Luke Steele and Daniel Johns of Dreams (Photo: EMI)

Casual fans who haven’t followed Daniel Johns since the mid-’90s — when his Australian rock trio, Silverchair, rode the grunge wave to the top of the alt-rock charts with “Tomorrow” and “Pure Massacre,” and earned comparisons to Pearl Jam and Soundgarden — might be shocked to see and hear him now. The 39-year-old artist, who has joined forces with longtime friend Luke Steele, of Empire of the Sun, in the superstar electro-duo DREAMS, barely resembles the lank-haired teen of Silverchair’s Frogstomp and Freak Show.

In the dystopian video for the glitchy, post-punk/disco title track of DREAMS’ debut album, No One Defeats Us, Johns (going by the stage name “Dr. Dreams”) and Steele (now known as “Miracle”) prowl through a graffiti-scrawled, downtown L.A. hellscape, wielding baseball bats and megaphones — with a shorn-headed Johns a rocking a post-apocalyptic-party look of fun-fur coat, sequined skort, and A Clockwork Orange-style neon contact lens. And, just in case anyone doubted Johns’s commitment to this new project, he has the word “DREAMS” tattooed in a large Gothic font across his entire throat.

“Pretty much in the last two years, this record has become its own monster, and we put all the other stuff to the side to focus on this band,” Johns tells Yahoo Entertainment, sitting with Steele at KROQ’s Coachella house as Dreams prepare to play their first-ever live show.

“You should’ve seen his face when we couldn’t get the [Dreams.com] domain name!” Steele quips.

“We had a photo shoot arranged, and we were talking about the look, getting everything organized,” Johns says of his decision to permanently ink himself with his new band’s name. “And then the night before, we had talked about getting temporary tattoos. And I just went, ‘I’m just going to get [a real tattoo]!’ We were right in the middle of recording the record, so we were deep in DREAMS. I just thought, ‘I’m just gonna get it and make a point.’ Now I’m stuck with it.”

“Well, there’s something I want to tell you: The band’s over,” Steele jokes.

DREAMS are, in fact, just getting started, and they’re definitely “not some side-project we cobbled together,” Johns stresses. And those who have been closely following Johns’s career in recent years shouldn’t be so surprised that he is taking yet another artistic risk. He’s constantly evolved since Silverchair’s early days, be it via the confessional anorexia ballad “Ana’s Song (Open Fire)” in 1999, the sweeping orch-pop of Silverchair’s breakthrough Diorama in 2002 and the sleek electro-rock of its 2007 follow-up Young Modern, or his techno project with DJ Paul Mac, the Dissociatives. His 2015 debut solo album, Talk, was even almost completely guitar free and had a trippy, experimental R&B vibe.

Johns is aware than many old-school fans would love for him to return to the classic Silverchair sound, but he’s not bothered. “People still remember ‘Tomorrow,’ right? Oh well. That hasn’t been a struggle for me. I think it’s been a struggle for them,” he says. “I don’t know what my reaction is supposed to be to that. Am I supposed to like, ‘Gosh, sorry, I apologize!’ And plug my guitar back in?”

Silverchair (Daniel Johns, left) in 1996. (Photo: Bob Carey/Los Angeles Times via Getty Images)

Johns says it was “probably when [he] left school” that he became more artistically adventurous. “I’d started writing different stuff because I knew I wasn’t going to get hassled,” he says. “Diorama is the record is when I thought to myself, ‘F*** this. I want to be really, really good.’” That album, Silverchair’s fourth, wasn’t as big as its predecessors (although it did go to No. 1 in Australia and No. 7 in New Zealand), but it was around that time that Johns and Steele first became acquainted, and they became fast friends and mutual admirers.

Luke Steele and Daniel Johns of Dreams (Photo: EMI)

Johns knows that Empire of the Sun’s fans may be resistant to it as well. But to that, he shrugs: “We’re going to do whatever we want. We don’t give a f***. … The thing is people really have to realize is, as important as it is to us, it’s just art. It’s just music. We’re not stealing your mate’s laptop or kicking your bins over. We’re just writing music. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to listen to it. I never understood why people get so uppity about it.”

“Music is so spiritual and it’s so emotional — how can you not change, right?” Steels adds. “You’re not gonna make love to your wife the exact same way every night. Or as a surfer, it’s never gonna be the same wave.”

So far, though, the response to the project has been largely positive — as evidenced by the crazy crowd reaction at their incendiary Coachella debut on a Mohave Tent stage decorated with flaming garbage cans, inoperative pay phones, and Commodore 64 graphics to look like a scene from one of the duo’s favorite films, The Warriors. And regardless, the two are having a blast with Dreams’ DIY, punk-rock approach.  “A lot of other people might think we’ve lost our minds, but we’re not changing anything. This is how it is,” Johns says, chuckling.

“We’ve been directing the videos; I’ve been editing the videos. We’ve been styling all the wardrobe. It’s come back to high school, basically, and we just make art, which has been the most therapeutic thing I think I’ve felt for years,” says Steele, describing their wild creative process as tapping into their shared “brain tentacle.”

Luke Steele and Daniel Johns of Dreams (Photo: EMI)

And so, DREAMS are here to stay. But don’t expect their next album — which, hopefully, won’t take another 14 years to come out — to sound just like No One Defeats Us, because like everything Steele and Johns do together, this band is very much a work in progress.

“It’s really character-driven,” says Daniel “Dr. Dreams” Johns. “It’s like there are animals inside us that need to come out. I think Miracle and Dr. Dreams are still kind of coming into their own as characters. Like, next year’s Coachella might be a bit weird.”

This article originally ran on Yahoo Music.

Johns recently chatted with Yahoo Music via phone from his home in Sydney, and he spoke frankly about distancing himself from his teen-rock past, dealing with the backlash Silverchair received in the 1990s, overcoming an eating disorder and stagefright, his new musical direction, and what exactly he’s been doing for the last eight reclusive years. As this Q&A proves. Daniel Johns is indeed looking towards tomorrow.

YAHOO MUSIC: Anyone who hasn’t kept tabs on you since the early Silverchair days might be shocked by how you sound and look now. Are fans generally accepting of the direction you’re going in?

DANIEL JOHNS: Well, a lot people say, “You should write songs like Frogstomp.’ Which to me is ridiculous. There was one thing someone sent me, I think it was a iTunes review for Talk or something, that said, ”Frogstomp or f— off!“ There’s still people like that around that aren’t willing to embrace the change. But then there are people who really love Talk. You can’t win ‘em all.

I would imagine most of your true fans are cool with it, though.

I feel like the majority of my fans are kind of cool with the direction, but I feel like there’s a lot people who I probably lost a few albums ago. That’s just how it’s always been when I’ve released a record. There’s always been people that want to come on the journey with me, and people who f—ing hate it.

Does that frustrate you?

I definitely feel like saying, “Move on.” That’s always been my thing. If you don’t like what I’m doing, there’s no one forcing it down your throat. If you do like Frogstomp, it still exists. If you’re kind of expecting a repeat performance, you’ve picked the wrong artist.

You started so young, back in the ’90s, and things seemed to happen so quickly for you. Was that a blessing or a curse?

Yeah, it happened extremely quickly. I think if I had got discovered or had become successful later, I would be known for a record loads better than Frogstomp, probably. At the same time, it was what was going on at that time, and that was the artist that I was at that age. The success of that album, so young, kind of made me.

You seem to be putting down Frogstomp. How do you feel about it now?

I don’t think I’m putting it down. I just think that that record almost feels like another person in another life. I’m still really proud of it. I mean, we were just kids, and we managed to do a record that connected with that many people. I’m definitely not disrespecting it. But sometimes it can be frustrating when 20 years down the line, people still expect you to repeat what you did when you were 14 years old.

Do you feel you’ll be forever haunted by your old teen image? Can you ever really shed it?

I don’t feel it haunts me. I feel it challenges me to constantly do interesting things. I don’t feel haunted by it. I do look at it as a bit of a pain in the ass. But at times it’s quite motivating.

Did all the flak you got back in your early days bother you? Or did it just roll off your back?

Yeah, it affected me, because I was so young. I didn’t really know what anything was going to feel like, or what anything was going to be like. We were doing what most 13- to 14-year-olds do, just covering songs we loved. I was also really keen on writing stuff, which for the first record did sound like a combination of all the music that I loved. I was really naïve, just kind of writing these songs and recording them. The record became really successful. And I didn’t really understand how much that was going to piss people off.

It’s a good thing for you that social media didn’t exist back then!

Oh, I’m so happy that it didn’t exist then. F—, I’m happy that wasn’t around at the time! I would have been devastated.

So were you insulated from the bad press or backlash you got as teens?

We were still made pretty aware of it. I think we were protected from some of it. But we were aware that there were some people that really liked us, but there was a whole army of people that wanted our heads.

It much be vindicating that you get such critical respect now.

It does feel good. But my priorities are not to get good reviews or sell records. My priority is to be a good artist and to keep trying different things. I never want to get stuck in a hole or get pigeonholed ever again like I did when I was 14, because it took a lot of work on my part to dig myself out of that little wormhole that we kind of got trapped into. So in that respect, it does feel good. It feels like all the work I’ve put in to be a better writer and better artist has paid off.

I think Diorama was the real turning point for you, artistically, when you really changed what you were doing and changed the public perception of Silverchair. Do you agree?

Yeah. I feel like [Silverchair’s third album] Neon Ballroom was a turning point, too, but I wasn’t quite ready to take that leap that I did with Diorama. Diorama is the record is when I thought to myself, “F— this. I want to be really, really good.” So yeah, I think that to me is still probably the strongest Silverchair record. Young Modern after that was the sound of me trying to go in a bunch of different directions at once… realizing I can do whatever I want to do, and that I can always change the course of what I’m doing or where I’m going.

How do you feel about being a heartthrob? You’ve been one since you were teenager. Are you comfortable with it?

I think it’s pretty weird. I obviously don’t really get it. That’s never been something that I really paid that much attention to.

But you did do a music video recently, for “Cool on Fire,” in which you’re naked from the waist up…

I did. There’s no denying that. I don’t know, to me, part of the visuals of Talk just always suggested to me that it should be quite skin-revealing. A lot of the record is about relationships, and there’s a lot of sex implied. So you take your clothes off for that.

In past you spoke about your depression and anorexia, and wrote it about in “Ana’s Song.” Not many famous people, especially men, talk or sing about eating disorders. I imagine you got a lot of feedback from fans who were grateful for your candor.

That was one of the nicest things about having an audience when I was going through that stuff and writing about it. It helped a lot of people through a lot of stuff — which to be honest wasn’t my intention, but it was really beautiful to hear that some people really connected to the songs or records and it helped them. That always made me feel really good. It felt like I was doing something, helping people.

Were you scared to write or sing about that stuff?

No, not really. I always kind of wrote about what I was going through. I never really worried about what people would think about it. I must admit when I wrote about anorexia, I did get a couple of concerned calls from my management and record company going, “F—, are you sure you want to talk about this? Because you’re going to be probably hounded about it forever.” At the time I just thought, “Well, you know, I’m going through it. That’s what I want to write about, so I’ll deal with the consequences.”

How are you doing these days, health-wise?

I’m good. I think that’s part of the reason why I’m comfortable talking about it. There’s definitely a way out, you know? I went through a lot of stuff. It feels good to be able to come out with a record now that feels to me lyrically a bit like a child on their birthday.

Speaking of “hounding,” I get the impression that the tabloid press in Australia doggedly pursues you…

Yeah, they kind of hound me a bit, and that was part of the reason that I took a break. I kind of wanted to get away from being famous, make people forget about me for a while. Which worked, in a lot of ways!

What were you doing for those eight years?

I was experimenting with sounds and new ways to write music. I was a little bit tired of how I was writing on piano and guitar. I felt like I was repeating myself a little bit… I kept writing music for a number of years, but it was more for my own personal satisfaction and figuring out toys and stuff. Quite noisy, experimental electronic music. And then, over time, I just started finessing it and it started to become more like a record of songs, instead of like an hour of me fiddling around.

The Australian press painted you out to be some sort of eccentric recluse.

Well, I was reclusive. I like being with my girl and my dog. But I still went out.

Back to the subject of instrumentation, were you making an effort to have a more stripped-down sound on Talk?

I was. Especially on the last two Silverchair records, Diorama was really orchestrated and had lot of stuff going on, a lot of layers, and then Young Modern after that had s—loads of orchestration and lots of overdubbing. They were both really big productions. With this, I felt like maybe some people might have expected me to take that even further. But at the time of writing it, my taste had changed dramatically. I wanted to get a lot simpler, a lot more minimal. The things that were there, I wanted be only the necessary things, rather than layering stuff on top of other stuff.

Will you ever return to something more rock and guitar-oriented? Or return to Silverchair?

I don’t know. I don’t really ever want to have a permanent direction, to be honest. I have no idea what my next record will sound like. I would definitely never say no to doing another guitar record. I think that’ll be really fun after I explore some other stuff that I want to explore musically. I don’t see that being a Silverchair record, to be honest… I just can’t really see Silverchair, in at least the next five years, doing anything.

What about your solo touring plans?

I’m not sure yet. Up until a week ago where we played our first show at the [Sydney] Opera House, I didn’t think I wanted to play live. But it ended up going really well and kind of being a bit of a revelation. If the right offer comes through and it feels like a good thing to do, I wouldn’t be adverse to it.

Why didn’t you want to play Talk live?

I just get stagefright. The pressure of playing live sometimes can get to me.

Have you always had stagefright?

No, I haven’t always had it. I started getting it around the time of Diorama, actually. I guess, like, just being concerned about how to perform that kind of stuff live, it stuck with me. It keeps creeping in and out of my consciousness… I’m not exactly sure how or why, but sometimes being onstage can bring up insecurities and things you don’t want to particularly relive.

I do hope you consider playing Talk live in the future?

Well, I always find whenever I get over [my stagefright], and get over myself, it’s pretty enjoyable. The last two shows we played were really amazing and everyone had a really good time. It could be a good thing to explore.

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This article originally ran on Yahoo Music.