Written by Thomas Needham
Photography by Robin Hardman
You can find our interview with Courtney Askey (aka. Court Jester) here.
Hello. No, I’m not terrible with deadlines. I am making a principled stand against the algorithm.
We have perfected soul out of music. From the endless recording to the intricate mixing, to the fundamentals of songwriting itself. If music is math, so too can it become formula; reduced and refined.
Before it was even a twinkle in the taint of perhaps the most openly evil people in history designed to hook in the craniums of the most boring people in history, generative AI follows as the next logical step in the rationalisation of popular music. Taste profiles, ‘playlist-ification’, the corporate-driven dominance of veterans over new artists – all vibes over substance.
Those spending their time listening to fictitious, AI-generated ‘JUICE WRLD’ albums were never in it for the music, let alone local music communities. Even as the fad that was The Velvet Sundown passes, there isn’t much to be optimistic about when BBC Introducing is giving space for AI-artist ‘Papi Lamour’ which makes me very happy that I have not and will never pay the license fee. Up yours computer science moralists, we’ll see who replaces who.
The best thing to do is to insulate local music from this kind of prat-ery (especially when that AI-bubble bursts), to serve as a bulwark and a safe-haven for artists, however futile and costly it sometimes seems. I know I’ve taken a particular shine to local music in the face of this anarchic-techno hellscape.
Yes sometimes the music is just plain not good but at the very least it’s real, tangible and something that can be engaged with. It’s the limitations, imperfections and compromises that keep me coming back, that chance to see artists grow and experiment, insulated from the pressures of complete corporate control.
And that’s where we come to Courtney Askey’s new musical project, ‘Court Jester’. Her debut EP ‘I’m My Favourite Clown’ was released on the 23rd of October and it’s the perfect occasion to talk about the beating heart of local, self-produced artistry.
With the marking of her new moniker comes a new sound, side-stepping her previous releases with a sound dominated by a new Mediaeval synth. The EP is as intimate and subdued as it is fleeting. Clocking in at a brisk 19-minutes, it’s like a little musical hug; an acknowledgement that times are tough but you aren’t alone. Regardless, life moves just as fast.
However intentional, I shall avoid the pretensions of explaining the colour theory behind the cover because… it’s colour theory- white and black, dark and light, etc etc. and to prevent the possibility of Kevin throttling me for writing too much (as per usual, I’m already pushing it).
Opening track ‘Thursday in the Panopticon’ begins with the distant ding-a-ling of church bells with the warble of an electric organ and accordion slowly building in the background. There’s something about that simple, ever-building ambience that’s as overwhelming as it is calming. Building towards a cathartic release that never comes. Just the whirling of a click track and then nothing. Welcome to the Panopticon. What is this panopticon? Use your imagination. Perhaps it’s the screen in your hand, perhaps it’s losing someone close to you, perhaps it’s your dastardly parents who won’t let you vape underage. All your struggles are so valid.
There isn’t much I can say about the song itself, in case you haven’t noticed. I go back and forth as to whether it was a necessary inclusion, not because the song’s bad or inherently easy to cast aside (it’s a very good mood-setter for one), I just think starting your debut EP with the lyric: ‘There’s a squirrel dying on my drive’ would have been metal as f**k.
So begins ‘TATT’; its fixations of death and decay are grotesquely mundane, from a squirrel decaying to blossoms rotting in a gutter, they’re hardly uncommon sights, yet it’s this simple matter of existence that the narrator fixates on; projecting this banal reality onto their own lived experience, presumably their grief over losing someone.
The narrator’s condition only worsens, from neurotically ruminating on the dying squirrel, ‘I went out and checked it twice’, they grow to fear confronting what it represents. Simply refusing to take part in the world around them completely; ‘I can’t get outside’.
Lyrics are not poems nor are they prose, nor are they limmericks, to discuss them alone is reductionist when the music itself is what should reveal their true meaning. They exist because of the music and are often only supplemental to the energy a song provides. Good lyrics serve to heighten the material presented and this EP does exactly that. There is a well-considered emotional arc being presented here that’d be a disservice not to explore.
In ‘TATT’ the song is divided between two parts. The first a deceivingly simple rhythmic thumping that not only disorientates, in-line with the running idea of disassociation but is confident enough to let you bask in the bare-bones instrumental for extended periods. That beautiful musical tension builds as the only semblance of melody trickles in the form of a guitar (provided by Rory Booth of Dusker) preluding the second part; revelation.
With a gentle, conciliatory tone, an internal-voice interjects with its mantra-like repetition of renewal …
‘There is another way… another door… another world’
‘You’ll get to where you want’
‘Looking right in front of you’
… encouraging the narrator that although life is full of hardship and pain, while one has life there is hope. Blossoms regrow, life goes on and I’m sure that squirrel will be just peachy- don’t think about it. The hard part is that that shift can only come from within. The rest of the tracklist (bar one) is spent justifying why that shift is so painful to the narrator.
My only issue with the track is I don’t think it builds the tension enough before soaring into the second part of the song. Whether that be by momentarily cutting the sound completely, or pushing the instruments to their limit (or both, I’m not picky), I just can’t shake the feeling there’s a less clunky way of combining the two.
Like a metal spoon I am bending the algorithm using my mind to give me nothing but funny animal videos. So it’s my lucky day that a chorus of cats (shout out to Nola, Lady, Toby and Sonar) serve as the extended introduction to the next track. I love stuff like this, is it a gimmick? Yes. Does it serve the song? Nope. Do I care? Also no! More cats please, thank you.
The narrator of the next track ‘Icarus’ has formed their identity around appeasing others,
‘I’m the follow through guy’
‘I’m a stand up guy’
‘I’m true blue, baby’
‘True blue’
This evocation of personal loyalty and stability and self-sacrifice is the narrator insisting their worth is derived from their self-immolating devotion to others.
‘I’ll Icarus myself’
‘I’ll Icarus my way to the sun’
‘Just to feel its warm embrace’
Traditionally, Icarus is a myth of hubris- in this context it represents how chasing love, approval and validation from others will only serve to hurt the narrator. To be a ‘good sport’ who simply goes with what is asked of them and a ‘good wife’, an emotional caretaker- a crutch even, rather than a romantic figure is neither fulfilling nor healthy.
‘I can close my eyes only after you go’, conveys that despite being so attentive to the needs of others, the narrator carries their own grief alone. The narrator solely exists in the presence of their partner, closing one’s eyes acts as a metaphor for truly trusting someone, living under the constant threat of judgement and people-pleasing, they cannot be vulnerable. A martyr of their own making.
The cello provided by Nellie Cames is as beautiful as it is lamentful, it’s a very painful experience to make into music, informing the lyrics is a single, soft, dinky electric guitar. You feel as though you’re intruding in on a uniquely personal moment, a single figure playing guitar, alone.
I’m in two-minds over the vocals provided by Ray Parkes. I like to think it’s the subject of the narrator’s torment, that they’re imagining finally empathising with their situation. Or maybe I’m just bending over backwards to justify a decision that might well have been made as ‘yeah that sounds class, let’s throw that in’ and believe me it does sound class.
‘I Hate The Big Light’ is the second and final instrumental track of the EP and is easily the most unique sonically.
Aside from a sample that is totally indiscernible to my ears, I only really have my personal interpretation of the song to go off of. EP reviews are always the hardest for me, written in complete isolation, it’s a thoroughly personal kind of experience where I have no tales of knobs wearing The Fall t-shirts to fall back on. I actually have to engage with the art I’m consuming. Damn.
And what ‘I Hate The Big Light’ represents to me is the boots getting a-top of you. While writing this review I had what some would call a ‘crisis of confidence’, below are some of the notes from my original draft for your amusement:
“My prose doesn’t pop enough, nor are my thoughts original enough, nor do my attempts at levity land remotely as intended. I am beholden to the cascading drivel of nonsense and slop. Better yet, I am contributing to the cascading drivel of nonsense and slop. I am the top proprietor of nonsense and slop- the salesmen of the day according to the chief operational director of nonsense and slop limited™ who himself is beholden to the nonsense and slop flavour of the day generated by the nonsense and slop machine.”
“Read all about it, read all about it: local music reviewer suffers nervous breakdown over song that sounds like a cross between ‘Plok!’ and that Sonic.exe creepypasta.”
“I believe this is what the kids these days refer to as ‘deeping it’ and I have come to the sudden conclusion that this is not conducive to one’s wellbeing.”
“The mold in my room is telling me to do something drastic.”
That’s kind of what this song feels like, a very frantic, electro-driven mad-dash that I don’t like re-listening to because it reminds me that every new thing I do is more time spent staring at a screen, every ‘break’ is more time spent staring at a screen and I’m paying 9 grand a year to stare at a screen.
The release of this review is indicative of the fact that I am now of sound mind and can functionally participate in society.
The ‘big light’, (something, something panopticon imagery) isn’t ‘the screens’ as I originally interpreted it as, rather it refers to acknowledging one’s own personal shortcomings and confronting them, especially considering the story this EP tells. So, in a roundabout way I still win. Again, don’t think about it too much.
Now we come to the title track, which is easily the most open and accessible of the entire project, even if I struggled to appreciate it at first immediately following ‘Big Light’. ‘Hair Shirt’ struck me with one thought when it released as Courtney’s sophomore single: ‘ah Micachu and The Shapes, my beloved’
Despite being spoken of as her first crack at a pop track, I think this does undue slander to ‘Anna Bundance’ released back in 2016 (yes, I have a compulsive habit of scrawling through entire discographies for my reviews) and having listened to all of Courtney’s past work (available on Bandcamp for those interested, I particularly recommend ‘Gambler or the Thief’), I get the impression this new pseudonym has allowed her to be far more playful with music as a medium; not quite an abandonment of what came before, but certainly an evolution.
As the most pop-centric and perhaps ‘safe’ song of this project, there’s obviously an aversion to the kind of tension found in previous tracks like ‘TATT’ which inherently makes for a less dynamic listen with a bassline (provided by Lewis Bates of The People Assembly and Dusker) that preludes the pitch of vocals. The principle of ‘don’t bore us, get to the chorus’ is in full swing (and it works, it’s a catchy number) but if the song doesn’t grab you from the get-go, it won’t do anything surprising to re-entice you. I’m just glad there wasn’t a key-change. You can have your fun but don’t take the pi*s!
One thing I do love, however, is the production. It’s so dinky, ramshackle and intimate in the best way. Weird little guys making music in their bedrooms is the way forward. More people should produce in GarageBand and more than that actually release their work. Especially when they have harmonies like this, on this EP they’re dialled up to eleven. I may have misheard the lyric ‘tangled up in some tourists’ as ‘tangled up in some toilets’ but that’s the only time I really struggled to discern what the lyrics were.
‘I’ve gotta get funny again’
‘I need to see my friends’
‘Don’t know what day it is’
‘No clue about any of this s**t’
It isn’t a desire for happiness but functionality, painfully aware that they’ve fallen out of their place as ‘the clown’; the narrator uses comedy as a form of self-defence while their life and time itself has stopped making sense. They’ve stopped seeking genuine closure, rationalising their pain to plod on but they know better than anyone the effort is half-hearted; a plaster over a bleeding wound.
Throughout the EP, each track actively confronts a side of the narrator that they know is self-destructive but can’t confront. ‘Hair Shirt’ contains the most bitter and poignant examples of this. The repeating ideas of ‘clowns’ and ‘shows’ and ‘games’ implies a persona that’s bitingly self-depricating but also defensive; to sabotage themselves more than others will, afterall ‘I’m my favourite clown’.
The emotional underpinning of the song …
‘Maybe in my head I just created an image of myself’
‘In relation to yourself’
‘And maybe it wasn’t real’
‘But I really, really feel like it was’
… is an earnest, painful expression, coping with loss, without whom the narrator lacks definition, akin to their grief, the narrator themselves feel as though they don’t belong anywhere anymore. The chorus is the culmination of this depersonalisation. The feeling (or lack thereof) has become an ambience of life, diffused into a numbness that’s just as hollow and performative as the ‘fun’ the narrator’s now having at ‘this party’. So innate is the narrator’s inability to deal with their pain, that they genuinely don’t know how to anymore.
The song pitters out with the narrator trumpeting the same horn, ‘I’m having fun at this party’, maybe if they say it enough, the illusion will become true. Surrounded by tourists (people who come and go) it’s a forced, perhaps ironic, attempt at closure that will never truly resolve.
Speaking of resolution, the final track of the EP, ‘Holdem’, is by far the stand-out. Serving as the culmination of everything the narrator’s story has led up to, however I don’t know if I’d call it a resolution.
‘Everybody knows’
‘You want to leave’
‘It’s what you think you need’
Despite the narrator’s scepticism, the song starts as a gentle acknowledgement of who they’re addressing. There’s a layer of emotional maturity, or perhaps that numbness, that leads to a confrontation that lacks accusation or dramatics.
The second verse …
‘That’s just how time goes’
‘It walks right over you’
‘You can never get it back’
‘So get back on your path’
… is a level-headed assertion that while time is a brutal force on you, the choice as to whether it grinds you down is ultimately yours to make. Going on is the only direction forward, despite how healing feels so foreign to the narrator, so much so that even ‘now it’s light out… [they] kind of miss the night’. The narrator has stopped running from the ‘big light’, that sense of clarity and perspective that pulls them out of what is familiar and what was once ordinary; their own suffering.
Like ‘Icarus’ before it, the track starts with a simple guitar lick before slowly filling out the sound with a rich bass (also provided by Lewis Bates) and even more compelling harmonies. Leaving the bass for the main refrain accentuates a sense of foreboding that gets completely thrown asunder by the avant-drone of the synth. Repeatedly rising in pitch with a little trill, as if stuck in a perpetual loop, the music itself is trying to compensate for the narrator’s lack of assurance. This is good, this was necessary but at what cost?
‘Will you still like me now I’m here’
‘I’m so much better now’
The track is perhaps the most vulnerable and human of the entire EP; the performance has stopped. Despite this new-found clarity, the narrator continues to doubt their place, it’s a deep-seated fear that authenticity simply isn’t enough.
‘I just wanted you to like what you hear from me’
‘You hear from me (hold me now)’
The repeated echo is not only a plea to be heard but to acknowledge the narrator is now themselves; to ‘hear from me’, rather than a carefully curated character. It’s a confession, ‘I curated myself for you, please accept me.’
And so the EP ends with no answer, just a long fade into oblivion. Perhaps this open-ending is meant to be left up to your own interpretation- or maybe that lack of resolution is closure in and of itself.
What watching Neon Genesis Evangelion does to a mf frfr.
As brisk and fleeting as it may be, ‘I’m My Favourite Clown’ is special. Not through escaping one’s problems but in affirming one’s existence, that you aren’t alone in your fears and anxieties. As long as you exist, at least things can get better. It’s an exceedingly personal record. The line for who this was made for is blurred in a way that really benefits the work.
In a world of wanna-be-rockstars, Courtney has unveiled the soul of local music. This EP spoke to me in a way few bits of art do.
There’s a solace in here that I can’t quite put my finger on but still I keep coming back to try and uncover it. ‘I’m My Favourite Clown’ is not perfect or revelatory but neither is life. In fact, I’d argue its imperfections act to benefit the final product. It might not change your life (that’s your job afterall) but it gives you a sense of perspective to chew on, as all good art does.
Court Jester is an artist you should listen to. Or else.
You can find our interview with Courtney here.