Chris Russell, Melbourne’s struttin’, howling bluesman and half of the eponymous Chris Russell’s Chicken Walk doesn’t fanny about. When asked how he’s doing, the response is honest, expansive and sad. “It’s been a big time recently, with Dave’s son’s cancer [drummer and other half of Chicken Walk Dave Follett’s little man has Stage 4 Neuroblastoma, an aggressive and cruel cancer affecting kids], I’ve broken up with my wife, two cats died and I was dealing with a suicidal woman on the phone for three hours the other day, which is not my job, it just randomly happened while I was at work,” he says. “It’s been a big couple of months.”
All things considered, Russell is remarkably chipper. “That’s where I’m at, but I actually feel really good,” he reflects. “Sometimes you feel more alive in a crisis. Have you ever watched a couple of teenage boys bolt across the road and nearly get hit by a car and when they get to the other side they start laughing? I kind of feel like that.”
Worry Me in the Daytime, a short, award-nominated documentary about Russell, is set to air again in September, followed by what promises to be another raucous Chicken Walk gig. The film, which traces Russell’s music, day job, battle with grief following his sister’s death, love of Delta blues and pains to avoid cultural appropriation in 21 minutes, is a corker. Directed by Sebastian Broadbent, the short begins with Russell setting off in half-light with his dog and making his way to the golf flagpole factory where he worked. “That’s the other thing – I changed jobs,” he says, with the kind of laugh that comes from having the world as you know it explode.
The experience of death, marital difficulty, serious illness and changing jobs are four out of the top five causes of stress and anxiety. That said, Russell’s really digging on his new job. “I got an office job and I’m helping people with their health insurance,” he says. “It’s actually more fulfilling than it sounds. In a lot of cases, I’m dealing with people with disabilities or serious medical problems who can’t afford to get treated and I try to find ways to get them help.”
It’s also a stepping stone in a grander plan to work with blokes who have been subjected to violence or abuse. “I want to make a difference and make my life mean something,” Russell says.
“I don’t have kids. For a lot of people, their children become their meaning and I don’t have that, so I want to find it somewhere else.”
For the time being, Russell has found that meaning in music – first, as a means of providing connection. “Music is, or at least it can be, an empathy machine,” he muses. “Often at a gig there might be little groups of two to five people that know each other and by the end of the gig you’ve got a hundred or a thousand people who’ve all shared something together. I think in our society that’s really important, because we’ve lost a lot of our rituals. A gig is really underrated as a cathartic experience.”
Secondly, music has offered him solace and safety, something which is also explored in the documentary. “I’ve always found music to be really meditative,” Russell says. “When I was growing up, I didn’t want to be where I was, I grew up in an unpleasant environment, so I developed a rich fantasy life very early on. It was my safe place. I picked up guitar at 14 and I was absolutely terrible at it. Then my sister died when I was 20 and the only thing I could do for about a year and a half was play guitar to process it, so I was doing it 12 to 16 hours a day. It was all I was doing, to the extent that I became pretty much non-verbal. I didn’t speak to people and when I had to, words sounded foreign to my ears.”
Known for his work ethic (Russell gets up at silly o’clock to practice) and wailing blues in the vein of R.L. Burnside and Junior Kimbrough, Russell’s not beyond throwing a curve ball. “At the moment I’m exploring ’80s funk, Prince-sounding shit,” he says. “Mostly on computer, not guitar.
“I’ve always been obsessed with Prince. I can remember watching him play live in ’92 or ’93 and I literally did not have one friend who liked him, so I just went by myself. But I remember the first time I was aware of Prince was seeing the ‘Controversy’ film clip when I was about ten. You know, there’s a guy in a trench coat, leg warmers and a g-string with high-heels and it didn’t freak me out because he owned it and it was just so fuckin’ awesome. He was just rocking that shit. It just got me and it’s always stayed with me. So, I’ve been working on that stuff on and off for years. It’s just a little thing I do to amuse myself.”
CHRIS RUSSELL’S documentary Worry Me in the Daytime will screen at the Spotted Mallard on Saturday September 17, with live performances from Chris Russell’s Chicken Walk and Grim Rhythm. He also performs at Chopped festival in Newstead on September 30-October 2.
Written by Gem Doow