Few musicians in Naarm/ Melbourne are as unpredictable as Solune. I have tried to follow her creative journey for a few years, and I’ve been surprised every time she takes a step. An inventive, evocative pianist, Selene Messinis introduced herself with a bold statement as a contemporary jazz composer, through her work with ISM; then she took an unexpected turn, bursting into EDM frenzy, swapping her piano for a tower of synths, alongside drummer Tim Cox, her partner in music and life.
A stint in Circus Oz and one as director of YoWo (the great band program for young women and gender-diverse teens) later, and now she’s back with Mad Vantage, a mind-blowing, take-no-prisoners blend of groove-centric nu-jazz and prog metal.
How do we call it? Jazz Metal? Metal Jazz? I forgot to ask Solune. But we covered pretty much everything else, including her love for teaching, her recent trip to Europe to study Persian and Greek music, her experience with Take Note (MIJF’s amazing professional development program), and the odd decision to launch the second Mad Vantage album before the first.
It’s been a while since we last talked, but looks like you’ve been keeping very busy.
This year in particular has been very full-on. It’s the biggest year of my professional life. This album I’ve just released with Mad Vantage, that is five years in the making. I wrote some of the music almost ten years ago. Even when I was with ISM, I was also working on another project, which featured more Tigran Hamasyan influenced music at the time. And then I thought: “I should keep exploring this.” That project was called ‘The Lithium Project’ — because lithium is a light metal. We recorded this music about three years ago, and we played at the Women’s Jazz Festival. Then we won a recording prize with Myles Mumford at Rolling Stock. That was amazing.
Why has it been sitting for three years?
It hasn’t been sitting. It took us about a year and a half to produce, and a lot was going on that didn’t leave much energy to produce.
Some of these tunes are like nine minutes long; going through every take, every note, every bar is a mountain of work.
Last year, I decided to set deadlines. I finished editing and producing. Tim Cox, my partner, helped me with the production. Then I began mixing, a process that took a few months. The master was finished last August. Then I thought, now I have to do justice to this project.
What does justice look like, in this instance?
Well, you spend five years on this, spend thousands of dollars, and dedicate years of your life. You want to give it the best possible launch into the world, especially since it’s my first solo project. I looked at different labels and PR creating a whole strategy with a release plan, and building an online community before it was out.
Is this part more stresstful than writing, performing, and creating the actual work?
Definitely. It’s all the stuff I can’t control. I can control whether that note is G or A, that feels pretty straightforward. Then there’s playing, recording, capturing what’s in my head, and communicating that sound. That’s the fun part, though it’s time-consuming. Then comes social media, which feels like this beast you can’t tame. It’s like playing a game with rules that change constantly.
The album is called Minutiae because I care about all these tiny details, I’m obsessed with the fine points.
It probably makes sense to someone like me, who’s pretty maths-brain to want to control everything. But social media just feels like something I have no control over. You keep putting into it, hoping it helps. I don’t really get it.
Let’s talk about the music itself. Did you start with a sound in mind, or with an idea of what you wanted?
It was a natural progression from jazz. All the jazz projects I’ve done, even writing for ISM, were pattern-based music. They still had features I use now, such as rhythmic patterns, ostinatos, odd time signatures, and organising numbers in different ways.
Then I got into Tigran and Hiromi. I had friends at uni who said: “this sounds like this metal thing.” So I started exploring prog metal, and I thought: “Oh, this is it! I’ve been hearing this, but I didn’t even know it was there.” That opened a whole new world. Hiromi and Tigran Hamasyan were like my gateways into metal.
That’s so funny! But if you think about it, in a sense, Hiromi and musicians like Steve Vai have a lot in common in their approach, even if their aesthetics are different.
I’ve always found jazz and metal far apart — like, you’re either one or the other — but musically, there’s a lot of overlap. That’s why I see it as fusion.
How did you decide you’re the one to bring these worlds together?
It felt natural. I wasn’t aiming to do anything particular. My dad asked me recently why I’m writing “metal.”
Was he disappointed?
Haha no, just out of curiosity. We were driving in Greece, and I told him I was working on a new album. We played Tigran’s latest, because I wanted to show him, and he said: “This is really cool.” So when he asked why I’m writing “metal” I said: “It just feels right, that’s why I’m doing it.” Because that’s what excites me about music again, joyfully.
How important was the Melbourne International Jazz Festival and its Take Note program for this?
Extremely important. I’ve applied for Take Note a couple of times before, but it looks like this year was the right time. I was in the right headspace — to learn, take lessons, and write new stuff. I’d written most of this music three or four years ago. It’s good to come back to it.
As for Take Note, the program includes a mentorship component with industry veterans, who I want to learn from. Some days, I was figuring out how my music fits into the national and international scene. I also wanted to improve my teaching, trying to keep my journey going in that. We did workshops in high schools, focused on improvisation, which I love. It’s about how improvisation varies depending on genre. Mostly groove-based, with a set harmonic info — one scale per group — and then exploring styles like Bossa, Funk, R&B, Swing.
Kids often focus on notes — what to play over what chords — and get overwhelmed. They freeze up. Even in private lessons, I’ve been exploring this for years. It was rewarding to do that in schools; it confirmed how much energy I get from teaching.
I love teaching. Not everyone’s cut out for it, but I think it’s my purpose — especially teaching weird concepts and making them accessible. It takes energy. In groups, some kids aren’t very responsive, but I enjoy that challenge. That’s the kind of work I enjoyed at YoWo. Empowering kids to try new things.
The commission I applied for is for a new work, for my second Mad Vantage album. It coincided with an APRA professional development award I received earlier this year. I basically asked to work on this album, studying Greek and Middle Eastern modes, to inform the second album.
Basically, I’m releasing an album, writing a second, and debuting it before the first one.
I’ve been balancing the release of the first album, writing the second album, which premieres at the Jazz Festival, followed by its release in November, the launch of the first album in December, and a tour next year. Exciting stuff. With the festival and APRA support, I aim to build momentum.
How did industry insiders react to this project?
There was surprise. They see me as a woman, outspoken, with bright clothes and opinions. Sometimes people think I wouldn’t be into heavy music because of stereotypes and lack of access. But I was raised to do my own thing. If a festival or APRA accepts this as jazz, maybe that’s a good thing; it broadens the view.
It’s good for women in jazz, too. It’s a way to start accepting broader perspectives, which might help other women feel safer being themselves. A few years ago, I’d think: “I’m not jazz, I’m something else.” But now I see that I belong.
Tell me about your time in Europe.
The Greek and Middle Eastern modes I studied overseas, those are the ones I applied for in that professional development. I had lessons with Kurosh Kanani, an amazing Persian guitarist based in London. Then I went to Athens to study Greek music with a great musician, Yiannis Niarchos. It was intense — learning Greek musical terms, and studying scales and Rebetika modes, traditional rhythms, all this by ear, in Greek, in 36 degrees C weather. The music I explored overlaps with Indian classical music, too.
Of course — a lot of popular Greek songs from the 60s owe everything to music from India.
That’s something I learned this year. I’ve been deeply into Carnatic and Hindustani music lately, so I see the connections. It’s all fusion: westernised modes, time signatures, but rooted in traditional music. It’s only the beginning of a longer journey, but I’ve uncovered a great deal about the interconnectedness of these musical worlds. And it’s made me feel more connected to my culture. I feel less like a tourist and more like I belong. As a Greek Australian, that’s a big shift.
