For Hurb Jephasun, music and art have never been simply things to pursue; they are fundamental parts of who he is. From a childhood spent far from the outside world, with a piano for company and music and writing serving as his escape, to finding his place in Sydney’s underground music scene during the 1980s and 1990s, his creative journey has been shaped by curiosity, experimentation, and a lasting appreciation for music that feels raw and real. Today, based in Perth, Western Australia, Jephasun continues to explore that instinct through his solo recordings, his work with The Polite Society and The Beautiful Losers, and his visual art.
His latest project, In The End, represents a particularly personal chapter in that journey. Drawing from decades of songwriting and lived experience, the collection brings together songs that have waited for the right moment to be heard. Following difficult personal experiences that prompted him to reconsider how much of himself he was willing to share, Jephasun began stepping beyond his long-standing reluctance to put his work out into the world. The result is a project that embraces vulnerability, resists unnecessary polish, and allows the imperfections of human expression to remain part of the music.
That philosophy runs through everything he creates. Influenced by the raw energy of the underground music scene and an enduring desire to push himself artistically, Jephasun values authenticity over perfection, whether he is writing songs, exploring atmospheric keyboard arrangements, or painting canvases filled with bold colours and haunting imagery. For him, creativity is less about controlling every detail than allowing something honest to emerge. It is an approach grounded in the belief that the rough edges we often try to conceal are precisely what make art meaningful.
In this exclusive interview with Spinex Music, Hurb Jephasun reflects on the childhood experiences that shaped his relationship with music, the formative encounters and late-night performances that influenced his artistic identity, and the personal journey behind In The End. He also discusses the freedom of working outside the expectations of a band, the connection between songwriting and painting, and why embracing imperfection remains central to his creative philosophy. As he continues exploring new musical directions, Jephasun offers a compelling perspective on making art without fear, trusting the creative process, and allowing life to unfold one song and one canvas at a time.
First of all, could you tell us about your early life and how you first found your way into music? Growing up far from anywhere, with no internet, one television channel and a piano, what did music mean to you during those early years, and how did that environment shape the way you hear and create music today?
Well, it was kind of a love/hate relationship to be honest. I started playing when I was around 4 years old and my step father was a pretty hard task master which meant I was practising around 2 hours a day. As you can imagine, 4 year old me wasn’t so cool with that.
When I was younger, I’d think of where I grew up like it was a prison, cut off from most people. The nearest kid my age was about 20 km away and when I got to high school it was a 2 hour bus trip each way. This meant I had lots of time to myself which I mainly spent listening to music & reading. Music & writing were my escapes. I’d sit there & listen to things over & over. Pulling them apart. That’s what I still do now when I listen to music.
You eventually found your way into Sydney’s underground music scene during the 1980s and 1990s, playing in late-night venues where the music was raw and unpolished. What do you remember most about those years, and how did that experience influence your attitude towards performing and making records?
It was a real eye opener for me. I left home at 16. I couldn’t carry the piano with me so I got an acoustic guitar and started teaching myself. When I was 17, I saw Screaming Jay Hawkins live and was lucky enough to meet him afterwards. It kinda blew my mind. I’d never come across anyone as, let’s say, eccentric as that. Looking back, I think meeting him is what set me on the path to where I am now. It changed my life. After meeting him, I knew what I wanted to do.
A few years later I landed a job behind the bar at The Lansdowne Hotel which was “the” place to hear emerging music at the time. Loads of great bands paid their dues there. That’s where I found “my people” and got to see bands like Mudhoney & Dinosaur Jnr up close.
Back then it was a big deal to put out a record. It wasn’t like now where you can just record something at home and have it streaming within a few hours. You had to go into a studio and then you had to get actual vinyl pressed. There was no streaming. I used to love bands that sounded raw. I still do. They sound real to me. I like real.
Your new release, In The End, is described as a collection of unfiltered songs drawn from decades of experience. What does this project mean to you personally, and why did this feel like the right time to bring these songs together and share them with listeners?
I’ve always been reticent to put myself out there and I find it hard to open myself up. I went through some pretty traumatic personal stuff a few years ago and decided I needed to change some things. I sort of adopted the motto “do what you’ve always done & get what you’ve always got”. I didn’t like what I had. Putting out the solo material is an extension of that. Now I’m putting myself out there, letting people in where before I just wouldn’t. It’s daunting but liberating at the same time.
You have maintained a creative approach that leaves the imperfections and rough edges in your music rather than trying to make everything sound polished. What do you value about that kind of honesty, and do you think modern music sometimes loses something when too much attention is given to perfection?
I wanted this EP to sound like I was in the room playing it live. I’m not perfect. Nobody is…. What is perfection anyway? Everyone’s answer would be different. The imperfections are what makes it real. Things that are too perfect strike me as either sterile and devoid of feeling or entirely fake which is a growing problem these days with all the AI crap around us. Humans are imperfect so why waste so much of our lives chasing something that may not even exist?
Humans create art, be it music or paintings, whatever. It comes from within your soul and out through your hands. That’s what makes us different from machines. We have souls. We aren’t perfect. Imperfection is real. We should embrace it, not hide it.
Your work spans several projects, including fronting The Polite Society, playing keys in The Beautiful Losers and recording under your own name. How does your creative role change between these projects, and what can you express through your solo work that might be harder to explore in a band?
With The Polite Society I’m the main songwriter so, as with my solo music, I feel pretty exposed putting my songs out there in public. That’s why I enjoy playing in The Beautiful Losers. There I’m just the keyboard player and don’t feel as much pressure.
Over the years, I’ve written heaps of songs that, for one reason or another, didn’t fit with whatever project I was doing at the time. I still felt those songs deserved to be heard though that’s what I’m trying to do with my solo recordings.
Your keyboard work has been part of darker and more experimental stage productions. What draws you towards those moods and sounds, and how do you use the keyboard to create atmosphere, tension or emotion without relying only on lyrics?
As I tell my piano students, music is just like speaking another language. It’s not just the words, it’s how you say them. It’s no different with music. You just have to learn how to speak it.
I always try to push myself artistically and am always up for a challenge. The Beautiful Losers did a show for the Perth Fringe Festival a few years ago called “Music for Emily” which was basically us playing soundscapes while Nikki Jones recited Emily Dickinson poetry. That was way out of my comfort zone and when I agreed to it, I didn’t even know who Emily Dickinson was but it was well worth it. I think more people need to be comfortable being uncomfortable. Don’t be afraid to try different things. What’s the worse that can happen?
Your track “Run Away With Me” has attracted attention from independent music press. What is the story behind that song, and has the response to it changed the way you think about your music or the audience that might connect with it?
It’s basically about desperately wanting to be with someone but life won’t let it happen. Yeah, I guess it has changed the way I think about things a bit. I’ve always been hesitant about putting myself out there, Imposter Syndrome type of thing. As I said earlier, I adopted the “Do what you’ve always done & get what you’ve always got” mantra & started putting out some solo material. The fact that some people dig it is definitely a bonus not to mention a bit of a shock.
You are also a painter, creating canvases with heavy black lines, bold colours and haunting eyes. Do you approach painting and songwriting in similar ways, and are there emotions or ideas you find easier to express through one medium than the other?
I do approach them in the same way pretty much. I try to just let the creative urge flow and try not to overthink what I’m doing. Like, I rarely start out wanting to paint or write about anything in particular. With music, I’ll just start playing and it just seems to come out. Like I’m a conduit. If I think about it too much, nothing happens. It’s the same with painting. I just start & see where I end up. That’s part of the fun.
Having spent years in Sydney’s underground scene before moving to Perth, Western Australia, how has your environment influenced your creativity over time? Has the move changed the way you work, the people you collaborate with or the kind of music you feel drawn to make?
I’d say getting older has had more of an effect that where I live or anything like that. I’m more comfortable in my own skin now & I think my writing reflects that. It’s almost like when I was younger I felt the need to be “something” whereas now I’m comfortable just being me. Sure, I’m playing with different people now than I was in Sydney but they’re the same sort of people, if that makes any sense?
1After decades of creating music and art, what continues to motivate you to keep going? As you share In The End with the world, what would you like listeners to understand about Hurb Jephasun, and are there any musical or artistic directions you still feel compelled to explore?
Motivation? Music and art is what I do. It’s who I am. Not something I choose to do. I can’t go a day without playing something or painting. If I don’t, I start to feel sick. That’s why I keep going.
I’d like listeners to understand that nobody is perfect. Me, them, anyone. I don’t think perfection even exits. For me the perfection is in the imperfection. That’s what makes it real. That’s what makes me real. The first music would’ve been mothers singing to their babies and people banging things together. Do you think they were worried about it sounding polished & perfect? Nah, it’s deeper than that. Almost spiritual
As for artistic directions, who knows where I’ll be heading next. It’s all an adventure & like I said, if I think about it too much, nothing happens. I’ve started recording some acoustic guitar songs. I like to keep changing things up so I don’t get bored so I guess I’ll just see where the journey takes me & try to enjoy the ride.
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