Other Than His Name & Beard, What's Changed About Nick Murphy?

What’s in a name? Artists putting a new title on their own marquee – whether the reasons be personal, artistic, legal, or even political (hello, Shihad/Pacifier/Shihad…) - can be an inexact science. Oddly, it seems the perfectly serviceable moniker of Nick Murphy is going to be followed by the brackets “…(the artist formerly known as Chet Faker)” for some time yet, even as he tours the world and even sells out a couple of Sydney Opera House shows along the way. It might get easier as recorded product starts appearing under the Nick name, beginning with Your Time (Downtown/Inertia). So, what’s changed other than his beard becoming more impenetrable? Producer Kaytranada – who gets a near equal billing with Chet/Nick/whatever – adds a perhaps even more electronic edge to his still soulful brand of dancefloor heartbreak.

And sometimes only the name changes. The major surprise with latest English ‘return to real guitar rock’ contenders The Amazons is probably just that their name doesn’t begin with the letter ‘K’ – for they will can just happily sit alongside those other terminally second division Britrock bands like Kasabian, Klaxons, Kaiser Chiefs, or Kooks. Junk Food Forever (Caroline) stomps away through several layers of denim, rebelling against the suburban straitjacket as scruffy young men have always done, but probably only succeeding in denting the mainstream of the alternative. 

Or you can add another voice as a novelty, if only in the promotional video. Alt-J bookend the clip for the uneasily titled In Cold Blood (Infectious) with well-known dark voice of doom Iggy Pop going all David Attenborough on the life of the fieldmouse. Yes, I did say ‘fieldmouse’, your point? As life and death unfurl around our adaptable little rodent in unexpected manner, you might – and only might – get around to noticing the tune, which is the moody electronics you’d probably expect, and will likely not gain them any new enthusiasts, but probably won’t lose them any of the faithful either. 

It’s a brave, or maybe just certain, combo who put their own use-by date on their work. The always scruffily eccentric and iconoclastic Die Antwoord announce Love Drug (Zef) as the preview of their self-appointed soon coming final album. As you’d expect, the love is of a typically fucked up variety which knocks on your window before falling in the door, getting increasingly manic and possibly inhaling helium as it tells you said love is likely dangerous with it. They are, or were, a perfectly odd detour down a gravel road of South African popular music, and you’ll probably see anything like them from there again. Whether that’s a good or bad thing is probably down to your personal taste. But how can you dislike a band whose DJ renames himself ‘God’?

And if they are national heroes to a nation who probably wouldn’t recognise them as such, perhaps narrow the focus to a local hero whose name is highly regarded across a couple of postcodes of Sydney, if only for a couple of anthems celebrating those fine locales of Marrickville and Newtown – for the little Miracles in one, and the joy of King Street in the other. John Kennedy’s tales with their country and inner-west tinge are part of the firmament hereabouts, with an almost autobiographical album of an artist’s travels and travails, JFK And The Midlife Crisis, outlining his journey from the 2042 to the world, and back. Looking outward rather than inward, Making America Hate Again (Popboomerang) is a fairly measured observation of the scarily surreal farce the (dis)United States is currently living. And how can you go past a band with a genuine Wiggle aboard? That’d be Murray, of course, who is genuinely a helluva of a guitar player.

But if looking for traditional story of band formation, a quick scan of Chastity Belt’s bio will reinforce the conventions. All-female band, formed at a college in the Pacific North West – ok, not Portland or Seattle, but Walla Walla (Walla Walla…?) is probably not far from one or the other. 5am (Hardly Art/Inertia) is wiry indie poppish of the manner you’d expect from those details, but steps away from some others of the model by rather than bemoaning their lot, having a positivity built on them having each other and themselves to face the world. Julia Sharpiro looks you square in the eye even while being a bit wistful, and the guitars overflow into just enough feedback to not dismiss them. 

Taasha Coates is another of those strong and distinctive voices, first coming to notice with the traditional Australian country of the still well-regarded Audreys. High Times (ABC Music), with its fiddle and slight Appalachian keen makes it fit perfectly with the Melancholy Sweethearts of her album title. Her voice is one of those that almost seems made for looking back on past relationships and regrets with a weary eye, which you might find has something in it as you reach the second chorus. A bit Americana-esque certainly, but still identifiably of here.

Also belying their location slightly, Smoke Rings are happy to say there’s a touch of Britpop about them, but more correctly it’s probably just good old classicist pop where the cymbals shimmer, and the guitars and organ stroll around the streets of Melbourne on Go To Hell (Habit) where love is clumsily not expressing itself – as it often does – but at least letting you sing along as the chorus clearly states that inarticulate speech of the heart. Bonus points if you noticed the obscure Van Morrison reference there.