These Dark Political Days Bring Out The Best In Billy Bragg

As the old curse would have it: “May you live in interesting times”. Then again, such days of political absurdity as we’re having are a godsend to some. Cartoonists, comedians, and writers of protest songs coming to mind. Thus Billy Bragg has a rich vein to mine, having got past his most recent sidetracks into the cultural history of trains and skiffle music. Welcome to The Sleep Of Reason (Cooking Vinyl) as the Baron of Barking gets woke – as the saying now goes – and ponders white men with red necks, and a world where his own little England seems intent on trying to ignore those several million foreigners across the Channel and The North Sea called ‘Europe’. Now more trying to get you to think a bit more before perhaps overthrowing the state, Bill remains traditional and relevant at once. 

Another who knows his history – although more focussed on the constructs and styles of the classic pop music – is Davey Lane. Besides being the guitar player of the finest rock and roll combo in Christendom, The Australian You Am I Show, young David now works under his own name as well, and Taurus All Apart (Capgun Kids) is all his knowledge and experience put together in the obligatory three-and-a-bit minutes. Shiny layers of harmonies, handclaps, tambourine, and all the other right noises fit together to make something utterly assured. Although you may argue that it might need a little more cowbell, but real good trick here is while he’s working with the orthodoxies and elements of the form, never does it fall into being just a pastiche – this is just a terrific pop song. And sometimes that’s all you need. 

Also taking their cues from what they love, Tiny Little Houses move their own goalposts just a bit. They’ve always admitted an affection for the sometimes whiny reflections of the slacker era and its spiritual home in America’s Pacific Northwest, but Garbage Bin (Ivy League) is a has a little more cynical fuckoffedness to it, rather than just melancholy resignation. More Dinosaur Jr than Pavement, for those of you looking for reference points. This grumpy shrug of the shoulders also marks them as so very Australian – and of this we should be proud. Although they’d probably accept such praise with a simple “Meh…”, and have another cone. 

More identifiable as the lead singer of Parquet Courts – one of those bands making art from the garage, and beloved by a coterie of those people who try hard to look like they don’t really care how they look – A. Savage fell in love, and found himself with some songs that didn’t quite fit with the combo’s outlook. Thus Winter In The South (Dull Tools) is first taste of this more personal view. It’s a stream of consciousness that trots along at a fairly speedy gait, as he hurries to his object of affection’s place. A discordant sax solo is the truck that honks at him as he rushes across the road without looking both ways, but he still probably doesn’t notice. Ah, the sweet distraction of romance. Or something.

The old “Hey, you thought the first single was good, wait ‘til you hear this one!” marketing plan. Gordi’s Heaven I Know of a month or so back was apparently only the taster for her now much-awaited new album, Reservoir. The one they really wanted to flag and build on is this – On My Side (Hey Alfalfa/Jagjaguwar) is the real business. Synth-based but human, the towering modern pop song of some emotional release that doesn’t need to just bang you over the head with its message. This is the one designed to get all over the airwaves and the interwebs, and should do the job admirably.   

For a music with no real roots here, parts of Australia have always had a perhaps odd affection for ska. We’ve put reggae’s more excitable elder brother on the charts a few times – dating back to its early ‘80s heyday with Madness and The Specials and even homegrown takes from the likes of The Allniters, through to Strange Tenants and the handily identifiable Melbourne Ska Orchestra of more lately. The also self-descriptively monikered OzSkas put together some generations of enthusiasts – including an original Allniter or two - and offer up a take on one of the original anthems of the form: Rude Boy (Studio 57 Recordings), actually written by a sprightly and promising youngster named Bob Marley back in the day. They skank along in the accepted manner, with a bit of modern texture in the breakdown. Yep, does it all says on the tin.

Also putting their slightly individual kink on a musical form, Beaches’ currency has always been a big unspooling take on the psychedelic rock thing, although Void (Chapter Music) has a bigger racket and some sharper guitar edges than some others of more lysergic musings. The song is the sound of two people echoing into the, er, void – but often shouting around and past each other. Any doubts of the band’s credentials will be further dismissed when you discover they have no less than a double album on the way – two discs always being the trademark currency of the genre.

Another trying for bigger emotions and slightly heavier guitars than previously, the geographically misleading Manchester Orchestra – who, if you didn’t know, are from Atlanta. The Moth (Loma Vista/Caroline Australia) almost veers toward the epic in parts, complete with a chorus that flirts with the idea of being hooky and soaring, but then changes its mind, as if they suddenly decide they might be giving too much away. You get the feeling this of one of those songs that might take Grateful Dead-style jamming flight if played live. Check for evidence of that on YouTube in about six months, once they’ve toured.