater thing than politics; politics is just.. .banal.”

But what about the other extreme: bands/artists doing commercials for consumer products like Miller Beer and Pepsi?

Farriss: ‘‘It bothers us enough as a band.”

Hutchence: ‘‘We’ve turned down millions.”

Why?

Farriss: “We don’t like seeing other people do it; it’s pretty obvious.”

“I think Bowie’s just on the big cashin,” says Hutchence, glancing at the plastic splinters he holds in his hand. “He’s done it well enough already—the guy started a lot of what music is today. The only reason Boy George could prance around in a dress a feto years ago is because Bowie did it 15 years before him. I think he’s overestimating his credibility on that level, though. You just cahn’t prostitute yourself that much.

“And like McCartney—Chris Thomas does McCartney’s albums, and I’d say to him; ‘Cahp’t you just grab McCartney by the f—ing cuffs and shake him around?’ And he says, ‘Well, that’s the whole thing. His music is brilliant to start with. He comes up with these amazing songs— he plays them on his guitar and it sounds great.’ As Chris would say, ‘It’s f—ring brilliant! And then, six months later, in come the f—ing spanners, mates! What does he do? He goes down to the f—ing studio in Scotland and he sits around for f—ing six months with one song. He puts the f—-ing strings on.’ He just cahn’t handle leaving something alone.”

Oh, dear, we’ve gotten way off the track. Let’s pull it back with a quick evaluation of INXS’ basic strategy vis a vis the biz.

“We fight fire with fire,” Hutchence states. “We’ve got good people working for us, and we understand how it works. (The record business) is a lot of bullshit, and a lot of normal human pursuits, as Vvell. There’s the guy who goes around to the stations all day or whatever, and he’s got a wife and kids himself, too. There’s all different sides to it. And if you can get some humor into it, it’s good. It gets taken so f—ing seriously, and of course there’s a lot of money in it—that’s why.

“But on the whole, we do whatever we want, really, I suppose,” Hutchence muses, tossing the pieces of plastic onto the table.

And, gee, the boys in the band actually get lots of money for doing whatever they want—such a deal.

“It’s good,” he confirms, gazing down at the young woman on the floor beside him. “The struggle now is maintaining your sense of values. There’s too many carrots dangled all the time, I suppose. The struggle is just maintaining that levelheadedness.” Hutchence smiles and pats the girl on the head—neither absently nor condescendingly, but with a full measure of basic OK-ness. @