Album Review: Blackchords - A Thin Line

A Thin Line, Melbourne's Blackchords' second album, is a meticulously paced, urgent brace of indie electronica, warm percussion, sonorous guitar, subtle piano lines and a soothing, soaring vocal performance from Nick Milwright. In fact, there are so many flickers of recognition among the moments of Blackchords' originality that it could all fall apart under the weight of its own influences. Yet in the main, A Thin Line touches on both mainstream and more left-field relations to leave a lasting impression.

The opening title track is suitably restrained, a brooding meditation on life that builds into the only true crescendo of the album. It's a bold move, placing such an emotive, epically-constructed number in front of nine inherently different tracks. Yet the effortless wave of cool emotion remains in the slick Oh No (which bursts from the iciness into an incessant dancefloor chorus that The Temper Trap boys would be envious of), the maudlin shuffle of As Night Falls (Milwright occasionally visiting Chris Martin territory), and the soft percolating Into The Unknown, another strong track. The electronic pop dalliances continue with the aptly titled Dance, Dance, Dance; From Here mashes the incessant schizoid syncopations of latter-day Foals with the hushed delivery of Michael Hutchence. The opening moments of Wasting My Time rings of the soft acoustic whimsies of Travis before it doubles in on itself, and again, until the dark storm rolls forth and takes over. Oldum's touch is felt again in the aching strings and ethereal spaces intrinsic to the beautiful closer Until The Day I Die.

A Thin Line marks Blackchords as dark minstrels of sinuous pop, still searching for their voice.