Drones, The - Havilah (Album)

Havilah. You're being led around a labyrinth by a madman who at first appears friendly but has obviously seen too much. He lured you in with a dirty country lick and now you're trapped in his demented fairground. Nothing is ever what it seems. Magic mirrors distort minor chords into major, manic depression becomes indistinct from optimism and black humour morphs into darker reality. As you walk through the nightmare (or is it a beautiful dream?) he is constantly around you, sometimes directly in front and other times around the corner screaming from a megaphone. He's not the only one who lives here. A unspeaking temptress, like the mirrors, is also taking delight in disrupting your world view. Just when you think you have the man figured out one of her four strings disjoints your perception and again you're falling down the well. One of the things the man tells you (or did he?) is his name - Gareth Liddiard. He tells many other things: of Cantonese, wives and numbers. You realise you don't understand a thing that he's saying but it all makes perfect sense: the soft mumbles, the uncomfortable screams and his distinct Australian accent. It's funny: you have the option of leaving whenever you want but the longer you stay the more this urge wanes.

I have not visited their land before but Havilah by The Drones is unlike anything I've heard before yet at the same time familiar. Ostensibly, it's a dirty, personal rock record with a huge sound that's as Australian as it is timeless. But examined in more detail Liddiard, Fiona Kitschin (bass), Dan Luscombe (guitar) and Michael Noga (drums) conjure up in ten songs their own world which imports from Swordfishtrombones, Jonny Greenwood thrash and The Birthday Party's disease (or is that clarity). In most songs the pendulum swings somewhere between acoustic sweetness and one of Dante's levels. Even when it's quiet you know that something is up, the arc is never formulaic. The dynamics are uncompromised emotion, not manufactured.

All the tracks are inticing in one way or another. The Minotaur is a louder take on something Marc Ribot would do. The meandering I Am the Supercargo (somewhat obscurely about cargo cultist John Frum) is cathartically dissonant and raw. Luck in Odd Numbers builds interest by switching between a slow building minor rhumba and straight slow rumbling rock. The most laid back Havilah gets is the fingerpicked Careful as You Go. Still a little unsettling but the doldrums compared the rest of the album's squals. The closer, the apocalyptically named Your Acting's Like the End of the World is a delightfully dark Paul Kelly style track. A superbly upbeat sendoff.

Walking off into the sunshine you turn around to see if the horrible/enchanting place was only a dream. It is still there but The Drones did not stick around to wave goodbye. They know you will be back.

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