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Josh Fountain at home. Photo: Edith Amituanai
Josh Fountain at home. Photo: Edith Amituanai

Pop CultureNovember 15, 2020

Josh Fountain and the shape of the sound

Josh Fountain at home. Photo: Edith Amituanai
Josh Fountain at home. Photo: Edith Amituanai

If you’ve listened to New Zealand music from the last decade-and-a-half, chances are you’ve heard the influences of Josh Fountain. He has collaborated with Benee on a string of hits. He’s just collected the Aotearoa Music Award for producer of the year for the second year running. And he’s achieved it all with debilitating arthritis. Michelle Langstone meets him at home.

Portraits by Edith Amituanai.

You wouldn’t think Josh Fountain was a multi-award-winning music producer from the way he stands in the kitchen of his sunny house in Te Atatu Peninsula making self-deprecating jokes, and brushing off praise. His slim frame is swallowed up in baggy jeans, an oversized t-shirt and a button down shirt, a cap jammed on his brown hair. Smiling bashfully as much to himself as to me, he measures spoonfuls of coffee into a plunger, and says, dry as anything, “It’s been a big year.”

A big year is an understatement. In the last 12 months the 35-year-old music maker has won Producer of the Year titles back to back at the national music awards, welcomed his daughter Aria into the world, had a smash hit record in Supalonely with his collaborator Benee, and won a Silver Scroll award for Best Song, with another of Benee’s hits, Glitter. All this, and he’s still the guy who says, “I don’t feel like I’m really good at anything … I mean I know that there’s stuff that I’m good at, but there’s a lot of stuff that I’m not good at!”

Fountain rummages for coffee mugs, and we settle into the chairs around the table in his open plan living room. It’s a warm space, with traces of Aria everywhere – a high chair and toys strewn around – and a piano tucked into the corner of the room. I ask Fountain if he’s taken a moment to sit with the things he has achieved in the 12 months and he gives a little shrug and a reluctant smile. “There’s so much self doubt and imposter syndrome, and so many failures that happen behind the scenes, so when you do win something it’s just … It’s good to get a win.”

Success has been a long time coming for Fountain. He’s been in the music industry for 15 years, plugging away in well-loved bands Kidz in Space, and Leisure, and on solo projects like Get Well Soon, but he’s only just starting to hit his stride as a producer. He’s watched contemporaries like Joel Little go international for their work, but until now, success like that hasn’t been forthcoming.

Fountain has been in love with music since he was a teenager. He can’t remember if he was the kid in his group of friends who always had the intel on what was happening in the music scene, but he remembers it was what he liked to do the most, mucking around with music software as a teenager, and DJing the odd gig for a bit of money. He ended up studying at the Music and Audio Institute of New Zealand (Mainz) because he didn’t know what else to do, and because his mum left a pile of school prospectuses on his bedside table, and that was the only one that appealed.

It was at Mainz that he set the goal of winning Producer of the Year. Fourteen years later he won it. “I had this obsession with it, that I just wanted to win. Fourteen years …” He gives a mocking little grin. “Not too shabby!” he laughs. “That was my first big goal that I was able to achieve in music, other than putting out your first album and have your first song that charts or stuff like that. Winning that award felt really special.”

I ask him why he set himself that goal at age 20, and where that determination came from, and the answer is surprising. “Some of my tenacity is I’ve worked really hard because I was terrified that something wouldn’t happen. I knew that eventually one day I probably wouldn’t be able to do music stuff as well as I could because of arthritis. So I was desperate to try and get stuff happening early on.”

While he tells me this, Fountain’s fingertips play with the buttons on his shirt. It’s like a nervous habit – he touches the buttons and then smooths the fabric of the shirt in a near-constant motion. His rheumatoid arthritis affects his neck and hands mostly, and has caused his fingers to seize and swell, so that he has to take time and conscious effort with their movements. “It’s been real frustrating in the last five years I’d say, not being able to play guitar in the way that I used to. For somebody who does music for a job it’s not ideal.”

Fountain has had arthritis since he was three years old, and though it’s now technically dormant, he says the damage to his joints has been done. In his work, using his hands is critical, but Fountain says he’s found his own way through it: “It’s helped shape my sound a little bit, because it means I keep things super simple, or I find other ways to make things interesting and exciting. If I’m not going to be the greatest musician then there’s other things that I can do to counter that.”

It’s also meant that Fountain has become an excellent programmer, and a skilled collaborator, lending his expertise to musicians like Maala, Paige, and Randa, as well as Stella Bennett, aka Benee. He collaborates a lot with Djeisan Suskov, co-member of their band Leisure, and fellow contributor to the Benee sound. “Between the two of us we kind of cover all the bases. I love working with artists who can play because I’m still very musical and I can speak the language of it and I know what’s possible and I know what I want, and if they have trouble with something I can say – can you play this inversion, or put your finger here or something like that, and that sort of works.” Suskov loves working with Fountain: “Josh knows exactly where the pocket is in terms of rhythm in all aspects of a song. I’ve heard him many times turn the most basic beats and average sounds into something that’s both unique and fun to listen to.”

Fountain says his mobility is getting worse. He holds his coffee mug tightly, and looks at his hands and says, “Now it’s starting to get a bit more real, especially with a family and stuff. I’m past that age now of thinking I’m going to be invincible. I think for the longest time as well I just expected it to go away. I ignored it – it will sort itself out.” It seems like the cruelest timing to have his body rebel just when he’s reaching the pinnacle of his career. Supalonely was the big hit single Fountain was waiting for, and it’s not only afforded him some financial security, but has opened doors internationally. To lose the use of his hands now would be a blow.

He’s in pain, but he’s taking measures to work with a hand therapist to try and keep the quality of movement he does have, and to prevent further degeneration. He’s also grateful for the gear he works with daily: “Technology is so good. I’ve got software that can do guitar stuff. Even with keys – I’ve got software where I can pick the chords that I want to play and then just assign them to one key, and do it like that.” He laughs and says there’s one fiddly bit of gear he does struggle with: “Doing up the buttons on Aria’s clothes is a real punish.”

Throughout our interview, his little daughter is crawling around, banging on musical instruments, and seeking out her dad’s gaze whenever she can. When they make eye contact Fountain stops our conversation to speak to her. They have smiles that match, and the way they light up in each other’s company is so lovely, it’s tempting to abandon the conversation all together and just let them play. Fountain says being a dad has significantly changed the way he works: “It’s been a real challenge working out the balance, because I can’t do it the way I used to do it. Now I’m trying to be a dad, and trying to be as present as I can be, and carving out space and time to be around has been harder than I thought it would, when I’ve got things I need to get done, things I need to deliver and have agreed to.”

Josh and Aria collaborating on a new track in Te Atatu. Photo: Edith Amituanai

He and Aria spend the early mornings together so Fountain’s wife Savina can take a break, and much of their time is spent listening to music together. “I love playing the Beatles stuff. I never really listened to all of the Beatles albums. I knew the hits, but I didn’t know much about them, and how their music progressed, and the history behind it. It’s really nice listening to that with Aria, and they’re good little catchy pop songs – great for kids.” Fountain works at his Morningside studio during the day, comes home for Aria’s bedtime, and then goes back to work.

Success of the kind Fountain is now experiencing would usually mean he’d have gone straight to Los Angeles with Benee when Supalonely went global, making connections, following the success. The infectious pop song became something of an anthem for everyone stuck indoors due to Covid-19 lockdowns this year. Picked up by Tik Tok in March 2020, Supalonely amassed over 3.9 billion hits in one month and reached the top 40 charts in over 25 countries. But a rampaging pandemic meant there was no trip to LA, and Fountain and Bennett had to watch the song go viral from the bottom of the world: “It was weird being back in NZ, and being – I don’t want to say stranded or stuck – but being here, you feel quite disconnected from it all. I’m talking to the record label A&R guy, and everyone is so excited, and really all I’m seeing is the numbers going up, which is very exciting, but nothing was changing for me.”

In a funny way, Covid ended up working out well for Fountain: “I think it’s been a bit of a blessing in disguise, because that decision got made for me. I didn’t really want to go, and if I had left it would have been so stressful on the relationship and me being away from Aria. The fact that Covid happened is actually awesome because it meant that I got to be at home, and I couldn’t be angry at anything, or feel like I was really missing out. I was just able to enjoy it, and watch Supalonely still do really well, but not feel like I’d had to sacrifice something.”

While Fountain thinks a bit of momentum may have been lost in terms of contacts and new work, the other blessing of the timing of Covid meant that Benee’s debut album Hey U X was made in New Zealand, and except for one song on the record, was entirely produced by Fountain. That’s a rarity in pop music these days, where it’s not uncommon for an album to have as many producers as it does tracks.

Asking Fountain about Benee’s album quickly turns into a fiasco of self doubt and laconic humour: “My perspective is long gone. You think – this is the worst thing I’ve ever heard! Music never sounds as bad as it does right before you have to send it off to be mastered.” Fountain says part of the dynamic of his working relationship with Stella Bennett is the way they butt heads over musical choices. Benee’s album is an eclectic mix of genres: “She wanted every song to be a different genre! There’s a drum and bass song with Grimes, and a pop hip-hop song with Lily Allen and a rapper called Flo Milli. There’s these two sort of stoner-y, flakey band songs.”

Fountain initially tried to steer Stella away from including too many styles of music on her album. He shakes his head and says: “The number of times I’ve started to try to tell Stella why we shouldn’t do something, or this is a bad idea, or this is the rule – you can’t do it like that! I’ve always ended up being wrong.” He gives me a long-suffering look, but his blue eyes are laughing – you can tell he’s more than happy to be wrong. “You just give up. I just go with it and do as best as I can. It’s her vision.”

It’s clear from the way he talks about Bennett that the two have forged a good working relationship. What surprises me about the way Fountain talks about it is how he gets down on himself for not doing or being enough as a producer. I don’t think it’s that he has low self esteem, but he comes in on the negative side of experience, and he says that’s partly to do with all the times things haven’t worked out for him in his career.

He’s hard on himself, and that’s because he’s driven. Djeisan Suskov says he’s like that with everyone: “One of my favourite Josh quotes in the studio is “I like it, but I don’t love it” which is the signal to the artist and/or writers to keep pushing, whether that be with melody, performance or lyrics. He doesn’t settle with good until it’s great.”

When Fountain tells me about the writing trip he did with Benee in Los Angeles last year, I realise just how deeply he cares, not only for the music, but for his artists: “I remember coming back from that trip and being real gutted. It hadn’t gone the way I thought it might have gone. Stella was having a tough time, she’d been through a breakup, and we’d go into these sessions and she’d get stuck.”

He looks out into the garden, and I can see from the way his shoulders hunch that he’s back there, feeling those things again. “I felt like maybe I could have done a better job of helping her get out of that funk a little bit, or give her more ideas. I just remember feeling a bit down, like I could have helped the situation a lot more. If I was a good producer instead of a fraud … There was a bit of that.”

It seems imposter syndrome haunts Fountain, and it’s curious to see it in action, given Supalonely was written on that very trip. A song born out of the heartache of a breakup, and feeling isolated and stuck, is what pushed Benee into the spotlight. I ask him if the success of Benee’s music, and the awards and recognition, have gone any way toward shutting up that voice on his shoulder, and he squints into the distance. “A little bit. I think I’ve learnt to trust myself a bit more. But there’s also a little bit of you that goes ‘You got lucky this time, but do you really deserve that, or that Silver Scroll award? It’s great that you did that, but let’s see you do that again.’” He says this with a raised eyebrow, the self-confessed worrier that knows all the tricks his brain will play on him.

Fountain hasn’t set himself a new goal as yet. There’s no doubt Benee’s album release will lead to more work, and doors opening for him internationally, though he’s quick to play it down “It’s not that I’ve been approached by anyone massive saying ‘We want you to do this’ but it’s just made me more proven.” He catches himself being earnest and is quick to bring back the mocking. “A sure thing! I’ll guarantee a hit record, that’s what people come to me for.” His droll sense of humour must be part of why people must like working with him so much – he’s good company.

For now he seems happy to ride the wave, enjoying the financial benefits of some commercial success, and getting back to the grass roots of his love for music. “What I’d really like to do now that I’ve got a bit more time is get back into writing songs again, and writing  – not songs for myself – but songs to practise writing songs. I don’t get a lot of time to do that sort of thing. I’m a great collaborator, but I’d like to do more of writing the full thing, doing everything, and exercising those muscles.”

It’s clear Fountain has found the sweet spot in his career, and for once he puts the jokes aside to say, clear-eyed and grateful, “I just love it. I feel fortunate to have found my passion, and no matter what, I want to do it. Even when I’m working really hard, it doesn’t feel like work at all.”

Keep going!
Emma Corrin as Princess Diana on her wedding day in season four of The Crown. (Photo: Netflix)
Emma Corrin as Princess Diana on her wedding day in season four of The Crown. (Photo: Netflix)

Pop CultureNovember 15, 2020

Review: The Crown shines with Diana, stumbles with Thatcher

Emma Corrin as Princess Diana on her wedding day in season four of The Crown. (Photo: Netflix)
Emma Corrin as Princess Diana on her wedding day in season four of The Crown. (Photo: Netflix)

As The Crown creeps closer to the present day, its apolitical approach is becoming more of a problem, writes Sam Brooks.

Minor spoilers for world history 1977-1990 follow.

Another year, another season of The Crown. Ten more hours that mythologise, lionise and tear down the British royal family in expensive fashion, with expensive fashions. The Windsor family drama has become appointment viewing, and the crown jewel (sorry) in Netflix’s often bloated original programming slate. This season will be met with particularly high hopes and anxious anticipation, given that it’s tackling one of recent history’s most beloved figures, Princess Diana, and one of its most controversial, Margaret Thatcher.

As always, you can’t fault the excellence of the production. Again this season, each episode functions as its own self-contained feature film, dramatising one historical event and using it as a way to show us the private side of an incredibly public family. The fourth season covers the Iron Lady’s election, Charles and Diana’s wedding (as you can see above, the dress is impeccably recreated), their subsequent tour of Australia and New Zealand, Michael Fagan breaking into Queen Elizabeth’s bedroom, and Thatcher’s ousting from parliament. 

The season three cast return, and are just as good as last time: their performances are tremendous, finding unexpected corners of each character to play around in. Olivia Colman’s Elizabeth is looser and funnier this time around, which makes the moments where she suddenly, angrily, puts her heel down hit harder. Tobias Menzies’ Prince Philip still has that rakish charm, spiky and dickish enough to never let you forget his misdeeds in season’s previous, while Josh O’Connor builds on Charles’ withdrawn shyness and serves us up an entitled, angry bully, lashing out when everybody around him correctly labels him as such.

However, the highlight once more is Helena Bonham Carter’s Princess Margaret. She’s even deeper, darker and sadder this time around, playing Margaret’s charm less as armour and more as a funeral shroud: she’s resigned to a life without purpose or meaning, and Bonham Carter crystallises that existence beautifully.

Olivia Colman as Queen Elizabeth II in season four of The Crown. (Photo: Netflix)

But every Crown stan has two questions: What about Diana? And to an understandably lesser extent, what about Thatcher?

As Diana, newcomer Emma Corrin is an unqualified triumph. Hers is one of the most difficult roles in the show so far: Whoever plays Diana not only has to look like Diana (which Corrin does, uncannily so), she has to capture Diana before she was a mononym, and also the Diana the entire world fell in love with. Corrin does this, charting the distance between the two with remarkable ease.

It’s to Corrin’s immense benefit that the series doesn’t canonise Diana; this is very much a human Diana with flaws, a Diana who yells and screams, and visibly struggles with her own place in the world. Peter Morgan, the series’ creator, also gives Diana a clear narrative arc. We’re introduced to her as very much the second fiddle to her sister while she’s courting Charles, and we get to see her grow until we get to that famous New York trip where she visited patients with AIDS, and began to truly self-actualise. This doesn’t benefit just Corrin as an actor, but the series as a whole: we don’t need another saint or another hero, we want to see all the messy stuff beneath the fairytale. On that note, Morgan makes the commendable choice to present Camilla Parker Bowles (Emerald Fennell) not as a homewrecker, but as someone who was a hell of a lot of fun, and easy to fall in love with. The choice works, and Fennell is a welcome breath of fresh air, firing on all acting cylinders.

Gillian Anderson as Margaret Thatcher in The Crown season four. (Photo: Netflix)

On the other hand, Gillian Anderson’s take on Margaret Thatcher is a mixed bag. Anderson, whose career renaissance is largely a result of her ability to synthesize a patrician chill with disarming sensuality, is not a natural fit for the Iron Lady. She adopts a hunch, drops her voice a few octaves, and dons a tremendous wig, but her performance never stretches much further than caricature. It’s a rare misstep for a series that has managed to capture some of the most documented people of our day without stooping to pure mimicry. The performance is so jarring that even when Anderson eventually settles into the role and peels back the layers of steel that gild Thatcher, the damage is done, the caricature drawn.

While the casting is a problem, it’s not an insurmountable one. What dooms Anderson is The Crown’s bizarre attempts to show us a Thatcher that we haven’t seen before. By which I mean, this is the wettest-eyed Thatcher you’ll ever see. This is an Iron Lady whose eyes are regularly brimming with tears – a choice that reveals a bafflingly simplistic and naive understanding of the real Thatcher. The Crown has, often dubiously, gone to great lengths to shade in the sketches of these very public figures, to provide humanity where we’ve often only had headlines. Morgan’s choice to give us a binary Thatcher – stoic until she’s not, strong until she’s broken – is disappointing not just because it flattens out one of the 20th century’s most controversial figures, but because it fails to engage with the woman, or her politics, at all.

Morgan, who at this point has probably devoted more fictional words to this royal family than anybody else in history, subtly pivots this season of The Crown. While previous seasons were about interrogating the contemporary myth of the royal family, this one uses the family (with Thatcher as a clear outsider) to look at the ways gender intersects with the halls of power. This is done bluntly with the marketing – which sets Elizabeth, Diana and Thatcher in clear opposition to each other – but much more subtly within the actual series.

All three of these women are punished in some way, for the sheer act of being a woman. This is done most obviously with Thatcher. She’s surrounded by indistinguishable men from the previous generation, none of whom want to be told what to do by a woman. When she’s brought down, it’s made abundantly clear that it’s not just because of her unpopular policies: it’s because nobody likes her. For a man, that’s just a challenge. For a woman, it’s a political death sentence.

Emma Corrin as Diana in season four of The Crown. (Photo: Netflix)

On the flipside, we’ve got Diana. Even though both she and Charles have affairs, it’s only Diana that is punished for doing so. When she relies on her charm, the only weapon she has in her arsenal to fight against a system that wants to make her irrelevant, Charles bullies her into submission. The Crown makes it clear: Charles whines, but Diana suffers, and will continue to do so as long as she’s part of this system.

Then there’s Elizabeth, whose rank is her only protection from her gender. Only by being, as Philip says late in the season, “the only person that matters, the oxygen we all breathe, the essence of all our duty” is she protected from the kind of bullshit that plagues Thatcher and Diana, not to mention every other woman in the series. You can be princess or prime minister, but it won’t protect you from being a woman. Tying these women together gives the season a thematic backbone that the previous ones have been lacking, and it gives The Crown value beyond being a handsomely made document of a family that many of us are, frankly, too fascinated by.

So, it’s another season of The Crown, and another meticulously constructed run of television. But as time moves on, both in the series and in our real life, it’s becoming increasingly clear that the show can’t sit on the political fence. A feint towards feminism doesn’t solve that. The Crown’s success lies in its facade of apoliticism. Empathising with the royal family, even humanising and normalising their lives, is a political choice, and a conservative one at that. 

The Crown made a choice by choosing to focus on Thatcher the woman, rather than Thatcher the politician. It’s an understandable choice, but a calculatedly safe one. While that might’ve worked when Morgan was tackling the likes of Churchill, who was basically bronzed in gold during his lifetime, and Harold McMillan, a Wikipedia footnote, it’s not going to work when it has to tackle the likes of Tony Blair. Those political deeds are still too fresh, and to approach them timidly will do the The Crown, its audience, and history itself a disservice. The Crown approaches the people it depicts bravely, rewriting their history and casting them in roles to suit the drama. If only it was so courageous in its approach to their politics.

Season four of The Crown is available on Netflix now.