Missy Higgins' Deliberate Attempt To Step Out Of The Limelight Has Made Her Even Better

It’s an odd recurring argument: is there a distinctly Australian music – or indeed, in these global internetty times, does there even need to be? Of course, the most truly Australian song of the week is A.B.Original’s Report To The Mist – but its recognised importance means it gets covered in its own right elsewhere, not the least for the polarising arguments that will go on around it.

But back here in the world of pop music for its own sake, we’re a thankfully broad church with things of traditional and modern forms, often with our nation’s own suitably quizzical arched eyebrow of self-deprecation. Our artists, more often than not, can laugh at themselves – and probably can even laugh at the fact when someone calls them ‘artists’.

There’s all that and even some internationalism in Jack Ladder & The Dreamlanders’ much awaited return. Susan (Self-Portrait) is dreamy, a little darkness and even death to it - to the point Mr Ladder himself, in clutching for a pigeonhole for himself, comes up with ‘eutho-disco’. Written in the Blue Mountains in autumn, recorded in a Sydney winter, and mixed in a California fall it has a strange lush sparseness to it, as a tale of love beyond death – perhaps pharmaceutically enhanced comes on with a cryptic quality akin to a young Lennie Cohen, with electronics. Along with sometimes bandmate Kirin J Calllinan and Tame Impala alumnus Cameron Avery this is an example of an potentially great ‘Australian’ music from somewhere new – perhaps somewhere between the a nightclub gutter and a neon penthouse. 

There’s a slightly different take on a modern soul model from Panama, despite the international name, actually the brand name for Sydney musician Jarrah McLeary. Hope For Something (Future Classic) seemingly intends to be uplifting from the title and gospel notes that run through it. It’s a beautifully constructed thing, the kind of song that if Hottest One Hundred successful, some dilettante will foolishly try and deliver on the next series of The Voice. But is it just me that finds the visuals that go with it almost deliberately misleading in its avoidance of showing its true origins? Which isn’t the black American experience it illustrates at all. Let alone the interpretive dance element. Or is this just one way you have to pitch for that abovementioned global market?

Polish Club also call themselves a soul band, but are certainly something different again. Of that flailing two-piece guitar-and-drums combo Australia seems to do so very well, Divided (Double Double/UMA) comes straight at you. John Henry’s circumnavigations of the drum kit have the cymbals crashing rather than shimmering as they come at you in waves, while in the other corner Novak’s howl has the gravitas to keep up, and keep its bluesy credentials intact as well. Again, an international name – but they could reflect another of the real Australias, a migrant experience that takes in a local and even American traditions into what ends up coming through the speakers. 

In her almost matter-of-fact delivery of words that could be emotional and confessional, Missy Higgins was another voice enthusiastically embraced of being of this place. Her seemingly deliberate step back from the limelight to have a life and a love on her conditions seems to further endear her. There’s the long-awaited album on the way, which will likely speak to her own story, but in the meantime Torchlight (Eleven) goes with a new movie, Don’t Tell – dealing with our ongoing national shame of church-embedded abuse. It’s ideal territory for Missy, not having to scratch very hard to find the feeling beneath the suitably sparse piano ballad it is. 

And of course, local bands have long been so good at the breezy and sunny that has some thoughtfulness. And the ability to recognise a good pun. Thus, Simone & Girlfunkle. Perth indie pop with layers of sometimes slightly ragged harmonies – and how can you not love a melodica solo? There’s a wistfulness that could suggest The Go-Betweens striped sunlight, or casting further maybe even a little Belle & Sebastian – although not quite as self-consciously sour. Fight On (Firestarter) bobs across you eyeline in a most endearing manner, and may well be the next thing you hear when you turn on your local community radio station. 

Of course, there’s a whole world of music beyond our shores, although ‘Americana’ is apparently now an international language, even no-one can quite decide what it even means anymore. What Jason Isbell makes is music for grown-ups, with Cumberland Gap (Southeastern/Spunk) another taste of the upcoming album where his so tightly loose band, The 400 Unit are back to getting a billing on the wrapper. This almost delineates him in a Springsteen-style delineation in his music, like when Bruce dispenses with the E-Streeters to suggest something quieter. But this is bigger and  looser rock in style, although Isbell is still a man understanding what can drag you down and/or back into activities that can usually only make things worse. For lovers of three-letter acronyms, this would fit easily into the canon of the band he left a decade ago – although DBT are going along quite nicely in their own right, and might even have a bit of REM to it.

Adam Granduciel wears his influences happily as well. The War On Drugs offer Thinking Of A Place (Atlantic/Warner) inexorably wafts in as you’d expect - Dylan with some extra melody being a handy description I just thought of. It’s stuff designed for the mainstream of the alternative, not quite hip-dad-rock, as the guitar solo falls in the door just discordant enough to be interesting rather than merely polite.  

In his other thing beside Fun, Jack Antonoff seems intent of having Bleachers tick as many boxes as possible to appeal to those people who think like to think of themselves as hipsters, but probably aren’t. So, perfectly geek look in full flow, having Lena Dunham direct the loser pop anthem Don’t Take The Money (RCA) is absolutely to blueprint and marketing plan. Thing being, all the colour and movement kinda makes the song more irrelevant that it was already, although having Lorde’s warble chime in as the choruses build is a distinct plus point.