Music to Sustain You: An Interview with Robert Forster
Photo by Stephen Booth
Australian singer/songwriter Robert Forster has always maintained this rosy life philosophy, but unexpected events that affected his family during the recent pandemic pretty much hammered it into stone: A great album can not only sustain you, spiritually, through difficult times, it can quite literally keep you alive. The former Go-Betweens anchor traditionally believed for most of his 47-year career. “And that is a key point, a key observation of creativity,” he says, in specific reference to his latest seismic-shifting solo set, The Candle and the Flame, released today, Feb. 3. “And we think we’re lucky that we have this world that we can go to, where we can create and forget about what was happening around us. So a project can just be so vital—I’ve seen it.”
It’s a testimony to the clever, comforting craftsmanship of Foster, 66—who first plied his trade with fellow drama class student Grant McLennan when they formed the brilliant Go-Betweens back in 1978—that listeners don’t need to know the dark Candle/Flame backstory to appreciate its rich, resonant material. It opens with the Brisbane native’s trademark angular guitarwork, galloping across the skeletal backdrop of “She’s a Fighter” and its simple repeated lyrics, “She’s a fighter/ Fighting for good.” Then it segues into a reflective “Tender Years,” and wistful reminiscences like “I see her through the ages…I can’t live without her.” Next: The chucka-chucka guitar cluck of “It’s Only Poison” (which observes that “The summer is over” but “You’re far from over”, and is trilled by Forster’s wife of 33 years, Kerin Bäumler), followed by other quiescent janglers lie “The Roads,” “Always,” “I Don’t Do Drugs I Do Time,” and a supple sentimental closing ballad, “When I Was a Young Man.” The cover art—a purple-inked Durer-stark sketch of a hand rattling a tambourine—betrays no secrets, either, but it somehow thematically fits the tone and depth of the material, some of Forster’s most sobering, to date, which only rises to its full stature when you learn its personal history. Even now, it’s not a comfortable story for him to recall.
First, the great news: Foster’s spouse is okay, doing well today and in good spirits. But in 2021, Bäumler was blindsided by a cancer diagnosis that shook the clan to its foundation. But they refused to succumb to depression, and—while undergoing intensive treatments for the aggressive disease—instead became consumed with recording The Candle and the Flame (Forster’s eight solo outing) together, family style, with respect to the grueling chemotherapy sessions, which sometimes allowed for only a day or two of studio time a month. She sang and played xylophone, daughter Loretta also chimed in on electric guitar, son Louis added serpentine bass and more guitar, and Forster himself rooted the proceedings via lead vocals and acoustic six-string. Distracting herself with such engrossing work not only kept his wife alive, it just might have saved her, too, the singer reckons. “And hopefully, for other people dealing with cancer, it would be my big wish that they had some other big thing that they could just dive into, because it just helps so much,” Forster adds, before mapping out the arduous trek for Paste.
Paste: After everything you went through during Covid, then—of all times—your wife get an unexpected cancer diagnosis? I would be shaking my fist at the sky, going ”Really, Universe? Now?” How did she discover she was ill?
Robert Forster: I know, I know! It just came completely out of the blue, and it changed everything. And so had been in Covid for a good 15, 16 months, and this just set us off. And obviously, Covid’s not going away, so we’ve just been at home and in that tunnel, but it’s only now that I’ve just started to come out and do things, and Karin is getting better, so we’re in a better place as we started this year. And with the diagnosis, unfortunately the symptoms were emerging at the same time as Kerin had her first Covid shot, which she reacted to and it just masked things for a little while. But she sort of knew there was something wrong, but didn’t know what, so she was just doing tests, and finally it showed up. It was ovarian. At first we didn’t know what type it was—we got the diagnosis, and then Kerin had a couple of weeks where she was doing a lot of tests, then going to the hospital and getting scans, too, to find out the exact location of the cancer. But thankfully, then you go right into trying to work out how it’s going to be treated. And fortunately, she was able to start the chemotherapy very quickly, and she’s still on it, but on a more temporary basis.
Paste: You’ve said that, ironically, you wrote the music for the album’s opening track, “She’s a Fighter,” before she got that diagnosis. That’s eerie.
Forster: I knew by the music, which was very short and sharp, that there was not much room to put in lyrical information, so it would have to be short and concise. And just watching Karin gather herself and prepare herself, and her attitude going into treatment was just really a positive outlook, and a positive energy, so that line “She’s a fighter” came to me, and then the second set of three words, “Fighter for good.” And it just slotted so brilliantly into this piece of music that I had, and that was the only song that I’ve done since she got the diagnosis, and it’s just like the singer/songwriter in me, keeping me in the moment, when I got the lyrical inspiration to add to that piece of music that I had. And the other eight songs on the record were all written in the previous three or four years. And it is kind of weird. And it is eerie. And of course, we noticed that straightaway, and I can’t think of another eight songs that I’ve written as a batch in my life that presaged a situation that hadn’t yet occurred—it was very spooky.
Paste: Looking back on your life, have you experienced any potentially psychic moments? Or being in touch with the otherworldly?
Forster: I don’t know. I don’t write with set themes. I write from the inspiration that I get from music. As I said to you before, the shape of the tune “She’s a Fighter” sort of dictated the lyric. But maybe you develop some sort of sense of the future, just because you’re working so much, so it’s hard for me to tell. But there’s a lot of evidence stacked up that somehow, these songs were in touch with something that resulted in all of this. But she’s not one that sort of reflects or responds to what happened, but it’s just that it sort of filters through all the songs in various ways.
Paste: “It’s Only Poison,” for instance—you often have to kill cancer with virtual poison. And “I Don’t Do Drugs, I Do Time” is a metaphor for what she underwent, or suffered through.
Forster: Yes. That’s true. And that’s why it’s lovely that Kerin sings that, because we also wanted the record to be—or she, in particular, wanted it to be strong, and to not wallow in anything. She wanted the record to have joy and be positive, so I think she was doing that subconsciously when she came in with the vocal that she sings on “It’s Only Poison.” It really gives a very fresh, sort of poppy feel to it, which I think is beautiful. And maybe it’s a cliche of drug-taking, but when people talk about it, it’s all about changes in perception and colors and sounds, and a hyper-awareness and mind traveling. Which to me always equated to memory—I can sort of get that, or those sort of kicks, just by letting my mind wander in the past and thinking about things. It’s just an equation that I felt between drug taking and the past.