Shank Godley Butcher
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1/6/2008 7:38:28 AM
Shank Interview by Bambie Sundowner aka Silver Witch
I sing for a little-known band called Orange Wizard – Silver Witch. Basically, we live in different countries and all swap files via e-mail and ftp sites. Bambie Sundowner from the band was kind enough to interview me via video conferencing and here’s her finished article. I’m thankful, although a little queasy about some of it. But I do thank her…
Shank Interview by Bambie Sundowner aka Silver Witch
07
In 2004, something really shit happened to Shank. For two years, he was rarely seen in public. What was he doing? Well, he was not in a good place, let’s say that much. If not for music, who knows what could have happened, but one thing immediately comes to mind.
“I think I was too egotistical to commit suicide,” he admits with a wry smile. “So I opted for solitude. But ironically, I couldn’t completely avoid people. If I’d lived alone, I would definitely be dead right now and it wouldn’t have been the regrets and loss that drove me to do it; it would have been fear. In hindsight, there was no doubt that I was mad. Sane people don’t sit in the dark, thinking the devil is standing behind them.”
While Shank whittled away in his dark studio, sidestepping the concern of loved ones, he was focusing on a collection of introspective songs. In essence, they became his mode of survival and defence mechanisms. The more he became obsessed with the evolving compositions, the more he regarded them as therapy.
“And I needed it,” he says with a laugh. “What you have to realise is that I’ve never feared anyone. People have tried to kill me for Christ’s sakes. I’ve had a gun to my head on two occasions. I was a ‘lad’, alcoholic, drug addict and gambler. I’d already tried to self-destruct – and had a little help from some quite disturbing people. No, when it boiled down to it, I was afraid of myself. The music kind of became a confidante. I didn’t trust anyone else.”
And he confided often – over a hundred compositions in the first year of his self-exile. As the ethereal threat faded, real gems were emerging, like the bleak but beautifully ironic Holding On. In its dark sentiment, a glimmer of hope can heard – a ‘cry for help’ rather than a commitment to oblivion.
“The Bush administration was reacting to 9-11,” he recalls. “I was slowly going mad from isolation – talking to myself a lot and drinking constantly – and then there was the thing that originally drove me to the edge, which I don’t talk about. When I looked up after ten minutes of scrawling the lyrics on a notepad, I’d covered all three topics without completely realising. When it got such a strong reaction, I realised it wasn’t just about me. It was about everyone. In a way, that made me think that I wasn’t alone anymore.”
While the raw confessional was charting on sites and garnering praise, Shank was recording at a frightening pace. Soon songs like Nothing (a tale of domestic violence), At The End Of The Line (describing a bitter relationship) and Run (a warning to prospective lovers) emerged as popular additions to the growing catalogue. Live shows ensued – bittersweet affairs that proved that Shank could captivate and silence an audience.
“Ha!” he suddenly yells. “I totally hated the first one. Then I realised, very slowly of course, that no one had moved for the entire duration of the set. I’d been locked away for so long and was so used to the brutal honesty, I just assumed it was the thing to do. This young kid came up to me and told me he loved it, but he did it from a distance. That’s when I understood the effect of it.”
With a new lease on life and a more optimistic view of his own existence, the obvious question has to be posed: will the new songs still contain the essence that sparked Shank’s music career? After all, the demons are gone and logic suggests that the motivation may have disappeared with them. Shank leans closer and as his smile fades, it’s easy to imagine him as ‘the lad’. The tattoos, the old scars and those leering eye
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