Space: the final frontier. Relatedly, the current fashion for space movies and docos, as we look outward from this little blue speck we’re supposedly looking after, and backward as some realise what a clusterfuck we’re currently making of the attempt.
At least the soundtrack of the above are providing a creative outlet and income stream for a variety of artists. Suggesting just how important the fact Pharrell puts his own name on the music to go with Hidden Figures, a nifty story of black female empowerment – and subsequent writing out of history, as is the way. Runnin’ (i am OTHER) has him channelling ‘60s Motown soul to fit with the movie’s timeframe. He even adds to the narrative as he does this with his usual effortless skill and pop sense. Your opinion of the fillum might come down to whether you can believe Janelle Monae as a theoretical mathematician. Now, there’s a tightrope for you.
Meantime, over at the august surrounds of National Geographic they’re looking even further out. And engage our very own Nick Cave and his bearded attachment Warren Ellis to add some words and music to their straightforwardly titled Mars series. So, with surprising restraint but still an amount of tension and threat, Nicholas and Wazza offer up the equally straightforwardly titled Mars Theme (Milan). The result is a slow-burner, something akin to waiting for the switch to be thrown on The Mercy Seat, although here it’s the “…182 seconds…” of a Saturn 5 rocket going off beneath your arse, rather than your head exploding.
Otherworldly in a somewhat different way, Joanna Newsom celebrates a year since the release of her Divers album, by adding to it. Leftover/extra track Make Hay (Drag City) is typically wistful and typically folkie-with-a-twist, although perhaps a little apart from the usual as she eschews the often-trademark harp for gently rippling and cascading piano and a slightly breaking warble in her gentle singing. It will make some think of mid-period Kate Bush, and how Tori Amos never quite got that appropriation right when she tried it.
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Scientific testing recently proved again that whistling in a pop song is a sign of lack of quality. But it’s exceptions that prove the rule. So, hopefully more Sittin’ On The Dock Of The Bay than Moves Like Jagger, Slum Sociable turn what they call their “washed-out jazz hop” – which seems a little harsh in the self-appraisal stakes – to make Name Call (Liberation) not quite languid, but still relaxed enough to be reflective, and summery enough to soundtrack your stroll to the beach, your thongs warming up as you skip across the sand. Said whistle bit will stick in your head like that bit of chewy on the footpath which you’ll inevitably step in on the way home.
Hideous Towns have some of that heat-haze and slightly-too-warm breeze to their take on their “dream pop” – and isn’t it good how some bands are coming up with their own pigeonholes? – as Value (Lost & Lonesome) has Alana West’s voice questioning her worth, while the guitars oscillate between a twang and a slight nod toward ‘70s-‘80s post punk in that way that used to be called “angular” before that word became a joke unto itself. Somehow the whole thing still sounds of the now, even while it knows its own historical touchstones.
What Emma Louise does is the near-perfect model of moody modern pop in itself. Although the trick to her songs like Illuminate (Liberation) covers some of the same emotional territory as those confessional singer-songwriter girls of this century, the layers of electronics cradling the words here perhaps make it seem more measured and considered – impressionistic hints rather than just blurting out the feelings unfiltered. The sometimes-shadowy glimpses through the video also seem to serve the music, further getting the balance of revelations to keeping just enough secrets. Such assured music.
If that’s moody, there’s boys who are still being broody. Elliot The Bull are from the hardly angst-inducing surroundings of NSW’s Central Coast, but Beast (Rare Finds) is pop music as serious business – the half-swallowed croon that thankfully never quite reaches Eddie Vedder's dismayed groan, but you kinda think that as they aim for the mainstream of the alternative, the Bullish ones might not mind the comparison. Young men trying to grow their first beard so they can stroke their chins knowingly may well embrace the attitude.
Of course, sometimes you want the message delivered without any guile whatsoever. And for that, you can’t really go past Pussy Riot. Happily embracing the freedom of America that allows them to express themselves in the manner they often couldn’t, the manifesto of Straight Outta Vagina (Adult Swim) is utterly unashamed. This is gender politics in yellalong slogans – Sinead O’Connor and Maya Angelou namechecked equally. It’s not being outrageous just for the sake of it, the ski-masks almost reinforcing the middle-finger-extended joy of our very own TISM as the aforementioned message is thrust forcibly in your face, making you think even as you laugh a little uncomfortably. OK, a *lot* uncomfortably.
