FEATURE STORY TAKEN FROM THE BIG ISSUE AUSTRALIA.
The Bedroom Philosopher has proved impossible to pin down for this article. Initially, his publicist gave me the run-around, posting me a phone book sized list of questions I wasn’t allowed to ask including ‘Who are you again?’ I then had to deal with his manager who insisted we do the interview by text message because The Bedroom Philosopher was having a ‘bad sideburn day’. After busting him in a record store putting his albums next to Sarah Blasko’s and making them kiss, the ‘manager’ turned out to be The Bedroom Philosopher himself with an American accent.
Finally, after much to and fro-ing, I’m sipping home-brew on a swingseat at his nan and pop’s place in Tasmania. Fortunately enough, his Nan seems to understand him better than anyone. “He’s always been a very thoughtful and talented young man,” she says. “He was a born entertainer. Once we were at our local Christmas parade, and next thing I know he’s grabbed a shopping trolley, put on a helmet and become part of the float. He’s very good on the armpit – he can do all sorts of tunes.”
The Bedroom Philosopher first found fame (of sorts) in 2002 with a musical comedy segment on Triple J. He performed in festivals and released his debut album In Bed With My Doona. In 2006 his song ‘I’m So Post Modern’ landed in JJJ’s Hottest 100 and he became a share-househould name. His latest aural offering Brown & Orange, described by Pitchfork as “the disc was missing,” offers a shotgun marriage of music and humour, laced with cassette samples from the 70’s.
An ex girlfriend, who insists on anonyminity, says: “He’s a lovely guy, but I’ve never met anyone as unsure of themselves. He makes Gollum look like Anthony Robbins. He wants to be a musician and comedian but I keep telling him, men can’t multi-task! His songs were funny the first time but I needed six months of Beatles therapy to get the choruses out of my head. I was the first person in Australia to take out a restraining order against music. You can’t play his album within 50 metres of me.”
Throughout his career, it seems, the Bedroom Philosopher has left a trail of broken hearts, from groupies wanting a hug to venue-bookers wanting a crowd. One ‘Philosopherette’, who hasn’t left the house in 10 years and is about to publish her first book of status updates. says he is constant blog-fodder. “He looks a bit like Jemaine from Flight of The Conchords,” she reveals, before adding: “Oh, sorry, I thought we were talking about Scod from Tripod. God I love Tim Minchin…”
This year The Bedroom Philosopher won the Director’s Choice award for his Melborne International Comedy Festival show called Songs From The 86 Tram. In the show, he portrayed a number of public transport characters including a hipster, bogan, junkie…and Nan. The sell-out season was derailed when he slammed his bike into a car door on the 86 tram line, breaking his humerus. Upon receiving his award he declared irony dead, adding ‘The darker parts of life are beautiful, and, if you look at them from far enough away, hilarious.’
After agreeing to meet me in an Internet chatroom I asked him whether the crash was an accident or a cry for help. “No comment,” he said and walked out. I was then sent a fax stating: “The Bedroom Philosopher is tired from media and did a streetpress interview last year.”
One music industry spokesman had this to say: “What he’s doing is very original and very funny. I love it. I think he’s the smartest, freshest act around. But I’m not going to touch it. He’s created this gigantic one-off niche for himself that no-one can reach. It must be like the Grand Canyon in there. It’s got its own gravitational pull. He’s too wacky for the music scene and too musical for the comedy industry. Seriously, if I were him I’d consider going electro or writing a self-help cookbook.”
According to his ever stoic e-zine LapTopping The Bedroom Philosopher has recorded an album of the 86 Tram songs which he aims to release as he reprises the show at the Melbourne Comedy Festival. The album features his five piece band ‘The Awkwardstra.’ Bass player and naturopathist Andy “Nature Boy” Hazel said that he was very excited about the album and if the Bedroom Philosopher was reading this could he give him a call?
“We all met at a self-help group called indie snobs anonymous,” Hazel recalls. “We’ve all left really serious rock bands to play sitar and flute and sing songs about real things like Golden Gaytimes and self-pity. We’ve shaved our beards and learned to smile again. I’m so glad we found the Philosopher. We can all put ‘carer’ on our tax returns.”
– Justin Heazlewood.
Biography
The Bedroom Philosopher (nee Justin Heazlewood) was born in Burnie, Tasmania, with a complete set of sideburns. From a young age he began raiding his uncle’s wardrobe for dress ties and sweater vests in a quest to find meaning in mismatched colour patterns. Needless to say, he’s been trapped in a 1970’s aesthetic ever since.
Aside from being the chic-geeks’ pin up boy, this self-deprecating witty maverick also knows how to strum a tune. His masterful creations suggest an earnestness and irony that transcends the mainstream pop world and takes listeners on a magical mystery tour like no other. Who would have thought sitars, accordions and a Wurlitzer played simultaneously could sound so good?
If you happen to be sitting next to him on a tram, you could ask The Bedroom Philosopher about his collection of over 300 ties from the 70s, or the dozens of boxes of cassette tapes he’s bought from op shops or his opinion on the top 5 songs that would benefit from a sitar solo. Questions to avoid would include asking if he believes that deep down he doesn’t deserve happiness so will subconsciously sabotage every relationship he has, or asking to borrow $20.
The Bedroom Philosopher found himself dancing on the tables of the music industry in 2002 with a regular segment on JJJ’s Morning Show. His lo-fi idiosyncrasies resonated so much with their audience that when he released his debut album In Bed With My Doona in 2005, he took pride in placing 70th in the Hottest 100 with his ode to absurdity, ‘I’m So Postmodern’.
Follow up singles ‘Folkstar’ and ‘Golden Gaytime’ created a storm of cult-nostalgia, with the creator of the fabled ice cream himself becoming a fan, offering to divulge his secret recipe in exchange for a free copy of the album.
Since then The Bedroom Philosopher has played many gigs at venues and festivals you have heard of – The Big Day Out (2007-2008), Falls Festival (2004-2007), Queenscliff Music Festival (2008), Perth International Arts Festival (2008), Melbourne International Comedy Festival (2003 – 2006) and National Folk Festival (2003-2004). He has used his Gumby-like flexibility to perform alongside all manner of acts – The Basics, Tripod, Richard In Your Mind, Flacco, Skipping Girl Vinegar and Peter Combe.
The Bedroom Philosophers current live excursion features the fresh faced and dapper dressed five-piece Awkwardstra, comprising of flute, sitar, drums and bass.
He has recently released his second studio-album ‘Brown & Orange’ to critical acclaim, and received the Director’s Choice award for his 2009 Melbourne International Comedy Festival show ‘Songs From The 86 Tram.’
The Bedroom Philosopher lives happily in North Carlton with his tie collection, Yahtzee and addiction to ginger beer.
REVIEWS FOR NEW SINGLE TRAM INSPECTOR
“….The Bedroom Philosopher’s hysterical skewering of meat-headed ticketing inspectors falls somewhere between a Fame-era Bowie slink and inspirational Hunners balladry. I like my musical comedy to, as the name suggests, be musically captivating first, funny second. Luckily, with Tram Inspector, both come equal first.” Clem Bastow, Inpress.
SINGLE OF THE WEEK DECEMBER 16, 2009.
REVIEWS FOR BROWN & ORANGE
“There is a fine line between madness and genius, separated only by the thinnest of margins of subjective taste. From the opening lines of Strange Piece of Music, you are immediately introduced to the core elements of Brown & Orange. The shaky vocal delivery, self-referential lyrics and schizophrenic musical arrangements that move through folkish verses and flute solos only to end in a psychedelic sitar-driven outro. It’s a confronting introduction, and one that will deter as many listeners as it will entice to persevere further. But for the brave souls that weather the seven-minute introduction piece, there is a treasure trove of gems that unfold over the course of the album.
From the rollickingly jaunty Party In My Head and What Am I supposed To Be Doing? To the introspective For The Love I Have For You, Brown & Orange traverses a broad palette of styles, melting them down into a fine soup of entertaining and predominantly poppy moments. And sure enough, there are some fantastic lyrical moments, as evidenced from Jesus On Big Brother and the melancholy Circus Bear. But the highlight of the album comes with the penultimate track, YouTube “hit” Wow Wow’s Song. Over a verse progression that sounds eerily similar to Coldplay’s God Put A Smile On Your Face, The Philosopher adopts a Cookie Monster voice, only for it all to break down in the most ridiculously catchy chorus this century has produced. Six minutes chock full of sublime gimmick pop.
Brown & Orange is a dense, multi-layered affair documenting, at least for the moment, The Bedroom Philosopher’s unique perspective on the world around him. It’s a lavish production and a thrillingly entertaining and equally exhausting listening experience. And while comedy concept records are few and far between in today’s marketplace, The Bedroom Philosopher may just be the dapper dresser to start a whole new fashion.”
Symon JJ Rock, Inpress.
“The Bedroom Philosopher, aka Justin Heazlewood, revealed himself as an hallucinogenic hybrid of Tripod and Syd Barrett on his 2005 cult hit I’m So Postmodern, inevitably putting him in danger of becoming a one-novelty-hit wonder. The BP’s second album Brown & Orange is less explicitly bizarre than the tune that brought him (sort of) fame, placing his eccentric streams of consciousness and oddball stories amidst an apparently earnest style of folk-rock and gentle experimentation (such as placing a taped ‘70s monologue alongside hypnotic Phillip Glass-style repetition).
The swelling orchestral ballad For The Love I Have For You sounds like a straight, serious song, but closer investigation reveals Heazlewood cramming lots of syllables into tiny song spaces, at one point blurting out “Okay, granted, that’s not a very romantic lyric”. Tongue still wedged in cheek, then. The spoken-word short story Jesus On Big Brother is fun as well (“More people watched Jesus than The Simpsons and the news and the CSIs combined”). The record is less successful when he goes deliberately ‘wacky’, such as the “comedy” Muppet vocals in Wow Wow’s Song (La La La). But the record’s charm is revealed in the almost Dylan-esque rant Party In My Head and the laid-back country-rock strum of What Am I Supposed To Be Doing?”
Matt Thrower, Rave.
“It is (like the man himself) entirely enjoyable, entirely likeable, and entirely odd. Only The Bedroom Philosopher would try and make brown and orange chic, only he would write the lyrics “I want a Missy Higgins film clip (for Christmas)/I want a long term relationship with an Irish optometrist”, and only Heazlewood would tell us all that “La, La, La, can only take you so far” (there are a lot more great lines, probably better than the ones here – just go and get the album to find your own favourites). Henceforth he proves that he is a master at word-smithing and clearly can’t get enough of being different. The surprise, highlight and almost religious experiences on the album are the tracks (Brown and (Orange), where The Bedroom Philosopher has sampled a recorded letter and joke, respectively, over simple music, and by doing so, the one and only, the wonder kid, The Bedroom Philosopher, has made Brown and Orange chic.”
Timothy Bocquet, BMA.
“The fact that The Bedroom Philosopher is a talented musician with a highly polished production is obvious from the first few bars. A folk-guitar style, the sound of fingers slipping from chord to chord along the strings throughout a ballad with seventies-style jazz flute (a double flute solo, no less) makes me want to weave daisy-chains and skip through the nearest field. The music jumps from song to song between seventies styles, raw old-school Brit pop, folk guitar chords, and psychedelic sounds created by the Philosopher and his Awkwardstra. I laugh out loud on at least four occasions during the first song (Strange Piece of Music) alone. I’m won over by the lyrics –one of a few songs on the album to employ story-teller narration, backed up with beautiful guitar.
The Bedroom Philosopher is a particularly talented and funny writer. As a listener I identify with every single word – which is the hook. But the usual brash take-the-piss Aussie comedy-music style is replaced by the gently hilarious musings of a poet. I almost fall in love. The original 1970’s home-recordings (apparently discovered by the Bedroom Philosopher in a Canberra Op Shop) peppered between a few songs make for some compelling listening. Really, really odd, and really funny.”
Emma Johnston, Artshub.
REVIEWS FOR 2009 MELBOURNE INTERNATIONAL COMEDY FESTIVAL SHOW ‘SONGS FROM THE 86 TRAM.’
“I implore, nay insist, that you see this quintessentially Melbourne show as soon as you can: it’s as close to perfect a comedy production as I’ve ever seen.” **** 1/2
Richard Watts, RRR
“We’ve previously called the quirkily tweedy Bedroom Philosopher ‘the Jarvis Cocker of stand-up’; and you can almost certainly add elements of The Kinks’ Ray Davies and, almost inevitably, Flight Of the Conchords to the mix.”
Steve Bennet, Chortle.
“Songs from the 86 Tram is drenched with a bring-spare-knickers level of hilarity. This is the most thoughtful, well-conceived show I’ve seen so far, replete with unique observation, heartfelt characters, and extremely skilful musicianship. This performance is ingenious, uproarious, a must-see. I give it my highest rating so far.”
Chuckle Factor: 9.5 / 10
Gemma King, Rabbit Hole Urban Music.
“…deftly observed, heart-felt and achingly funny. The show has beautiful wordplay, with a novelist’s ability to capture moments of truth through seemingly mundane comments. The show is an undeniable triumph and easily one of the highlights of this year’s festival.”
John Richards, Aussie Theatre.
“I love it when comedians do this. I love it when they produce shows that prove conclusively that comedy is an art form, and that, as an art form, it can scale great heights. The Bedroom Philosopher – Songs From the 86 Tram marks the coming of age for this talented comedian. There are still some moments of vintage Bedroom Philosopher surrealism, but what marks it out is the delicate structure which makes this such a terrific show.”
Annette Slattery, The Groggy Squirrel.
REVIEWS FOR BEDROOM PHILOSOPHER LIVE
“The shoeless and emerald-shirted Bedroom Philosopher comes across like a hurricane of inspiration and witticisms. It’s lucky for us that his musical chops are strong enough for him to leave behind the go-for-the-gags hilarity and move into the more observational folk rock as proved by songs like What Am I Supposed To Be Doing, For The Love I Have For You and The Happiest Boy. Thankfully the laugh factor and songwriting skills see the therapeutic effects extend to the audience and judging by this show, his forthcoming album will be a corker.”
Inpress (2007)
“The Bedroom Philosopher, AKA Justin Heazlewood, turns in a cracking performance at the Bosco; sparklingly funny songs, stage banter that provoked audience responses from chuckles and belly-laughs to “deep growls”, and an increasingly sophisticated musical repertoire combined to form an excellent show. In another country Justin might be the driving force behind a Belle & Sebastian-style indie pop group, which combines humour, delicate pop melodies and sensitivity. Clearly in this country that would make you a bloke of questionable manliness and when one is so gifted with actual wit, fey and foppish abilities as BP, you’d better put yourself out there as a ‘funny guy’. He is extremely funny. Of course there was I’m So Post Modern, which he almost seemed embarrassed to play, it being as close to a ‘hit’ as you could expect to hear tonight. At one point he described the best alien economy I’ve ever heard of: they buy things with hugs, “and make change in kick-boxing”. Endearingly sweet, hilarious and occasionally heartbreakingly sad in a glitteringly beautiful way.”
DB Magazine (2007)
“A blend of musical comedy and measured theatrics presents a heartbreakingly funny, touchingly awkward and delicately offbeat retrospective of life, love and lego men. In the small and intimate space of the Lithuanian Club’s loft, you’re close enough to the stage to catch every inflection and nervous glance behind his thick coke-bottle bifocals and identify with his self-conscious imperfections as if he were singing your own. Yet the performance never gets bogged down in too much self-criticism, rather it’s kept light and fanciful with a hint of irony. Singing whimsical reflections on pop culture references, we share the pain of a childhood trauma experienced from the Neverending Story, a parody of Thom Yorke’s depressed persona through a song titled ‘My Nan Really Likes Radiohead’, and the understandable tragedy of a bad haircut. Sweetly socially awkward and at times hilariously relevant, The Bedroom Philosopher is sure to tap into the acoustic folk funnybone of your inner-indie whimsy.”
RRR Radio (2006)
“If Bob Dylan had spent his time growing up in Berwick he might have more in common with the Bedroom Philosopher…one of the few artists making a genuine attempt to explore the oddness of our age.”
The Age (2005)
“A champion of geek chic, the gawky, shy and awkward Bedroom Philosopher is the Jarvis Cocker of stand-up. With so much time on his hands, this self-confessed ‘snooze-button junkie’ becomes delicately introspective, reminiscing about schoolboy loves or endlessly replaying bad comedy gigs through the medium of song. As a show, Pyjamarama is a flimsy shambles, a jumble of deliberate and accidental fluffs giving it a delicate fragility; as if it’s always on the verge of utter collapse. It’s all wonderfully touching, quirkily individual and always unexpected, perhaps a product of living in the hinterland of Tasmania. His folksy songs vocalise his misfit angst, with self-effacing titles like I’m So Over Girls or I’m So Postmodern, a keenly observed take on a life where everything becomes ironic. If you liked Flight Of The Conchords, you’ll love this. And there’s a visual treat, too, in the fantastic display of maladroit physical comedy as he performs the most flamboyantly unsexy come-on dance around. This boy is possibly the worst erotic dancer in the southern hemisphere, and proud to prove it. It’s a miracle that this odd juxtaposition of delicate songs and such over-the-top stage antics works at all, given that it demands the BP be both modest and a shameless show-off simultaneously. But that it’s such a delightful piece of whimsy is entirely down to his irresistible self-mocking charm.”
Chortle (2005)