… and Nick Cave and his band are preeminent amongst them
Artists who get it right once, tend to get it right again…
This blog has failed to live up to it’s title over the past couple of months. My teaching commitments have hampered my progress. They have ended for the year now, so I am vowing to get to 250 reviews by year’s end. Stick around for some fun.
I had reasonably low expectations when re-listening to this effort. I’d presumed Custard had left the bestest days behind them (back around debut album time).
As such, it was the pleasantest of surprises to find the numerous pop gems spinning around within this disc.
The secret seems to have been a reversion to the sound and feel of the debut; more country-ish guitar work, and less synth (and occasional cowbell).
The first five (!) tracks are out and out winners. The brilliant Girls Like That (Don’t Go For Guys Like Us) kicks off proceedings and sets the tone for party pop. Hit Song is great fun too… and the pace keeps up right through to Ringo (I Feel Like):
The band has hit its stride now, and deliver still more gold in the back half. Pluto (Parts 1 & 2) and Funny are delights and direct contrasts (as one lays down a power riff, the other a synth melody).
I’m so happy to have reembraced this CD and the world of McCormack and co. They are a much missed bright spot on the Aussie music scene.
There was an unusually high level of pressure on this particular CD as it spun under my review-o-scope.
Not only does it bring up my much-anticipated and increasingly tardy double-century of reviews, but also the artists in question are looking to tip the balance back into the positive after one enthusiastic and one disparaging assessment.
My first listen to this effort saw my leaning strongly towards the dismissive. I struggled to find much joy in this bundle of surprisingly unfamiliar tunes. Much of the material seemed underdeveloped and disposable.
Burdened with the distraction of huge piles of assignment marking (hence little time to write my reviews and move on), I persisted with the album.
Familiarity was built, and some admiration won. I began to embrace the experiments and the quirks. The surf guitar on Memory Man, the thrashiness of Very Biased, the laidbackness of Hello Machine, and the perverse pop of The Truth About Drugs all became imbedded in my subconscious.
The poppiest moments here don’t quite hit the Wahooti height, but Anatomically Correct and Nice Bird would get a slot on any ‘best of’ from these lads.
In the end, I’ve retreated from slamming the band with their own song title: Music is Crap.
I was starting to question the veracity of much-feared ‘poor second album’ stereotype. Alas this effort from the mighty Brisbane powerpoppers falls squarely into that category.
Indeed, this CD is a certain sub-species of the ‘Opus disappointica’ phenomenon. Here we see a cavernous gap between the better tracks and the lesser. The “filler” on here does not warrant such an ambivalent moniker – said tracks here should be called “Brussel sprouts”, “dog turds” or “Alexander Downer”.
The very best tunes on here are about as poppy, catchy and fun as this band ever produced.
Apartment is an insanely infectious little ditty (that sounds surprisingly like You Am I). Lucky Star delivers on that early-90s Boston sound. Venus Flytrap and Lightening Bug throws doo-wop, country-punk and a little bit extra in the pot and comes up with quite an intoxicating brew. Leisuremaster is straight out of Pavement 101, laying down a very chilled vocal over slide guitar and cymbals and brush rhythms.
I can’t help but feel the Pavement-influence is what brings this album down. Too often the tracks capture only a portion of said band’s approach but without the necessary imagination or flair (Bring it On is a prime example). Other tracks here are just throwaway twaddle.
Back around the time this album came out, I caught these guys playing a show at the Evelyn Hotel in Fitzroy. It remains one of the most memorable and enjoyable gigs in my memory banks.
I distinctly recall Dave McCormack (vocals) announcing they’d be playing their tunes in alphabetical order. They threw in a couple of great covers (including (perhaps) I Still Call Australia Home). The vibe that night, and on this album, was that music must be FUN.
These guys always seemed to be having a ball, but in a laidback, whacky uncle sort of way. The songs either rush at you smiling gleefully, or just sit around spinning slightly confusing tales that make you giggle (or shake your head in embarrassment). Imagine Pavement channeling Jonathan Richman.
Indeed the band even give a nod to Jonathon (along with Jim Henson and fellow Brisbanites The Melniks) on the outstanding (and cleverly titled) Singlette.
This album is chockfull of tracks that still sound fresh and still make me happy. I defy you to listen to Alone or If Yr Famous and You Know It, Sack Yr Band and not be enamoured. Here are two different versions of the equally impressive Pack Yr Suitcases (with and without theremin/bandmates):
File under: Guaranteed to get your patootie jigging
The Cure occupy a curious spot in pop music history. They somehow retain pseudo-alternative credibility, while pumping out what is pretty mainstream New Romantic material.
Perhaps we were all distracted by the dishevelled persona of Robert Smith with his quirky mix of edginess and vulnerability.
Irrespective, this collection showcases their capacity to deliver hit after hit. The band did progress over their career, moving from a more synth-heavy approach (think Duran Duran or Japan) to more jangly, layered guitars (Jamesor Wonderstuff).
At their best the band is hard to fault. Gems like Let’s Go To Bed, The Lovecats, Why Can’t I Be You and Close to Me are catchy as all hell, built around Smith’s hiccupy vocals, basslines worth wiggling to, and horn blasts screamed out for mouth-trumpet-alongs.
The standout track is the justifiably lauded Just Like Heaven. Of course, the Dinosaur Jr version topped the original, but you can see why J Mascis was inspired.
Speaking of inspiration, there is a certain music-geek-delight in discovering that the band’s Friday I’m in Love has become a big enough cultural icon to inspire its very own t-shirt. The song deserves it and your record collection deserves this this album.
In the tiny world of bands who frequented the Candle Records label, these guys were always the odd ones out.
Although they ticked the ‘predominantly acoustic’ and ‘Australian’ boxes, they lacked the requisite pop sensibilities, and presented as more on the ’smelly hippy’ side of the folk-rock community.
As such, I was never particularly enamoured by them, and only picked up this CD as part of the run-out sale when the label was closing-up shop. I’m not even sure I gave it a spin until yesterday.
I can’t say I’ve got much positive to say. This is underproduced, underexciting material. The main driver sound-wise is an undynamic violin and plinky-plonky vocal harmonisation. Most of the songs have no lingering capacity (beyond the upbeat Airy Day).
For those of you who were close followers of bands around Melbourne in the mid-late 1990s, these guys can be described as much more North Fitzroy (think the Empress Hotel) than mainstreet Fitzroy (i.e. The Punters). For modern punters, that probably translates as Northcote cafe rather than Collingwood bar.
There were other bands who did this sort of stuff so much better, like Treehouse and Nude Rain. Seek them out.
An aside: this CD is packaged very well with a cool cloth CD sleeve and a funky folded lyric sheet. If you wanna buy it off me, please email.
File under: The negative relationship between album title length and content quality continues.
I have finally finished up the C reviews. 74 albums came under scrutiny and the faves from this bunch were (in order):
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