I hate that reputable magazines/ websites/ commentators are compiling and publishing their “Best of 2023” lists in November, meaning they’ve selected them at the end of 10 months of releases. I understand record stores doing it to try to drum up Christmas/ end-of-year-sales. But I usually end up only finding out the best records each year well into the next year, so it seems a bit limiting to pick the best from only the first 10 months of the year. That said, the eponymous debut by Melbourne band/duo Rocky is definitely one of my “best of 2023”. It was also one of my “Best of 2021” but under a different name, as explained below. Great music is also timeless and enduring music.

Back in 2021 a Melbourne duo calling themselves XR after members Xanthe Waite and Raven Mahon self-released a captivating 7 song digital only mini-album via Bandcamp. I played it daily for months, wrote enthusiastically about in here on PopLib, and have continued to play it regularly ever since. I loved it so much I burned a CD-R from the downloaded Bandcamp WAV files and made a card sleeve for it so it could take pride of place among my most-played albums. Downloads played from a USB are fine, but not a real substitute for the physical existence of an actual object to hold, and disc to remove for playing. I hoped that a record label would appreciate it’s perfection too, and give it the physical release it deserved one day.

Earlier this year Melbourne label Lulu’s Sonic Disc Club did just that. Except the band was now renamed Rocky and – joy of joys – two new songs had been added. Instant LP order from me, damn the cost. “Invisible Scene” is one of the extra songs on the Rocky LP:

The thing I still love about this album is Rocky’s melodic spacey minimalist post-punk pop shares an off-kilter approach associated in my musical imagination with some of my favourite artists. There’s an echo of Wire in the stripped back sparse but melodic approach. There’s also an intoxicating feel of the kind of wistful oddity of Young Marble Giants and the adventurous spirit of The Raincoats at times (as on this song). The lo-fi synth primitivism also reminds of Robert Rental’s proto-synth-pop post-punk oddness too, before synth-pop – like the hair and clothes – became maximalist. This scatter of imagined reference points means it is a thoroughly satisfying listen for me, like a classic album always is. The LP is a lovely object too and you really should treat yourself this year. Great music like this nourishes the soul.