Embrace The Chaos: It’s Time To Join Cry Club

“You know, being queer, being trans, being mentally ill and trying to have your life together, you’re going to make a lot of mistakes,” says Heather Riley, Cry Club’s vocalist.

“It’s very important that people acknowledge that no one’s going to do the right thing all the time. And that’s what makes people interesting, how they respond to things. And if they take responsibility.”

Responsibility comes up a lot in the hour-long Zoom with Riley and their band and housemate Jono Tooke.  We’re talking about their debut album as Cry Club, God I’m Such A Mess. They’re in the middle of what, unbeknownst at the time, would be the last week of Melbourne’s three-month COVID-19 lockdown.

Despite that, the duo is in pretty high spirits, avoiding cabin fever and keeping busy writing music — at the same time, the second main thing that comes up is gigs, which they won’t be playing in any immediate future. One of their favourite things is when people come wearing the glitter-tear make-up they don in press shots: it’s a proof-of-concept moment. “It’s just sweet to be like, ‘Oh, you’re part of the club,'” says Heather.

“It’s really important to us that people feel like they have a home [at shows],” they add. “…It’s really important to tell people it’s okay to be emotional. Some people find it cringe, but you can be safe here because I am also cringe and I feel a lot of things. You want people to know as soon as possible that like we appreciate them and that will have a home with us.”

God I’m Such A Mess is a maelstrom of feelings and genre. Where Tooke has roots in heavy and math-rock music, Riley comes from a musical theatre nerd background: Cry Club meets somewhere in the middle, a steady mix of guitar- and angst-led pop with a tendency towards dramatics and hooks to thrash around to. They throw themselves into each track whole-heartedly, inviting listeners to do the same, hoping that there’s some catharsis in the confessions of jealousy, anger, frustration and sadness.

To date, the duo’s best known for ‘DFTM’, aka ‘Don’t Fucking Touch Me’, a synthy-scream at men to leave them alone at gigs (“tell me why you thought you could touch me?”, snarls Riley). Not surprisingly, it’s struck a chord. That song has a clear target, but the rest of God I’m Such A Mess is more reflexive, never making an enemy of a ‘toxic’ friend or ex.

“I have no interest in hearing a song from someone who thinks that they’re always right,” says Tooke.

“I have no interest in hearing a song from someone who thinks that they’re always right.”

“We’re pretty ruthless about making sure that songs represent multiple different angles. Let’s say the protagonist of a song — they can’t always be in the right, because there are those people that do a lot like, ‘Oh, well I’m having a bad time, but you know, I’m the protagonist in my life — so I don’t do anything wrong’. But if you can have them acknowledge that they’re wrong, sometimes I think can help address some of those concerns that I have about responsibility.”

Riley agrees, adding that there’s a tendency to mask shitty behaviour behind your own issues. God I’m Such A Mess is a cute title, but it’s no excuse.

“Unless there’s, you know, extreme circumstances, but when relationships break down or when people move on from each other, it’s not because one person was wrong and one person was right,” says Riley. “And it’s really important to us to be able to acknowledge that. It’s like, ‘yeah, I did, I did things wrong’. And I think people are very hesitant to admit that they made a mistake or that they were wrong. It’s a necessary part of growing and moving forward and it makes for a more interesting story.”

“It’s also kind of boring, ‘you were bad and I was good. I’m like, ‘I’m a mess’.”

Coping While Crying

The name Cry Club comes from how Heather and Jono met, sitting next to each other on a plane for a university-organised trip to Japan.

Jono was watching Over The Garden Wall, an animated series with Elijah Wood (“it’s very 2013 Tumblr”) that Heather also loves, and they soon started ranting to each other about the shows and things that make them cry. Later down the line, when they started to make music together, they inevitably landed on it before their first live show. The origin story speaks to how they’ve always approached making music — those who know will know, and those who don’t, don’t need to.

“I was watching someone talk about making niche stuff.. and that you’re signposting who you are and what you’re about really quickly, so the people who will be receptive towards it can like come in quickly,” says Tooke.

“And the people who it’s not for, that’s fine. We’ve told you at the front end that it’s not for you — if you see our artwork, how camp [it] can be and how over the top it can be, and if you’re like, no, it’s not, for me. You’ve recognised. Move on. You’ll find another band you like.”

Glittery tears aren’t all: it’s bold, colourful outfits on-stage, and, back when they could gig normally, bringing on-stage drag queens to perform with them.

“I think with the outfits and our ‘aesthetic’, I would say it’s less like armour — like I would wear this crazy thing and it protects me —  and more an important support system,” says Riley. “For me, a lot of it’s about gender and like gender euphoria and being able to present the way that I feel on the inside and feeling comfortable and feeling good means that you can take anything in stride really.”

“It’s like, ‘you can say what you want, but I fucking look good’. And I, um, I feel how I want to feel because I can express that….  [And with] people coming to the show and dressing just as camp or having drag artists there, it like builds this really important community where people have the space to be vulnerable.”

Which the duo are on God I’m Such A Mess. Vulnerability is the album’s through-line as they shift between genres, from the dream-pop of ‘Quit’ to the pop-punk of ‘Nine Of Swords’ and the auto-tune ballad ‘Lighters’, guided by producer Japanese Wallpaper’s synths.

“I listen to Dorian Electra and nothing else,” says Riley. “Oh, and Orville Peck, sorry.”

“Maybe we’re [just] scatterbrained in terms our own tastes of music,” says Tooke. “I spend like a lot of my time, like listening to death metal and–”

“And I listen to Dorian Electra and nothing else,” says Riley. “Oh, and Orville Peck, sorry.”

“And then coming together, going like ‘let’s make some pop music’, it’s a really great place to be,” adds Tooke.

But rather than trying to create a genre tapas, the duo were led by one question: does it feel real?

“It became a huge deal for us, especially connecting to the emotionality of the record,” says Tooke. “If we’re not being honest, then fuck it, like, there’s no point — even if a song is good, if it’s not honest, then fuck it.”

A lot of the songs centre on anxiety. ‘Dissolve’ is about a friendship dissolution that sees Riley wonder whether it’s their anxiety imagining it, or questioning whether they’re actually to blame, or the two just parted ways — and the specific disappointment of never being able to know.

Closer ‘Two Hearts’ captures the high of a bad-idea crush, a syncopated fluttering caused by leaning into by bad decisions. But it’s ‘Nine Of Swords’ that captures Cry Club at their best, a blistering track about turning to astrology and tarot for a sign to absolve your own responsibility that’s equally self-deprecating as it is earnest. As Riley sings, “who needs healthy coping means when you’ve got stars and cards and things?”.

Another coping device that comes up repeatedly across the album is alcohol, as Tooke and Riley find a beer or two takes away social jitters. It’s most pointed on the twinkling ode to social anxiety ‘Obvious’, where Riley sings, “I don’t know how to speak without a glass in my hand”.

“Until it’s a couple of times [of] meeting someone, I’m quite a reserved person and I’m super anxious about how people are perceiving me,” says Tooke. “So that would be a nice edge that you’re trying to balance where it’s like, okay, ‘A beer or two will loosen me up’. So I’m less anxious, but more likely to speak out of my arse.”

Both Tooke and Riley have an ambivalence to alcohol, where they question how they and others rely on it in social situations, especially at gigs, where it’s par for the course to be drinking.

“The industry is so tied to nightlife —  especially small bands, [as] people can take a chance on you because of like alcohol sales,” says  Riley. “And I think [alcohol’s] mentioned a couple of times [on the album] because it’s so tied into our live shows with people drinking.”

It’s part of their continual self-examination, the question of whether they’re looking after themselves and the people around them, including their audience. Coming back to the album title, Tooke says that examination often  falls short — “like, ‘I’m struggling, therefore I’m allowed to be an arsehole’.”

“But I definitely am guilty of it!,” says Riley. “I was diagnosed with ADHD and I’m trying my best not to look at everything and go ‘It’s ADHD! It’s not me’.”

“Like, you’re allowed to be emotionally a mess. But you are also responsible for that… it’s [that] responsibility you have to yourself mostly, and to other people, to still be a good person, even though you’re a mess, but also be upfront about like ‘here’s where I’m at’.”

---

Cry  Club’s debut album God I’m Such A Mess is out Friday 13 November via Best & Fairest.

Photo Credit: Giulia McGauran.

Jared Richards is a  staff writer at Music Junkee and freelancer who has written for The Guardian, The Big Issue and more. He’s on Twitter.