Sally Seltmann Hey Daydreamer. There were the Moles, Even As We Speak and the Lucksmiths. That was the extent of it, the roster of Australian music that wasn't wretched. Truly. Oh but you laugh in my face what about the Go Betweens? I laugh back in your face with cheese whiz on my breath. The Go Betweens rank with Felt and East Village as the most over lauded, under heard bands and yet somehow, incredulously, over-appreciated bands ever. I realize this is an unpopular opinion. But such is the beauty of life, the right for me to think that 16 Lovers Lane is mostly pish and for you to think I am insane. Sally Seltmann is Australian and she's brilliant. By the way. This is the artsy fourth album. There is also Allo Darlin and when they were mostly just Australian, you know back when they were mostly a solo thing, they were amazing and while they are still pretty great they have started writing songs about the Go Betweens and when pressed to pick a favorite Go Between, though the most sensible choice of Lindy was not offered, head AD "Elizabeth" defers. First track is artfully arranged title track, bassoons?, trills, her multi-tracked voice, some sorts of woodwinds, samples and it is all mixed into a delicate thrill ride, a high speed chase in a radio flyer. It is packed with nostalgia, sepia tinged sentiments, dreams teased into existence and charm. Is it all charm? But what of Summershine records you say? Ok, the Rainyard were almost there but have you head the Earthmen? But then Sally is a far way removed from indie. She's a bit of a big deal in Australia I suppose. She's in a band with two others more popular than her but she's the genius right? Second track Billy more of the haunted daydream feeling. Her husband is producer. He's in the Avalanches. Yes, the Avalanches are horrible. Paleness with a muscle shirt, beating your heart senseless until you feel worthless and alone. But everyone else loves the Avalanches. I know. Sally in untarnished by association. His name is Darren. There are a fair number of Australians named Darren I feel. This track is titled Billy and there are bells and softly patted drums and a distance that didn't exist on the last record. On her last record Sally was possibly the most honest purveyor of confessional pop music I had ever heard. It was a record cleanses of pathos, bathos, bathetic it was not, pathological only in the sense of its soul laid bare feel. It was a comment on her life as she was living it. It was made poetic almost by accident. This is decidedly more pristine. These are characters that exist only on the periphery, at least through the first three tracks. Do I miss Sally as narrator? I do. But this is wonderful, all the same. It is a gorgeously produced record. Now to the psychdelia. Is she a fan of Richard Davies? It has his common track of a repeating motif on the piano as background and more dexterous maneuvers saved for voices and strings and charisma. Needle in the Hay. Were I a real record reviewer I would be listening to the lyrics and offering interpretations to you at no extra charge, I'd delve deep into the mind of Sally and discover the source of the delay for the next Avalanches record hidden somewhere in between the lines that obviously refer to strife in the Seltmann marriage. But I am not a real record reviewer. I remind of this in order to excuse my incoherence. Next track, Dear Mr Heartless, her voice recorded in a separate frame of mind than the music. The words forlorn the delivery optimistic, the music a giddy jaunt. Confidence has turned her heart to the greater world at large. This could be about an important person in her life or it could be a rebuke to a fake record reviewer such as myself. Would I be offended at being classified as a "guilty sunset"? Hardly. Martial drumbeat, muted horns, the general buzz of being self assured in a recording study and now harpsichord and bass notes played slow. We are soon to execute a move we have considered not too closely and so we will feel a sense of true dislocation soon as we wither live in the basement of occupied territory or we move into a an apartment we hope doesn't contaminate the spirit of life to such an extent that we voluntarily leap from third floor windows into the beds of el caminos carrying pigeon feathers and foam rubber baby prosthetics. Our soon is not chubby. Is this wrong? I am a bit astry with my thoughts because the tone of I Will Not Wear Your Wedding Ring is a bit comically sinister. Is it meant to be sinister? It's like Heavenly opening for Huggy Bear, we are all feminists but hygiene is not a universal right as recognized by the international. There's drama, it makes me smile or it makes me giggle and I suppose that wasn't the point. Lovely mind. Right Back Where I started From. Here could be the continuation point from the emotions that held point on the last record, harps, and electric whistles and her shyness on display. Now the piano rises up and her voice abundantly proud and wordless. It is building to some sort of crescendo. Are crescendos cheap ploys then? It was a lovely thing, this track, and now it's reached a higher level of emptiness, it is louder sure but when the drop comes the intensity returns. Is it the perception of the lack of distance between Sally and her listener that beguiles? She is not a star and do we love her more for her commonness? Catch of the Day, shouty bits about fish and self determination. The last record did have a scent of self help manual about it but not in any overbearing sense. When Sally sang about flowering apart from her loved ones it seemed more an acquiescence to life as a pop singer in the Antipodes. Synthesizers join the fray and a return to the harmonic chanting, all she needs is a didgeridoo and a Peter Garrett cameo. Not my favorite but not horrible. Not East Village horrible. YOu know Paul Kelly has redeemed himself quite nicely in Birdie. And he is a handsome man. I am in desperate need of a haircut but I am feeling a bit melancholic and I am enjoying it for a moment. I am happy always these days, I am with my soul mate, the person that I can be most myself with and the person I believe is most true to themselves with me and we have an amazing son that I am singing both sides of Louder Than Bombs too but there were those moments growing up when you felt pleasantly melancholic, alone, always, and without prospects and there with you, to guide you along, were your friends, on cassette. Sally must have had many of the same friends and she sounds eminently happy but perhaps she should spend a few more moments with old friends and reflect on the sunny side of being alone. But then Holly Drive arrives with its galloping rhythm and my heart turns yellow again, the life force of love and happiness carrying me through another day of feeling inadequate and sure that some day I will be discovered as a fraud. I have a wonderful family, a wonderful lie and Sally has written a song about it with steel guitar and cherry blossom scent spread across the grooves. Perhaps it was the perception of men from Australia as being comically male that has infected our enjoyment of pop songs that originate from there. Is Australia the Canada of the Southern Hemisphere while New Zealand is the Scotland? Possibly. But New Zealanders reminded me much more of Canadians than Australians did. Australians have a higher sense of self regard than the new globally dominant super power in soccer, the USA. So when Peter Garrett comes off all wet and socially aware it is a bit ridiculous. Last track. Beautiful. Confessional. A love song for her lover. Her lover could be an Avalanche, a Gray Whale, or this song itself. There is hope in the goodness and charm of people whose soul radiates joy such as this.