Extant Sound

Flume (/fluːm/), noun: an artificial channel conveying water, typically used for transporting logs or timber. Within this simple explanation of what is fundamentally a basic concept, lays the very foundation of what makes Flume less of a modern musical genius, and more of a timeless warrior of the human condition. Sounds convoluted, but think about it. The beauty of Flume lies within it’s overarching sentiment. The medium is obviously music, but what Harley Streten does so well is use the walls of your brain as his canvas, his sonic-smarts as a paint brush, and the voices of others (in many cases like an other-wordly translator) to convey emotion. 

Enter the aforementioned artificial channel, i.e. the music, i.e. the vessel. It may be manmade, but it’s what flows through it that counts: life itself. Water. Liquid. Fluidity. The essence of Streten’s message may be compared to the timber flowing through these boundaries. Inside an unnatural space glides a verve, carrying with it literal building blocks for societies, a physical emblem of progression in its not-yet-evolved state, giving you a glimpse of the future. It’s here where his genius lies… oh and to tie that off, it’s pretty damn apt he chose the name Flume.

There is also a face value appreciation to Flume which is arguably an even wider cause for his mass following and insane global success. Glitch-infused distorted kick-drum driven hip-hop sprinkled future beats from 2012’s self-titled debut record encapsulated an entire generation . A generation in transition, a generation clutching for meaning only seconds after the very dawn of the age of the internet and smartphone, the dawn of a destiny seemingly more uncertain than ever - and Flume provided the soundtrack. Flume provided a distraction and a form of expression we could all relate to. 

We’re talking about a pioneer who could easily be mentioned in the same breath as Skrillex, let alone on a higher level to people like James Cook or Christopher Columbus. Scoff if you like (and you definitely will), but it’s the continuous search for self-definition that has truly become the final frontier - eyes down, don’t even think about looking at the stars; look within. Taking into account his unprecedented success four years ago, you can’t blame the now 25 year old for needing to take a breath, reevaluate and look inward for something beyond pulsating dance floor rhythms and hypnotising loops.

Now we’ve come full circle, and at the end of a cold winter’s hibernation Harley, much like a majestic grizzly bear, is waking up. And sophomore album “Skin” is precisely what that sounds like. From the opening seconds of track one, “Helix”, the brooding mood of a singular note looms and blooms, assisted by an interstellar pan-flute, breathing like Earth in the endless sea. The higher frequencies reveal themselves, rustic and jagged, divisive in nature, scratching at the aural doors of your mind. Harley himself has said this is more of a headphone experience, and from the very top it feels as if he’s inviting you into his universe. Oh the 8-bit, oh the chip tune, oh the purity. 

From a technical point of view it’s flawless, and so complex it almost hurts to think about how he would even visualise this let alone achieve it. With little use of the high transience of consistent hi-hats (ever present in a plethora of genres to initiate and furthermore dictate groove) an uncertainty exposes itself and wraps it’s frenetic arms around you in hypnotic fashion, and like lightning hits you right inside your soul.

Luca Brasi first came to my earhole's attention with a previous single – it was the unmistakable Post So-Cal vibe that reeled me in. It's a testament to us Gen Y's who genuinely loved this style of music during our adolescence, and full credit to these Tassie blokes for putting such an original twist on it. There was a band during the last genuine wave of pop-punkers to come out of the USA called "Cartel", hailing from Georgia and having somewhat of a cult following (as opposed to giants like All Time Low, Four Year Strong, Boys Like Girls... any other three worded band really), and I feel as though LB's guitarist Tom Busby has no doubt taken direct inspiration from their catalogue. Major riffs with a flurry of pull-offs, slides and hammer-ons litter their sound, victoriously, and arguably become the centerpiece of what they want you to pay attention to... aside from, clearly, the vocals. 

Lead singer Tyler Richardson finishes the puzzle with the essential element of Australiana. I often find myself wondering, particularly when I'm new to a band, "so why these guys?" - and honestly it took me a while with LB, apart from said riffery. I've concluded that it's with a minor element of nostalgia, that their unabashed honesty glimmers through what essentially is blue-collar punk rock. It's hard, even for this reviewer, to remember at all times that not all music is custom made for you, and to listen objectively is (while not for everyone) the purest way to consume an artist's intention. Grass roots musicians have always been supported by our beloved Triple J, without them would we have Silverchair? Missy Higgins? Birds of Tokyo? Violent Soho... a seemingly endless list. Add to that Luca Brasi who will proudly carry the guitar driven flame and Tasmanian tiger forward throughout their nation-wide tour and beyond, much to the pleasure of a growing fan base.

Producers Iain Cook and Martin Doherty create perfect sonic environments for CHRVCHES frontwoman Lauren Mayberry's melodies to thrive, a voice and articulation which has become the cornerstone of a sound that is somehow 100% Scotland, 100% anthemic and 100% its own.The ethereal mix of curious analog signals, pulsing kick/snare rhythms and atmospheric landscapes have become a recipe for success in the niche world of female led electronic pop acts (see MS MR, London Grammar and Purity Ring). However CHVRCHES have managed to find themselves at the top of the pile, and "Warning Call" only furthers the distance between them and the rest... particularly considering that this is a one off for a video game soundtrack "Mirror's Edge Catalyst". 

The nature of these songs for any artist tends to lend itself to a slight breakaway or experimentation, often leading to mixed results (”Equinox” by Death Cab for Cutie for the Twilight films might be an example). The band have stuck to their guns on this one though, and the result is a very good song. Mayberry took to task of putting herself in the central protagonist's shoes: Faith, a super athletic street-savvy woman of the dystopian future, who is up to some sinister shit presumably all in the name of the greater good. “And I don’t talk of any time I ever believed in the unknown” she sings triumphantly, reflecting the empowered nature of the character but with the ever present personal touch.

Funnily enough, you could slot close to any previous CHRVCHES track in here and it would somewhat thematically fit the bill. The song itself has a wonderfully understated chorus, elevated by Mayberry who sounds like she's leaving the planet on a giant spaceship with nothing but optimism, all the while tipping a hat to her experiences on Earth without getting too caught up in the moment - "it's a memory" she repeats as the song starts to drift away. It's a beautiful song, and would come close to being one of the strongest tracks on 2015's sophomore "Every Open Eye".