The marketing plan used to be fairly straightforward: Whack out the album, pick two or three tunes to be the designated singles, make videos of them, usually of decreasing budget as they go. The rules are looser these days, and the money even tighter for the visual aids. But The National seem to be turning what might be their best record ever into a full film school project. Walk It Back (4AD/Remote Control) is actually the 8th track from Sleep Well Beast to have pictures to go with the music. But there’s other points of difference to this – the relationship angst of most of the album gives way to the political anxiety of anyone in America who’s not deplorable, complete with politico Karl Rove’s moody spoken word sample over Berninger’s typical weary cynicism.
And if the old music industry sales blueprints have gone, television viewing is even more disjointed, yet more concentrated as this week’s social media phenomenon is binge-watched and endlessly analysed until the next thing comes along. This week’s streaming event - although it’s probably last week’s by the time you read this – appears to be The End Of The Fucking World, with its eternal themes of runaway young love, with murderous psychopathic tendencies. Soundtracking that, Graham Coxon provides Walking All Day (Parlophone/Netflix). It’s a seemingly jaunty stroll, but with a nervous underpinning of dark humour, that kinda one of those Charles Manson musical demos that surfaced after he carked it and went straight to hell. It could also be more familiar to long-time Blur enthusiasts, having a bit of the melancholy strum of things like Coffee & TV to it – which probably also fits with its placement in people’s lives.
But sometimes, thankfully, it can still come back to just being about having a helluva song. Local boys making very good, Rolling Blackouts CF, has music that continues to develop – what was once fragile but charming, and just a little ramshackle, is now chiming and jangling as Mainland (I Oh You/Sub Pop) unfurls. While being a terrific shiny end of summer tune, listen a bit closer to find a fairly lacerating appraisal of expedient potato-headed arseholes, er, high-ranking federal politicians aiming for the lowest common denominator of their base as the ‘winds of fortune’ blow the refugee boats ashore.
Having lost track as to just where on the post-post-post-modern art-versus-irony continuum we currently are, it’s hard to work out just how much piss is being taken when an ultimate ‘90s indie darling makes an album tributing an eternal mainstream darling. So, that’s Juliana Hatfield taking a run at the works of Olivia Newton-John. Younger viewers may not realise that long before the days of commercially-rewarding but artistically bereft Christmas albums with Farnsey, ONJ had armies of top-rank songwriters giving her songs that her then really terrific voice would well serve. A Taylor Swift of her day, if you will. First preview of Hatfield’s Livvy retrospective is A Little More Love (American Laundromat) – actually a rather grown-up tune that fell between her earlier pure country-pop stylings, and the fairy floss of Grease and Xanadu. Hatfield can sing a bit too, and does it with respect and some of her own style. Regrettably album does not include a take on Banks Of The Ohio, where Australia’s sweetheart shivs a guy on a riverbank. Too many murder ballads are never enough – as Nick Cave’s bank manager would likely agree. But, if this is the future, we eagerly await Camp Cope’s tribute to Kylie, which on this formula should come in around 2036.
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Jess Locke happily self-describes her work as ‘Melbourne sad pop’. But while her thoughtful, and sometimes self-deprecating, conversations with herself might comfortably appeal to those who smile at, say, Courtney Barnett’s rambling song-stories - Jess' work comes with maybe a more poppish and puckish lilt. Anybody else recall how good Rebecca’s Empire were? Yeah, kinda like that. Dangerous (Pool House) maybe deliberately distances itself from that Melbourne tag that might be a millstone, with a clip that wanders around another inner-west: that’s certainly Sydney’s Newtown cop shop making an appearance – don’t ask me how I know, I just do. Overall, perhaps don’t be afraid of the quieter bit, and that somersault that takes two goes to get right might be all the more satisfying. Understated, and kinda really good.
The melodic shifts and base of electronic clatter through Queen Of Sheba (Our Golden Friend) seem a bit of a way from Moonlover’s previous guise and identity as Quang Dinh of one-time contenders Little Red. It’s pop music, certainly – but has the self-awareness that it doesn’t want to be too obvious about it. It sometimes seems to puzzle about which way it wants to go – fuzzy synthesiser reggae, anyone? - but finds the way eventually and is comfortable with the decision.
