Stevie Appleby – previously a core member of one of the most successful Irish bands of the past 10 years, Little Green Cars, which morphed, without him, into Soda Blonde in 2019 – mulls over the word “exile”.
“I think to describe it like that would be quite apt,” he says.
It is some time since Appleby has shown his face. When Little Green Cars ground to halt, only to return unexpectedly with the loss of a co-founding member, a name change and a new direction, the immediate thoughts (that is, outside the band members, which have been diplomatic in the extreme) surrounding Appleby’s absence was the tried, trusted and simplified explanation of musical differences. There are several grains of truth in that, superficially at least, but it goes deeper.
“The band to me and my mind,” explains Appleby, “were like an old workhorse that wouldn’t move. We whipped it and whipped it until we f**king whipped it to death. We left the label [Glassnote] because they wanted us to start doing EDM music [electronic dance music], to which we said f**k that. So we left the label and were kinda rudderless. Then the guys wanted to make a sort of popular music like they do now in Soda Blonde, but I wanted to make more subdued music. In the end, we both got what we wanted – they get to do what they love, and I get to do what I love.”
'What is in my poetry is definitely as important as what's in my music. They're just two different colours of the same painting'
There isn’t a hint of annoyance or resentment here, but perhaps more regret that some sort of mutually inclusive deal couldn’t be reached. When I ask him was it simply a case of musical differences, he replies: “Essentially, yes.” Pause. “Sort of.” And that’s it. A silence stretches towards the horizon, so we move on.
Appleby’s answer to a query as to why he has kept such a low profile since 2019, however, is a possible reason for how things turned out. While Soda Blonde picked up steam almost immediately after the implosion of Little Green Cars, Appleby’s absence was at first conspicuous, then concerning, and then not even considered. He was, we assumed, just another band member that bit the dust, a victim of changes in circumstance. As sure as there’s a U2 song you don’t like, it has happened before and will happen again, but the fact that Appleby was such a crucial part of the exhilarating music produced by Little Green Cars pricked the conscience.
The Appleby we knew was a songwriter of substance, a memorable and endearingly idiosyncratic stage performer. The advent of coronavirus was, perhaps, a valid if convenient reason for maintaining a low profile, but it seems Appleby’s non-appearance was because of something much more personal.
“Well,” he begins, somewhat hesitatingly, “I’ve spent a lot of the past three years very unwell, and not really performing or writing music. I didn’t pick up a guitar for about two years after Little Green Cars broke up. I got disillusioned with the whole music scene and became a hermit.” We sense we are treading on private property here, so we ask if he’d rather not discuss it. He’s fine, he says, up to a point. “It’s tricky for me to talk about,” he cautions, “because on one hand, I would like to be a sort of advocate for mental health, but I’m actually not just well enough to do that at the moment. I’ve always been okay talking about my struggles openly, and how that could possibly help other people. Right now, however, I don’t think I could cope with the pressure of being a real advocate for it. I’ve suffered with my mental health since I was about 15.” Another silence arrives, this one long enough to tell you it’s time to change the subject.
'The exile, despite his travails, maintains a sense of humour throughout. I mention a tweet of his referencing his recent Other Voices gig, which constituted his re-emergence as a performer and the first time he blinked in the glare of a stage light for almost three years. “The comeback kid” tweet was typically flippant, wasn’t it? A sheepish Appleby says, “yeah, it was”, but he is only half-joking. Recently released music (a four-track EP comprising “subdued” melodious folk-pop that fans of Little Green Cars’ music will certainly admire) presents Appleby’s return as a serious contender. Performing may have temporarily disappeared from his life, he says, but art (he is also an impressive visual artist and poet) has always been there. “When I left school at 16,” he recalls, a smile rising, “whenever I ordered pizzas, I’d use the boxes as canvasses. My plan was to sell the canvas and use the money to buy another pizza, and so on, and then I’d show all my pizza box canvasses at [St] Stephen’s Green.”
'I just have to get the audience to know me through the music and, hopefully, want to be my friend'
Art has always been the place, the sanctuary, he continues, where he has felt and feels the very best. “If I can’t write, then I can draw. If I can’t draw then I can write, but I have to go between them so I can make sense of what’s really going on in my life.” Art, he adds, is how he best expresses himself. “Art was and is the least self-destructive way.”
Expression continues apace with the new songs. How long did he have those in his back pocket before he decided to record and release them? They go quite far back, he admits, except for the song Rusty, one of the most plaintive and pretty you’ll this year or next. “That was the first song I had written in about two years – out of necessity, though, because the woman I loved was moving away, and I had to let her know how I felt. The other three songs I’ve had for quite a while, but they were too abstract, I guess, for Little Green Cars, so I just kept them under my belt.”
How does he feel about playing shows? One word: “Terrified.” He generally goes to bed quite early, he says. “It’s about 8pm, so I don’t know how I’m going to be able to stay awake to play gigs! But, yes, I’m really looking forward to playing again and sharing these songs. The reaction so far from people has been kind, and that’s been inspiring. I have these songs that I haven’t played in front of anyone, that I haven’t even left the bedroom with.”
Part of his apprehension, he implies, is that with solo shows, “there’s no one to fall back on. These songs are, however, more personal. It’s not just trying to write a smash hit but rather trying to get something across, so I just have to get the audience to know me through the music and, hopefully, want to be my friend. I’ve just finished writing the next EP and we’ll be going into the studio in December to record them, but I’ll have other musicians with me this time”.
And what about his spoken word/poetry? I remind Appleby that the last time I saw him on stage was at Kilkenny’s Set Theatre a few years ago when Little Green Cars were on so much of a roll that he decided to debut selections of his poetry. I remark that although he seemed quite vulnerable (he performed some of his poems with his back to the audience) he also came across as definitively himself and, indeed, somewhat detached from the band. He doesn’t agree one way or the other, instead stating that his music and poetry are inseparable. “What is in my poetry is definitely as important as what’s in my music. They’re just two different colours of the same painting, really, but I’m not yet sure whether I’ll be reading any poetry at the gigs.”
An agreeable tone of semi-reluctance and modesty arrives. And then, quite cheerfully, this most likeable of artists says, “I was thinking I might because it could be a nice way for people to get to know me.”
Stevie Appleby Appleby’s EP, released on Swoon City Music, is available on the usual streaming platforms. His poetry and visual art can be viewed on stevieappleby.com
