New Fergie Song Proves The World Has Gone Batshit Crazy

Let’s face it, customers – the world has gone batshit insane. Somehow, this country has put Pauline Hanson back in the parliament – but she’s going to have to prise this kebab from my cold, dead hand. Further reinforcing that thought, I can’t bring myself to actually review what will likely be one of the biggest releases this week. I will tell you it’s by Fergie, and it contains the letters M.I.L.F.$. Yes, dollar sign. There’s even Kardashians in it. Please, if interested, go have a Google for it. But I’m not going to help you any further.

For mine, there should be more honesty and less deliberate contrived intent at clickbait than that. But even that can sometimes be hard to work out. There is absolutely a pose, a style to what Dexys now do. A million miles and yet not from that tune about Eileen coming on. But what they do with Grazing In The Grass (100%) – original version by The Friends Of Distinction, 1969 – honours the song, and Kevin Rowland, for all his ‘interesting’ fashion choices over the years, always has an odd – if sometimes misplaced – sincerity to what he does. It’s old school soul, sort of. It’s big harmonies and shiny brass. It’s made to love. Kind of.

Going further, it’s still possible to have pop music utterly without pretence. The Attics are straight out of Colac rock city, and Bluffing (A&R Department) just a catchily simple, and simply catchy pop song. There’s some troubled thought process in the content, but not the construction. One irony could be that the ‘Do the right thing…’ earworm hook would ideally fit into a commercial for a youthful deodorant or fruit-based drink for the summer. That’s not a bad thing, really.  

So, maybe it’s a truth thing. And when you listen to Jason Walker’s sometimes worn-but-never- quite-weary  tones, you somehow just know he’s lived this shit, whatever shit in his life he’s singing about. Borrowed Tunes (Lost Highway) will happily fall under the country banner – or that of its increasingly loathed bastard cousins alt.country and/or Americana, but somewhere in its tone – and certainly in the tone of the clip - this remains undeniably Australian, even as Mr Walker’s pedal steel seeps in, an instrument which seems to have a personality all of its own. 

There’s also the simple beauty of family voices intertwining, with Charm Of Finches’ Mabel & Ivy – and even their names seem perfectly anachronistic for the folk purity of their music – providing the harmonies for Sky Watching (Independent). It’s thankfully not the ‘folk’ of drover’s wives left watching over the selection, but more of that slightly mystical alternate reality, maybe owing something to Joanna Newsom and that ilk. Despite - or perhaps because of - their youth, the music they make is affecting and emotional. 

But at some point you might question the way you’ve done things before. Angel Olsen’s work with the likes of Bonnie Prince Billy and Cass McCombs comes from a country base, but possibly viewed from a slightly askance angle out of the corner of their collective eye. Previews of her upcoming Intern album presented a feeling of discomfort, a feeling she may have been auditioning for soundtracking David Lynch’s next movie. But Shut Up Kiss Me (Jagjaguwar) comes from somewhat different angle. Country-ish still, but on Olivia Newton-John’s roller skates. There’s some nervy anger to it, or maybe that’s a pisstake as well. But somehow, it works – maybe through its own self-awareness, or maybe because you can never dismiss a glittery bob wig. 

You couldn’t blame Frances for having an identity crisis of her own. Her recent, lowkey, mostly promo tour here – appearance on the daytime TV shows, showcase gigs – all seemed to come an obligatory ‘She’s been called the new Adele!’ corporate line, which with smiled through with amazing good grace and infinite patience – even when faced with Dickie Wilkins and Karl Stefanovic too early in the morning. And yes, the girl can sing. But then they perhaps overplay the hand, and have her collaborate with Greg Kurstin – the man, who among a lot of other credits, wrote and played most everything on a little tune called Hello for the aforementioned Ms Adkins. Say It Again (Capitol) is polished pop edifice, with some perhaps surprising restraint, and probably likely to be sung by a contestant on the next series of The Voice, or X-Factor, or somewhere else a singer needs to play it safe for commercial result. And you think Frances might be just a little better than that if given the chance. 

After all this politeness, you kind of need something just a little less caring, a little more spitting. The Mystery Lights are of a garage, somewhere. One with a slightly busted Roll-a-door that doesn’t close quite properly. Melt (Daptone) has a bit of punk, a bit of psych, a bit of muscly pop to it of the sort that could have been made any time from 1965 to next Tuesday. It skids and wobbles along, encourages obligatory air-guitar during the solo, and then pisses off before it gets too annoying. Good business. 

Oh, all right then. The latest Fergie ‘product’. But don’t say I didn’t warn you: