Dear Penelope,
What do you get when you cross Blind Melon with Jeff Buckley? Who cares. A wise man once said, “Music ain’t for the Abacus.”
Shannon Hoon’s inability to shield his concern for the world’s thoughts may not gel with Jeff’s. The bands may not even like each other – what if Glenn Graham’s obsession with the Beatles repeats unacceptably on My Sweetheart the Drunk? I may have just concluded that Mathematics tells us it probably wouldn’t work.
Digress.
After an afternoon of rumination, I find the motivation behind writing one’s Biography aphetically ‘luctuant. I’ve met the band, and I don’t trust their linguistic styling. Mr Tree, the Arborist with his hot head-fur; the wide one’s arrogant love of roguish ill-cultured dirt-gems? The lanky one is far too taken with his set-to-fail bonsai-origami group, and the short one – the scribbling of one’s story is far too prosaic and off-camera for that chap. Doubt is a plenty.
I believe the issue lies in the banality of their wares, don’t you think? Their last attempt was like reading soup. Surely, real worth is found in being insatiable. Not concerning one’s self with furore or well-lit tattle-tales, but relying on one’s own expectations and terminal points; constantly improving so as to appease one’s own musical charge. Then maybe, just maybe, the recompense may be that their mismatched, fanciful rock tunes are destined to permeate the listener’s psyche.
Rest to be assured, when the support act is sitting with a West Coast watching the main and the air is rife with the smell of a sheep-less crowd, it won’t be the words written, the lights, it won’t be the riff, groove or pocket – wherever that is, my dear. It will be the unexpected rap satirical, or the glint turned to a tear in the eye of the singer that just remembered what they were really singing about. The one moment, when one’s vehicle parked outside is infertile, and cash loans lose their green; when every futile soul in the room feels the same chemical reaction. This is all that counts, my dear Penelope, as unless you are a real musician, you will be off to work tomorrow.
I trust this letter reaches you in good health ma’ lady, and I do hope you can finally inject some civility into these Plastic fellow’s fervent frivolity.
Godspeed.
Dr. Damien Staines PW. AW.
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DAFT, DREAMY, A LITTLE DUBIOUS, PLASTIC WOOD IS GROWING UP.
THEIR DEBUT ALBUM, AUSTRALIAN WEATHER, WAS A DIVERSE 13 TRACK COLLECTION OF SONGS ABOUT LIFE-LETHARGY, SOCIAL POLITICS, CASUAL ALCOHOLISM AND THE PEOPLE AROUND US WITH TOUCHES OF 20TH CENTURY ROCK, 70S FOLK AND POP SONGWRITER INFLUENCE.
NEAR-INDUSTRIAL BASS GROOVES; PERCUSSIVE DRIVE; ACOUSTIC/ELECTRIC FUSION – A TIP OF THE HAT TO THE HARD WORK PUB ETHOS, WITHOUT LOSING SIGHT OF POP SENSIBILITY, AN HONEST BUT CODED LYRICISM AND A
ROLLICKING ADAPTATION OF FOLK ‘N’ ROLL.
Yet, they have just finished a single and film clip for a vastly different musical beast. Country Town is a lively ballad: reflective, yet defiantly looking to a designed and positive road ahead. Produced and recorded by the band in multiple spaces in Brisbane, this time the tendency for measured harmony and groove has stepped back for a choir and an honest, emotionally-strained lead vocal.
Amongst a garage guitar-driven, thick instrumentation, the track rolls poignantly with the Hammond styling of Dan Mansfield (The Gin Club, You Am I). The remaining layers are provided by the two main antagonists, Sean Dunne and Nathan Gallagher – a new chapter following the multiple collaboration that was Australian Weather.
Country Town is the first of a series of songs that represent the now of a natural progression of tunes and stories, with the bonus of a melody and lyrics that land centre stage in your head, no later than the first listen.
THE NEW SINGLE COUNTRY TOWN IS AVAILABLE FOR DOWNLOAD FROM ITUNES AND BANDCAMP SEPTEMBER 1. SEE THE CLIP AT PLASTICWOOD.COM.AU/VIDEO.
