Wedding Motel is the lockdown brainchild of Adelaide musician/producer Benjamin Marwe. His solo EP Childhood Beach leaves an indelible impact.
Benjamin Marwe (Wedding Motel) will be the first to tell you that Adelaide is a strange place. Amidst the kebab shops, pubs, strip clubs, and lingering cops, one begins to ask themselves, is this a big country town or a small city?
To explore such an environment and the experiences it offers, Marwe applies hazy disco, self-deprecating humour, and stream of consciousness lyrics to the fold. It’s an inspired soundscape that makes Childhood Beach an intriguing listen, top to tail. Let’s delve into the tracklist and just how Marwe reached the final product.
The debut EP opens with Part Timer, the leading single of the project. The track is chugging ode to mediocrity and escaping the scum, with an ’80s-esque synth drone hovering above. “Part timer of love, part timer of life”, the artist confesses in striking, deadpanned honesty.
What’s immediately noticeable about Marwe’s sound here is his meshing of folky motifs with midi loops and disco patterns. It’s just a combination you rarely hear unless you get lost in a left-of-field YouTube hole of stoner uploads.
But on Childhood Beach, this unlikely mesh sounds refined and gently produced. The EP initially began as a 9-nine track album; however, Marwe cut it to 6, opting for quality over quantity. And it shows.
Other lyrical highlights include R.S.L‘s unforgettable “Un, Deux, Trois, fuck off” and District Meltdown’s cultural musings —“why does everyone know how to debate?”. Instrumentally speaking, Heart Control would be a personal favourite. Sun-baked production, hypnotic acoustic guitar, and a pelting melody culminate into a warm, cathartic listening experience for your Sunday wash up or your retreat from a devastating Friday night.
The potency of Marwe’s lyricism shouldn’t be understated. “I was caught in a doomsday hum, set fire to a Catholic school, ‘nother death on a childhood beach, ‘nother runaround figure of speech, it’s a bloodbath tapestry”. As Marwe continues to let his brain wander and his instruments sing, Wedding Motel only becomes more and more enjoyable.
Listen to the Childhood Beach EP from Wedding Motel below:
