Interview with David Sylvian: To Blow The Heart Wide Open

David Sylvian unveiled a momentous achievement with the release of the 10-album box set titled "Do You Know Me Now?" spanning the years from 2003 to 2014. Transporting us back to 2010, a year when I engaged in an extensive dialogue with the artist, encapsulating that era. The conversation occurred as I reviewed the majority of his albums under his then-active label, Samadhi Sound. These albums encompassed collaborative projects such as Nine Horses, Jan Bang & Erik Honoré, and Franz Wright & Christian Fennesz. Notably, the collection includes a unique compilation CD named “Do You Know Me Now?” housing exclusive tracks recorded with Ryuichi Sakamoto and Nine Horses. This treasure trove of content prompted me to revisit the insightful interview. Without further ado, I present the interview:

In an era where many artists prefer the safety of familiarity, David Sylvian stands apart as an explorer of uncharted sonic territories. Throughout his illustrious career, Sylvian has consistently challenged conventions, offering listeners a departure from the ordinary. His work resonates with self-awareness and introspection, seeping into every nook and cranny of his creations. The most captivating of his compositions delve into diverse themes—spirituality, soul-searching for the modern world, and the intricate nuances of the human experience. Sylvian's songs are ethereal and delicate, confronting listeners with the complexities of existence.

The 1980s witnessed David Sylvian rise to stardom in the visionary guise of Japan, a band he disbanded at the peak of their popularity in 1984. This marked the inception of a reinvention journey as an artist determined to embrace challenges and pursue a deeply personal vision. Since his debut release, "Brilliant Trees," Sylvian embarked on an exceptional career, blending his resonant voice with studio wizardry.

Subsequent albums, including "Gone To Earth," "Secrets of the Beehive," "Plight and Premonition," "Flux + Mutability," "Rain Tree Crow" (a brief reunion of his former band, Japan), "The First Day," and "Dead Bees on a Cake," stand as testaments to brilliance.

In essence, Sylvian's joy lies in the realm of diversity. His role as both a leader and collaborator transcends musical boundaries, exploring realms as varied as jazz, pop, soul, world music, progressive rock, electronica, and the avant-garde. The production values and collaborators gracing his albums are of the highest caliber: luminaries such as Holger Czukay, Ryuichi Sakamoto, Jon Hassell, Evan Parker, Bill Frisell, Marc Ribot, Robert Fripp, and more.

Sylvian's albums occupy a unique space where visual and auditory arts converge. A painter himself, he comprehends the impact of visual elements on the perception of music. The artwork accompanying his recordings is nothing short of magnificent, graced by contributions from luminaries like Russell Mills, Anton Corbijn, and Yuki Fuji.

For most of his career, Sylvian was associated with Virgin Records until the year 2000, when he bid adieu with two remarkable compilations: "Everything and Nothing," a vocal compilation, and "Camphor," an instrumental counterpart. These releases served as apt summations of his career, offering a vivid portrait of an artist's evolution.

In 2003, Sylvian founded the Samadhisound label, a realm where music and art coexist harmoniously. Beyond his solo endeavors, the label has introduced a myriad of artists, including Harold Budd, David Toop, Steve Jansen (Sylvian's brother), and Sweet Billy Pilgrim. The label's inaugural release, Sylvian's improvisational gem "Blemish," set the stage for an array of distinctive offerings.

Remarkably, with nearly thirty years of scattering eighteen studio albums, David Sylvian shows no signs of slowing down. His most recent studio album, "Manafon," stands as one of his most daring. In this all-improvised venture, Sylvian collaborated with a stellar cast of improv musicians, resulting in a fusion of strange and evocative textures where voice and music meld beautifully, bridging two disparate worlds.

As we celebrate forty years of his recording journey, David Sylvian remains steadfast in crafting music that is deeply personal and uniquely his own. An artist's artist, Sylvian continues to create melodies that resound with his individuality, reminding us of the timeless power of artistic authenticity.

Vintage Cafe: Many years ago you gave up fame and stardom and survived. Although you don't lead the life of a pop star and you keep your private life private, you still sell records in huge quantities. The concerts are usually sold-out. Can you describe your relationship with your audience? You still have quite a few hardcore, loyal fans out there.

David Sylvian: I can only deduct certain truths regarding the audience for my work, in the same way that anyone else closely observing the situation might. There are a number of travelers who have undertaken the long journey from pop stardom to the present with me. You could say we've been maturing together. You might also be willing to admit that, in their listening habits if in nothing else, they enjoy a good challenge. There are other listeners that tend to jump on and off the wagon when it suits them, possibly tuning in for the vocal work and out for the instrumental (or, in some rare instances, vice versa). (There are) still others whose curiosity is piqued by a particular recording. I come face to face with the audience (I won't be presumptuous and call them 'mine') in the arena of the concert venue. In this respect, I've almost universally found them to be the most generous, respectful, gracious audience an artist has any reasonable right to expect. More than this I cannot say.

VC: The music you create has a long-lasting beauty, and in a way, it reflects a lot about you. What would you like people to take away from your music? What sort of response or feeling do you hope is evoked in your listeners?

DS: I have often said that the desire is to blow the listeners' hearts wide open. By this, I mean I want them to be moved to the point of abandonment. This would be beautiful, an ideal, but it is too much to expect. That the work might resonate in the lives of others is no lesser achievement, and one I might more modestly aspire to.