On Alt-J are one of those bands that arrived on the world stage at exactly the right moment in history.
When they won the Mercury Prize with debut An Awesome Wave in 2012, “nerdy” music was experiencing somewhat of a golden moment. Radiohead were back, headlining Coachella, Bonnaroo, even touring Australia and a new generation fell in love with them. Animal Collective, Crystal Castles and Purity Ring released new albums. The public’s attention for music that felt smart but still driving was ripe for the picking, and alt-J took a slick, critically acclaimed bite.
Not nearly as inaccessible as some of their peers and influences, Joe Newman, Gus Unger-Hamilton, and Thom Green strolled confidently on the more digestible side of the fence. There was weirdness, to be sure. But there was nothing on An Awesome Wave that would completely alienate a global, mainstream audience.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZwBkXgWNs_M
Not so with their new LP, RELAXER. This is a statement album that has been meticulously crafted to read: we are a Weird Band, we make Weird Music, and we’re not worried about mainstream appeal anymore. It’s a perfectly reasonable statement for alt-J to make, and for the most part it’s done with detached finesse.
RELAXER does vary in the success of its clearly very calculated approaches. Many decisions – the “girls from the pool” in opener 3WW, apparently alt-J’s girlfriends recorded from an actual pool – add a tantalisingly fleeting texture, like a tiny citrus aperitif dissolving on your tongue. Others seem more to obscure the record. The inclusion of a cover of House Of The Rising Sun: a traditional folk song many, many people already have covered. Though well-executed and technically fascinating – it was recorded with twenty classical guitarists all playing at once – it’s a strange decision for a tight eight-track LP.
At times alt-J’s grandiosity can feel a little much, but RELAXER has too strong a backbone to ever actually stop being an enjoyable listen.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rP0uuI80wuY
In Cold Blood and Deadcrush both harken back to earlier works in their respective hard-driven and lush, synthy manners – equally bouncy, but pulling in different directions. The former builds to a brash, beeping climax that sustains for just a touch too long before an abrupt end; the latter drones and rolls through that suggestive inkiness that alt-J have built their name on.
Sonic ambience aside, it is a little jarring to hear a band reference sex and violence in close quarters as often as alt-J like to, and it’s interesting to note they have thus far largely escaped criticism of this – but mostly, unlike An Awesome Wave, when RELAXER is violent, it’s also silly. The snarling, Iggy Pop-cum-James Murphy Hit Me Like That Snare is so ridiculous that its expletives and references to “f***ing” (not the one you’re thinking of, actually) never threaten. Snare is a serviceable ’70s throwback to begin with, but it’s the theatricality of it all that makes this a clear standout.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sXQVj2mQS5I
Depending on whether you’re cynical or a hopeless romantic, Last Year is either a self-indulgent, boring retelling of a breakup, or a poignant narrative that finds universal truths in mundane recollections. Whatever side of the fence you’re on, Marika Hackman’s honeyed vocals are the highlight. Pieader, described as a foundational song and a “secular piece of religious music” by the band, features a 30-piece string section and the boys choir that Unger-Hamilton used to be a member of. This is the song alt-J have tipped as the one you really need to see live, and it’s easy to hear why: the sense of swelling euphoria would make for the perfect closing number to a festival set.
No word on whether we’ll have a chance to witness that in Australia any time soon, though perhaps the shoutout to Tasmania on Adeline is a hint?
Read more: We Saw Alt-J In Munich
Image: Billboard
Nostalgia, that undeniable part of the human condition that brings us a fourth reboot of Spiderman and new Roseanne, gets a bad rap these days. Sure, the results of modern consumerist-driven nostalgia can be as irritating as they are boring, but there’s no point in pretending that revisiting the past can’t have value if done right. On Goths, the Mountain Goats (tMG)’s band leader John Darnielle revisits, in that hyper-visceral way he was born to do, a very specific setting from his past: the ‘80s goth scene boom in Southern California.
A less gifted lyricist might have plumbed the dark teenage angst for snarling “insights” and yearning for a passing moment in time; instead, Darnielle recounts with varying distance, far more concerned with what it actually means for a subculture to appear and disappear. Gothic idiosyncrasies are recalled with tender affection and humour, which is unsurprising, considering Darnielle was a part of it himself – though he’s quick to assert he wasn’t a “24-hour” goth, and that in his small Southern California town the turn of phrase was “death rock”.
Before their recent visit for Bluesfest and a sold-out headline tour this year, tMG hadn’t landed on Australian soil since touring their album Transcendental Youth in 2012. Goths, for its part, feels in many ways like a natural progression from that album and its successor Beat The Champ: each leans heavily on brass instrumentation, something relatively unexplored by tMG previously – and each is, to put it crudely, a “concept album”. But, like Goths, Transcendental Youth isn’t just about Amy Winehouse’s suicide, and Beat The Champ isn’t just about professional wrestling. These are frameworks Darnielle uses to explore violence, self-hatred, loss, pride, ambition, failure, and he has never done it with this much finesse. His work, as always, seeks the universal truths to be found in the minute details of lives that may seem alien or “other”, ultimately positing that there are no real meaningful differences in humankind.
The cleverest song on Goths is undeniably Abandoned Flesh, which documents the bizarre flash-in-the-pan career of ’80s KROQ band Gene Loves Jezebel in heartwarming yet sobering detail, all swirling woodwinds and biting lyricism. It’s a vulnerable meditation on life, creativity, and capitalism that will resonate with anyone who has ever uttered some version of the line “But for the most part, however big that chorused bass may throb / You and me, and all of us, are going to have to find a job“.
On The Grey Flame And The Silver Flame Attunement, Darnielle parades his gift for inflating simple language with so much weight that the air feels noticeably thicker for it. His voice, too, has attained a new kind of smoothness; Darnielle’s songwriting has never suffered for his nasal twangs and tinny timbre, but this newfound sweetness is a welcome development, allowing for a different kind of vulnerability to pour forth.
Flippant sonic diversity is very much Darnielle’s wheelhouse, so despite their traditional importance in tMG’s discography, the elimination of guitars on their sixteenth album is not entirely shocking, nor the embracing of woodwinds.
The newer sounds are used to great effect; the melodic additions coil beautifully around erstwhile polished vocals, and the ramshackle urgency we’re accustomed to is now more finely-tuned and urbane. Often it’s surprisingly bouncy, evoking elements of funk and pop (We Do It Different On The West Coast, Rain In Soho). Even when applied to outwardly solemn tracks (Wear Black) there’s a playfulness that consistently throws up roadblocks for those who take nostalgia too seriously.
Goths is out now via Remote Control Records in Australia.
Read more: FLASHBACK FRIDAY: The Mountain Goats, The Sunset Tree
Image: Bandcamp
Welcome to The Soundtrack, a column where we plumb the depths of our musical knowledge to bring you the best* (subjective) music to listen to for very specific life situations. In our first column of the year and on International Women’s Day, we bring you tunes to celebrate and appreciate the women, femmes & non-binary lovelies in your life.
Miss Blanks – Fuck Real Slow
Miss Blanks is not on Spotify, but she is one of the most important voices in Australian music right now. Her crowd-pleasing tunes are a combination relentless and wholly justified bravado and sticky, sweaty beats. Miss Blanks doesn’t just put sexuality & sexual expression on display, she struts confidently all over it with a wry grin to the camera. In a political and social climate where women – particularly WOC, and more particularly trans women – are consistently shamed, degraded and much worse for daring to be sexual, Fuck Real Slow bears a timely and important message. That being said, it’s entirely possible you’ll be too busy grinding to this to reflect on that too hard because it’s a CERTIFIED GOLD BANGER.
Crime Mob – Stilettos (Pumps) feat Miss Aisha
It’s a truth universally acknowledged that women are consistently made to feel that they are lesser if they have interests that line up with what some consider to be “feminine”. We are constantly made to feel like we are worth nothing unless we decry things like manicures and high heels with gusto, declaring ourselves to be “not like the other girls”, when in reality there is nothing wrong with other girls or being like them. Miss Aisha & ex-Crime Mob member Diamond do not give a fuck. They gets their nails and hair done, they wear stilettos, they go out to the club with their girls, and they know they look damn good doing it. If you’re someone who enjoys these things, you deserve to feel good about that, so this is for you. If you’re someone who loves pizza and video games, that’s awesome too, because it’s what you like! Of course, it is very possible and very common to enjoy ALL these things, but don’t anyone tell cis men that. Their heads might explode. (Just kidding, PLEASE TELL THEM)
Rachel Maria Cox – A Phone I Can’t Use
Rachel Maria Cox is the founder of the wonderful Sad Grrrls Club, a DIY record label/bookings agency that began in 2015 and has a commitment to working with non-male artists. Their songs are intimate, anecdotal and cuttingly relatable – perfect for when you really need to have a good cry (which we all do, sometimes). There’s some really lovely guitar work here, all clean and chime-y, but it’s the raw, honest exploration of longing that really draws you in. Being vulnerable is a radical action in a society that aims to stamp it out, and it’s easy to forget to nurture that side of you when the goings-on of the world call so consistently for armour and biting your tongue.
Sampa the Great – F E M A L E
How many modern, local tracks boast a bloody upright bass? That is cool as heccc, and that’s to say nothing of Sampa The Great and what she unpacks on this track. Sampa is a certified badass and she’s all about shouting out to empower others. This song will help anyone who identifies as female celebrate on all the things that make you such an untouchable boss. The adversity you’ve overcome (and keep overcoming every day)? I can’t speak for everyone, but that shit feels like water off a duck’s back while I’m mouthing along with Sampa: F E M A L E, F E M A L EEEE. Would recommend screaming the same at anyone who ever gives you grief over the course of your life, honestly (please do not do this in a TERF-y way, gender and sex are social constructs).
Grimes ft Aristophanes – SCREAM
This collaboration, off Grimes‘ objectively perfect LP Art Angels (yes, objectively – fight me) features kick-ass Taiwanese artist Aristophanes, who spits dark, gory bars in Mandarin over the top of heaving production. It does not even matter a little bit if you don’t speak or understand Mandarin. What makes this track so cathartic is its ability to be completely unapologetic about being loud, messy, and angry; three things women & femmes are historically Not Allowed To Be. The release comes in the chorus, made up of piercing, prolonged screams that culminate in guttural growls – and what a release it is. Have you ever been spoken over by a man? Have you been cat called or otherwise objectified? Does your boss constantly undervalue you? Do you watch men get showered with praise for things you never get recognition for? Are you carrying trauma with you? It’s not my place to tell you how to deal with any of these things, but personally I find it very therapeutic to SCREAM.
Image: The Odyssey Online
In an ever-changing industry like music, artists and bands have found it increasingly difficult to make the same dough from sales they might have even just a decade ago. That’s where things like brand partnerships, exclusive deals, ad syncs and sponsorships come in.
But these deals can go one of two ways – mutually beneficial and lucrative if the positioning is right, and potentially alienating if it’s not. If the brand or company in question has engaged in shady practices and/or is generally regarded as being at odds with the artists’ perceived message(s), the artist opens themselves up for criticism by association.
Oftentimes, these deals are not made by the artists themselves, so let’s nip that one in the bud. These are deals made with record labels, distributors, publishers, management, booking agencies – that’s not to absolve the artist who inks a deal with a dodgy brand of accountability entirely, but it’s important to note it’s usually not their own direct action.
Recently, veteran Austin indie rock outfit Spoon announced in a Facebook post that a limited hot pink vinyl pressing of their impending ninth album Hot Thoughts would be available for purchase exclusively via…. Urban Outfitters. Putting aside the pretty transparent youth-market grab – Spoon formed in 1993 – that’s…. not a great look. Not to put the spotlight squarely on Spoon – many artists have signed exclusive deals with Urban Outfitters; most recently Spanish brat-pop act Hinds created a damn collection for them and of course plenty other bands distribute music through UO, from Kendrick to Run The Jewels to Young Thug and more.
As appealing as the brand may be to a certain section of music lovers, Urban Outfitters have categorically proven themselves over and over again to be unconcerned with ethics. Their founder, Richard Hayne, has donated over $14 million to noted Horrible Pondscum Human Rick Santorum. These are the people that manufactured and sold a t-shirt emblazoned with “EAT LESS”, a horrifically racist, classist board game called “Ghettopoly” (featuring charming chance cards like “You got yo whole neighborhood addicted to crack. Collect $50“) and a concentration camp-style shirt. They have repeatedly stolen designs from independent artists. They were sued in 2012 by the Navajo Nation for trademark infringement. You get the idea. They’re not good, and Spoon’s more progressive fans aren’t loving the announcement made on their Facebook.
It’s not secret that Pepsi loves its musician spokespeople. Madonna, The Black Eyed Peas, Ozzy Osborne, Faith Hill, Michael Jackson, Beyonce, One Direction and more have all endorsed the drink formerly known as “Brad’s Drink” (seriously). It should be noted that PepsiCo has been named a World’s Most Ethical Company several times, however until changing their ways in 2014 their ownership of international land had caused much environmental and social strife, and they tested on animals until 2007 (well after many of the aforementioned artists had inked their deals).
Of course, any backlash these artists faced for pairing with this particular brand probably didn’t have much of an affect on their sales or size of their fanbase, but that doesn’t make those actions beyond criticism. Perhaps what criticism Spoon do face for this will be so minor that they simply don’t care, but that’s exactly why it’s important to be critical of these practices in the first place: to expose complacency and encourage more ethical practices. Urban Outfitter’s controversies are well-documented and yet they continue to turn a massive profit: that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t bother being critical at all.
And it’s not as though there are never any significant consequences for the artist, either. When an artist is perceived to be pushing a certain message to their audience and then they profit from deals made with brands directly at odds to that message, things can get ugly. Who could forget Xavier Rudd-gate in late 2015? The artist, activist and outspoken vegetarian signed a sync deal with notoriously not-vegetarian restaurant KFC, who played Rudd’s popular track Let Me Be over ads for their Home Cricket Ground range, inciting rage from his previously devoted fans.
Following a constant barrage of outrage and disappointment across his Facebook and Instagram, eventually one particularly upset fan “updated” Rudd’s Wikipedia page to call out his hypocrisy.
Rudd recently embarked on a run of regional shows and is about to release a Live In The Netherlands album, so it’s not like his career ended following this obscene blunder, but his reputation is irreparably scarred in the eyes of his staunch-vego Australian fanbase.
At the end of the day, artists and bands are businesses that must generate revenue in order to survive, so it’s easy to see why brand partnerships, sponsorships, and exclusive deals are so attractive. Syncing music to advertisements is no longer viewed as “selling out”, it’s accepted and encouraged as a potentially huge revenue stream – but the positioning has to be right.
As Tyler McLoughlin, founder of The Sound Pound, told triple j’s Hack, “Just a really rough idea, in terms of independent artists, a 12 month advertising campaign across maybe TV, radio, cinema, online, could be anywhere from $15k to $70k. It’s not just a cash grab, you’ve got to be able to make sure it’s actually going to work for you as an artist.”
Despite its potential benefits, it’s important to acknowledge the ethical dilemmas that arise when musicians partner with brands that are questionable – and it’s equally as important to note that enjoying someone’s music while being critical of their operations as a business aren’t mutually exclusive.
Image: The Austin Current
It’s been over three years since Lorde released Pure Heroine, her precocious, grazed-knee debut LP. She was just sixteen years old when she became a household name, and now, having recently emerged from the teenage-hood that was so intrinsic to her sound and appeal, she’s apparently about to make her grand return. Lorde now has an incredibly broad, high platform from which to speak and create – no mean feat for a young Kiwi artist – and she’s consistently used it to break down stereotypes and encourage young women to be unapologetically themselves. Sure, every pop idol tends to preach some brand of empowerment these days, but Lorde’s unapologetically dark, raw approach is a far cry from say, Taylor Swift‘s ultra-shiny, pre-packaged brand (yes, they’re friends. We’ll get to that later).
Once called “the future of music” by David Bowie (an accolade most artists would have killed for), Lorde made her debut as a jaded, devil-may-care teen, with sparse production providing a canvas for her to spill her guts onto, painfully self-aware and critical of absolutely everything: We’re hollow like the bottles that we drink. It’s not uncommon for young women in pop to sing about partying and drinking; what set Lorde apart from her peers was her fascination with the uglier side of these things. Despite this, along with her refusal to transform into a sexual object, Lorde excelled. Five singles in the Billboard Hot 100 Chart. An album that debuted at #1 on the ARIA chart and reached #3 on Billboard. Top ten charting in eight additional countries. A Grammy. She became a mainstream pop artist, and she didn’t look or act like anyone else around her in that same sphere.
Not to say Lorde is a bastion of representation. She’s a white girl from a middle-class Auckland suburb – hardly a revolutionary inclusion in the mainstream, all things considered. But for many young women, repeatedly judged and bullied for not voraciously adhering to trends – the kind of women who grew up with Daria as their hero – Lorde was a breath of fresh air. A living, breathing, singing Daria.
After a whirlwind of festival slots, headline tours, and smash singles, she went largely quiet. There was her (fairly underwhelming) contribution to the Hunger Games soundtrack, and her (much better) collaboration with Disclosure, but that was about it. Until her name began appearing on festival bills again, that is, indicating new music on the way. Not just any festivals either, but the biggest in the world: Coachella. The Governor’s Ball. New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival. Free Press Summer Fest (FPSF). Fuji Rock (and let’s be real, the chances are pretty good she’ll be announced for Splendour too). Oh, and her label Republic Records publicly listed a release under her name on the agenda of a recent meeting. With the date “3/7″ – March 7th for anyone who writes dates the correct way – listed next to it, looking mighty like a release date, that means we have just over a week before we hear new music from Lorde.
But what is it? A single? An album? A single and a video? It’s listed alongside Ariana Grande’s Everyday and Julia Michael’s debut single Issues, both of which were officially released in January, so safe to say we are incredibly close to hearing new music from the goth-pop ingenue.
In the past few years, which not releasing music, Lorde has been busily propping up and validating a culture where girls can be “not like the other girls” but also actively love and support other girls. She’s been relentlessly unafraid to broadcast her humanness – see Exhibit A below, where Lorde uses Instagram (a platform notorious for its heavily-filtered endless stream of unattainable perfection) to broadcast her teen skin woes.
She was critical of the overt sexuality she saw being sold as an intrinsic part of any young woman in music’s career, and spoke out against it repeatedly. When Selena Gomez hit back at Lorde for “not supporting other women” after the latter criticised the way the former’s single Come And Get It portrayed women, Lorde refused to back down. Insisting that she wasn’t about to abandon her “strong morals and opinions” just because she was being called a “hater”, it was refreshing to see such a young woman be so steadfast in her conviction when criticising something that was, admittedly, pretty problematic:
y i k e s
But let’s be clear. Lorde’s criticism was “I’m sick of women being portrayed this way” not “Selena Gomez is Bad For Being Sexual”. To suggest that it’s anti-feminist to critique a piece of art just because a woman made it is reductive and, quite frankly, ridiculous. Perhaps realising this, the pair buried the hatchet the following year, and became fast friends. Which brings us right back to another one of Lorde’s high-profile friends: Taylor Swift.
Right off the bat, Lorde pinpointed the issue with figures like Swift – that they peddled something “flawless and unattainable”. The two later ended up as friends, with Swift even organising Lorde’s 20th birthday party, and it’s tempting to read this change as an abandoning of former ideals on Lorde’s part. But this is exactly what makes Lorde so important to her audience of (primarily) young women. She has spent a significant portion of her press time critiquing structures and cultural norms, but refuses to lay blame at the feet of another woman. She will make her thoughts known, and embrace and love her fellow women unequivocally. This is the lesson that mainstream pop needed to learn, though it can’t be said that it’s been entirely learnt yet. That’s what this impending release carries on its shoulders – scores of young women who never had their strong opinions and pimply skin validated in the mainstream before are waiting for Lorde’s next move. And so are we.
Do you have a lot of stuff left over from when you were a kid? Stuffed toys, VHS/DVDs, an old blanket, a photo frame or two. Things that you know you should get rid of because you really don’t have a use for them any more, but for some reason they remain, gathering dust and causing a twinge of guilt whenever you look at them? Maybe these things used to be important to you, or maybe they’re just meaningless knick knacks and you’re lazy/nostalgic/forgetful, so you’ve kept them. Even though they’re old, weird, annoying or outwardly racist. Ah, shit – the metaphor fell apart. I’m talking about Angry Anderson, of former-ish Rose Tattoo fame.
In today’s constantly-connected world, we’ve collectively become pretty damn good at finding out dodgy behaviour and latent bigotry and exposing it. But even though the information pertaining to Angry Anderson’s reprehensible and completely nuance-free opinions is readily available to anyone with so much as a passing interest, we’re still allowing him to be A Thing.
A Thing that joined Guns N Roses for three shows in Australia this month. A Thing that’s still booked across respected festivals and venues nationwide. A Thing that can send out a press release that claims, in a spectacular display of either tone deafness or hideous mockery, that Anderson is “celebrating Australia Day” by releasing a live album, and have this information regurgitated by outlets without a hint of irony or criticism.
Anderson insists that he is not racist. “I’m not racist” is the rallying cry of the person who, because they refuse to look deep within themselves and the lessons that have implicitly and explicitly been taught to them by the way society operates, ends up saying and doing racist things.
If only these people would put the same amount of energy into engaging intersectional thinking when examining society’s problems as they do into insisting that they aren’t racist. If someone asks Anderson if he hates people with skin darker than his, I’ll bet any amount that he’d say “No, of course not”. But if you ask him if he thinks people with darker skin than his are responsible of the bulk of youth violence in Australia, he will say things like this:
“Aussies use their fists [when they fight]… weapons were introduced by other cultures”,
“The racial thing, the cultural thing needs to be addressed because it’s not going to go away”,
“We’ve got to tell Lebanese kids and Indochinese kids that it might be all right where you come from but it’s not all right here”
These remarks were made by Anderson to a Federal Parliamentary Committee in 2010. Anti-Discrimination Board president Stepan Kerkyasharian promptly asserted that Anderson’s views on these matters are literally just some old guy saying words that don’t make any kind of sense or having any ring of truth to them. (The exact quote was that his line of thinking was “pure fantasy”.) Anyone who knows what kind of weapons the First Fleet brought with them will understand that instantly.
It’s harmful enough for some average Joe to spew hateful false rhetoric. It’s infinitely more dangerous when the person saying these things holds an esteemed position in society, whether from previous contributions to the arts or by being an actual political candidate. Anderson is all three of those things. Previously linked to the Nationals, last year he hitched his crotchety old wagon to the far-right anti-Islam Australian Liberty Alliance.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EhtxLqmMu1k
Despite having had a unique opportunity to gain insight into the plight of Muslim refugees during his stint on SBS’s Go Back To Where You Came From in 2013, Anderson continued to stick his neck out in support of a ban on refugees from Islamic countries. In an interview with The Guardian, there seemed to be a glimmer of hope for his sense of justice: “I went to Kabul … And I found a group of people who we traced from Melbourne, the Hazara people. And they came here, and to their horror, they were subjected to the same pressures and the same discrimination that they ran away from.”
But then again, maybe not. When it was pointed out that the ban Anderson supports would prevent the Hazara people from seeking asylum in Australia, he simply said: “The complexity of the policy as it stands, I’m not across that.”
So not only does he hold extraordinarily dangerous views and have a constant platform from which to speak them, he also doesn’t actually know what he’s even talking about. Good to know.
It says a lot about our current climate that we haven’t already collectively just decided that Angry Anderson – who last year announced he was going to run for senate for the ALA and previously warned Australia of becoming “over-balanced” – but the time has come and we are calling it. Angry Anderson is cancelled. Angry Anderson will no longer be A Thing. Not in music, not in society, politics, Australia, anywhere. It’s time to ignore his own and any “new Rose Tattoo” music (which is arguable anyway, as he’s the only remaining original member), stop booking them on festivals and at venues, and DEFINITELY stop letting him piggyback huge international tours as he desperately clings on to his last, fraying shred of relevancy.
If he must be written about, his shortcomings and violently outdated opinions must be the lens through which he’s examined. The already-dubious “separate the artist from the art” argument doesn’t hold much clout when the artist is also a politician.
Image: Facebook
There are two things that can happen when members of an internationally venerated music group decide to branch out and go solo. The results are either gloriously realised or an absolute shitshow. You get the beginnings of Beyonce or Michael Jackson (more pertinently in this case, Frank Ocean and Earl Sweatshirt); or you get Roger Water’s Radio K.A.O.S living in the shadow of Pink Floyd. There is little to no in between. Of course, the groups in those examples disbanded completely, and thankfully for us, The Internet are still very much together and look set to remain that way. Vocalist Syd Tha Kid just happens to also be launching a solo career of her own, with the release of her sophisticated, suave debut album Fin today only solidifying her Ultimate Cool Person status further. Despite her remarks that the album is “not that deep” – perhaps true – it is extremely good.
Though largely self-produced, Fin also features production work from Melo X (Lemonade), Hit Boy, Haze, and Rahki. Fans of Syd’s ultra-smooth delivery and swaggering lyrical bravado that are trademarks of The Internet are in for a treat. Fin is nigh on wall to wall matter-of-fact dark braggadocio and confidence, delivered so softly and gently that it feels like a whispered inner dialogue. Though lacking in some of the groovier vibes that one might come to expect as a natural follow-on from Syd’s work with her erstwhile band, there’s no shortage of interesting sonic territory here. Clunky industrial synths, metallic skittering vocals, hypnotic layered effects borrowing from 90s RnB, trap, hip-hop and back.
The lynchpin of this album is Syd’s ineffable star quality. She is fiercely confident, but her utterances are so unassuming that it never feels excessive. Where tracks like Drown in it and Body are relatively straightforward, they are elevated to seductive, lean-in-as-close-as-you-can, don’t-miss-a-second status by this effortless, mellifluous presence. It’s not even simply a matter of Syd having technically great vocal abilities – it’s how she doesn’t even sound like she’s trying, yet is in complete control the entire time. On Fin, you are in Syd’s world, you are eating out of her palm, and she knows it. Oh, and make no mistake: she’s here to steal your girl.
Though essentially a modern reimagining of an RnB album, Fin houses its share of surprises. Know sees Syd sounding alarmingly delicate. At 1:13, No Complaints is the shortest track on the album, feeling closer to party music than anything else on the album with its West Coast beat and references to a “motherfuckin spaceship”. But not even the perennially-confident Syd is without her moments of doubt; Shake Em Off is primarily a “fuck the haters” cut, but temporarily pulls the curtain back on such a moment (can’t sleep cos I’m anxious/counting sheep). Closer Insecurities takes these doubts and turns them on their head with a wry smile. Lead single All About Me sounds like an instant classic, but it’s Got Her Own that hogs the spotlight with its unabashed admiration for the success and backbone of a woman (Heard she got her own/I just wanna be there cos I just wanna know) and anti-rape culture message (You try to sex her but she said no).
Photo: Facebook
Every year when triple j’s Hottest 100 rolls around, there’s an inevitable scurry to express surprise at “glaring omissions” of songs that might’ve seemed like safe bets for inclusion in the countdown. Obviously, since it’s user-voted, we only have ourselves to blame for this (sort of), but it’s always interesting to take a closer look at what made it, what didn’t, and why that might be the case. It’s a no-brainer that tracks that have been spruiked heavily by the j’s are infinitely more likely to be voted in that tracks that weren’t supported quite as much, but that’s not always the case. Here, we take a look at some tracks that were absolutely smashed out on full rotation (specifically, every track on this list received more than 140 plays during the year – for comparison the top 3: Never Be Like You had 134, Adore had 123 and Jungle had 146), but for whatever reason, didn’t quite make the cut.
Lonely Cities, Tigertown
Sydney alt-pop quartet Tigertown released this quasi-tropical belter quite early last year, but not so early that it wasn’t still in the running for the Hottest 100. With a huge, hands-in-the-air chorus like this, you’d think Lonely Cities would be a shoo-in – but even with a whopping 167 spins on triple j, somehow it didn’t show up in the illustrious countdown.
Tremble, Nicole Millar
Nicole Millar’s 2016 began full steam ahead when she released her Tremble EP to critical acclaim, and the title track permeated triple j’s airwaves an absolutely massive 164 times. The song’s sophisticated use of tension and deliriously satisfying release made it a favourite amongst many, but perhaps due to its early release date, it unfortunately didn’t pip the Hottest 100.
Glue, ADKOB
ADKOB aren’t exactly a household name (yet), which could account for their supremely quirked-out chugger of a single Glue not garnering enough votes to nab a spot. Unfair? Yes, especially considering it clocked 162 plays, but hey – Dune Rats didn’t ever make the countdown until last year, and they’ve been nationally recognised for years. Don’t give up, ADKOB! You got this.
Impact, The Creases
Brisbane’s The Creases released this climactic Britpop number in May 2016 and it was subsequently thrashed over 156 times on triple j, and was followed by a national tour and an incredibly fun video clip. Adding to that frontman Joe Agius’ recent win for QMAs Most Promising Male Songwriter, it really looked like this was going to be their year to make the countdown, but sadly they missed out.
Edge Of Town, Middle Kids
With 144 plays, this one was difficult not to take personally because it was this writer’s Fave Aussie Song Of The Year. That slide guitar sounding like a firework going off, those made-for-screaming-along-in-your-car vocals, the lyrics that walked the line between inscrutable and intrinsically relatable so perfectly… but, of course, Middle Kids are still very new on the scene even though their rise is nothing short of meteoric (they’re about to perform on Conan O’Brien FFS). Next year maybe??
Not My Friends, Tired Lion
The relentlessly excellent Tired Lion have been consistently everywhere for a while now, with so many festival slots under their belts it’d be difficult to count. For this single, spun 152 times, to make an appearance in the Hottest 100 would have made all the sense in the world. It was released in May though, so perhaps a touch too early to still be making listeners feel starry-eyed when voting opened.
Nihilist Party Anthem, Ball Park Music
Finally, an anthem we can all relate to. Obviously the j’s thought so too, cos they gave love to this track 147 times over. BPM have made the countdown plenty of times, so maybe it’s a case of listener fatigue, but that doesn’t really make much sense considering how hard they’ve worked to consistently develop their sound and release music that builds on what’s come before instead of repeating themselves. To compensate the band for their loss I propose we make this the new national anthem.
Smoke Signals, Olympia
Olympia f*cking owned 2016. It was her year. She sold out shows, released her debut album Self Talk, and along with it a bevy of intelligent, catchy singles. Self Talk has been shortlisted for the Australian Music Prize, which has previously been won by national treasures like Courtney Barnett and Big Scary. So, yeah. She’s killed it. This song nabbed 142 plays. I’m salty about this. Can you tell?
All these songs had a huge amount of exposure on triple j, so it’s reasonable to assume that they all have a high level of listener recognition. So why didn’t they make it in?
Clearly, release timing plays a massive part here: for anything released too early in the year, it can be difficult for voters to still feel that initial connection that made them fall in love with the tune in the first place when the polls open. Another factor that might be at play here is looking at what else was released around the same time as these tracks that might have overshadowed them. The times each track was played is another element to consider: just because they’ve got 140+ spins under their belt doesn’t mean the majority of those plays were during primetime listener engagement. And, of course, there’s always the possibility that a tune just didn’t quite connect with its audience in the way triple j might have expected it to. Either way, it will be interesting to see which of these crops up in tomorrow’s 101-200 countdown, beginning 10am AEDST.
Photo: triple j / Facebook
On Friday 13 January, two universally-adored behemoths of modern music released albums. One was the xx. The other was Simon Green, also known as Bonobo. Migration, his sixth full-length studio album, the follow-up to 2013’s The North Borders, has been heavily anticipated by fans and critics alike. To some artists, an unrelenting culture of high expectations might have been so intimidating that they cannot possibly deliver, but thankfully this is not the case here.
The sparse, delicate title track opens the album with all the restraint and poignancy of Brian Eno. Unbeknownst to Bonobo, it serves an additional purpose to his fans sweating it out in Australia: as well as being a immaculate beginning to a very accomplished album, the song Migration is capable of cooling your core temperature by up to four degrees Celsius with twinkling snowy soundscapes and echoes of splitting ice.
Migration the album ebbs and flows, finding new pathways to build to an ethereal intensity informed by live world instrumentation and, according to Simon Green himself, “relationships with landscape, movements of culture, people and their effect on their environments as they move and settle within them.” Oscillating and chameleonic modular synth create a universe that is peaceful yet unpredictable, evoking a state of childlike wonder and introspection.
Surface is a clear favourite, doubtlessly one of the most radio-friendly cuts, with Nicole Miglis‘ clean, gossamer vocals washing effortlessly over Bonobo’s design. The glimmering, syncopated chorus is sheer radiant bliss. Ontario, savouring Eastern instrumentation, live violin and brass, and ultra-modern effects, stands out as an opulent tapestry of sound.
Rhye sounds very Post Tropical-era James Vincent McMorrow on Break Apart, not that that’s a bad thing. It’s a soulful, melancholic track that possesses the rare gift of drawing deep sadness from its listeners regardless of how happy their personal circumstances may be.
Downtempo as a genre is nigh unequivocally serene and beautiful, but can rely so heavily on repetition that it approaches dullness. Not the case here – there’s so much diversity in texture, mood, tempo that Migration feels like just that; a journey across varying wildernesses, from tepid jungles to icy tundras.
Bambro Koyo Ganda is propellant and rich, where Bonobo’s composition is spliced with call-and-response harmonies, clapping, and krakebs. The track features Innov Gnawa, the only NY-based collective who make gnawa, a spiritual Moroccan form of music that is used in healing rituals. It’s a stirring inclusion, a transcendental collaboration that, like Bonobo’s other efforts in conjunction with other artists here, is easily one of the best songs on the album.
In fact, the only vocal feature that nearly doesn’t meet the admittedly impossibly high bar set by every other, is No Reason – Bonobo’s collaboration with Nick Murphy (the Artist Formerly Known As Chet Faker). While still a strong track, one that very clearly has potential for fist-pumping remixes (yawn), in comparison to the rest of Migration, the simplicity and opaqueness of the track make it the lowlight of the album.
The classicism of Second Sun is heartbreaking and cinematic, a fitting soundtrack for a dramatic period piece; the undulating harp of Kerala seems better suited to a sunlit mid-afternoon plane ride. This is clearly not an album designed with a particular listening environment – or listener – in mind. It’s adaptable. There’s no “right”, and definitely no “wrong”, way to experience this album.
Crisp, precise and sophisticated, Migration is the sound of someone who has mastered his craft. After fifteen years, Green’s maturation and experimentation has led to the creation of what will likely be hailed as his magnum opus. Bonobo will tour across 21 US/EU/UK dates in support of the release, and those of us down under are resigned to wait however patiently we’re capable of before we get a chance to witness this splendour (ha?) in real life.
Image: Facebook
There’s no getting around it: David Bowie was a force of nature. One that, to so many in so many different ways, allowed a kind of cathartic quasi-representation for anyone who had ever felt like an outsider. A weirdo. Slightly (or extremely) out of step with the rest of the world, in whatever way. Someone like me. I have ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder) – or, as I prefer to say, I’m autistic. I have a cat. I am autistic – it is an essential part of who I am. It’s the way my brain is wired. My ASD, which is relatively mild compared to what you may expect, has shaped and informed everything in my life, and it’s not going anywhere, and that’s the way I like it. But it wasn’t always this way.
Like many others who aren’t diagnosed till adulthood, I grew up with a pervading sense that something was very wrong. I felt like something was missing – that everyone else just seemed to understand something that I could never quite grasp. I felt immense pressure to fit in – “why can’t you just (x/y/z) like everyone else??” So I clung to every “script” I had available – I tried to mirror my peers, but finding them inscrutable on anything but a surface level, I turned to movies, television and music to tell me how I should behave, look, think. And eventually, I started to get really good at this mimicry – so good that I barely warranted a weird look from the people who’d outwardly ostracised me anymore. Without going into things too deeply, ASD is notoriously especially hard to detect in women for this reason, among others.
Then, when I was thirteen, something incredible happened. I discovered David Bowie.
Suddenly I felt like a light had been cast over everything. I still didn’t know why I felt so relentlessly out of step, and why just “being *normal*” was so hard and SO exhausting, but I didn’t feel alone anymore. As far as we know, David Bowie wasn’t autistic, and that’s certainly not what I’m implying. I didn’t think that he was necessarily “weird” the way I was, but seeing someone so inexorably comfortable with their strangeness – making it the lynchpin of an entire, nigh-universally respected career – was such an unspeakable relief that I could’ve cried. (I did, many times.)
While I’d never pretend that other artists hadn’t already been dressing in outlandish costumes, playing with character work in music, and metamorphosing by the time he arrived on the scene, David Bowie helped shape a world where otherness wasn’t just okay, or even just cool. To myself and to so many others, he made it desirable. Lighting a pathway ahead that seemed to say, “hey, you’re not like everyone else – did you know that could be your greatest strength? Did you know people can love you for your strangeness, not just in spite of it?”
I finally felt connected to something. Bits and pieces of the universe Bowie built felt like home to me: a lyric from Five Years, a soundscape from Low, a sense of outward brashness I’d been criticised for so heavily in my own life, a feeling of wonderment and fantasy. A zany, madcap world to escape to when the real one didn’t make sense. A comforting, soothing audio-therapy. A touchstone to come back to in my darker, uglier moments. It became my “thing”. It will always be my thing. Most people who know me this about me, but not all of them know I’m autistic. Even for those who do, the level of importance this person has had in my life is lost on many. And that’s okay – but I’m not alone in this.
Bowie’s work is endlessly important – musically, culturally, and for so many, personally. I know I’m far from the only one who began a journey to personal validation on the wings of his life. There are many, just like me, who can say without hyperbole that they may have a very different life than the one they do now without this influence. There are so many ways he’s touched lives; whether through breaking down gender norms with his fluid self-presentation, addressing social issues in his art, or just by preaching the sheer (criminally underestimated) value of being different. A cursory Google search of the terms “David Bowie” and “autism” will reveal to you that there are countless others who learnt this lesson the same way I did.
Just as his death will go down in history as a “where were you” moment (I was hunched over my desk at work in disbelief), the day – Jan 11 here, Jan 10 in the US – will always be a significant date for Bowie fans. For my part, I’ll spend it listening to his records, swapping anecdotes and facts, rewatching the very excellent The Last Five Years doco on BBC (there are ways, Aussies – not that we condone dodgy online activity), and before I go to sleep tonight, I’ll listen to Killing A Little Time, the only song on his “new” EP No Plan I haven’t heard yet. I’ve been saving it.
Read more: Rest in Peace, Starman: David Bowie, One Year On
Image: David Bowie Facebook/Jimmy King