Billiam — DIY BABES ZINE

DIY Is Creating Outside of Capitalism

"Punk is rooted in leftist ideals and ideals of anarchy, and I try as hard as I can to live and create my stuff in those ideals."

With Billiam’s sophomore album, Animation Cel, out on August 9th, Billy and I chatted about music's prolific impact on his life and how art and politics collide, even inadvertently.

By Billie Estrine

Thurs. Aug 8 2024

Where did you grow up?

I grew up in Melbourne, in the suburb of Kensington. It's probably a 30-minute walk from the middle of the city, so it's relatively central. However, it's still in an area that's more housing than city things. I don't know if anyone reading this is from Melbourne, but it's between North Melbourne and Footscray. I still live there; I'm living with my folks at the moment. I've been in Melbourne my whole life.

What inspired you to start making music?

Well, this is gonna be an embarrassing thing to admit, but I used to be really into WatchMojo when I was a kid. There was a video that had "Warning" by Green Day in it, and that song really stuck with me. I'd listened to music before then, but it was usually pop [or] what was on the radio. That was the first time I heard a song that wasn't on there and that really appealed to me.

From there, I went down that path of 90s alternative, Blink 182, Foo Fighters, that kind of diet and stuck with that for a little while. [I] started to take an interest in learning guitar and [creating] music, but it was never with any goal of releasing it independently because I had no clue how that worked.

I started to veer towards indie, Mac DeMarco, and that Courtney Barnett scene. When I was about 16, one of my mother's friends showed me Modern Living by The Living Eyes, which was put out by Anti Fade Records, and that was the changing point for me. It was the first time I had heard a record by a band that I could go and see in a small venue and talk to. That was just so incredible and life-changing. It made me want to dig deeper, and soon after that, I heard Blood Visions by Jay Reatard, Band of the Future by AUSMUTEANTS.

I started sneaking into shows because I was 16 [and started] going into venues. From that point onward I was making music with the intention of putting it out, like on band camp. I started playing shows with a backing track, which got some attention, mainly because I think people thought it was funny that this 17-year-old kid was playing shows. HoZac Records, a really fantastic American label, put out a 7-inch of my stuff. I got a band, Disco Junk, and I did that for a little bit. Then, in lockdown, I started to focus more on the Billiam side of things, and that's where we are now.

What about playing in small venues really meant a lot to you?

I think it was that connection to the music and that social thing. 'Cause I wasn't a very social kid. I didn't excel in anything in school; I didn't really do anything outside of school aside from watching YouTube. I didn't really have a life, and the fact that I could make this thing and go to this thing and people not only would talk to me but also wanted to talk to me and were interested in what I did. If I asked for help with something, they would give it to me. It was fucking insane to me; to be able to go to something and have someone voluntarily talk to me and be interested in my stuff and want to interact with it was incredible.

What was it about the Green Day song that inspired you?

That song hits so quickly and is so direct, but still has [a] sense of melody in it. I'm fully willing to admit I'm a fucking huge Green Day fan; not their newer stuff, but the older stuff kills, and I'll fight to my grave on that. But, it was so direct and simple [and] still had that pop sense to it. It had a strong melody. It was memorable, but it was still so minimalist. It's just guitar, bass, drums, vocals. It stuck with me so much.

My parents definitely have a big part in it because they were in that 90s scene. They were seeing Green Day and bands like that and a lot of Australian equivalents. When I told them about Green Day, they got really excited and were very encouraging towards it. They gave me their CDs, so I heard a lot of Green Day from that.

Were your parents instrumental in showing you music that you became interested in?

Yeah, definitely. We don't agree on everything, but we agree on a lot and they were encouraging towards music. I think because they realized that I wasn't going to do fucking anything else with my life. They were just glad that I was doing something and had a productive thing that I was doing that wasn't sitting at home. So, they were encouraging towards that.

I think I only ever got told off once for sneaking out, and then they kind of realized that I wasn't doing it to drink. So they were just like, "Ah, it's better than him doing heroin."

There are a lot of references to cartoons in your music, especially Sonic the Hedgehog. Can you explain the significance of the cartoons?

I don't know if there's much significance in terms of emotional impact. I don't have an emotional connection to a lot of stuff. I really like writing about things, [especially] media. I really like watching [something] and trying to translate that into a song. I like watching a movie and then taking one specific line from it and building something from it.

Sonic is because I like video games, and I realized very quickly that it gets a good reaction from people. If I mentioned Sonic, there's kind of this wider cultural sense of Sonic, at least among the people I tend to interact with. It's this weird, kind of autistic, dumb thing, and it gets a reaction from people. I find it easier to write about; there's not that much [depth] to it.

Plus, I like the games; I play them. I might as well write about them. I just write about what I want, and that might include something that means something to me or something that's just 'cause I like the song title.

Based on the article profiling you in Beat Magazine, your friends who are passionate about art and music are really important to your drive and creativity. Can you describe a specific time this ecosystem helped your creative process?

Fairly recently, a lot of my friends have been pushing to go interstate. Obviously, the geography of Australia is not really built for touring. Driving from one state to another takes eight hours. It's not like everywhere else where you can drive for three hours and end up in either a completely different state with a different scene or a different country.

I saw a few friends going up to Sydney, and I was really interested in that. I looked into it and realized I could book a show with a guarantee because I had friends who were booking shows. That would cover my flights and accommodation, or I could stay with friends. Then we could go up and do that. It was kind of this thing [where] I did it, and then afterward, I had friends ask me, "How did you do that." I was able to give them the same hookups, give them the emails of the booker, or explain how to get round-trip flights for 300 dollars.

From there, more and more friends started to go up, and then friends started to go together. One person would rent a van for a week, drive up, do four shows, then drive back. That pushed a lot of people to do interstate [gigs] that they wouldn't have normally. I think that's [what] drives me, getting pushed by my friends to do things because they did it [and] I'm probably able to do it. Or being able to help them do that thing because I want to see them succeed.

What is the most significant difference between making solo music and creating in bands such as Billiam and the Split Bills?

I think with solo music, for one, I feel more motivated with it, mainly because I'm really shit at planning things unless I do everything myself. If it comes down to planning to meet up with friends, either I have to do all the work and book everything myself, or I have to let someone else do it because I'm too scatterbrained to do it myself.

In terms of creating music, which I haven't done a lot of with the band yet, but we've started doing it. On the next record that's coming out in a couple months (oh my it's coming out on Friday, August 9th!) Lach, the drummer of the live band, who has a fantastic project called REVV, drums on a few tracks, and the next Billiam album; he's gonna be drumming on all that and helping me record it.

Making music with other people calms my head down a little bit because I can get out of it. I really don't like getting into my head too much about music because I think it makes it worse. Having that second opinion really helps. Even when I'm doing it by myself, I'll send tracks to people, and I'll just tell them to "Tell me point blank whether it is bad or not." If they say, "This sucks." I can be like, "Great, throw that in the bin. Work on the next thing." Or if they say, "This is good, you should keep it." I'm able to analyze what worked about [it].

Can you tell me about your recording style?

I've only recently upgraded it. For the longest time, I had a Tascam Digital 8-Track, this little box with a recording interface set up in it. You can press record, and it has EQ and mixing options, and you can do all that. It's meant to emulate the original Tascam 4-Tracks, which worked with cassettes. It has that mechanism, with the digital thing, and I would put everything into that. Drums were two SM58s, SM57, the most basic microphone you can get, one point above the kit, [and] one inside the kick drum. I record the drums with that, making sure everything's loud enough. Then, I would take that drum track and sometimes edit it on a computer because I'm not very good at drumming. But most of the time, I just use the drum track. I would add the guitar and bass. None of my equipment is expensive because I'm scared of spending money on gear. Everything I own, my entire recording setup is probably under $2,000. [I] record straight from the guitar pedal into the little interface. I'd [also] run my vocals through a guitar pedal to compress them and add a bit of delay. From there, I'd mix it on the thing, export it, and then give it to someone else to master.

I only recently got a digital interface, so I can record onto a laptop, which is the same exact process but gives a bit more freedom. I only got it in the past week, so everything I've put out on the internet, except for maybe six songs, was recorded through that method (this interview took place in June of 2024).

When was the first time you recorded music?

I think in primary school, in year six, when I was 11, one of the things my school did [was] a fashion show, and I was in charge of the music. It was the first time I used GarageBand on the school iPad. I am so mad that I don't have that track because I desperately want to hear it. In terms of more recording stuff, relating to now, I had a high school iPad, and I would use GarageBand on that. I had digital drums and a really bad guitar amp, but I would record everything through that. I did that for about two years and got as good as I could with that method. That kind of taught me the basics of recording, where to put the thing, and how to level the knobs.

How old were you?

[I was] 13 to 17. I got the digital interface when I was 17. Most of the stuff that was on the iPad isn't online anymore. Or [it] was never released. Everything on Spotify is done through that [digital interface].

How did you decide that a lo-fi recording style was the way to go?

Finding out about people like Daniel Johnston and The Dead Milkmen was a big part of it. I distinctly remember there's a Foo Fighters song called "Ecstatic." It starts with this distorted, crunchy guitar that's clearly recorded with one mic in the room, and then it cuts into the song, [which] sounds like a standardly produced rock song. I remember, even as a kid, I was like, "Fuck, I wish it just stayed on that sound the whole song." It would always disappoint me [to] the point where I wouldn't listen to it.

When I started to find Jay Reatard and Living Eyes, I was like, "Whoa, these bands actually have that sound the whole time." I would find stuff like The Mummies or Weird Paul, and all these bands, the plethora of Killed by Death bands (Killed by Death is a compilation of rare punk rock songs primarily from the late 1970s and early 1980s). I was like, "Oh my god, this is awesome. I love these songs so much, and they sound like shit."

Plus, I get really anxious in a recording studio. I've done it a couple times now; even if it's a friend's house and it's super chill, I get really anxious. It's just a miserable experience for me. Having that freedom makes it so I can record and not get freaked out. I love the sound. I love the freedom of it. It's the way my brain works: do it cheaply and quickly so I can move on to the next thing.

How would you describe the community created by the Naarm/Melbourne underground music scene?

It's definitely fantastic. Obviously, whenever you talk about a scene, there are bad things to it. What I've discovered is the bad things are the same across every fucking scene. The same annoying people or things that meddle with it exist across everything. You can spend all day talking about it, but I don't think it's really relevant. It's a given with any community of people. I'm sure the fucking Macrame community in France is the exact same as the Melbourne music scene in terms of drama.

It's fantastic [though]; one thing I've noticed about Melbourne is that there are multiple scenes. In a lot of places, there's one punk scene or one friendship group, and if you aren't a part of that group, you can't really succeed in a major way. In Melbourne, there are way more smaller communities that are way more dedicated to building each other up and coexisting. [Another] fantastic thing about Melbourne is that there's space for everything. Obviously, a plethora of music venues and new ones [are] still opening up. Melbourne had the longest lockdown in the world; afterward, more venues opened up. The government puts money into venues, they back it, and it means that there are places to play. Also, it means that other spaces pop up, record stores that will take stock and push bands music, or there's a place called Sticky Institute in Melbourne, which is mainly a zine-focused place. They have access to a badge maker and a really good industrial printer that you can use for dirt cheap. All these [different spaces] can be used to help push [creative projects].

Right now, obviously, scenes go in and out, [but] there are people who are really pushing for things. Pushing to get their records on an international label and then tour over there or push to start a label here to push their friends’ bands and help record other bands and do everything out of a love for it. I feel so fucking privileged to be a part of [this moment in the scene]; it really is something that I'm proud to say.

As a kid, I didn't think Australia was cool. I feel right up until Trump was elected president, nearly all Australian media was imported from the U.S., and the U.S. was held on this pedestal. That inflected onto me thinking that the U.S. was the only place where things happened. Now, I've seen how incredible people around me have been. Obviously, you can go further into it. Australia has sweeping problems, but I don't think it matters in this context.

Can you talk a little bit about the difference between government money being able to fund places to make music and places like record stores and Sticky Institute? How do they work together, or how do they work separately?

I mean, government funding is one of those things that's a bit random. Depending on which state you live in, Australia, it's either really easy to come by or really hard, and they'll fund some things but not other things. Some places refuse to take it out of principle. It's one of those things that exists in the background and does help a lot, but people don't want to acknowledge it. It's a bit tricky.

I think most spaces do exist outside of the context of it and will only take it if it's down to a necessity. Obviously, during [COVID] lockdown, they had to bail out a lot of venues because they couldn't make any money. Even then, venues still had to do fundraising, sell t-shirts, and do a plethora of things. There's one venue, The Last Chance, they refuse to take any government money because they don't want any of it. They recently did the largest crowdfunding campaign in Australian history to save The Tote, which I would consider the Melbourne venue. They bought it, changed up the ownership, which had been shit in the previous years, and has made it into the main venue in Melbourne again. I hadn't gone to a show at The Tote in two years, and since the start of this year, I've been there at least 60 percent of the weekends; it's that much of a space now.

It was all community fundraising?

The community raised three million dollars for it. Shane and Leanne [who own The Last Chance and then created the crowdfunding campaign and bought The Tote are] fucking legends and incredible people.

Do you think there's something political about creating a community?

I think there's something political about existing. It's a natural part of it, and definitely, there is something political about creating your own space outside the idea of profit. You can make money, but if you want to make money, you go as far away from punk music as you can because it's not a thing that makes money. It's definitely in the space of leftism. I am not a fucking political scholar; my music isn't political. My art isn't in general political, but I have to acknowledge that music comes [and] all art comes from a political side. Especially punk is rooted in leftist ideals and ideals of anarchy, and I try as hard as I can to live and create my stuff in those ideals. Someone starting up a band and managing it themselves, doing all the financial stuff, and putting out their own records is a way to avoid the capitalist system of the world.

Did you know many of the people you play gigs with before you started playing in Melbourne?

In terms of Split Bills, everyone I did know. The whole concept of the band was [that] it's my four closest friends in a band. Lach's my oldest friend, the drummer. I'd known him since 2017 [and] he was pretty instrumental [in] getting me into a lot of bands. We met in Warrnambool, a country town three hours out of Melbourne that my mum's from. He's from Mount Gambier, between Warrnambool and South Australia, so it's about seven hours out of Melbourne. We met on Record Store Day and started talking music and exchanged Instagrams. From there, we kept a long-distance friendship up for a long time.

Mary-Lou, who's left the band to do a bunch of cool uni stuff I'd known for ages. A friend introduced me to her, and she at the time was doing Sweethearts, which is [a] soul collective that teaches young fem musicians how to play, and they tour the world. Ada, I'd met because she was also really young making music in a band called The Vovos, who are fucking fantastic and still going. We got along really well. Jack, I met because he had just moved down to Melbourne at the start of lockdown, and I met him at shows, and we just got along really well, really quickly. Florence, who's the new bass player, met Ada at Arts Uni and very quickly became close friends with everyone because she's a fucking legend.

I think that to be in a band, you have to be friends with everyone outside of the band and have that disconnect from the band for it to be fun and to function.

Has music helped you build community?

Oh, I don't think I would have a life without it. I owe music for basically every productive thing I have in my life. I don't know what the fuck my life would be like if I wasn't doing this stuff, but I think it would be pretty boring. I'd be at home playing video games and then just go to work for nine hours and then go back and play video games.

It's what's allowed me to open myself up as a human, get different experiences, and talk to different people. [Music also allowed me] to do something; it's not the most productive thing in the world; I could be a doctor or build houses for people. [But] it's a thing that I think people enjoy, and I enjoy, and I've been able to connect with people. So it's my whole community.

Does the music community in Melbourne include people who play in bands and the locals who come to see shows regularly?

I think, at least in our community, there are not as many people who just go to shows. Most people who go to shows will get involved with music at some point. If not being in a band, like taking photos or writing about bands. I can't think of many people who just go to shows. They definitely exist, but usually, they'll go to bigger shows or the upper echelon. Most shows I would go into and the people I know would also make music.

There definitely is a big scene of people who just consume it, especially now internationally. The music seems to [be] exported a lot, and people have a very keen interest in new stuff coming out of Australia.

In January, the band Goblin Daycare compiled a compilation of 27 unreleased songs to raise money for organizations providing humanitarian aid to Palestinians. How did the Palestine Solidarity Compilation come together?

So, in 2020, I did one for the bushfires in Australia. I put together a compilation relatively quickly. It was a really productive thing, but it fucking killed me. It was so stressful and intense. It was something I put too much into. So I've always wanted to do another, and the idea obviously crossed to do one for Palestine, but I never had much [of a] concept in my head.

I started interacting with Mr. Goblin Daycare himself on the internet, and he brought up the idea to me. He asked me for a track, and obviously I have a shitload of unreleased stuff, so I gave him something. I offered to help him get some Australian bands 'cause the Palestinian liberation movement, especially what's going on recently, has been very much in the forefront. There are lots of fundraisers and people trying to do things, so it wasn't hard to get tracks. I helped bridge a couple gaps. I knew a few people who had unreleased stuff, and I put the idea to them because, obviously, if someone you don't know puts an idea towards you, you might be a bit less likely to do it, and it might be a bit harder to reach them. So, I just helped with that.

I didn't do any of the art side or the marketing side. Moose, my friend who I've played in bands with before, runs Dupe Shop, a cassette company based in Australia. [Dupe Shop] helps get cassettes in here, and [he] dubs them for people. It's where I get my blank tapes. He helped do the artwork and dub the tapes in Australia so people in Australia could buy them. There are a lot of people who really need to be thanked for that comp, all the labels that put it out here, and all the various people and that jazz.

What does it mean to you to be a part of the fundraiser for Palestine?

I'm just glad I can help, it's so obviously fucked and so intense. It's fucking horrific to think about, and I've never had to worry about a meal in my life; I'm still able to live with my parents, and I'm still able to like to do all this stuff. I come from what I consider to be a fairly high privilege. I think I've earned everything myself. My parents don't pay for any of my stuff. I still work jobs but have never had to worry about the roof over my head. My art isn't very political, and I'm not a particular scholar on this stuff, so I don't want to insert myself in a way that's insulting, or that seems like I'm trying to use it for profit, which I've seen people do, and I don't like.

To help in this way, that's doing a productive thing that hopefully gives a bit of money is something that I'm very grateful to be asked to help with. I'm happy I can help because I don't like sitting on the side, but I also don't want to insert myself.

You organized the bushfire compilation. Have you participated in activism through your music in any other ways?

We've definitely played our fair share of fundraisers, and obviously, if anyone wants to use anything I've ever made for any fundraising effort, I will never say no. I'm not particularly picky with how people use my stuff anyway, especially for that.

I was at the Uni Melbourne encampment for a little while when that happened a couple of weeks ago. 'Cause I had a friend working the door there, and he asked me, "Hey, can you come and help out?" I was like, "Yeah, sure, I'll come keep you company." It was mostly just us shit-talking and playing with a tech deck for like five hours. So, I don't know how much activism that is. I get very anxious with protesting and find protest environments really intense, so I try to help out in any other way I can. Whether it's promoting and giving to mutual aid, or something like the tape, or it's doing something that supports a cause and gives people something to listen to.

You said that your music isn't very political, but do politics and social issues affect your music in any way?

I've written political songs, but I can't call myself a political band when a good chunk of them are about Sonic the Hedgehog. I just write and make stuff, and the world around me influences that. I am a part of a community where bigger world issues impact that, and obviously, that's going to come out in my writing.

I don't want to ever push myself as a political band or an artist because that's stolen valor in a way when I have friends who are doing real activism work and not playing in any venues and only organizing DIY shows where all the money goes towards causes like that. I can't claim it in that way, but it definitely affects my art.

How does activism blend into the larger Melbourne underground music community?

A lot of the people who participate in underground music are going to be interested in it. There's a lot of solidarity between both. I've seen people have speakers at gigs who deliver information about Narcan or rent housing unions and stuff like that. People put flyers at their gigs to get people to [go to] certain things or mention stuff on stage.

There are a lot of bands that solely exist for that, and obviously, people in the community just want to help each other out, and if it's a good cause, it's a good cause.

Check out Billiam’s Instragram: https://www.instagram.com/billiamofbilliam/#
Bandcamp: https://hiimbilliam.bandcamp.com/music

Billie Estrine

Naarm/Melbourne, Australia

Home Next →