In Conversation: Jem Siow of Speed
For the last five years, Jem Siow and Speed have been working their way up to the release of a debut album called "Only One Mode." But don't let the name fool you: There's more to them than you think.
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Entering this third and final week of Anti-Matter’s anniversary special, I knew that there were lots of ways I could have approached Futures Week. But fewer bands represent so much of what I’d like to see for the future of this project—and for the future of hardcore, if I’m being honest—than Speed from Sydney, Australia.
Jem Siow is a considerable part of that calculation. As the band’s charismatic and highly extroverted frontman, Jem is a hardcore evangelist of sorts, using the band’s lyrics and visual aesthetics to add new meaning to our historical tropes while strongly advocating for a for a hardcore scene rooted in love and acceptance. But Jem is also a complicated figure: A classically-trained flute teacher who sings with a late-’80s New York hardcore bark; a visibly muscular power-lifter who swears, “You have no idea how soft I am.” It’s a kind of three-dimensionality that has always existed in our community, but has often been hidden out of fear of not being “hardcore enough.” For Jem, it’s a newfound opportunity to show you who he is. “It wasn’t until I played in this band that I am finally accepting and embracing every part of my identity,” he laughs, “and now people are like, ‘This is the most hardcore thing ever!’”
I feel like, for a lot of people, it would be an easy thing to watch the “Real Life Love” video once and just write it off as something in the tradition of tough-guy hardcore—where there’s a narrative with tension and conflict and a vague threat of violence. But if you really pay attention to it, that’s not what it is at all. There are scenes of deep consolation between friends, there’s crying and hugging, there’s you being goofy, there’s even a friendly kiss. And I feel like those things matter, because they create a contrast that you can’t just ignore. There’s something deeper at play. I know you had a part in directing it, or at least conceptualizing it, and I wanted to start by asking how deliberate that was.
JEM: I’ll do my best to keep it concise, but…
You don’t actually have to be that concise.
JEM: [Laughs] OK, well, to give you some context, then: This band has exceeded so many of the expectations that we ever had for our potential and what we could achieve and the audiences that we could reach. The last five years, the entire existence of this band—and especially the crescendo of the last two years—has been nothing short of completely overwhelming. And a big part of that has been this sense of responsibility we feel that we have to deliver a message to the world, now that we have a larger audience than just our friends and siblings. So first of all, from the very beginning, Speed has always been about Sydney Hardcore—which is sort of that “hardcore patriotism” that goes with New York Hardcore or Boston Hardcore or places like that. But when I think of the image of Sydney Hardcore, I know that we don’t have the same story [as those bands]. We don’t have the same lived experience that some of our influences may have had. But what we do have, what I feel is unique and special to us, is the real connection and friendship that we have.
Speed, in itself, is not just five individuals. It’s more the embodiment of our friendship group in Sydney. And to understand this, I think you have to understand that because we live in an Australian hardcore scene, we’ve always lived with the feeling that the potential of our audience was very small. We never ever thought that people in America or people outside of Australia would ever care. We never thought they’d care about what we had to offer—and that was fine. We became very comfortable with what we had; our relationship with hardcore music was just “for us, by us.” But through that, we cultivated some very significant relationships. Everyone in Speed and our friends have been best friends for the better part of ten to twenty years. And Speed’s greatest message is about embodying that sense of love and connection that we have between us. It’s not just this sense of loyalty or friendship that I think can get stereotyped in hardcore tropes. For us, it’s about acceptance and a sense of unconditional love between our friends; it’s about acceptance of each other through your strengths and your weaknesses. We have an understanding that we’re all on our individual journeys, and that I love you for who you are because I see you for who you are. That kind of vision and perspective that we share is the foundation to everything I have. It’s real.
I actually took the lyric sheet to Only One Mode and counted nine or ten uses of the word “love” in your songs, which was interesting to me because that’s a lot of love for a band that sometimes gets called a “beatdown band” [laughs]. I can’t put my finger on it, but there feels like this soft undercurrent in your delivery that doesn’t allow it to be all fucking hard, all the time.
JEM: Pat Flynn is one of my [favorite] artists. And I remember before I met him properly at Sound & Fury a few years ago, Alex Henry, who plays in Fiddlehead with him, told me that Pat felt intimidated by me. He said, “He’s kind of scared of meeting you.” And I was like, “Bro, you have no idea how soft I am. Is that the vibe I’m putting out there?” [laughs] I mean, obviously we’re engaging with this style of heavy, aggressive music, but that allows us to express a certain facet of our identities, in a controlled way, that we may not be able to always show, you know? If there’s one thing the journey of Speed has taught me, it’s to honor your true sense of self. So for me to get up on stage and try to talk about beating people up or growing up hard or those kinds of things—like, these are not lived experiences of mine. My lived experience is really just the love and acceptance I feel for my friends. That’s why I’m here today.
As someone who’s had a notoriously horrible family history, I also find it kind of endearing to see this almost love affair you have with your parents. I mean, when I was watching that Speed documentary where you were playing that Sydney record release show and your mom and dad were on stage just beaming… That show was kind of a wild spectacle that would horrify most people, but your parents were like, “Yay!” [laughs]. Did you always feel that kind of support?
JEM: It’s really funny because I’m first-generation Chinese-Malaysian Australian-born. My parents are fifth-generation Chinese-Malaysian. But they are not your stereotypical Asian parents by any means. And what I mean by that is that they aren’t the strict kind of parents that want you to study hard and become a doctor or [whatever]. When I was fifteen, when I was getting towards the end of high school and we were talking about figuring out my career, I had a long talk with my dad about what I was passionate about and what I loved—and it was just hardcore music. To this day, I remember my dad saying to me, “Any other Asian parent would be telling you right now to go do your math homework, but I’m just going to tell you to go write some riffs” [laughs]. Aaron, who plays bass in Speed, is my younger brother, and the unconditional acceptance that our parents have given us since we were born has shaped us to be who we are. Honestly, the reason I was drawn to hardcore was because I found so many of the values that my parents brought me up to have here.
Did you know that your dad brags about you on LinkedIn?
JEM: I am not fully aware of the specifics, but I’m not surprised because he brags about us everywhere [laughs].
It’s just funny to me because it came up in a random search and when I read it, I was like, “Oh my god, this guy just hit the jackpot of dads” [laughs].
JEM: I honestly did, man! I honestly did.
He posted the Hardcore World documentary, and he wrote: “Do what you love, love what you do, find your highest potential in the course of making a positive difference to those you serve.” He mentions how that’s a key theme in his business, and then he says, “My three children are my greatest inspiration for what I do. My sons Jem and Aaron are part of a hardcore band called Speed. To see them live this message and to do this together is such a blessing.” That’s kind of mind-blowing to me, because again, my experiences were just the polar opposite.
JEM: It’s completely mind-blowing. The older I become the more grateful I am for this privilege of being brought up the way I have—the sense of freedom to take ownership of my own pathway. I feel so grateful to the point that I almost feel guilty? Because I meet so many people who didn’t have this experience, who didn’t have that parent figure or that friendship circle or that teacher or that opportunity to pick up an instrument or something like that to lead them on a path similar to my own. My parents are just the greatest force in my life. And my only reaction to expressing that gratitude is being able to channel that and somehow pay it forward and at least shine a light on the love that we feel and bring that into the music.
How much of a role did your parents play in your flute career? That doesn’t seem like an instrument most kids would reach for on their own.
JEM: The only hand they had in it is that my parents’ advice has always been: Find what you love in this world and find a way to make it sustainable so that you can do it with all your heart. So with flute-playing, they never told me to play the flute. I was just going to a public school with a band program, and they gave me a flute. In many ways, I discovered music through that. My parents never pushed me to pursue music, but while most kids would have quit when they got into high school, every time I came to a hurdle—when I felt like I didn’t want to practice or when I wanted to stop countless times—I feel like I must have heard this stingy stereotypical Asian voice in my head that was like, “I’ve been learning flute for five years now. It was 30 dollars a lesson. It’s been X amount of lessons. My parents spent that much money. If I stop now, I’m throwing it all down the drain” [laughs]. That was the only voice within my head every time I wanted to quit. So I kept doing it.
By the end of high school, I didn’t know what I wanted to do, but I just knew I loved music. My music teachers at the time encouraged me to audition for this conservatorium—which is the classical music school in Sydney, and one of the top schools in Australia—and I got in. For some preface, I went to an all-boys school and I was pretty much the only flute player, so it was very easy for me to stand out and think I was OK. Not many males played the flute [laughs]. But when I got into this school, I quickly realized I was literally the shittiest player by so far. My parents aren’t musicians. I didn’t even really care about classical music. I was just playing this flute that I enjoyed. The kids at this school were all really preppy; their parents were in orchestras; they were playing their parents golden flutes. They could listen to a symphony on the radio and not only be able to pick out what symphony it was, but also be able to tell which orchestra it was from around the world, you know what I mean?
I wrecked myself for three years at Uni trying to keep up and prove to myself that I could be as good as them. I would practice for five hours a day minimum. I was going on tour with my hardcore band at the time, and I’d sit in the back of the van with a flute, just silently doing pinky exercises for hours on end just to keep up. And then I’d go and play a recital to three people in suits, fuck up two notes, and just be in tears about it. I had the craziest performance anxiety I’ve ever experienced. On the converse, I’d go and play these hardcore shows to a hundred people who didn’t even know what a scale or a time signature was, and I’d have the best time of my fucking life making mistakes the whole way through. It was the best feeling ever. So by the end of that degree—which I finished early—I just realized I didn’t have the passion for that. And that’s because I found what the essence of music was to me. It’s about the real passion and sense of expression that you get from it. It’s not about the technicality. It’s not about playing the fast or more detailed or the most intricate notes. It’s the feeling and the connection you have between the community, which I just did not have at all [in the conservatorium]. Like, I don’t fit in everywhere, but I really did not fit in there. That was the greatest lesson.
I think one of the most interesting things about Speed to me is that for as much as you’re known for this kind of “hardcore evangelism,” and for as much as people might construe you as “purists,” I don’t really get that from you. Like, I found this thing online from 2015 where you were asked about your favorite things of the year and you said that the best show you saw that year was American Football. And that reminded me of something that happened last month where I tweeted something about Owen [the solo project of American Football’s Mike Kinsella] and Justice Tripp retweeted that and said that he used to go to sleep listening to Owen’s I Do Perceive every night [laughs]. I love that. That’s one of the things I appreciate about him, and that I appreciate about you, is that there’s a real sense of love of hardcore, but it’s not a dogmatic tunnel vision.
JEM: I mean, hardcore is about the culture and the ethics to me. That’s everything I’m drawn to about it. When we “preach” about what hardcore means to us, I don’t expect everyone to have that same experience. That’s the beauty of hardcore. You can carve your own slice out of it and it can mean something completely different to you than it means to someone else—and it’s completely justified. In terms of the style of music that we’re playing, when Speed started it was just meant to be a simple hardcore band just playing heavy, hard music the way we wanted to hear it. That doesn’t mean we’re just 100 percent heavy hardcore macho shit. When we claim Sydney hardcore or Speed hardcore, it’s just our brand of ethics. It’s about culture.
OK, but break that down for me. When you say “ethics,” what do you mean by that? What are the intrinsic parts of that to you?
JEM: I see hardcore as an ecosystem. We respect all the different parts and experiences that people have with the scene, all the different elements that make up the scene. We’re not the kind of band who believes that there needs to be one style, with one viewpoint, with one set of politics. We’re a band that embraces people with different experiences because we recognize that our understanding of hardcore is unique to our experience in Sydney, Australia. It might be different to people from Melbourne. It’s different to people from New York. And I don’t think it’s our place to have an authority of what hardcore must be or should look like. An ideal hardcore scene is one that’s built on acceptance and understanding, knowing that we are all freaks in some way, who feel some kind of resistance to the structure of society, and who have found our way into the four walls of a show. I can’t say that Sydney has the best bands in the world; we definitely do not. But what I can vouch for, and feel truly proud about, is that there is a sense of inclusivity and a sense of acceptance there—whether you’re a new jack and you just went to your first show or if you’ve dropped out and you’ve come back after ten years.
To that point as well, I think the reason why I feel so passionate and invigorated about hardcore is because I feel it gives an individual some kind of an opportunity to have some sort of meaningful impact when the world feels so helpless. I’m not smart enough to address all the problems of the world. I don’t know how to fix all the fucked up mess outside. But at least I feel like I can make some kind of tangible impression on my own community.
When I look at Speed and how you represent Sydney, specifically, I actually think it says something kind of amazing about the multiculturalism of the city that you could put together a hardcore band with Speed’s ethnic makeup basically by accident. There’s a video where you sort of joke about having “only one white guy in the band.”
JEM: I mean, Sydney is the capital city of Australia, and it’s very diverse ethnically, but the hardcore scene—not so much. It’s funny that you talk about ethnicity, because it was never on my mind, at least as far as the band. There had been talks [for the whole time I’ve been involved in hardcore] about being involved with starting an all-Asian band, and I joked about that, but I was never ever drawn to that idea or inspired by it because it felt like it was too easy for that to be tokenistic. I also felt like that wouldn’t represent my experience, because my parents weren’t afraid to push me to mix me with other kids who didn’t necessarily look like me. So even though I’ve obviously had the experience of marginalization here and there, for the most part I’ve been accepted by my friends of all different ethnicities and that’s the story I’ve come to know. So this band was never meant to be a political band that was based on heritage or anything like that. Like, Josh has been one of my best friends since I was thirteen. His name is Josh Adam Clayton, and he’s the whitest guy ever [laughs]. That’s just who we are. If the love is there, that’s enough.
But I was conscious when we started the band that we look the way we do. And to be honest, that’s the reason why pretty much everything—from the demo to the album—has been just photos of us. I guess our main visual concept is “us” [laughs]. Like, if people were just listening to the demo, they may have thought we were an American band, but I wanted them to see what we actually look like. Because I do see a lot of other people who have the same ethnic heritage as me and Aaron, who didn’t find a space in hardcore, and I don’t think that’s because hardcore wasn’t made for them or for other people from certain backgrounds. It’s because when you see yourself in something, you are more inspired to follow in that direction. Representation sets pathways. Through the experience of our band, I’m seeing that the door feels to be opening so much more for people who look like we do and that’s incredibly special. There’s so much potential for more diversity and for the sharing of any unique stories that we have, which will only make hardcore more dynamic and more colorful and more enriched. If bands like ourselves, and others around the world, can just continue to champion their own sense of identity, that will just open the doors for more greatness in the scene. I don’t know if I can find a better way of saying that.
One of the things I’ve been curious about is that I know Speed formed around the beginning of COVID lockdowns, and obviously, during that time there was a lot of specifically anti-Chinese sentiment—which is something you’ve addressed in your lyrics. But if that weren't the climate that you formed this band under, do you think that the band might look differently in terms of your aesthetic or how forward you are in terms of your Asian identity? I’ve been thinking about this because, for example, I know that, for me, whenever I feel like queer people are acutely under attack in the broader culture, I tend to get “more” queer; I get a little bit more abrasive and more “fuck you” about it. I thought you might have felt something similar.
JEM: It’s reactionary to what was happening at the time, for sure. That song “Not That Nice” is a very personal song, because as a part of my growth, I’ve had to confront and challenge some of my conceptions. For example, I was someone who was raised to be so accepting of people that, sometimes, I can make excuses for things. That’s the way I’m wired. I always want to see the best in people. I don’t ever really want to believe that anyone is inherently “evil.” I just think people are a product of their traumas and experiences. But “Not That Nice” was really about me realizing that there is a line in the sand that needs to be drawn, and I do actually need to put my foot down for some things—especially because, unfortunately, Asian people have been stereotyped to be very passive and soft-spoken. I was brought up to be completely different from that; outgoing and outspoken on a lot of things. So it felt wrong for me to kind of neglect the injustices that I could see around me, because there are people who weren’t brought up to speak out against these things, and I felt a responsibility to acknowledge that. “Not That Nice” is saying, yeah, I’m a nice guy—and I want to be nice—but there are some things that we have to take a stand for.
How much of your “hard aesthetic” do you think is a reaction to that stereotype of “the polite Asian?”
JEM: It’s about us channeling this visceral part of our personalities that is locked away. This kind of music enables us to channel that in a positive way and let that come out. So there is a conscious element of portraying ourselves the way that we do. People have said that we’re just ‘so macho’ or that we’re ‘beefy gym guys’ or whatever—and I understand that. But for the majority of time, Asian males have been largely emasculated in the media. Part of me and Aaron and Dennis showcasing that we are strong individuals who have a harder side to our personalities—and part of us opening that door by saying, ‘We can look like this,’ and that we can be confident enough in our own skin to go out and look this way—is that there is a consciousness in representing that. Because again, it comes back to the point of being authentic to who we are and hoping that someone might see that and feel empowered in a certain way. Some guy came up to me at a show the other day and said, “Jem, I need to tell you that I lost 40 pounds lifting to your music,” and I was like, “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all tour!” The fact that people can even get that from the music itself is so special to me. It’s more than just the music itself. If you’re able to couple it with all the facets of your identity, that’s when you really make something that’s special and unique to yourself.
There was a point where you made a comment somewhere about “being old” while also maintaining that hardcore is a youth movement. Obviously, you’re not slowing down or seemingly ending Speed anytime soon, so I was curious how it is that you personally reconcile this idea that hardcore is a youth movement with the fact that you’re more active now than you ever have been.
JEM: I do believe that hardcore belongs to the youth, but it just so happens that it took us this long to be in a band that we recognize has some form of influence. Our mission statement, from day one, has always been to promote Australian hardcore culture. And a big part of that is trying to inspire more people to feel proud about being involved in this scene and to start their own bands. We want to inspire more young kids at home to find the realness that we see in hardcore, and to somehow nurture that experience so that they can form friendships, memories, and experiences with people—at home or around the world—with this vehicle. So… we’re getting older, but we’re feeling younger. And hopefully by our story we can inspire more young kids to take the flag and carry that on. If Speed was to finish tomorrow, I can say that we’ve achieved most of our goals. We’ve ticked so many of those boxes years ago already. But the one thing we need in Australia is new bands. We need the new generation to come through. If Speed was to stop before that happened, I think that would be a shame.
That’s fair, but I feel like I still want to challenge you a little bit. So maybe we can end it like this: I want you to tell me a story about your younger self, something where you can look back on it now and say, “That was the least hardcore thing about me.” And the reason why I’m asking you this is because I think it might provide some support to the idea that getting older actually made you more hardcore. Can you think of something like that?
JEM: [Pauses] In a broader way, I feel like a lot of my adolescence and my twenties was spent molding myself to find acceptance from my peers or from people who I seeked recognition from. I found that I spent a lot of those years trying to be someone who could tick a box. I would compromise and hide aspects of my personality and my identity to be accepted by people who I wanted validation from. And it wasn’t until… Well, really, it wasn’t until I started Speed that I threw a lot of that away and just completely owned who I was at that moment, and put all of the parts of me into one thing.
I think every experience and opportunity that we’ve had so far have been the greatest and most profound lessons in my life—of accepting who you are, acknowledging who you are, and just growing into that and not being afraid of it. Because hardcore definitely comes with its trends, it definitely comes with its uniforms, it definitely comes with its standards, which in itself is not hardcore at all. The aesthetic is obviously a part of the way we affiliate with one another and identify ourselves, but at the core of it, it really comes down to you—flourishing with the truest form of yourself. At least for me, I’ve found hardcore to be a space that helps. It’s brought out the best of me. It’s brought out the truest version of me.
Have you ever read the interview I did with Crystal [Pak] from Initiate?
JEM: I actually did! But it was last year, I think.
There was an echo of that interview in your answer, the part where you talk about striving to be all of the parts of yourself, without hiding certain aspects. This is such a major interest of mine—trying to become the most integrated version of myself, with no compartmentalization. Where you don’t pick and choose who you are at a given moment. Where people are going to just get all of you, all of the time. It’s difficult to execute, but it’s exciting to imagine that freedom.
JEM: 100 percent. I identify with that a lot. It’s funny because I spent so long thinking, “Oh, if I talk this way, or if I dress this way, or if I behave this way, I’ll be more hardcore. I’ll be more accepted by the people who are gatekeeping things from me, or judging me.” And it wasn’t until I played in this band that I am finally accepting and embracing every part of my identity—and now people are like, “This is the most hardcore thing ever!” [laughs]. I mean, I am by no means perfect. And I am absolutely—and forever will be—on my journey in finding myself and growing and refining. But I think that’s why we have a hardcore community. Because you can accept yourself, but you can also have people around you that will accept you, too. That’s when you can really flourish. It’s really hard when you only have one or the other.
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"We don’t have the same lived experience that some of our influences may have had. But what we do have, what I feel is unique and special to us, is the real connection and friendship that we have."
This is what I love about Speed. They're playing hard-as-fuck music but they've got song titles like "Real Life Love" and every time I see them getting interviewed, they're just so stoked to be playing and getting to meet the bands that inspired them. It's hardcore joy. And the distinction between singing about loyalty and singing about love is an important one, I think. Normalize hard-as-fuck dudes telling their friends they love them.
" I feel it gives an individual some kind of an opportunity to have some sort of meaningful impact when the world feels so helpless. I’m not smart enough to address all the problems of the world. I don’t know how to fix all the fucked up mess outside. But at least I feel like I can make some kind of tangible impression on my own community."
Well said and I could not agree more.