August Update—Recording of The Apartments new album has begun

to be released in 2020

European, UK and AustraliaN tours to follow

Tees and totes are now on sale to THE WORLD

For Asia, Australia and New Zealand, Canada and the USA, they’ll come from the good people at Riley Records in Australia.

Orders for UK, France and the rest of Europe will come from the good people at Riley Records/The Apartments merch HQ in France.


B&W The Apartments TRIO © Louis Teyssedou 2018.jpg

THE APARTMENTS LIVE AT L’UBU—Disquaire/Record Store Day release APRIL 13, 2019

Huge thanks — possibly congratulations, given the limited number of vinyls pressed — to everyone from all over Europe and Australia who picked up LIVE AT L'UBU on Record Store Day/Disquaire Day on Saturday, April 13. Now that Record Store Day has passed, the album is now also available in the USA and Canada.

The Apartments LIVE at L’Ubu captures one of the most dynamic performances of the September 2015 French tour, and the unique lineup of Australian, French and English players in The Apartments.

The set was drawn from 2015’s No Song, No Song, No Spell, No Madrigal album augmented by others from The Apartments rich back catalogue.

Mixed by Wayne Connolly and mastered by Don Bartley in Australia, The Apartments LIVE at L'Ubu is the greatest hits collection fans have been wanting for a long time.

A DOUBLE vinyl release in stunning gatefold sleeve, only 1,000 albums have been pressed for Disquaire/Record Store Day, April 13 2019.

Available via Riley Records/Talitres in record stores throughout Australia, France, UK, Italy, Spain, Germany, Austria, The Netherlands, Switzerland, Belgium, Portugal and Luxembourg.


Antoine Chaperon — guitar
Eliot Fish — bass, singing
Fabien Tessier — piano, percussion, organ, singing
Gaël Riteau — trumpet, singing
Natasha Penot — keyboards, singing, tambourine
Nick Allum — drums
Peter Milton Walsh — singing, guitar

The Apartments LIVE at L'Ubu RR04LP RVB.jpg


B&W The Apartments TRIO © Louis Teyssedou 2018.jpg



Based in Sydney, Peter Milton Walsh and his band, The Apartments, are acclaimed by critics and fans alike all over the world.

Peter Milton Walsh formed The Apartments in Brisbane, 1978, and left Australia for New York a few years later, and relocated to England when The Apartments were signed by legendary English record label Rough Trade.

During the years of exile and the albums which followed, The Apartments developed an intense, devoted following throughout Australia,Europe and America.

The Apartments first album the evening visits...and stays for years was released in 1985.

In 1992 drift was released in Australia and Europe followed by A Life Full of Farewells in 1995, fête foraine in 1996 and apart in 1997. At this point Peter Milton Walsh withdrew from public life as a musician, due to family circumstances.

He returned with Seven Songs, released by Talitres on Disquaire Day 2013. Seven Songs was recorded live in Paris for Vincent Theval’s Label Pop program on France Musique. The Apartments tour line up included ex-Go-Between Amanda Brown and producer Wayne Connolly.

In 2015 The Apartments 1985 debut album, the evening visits...and stays for years was reissued by Brooklyn label, Captured Tracks as an expanded edition with bonus demo tracks and liner notes by Robert Forster of The Go-Betweens and Steven Schayer of The Chills.

In the same month, The Apartments new album, No Song, No Spell, No Madrigal—the first album of new material in 18 years—was released by Paris label, Microcultures.

At 2015 year’s end, influential French music magazine Magic named No Song, No Spell, No Madrigal #1 Album of The Year, a position never before achieved by an Australian artist. In Australia, ABC Radio National's contemporary music show Inside Sleeve named Twenty One, a track from No Song, No Spell, No Madrigal, # 1 Song of 2015.

The Apartments seven piece band with Australian, French and English players recorded a live album in September 2015 during the French promotional tour to support No Song, No Spell, No Madrigal.

In 2018, Peter Milton Walsh toured France, England, Switzerland, Holland and Germany with The Apartments in trio mode, with French artists Natasha Penot and Antoine Chaperon. Both have been key Apartments collaborators for recording and touring since 2010.

2019 sees the release of The Apartments—LIVE at L’Ubu for Disquaire/Record Store day and 2020 will see the release of the next album of new songs by The Apartments.

Photos of The Apartments © Louis Teyssedou 2018.



The Apartments

September 2015 / Live at L’Ubu, Rennes, France


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apartments t-shirts and tote bags 

T-SHIRTS (WOMEN/MEN) AND TOTE BAGS now available through Big Cartel.

Women: Fitted Tee, 100% Soft Cotton. SMALL, MEDIUM and LARGE 
Three colours: Classic Black, Cherry Red and Sports Grey

$30.00 AUD plus postage

Men: Classic Fit Tee, Heavy Cotton. MEDIUM, LARGE, EXTRA LARGE 

Three colours: Black, Red and Sports Grey

$30.00 AUD plus postage

AND The Apartments Tote Bags

$25.00 AUD plus postage


Women’s Tees

Men’s Tees

Tote Bag


So Set ‘Em Up, Joe.*

Robert Forster got Peter to write some liner notes about The Go-Betweens' early years, 1978 to 1982. They're in the booklet in G Stands For Go-Betweens: The Go-Betweens Anthology Volume 1 box set

* Robert added the title (via what Robert knows is one of Peter’s favourite Johnny Mercer lyrics, One for My Baby).

1978 “I just want some affection.

From a 1978 notebook:

‘Ran through “Who are the mystery girls?” with R & G. Toowong lounge room, Thursday afternoon, tea and biscuits. Could be first time the Dolls have been played in such circumstances.’

I left this bit out, but luckily have just remembered — ‘“We’re having snaggies for dinner!” (Robert claps his hands in excitement).’

It seems pointless to say that I found Robert and Grant — the preposterously boisterous, happy-go-lucky pair of them — completely fresh, particularly in contrast to the bottom of nowhere types I liked to hang around with at the time. Anyone else I knew who was into the New York Dolls was likely — twenty will get you fifty on this — to be lost somewhere in the hurricane of drugs, drink and drama that was then howling through our lives. Robert and Grant had not yet stepped into that particular wind. They were waiting for life to begin.

So while we had some differences about how to live, I felt an immediate affinity with them, their jokes and jump-cut chatter and deeply defamatory gossip. Robert was writing like Pollock painted — grab your material, throw it down fast and move on. Everything that could not be had in life was put into the songs. Songs were a way of wishing. “I just want some affection.

With Summer in ’78 on its way, I was looking to name the band I’d just gotten together. In the cool gloom of Toowong Music where Grant was “working”, (not once, when I’d visited, had the store been troubled by any actual customers), he suggested a name. The Mosquitoes. “You know, Summer’s coming. Here come The Mosquitoes. Like Gilligan’s Island”.

Again, Gilligan’s Island was not entirely where I was coming from — of course he knew this — so I asked instead what he thought of The Apartments. He said, “Ha! The Apartment. Billy Wilder — the cynical and the romantic. That’s perfect for you! Perfect!

I wished I’d said “Nobody’s perfect.” But thanks to Grant, I was sold. It was not the last time he’d help me. The Mosquitoes would anyway have been fatal: I found out later that not only was the name Robert’s idea, but that he’d already used it.

I was completely taken with the lyrics of The Sound of Rain, a song I got to record with them, playing guitar. “He walks through the park. Past the butcher shop and the telephone booth where couples talk in the dark. The plainness of the images and language only heightened the poetry for me. The song’s beauty was perhaps slightly qualified by the fact that in the end, the guy wearing — like Marlowe — a trenchcoat and hat in the rain, murders his girlfriend.

The track was part of the 8 album contract that had just been signed with Beserkley Records, home of Jonathan Richman. Robert came round to my place, announced the contract, and invited me to join the band. It meant a ticket to England, a contract, money, and playing all the time. Robert had other things in mind. “You know what this means, don’t you?...Our own hairdressers!” And he clapped his hands.

1980 “the town without trains”

A first stop at a bottle shop, followed by a steep climb through the hot December streets of Spring Hill to St. Paul’s Terrace where Robert and Lindy, now a couple, lived. Or onto Grant’s place in Dahrl Court, just around the corner.

These were either/or destinations we’d head to after time in our respective “practice rooms”, mine in the Valley, theirs at the foot of the city’s business district.

Grant, Robert and Lindy led separate lives outside the band, but came together in the name of The Go-Betweens, a cause that might outlast even love — and they’d stand by one another for it without ever having to think about it or even say it. Wherever we ended up, nights were divided in three: joints, records, drinks.

It hadn’t occurred to me before but it was now clear that Robert and Grant had quite different takes on the world. A series of firsts, love and loss, filled both their new songs. Grant was cautiously dipping his toe into the waters of relationships while Robert had dived full fathom five into life with Lindy Morrison. I thought this took so much courage it was practically showing off. What have you gotten yourself into? Didn’t you just want some affection? The man finally decides to furnish his house and his first choice turns out to be the electric chair.

Pre-Lindy, his method with songs had been purely speculative, imagination and observation. Andy’s Chest. Like a wedding photographer, he seemed perpetually witness to other people’s hopes and happiness. If there was an intimacy missing from the songs it was because it was missing from his life. Suddenly, the door slams on all that with Lindy and the songs aren’t filtered or scripted anymore, but lived.

Lindy Morrison. Her great, upending, tumultuous, machine gun laugh and incessant beating of a rubber practice pad (a rare species of torture) was now everywhere in his life. SHE SPOKE, IF NOT LIVED, EXCLUSIVELY IN CAPSLOCK, a Klieg light in a roomful of 40 watt bulbs. Describing her quickly exhausted all possible weather metaphors. Gales of laughter, gusts of enthusiasm, a storm of personality that broke in every room. For years to come, in so many places and for so many people who adored The Go-Betweens, she would recast perceptions of the band and add to the love people felt for them.

This crash course he’d taken had an immediate effect on Robert’s material. “A town without trains, he runs to meet you. Rehearsed a first line — it’s left him, thank goodnessHe was living more instinctively, less in quotation marks. Songs bloomed with all he was discovering. Every temporary madness, illusion, disappointment or ecstasy that love/Lindy threw at him, was now permanently rendered in them.

Running through Grant was a strong current of what Soupault said was Blaise Cendrars’ “most stunning gift: enthusiasm”. Hesitantly, I played a new song, No Resistance, to him one night and up from the well of mutedly sung lines he instantly drew one, “the evening visits and stays for years…”  Shaking his head, he told me he loved it. Loved it. That emphatic repetition. Did he sense the line might one day come true for him?

His flat in Dahrl Court matched his mind. A bed that was always made, plain white linen. Typewriter, table, magazines in a stack, lines as straight as a ream of paper. Vodka in the freezer, St-Rémy brandy on the shelf, next to it a box of crackers. Nothing but a rind of cheese in the fridge. Books, singles and albums in alphabetic rows. It was austere, clean, and spoke of discipline, a single devotion. Bare, dark wooden floors gave the room great reverb. In the stillness and quiet of night it was a brilliant setting in which to trade songs on acoustic guitar, listen to records, read out loud.

Only once did I visit during the day, to return a book Grant had insisted I read. The Horse’s Mouth by Joyce Cary. It wasn’t a coincidence that he loved the story of painter Gulley Jimson who, though he knows that a price will have to be paid for it, that so many of the pleasures of ordinary life will be denied him, insists on living for his art. Like Jimson, Grant led an internal life far richer than any external one that was available to him, and that was the point: if the dream had not yet turned up, he possessed an eternal hopefulness that one day it would. Meanwhile, he would lead the life he wanted to, inside his head.

Out of the smoke of memory, his books and records rise and fill the page. Grant had a Blaise Cendrars collection — each of us, of course, convinced we were the only ones in town who did. Anna Akhmatova, the usual French suspects Apollinaire, Verlaine, Baudelaire (he was a relentless Francophile,a European Son), Adrien Stoutenberg’s A Short History Of The Fur Trade, Françoise Hardy’s Greatest Hits, Lenny Bruce’s American LP with the black & white cover, every Dylan ’66 bootleg that had ever existed, Frank O’Hara, Sylvia Plath, Malcolm Lowry’s Under the Volcano and October Ferry to Gabriola — rarely did you see both — Big Star’s Third, the 1978 vinyl with the two faces on the front, a stack of singles as high as the Eiffel Tower. This was all code, it all seemed important. Even as late as the furnace years of our early Twenties, that ridiculous sense that you were in on a secret that other people didn’t get, still mattered. Why do they call it the narcissism of small differences?

Yet no matter how hard we tried to make it feel different, Brisbane still seemed just a long, empty Saturday afternoon kind of town, a place that people died in but did not yet believe in.

By then, we were dreaming in the same direction, of other cities, other countries. Our eyes were on the exits.

1982 “on the Atlantic, we’ll all climb.

By ’82, The Go-Betweens had moved to London. I’d moved to New York. At times I felt I had escaped from a burning house but everything I loved had been left inside.

I was living in an illegal basement beneath the Joe Junior diner on the corner of East 16th and Third Avenue. The basement had no fresh air except via the elevator shaft. It was like a dungeon or a ship. Heatpipes running across ceiling ticked and clanged like clocks. Steel girders, prefab walls and a concrete floor.

Winter was round the corner, and Robert had posted me a pre-release cassette of Before Hollywood from London. I waited till I got home around 2am to listen to it, putting the cassette on in the dark, so it would ring off the cold walls of the room. I immediately fell for it. Disappearances and longing dominated the songs. It was a long goodbye to the country of exile, a kiss blown from a train window. It was not simply despair but, like something by Antonioni, the most beautiful kind of despair.

Once they had been like children who spoke precociously well, but with Before Hollywood they suddenly became fluent with the syllables of loss. They would never be the same again.

Atget, who photographed Paris as it was racing along in the early 20th century and traces of its past were being swiftly erased, used to write on the back of his prints “will disappear”. The Hollywood that Grant and Robert had chosen to write about — the one before the movie industry had even begun, that was still orange groves, barley fields and streetcars — was like Grant’s childhood and Robert’s innocence, a vanished world... “there’s no routine, I’ve never lived like this.

In That Way, Grant sang “there’ll come a time one day, someone will turn and say: It doesn’t have to be that way... The next day, on a New York postcard, I wrote out Berryman’s The Ball Poem, trying to keep my handwriting neat enough so he could read it, and mailed it to him. For a few years, it stayed on a pinboard in his Hackney room.

Up until a certain point in your life, if you think back to times you shared, the days that have your friends in them, you believe that they still exist somewhere. That they’re still available to you. That we are all just in different places on the ferris wheel and that when it comes round again, there they will be. Then you’ll take up just where you left off. And it’s true, the wheel does come round again — but sometimes, the carriage is empty.


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