REVIEW: Whitlams, Love This City (Black Yak/Phantom IMPORT)
- Chris Hill
Fueled as it was by the death of bandmate and close friend Stevie Plunder, the emotionally cathartic Eternal Nightcap struck a responsive chord with the Australian public, catapulting the Whitlams' third studio album to acclaim as the best selling independent album in the country's history. Take a look at the website (http://www.thewhitlams.com), and you'll see that the now sole Whitlams frontman, Tim Freedman, was both aware and unfazed by the expectations that Talking Shop (the album's working title) should surpass ...Nightcap's benchmark.
A last-minute name change, and Love This City was released November 1st to critical and popular Australian praise. (Outside the country, it remains an import for now. A true shame, as the initial pressings included an 8+ minute "secret" (mentioned in every review I've seen) track of studio banter and song snippets.
At first, Love This City disturbed, with the absence of the angst and disturbance which permeated Eternal Nightcap, notably found therein the trio of "Charlie" songs. The follow- up album seemed slick and glib, overproduced and hollow compared to the surgical revelations of the last album. Several songs leapt out - "Time" (incredibly infectious with horns and hooky chorus) and "Pretty As You" (with power chords that vibrate the medulla oblongata), but overall, it struck as calculated and forced, with orchestral treatments that leave songs lush and shiny, rather than appreciably spare.
That was the first listen.
The second, each song leapt out with perfect clarity, which displays both the unfair expectations faced by Freedman and the meticulous care he took in assembling the album. Knowing the scrutiny would be intense, each song was given a proper gestation in the studio, whether located in Australia or the United States. (Freedman travelled to Nashville to record several of the songs).
Several songs are familiar from earlier incarnations. "You Gotta Love This City", the title track, is a revamping of an earlier single b-side, luscious in its critical yet affectionate condemnation of Sydney's winning bid to host the Olympic Games. "My city is a whore/opened herself up to the world/Jumped up and down in pastel shirts/And lathered up thinking about designs for t-shirts". "400 Miles from Darwin" orchestrally reworks the "Melbourne" single b-side, updating it to reflect Freedman's ire at the East Timor slaughter currently underway. The song is a moral mirror - how easy is it to feel comfortable and righteous, safely watching "Schindler's List" in a theater, thinking we'd act in a proper manner, though we hesitate while identical events occur around us.
But it's the new ones that dazzle. "Time", with a fantastic chorus of "Time, time, time/is doing well by us", tells an old fact. Love comes, love goes, but the connections once built, last, and can be rekindled. "It's been some months since she came around/Lying where she used to lie/She's so beautiful I could eat her" - honest and unashamed of sexual desire, the refreshing "Time" evokes "I Make Hamburgers", a track from the Whitlams' back catalog about a hamburger worker's liaisons through his job. Walking the fine line between lewd and loving, Freedman reminds us of the frank pleasure and enjoyment in love.
"Her Floor Is My Ceiling" enlists swirling strings and resounding percussion to take a look at unrequited love between a downstairs man and his upstairs, unattainable neighbor. "Oh, if she liked the look of me/I'd get my act together".
"There's No-one" examines a similar loneliness. "It's strange to be happy if your boyfriend is lonely/That's the way they are/It's strange to be happy if your girlfriend's lonely/But that's the way we are". Monogamous ties aren't a restriction as much as a glory to revel in, and the loss is felt when there's no one waiting at home for your call. Sweet gospel vocals and the trademark Whitlams piano sound leave this song lingering in the memory long after the music's faded.
"You Made Me Hard" gives an obvious initial impression, but that would be in error. Written by Australian songwriter Bernie Hayes, the song is about the steeling of a man thanks to a woman's influence - he "was simple", but now he "knows". And to give Freedman his due, how many songwriters would allow another's contribution to an album that is sure to get the immediate sales attention which follows a hit record? That kind of loyalty to one's countrymen is laudable.
"Thankyou (for loving me at my worst)" is a bouncy, jaunty nod of appreciation to fans and friends, and an indication that the wild oats haven't been fully sown ("Can we be crazy for a few more years? Have I got them in me?"). The funky "Chunky Chunky Air Guitar", the current single in Australia, is a catchy radio friendly track with nonsensical lyrics: "Bellhop blues with a midget butt-boy in Sweden/Chockfull of puss and wolved by a little French maid".
Fourteen songs plus the "secret" track make this a must-buy now, while the band's non-Australian following numbers in the cult status. With similarly talented bands like Crowded House and Ben Folds Five striking mainstream gold, buying the imports now will be cheaper than searching Ebay for rarities in the future.
