Eilis Frawley’s Fall Forward – and her fight for inclusivity

Eilis Frawley is a percussive powerhouse. She’s also a champion of inclusivity in Berlin’s music scene. Whether behind the microphone, the drum kit or elsewhere in the studio, Frawley brings her unique style to every project she is involved in. When she arrived in the city in 2016, Frawley helped to establish Bang On, an event series diversifying local lineups.

Since then, she’s became a core member of multiple bands – Turkish post-punkers Kara Delik, local supergroup I Drew Blank, and noisy punksters Restless – has toured as a member of acts like Laura Lee & the Jettes and Anika, and astonishingly somehow even found the time to work on her own solo project.

Frawley released her first EP back in 2020, and now five years later she’s about to drop her debut album, Fall Forward, a no-wave, post-poetic-punk collection of cathartic eulogies that weave in stories of sexism, loneliness or alienation. How on earth does she fit it all in?

To be progressive for me is to be inclusive and accessible.

It’s been five years since your last solo release. Why has it taken you so long to put this album together, and how does it feel to finally have it out in the world?

I started working on the album back in 2019 when I was feeling a bit stuck between projects. At that time, I really wanted to tour, write songs and try to make music my main thing. I made a lot of plans and dreamt big, right before the pandemic hit. Once things opened up after the pandemic I felt a pull to make music with others, not only by myself. So, I spent some time playing with Laura Lee, touring with Anika, and also creating my other band, Kara Delik. All at the same time I was writing my first solo album.

Overall, I’m pretty excited about this release and really proud of what we made. In the end, it was much more than just me. Kat Frankie played a huge role in it as well. I realised quite quickly that I’d like to work with a FLINTA producer to make this album. Kat was recommended to me by a few people, so I sent her an email, we met for coffee and then she said yes. Crazy, right? Kat is so unbelievably creative and has a very impressive skill set. I’m still a bit shocked! It feels like such a gift that we were able to do this together.

The opening track jumps straight into one of the album’s key themes: representation and expectations of women and those who identify as female. Can you tell us a bit more about that and the other themes you’re exploring on the record?

The album is a reflection on how I see the world, covering topics of mental health, living abroad, social structures, the relationships between people and my relationship to society. The opening track, ‘Be A Lady’, is a light-hearted critique of outdated and sexist language. It’s quite shocking how often I’m addressed by my gender in harmless chit chat.

A lot of the lyrics I wrote during the pandemic when we couldn’t easily see the ones we love. I think this can be heard throughout the album as a displacement of people. ‘James’ for instance is about a friend who passed away in my early 20s, a mourning song, but also a celebration of all the good that he lived. ‘Waters’ is about my Nanna who absolutely loved to gossip, probably in a toxic way. Whereas ‘Something to do’ is a song for my niece and nephews.

You’ve been actively involved in running and promoting FLINTA events in Berlin. What are your thoughts on diversity in the industry?

Thanks to initiatives such as Decolonoize, Iç Içe, My People and Brighter Agency, the representation of FLINTA and BIPoC artists in our scene has become, at least to me, much more visible over the past few years. I find the DIY scene much more inclusive, but there’s still room for improvement! Larger stages, bigger shows, mainstream festivals and the music press are still heavily dominated by white cis-men. We still need to hold venues, promoters and headlining artists accountable to book bands with FLINTA and BIPoC members.

Berlin is still a place that can provide a lot of new opportunities and experiences, but to be progressive for me is to be inclusive and accessible. For this [to happen], Berlin has a long way to go. And this might be an unpopular opinion, but smoke-free concert rooms are a form of inclusivity. Berlin’s romanticised view of smoking inside, especially in the DIY scene, has to go.

You were integral in starting Bang On. How did the event series come about?

Bang On started in 2016 when I moved to Berlin from Seoul, South Korea. In Seoul I was very actively involved in the DIY music scene. I was pretty naive about how the music scene worked in Europe. When I got here I was shocked that I had to deal with the horrible reality of bringing your own backline to gigs, and the stuff that goes along with the rest of the music industry. I still find it quite crazy that bands drag around full backlines, up and down stairs, to get paid a door deal in some places.

I was also surprised that, especially compared to my experience in Seoul, the gender balance in live music in Berlin was, and still is, grossly unbalanced. We definitely need more community and safe spaces for new artists to play. I really believe artists develop the most through performance opportunities, and over the years these opportunities have become less available as venues shut down.

We still need to hold venues, promoters and headlining artists accountable to book bands with FLINTA and BIPoC members.

Are there any other projects you’re involved with that we might have missed, or something new in the works?

I have two other projects on the go. Kara Delik, a Turkish post-punk band. We have an album out in April and a string of tour dates in April and May. I also have a noisy punk band called Restless. We had a big first year, and are currently writing new songs.

This is my 9-to-5. Sometimes it can be a real challenge. Not one day goes by without answering multiple emails and making a number of decisions either independently or collectively, and some weeks there’s multiple rehearsals and concerts. Overall, I wish I had more time to actually make music, but here we are, juggling three bands, releases, tours and trying to sleep seven hours a night.

Your album sees you move behind the drum kit to front of the stage. How does that feel?

It feels both natural and endlessly scary. There’s so much more to think about, to manage. You have to engage in a different way with the audience and there’s a need to be more present, but I enjoy the challenge. Finishing this record feels quite rewarding, like, cool, I remembered all the bits, and did the things.