Australian Music, Pt. 4: Something Shimmering And White

Artist: The Church

Album: Starfish

Year: 1988

While the Birthday Party and Foetus were aggressive and volatile, there were just as many Australian bands interested in playing quieter, more subdued music. Chief among these was Canberra’s the Church. Guitarists Peter Koppes and Marty Wilson-Piper played intricate, intertwining lines, snaking around each other dynamically. This shimmering sound functioned as the bedrock for singer/bassist Steve Kilbey’s dense, enigmatic words (“Draconian winter unforetold, one solar day suddenly you’re old” is a typical example). The Church spent most of the 80s genre-hopping between R.E.M.-ish college rock jangle and darker, more goth-inflected material. 1988’s Starfish, however, was their breakthrough, with the majestic “Under The Milky Way” making serious inroads on the American pop charts. Like many great records, Starfish succeeded because it was where all the band’s constituent parts were forged together into something remarkable. Gentle without being boring, sad without being morbid or maudlin, the songs on Starfish evoke mystery more than anything else. The skipping-stone riff of “Reptile” is instantly memorable, especially when coupled with Kilbey’s lyrics, which use the metaphor of the serpent in the Garden of Eden to describe a partner (probably). The jangly waltz “Antenna” is equally captivating, while the closing track “Hotel Womb” could very well be about cannibalism (“the cactus sure tastes strangely sweet”). The Church would never record an album this good again, although several of their 90s records (particularly 1992’s Priest = Aura) would come close to recapturing their 80s glory. They are considered somewhat of a one-hit wonder here in America, since they never managed to come close to the success of “Under The Milky Way”. However, a quick look through their catalogue reveals the truth: the Church were (and still are) a fascinating enigma of Australian music.

Artist: The Go-Betweens
Album: Before Hollywood

Year: 1983

Originally from the breezy coasts of Brisbane, the Go-Betweens quickly found a home on Scotland’s Postcard record label, home to important early 80s Scot-rock bands like Aztec Camera and Josef K. Although their stay was short, the hyper-caffinated vibe of the Postcard bands was all over Before Hollywood, their 1983 sophomore effort. However, instead of giving themselves over completely to the nervy rock around them, songwriting team Grant McLennan and Robert Forster managed to incorporate a laid-back feel into the equation, reminiscent of the sea breezes they knew back in Brisbane. (Bonus Question: first person to figure out why the word “reminiscent” is a pun in the context of Australian music gets a cookie.) The two split the singing duties right down the middle, McLennan’s voice being more suitable to the calmer songs and Foster’s yelp working wonders on the more desperate songs (just listen to the nervous freak-out of “By Chance”: ”my head fits, in my hands, I roll it around, nothing comes out”). The shining jewel of the record was “Cattle And Cane”, a beautiful, rolling song sung by McLennan about his younger days in Australia, growing up in “a house of tin and timber” and watching trains going by. After Hollywood, the Go-Betweens would expand, adding a full-time bassist and violinist Amanda Brown, who would become a love interest for McLennan. Their eventual breakup brought the world 1988’s 16 Lovers Lane, the finest breakup album of the 80s (and a stark contrast to Fleetwood Mac’s coked-out Rumors a decade earlier). McLennan’s death in 2006 ultimately would mean the end of the band, but their music, particularly “Cattle And Cane”, is still considered some of the finest Australian songwriting ever.