Remote Control/Inertia

Oh, internet. While my dear mother warned me endlessly against cyber stranger danger and the slasher crime scene that would inevitably follow, without the fanciful act of befriending randoms online, Collarbones would never have come into existence – and Australian music would be so much poorer for it. E-pals turned musical besties Marcus Whale (Sydney) and Travis Cook (Adelaide) have made a gripping debut from across state borders, mixing the best parts of electronica, R&B and pop.

Pulling hints from groups like Seekae, what makes this pair different is that they’re unafraid of splashing convention across their unconventional sounds. The glitchy synthesised and sampled sounds are lathered with Whale’s stunning melodic vocals, nowhere better than ‘Beaman Park’, the first carefully constructed single which meshes differing styles together with ease (and a hell of a breakbeat). It’s the songs where Whale sings that are the biggest treat – the vocals are used in fascinating ways, really setting Collarbones apart from its contemporaries. On ‘Kill Off The Vowels’, the vocals fall down to a disparate register and are blended further into the instrumentals in an industrial haze; they’re used sparingly on ‘Id’, where the synthesised sounds act more as the main melody carrier, voices as accompaniment; they’re chopped and changed as much as the music on ‘The Ghostship’. ‘Berlioz’ consists of one repeated synth line but sustains intoxicating addictiveness despite wordlessness, and even the 51-second ‘Transylvania’ borrows heavily from hip-hop to create a snatch of careful electronic-infused soul.

This is pretty close to perfect, and we’re only on album number one so there must be a world of even greater ideas waiting to burst forth. Bring on the future – and if these guys are ever, EVER in seeing distance from wherever you are, get your bum to one of their shows. Stupidly amazing and they get better every time!

Melbourne’s Skipping Girl Vinegar returns in 2011 with their single ‘Here She Comes’, released as a three-song “mini EP” (the format is similar to physical single releases – remember them?) after the successes of singles and debut album Sift The Noise in previous years. This is a great look in for anyone unfamiliar with the band, showcasing three completely different sides in under ten minutes.

The focus here is, of course, the title track and lead single. It begins with the soft (and apparently unedited) chirrup of birds – which lasts throughout the song – before launching into a jangly, summery tune driven by soft percussion and rollicking banjo strums. The structure of the chorus, with its “ba ba ba”s, is rather typical and yet it works well, and you’ll be humming it before you can say “you know this love will last”. It’s a little slice of summer heaven bound to keep some warmth around as we slide into the colder months.

‘Sketches of Under the Weather’ follows in a starkly different vein, strings now taking the forefront sitting against the continual drive of the banjo and steady piano pushes. There’s something quite dark about it and no noise has been omitted, making it quite an honest listen in all its bareness. It enters a breakdown where silence is used in replacement of sound with quite effective results as the instruments leak back in atmospherically and the strings die just as they reach an angry-sounding tremolo rise. No words on this track and none needed – a thinker.

Final track ‘Bullets and Mango Trees’ was originally written for the refugee awareness album The Key of Sea as a collaboration with refugee Tri Nguyen (no relation, most common Vietnamese surname ever!). I don’t usually like to get personal when reviewing music, but this is quite obviously a topic that is tremendously close to my heart, being the child of refugee parents who came to Australia from Vietnam by boat in 1980, and so the fact that this track is rooted in exactly what I am means everything to me and caught me completely off guard. Before I read about its origins, I thought its beginning sounded familiar – turns out it does, because it’s a recording of a Vietnamese Buddhist ceremony (as a part of a traditional Buddhist family, I grew up going to temples regularly and I know those sounds off by heart). But enough about me – the track. It’s a spoken word alternative to the track on The Key of Sea and is carried, after the opening, by an acoustic guitar married with a verse spoken by Nguyen and simple sung chorus, fleshed out with a larger instrumental section.

Actually, hey – can’t talk about it without talking about me, because right now I’m sitting at my desk with a book about boat people in front of me that my dad gave me yesterday, in a house that my parents bought after working their arses off when they came here with nothing but the clothes on their backs, and here’s a song that tries to understand completely the struggles that my parents – and the Vietnamese people – went through. I can’t actually express how much that means to me, especially considering that I’ve tried so many times to explain to people I know that conditions in Vietnam were (and are) not perfect, and that there’s nothing funny about telling me or my family to “get back on the boat”, that you might enjoy going on holiday to Vietnam but that there’s a reason everything there is so cheap – and this is not like any Australian song I’ve heard before. Please give this a listen if you want to try and understand more about what my family went through, what so many of the people closest to me went through. This is so important. Beautiful.

So it turns out that a “mini EP” sent to my desk at work by a band I knew very little about has not only a super fun pop anthem on it, but also a song that resonates incredibly with me. Hey Skipping Girl Vinegar, congrats on the sweet single and thank you so much for taking me completely by surprise.

XL Recordings – June 8 2010

When Brooklyn instrumental duo Ratatat burst onto the bustling music scene with their debut album in 2004, they turned a hell of a lot of heads and busted open a hell of a lot of ear drums with their ingenious fusion of equally impacting electronica and hip hop beats, interspersed with fiercely wailing guitars – the sound that became their trademark and made for some genuinely arresting listening. After years of repeating the same formula, though, it seems that the shtick has finally evaporated to reveal that Evan Mast and Mike Stroud are grinding to a creative halt.

It’s blatantly obvious that this album was born from the same sessions as 2008’s LP3, meandering along a startlingly similar track that reeks of déjà entendu. There are still some excellent elements here, though – ‘Drugs’ swells from a timid piano/guitar intro to one of Ratatat’s most instantly memorable licks, ‘Neckbrace’ employs a talkbox to synthesise stuttered vocals over heavy blips, and the whole affair is littered with dialogue lifted from the strangest of places (Werner Herzog films and Linda Manz interview bites, to name a couple). But first single ‘Party With Children’ plays like a lazy update of 2004’s ‘Crips’, and unlike previous albums the tracks don’t possess much individual personality.

Dance floors will continue to pulse to beats that are still undeniably contagious but no longer refreshing, desperately lacking any tangible innovative touch. Detractors who have consistently flamed Ratatat for repeating ideas ad infinitum over the years will rejoice in a triumphant “I told you so” – six years down the track, the magic is fading fast on an album that, sounding exactly like its predecessors, is superficially entertaining and barely inspiring.

Dew Process – June 18 2010

Justin Vernon’s retreat into a woodland cabin has become indie legend – heartbroken (and epically bearded) dude enters wilderness, writes down his feelings, and bam, we have Bon Iver’s For Emma, Forever Ago. Ernest Ellis similarly buried himself deep within a Blue Mountains cabin to write his own debut, recording it with three bandmates, but don’t let the comparison deter you – Hunting is far more than just a reflection of its influences.

The chilling beauty of opener ‘Loveless’ cuts straight to the heart of the album’s emotion, with a tilting post-rock guitar beam underscoring Ellis’ Vernon-like echoing vocals as he murmurs “it’s the fear that keeps me here/it keeps me lost and still loveless”. Not the most cheerful way to start a record, but Ellis isn’t all doom and gloom – the brisk but catchy pop melody of ‘Heading For The Cold’ follows with a driving percussive beat, and the interestingly titled ‘When I Feel Like Jesus’ Son The World Will Feel Much Different’ adopts a totally different attitude, culminating in a loose musical freefall marrying dizzying instrumentals with soaring vocals.

The writing on this album draws from a great number of styles – ‘I Am The Beast’ and ‘Want For Anything’ continue on the breathy indie-folk trail, but tracks like ‘Dark Matter’ and ‘Valley Song’ are much more simplistic, with Ellis ditching his wispy enunciation for a strong, solid tone accompanied by guitar strums – and it’s this variety that allows the album to maintain consistent intrigue.

At 55 minutes, Hunting is long for an indie/folk debut, but by ensuring that the songs each have a distinctive personality, Ellis has established himself as a captivating and brilliant local voice.

Rice is Nice – June 26 2010

If you’re already familiar with Richard In Your Mind, you’ll know two things – there is no weirder band in Sydney, and there is no band that does psychedelic nostalgia quite as well. The beauty of their second album is that no two songs fall into an even remotely similar category – an endearingly scattered collection, it pulls influence from every corner of the creative spectrum.

Opening with the sparsely ethereal ‘Tiny Colossus Face’ featuring Richard Cartwright’s high-pitched speak/sing, the record segues into ‘Candelabra’, which showcases a very different aspect of the band, infused with hip-hop beats and slacker rapped vocals. The record’s most conventional moments are showcased on songs like ‘I Will’ and ‘The Sun Broke Into Your Heart’, the former channelling the criminally underrated Ladybug Transistor with surf-rock guitar pops and harmonies, and the latter relying on shyly enunciated vocals speaking of adventure, featuring a rather vanilla guitar-accompanied melody considering the band’s eclecticism, but one that works well nonetheless. The spirit of Richard In Your Mind is captured in tracks like ‘Mongrowlia’, a mostly instrumental cut that builds from a light harp to a soaring euphoria heavy with atmospheric noise, and ‘Birds’, on which a whole list of our fine feathered friends is rattled off in a vague and dreamy extended sigh.

Bursting with whimsical melodies, lyrics that relish in absurdity and instruments from near and far including sitar, raagini and ocarina, what we have here is an album as varied as its creators’ minds. This kind of music won’t appeal to everyone, but for those who can appreciate the sweet sound of genuine musical madness, it’s a mind-boggling trip certainly worth taking.

Morr Music – March 22 2010

Iceland seems to be one of those unique places that produces nothing but greatness – if you’ve ever heard any bands from there, or ever seen photos of the place, it’s beautiful. Seabear is no exception to this – the Reykjavik septet presents a gorgeous stripped-back record with their second offering We Built A Fire, which ditches some of its 2007 predecessor’s more experimental elements for simple, uncomplicated splendour.

Vocalist Sindri Már Sigfússon (known also for his side project Sin Fang Bous) has a real honesty about his breathy enunciations, often accompanied by an ethereal female voice and a delicate handpicked acoustic guitar. Singing completely in English, there’s no mystery shrouding the meanings of the songs; the folky rollick of ‘Wooden Teeth’ sees him murmur, “we got married while you were asleep/carved our names out on your wooden teeth”, as his bride, the female vocalist, whispers along. Such quaint musings are rife on the album, with the musical style of the songs ranging from straight-out folk rock (‘Softship’ is the record’s loudest moment) to unassuming and atmospheric (‘In Winters Eyes’) to reflective (the piano-and-string-drenched ‘Cold Summer’).

It’s true that the indie folk thing has been overdone lately and, especially considering that Sigfússon’s musical and vocal style is so easily comparable to the likes of Sufjan Stevens and Iron & Wine, this album might be easy to overlook at first. But thanks to the use of more creative instruments like the musical saw, as well as the presence of a whole lot of emotion and raw heart, We Built A Fire is ultimately an adorably sweet album which still maintains a high level of musical gravitas.

Merge – April 20 2010

The umpteenth outing by prolific Canadian electronic maestro Dan Snaith, Swim is a hugely experimental piece of work. This comes as no surprise considering the nature of Snaith’s previous material (as both Caribou and Manitoba), and yet Swim has enough semi-convention to grasp onto in order to make it accessible and – dare I say it? – fun.

Take opening track and first single ‘Odessa’, for example – over a snarling, wailing sample, a throbbing bass and steady percussion beat whirl as Snaith sings about the disintegration of a relationship. The song could easily soundtrack a night out at the underground clubs, and yet there’s also a lot here that’s musically curious, whether it’s the tiny snippets of seemingly mismatched flutes or the fading of Snaith’s voice back into that fierce sample. This album is impressive and addictive because of the music itself rather than its literal meaning, from the repetitive swirling of beats and vox on the one-worded ‘Sun’ to the slinky electro-synth bubble of closer ‘Jamelia’, featuring the vocals of Born Ruffians’ Luke Lalonde. Then there are the odd ones out, like the spacious instrumental ‘Bowls’ which marries chunky beats and tinny percussion with sweeping harp noises.

It’s difficult to really lump all the songs on the album into a singular category, or to find a way to describe what the major theme, both musically and otherwise, of Swim is. There’s a hell of a lot to take in here and so much to learn and hear, and yet it flows effortlessly. Swim is an intricate and powerful sonic triumph; if you want some music that will make you simultaneously think and groove, pick this up.

Ivy League Records – May 14 2010

It’s been a long time coming. Blue Mountains indie-pop quartet Cloud Control have garnered a strong fanbase over the years thanks to relentless touring and their 2007 EP including live staples ‘Vintage Books’ and ‘Buffalo Country’, and now they’ve finally let drop their debut album, Bliss Release, the culmination of all their years of hard work and also a good indication of what’s to come.

It’s fair to say that Cloud Control is seated in a fairly populated area of slightly experimental indie pop/rock – there are plenty of bands who have been here before, and as such there’s not too much on the album that hasn’t already been at least briefly tampered with in previous works around the world. But what is admirable is that despite this, the album sounds completely fresh; where so many bands easily fall into the trap of clichéd hooks and lyrics, Bliss Release instead offers familiar musical ground that also happens to ooze sincerity and genuineness.

Take, for example, standout track ‘There’s Nothing In The Water We Can’t Fight’. Written when frontman Alister Wright was travelling in India, the lyrics focus on the spiritual side of Eastern culture on both sides as Jeremy Kelshaw’s throbbing bass and Wright’s shimmery guitar provide a solid trampoline to spring from. Wright’s voice ranges from a low semi-drawl to a melodic soaring bird and, when coupled with that of Heidi Lenffer, makes for a gorgeously harmonic experience. Tracks like ‘Water’ and the following ‘Ghost Story’ are rooted in a more sombre mood, with the latter a stripped affair consisting mainly of atmospheric guitar and layered reverberating vocals as Wright wails, “we are the protectors, we are the debt collectors”. Contrast that with the twee indie-pop of tracks like ‘This Is What I Said’, complete with handclaps, oohs, aahs and “yeah yeah yeah”s, and breakthrough single ‘Gold Canary’ with its African-inspired thumping drums, whoops and chants – and contrast those yet again with acoustic numbers like the beautiful ‘Just For Now’ and the ethereal duet ‘Hollow Drums’, and you have a fairly good idea of the range of ideas and moods presented on this record. The great thing is that it never feels like a stretch – rather, everything flows nicely and it’s quite a cohesive collection of musical diversity.

The production on the record is crystal clear and it’s evident from tracks that diverge slightly, like ‘The Rolling Stone’, which gives itself more leeway with instrumental breaks and wonderful sighed vocal filler, that there is quite possibly a lot more where this all came from. Though male-female vocals have been played with excessively within this musical sphere, and “whoa-oh”s, “yeah yeah”s and other such syllabic vocal inflections have hardly had any rest either, both those aspects here add only to the band’s appeal.

The only complaint that can really be made about this record is that the band’s energy, which live is a palpable, infectious beast, is not even a fraction as strong here. That’s not to say that it’s their fault – when studio magic takes place and take after take after take demands consistent output, it’s not so easy to recreate things exactly – but what it does mean is that if you think Bliss Release is bloody brilliant, you’d best do yourself a bit of a favour and go along next time this young band plays a gig.

There are really no words to describe the absolute joy and pride that is felt when a band this talented comes right out of your backyard, working from the ground up. If anything better than this comes out of mainstream Australian music this year, I’ll officially renounce my lifelong hatred of Kings of Leon. In other words? Ain’t gonna happen, pal.

Jagjaguwar – May 7 2010

It’s rare that I’ll agree 100% with another writer’s opinion on an album, but Nate Patrin’s Pitchfork review of the debut Gayngs record, Relayted, is pretty much spot on – he describes it as an elaborate joke that is so elaborate that it, in fact, does hold some musical weight if you want it to, but a cursory glance derides it as self-indulgent pretension.

Let’s start from the start – Gayngs is a new musical project from Minneapolis, USA, centred primarily around musicians Ryan Olson, Zack Coulter and Adam Hurlburt (the latter two from electro rock band Solid Gold). And this is where one of the terms that makes me fear most for my life comes in – that’s right, supergroup. This project includes the contributions of over 25 ‘indie’ musicians, including Justin Vernon and Mike Noyce of Bon Iver, POS, Michael Lewis (who has worked with Andrew Bird), Maggie Morrison and Grant Cutler of Lookbook and – well fuck, I’m not going to go on, but you can sure as hell bet that it’s a bit of a who’s who (and an occasional who’s that) of the musical elite.

It’s an interesting combination, to be sure, and opening track ‘The Gaudy Side of Town’, featuring Vernon on lead vocals, sets the pace for an album that is both surprising and unsurprising. There are definite elements of trip-hop here, with the music somewhat reminiscent of Portishead, and Vernon’s typically floaty vocals ride over a lo-fi sea of fuzz and blips as he sighs and moans ethereally. This is probably the high point of the album – as the mostly R&B-inspired tracks go on they blend more and more into each other, cheesy 70s-style guitar solos and obligatory sax titters notwithstanding, causing a sense of drowsiness that has nothing to do with lack of sleep (the sluggish 69bpm pace of all songs bar one is no help, either). And by the time you get to closer ‘The Last Prom On Earth’, complete with shimmery tinkles, ’80s synths and a fat slab of autotune and seductive-sounding speech (“I promise from now on I’ll be true, but if you don’t trust me girl, that’s okay I understand, it’s been a really long road…” – wait, are you fucking serious?)…well, fill in the gaps yourself.

One thing to note about this album is that it is a total 10cc worship fest. The band proudly boasts that it was inspired almost exclusively by ‘I’m Not In Love’ and, just to prove their unwavering loyalty, also throw in a cover of Godly & Creme’s ‘Cry’ for good measure. After taking this into consideration, the album suddenly makes a lot more sense, and yet it still makes no sense – sure, 10cc were pretty big in their time and all, but why would anyone make an ENTIRE ALBUM that sounds exactly like one song?

Certainly it’s not all a write-off – there are ventures into more fascinating territory, such as ‘Crystal Rope’, where Vernon gets all Bone Thugs n Harmony over some chunky bass, and ‘Faded High’, which picks the pace up a little with a New Order-like repetition playing in the background over a descending vocal pattern – but for the most part, this album is a one-trick pony.

Relayted is an interesting listen for anyone who is intrigued as to what an obnoxiously large group of otherwise unrelated ‘indie’ musicians can come up with together. It’s interesting especially for the fact that it sounds nothing like you expect it would and has some pretty unexpected ideas, but that’s about where it ends, for me. This all sounds far too cheesy and ironic (and honestly, is there anything worse than hipster irony?) to be taken at all seriously, and belongs far back in the ’70s and ’80s, best suited to a terrible porno featuring an equally terrible moustache. Also, the first time I listened to this album iTunes went into ‘Invisible Touch’ by Genesis after it had finished and, not realising, I thought to myself – “well, this finally got better!”. No such luck.

Pytheas Recordings – May 4 2010

Idaho folk singer-songwriter Josh Ritter is one of the most underrated musicians of our time, and that’s a fact. Probably most people you ask won’t have the foggiest who he is, and yet he has a bunch of albums under his belt, with lyrical wit and depth to rival even the great Dylan himself. Since the release of his outstanding last album, 2007’s The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter, the great man has become a husband and has also been penning a novel, and this album was also released on Record Store Day as an exclusive vinyl. To say that So Runs The World Away, Ritter’s fifth album, is a labour of love may be an understatement – it certainly is a culmination of many years of hard work, but it also is an album that needs to be warmed to.

Where Historical Conquests, was tuned into a more upbeat alt-country type of playing and singing style, Ritter here opts instead for a much more stripped-back version of himself which allows a great sense of intimacy. After a one-minute introduction, ‘Change of Time’ introduces itself as the album’s first real track, underscored by gentle finger-picked acoustic guitar and simple, subtle percussion as Ritter repeats “it’s only a change of time, love”, followed immediately with the placid piano lull of ‘The Curse’, which also has some nice brass embellishments. Such simplicity is easily counteracted by the album’s more complex moments though, such as ‘Folk Bloodbath’ – a musically straightforward song, that takes the legends of Stagger Lee, Louis Collins and Delia and turns it into a sprawling epic that gives another spin on the well-documented topic.

Ritter’s vocals on the record show an impressive range, from the deep steadiness on ‘Folk Bloodbath’ to the gorgeous traditional hymn-like tonation of ‘See How Man Was Made’ (with some beautiful string and brass accompaniments) to the clear, crisp air of closer ‘Long Shadows’, in which Ritter’s voice recalls a freeing horseback ride through the countryside.

There are also songs that see Ritter step a little outside of his comfort zone – ‘Rattling Locks’ sees him adopting a more gritty approach, with a bit of speak-sing in places and vocal accompaniment by his wife Dawn Landes. It’s a little Tom Waits-esque and is a very interesting departure, but is not entirely convincing as a part of the album as a coherent collection. The same goes for ‘The Remnant’ which, with its punchy weight, is not particularly memorable either.

While Ritter is a fine musician, arguably his biggest strength has always been as a lyricist – he has a particular talent for conjuring incredible images and conveying all kinds of stories with his wordplay. ‘Folk Bloodbath’ is a great example of his way with words, as is ‘Another New World’, an airy little maritime song that speaks of his love for the ship, Annabel Lee. It’s the same for all Ritter albums – they work just as well as works of poetry, if you’ll take the time to read the lyrics. The music is really just a bonus (and a really, really wonderful one at that).

On the first few listens, So Runs The World Away does seem a little underwhelming, especially considering the greatness that Ritter has already proven himself capable of. This album is not as instant as his last, and he’s yet to write a song to even come close to the genius that is ‘The Temptation of Adam’. But with every subsequent listen, something special reveals itself and the lyrics and stories that spill from this brilliant mind are more and more vivid and memorable. If you are a new listener, another album would probably be a more fitting introduction to his repertoire, but for returning fans this won’t disappoint if you’re willing to give it some time – it’s not his best, but Josh Ritter is a musician so exceptional that even his lesser work is far greater than some artists’ very best.

PS. The beginning of ‘Lantern’ sounds like the beginning of ‘You Belong With Me’ by Taylor Swift – y/n?