Steve Tallis in interview: “The blues is an infinite expression of the spirit”

Born in 1952 in Perth, Western Australia, Steve Tallis is one of those musicians whose path has been shaped on the road. At a very young age, a Louis Armstrong concert in 1963 acted as a revelation and convinced him to dedicate his life to music. Since then, this singer and guitarist has never stopped traveling, performing, and exploring different musical traditions, from blues to African music, as well as jazz, rock’n’roll, and even Balkan repertoires linked to his Macedonian roots.

Now based in Paris, which he considers his home, Steve Tallis continues a singular journey made up of intense and often improvised performances, where rhythm plays a central role. An unclassifiable artist, he has been developing a deeply personal body of work for decades, shaped by his travels, encounters, and musical experiences around the world. In this interview, he reflects on his beginnings, his influences, and his very open vision of the blues. He also discusses his working methods, his taste for improvisation, his many activities around music—from radio to mentoring artists—as well as his latest recording project. A rich conversation with a musician who, after more than fifty years of career, continues to follow the same line: playing freely and telling his life through music.

🎤 Steve Tallis interviewed by Marc Loison

Hello and welcome Steve! You were born in Australia—what were your first musical shocks as a child in Perth?

I started playing when I was 10. Then my parents took me to see Louis Armstrong and Trini Lopez in a theatre that hosted international touring acts. And that’s when it happened—when I left the concert, I decided I would become a musician. Since then, I’ve played in many different bands, solo and in duos. I’ve met a lot of interesting people and toured in many places around the world.

Were you self-taught, or trained by specific musicians?

I heard a lot of music when I was young. My parents had a 78 of Leadbelly, Good Night Irene. My mother was a big fan of Ella Fitzgerald and Mahalia Jackson… I listened to a lot of rock’n’roll, jazz, Ray Charles… And my ancestors are Macedonian, so I also heard a lot of Balkan music—Greek, Albanian, Turkish. I heard all of that a lot when I was young, so it influenced me deeply.

Later on, in the 1970s, was Australia a fertile ground, or did you quickly feel the need to leave?

I was mostly touring in blues bands. I listened a lot to Howlin’ Wolf, Muddy Waters, Sonny Boy Williamson, Little Walter, but also Paul Butterfield and Canned Heat. In the 70s, I played in many different bands. We covered a lot of The Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, and others from that generation. But among all those bands, I also had one, for a few months, that played only original material. At first, I was just a singer. Then I got a guitar, and that’s when I started writing my own songs. That band was focused on my songs, but it was very hard to find work with original material. So I kept playing other repertoires with different bands. Then, at the end of 1974, I decided to leave everything and go solo. I wanted to play with different musicians, but above all to perform my own songs.

Travel has been very important to you. Let’s talk about Africa, Europe, and France. Did those early travels change the way you listened to music before playing it?

Not really in the 70s. The first city I visited outside Australia was Paris, at the end of 1974. I arrived here and immediately loved it. But I don’t think it changed my playing right away. That came later. When I started touring in Africa, India, and Pakistan, I was already listening to a lot of music from those regions. I became more and more interested in it. And after the Stones period and all that, like many people, I started wondering who wrote those songs. That’s when I went back to the roots and discovered John Lee Hooker, Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, and others.

From there, it felt natural to explore Africa. I became very interested in voodoo and everything around it. That probably influenced me when I started traveling there, as well as to India and Pakistan, but not as much as one might think. My musical interests are very broad and I keep evolving. Some of my songs are clearly blues, others more pop, others more rock. There are also more psychedelic things, maybe even a bit avant-garde.

I don’t rehearse. I play with musicians from very different backgrounds and we never rehearse. So the music stays very fresh, very improvised.

What did you learn in Africa that you wouldn’t have learned elsewhere?

I think it was simply being there. Going there, living that experience… it was incredible. I played at a festival called Panifest, which celebrates the anniversary of the abolition of slavery, emancipation. They had never seen a white singer before. There were only Black musicians. For me, it was an honour to play in that context. I have some funny stories about that. But above all, being there, experiencing it from the inside—it was very powerful. I wouldn’t say I learned something specific, but spiritually, I experienced something quite deep.

Did your time in Africa change your view on the origins and social role of the blues?

I think it was mainly a personal, almost spiritual experience. For me, it’s obvious that the blues comes from Africa. It’s very clear.

I have records from Senegal or Mali where the melodies are exactly the same as Lead Belly, things like that. It just broadened my understanding of all the music that shaped what became the blues. And when I discovered Alan Lomax, that was also a major turning point for me.

Your words remind me of a recent interview with Cedric Burnside…

Yes, when Ali Farka Touré and John Lee Hooker first heard each other, they were struck by how similar they sounded! To me, that’s not surprising. When you listen to a lot of musicians, you realise everything is connected. John Lee Hooker was a major influence, especially because he could build very powerful songs with just one chord, driven by rhythm and strong lyrics. I also listened a lot to Bob Dylan.

Have your travels shaped your songs through rhythm, stories, languages, silences… or all of it?

Mainly rhythm. That’s what interests me the most. I’m a rhythm guitarist—I don’t play lead. My songs are built on grooves, on pulse. That’s where everything starts for me.

Rhythm, to me, is life. It’s essential. I know many guitarists who can play beautiful solos but don’t have that sense of rhythm. From the moment I started playing and writing, I focused on that. It’s the foundation of everything.

Let’s talk about France, since your relationship with it spans several decades. How did it begin?

I first came here in 1974 and immediately loved Paris. There was a very strong connection from the start. Getting off the plane, walking through the streets—I instantly felt at home. Then I started coming back regularly, especially to Cannes for MIDEM, to develop my music internationally. At that point, I realised that even though Australia is a big country, it’s quite isolated. My music found its place more naturally elsewhere.

So I started working on exporting my music, alongside my distribution activities in Australia, and things gradually grew. I’ve always loved coming here. I even applied for a Greek passport to be able to settle in Europe. It took time, but even then, I already had the idea of living here.

What did you find in France that you didn’t find elsewhere? Is it the audience, the way people listen, or perhaps artistic freedom?

Freedom is very important to me, but I also felt a real respect for music and art in France. That existed in Australia in the 60s and maybe the 70s, but it has changed a lot since then. Here, I still feel it strongly. The audience is great in France, but it is also great in Australia. Everywhere I’ve played, I’ve had very good reactions.

What I particularly love in France are the small venues: villages, cafés, bars. Some of those concerts are among the best I’ve ever done. I’ve played in front of tens of thousands of people in India or Africa, but I prefer these more intimate settings, where I can see the audience and really share something with them.

Is the French audience particularly receptive to the narrative and ritual dimension of your music?

Yes, I think so. A lot of the music I love, I don’t understand the lyrics—whether it’s African, Mexican or Brazilian—and yet it works. You don’t necessarily need to understand the words; it’s about feeling. I think people connect mainly through rhythm. My repertoire is quite varied, with a cappella passages, and that kind of mix isn’t so common. In the end, what people remember is the energy, the sensation. And in recent years, we’ve had some great nights in France.

“My home is Paris”

After so many years on the road, where is home today?

My home is Paris. I go back to Australia every year because I have children and a grandchild there, but I feel at home here.

I have a few questions about your relationship to music—artistically, spiritually and socially…

Yes. I think the blues is much broader than people think. Many people, purists or whatever, are very “restricted” in how they define the blues. I’m not like that at all. When you say the word “blues”, it can mean anything—it’s a very wide term that covers many kinds of music.

You talk about people who devote their lives to the blues, but you seem to go beyond that, don’t you?

Yes, I love music too much to be a purist. I never was, even when I was young. I always listened to a wide range of things. I remember the first time I heard Leadbelly—it felt like a symphony, something very powerful. My mother also introduced me to Sister Rosetta Tharpe, and I was struck by her power on the guitar.

What I love about the blues is that it is first and foremost a personal expression. I write from what I live, what I observe—whether it’s political, intimate, or about life and death. For me, this music belongs to no one. I’ve been asked if it’s Australian, but I don’t think in those terms. It’s for everyone, regardless of origin or age.

Your music often approaches trance and incantation. Is that something you consciously seek, or does it happen naturally on stage?

When I was a child, I listened to a lot of Macedonian and Greek music—very immersive, with long pieces connected to dance. That approach stayed with me. In the blues, the first musician who gave me that feeling was John Lee Hooker. He had a huge impact on me. Being able to build a song with just one chord, as long as the rhythm is strong and the lyrics are solid—that’s something very powerful.

At the same time, I grew up with the Beatles, the Stones, the Kinks, the Yardbirds, and also Jimi Hendrix. I listened to a lot of radio, which was essential for me. I was influenced by everything I heard.

How do you choose your musicians? Musical, human, spiritual reasons… or all three?

All of them. There has to be a real connection, both musically and personally. Even when I meet musicians for the first time, I quickly feel whether it works. The people I play with often become friends, because we share the same approach to music. They also have to accept that I don’t rehearse—that everything happens in the moment.

That’s the freedom I’m looking for, and that I also give them. I’m always looking for interesting musicians, and I’m lucky to have some very good ones in Paris.

You’ve met many great artists. What are your best memories?

Bob Dylan. We were on tour with my band, and his manager came to see me before the show to tell me not to try to meet him. He said he had been working with him for twenty years and that Dylan never met opening acts. During our set, about ten minutes before the end, I looked to the side of the stage and saw him there, watching us.

After the show, the same manager called me to say Dylan wanted to meet me. He liked our music and wanted to talk. In the dressing room, he just talked about music, like between musicians. He told me he hadn’t heard something like that in thirty years, and advised me to stay focused and not compromise.

Then he invited me to join him at the hotel. He was with Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, who were backing him on that tour. We talked all night. The next day, though, he was much more distant. It was quite strange.

Let’s talk about the triple album “Memory Ghost”. Why did you choose that format?

At first, it was meant to be a double album, with one solo part and one band part. Then a percussionist friend in Brazil, Gary Ridge, whom I had worked with in Australia, offered to join the project. He appears on the first CD of Memory Ghost.

I always work in the studio like I do live—in one take. This time, I recorded a solo session and sent it to him, giving him full freedom: choose the tracks, add percussion and loops. He built his parts that way, and we then integrated his ideas, sometimes on lyrics written at the last minute. I simply approved what he sent—I hardly rejected anything. Some songs were even recorded on my phone. I really liked that remote collaboration—it was quite new for me.

In the end, there was too much material for a double album. There are still unreleased tracks from those sessions. Since I usually release everything I record, it wasn’t easy to make choices. That’s how the project became a triple album.

How do the three discs relate to each other? Are they three chapters of the same story?

Yes, you can see them as three chapters of the same book. Each tells something, while being different. I really enjoy working on a cappella “hollos” with percussion. On the album, we added loops, which slightly changes the texture of the voice.

In concert, I perform those a cappella parts with a tambourine, but on record, the percussion is more present. It’s something that really interests me, because everything starts from rhythm.

After such a large project, do you feel the need for silence, or are you already thinking about a new creative cycle?

I’m always thinking about the next album. I need silence, I also need pain to write—but I’m always writing lyrics and thinking about rhythms. I’d say the next album might come next year. It usually takes about two years to write the songs.

Thank you Steve! See you soon

Thank you Marc.

🎧 Listen to the interview with Steve Tallis on Mixcloud

🎧 Listen to Memory Ghost by Steve Tallis on Spotify