The Sleepy Jackson - 'Lovers' (Virgin)
4/5
By: Toby L
Head-honcho of musical Aussie craftsmen The Sleepy Jackson - Luke Steele - is a strange one. First, he delivers, via the sanctum of his collective four-piece, an eponymous, mini-album at the start of '03 that proves one of the quarter's most instantly warming and worthwhile, original and exciting achievements. Then half his band leave. Then he reportedly discovers God. And, then - more recently - he accidentally creates the indie-pop record of the year.
'Lovers' is a masterful feat, let's not beat about the bush (no Down Under puns intended); full of odes brimming with extravagant lushness of production, the only consistent mainstay of which is Luke's voice itself: either a high-pitched or lower-exerted timbre leading the way amidst luscious harmonies, sprightly melodies and hummable choruses. And, whether a savage, rollicking take on pouting rock ('Vampire Racecourse'), The Beach Boys on helium ('Good Dancers'), or Waits-esque, spoken-word art ('Fill Me With Apples'), Steele is brave enough to take on a myriad of genres and not once succumb to the all-too-easy respite of artistic-failure.
And, whereas live-reviews have (mistakenly) qualified incoherence and lack of realisation as The Sleepy Jackson's primary error (ever heard of experimentation, duh?), it's in the world of recording that - evidently - the work most blazingly shines. Admittedly, it'd prove too much to consume in one sitting anyhow, let alone under the alcohol/social-demanding ambience of the live-arena... This is thinking man's music, best unlocked over spells on continuous listening, rather than patchy and random track-selections.
That said, at times, Steele is genius at the hook - an instant vocal-refrain or guitar-clang embeds (very nearly) every piece, whilst his relationship-focal lyrics more than once offer an original, potent interpretation of the typical spin, usually with a cruel sting in the tail (demo: 'It's true I never had no fun with you/Now there's acid in my heart'). Otherwise, it's somewhat difficult not succumbing listener-empathy to the Evan Dando-esque, alt.country shimmer of 'Miniskirt' - which bears yet further of such fervour-drenched sentiments - or shedding a tear to the childlike innocence of a solely piano/vox-endowed 'Morning Bird', as sung by girl vocalist Gemma Burnside.
Then, just when you think you know what's next - actually, what follows is the chilling beauty of an electronic-driven 'Don't You Know', additional proof of a seemingly never-ending depth to Steele's array.
With 'Lovers', The Sleepy Jackson haven't so much revolutionised music of all backgrounds, as taken them to defying, unparalleled, new pastures. And the view is unbeatable.
Artists in this article: The Sleepy Jackson
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