Desert melodies and Smokey Bops | OR: Australian bands to check out

Kimbra is a silky-sounding New Zealander who wins my heart with a cover of the magnificent Gotye's Hearts a Mess. Also she kind of looks like b+w fashion goddess Gail Sorronda. Kimbra's music video for 'Settle Down' depicts a Stepford Wife mini-me getting tired from her husband's wander. She then sets to prove she is the perfect housewife, but her hub seems rather busy perfecting Blue Steel. Unusual name you might think, but don't confuse her with another chick I googled called Kimbra from New York, who set up a Myspace just to tell the world she is more obsessed with Twilight than your friends are.

Kimbra: on the shelf as a jazzed up version of Camille, Bertie Blackman or an upbeat Katie Noonan.

The Black Ryder are a Sydney psychodelic-reverb duo spawned from the ashes of The Morning After Girls. They have collabed with the likes of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club and Brian Jonestown Massacre (yep, they're still going). Their first album 'Buy the Ticket, Take the Ride' captures this distortionic desert-melody mood that make me want to chain-smoke tiny cigarettes, wear my hair down like a curtain,  draw in a room with one poorly-lit candle, and then go attend a funeral. These things I don't usually do (for starters mum always told me never to draw under poor lighting) - but it's cool when bands conjure up imaginary sides of you. The Black Ryder's standout song Let Go excellently complemented the recent promo-video by Sydney jewelery team Maniamania.

The Black Ryders: on the same shelf as School of Seven Bells, Trailer Trash Tracys and The Jesus and Mary Chain but with five more layers of reverb.

Two other fabolous Aussie bands I'm intently repeating on disc:

Parades

  Oh Ye Denver Birds

You can make a killin', but don't forget da' feelin',

'MAYA' M.I.A, 

M.I.A's new album ‘MAYA’ dropped yesterday, with the singer proving she has staying power in spitting out echo-grows-on-you beats and politically-now lyrics that bomb you with dancey contagion. And it’s no surprise, with Switch, Blaqstarr, and frenemy Diplo, on producing duties here. XXXO is probably the catchiest and most radio-friendly single, but Internet Connection (the URAQT of MAYA), Story to be Told and Steppin’ Up are ear-worms too, making me feel tough enough to get yo-yo like while dancing in my kitchen. They spill so thunderously out of my little iphone, I can only imagine the blaring damage this album would do at the next music-savvy Zumba class. I once wondered what a duet would sound like between M.I.A and the enigmatic Justine Freischmann (who in the 90s was her classmate in art school, and who also headed one of the bands I fancied as a kid, Elastica). Some of the songs in MAYA make me feel like this is close to what it would be like, Brit-pop technowood.

Lyrics-wise, MAYA makes timely references to Google, technology vs romance, iphone, Ghandhi and fighting, and is layered over a cacophony of spliced samples, like jets taking off, dentist drills, gospel praisin' and island beats. The result is a quirky doof-fest that nearly rivals the widely-successful albums prior.M.I.A's first CD ‘Kala’ was named after her hard-working mother, and she titled the sophomore album ‘Arular’ after her long-estranged father, who was associated with the Tamil Tigers. She was hoping her father, wherever he was, would somehow Google his name up, and come across her. Perhaps make contact. Funny to know the first English words M.I.A learnt when she arrived from Sri Lanka to England in 1983 were: " Michael" and "Jackson."




My overture feeling of the entire album's 'sound' is that  Bjork takes Timbaland to the dentist to get his front tooth yoinked out to enhance his harmonic Volta grunts. They then record so-said grunts on an iPad, email the mp3 to Peaches, who then DJ's the demo around in Pro-Tools 17 times until it overheated from rendering. She then swings the demo over to Death in Vegas to mix with Slayer in Jamaica. Along the way Lady Gaga asked to contribute. They all say no. This is actually a compliment, but it's 1am, I've had a long work day, so this album might sound wayyyyy different tomorrow.

The third album is not as pouncey as Arular, I feel. Earlier songs like 20 Dolla and Bird Flu, with its feist and rigour, really hit the nail in the head with issues like political grit, the plight in Sri Lanka and Africa, crime, children welfare, and the struggle between selling out or staying undah-ground. Still MAYA is catchy, and good to clean your house to when you want to do it quickly.

Through this album, I suspect M.I.A is dabbing on the romantic death of the A-ha moment...for the most part, due to the mega-techno boom of the iphone, Google, Youtube etc. Basically internet overload as a pore that is making us lazy, less sporadic, angrier, more unromantic. Not that far from the truth considering the mental amount of screen-talk/type/write we do instead of face to face loving-ness.

Apart from being a lyricist M.I.A is also a mad graphic designer, and indulges in quirky, somewhat high-end vs chav-pov fashion. The 34 year old, who became a mummy for the first time a few months ago, is also no stranger to controversy. She copped criticism for the Born Free video (it was violent yes, but also poignantly effective, even though I did at first think Slipknot hired a chick). She also recently dissed Gaga for sounding “like 20-year-old Ibiza music" and was then harshly portrayed (and apparently misquoted) in the NY times as this oxymoronic sista' who kept-it-real while chasing the smoochin' glamour of the high life. 


So maybe this album is actually about M.I.A growing up and 'coming across herself'. Learning to battle the battle a bit more confidently. Letting the world know she is Maya Arulpragasam, alter-ego wiped off. Only then can she really be at peace with her shot-to-postmodern-stardom guilt-trip. Y'know, where she is constantly torn between going mainstream and protecting her artistic indie cred. You want me be somebody I'm really not. Well, as long as Miss Arulpragasam is not pimping Coke cans and iEveryting in her videos that's fine by me (and my dancing feet).

M.I.A: on the same shelf as:  Martina Topley-Bird, Death in Vegas,  Sleigh Bells, Peaches