Augie March
Strange Bird
(BMG Australia, 2002; spinART Records, 2004)

We owe Australia credit for some of the most compelling and well-constructed pop songs of the past decade; we also owe ourselves an explanation for the fact that some of its very best bands, ones well-loved and awarded in their home country, somehow never quite translate properly for this side of the world. What we ultimately get are pale imitations of what we ought to know. Instead of You Am I, who have made over a decade’s worth of classic power pop records, we get Jet, who humbly present us with a few catchy radio tracks and then let us kindly forget about them. Instead of passing on the wonders of Midnight Oil to the next generation, we’re forced to explain the strange fact of Silverchair’s continued existence. And while we’ve busied ourselves with pleasant surprise over the arrival of Architecture in Helsinki, we’re still woefully unaware of a band who in 2002 (2004 in the United States) released an album that unfolds like the best of literary efforts.

It begins with a prelude of pronounced piano chords and well-executed cymbal taps, laying out a foundation to complement frontman Glenn Richards’ soft-spoken vocals. Over a series of rising harmonies, Richards sings of a vineyard covered in blue roses, where men and women dressed in white smile and dance with certain gaiety. “The Vineyard” unfolds like a period piece, painting a heavenly portrait: one of which the listener must be wary. “If you could see the people laughing and not hear the sound it makes / Then you could keep the good opinion that the tone of voice takes.”

An aesthetically sensuous world with sinister ethical underpinnings—this is the world most characteristic of Augie March. At every turn, the band recreates the richness of Richards’ lyrics in the music itself. The vocal harmonies are thick, and horn and string arrangements are used sparingly but to grand effect. Piano and organ carry a large part of the album and prove new band member, Kiernan Box, to be a welcomed addition to the group’s sound. On “This Train Will Be Taking No Passengers”, the understated feel of “The Vineyard” is shattered with a whirl of organ and a crescendo of voices, simulating the momentum of a true steam engine. Here, Richards rumbles with contempt for the song’s characters, ethically flimsy folks whose descriptions better fit a Stendhal novel than a modern rock song.

The cynical moments on Strange Bird are always balanced carefully with the bittersweet; for every track like “Train”, there’s another like “Little Wonder.” By no means is the latter a lighthearted jaunt, but there’s an undeniable tenderness to Richards’ take on the world. About the song’s antagonist he marvels, “It’s very little wonder you don’t cry,” and assures him that “it’s just the drink, it’s just the drink, it’s just the drink” that sparks feelings of shame and fear.

Behind all of these melancholy sentiments (“what’s wrong, sad Prince?” croons Richards on “Addle Brains”) is a lilting piano, laced with a trumpet here or a delicately mixed accordion there. If there is one complaint to be had about Strange Bird, it’s that no note, no instrument, is out of place. Its lack of missteps is almost maddening. Originally recorded as a demo, “Sunstroke House” introduces a banjo paired with simple harmonies, preventing a sense of over-instrumentation, and a balance against the crashing piano that follows on “Brundidium.”

This sense of balance is what Augie March does best on Strange Bird. While the group’s other records are strong on many of the same merits, their debut, Sunset Studies, is perhaps too subdued. Strange Bird’s follow-up, Moo, You Bloody Choir, is in turn a bit too smooth, an album borne of too much planning. What’s missing on both is the build-up. It’s the natural tension that exists between all of Richards’ characters and the subsequent friction between the music’s sweet and bitter moments that makes the album so compelling.

Strange Bird’s arrival in the U.S. was met with a resounding wave of positive reviews, and it seemed likely that its release would bring Augie March the same kind of mainstream fringe success that the Flaming Lips have long enjoyed. Instead, it became proof that press alone doesn’t ensure awareness, and the band and the U.S. seemed equally happy to forget about each other. With the release of Moo, You Bloody Choir on Jive/Zomba, it remains to be seen whether the band, and subsequently, its back catalog, will make a sizable dent in public consciousness this time around. That Strange Bird exists at all is a remarkable feat. Strange Bird’s success lies not in its sales figures, but in its perfect execution on three levels: as a pop record, as poetry, and as a study of the human condition.

Watch: Various videos [at augiemarch.com]

» Previously: Carissa’s Wierd: Songs About Leaving