Record Reviews
Tangalooma
By Everett True
‘Tangalooma’, the debut album from Brisbane’s The John Steel Singers, is optimistic and cheerful but not too self-aware, writes EVERETT TRUE.
[Historical image is withheld pending rights review.] “I like this song,” remarks Isaac during the quirky, buoyant 'Masochist'. Chug, chug, chug. Bounce, bounce. Cue muted brass. "It reminds me of that other song."
What other song?
He starts singing a round in a singsong way, emphasising the final “a” like an American. "Hamburger, cheeseburger, lettuce and tomato!"
'The Pizza Hut Song'?
"No. 'Hamburger, cheeseburger, lettuce and tomato!' Joseph kept singing it the whole time we were in the camper van."
I didn't know you were a fan of The Morells?
Isaac's usually fairly discerning in his musical tastes. He's five years old. He doesn't like Maximo Park or Kings Of Leon. He doesn't like loud music played at school discos, particularly 'The Birdie Song'. His favourite bands are Gorillaz, the Deadnotes, Portland, OR swamp-garage three-piece Boo Frog, early Specials and, now, The John Steel Singers. And there was me wondering who this resolutely upbeat, slightly offbeat, ’70s AM radio-flavoured Brisbane band's target audience was.
My wife Charlotte likes The John Steel Singers too. "This reminds me of that David Essex song," she says during the opening number 'Your Favourite Perversion' (note to self; have spotted a theme developing with the song titles, must remember to look into it later). What, 'Rock On'? "No, 'Stardust'". Really? The John Steel Singers remind me of plenty: that peculiar strand of mid-’90s Chicago bands (e.g. Plush, The Webb Brothers) who delighted in the more flamboyant aspects of Neil Diamond and hung out in tiki bars, chilling to Herb Alpert-style cocktail music: or more obviously Godley And Creme and 10CC, those delicate thrusting English boys of yesteryear with their fondness for cricket and a lilting love song but ... early ’70s British teen heartthrob David Essex? Must be the hair-length, the orchestrated pop on the utterly delightful former single 'Overpass' (which also contains a determined glam stomp behind the swirl of strings, brass and high-pitched harmonies).
"He likes to throw bricks from the overpass," Tim Morrissey sings merrily, as if it was just a boyish trait to be overlooked, a prank. Brisbane humour. There ain't that much to do up here, except bask. And the rest is lost within a whirl of melody.
Lots of folk like The John Steel Singers. Tangalooma was album of the week on triple j a few weeks back. Tangalooma was produced by Robert Forster, the Patron Saint of All Underachieving Folk From South East Queensland. Indeed, The John Steel Singers are rather hard to dislike. I've met a few of them, and they all seem very pleasant - dishevelled and self-deprecating in that early 20s way - but then, everyone's met a few of them up here. There are quite a few of them to meet. Sometimes, it feels like dozens. Must be the brass section.
“The John Steel Singers are not ones to shun a good melody for the sake of a witty aside.”
Tangalooma, their debut album a few years in the making, is cheerful: optimistic but not cloyingly so, with songs that tickle and tease but stay just a whisker away from the XTC/Blue Nile trap of being too self-aware. The John Steel Singers are not ones to shun a good melody for the sake of a witty aside - although they do have a slight tendency to languish in the doldrums (c.f. the album closer, 'Sleep'). They're far better when they've kicked themselves awake. So, while 'Cause Of Self' recalls Catatonia's hot flush-inducing 'Mulder And Scully', and the lengthy 'Toes And Fingers' dabbles in the symphonic pastoral outpourings of Robert Wyatt, too many slow and reflective ones all together feels way too 2010, post-Vampire Weekend. (That'll be the Forster influence, to judge from the effusive article he wrote for The Monthly a while ago praising those most ordinary of Pitchfork breakthrough artists.) Fortunately, the songs are smartly mixed: a natural understanding of dynamics drives the track-listing.
For every 'Toes And Fingers' there's the pleasant pop froth of 'Evolution', for every downbeat 'You've Got Nothing To Be Proud Of' and strung-out 'Dying Tree' there's a (relatively) raucous 'Rainbow Kraut'. Forster has always been admirable in his understanding of the necessity of restraint within pop, particularly when pop is as articulate and meticulously crafted as this. Nothing grates, but not in a grating way. Sure, there's a little bit of Animal Collective in the mix: but really a) The John Steel Singers are far more Fab Four than sinister five surfing down at the beach and b) isn't there in everybody these days?
Oh, and the title? It's a reference to an artificial reef created off the coast of Moreton Island by 15 ships deliberately sunk in low water. Every schoolchild of a certain age has visited it up here, or so I'm told. I have no idea what relevance this has to The John Steel Singers' music but ... it's a nice image, isn't it?
Oh, and the theme? I don't think it's sexual. Not particularly. This is far too sun-kissed.
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