Whitlams, The - Truth, Beauty and A Picture of You: The Best Of (Album)
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Tim Freedman need not thank me for loving him at his worst. There is nary a spot of such behaviour on this record (thanks to the omittance of Chunky Chunky Air Guitar), and the term ‘best-of’ lives up to its gist.
There is a breadth of Whitlams goodness on this record; from newbies like Little Cloud’s Fondness Makes The Heart Go Absent(2006) to old classics like Blow Up The Pokies (1999) and Gough (1993) are all a delectable remainder to make you realize why you love this band.
Opening with emotive, swaying tracks like Pokies, Buy Now Pay Later (Charlie No.2) and massive No Aphrodisiac are nostalgic traipses down Memory Lane, as well as being amazing songs. Tim Freedman’s soft yet hugely emotive voice transcends anything you may be doing. Don’t bother doing homework or mowing the lawn while listening to the Whitlams; you may as well sit down and fully absorb their musical luminosity.
The collection really kicks off about halfway through, with the addition of the more jovial tracks like Thank You (for loving me at my Worst) and You Sound Like Louis Burdett (which I only wish they had on playlists at karaoke bars) and you realise how diverse Tim and Co. really are. They can do boppy pop tunes just as well as the soaring, heartfelt ballads, with more emphasis on camaraderie and local humour (see Melbourne) than most pop music would ascertain.
Old favourites like I Make Hamburgers mesh with the Whitlams of more recent times in Royal in the Afternoon and, if you’re like me, you can draw back memories you shared with this music. I recall having bought the CD single of RITA in year eight and playing it in the car to and from school relentlessly. Friends of mine would wonder why I wasn’t listening to 28 Days or Nelly, but I disregarded their primitive tastes, as only a patronising eighth- grader can. Fans of the band realise they have been with them for so long; longer than most pets/ jobs/ boyfriends, and that you cannot avoid caring deeply about artists that have been the soundtrack of your life for so long.
There’s No-One finishes off the compilation with a bittersweet twang. The tender, not overtly melancholic vocals of Tim Freedman lull you into a kind of reassuring lullaby. “There's no-one worrying at home, ringing to see if I'll answer the phone, happy if after the show I'm alone” sings Tim, pulling at every heartstring possible, as you apply the lyrics to you own existence. But Tim’s knowing tone soothes you to regularity; even with words like “There's no-one to call from a country town, it's not a bad thing, I don't have anyone lovely to call, it's not a bad thing” you feel immeasurably right with the whole sick, sad world out there. You don’t have to worry; you’ll always have the Whitlams.
