The rock and/or roll often deals with the heat of love. Passions that burn brightly or smoulder glowering in a corner. But break-dancing masked vandals being immolated by former basketball stars who double as friends of North Korean despots, not so much. The artist in question being Skrillex – here double-billed with one Yogi, of that seemingly never-ending production line of rappers/singers who believe themselves smarter than the average bear – such oddness is not untypical. A long list of featured ‘artists’ in brackets have this remix of Burial (Atlantic) become dangerously close to a sludge of too many inputs, but a single song remains audible (just), even as Dennis Rodman combusts the gang for trashing the local hairdressers. I take it that sounds as ridiculous when you read it back, as it seemed as I wrote it.
Relatedly, it seems pyromania can be an attraction. Davey Craddock & The Spectacles ponder the thought that Girls Light Fires (Independent), and yet they remain obscure objects of desire in manner that I reckon should be called Australicana, they being local product, but the spellchecker really can’t handle the word. For those uncertain of the term, it’s somewhere around woody alt.country in tone, here with a not unattractive nod to a Tom Petty whine in Mr Craddock’s vocals as the choruses unfurl. Band is necessarily tight and loose, but he’ll be doing an east coast in solo mode as we speak.
As the smoke clears we find Dan Snaith, aka Manitoba (until he got sued for the name), aka Caribou (well, he is from Canada, and possibly a bit of a dear…), but here aka Daphni (for when he goes off in an electronic tangent with occasional sub-continental undertones). Vikram (Merge) possibly takes its name from that yoga in an overheated room, which crossed Snaith’s doctorate in mathematics makes for geometric noise that bends itself in some curious manners. Pretentious, maybe just a tad. But mentioning his past also happily allows me to quote his finest title from his Manitoba days: If Assholes Could Fly, This Place Would Be An Airport. Gotta love that.
In another cultural move, You Beauty – who could really only be Australian with that name – move from referencing the greatest game of all (Rugby League of course, you southern and western state heathens…) to more literary pursuits as previous album Jersey Flegg gives way to Illywacker (Rice Is Nice). Although I’m as yet unsure what Peter Carey’s novel has to do with the internet dating references of the tune. Whatever, the Beauts make a neat scribbly guitar pop noise with an overarching description of being a bit like ‘INXS when they were still playing pub rock’. That’s a reasonable aim if nothing else.
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Bad//Dreams also take some inspiration from the days of the Ozzie beer barn. Hiding To Nothing (Ivy League) is built on a good ol’ meat-and-potatoes guitar racket with some quirks, and the extremely credible presence of Mark Opitz - producer of The Angels, Barnesy, Gurus, the aforementioned INXS, and a substantial list of the ever popular ‘and many others’. Coupled with a band that knows its way around a song, and knowing when to get out before any one element riffs you to death, the result is of the suburbs, and of the spaces beyond. And just bloody good with it.
Back a bit further, we welcome the return of the man who originally informed us that ‘anger is an energy’, and even earlier pointed out you’d perhaps been cheated. The much rumoured return of Public Image Ltd has Lydon yelling ‘fuck’ within the opening 20 seconds of Double Trouble (Cargo) and the musical-concrete of a familiar sort stabs at you insistently. He’s still grumpy – even after making well-paid commercials from dairy products, with the righteous indignation that’s now lasted more than 40 years. And that a whole new generation will probably still find surprisingly satisfying, as he rages against middle-class expectation, much as he ever has.
However, some of the kiddies are simply Feeling OK (Harvest). Best Coast are taking bright snapshots of a suburban existence, but might be taking the piss from it at the same time. The music has a nice pastel gloss as you’d expect, and may offer some warmth as it provides colour and movement on Rage in coming weeks as you wrap the doona around you as a chilly Saturday night becomes a rainy Sunday morning.
Another burst of shiny and summery guitars from Ocean Party. But the ripples of Guess Work (Spunk) may be a little misleading with the classicist pop apparently hiding some angsty disaffection with globalisation and the ways things are. Which may or may not involve the Greek economic collapse, the end of the age of entitlement, or Spotify not paying a high enough royalty rate. This is the modern world. It can be a bit shit. But a good middle-eight and guitar solo can make it better.
