Rise On The Stressed Waves Of Ruin

It's amazing to think of the bands that I tried on numerous occasions to get on a Sonic Masala bill to no avail. Blank Realm has probably been the biggest one to date to slip through the fingers (although both Dan Spencer and Luke Walsh have played shows in weirder forms), whilst Per Purpose was meant to play the first ever Sonic Masala showcase - the honour went to Glen Schenau's then other project Psy Ants. A much smaller band that I tried a couple of times to get on a lineup was Stress Waves. The lurking synth broiling brilliance comes from the mind of Errol Hoffman (To The North, Make More) with Nick Williams (Throes) on discombobulated vocals. Whilst Errol graced a Campfire Tales show as his solo guise Perfume Garden (which was great by the way), the Stress Waves shows have been few and far between, with Josh Strange (To The North, Quiet Steps) playing bass to beef these wrapped-in-plastic warbles to arrhythmic life. Lost Lustre, their three-song introduction to the world, floored me and made it onto the excellent Wood & Wire roster, whilst another EP in the shape of Lurid Abyss surfaced briefly like a bloated cadaver wrapped in black rose petals last year.

But now we have Orphic Ruin, their first proper album, out on cassette through Second Empire Media (You Beauty, the aforementioned Perfume Garden). This kind of coldwave regression doesn't come from Brisbane, the city of sweaty squats and necessarily bared flesh. Tracks like 'Selenic Visions' and 'Elemental Decline' feel much more suited to the nocturnal black-on-white netherscapes of northern Europe, complete with dark apparel and glazed, disdainful stares into the middle spaces, hair combed vehemently to one side, efficient fetishism. The fact that is is so effortless gives Orphic Ruin a sense of realism that defies the geography of its conception - an anguished gnashing of emotions, deliberately throwing back at expectations. Toneless moaning, distant laconic beats, all switched into other unexpected gears by the synth lines that can suddenly tear rays of light into the moping mix.

Maybe Stress Waves could play a certain festival in 2015, what do you say guys?

FOOTY BRAH

Seriously, I don't know how to review Jersey Flegg, the debut (and possibly only ever) album from Sydney band You Beauty. There are so many contradicting variables here that should make this record bloody terrible. First of all, just look at the band photo. Not that these guys look terrible - they just look like a quintessential 2010's era guitar band from Australia. You Beauty looks like dolewave writ large and at its worst - the Urban Dictionary definition image. Secondly, the album is a concept album. Jesus, this is diving. Thirdly - it's about a faded rugby league player suffering with faded glory days, heart pangs, alcoholism and his own sullied self-worth. Fourthly - it's called Jersey Flegg. That is like park footy basically.

But...BUT...

The four piece are from Sydney bands who are steeped in angular seriousness - Hira Hira, Absolute Boys, Mere Women, Ohana - and are all technically great. Each song on Jersey Flegg is meticulously constructed and paced. It's funny and memorable (which has it elevated about many of their contemporaries right there).

Then there are lines like this:

"They wanna know about 93 when everything looked so good for me/Id pull up to the ground in my LTD with its grain on the dash and leather seats" and "I bought a house for me old man/And one for me mother/That's where I live now" (both from 'Mennal Mondays')

"Saw you at a thing for children's TV/The club sent me cause I had choof in my pee" (from 'Ann-Maree')

"You coulda had Whispering Jack play at your wedding day" and "It's back to chasing thrills down at the Cross" (both from 'Now Her Skirt')

"Went to training drunk...fuck it!/Had to have a spew in the oranges bucket" (from 'Crummy Thoughts')

Seriously - the whole album is inimitably quotable. This is littered with Australian colloquialisms that not only makes me laugh, but are sung with such honesty by Will Farrier that you can't help but believe in this inner west Sydney underdog story. Favourite song? 'Scent of my Youth'. Brilliant guitar line, even better drumming, and the vocal delivery of Farrier as he details the protagonist's grassroots, working class childhood and the clear trajectory he was always destined to follow...but then it bleeds into the bizarre yacht rock love song 'Ann-Maree' - and then there is the penultimate mentor track where he actually meets "Rabbits" Warren, the famous rugby league commentator...then there is the wry redemption song 'Off The Bench'...

Do you see? None of this should work. It should be a bad, mistimed joke, worthy of a grin filled with chagrin, missed opportunities and Matty Johns in a mawkish, mugging cameo. And it's so Aussie, and even niche within the demographics of stalwart NRL junkies. Instead, it's an incredibly well crafted album, and deliberately not twangy, twee or too easy to play. It's got the cast off swagger of an 80s pub/lounge band swinging from post-punk brevity and New Wave wistfulness. It's about fucking rugby league. And it's possibly the best album of 2014 - GLOBALLY.

Go figure.

You really need this album. Grab Jersey Flegg on digital here, and on cassette through newly-minted Brisbane label Second Empire here.