Harriette Pilbeam sounds slightly horrified by her own early vocals. “It had no energy,” she says of listening back to the recording of “Sleep.” “This is why artists don’t go back and listen to themselves.” The Aussie dream-pop architect behind Hatchie is talking about the process of translating her debut album Keepsake to the stage—a challenge, especially when she’s dealing with analog synth sounds no laptop wants to recreate and a production palette so precise it makes touring on a budget feel like a high-wire act.
But Hatchie doesn’t really do “budget” in the sonic sense. Keepsake is a lush, gooey, synth-drenched pop record that people like to argue over. “The people who pay attention to the songwriting call it pop,” she says. “The ones who focus on the sound want to call it dream pop or shoegaze or whatever else.” She doesn’t seem too concerned about the genre policing, but she has noticed how different people pick up different threads of what she’s doing. “It’s been interesting to read all of it,” she shrugs, in the most polite Australian way possible.
She’s even aware of the reaction to the record’s artwork—which, unlike her previous EP, does not feature a glamor shot of her face. “I didn’t want it to just be a portrait again,” she says. “I wanted it to be more serious than that.” The same philosophy guided her approach to one of the album’s best songs, “Unwanted Guest.” “I wanted it to be vague,” she explains. “Most of my lyrics are literal. This one—I didn’t want that.”
And then there’s “Obsessed,” a simple little banger written in a single afternoon after she decided all her other songs were trying too hard. “I wanted something light and fun,” she says, “and now it’s the most fun to play live.” Naturally.
As for the rest of the album, it’s the result of years of demoing and a pair of studio sessions with producer John Castle and her partner Joe. Pilbeam had already worked out most of the arrangements before they hit record, but credits Castle with shaping tracks like “Secret,” and Joe with helping to craft the record’s overall sound. Despite the heavy pre-planning, Keepsake doesn’t come off like homework. Which is ironic, because Hatchie did go to school for this.
Kind of.
“I have a degree in entertainment and management,” she says, and then immediately bursts the balloon. “To be honest, I think it’s been pretty useless.” She only did it because she didn’t want to major in performance. “Studying music in high school made me hate it,” she deadpans. “This was just close enough to feel useful.”
Still, she’s not ruling out writing for others. “I definitely want to get into that,” she says, pointing to the track “Stay With Me,” which started as a song for someone else until it turned out too good to give away. “It’s just more relaxed. Less pressure. Doesn’t have to be about you.”
Which is funny, because so much of Keepsake is about her—except for when she makes a conscious effort to make it about something else. “I was envisioning the album as a patchwork,” she says, “and I had to make a few things to connect the other things.”
Hatchie doesn’t mind being the thread that ties it all together. Even if she still cringes at her own voice once in a while. “I sounded so young,” she says. “But whatever. You learn. And then you try not to ever listen to it again.”
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