Album Review: Gurrumul - Djarimirri (Child Of The Rainbow)

The untimely passing of Gurrumul late last year was perhaps one of the saddest moments in Australian music in 2017.

This album represents a four-year labour of love that was completed just prior to his passing. Gurrumul stakes his legacy in an album that feels instantly classic and destined to become an iconic Aussie album. Drawing from his traditional Yolngu heritage, Gurrumul presents a series of traditional songs and chants around which huge orchestral arrangements have been woven.

It would be easy to accuse Gurrumul of watering traditional music to make it more palatable for western audiences, but for a man whose music has travelled around the world, this album feels more like a thoughtful reconciliation of divergent traditions and musical styles. In the nicest way imaginable, Gurrumul symbolically brings together Indigenous and western music such that they harmoniously co-exist on this album. This is an important message itself, even though at times they furiously chase each other's tails like yin and yang.

It seems this album was conceived as an extension of Gurrumul's 2013 Vivid performance with the Sydney Symphony Orchestra, which celebrated his music. Gurrumul's vocals have often been described as angelic but on this album they are dreamy and haunting. Singing in his native language, some fans will need to do their research to understand his literal meaning, but while immediate understanding of Gurrumul's lyrics will elude non-Indigenous speakers, he works to immerse all listeners in a wondrous environment that suggests his homeland. Like Liz Fraser and Jonsi Birgisson, who left language behind to focus on texture and emotion, Gurrumul goes beyond speech. The emotions embedded in this album speak for themselves.

Moving from the celebratory Galiku (Flag) to more tender Wulminda (Dark Clouds) this album wears its heart on its sleeve and packs plenty of emotional punches. The title track brings together a majestic wash of sound and Gurrumul's thrilling vocals. Gapu (Freshwater) wears an arrangement that comes across as a hybrid of Glass and Nyman's styles of minimalism. The tune teems with life and feels like a refreshing splash of water across the face while swimming in a waterhole at a remote location in Arnhem Land. Many of these tracks seemingly celebrate the animals of the land, and like much of this album Gapu (Freshwater) creates an imaginary environment in the mind's eye that listeners are left to explore. The fluid Gopuru (Tuna Swimming) takes a plunge into the aquatic to discover swarms of fish in the water. Djapana (Sunset) comes with more of a neo-classical vibe than the rest of the album. It's a sound clash of sorts as the pomp of the orchestra is confronted with the more tribal style of Gurrumul's vocals.

Saving the best for last, the poignant the brooding Wulminda (Dark Clouds) drops deep, melancholy vibes upon our ears. Such a fully formed and joyous album released posthumously makes for truly bittersweet listening.