Malabar is the second album for Sydney based quartet Songs, a band that is “one of the least-Google friendly” according to a particular reviewer, and while their identity and musical catalogue is hard to track down, the band’s most recent effort is diverse, exciting and showcases all the talent in the mysterious band.
Songs sound of Australia, successfully contributing to what appears to be a new generation of local music that truly captures what it’s like to live in this country, in suburbia and beyond.
In Max Doyle’s and Ela Stiles’ harmonies you can hear the landscape, and the lyrics are engaging, bold, and on occasion, conversational, in the same way bands like Twerps or Lower Plenty seem to craft their odes.
“The Country” asks, “what’s so good about the country? It’s got nothing for me,” while “Ringing Bells” complains that “it’s raining down the coast, cold and remote, the beach house lets the damp in,” both contributing to the sense that Songs is a album that defines modern Australia.
Ben James on drums, and Cameron Emerson-Elliot on guitar complete the permanent foursome, while additional musicians Jules Ferrari and Millie Hall provided keys and sax respectively, adding another precious element to the band’s second gem.
Title track “Malabar” sounds ready-made for a local film score, particularly as it repeats in an almost-drone after two-and-a-half minutes of intro the name of that bay side town where, apparently, the “sun rises out of the sea.”
Let’s be clear, the consistent reference to a perceived “Australian sound” is not to say Malabar are ill-equipped or inappropriate for a global audience, it simply praises their ability to capture the moment and return it to listeners with sharp guitar licks and laid back vocals, the good old Australian way.
Closing track “Reprise,” is perfect proof of this, where you can hear the wind and smell the sea, and see the gums rustle in the harsh setting sun.
