Sometimes this pop music thing can aspire – and sometimes achieve – to being more than just a soundtrack for dancing around the kitchen like a mad thing. It can be art, or revealing self-analysis, political statement, philosophical musing, howl of anguish, or a dozen other things. For his part, Gurrumul made utterly personal yet culturally significant statements. A voice that spoke for 40,000 years. You likely couldn’t understand his words sung in his language – and yet you could still feel them. This talent was recognised around a world he couldn’t even see, but perversely it seemed his home country often couldn’t even see him – an icon who could have taxis drive by him, merely because of his colour. Incipient health issues that should have been easily treated two decades ago, but eventually forced his body to surrender. That is a wrong. The first sample of what will be his final statement is the perfectly-titled Djolin (Musical Instrument) (Skinnyfish), for that’s what he was. Orchestral stabs and electronic loops now underscore that voice, but don’t distract from it. Even after his passing, he remains important.
Conversely, while hailing from and still claimed by New Zealand Unknown Mortal Orchestra now really belong to the world – gigs at the Royal Albert Hall, even. Everyone Acts Crazy Nowadays (Jagjaguwar) previews an album which will make them even more known. Ruben Nielson’s music now comes from a dozen places – reflected in the fact it was recorded everywhere from Auckland to Portland - via Reykjavik, Hanoi, and Mexico City among other places. Here, that melange results in an strangely smooth but somehow brittle white plastic soul that suggests they were listening to old Scritti Politti records at some point (if you don’t know who that is, ask your hip uncle or look it up - jeez, kids today…).
Also difficult to pin down a single locality, Gabriella Cohen’s pop retains its slightly distracted air – even when trying to be that bit bigger and look that bit more professional. But that helps it find its charm. Baby (DotDash/Remote Control) has some high plains spaghetti western twang and space to help initially define it, but then has a slightly puzzled stumble to find what music she really wants it to be. Which - whatever it might be - is damn catchy. There’s even another twist in the tail, as it shifts gears again for a coda/outro which finds some mariachi horns wandering into a karaoke bar in Malmo. Somehow, this all sits together and works so oddly, and so beautifully.
And sometimes, it’s just the music that seems contradicting itself. Can there even be such a thing as ‘synth prog’? Because that’s one description that kinda can fit what the duo known as Let’s Eat Grandma do. Falling Into Me (Transgressive) also seem likely to broaden their commercial appeal. The electronic buzz and an alternately wistful and urgent air can sometimes put you in mind of something along a line that may include Bjork and Chvrches. And while the creepy unease of the nursery rhyme element which used to be a large part of their identity has reduced slightly, there’s still a child-like wonder in parts of what they do – although even that might come with a slight Village Of The Damned shiny stare.
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And then you go and name your band something you’re absolutely not. Soccer Mommy is Sophie Allison, Swiss-born now Nashville-resident. But certainly not loading up the station wagon with the kids and bag of balls. Her music that breed of slightly wonky, occasionally self-doubting bedroom musing, and so Cool (Fat Possum/Inertia) ends up being so - merely because she’s so worried she’s not. That, of course being the proof of Rule #1: That if you do think yourself as being cool – you’re very likely not. Remember that.
If you are after some truth in titling, Such A Simple Thing (RCA) is not going to get you into trouble with the Advertising Standards Board. Ray La Montage remains one of those constructing fine craftsman-made singer-songwriter type stuff. Blues and soul mixed in via old Van Morrison or John Hiatt records, without gimmick other than a voice of sincerity and feeling. This is the sort of music from the sort artists like of John Mayer hope they’ll be when they grow up, if they’re lucky. Traditional? Old school? Sure. Got a problem with that?
A couple of Single Life's back, we celebrated the return of the gloriously misnamed Harmony, with Nation Blue’s Tom Lyngcoln deep tones dancing over the deceptively sometimes enticing female element keening of that band. Going for one of those ‘hardest working men in showbiz’ tags, Lyngcoln has also found time for a project simply under his own name, and Gemini Orion (Solar Sonar) is a thing of angst and beauty in its own right. For the purposes of the exercise it’s just him and guitar – variously plaintive, pained, shuddering, taut, buzzing, and ringing – that runs on a nervous energy that may appeal if your playlist contains things such as Bob Mould or Kim Salmon in their solo modes. Which is certainly not bad company to be in.
Note: The passing of any Yolngu person is usually accompanied by strict traditional protocols which preclude the use of the deceased’s name. The immediate family of Gurrumul have been clear throughout the grieving process that the contribution he made and continues to make to Australian and Yolngu cultural life should not be forgotten. The family have given permission that following the final funeral ceremony, his name and image may once again be used publicly to ensure that his legacy will continue to inspire both his people and Australians more broadly.
