Some people like to carve a personality out of a distaste for nostalgia. Those perpetually forward-moving people who always know where they’re going next. They’re probably immune to the charms of a band like Brisbane’s Dumb Things. Not me baby. I’m the make myself sick scrolling through Instagram back to 2014 kind. I’m a, constantly second guessing decisions I made years ago, wondering if I should move back to a home that isn’t there anymore, little bitch. And Time Again hooked me good.
Dumb Things wear their Twerps Dick Diver Ocean Party
influences on their sleeves, which is good cuz they sound like those bands and
plenty others, but I’ll probably always prefer a catchy melody and a sweet
vocal over some brand new noise. And they put the most Go-Betweensy sounding
song first up just to ward off anything who doesn’t like bands that sound like
On the surface this album is jangly and sweet, but it’s held together with a seam of regret. Time Again, is, sure enough, concerned with the passage of time. Watching it go by why you stay in the same place. On first track ‘Nights’ they’re briefly considering burning it all down, but the sentiment doesn’t last long. ‘Carpark Daydream,’ is about watching all your friends live their dreams while you’re going nowhere. In ‘Suburbs’, they’re trying to convince us that if they’re moving back to their parents’ house, it’s just for the summer. Even speeding down the highway on ‘Crash Barriers’, the scenery doesn’t change. Roadkill and BPs pass by on an unending loop. It’s a decidedly un-beautiful setting for the only real love song on the album, lyrics morbidly romantic for a song built out of twinkly guitar and breathy vocals; ‘tacky shrines / for beautiful lives / to sit beside you / oh what a way to die’.
‘Waiting Out’ is one of the more simple songs on the records, but the mumbled vocals and soothing refrain of ‘it’s alright, I don’t mind / I’m just, waiting out my time,’ turning apathy into a kind of virtue, make it one you want to come back to. ‘Time Again’, the final track, leaves us on a deceptively melancholic note, ‘if I could have my time again/ I’d do it right’. But it’s a blissful kind of melancholy. There’s no angst in lines like, ‘another book I didn’t read / another town I didn’t quite get to leave’. Just the inevitability of failure that comes from not trying.
It’s this sentiment that, for me, makes this feel most feel a Queensland album. It’s not a conscious choice to stay, you didn’t get to leave, couldn’t find the time. But when you stop to think about it, hey, it’s not so bad. That’s the conflict at the heart of this record, and of a lot of people who end up staying in a town they thought they’d eventually leave. Feelings of regret and acceptance play equal part in this lovely bittersweet album.
Time Again is available digitally on Brisbane label Coolin’ By Sound here. The vinyl will be out on November 22, for all the Daddies Warbucks out there.
If Australian shoegaze-ish music is a spectrum, and on one end you’ve got, say, Lowtide, Hobart’s Bert Shirt are on the other end. The ol’ ‘wall of sound’ is like the walls in The Cube (1997). Covered in spikes and fast approaching.
They’re definitely noise-y, more so live than on this EP, where they seemed to have smoothed the edges a little bit. Like, they keep the vocals largely clean, rather than the joyfully discordant yelling that’ll greet you at a Bert Shirt gig. But it’s hard to capture that kind of chaos on record, and they’ve done a great job of making something loud, fun and inconspicuously beautiful.
The lyrics touch on the kind of suburban themes that the EP’s title suggests – shopping centres and bad friends and missing the good party – there’s a healthy bit of angst to match the razor-sharp guitar on ‘Décor’. ‘Ocean Junction’s ironic character study of a linen-suited Tom Selleck devotee reflects the band’s ‘80s influences, ‘got my sleeves rolled up for the yacht club luncheon, pants so tight some things won’t function’. Closer ‘Late Night Shopping’ is a six minute wander from fluorescent-lit dreamscape to droning synth jam, vocals becoming more stretched and frantic.
The thing that gives Bert Shirt their spark is how good a time they seem to be having. The riff on ‘It’s 6pm do you know where you are?’ made me laugh out loud, it’s so perfectly balls-to-the-wall, and the whole EP is built around wacky guitar and melodically-centring bass. It feels very Hobart, this mix of serious craft and a ‘will try anything’ attitude.
Melbourne producer Jim Sellars returns with a new album under new moniker, Yunzero. Ode To Mud, the debut release as Yunzero, follows his beguiling 2016 effort Ox Hill under the name Hyde. The name change it seems was one of convenience, opting to move away from the popular (as far as musical artist names goes), Hyde, to a somewhat more google friendly choice. But never fear, Sellars is still dealing in the distinct kaleidoscopic sound collage of his former project. Cultivating the post modernism of Oneohtrix Point Never and the spaced out productions of Shackleton in an unlikely ecosystem of world music samples, spacious field recordings, and unconventional rhythmic elements.
Long gone are the beat scene ties of his even earlier project, Electric Sea Spider; Although if you chart the interesting evolution of Sellars’ music over the years you can hear hints of his current output as far back as 2014 with his final Electric Sea Spider release, Ten Hunters. This release marked a new direction, one that spawned the complex and impossibly layered sound worlds that have become synonymous with Sellars’ work.
Ode To Mud offers more blissfully saturated sounds, but also finds Sellars delving into more hypnotic, ambient territory on tracks such as ‘Eye’, ‘Orchard 2’ and album closer, ‘Ode’. When asked how he decides what sonic direction to pursue Sellars notes that it is largely based on mood and the found sound sources he uses to create much of his music. He notes that “there isn’t much of a template for how I go about this, which is fun, but it means that a lot of end products sound different to each other, hence a lot of quieter tracks”.
With the new moniker, comes a new label with Ode To Mud being released by new comers .jpeg Artefacts. A label which, despite its relative infancy, seems to have a similarly adventurous spirit, its catalogue blurring the lines of sample-based sound art, vapourwave and lo-fi bedroom production.
Ode To Mud is available digitally and as a limited edition cassette here. Do yourself a favour and enjoy a little mind-melting sound exploration courtesy of Yunzero now.
Melbourne band Mallee Songs released Suburban Horse, their quiet and focused third record, late last year on Dusty Tracks, a label run by Lucas Harwood (King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard, Atolls). The dark-folk outfit is led by Lucas’ brother, Michael Skinner, whose wry, melancholic songwriting exhibits shades of David Berman, Jason Molina and Galaxie 500. The new album brings some Tex-Mex polish to the band’s introspective style, with flashes of trumpet, piano and pedal steel rounding out Michael’s fingerpicked melodies.
Suburban Horse single ‘Drinking the Sea’ was written as ‘an expression of solidarity with the Palestinian struggle for freedom’. Set somewhere in Palestine (‘The pull of the ocean/Rust in the well/Endless white houses/Stretch out on the hill’), the song describes a dawn raid on an Arab family – a random act of terror that’s become routine across the occupied territories:
I saw a crowd around dawn
They gathered and swarmed
Tore all the wood from your door
And then you were gone
Dragged through the fog on your back
The awful sound of the rifle crack
Michael shot a video to accompany the track while travelling around the West Bank – from Asira, his village base outside the northern city of Nablus, to Ramallah and Hebron. Alongside familiar images of guard towers, razor wire, armed foot patrols and long queues at checkpoints are scenes from the old city, the skateparks, hillside bonfires and quiet olive groves outside of town. It’s an eloquent summary of the strange and cruel dilemma of life under occupation.
I spoke to Michael about his time in Palestine, writing ‘Drinking the Sea’, and the political scope of protest music.
How did you get involved with SkatePal, and what were your impressions of the project? What do you think it meant to the kids? I love that girls are a big part of the program. There’s a great video on your Instagram of one little girl in particular who skates like a demon.
I found out about SkatePal by following similar projects on social media, and I applied when their volunteer applications came up in late 2018. They’ve had some great exposure recently, particularly after an episode of ViceLand’s Post-Radical, a series documenting outsider skate scenes around the world.
I did have some reservations about participating in “voluntourism” or whatever you might call it, and there are for sure NGOs out there that operate as a more palatable form of imperialism. Plus there’s the long and recent history of Western intervention in the Middle East, so you have to ask yourself, am I just contributing to a colonial project? Maybe you can’t fully escape this, but after a point you’ve got to ask if, on balance, the thing has a positive impact.
I really think SkatePal does, for a few reasons. They’ve done a great job of partnering with local organisations in Palestine; they appeared on the scene just at the right moment when the first few kids were getting into skating in the West Bank; and they’re part of a broader movement working to push skateboarding away from its hyper-macho, sometimes weirdly libertarian roots. New skate scenes have been cropping up all over – across Africa and the Middle East, in Cuba, even in Gaza – and most of them have involved Westerners bringing over gear or helping build DIY spots; at this stage it just seems necessary to kick things off.
Plus, somewhere like the West Bank the only practical way to get boards in is via the monthly changeover of volunteers. Israel makes it extremely difficult to bring equipment into the West Bank in bulk; SkatePal once spent four years waiting for the approval of 30 complete skateboards to be sent into Palestine. As you can imagine, this means the project has had to remain outwardly apolitical to stay afloat.
The skatepark in Asira felt just like one at home; it had quiet moments and sometimes it was really packed. There were a core group of kids – mostly girls – who went along as often as they could. The girl in the video is Sedra (check out her Instagram, @sedrathefearless), and she’s definitely the star of the park. She absolutely shreds! She can drop in from this one spot where I didn’t see anyone else go: a two-foot vertical drop into a really zippy quarter pipe that shoots you out over a flat section and then off another five-foot drop!
What was your impression of daily life in the West Bank?
Normal life persists as much as it can under occupation. People have a rich and generous culture they want to preserve and share. You can buy delicious food and a locally brewed beer in Ramallah. I milled about in cafes, barber shops and gyms in Hebron. The pace of life is quite slow and relaxing most of the time, everyone seems to know everyone else in their home cities and towns and will welcome you into these social circles without a moment’s hesitation. There seemed to be a real building boom in Nablus, and most people drive late-model cars. If there’s a wedding or two on in town, you’ll be invited at least one and it won’t matter if you accidentally stumble into the other. People study law and comparative literature and medicine. And they do all of this in the face of the world’s longest running military occupation.
Even in Asira, a village that, on the face of it, may seem relatively unchanged by the occupation, the IDF still carries out its routine campaign of targeted violence and intimidation. For example, a few days before the first group of SkatePal volunteers arrived in March this year, the IDF arrested Abu Ali, one of the village’s most talented skaters, and hauled him off to an undisclosed military prison. As usual, they raided his family home in the middle of the night, trashed the place, and left his parents terrified. We found out shortly before I left that he was being held for three months in administrative detention, without trial. A teenage skateboarder poses no threat to the IDF, of course, and it sounds like they don’t even bother justifying these kidnappings on their own absurd terms half the time. It strikes me as just the blasé operation of the military-industrial complex, finely tuned to constantly punish a minority population. I’ve just seen on Instagram, though, that Abu Ali has just been released and the whole village of Asira is celebrating his return.
Tralala Blip have been treating audiences around Brisbane and their hometown of Lismore/ The Northern Rivers of NSW for almost a decade. In that time, they’ve continuously developed and refined their sound, and are now one of the most exciting, fun and thoughtful electronic bands in the country. Their first full-length record in five years is Eat My Codes If Your Light Falls, and now they’re inviting the rest of the country into their world of experimental music through the gaze of musicians with disabilities.
Their latest single ‘Pub Talk’ is spare and moody. The bare electronic backing leaves room for the understated tenderness of Lydian Dunbar’s vocal performance to shine – drawing you in to an easy intimacy. The repetitive, almost robotic backing beats slowly ramps up; there’s a feeling of urgency in Dunbar’s message ‘I am same but different/ my heart is full of sounds and light’. The video, directed by Jake Taylor from In Hearts Wake, is appropriately melancholy, glitchy slow-motion accentuate the feeling of alienation, while lingering close ups on the sensory experiences of the world outside Dunbar’s, making a personal longing to connect feel universal. ‘Pub Talk’ takes its time opening up, but then seems to be over all too soon, lingering bitter sweet.
‘Pub Talk’ shows a different side to the band after new-wave disco-dancey first single ‘Facing Monsters’ earlier this year, and it’s clear Eat My Codes… will have plenty to interest all kinds of electronic and experimental music fans. It’s also clear that we’ve been missing out on some amazing music from differently-abled musicians, and there’s a lot more work to be done in making Australia’s music scene open to everyone with something to say.
Eat My Codes If Your Light Falls is out on Laurence English’s Someone Good label today! Buy it here.
Sydney artist Joan Banoit delivers his debut album, Clerical, an impressive collection of splintered art pop full of moody electronics and longing vocals.
Following the hazy, neo soul of his self-titled debut EP, Banoit, assisted by producer Artefact, adds surprising dimension on Clerical pushing the music beyond any easily identifiable genre.
Single, ‘Bet Me’ is a masterful piece of songwriting, the rich arrangement drawing comparisons to genre pushers These New Puritans. Brass flourishes are punctuated by military drum bursts before opening up to make way for the devastating hook, an aching commentary on the internal struggles of a long distance relationship.
The complexity and minute attention to detail make the album even more beautifully difficult to pigeon hole. But this is pop music at its core, albeit not in the traditional sense. There are memorable vocal melodies and catchy rhythms but the treatments are intriguingly fractured, cloaking the more immediate moments in a haze of esoteric electronic soundscape.
Clerical is an arresting, multi-layered album that is as equally enjoyable listening to on the surface as it is going for a deep dive. Available now through Lazy Thinking Records.
Angie’s 2013 solo record Turning was one of the first things I wrote about for this site, and her 2017 piano album Shyness is one of my favourite Australian albums of all time. So my first hearing of The Underling’s first single, ‘Blood on My Eyes’ with its ROCK beat and its simple riff, took a little change of expectations. But maybe this was on purpose – a classic rock song to throw off all the nerds that just wanted more fancy piano. Because there’s nothing simplistic about the rest of The Underling.
The Underling illustrates the total uselessness of genres, the way Angie’s refusal to be restrained. Sometimes it’s a heavy sounding noise record, vocals are dredged up, with effort, from under layers of guitar and effects. Then ‘Your Style’ has a rhythm guitar like The Go-Betweens or something, totally out of place and easy breezy but still somehow it works. ‘Your Style’ is followed by ‘A Century of All This’; the biggest downer of the record, with its droning guitars and droning vocals and noise like a plane taking off.
You hear a song like ‘A Century of All This’, and you think there’s no way this is gonna turn into something easy or fun. But while The Underling sounds like a struggle a lot of the time, sometimes it’sounds like victory, like on ‘This House (Athens Reprise)’, a reprise of the track of the same name from Shyness. Where it once was a haunting piano ballad, a quiet statement of defiance, on the reprise the power of a full band is let loose and becomes less about desperately trying to ‘move on’ on more like fighting words; ‘gotta get it, before it gets to me’.
More in feeling than sound, The Underling seems to reference back to some of the stuff from Turning (which is, somehow, 6 years old now) but with all the growth and experimentation that’s happened in the period clearly audible. With her uncompromising attitude and classic rock sense with a noisy, experimental edge, Angie makes guitar rock seem like something worthwhile to invest time in, rather than just background noise to a night out. Something worth loving. And, at least when she’s doing it, it definitely is.