Great Lake Swimmers - The Lone Swimmer

The Great Lakes region of Ontario: it's in a small country nestled among these breathtaking landscapes that Tony Dekker's artistic journey began, the mastermind behind the Great Lake Swimmers project. Shy and introverted, gifted with an extraordinary sensitivity both musically and humanly, Tony has remained a simple, down-to-earth person despite the international success achieved with the Swimmers. Just months after the release of his latest EP "Song Sung Blue", in this interview Tony traces the story of his project, from its beginnings in a barn to the imminent release of his fourth album "Lost Channels".

Let's start with a classic: the choice of name. I imagine "Great Lake Swimmers" might somehow be linked to the Great Lakes stretching between Ontario and the United States, and your Canadian roots reinforce the evocation of this image. But why "swimmers"? 

I grew up in a small farming community on the north shore of Lake Erie, in Ontario, and I have fond memories of swimming in the lake as a kid. Since then I've spent most of my life in that pocket of land between Lake Erie, Lake Ontario and Lake Huron. The part of the name referring to swimming just seemed like an appropriate thing at first, and then it also took shape in my mind as a metaphor for hope.

The hundred-million-dollar question. How did the idea of becoming a musician come about?

I didn't always want to become a musician. Originally I wanted to be a writer, but I also dabbled in songwriting, and so when I moved to Toronto I started playing them live. From there, music slowly began to take over my life. In a way, it was the idea of becoming a musician that chose me.

The style of Great Lake Swimmers has been compared to that of several artists from the folk scene, from Neil Young to Sam Beam to Mark Kozelek of Red House Painters. Of all the comparisons you've come across, which one would you call the most far-fetched and furthest from your music? And which one is dearest to you, the one that flatters you the most?

I don't pay much attention to this kind of comparison. It's certainly an honor to be mentioned in the same sentence as Neil Young. I have great respect for these artists, but at the same time I feel set apart from them.

The current lineup of Great Lake Swimmers could be seen as something of a choral extension of what, on the self-titled debut, was actually your solo moniker. How did the collaboration with the other members of the group come about?

I still have a fairly solitary mindset when it comes to songwriting. I need to be somewhere quiet, and I'm generally quite resistant to collaboration. However, after starting this project, thanks to shows in Toronto I was lucky enough to meet musicians who were quite similar to me. Over time, playing alongside them at many shows, a greater spirit of collaboration evolved naturally.

Let's move on to (weewerk). Your relationship with this record label has something romantic about it: the first album credited to Great Lake Swimmers actually carries catalog number 01, also being the first album officially licensed by the young Canadian label back in 2003. Since then, all GLS albums have been released by (weewerk), and even after signing with Nettwerk in 2007, the band's management is still handled today by Phil Klygo, the mastermind behind (weewerk). It's the story of an artistic partnership, but perhaps it's also the story of a friendship…

Phil was one of the first people to hear my music outside my circle of friends, after I'd recorded the first album under the name Great Lake Swimmers. Right from that first record, Phil worked tirelessly across the whole Great Lake Swimmers production, and I think I share with him the same sense of independent-minded ideals. (weewerk) started out as an artistic space, an art gallery, and our first album was originally released as an art piece, with all the original copies hand-assembled using that very exhibition space at (weewerk). The album then took on a life of its own, and other bands got drawn into that artistic space, so (weewerk) grew into becoming an independent record label. Phil has been involved with the Swimmers project from the very beginning, and after we signed with Nettwerk he moved into more of a managerial role.

GLS's self-titled debut was recorded "over the course of several months in an abandoned grain silo" in southern Ontario. The desert-like atmospheres and the raw immediacy of the arrangements on the album seem perfectly in tune with that setting. What made you choose such an unusual location? And in general, how much does location shape your immediate inspiration and the overall mood of an album?

The silo location was chosen initially for its acoustics, which are amazing, wonderful. After recording a few of the first tracks there we realized the mics were picking up a lot more than just the reverb. Besides the silo's natural reverb, we were also capturing sounds from the surrounding landscape, things like wind, rain, and crickets chirping, which came through especially when we recorded late at night. Rather than trying to shut those sounds out, we decided to embrace them, and what you hear on the tracks is exactly what was there when we recorded; nothing was added or taken away. I think using an approach like that, documenting a place as well as a set of songs, pulls a different kind of performance out of you than usual. A special place, or one with a certain kind of energy, becomes a sort of deep well you can draw the performance from, if that makes any sense.

GLS's second record, "Bodies And Minds", seems to shift toward folk-pop atmospheres, perhaps thanks in part to other musicians joining the fold and the resulting more communal framing of the songs. What changed in your approach to songwriting once GLS became a band?

Actually, my approach to songwriting hasn't changed: I go somewhere quiet, mull over some ideas for a while, then bring the songs, almost finished, to the musicians I play with, and we start from there. A lot of the time I already have most of the instrumentation in my head, along with plenty of ideas for arrangements that the band then helps me carry out. That said, since "Ongiara" there's been heavier involvement from the group in developing the songs.

In 2005, alongside numerous artists from the Canadian and American independent scene (Mark Kozelek, Broken Social Scene, Sufjan Stevens, Hot Chip, Rosie Thomas, just to name a few), GLS took part in the making of the album "See You On The Moon!: Songs For Kids Of All Ages". The idea behind the album was to bring together songs written and conceived for children. Children of all ages, as the subtitle suggests. "See You On The Moon", the GLS track that also lends its title to the compilation, received widespread praise and was included by Canadian radio station Cbc Radio 3 among the best (Canadian) singles of 2006. Is that result perhaps a symptom of a full-blown, irreversible case of Peter Pan Syndrome? Jokes aside, how important is the ability to "stay a kid" for a musician?

Writing a song for kids was a way to step outside my usual approach to songwriting and try something different. It was a lot of fun to do, and that particular song ended up taking on a life of its own. When you're writing a song, it's hard to predict how it will end up being received by listeners. I have no real ambition to record songs aimed at children, but "See You On The Moon" was truly a great experience.

To actually answer the question, though, I think the idea of youthfulness is a feeling that comes from within. Personally, the process of writing a song and the whole idea of making music still feel fairly mysterious to me, so I suppose that in itself is also a way of staying young.

2007 saw the release of "Ongiara", which partly departs from the intimate atmospheres of its two predecessors and is enriched with fuller arrangements compared to the previous "Bodies And Minds", resulting in a distinctive, all-round communal feel and a sturdier overall work. Did these changes also come with a different emotional tension during the writing of the songs?

After writing a lot of material for "Ongiara", I had very clear ideas about the instrumentation and arrangements. I was able to bring the others in on specific parts of the album, and in the end "Ongiara" turned out, compared to the previous records, a bit fuller on the arrangement side, without ever feeling weighed down by it. I like that "Ongiara" still has a light, airy atmosphere, and that was really important to me. Ultimately, though, I think it just comes down to truly sensing what the songs need. I think of songs as little universes, and for each one you have to follow whatever feels right within that universe.

The story behind the title is pretty funny, because despite everyone who would have loved to find some "spiritual-metaphysical-highbrow" meaning in it, "Ongiara" is simply the name of the ferry that used to take you to the place where the first version of the album was recorded. How did that choice come about?

At first I just thought the ship's name sounded mysterious and that it could make a great album title. When I started doing some research into where the word came from, it turned out the name apparently derives from a peaceful indigenous tribe that lived in the Niagara region of Canada, where I also grew up. So, after making that discovery, choosing "Ongiara" as the album title was really an easy call.

Let's talk about your new EP, "Song Sung Blue", the original soundtrack to the documentary of the same name directed by Greg Kohs, centered on the tragic love story of the duo Lightning & Thunder, a Neil Diamond tribute act. Is this the first time you've composed an original soundtrack? What was your "technical" approach to writing songs that had to be tailored to the film's various scenes?

This was my first attempt at writing a soundtrack, and I found it creatively rewarding on a lot of levels. For one thing, the themes and ideas already existed, so it was really just a matter of enriching something that was already on screen. Normally, when I start writing a song, there has to be at least one idea, or a seed, or something to spark the whole process. That wasn't necessary when writing a soundtrack: since I could play the footage on a screen in the studio, I'd pick up whatever instruments and play along as the film ran, developing ideas right there on the spot. It was a fairly intuitive process, and I really enjoyed doing it, even though it was a pretty unusual experience for me.

Do you think that having a "fixed script" to follow, as with a sequence of images for a soundtrack or a theme to stick to for a concept, is something that constrains a musician's creativity, or do you think it can actually stimulate it further, or in a different way?

For me, creativity was further stimulated, because I wasn't afraid to try out ideas, for songs or instrumental pieces, that I don't usually experiment with in my songwriting (like, for instance, playing objects in the background, using loops and other studio tricks), while still keeping everything fairly natural and using the acoustic instruments I'm used to. Being able to do that definitely allowed me to expand my creative boundaries.

The EP also includes a cover of Neil Diamond's famous "Song Sung Blue", which plays over the documentary's closing credits. How did it feel to reinterpret this Diamond song?

I thought I could draw out some of the song's more melancholy aspects and bring the folk instrumentation a bit more into focus, so as to get a different result by taking on another angle of what I consider a pop masterpiece. Something like that doesn't always work, once you start picking a song apart, but the songwriting of "Song Sung Blue", like most of Neil Diamond's songwriting, is strong enough to withstand that kind of treatment and still make sense, still sound really good even in a different light. It was definitely a challenge, but it was also a very rewarding process, bringing a song like that back to its essentials.

To what extent do you think you can "impersonate" a song in a reinterpretation? In other words, how far do you think you can go in reworking someone else's song without risking, on one hand, destroying its identity, and on the other, remaining completely detached from it/excluded?

I'm not sure I have the answer to that question, because I've never had (and don't have) any intention of impersonating songs. As for my cover version of "Song Sung Blue", I tried to live the song and turn it into something personal, while still paying homage to it. In a way, it was like giving the song another identity, but I think there's something fun about that, and the strength of "Song Sung Blue" is proven by the fact that the song doesn't fall apart in someone else's hands.

In one of your lyrics you say: "Sto facendo una lista di canzoni da poter cantare da solo". Imagine you had to list three songs by other artists that you'd want to "sing alone", dedicating them to yourself. Which would you choose?

I'd choose "Fare Thee Well, Miss Carousel" by Townes Van Zandt, "The Angel Of Death" by Hank Williams and "I'm Goin' Down" by Bruce Springsteen. Each of these songs has, in its own way, tremendous power.

How do you experience your relationship with your music when you're on stage?

When I'm on stage I get the same feelings you'd have being in a church, or something like that. I try to behave as if I were in a temple or some special place. I dig deep inside myself to try to recreate the feelings I had in the place where I wrote the song I'm singing. It's important to me to be able to convey what I was feeling in that moment, but I don't insist on trying to slavishly reproduce the song exactly as it is on the album. Since it's always a different space or place, the song will obviously sound and come across differently every time.

On YouTube there are numerous GLS videos, three of which stand out ("To Leave It Behind", "Backstage With The Modern Dancers" and "Your Rocky Spine") made by Scott Cudmore, a young and talented video-maker (The National, Hayden, Simon Wilcox, among his other "victims"). How did your collaboration come about?

I first met Scott through his "nosebleeds" series, "Nosebleeds", which is a set of photographs, taken by Scott, in which people are portrayed in strange settings, with a bleeding nose and blood on their face. I posed for one of his shots and shortly after we collaborated on a video for "To Leave It Behind", a song from our album "Bodies And Minds". Scott creates short films and music videos in the same way a songwriter would approach writing a song, in my opinion. He has a huge wellspring of ideas and enthusiasm, and among the people behind a camera lens, he's one of the few I trust.

Speaking of your involvement in "Nosebleeds", on Cudmore's site I found the photograph featuring you: you're standing in front of a fireplace, looking down, holding white flowers in your hand... with dried blood under your nose. Can you tell me about this unusual experience?

As I said, this was my first project with Scott, and it was really interesting to watch him build a setting around an idea. The idea was to evoke a feeling of unease and create an image that told a sort of story, even though it wasn't clear what that story was actually about or where it was heading. That photo is a strange little scrap of abstraction.

What was the hardest video to shoot? And the funniest story?

Actually, the video for "To Leave It Behind" was made with such a limited budget and timeframe that we had to rush to get all the shots in, because at a certain point it started getting dark. I don't really have any funny stories about it, except for the fact that the video was basically finished within a few hours, once everything was set up and we were ready to shoot. It's a testament to Scott's inventiveness and his ability to get things done within very tight constraints.

Your fourth album, “Lost Channels”, is due for release at the end of March 2009. Can you give us a preview?

I'm really excited about the new album coming out. It was recorded with my friends Erik Arnesen, Julie Fader, Darcy Yates and Greg Millson, as well as Erin Aurich and Mike Olsen on strings, Paul Aucoin on vibraphone, and two special-guest Swimmers, Serena Ryder, who sings on "Everything Is Moving So Fast", and Bob Egan (of Canadian band Blue Rodeo) on pedal steel. We recorded a lot of material in the Thousand Islands region, an area along the St. Lawrence River between Ontario and New York State that we discovered thanks to our friend, local photographer Ian Coristine. Some of his photos can be found on the 1000 islands photo art website. The new album is called "Lost Channels" after an area along the St. Lawrence River, and it comes out on March 31, 2009.

We opened the interview talking about the meaning of the name "Great Lake Swimmers", and to close it I picked out a curious definition of swimming I found online: “Swimming: From the outside looking in, you can't understand it. From the inside looking out, you can't explain it”. Do you think this quote could apply to music in some way too?

Yes, I think I'd agree with that. Music is an unusual world to navigate because it's full of a staggering number of idiosyncrasies.

(25/02/2009)

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