THE CHURCH’S “UNDER THE MILKY WAY”

The Church is one of Australia’s finest exports, no doubt. A far cry from the pub-rocking, beer-soaked stereotype of an Aussia rock band, the band started out in noindeenaydee as part of a new wave of sophisticated Antipodean music. At first a stately union of psychedelic sixties and glam influences, featuring twin jingle-jangle guitars and fronted by the icy, dour persona and baritone of Steve Kilbey, The Church quickly became favourites of alternative types worldwide.

The music’s evident quality led to the usual round of UK labels trying to introduce The Church to international markets, but it was not until 1988, under a new contract with Arista, that fortune truly smiled on the band. By that time its sound had developed further, the guitars a murky swamp of effects and atmospheres as well as bell-like jangling, and Kilbey’s lyrical abilities had ripened to the point where he was one of rock’s finest poets, creating mystical nightmares, dreams and visions out of simple song.

A fairly innocuous track, “Under the Milky Way” touched something in the zeitgeist that year, becoming a smash million-seller. This elegant tune is now a bona fide rock classic. Of course, it couldn’t last, and The Church’s intellectual music faded from the public consciousness, despite the fact that their recordings continued to improve. The band still releases the odd nifty album today to a large, appreciative cult audience, and if this speech is to be believed, Mr. Kilbey is a lot less dour these days.

It’s worth pointing out that not only did the band feature a couple of Poms, but Kilbey’s delivery itself is not the least bit distinctively Aussie. However, say it’s a gloomy night in some suburb of Adelaide. It’s after last call, your girl has left you, and someone has this on for all you lonely hearts. Stick your head into your beer and gurgle along with this moody classic!

Sumtimes whin this plaice gits kinda impty 

Tha sound of the brith faides with thi loight 

Oi think ibowt tha lavliss fascinaishun 

Andah thi milky wai dinoight 

Lowah tha curtin down on Memphis 

Lowah tha curtin down all roight

I gat now toime fa proivate consultaishun

Andah thi milky wai dinoight 

Wish ah knew wot you weh lookin’ for 

Mide have knawoon wot you wud foind 

Ind it’s samthing qoite peculiah

Samthing shimmering and woite 

It leads ya heeah, despoit ya disteenaishun

Andah thi milky wai dinoight  

Wish ah knew wot you weh lookin’ for 

Mide have knawoon wot you wud foind 

Wish ah knew wot you weh lookin’ for 

Mide have knawoon wot you wud foind 

Ind it’s samthing qoite peculiah

Samthing shimmering and woite 

It leads ya heeah, despoit ya disteenaishun

Andah thi milky wai dinoight 

HUNTERS AND COLLECTORS’ “TALKING TO A STRANGER”

Melbourne’s “Hunnas” were the Powderfinger of the ninedeenayedies, a perennially popular band with a huge Aussie following that couldn’t quite get there internationally, though several labels tried to break them. The band is best known for a muscular form of Aussie heartland rock, powered by a relentless rhythm section, horn section “The Horns of Contempt”, and fronted by Mark Seymour’s dramatic vocals and gritty songs sympathetic to the working class. Best known for songs like “The Holy Grail” and “Throw Your Arms Around Me”, the Hunnas were pub favourites for a decade and a half before throwing in the towel. But before its success as the Aussie version of the E Street Band, it was a very different combo.

In 1982, the Hunnas released their debut album, which according to Seymour’s autobio was more influenced by 70s German experimental weirdos Can than any punk band. Long jams, group chants and a band member whose sole job was to hit found bits of metal added to the weirdness. Out of that beginning came the massive song “Talking to a Stranger”, a peculiar track highlighted by a relentlessly thumping beat, mucho repetition and Seymour’s strangely enunciated, strangulated vocals. It was an international dancefloor success that ultimately didn’t break the band, which proceeded to change its sound and go on to local glory.

Seymour in recent years has changed course again as a literate singer-songwriter with a string of fine albums. His albums haven’t achieved much recognition outside of Oz, probably because they are too good for the rest of the world to understand. In any case, it’s closing time at a pub in Brunswick and you’ve put back too much 4X…this song has come on. Have at it! (and never mind the French bits, just slur ‘em, mate!)

Souvent pour j’amuser les hommes d’equipage

An’ iss laaawk talkin’ to a straaaaainjah

Remembah tha panic in its delictable faice, when I touched it

Twas laawk talkin’ to a straaaaainjah

Venetian candles penetrated its hawt

Trimbles laawk talkin’ to a straaaaainjah

An’ Oh Miss Jesus tell me whe aw yaw black oys?

Ya baby was talkin’ to a straaaaainjah, NO NO

Souvent pour j’amuser les hommes d’equipage

And iss laawk talkin’ to a straaaaainjah

You tasted mustid whin she painted ye faice

Twas laawk talkin’ to a straaaaainjah

And Oh Miss Jesus tell me whe aw yaw black oys?

Ya baby was talkin’ to a straaaaainjah

Souvent pour j’amuser les hommes d’equipage

An’ iss laawk talkin’ to a straaaaainjah

Souvent pour j’amuser les hommes d’equipage

An’ iss laawk talkin’ to a straaaaainjah

Uh, just keep repeating…

MIDNIGHT OIL’S “BEDS ARE BURNING”

There is no more fitting first post than the band known affectionately to its devotees as the “Oils”. Midnight Oil came exploding in the late 70s out of the west coast, a surfer-plagued land separated from the rest of urban Australia by a vast desert. To many people these days in North America, they are remembered as “that band that wanted us to care about stuff” (shudder), but perhaps those people don’t remember the incredible sound and vision of the moidy Oils. An incredibly loud, frenetic band with pitch-perfect multi-part harmonies and top class musicianship, a drummer whose arm started at the ceiling every time he came down on his snare, a giant bald singer dancing like a crazy malfunctioning robot - the Oils were definitely “spicial”.

Of course, they were always on about human rights, nukes, the environment, politics, etc, but frankly, if you don’t agree with what they said, I don’t wanna know you.

After a number of well-received but not super-successful releases, they hit the international scene in a big way in ninedeenayedesivin with this track. Whether the world was taken with the sheer grooviness of this song about Aboriginal land rights, the red-hued video of the mysterious outback, or actually understood what the hell it was about, we’ll never know. But it catapulted the Oils for a shining moment to the top of the rock heap, where they deserved to stay. Peter Garrett wore his Australian identity like a badge, sharp vowels and all. Sing along! 

Out wheeah the rivah broke

The bladwood and the deseht a-ook

Holden wricks and boilin’ diesaals

Steam in phodeefaav degrees

The tam has cam

To sai feehs feeh

To pai the rint

To pay ah sheah

The tam has cam

A faact’s a faact

It belongs to thim

Let’s give it back

How can we dance when owa oohth is tewnin’

How da we sleep while ah beds are bewnin’

How can we dance when owa oohth is tewnin’

How da we sleep while our beds are bewnin’

The tam has cam to say feeahs feeah

to pai the rint now to pai our sheeah

The faa wheels sceeah tha cockatoooooos

From Kintore East to Yuendemu

The westewwwwn dezeht lives an’ breathes

In fodefaave degreeeeeeeees

The tam has cam

To sai feehs feeh

To pai the rint  (eeeaaah)

To pay ah sheah

The tam has cam  (eeeeaaaahah)

A faact’s a faact

It belongs to thim

Let’s give it back

CHORUS rpt