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Hands across the worldThe Hidden Cameras expand geographically and musically with their new album, Origin: Orphan
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“There’s a connection to the past while representing the possibilities of the future,” says Joel Gibb, discussing the fifth album by the Hidden Cameras, Origin: Orphan. With the orchestral sweep and sing-along pop melodies of old, plus novel elements such as synths and slow-dance ambiance, the record builds musical bridges while exploring contrasting notions of single-cell existence. But Gibb’s comment about the band’s past and future refers more specifically to issues of space and time: A few of the new songs were developed during the sessions for the band’s 2006 album, Awoo, others were worked out more recently in their primary base, Toronto, and still others saw the light in Berlin, where Gibb has been living part-time, working on music as well as textile art—his felt work was exhibited last year in the show Ad Memoriam at Berlin’s Exile gallery. With the band’s figurehead anchored overseas, the already sprawling collective felt free to expand further, picking up a violinist in London, a viola player in Saskatoon and such guests as Mocky, another Canadian based in Berlin, who played trumpet on the record. This could be logistically crippling for some bands, but with a dozen-plus players, Gibb & co. are accustomed to such complications. “It’s as challenging as it always is,” he says, “but to me, it’s more rewarding because you’re not limited to a certain city or place, and the band can reinvent itself with each tour.” The future for the Hidden Cameras also includes “a very cheap, ’80s Yamaha keyboard,” which lightens the orchestral load on songs such as “In the NA,” the album’s sprightly first single—there’s an In the NA EP featuring exclusive songs, and a great video viewable on YouTube. As for “the NA,” it’s “a variable, like X, Y or Z, you can replace it with whatever you like,” says Gibb, who has often leaned on his semiotics studies for lyrical inspiration over the years. “The song itself is about meaning and playing with the idea of interpretation.” While there’s no conceptual thread tying the entire record together, the songs address “grand themes” that are recurrent in Gibb’s lyrics, namely alienation and “the individual vs. society,” which, given Gibb’s recent partial relocation, could be interpreted as reflections of isolation in a foreign city. “Possibly,” he says, “but you can feel a lot more lonely in your hometown than you can in a strange town.” Five years ago, Gibb paid tribute to his hometown with the record Mississauga Goddam, but even though that album, like its predecessors Ecce Homo and The Smell of Our Own, deal with personal politics and issues faced by your average suburban homosexual artist, Gibb is hesitant to interpret his own albums, or even songs, as a whole. “I’m better at explaining individual lyrics. When it comes to a song, it’s more difficult ’cause often each lyric can have its own story. With a record, I would probably need 10 years’ distance to talk about what it actually meant. “I’m wary of turning interviews into psychoanalysis sessions,” he adds, laughing. “I feel like I’ve already said so much on the record—what else do you want from me, people?” WITH GENTLEMEN REG AND CRUISE |
