Tash Sultana will play Spark Arena on November 25. Photo / Supplied
Tash Sultana will play Spark Arena on November 25. Photo / Supplied
Tash Sultana’s music is soulful, chilled and breezy. The sunny grooves and warm vibes produced by the multi-talented musician make you want to relax and go with the flow. It’s easygoing. Before the interview, I was given a small list of rules to follow, but I didn’t mind. I was chilled out and happy to go with the flow.
Besides, the guidelines didn’t include anything particularly outrageous; Sultana’s pronouns are They/Them, they’re a ONE-piece band (emphasis theirs) and there’s to be no questions about their past drug addictions because they’ve hashed that out plenty of times over the years and it was a long time ago.
All of which I considered fair enough. And while we would hit an abrupt snag, it wouldn’t be until much later. Which we’ll get to shortly.
We’re talking with Sultana because, on Saturday, the multi-instrumentalist plays Spark Arena. I’m excited about the gig. Sultana’s concerts have earned a reputation as being mind-blowing, almost spiritual, affairs. One local reviewer described their 2019 Spark show as “wave after wave of psychedelic musical mastery”, before calling it, “an unforgettable, one-of-a-kind concert experience”. All of which is my bag.
Back then, Sultana was the band. Utilising a custom-made loop station they’d jump from instrument to instrument building and performing all parts of their songs live and on the fly right in front of you. Since then, they’ve experimented with bringing other musicians out on stage to play with them.
I ask what configuration they’ll be bringing to the Spark show and Sultana replies, “I can’t actually tell you that.”
Again, fair enough. I understand not wanting to spoil any surprises so I laugh and say, ‘Oh, secrets!’ and Sultana chuckles softly and says, “Yeah,” before giving a little teaser by adding, “But it’s a show that New Zealand has never had before.”
Given the reputation of their shows and how much thought and planning must go into executing a gig where they’re literally playing a horde of different instruments, I ask about the creative ideas and feelings behind them.
“I don’t even think that much into it, you know,” they say. “I purely base things off the vibe. It’s all about the execution of performance. And I do my own thing. I’ve kind of created my own sound. And I’ve created my own style of performance. When you actually harness what is yours without copying other people and walking in other people’s shadows you’re going to be delivered something that is unique to you. That’s the beauty of it.”
For them, it’s all about “real live music” and “real gigs”.
That word, real, comes up a lot during the interview. It’s something they are incredibly passionate about. As they’ll later say, it’s something they were born with, but I also wonder if some of it is a reaction to their viral rise to fame which happened after they uploaded a video performing the future hit Jungle on YouTube in 2016. The impressive bedroom performance clocked up a million views in a mere five days, kickstarting the journey from busking on the streets of Melbourne to releasing platinum-selling records and generating more than a billion streams.
“I’m not a hit chaser. I’m not a radio artist. I’m not a mainstream artist. I’m not a commercial artist,” they tell me. “I’ve got no interest in any of that s***.”
Sultana is fiercely independent. As well as writing, performing, recording and mixing their songs, they also look after the business side of being Tash Sultana. They have their own label, Lonely Lands Records, which they started in 2016 as Jungle took off, and their own booking agency, Lonely Lands Agency.
“Everything that I’ve ever done has been independent. I’m the only artist on that label, it’s only for me,” they say. “There’s a reason for that, but I’m not gonna give it away.”
They tell me they like to do things on their own terms because they found the music industry was run on, “cheap tricks, and fake promises” but also because they felt like they never fit in anywhere.
“I always forged my own path,” they say. “I’ve never relied on anyone to get me to where I am. I just did it on my own. And I’ve maintained that in all areas of my life. I saw opportunities, and I went for them. I encourage anyone else that if you see an opportunity, you should f***ing do it. Because you don’t know what that thought is going to amass into. It could be the best and biggest thing you’ve ever done.”
This spirit to seize the moment and get on and do things for themselves is innate, with Sultana saying they inherited it from their dad.
“My dad immigrated to Australia in the 70s and lived in a caravan. Eight of them in a caravan. They were well and truly below the poverty line and they just had to make it work in a foreign country,” they say. “They built themselves up from nothing. So I get that from my dad. He has the same spirit of you need to know how to do everything - or as much as you possibly can - on your own. Rely on no one.”
That ethos is abundantly clear. Sultana is the band, the producer, the engineer, the label and the booking agent. They’re also CEO of some other companies, although they don’t reveal what they are. They have teams and support but it’s still a lot to take on. I ask if they ever worry about burnout.
“I want to live my 20s, in my 30s. That’s my plan,” they say. “I’ve worked really hard and struck while the iron is hot. You know, this is my time so I’ve made it work. I want to get to a point where I can tap out on my own terms and see what else is out there.”
I ask if they have any sort of inkling of what that might be and they laugh and say no.
“I might go and live in a Guatemalan cave and lick toads or something for a bit.”
A few months ago Sultana released Sugar, a sunny six-track psychedelic-soul EP that dealt with some dark issues. The UK’s music institution NME described it as, “intimate and universal in equal measure,” and Sultana themself said its creation brought about new perspectives on life and living. I wonder if there was a catalyst for this new outlook or if they’re a person who often re-evaluates things.
“I’d say I’m pretty self-aware. I’m as self-aware as I possibly could be. But sometimes that is obviously clouded by circumstance or perception, emotion, whatever,” they reveal. “But during that time in my life, I was actually on medications. It was the first time I’d ever done anything like that. That’s probably why it sounds so different because it was so different. That was a project kind of playing around with brain chemistry.”
Knowing of their previous struggles with mental health I ask if they minded, without getting into brands or specifics, saying what sort of medication this was. A personal question, sure, but normalising these sorts of things is something I punt on Sultana being on board with.
“I won’t disclose what but it’s why the album is called Sugar,” they say. “You know, you put sugar in your drinks to make it taste better. It was an experiment, a cognitive experiment through music.”
It is only then that I pick up what Sultana is putting down. The cover’s bright pink artwork of a chilled-out mushroom puffing on a jazz cigarette flashes in front of my eyes like an unexpected flashback.
Ah, yes, I say, before asking what results this experiment taught them about themselves and how it led into what they’ve described as a “new era”.
“To be fair, I’m probably the best version of myself now, at 28.”
Then Tash Sultana says, “Buuuut … ” with the full force of their heavy Australian accent hitting and exaggerating the vowel. “I do have to jump off this call because I’ve got another interview lined up in this block of time.”
It’s an unconvincing assertion. But a final one. Their abrupt ending to our interview plunges us into an awkward void of silence so I eventually splutter out “Thanks for your time and good luck for the show,” and Sultana replies, “Thank you very much,” and then the Zoom call ends and I sit there wondering how many Guatemalan cave toads you’d have to lick before it all seemed worthwhile, before getting up to go and make a cup of tea.
