Particularly in bizarre times such as these, it’s good to know the popular music go beyond the standard ‘cars & girls’ and ‘rock and/or rolling all night’ manners of the form. So thank the fates, or whatever gods you choose to believe in, that we have the likes of Briggs making their art - whether as solo artist, part of AB Original, or that funny guy on the telly who makes some lemony points among the laughs. As a middle-aged straight-ish white man I’m more likely to be identified as part of the problem than part of the solution - but Briggs’ profile, presence, voice, and blunt honesty is needed. I need to be told that 50% of the kids in juvenile custody in this ‘advanced’ nation are Indigenous. And we all need to be horrified by that. That’s just one fact surrounding Locked Up (Spinifex Gum), the insistent thump of this Felix Reibl (Cat Empire) co-write leavened with the Marilya choir adding some melodic sweetness as the mostly sour message is delivered. Important, again.
A different – and even less heard – sensibility from this country comes from Sampa The (increasingly) Great. This is a displaced African experience - similar, and yet different. The music of Rhymes To The East (Biga Dada) is not immediately identifiable as from here: a minimalist hip-hop that buzzes into you like mosquito in the dark - dialect and anxious thoughts whirl around and gnaw at internal and existential fear and anger. Now internationally signed, this is music the world will accept and listen to its content - but will we?
But let’s face it, while Australia has its issues and angsts, our American friends are sitting atop a shit volcano of stupidity and self-inflicted wounds that we watch from a distance half-mesmerised, half-horrified. They themselves seem to flick from taking the world to brink of annihilation before switching back to check on the Kardashian pregnancies. St Vincent’s always sharp eye has become even keener, and certainly more jaundiced – maybe because she became the subject of some typically prurient tabloid attention as her own ‘celebrity’ romance cracked. So, Los Ageless (Loma Vista) looks at the shallowness, her guitar like serrated knife as some almost dancey beats fall in behind. The look and manner here almost has her as a Gaga for grown-ups. And that could actually be one of the many things they need.
There’s nothing as overtly social or political in what our DMA'S do, but their first product since the album that made them a major attraction does have that strange resigned melancholy and nostalgia that comes from Tommy’s sometimes oddly doubting half-spoken delivery, even if the message is attempting to be uplifting. Dawning (I Oh You) is built on a churn that builds to the necessary anthemic feeling toward the end for the obligatory ‘raise your hands with optional mobile phone’ arm-waving suitable for large concert and festival appearances. Still identifiably them, but it’s going to be interesting to see which way their music goes from here.
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There’s some of that same unease to Sun Sap’s Miss Behind (Independent). There’s a quietly swaggering swing to it with some honky-tonk piano and woozy harmonica, but it almost seems to be trying to convince itself or bluff somebody else that everything’s fine. There’s some blues, maybe some psych, but mostly it’s an accepting very Australian shrug of ‘Oh well, shit happens…’, and done with an awareness of its own fallibilities. Quite neat, again.
Our Saps are one example of what remains the fairly international language of indie. Pip Blom speaks it too. However, Babies Are A Lie (Nice Swan) is straight outta Amsterdam, but as its guitars rattle around with occasional feedback when they get a bit too excited, it could just as easily be from Newtown or Brunswick any time in the last 20 years, even as the eponymous Pip comes with just a hint of a European accent just to make it that little more exotic. You get that feeling she knows just that little bit more than you do, then offers it to you in a package of just enough pop hooks to be internationally charming.
But things get a little darker as our musical mystery tour takes us up into the Scandinavian climes. Originally Norwegian, but transplanted to the bright lights of wonderful wonderful Copenhagen – obscure 1950s movie reference there for readers of a certain age – Smerz make something described as dance music, but in No Harm’s (XL Recording) ominous weight, it’s possibly from somewhere inside a troubled mind. The synthetic bass-and-drums almost hurt in their buzzing distortion as Catharina and/or Henriette implore that “I want to feel…something” in a manner that both disturbs but wants to make you listen again – or is that just me?
