“Rain on Tin” by The Ocean Party

There are many ways to discover new music by bands you haven’t heard of before. The absolute worst way is reading about the death of a band member. Melbourne band The Ocean Party announced that their drummer, Zac Denton, who was also one of their song-writers and recording engineer, had passed away in hospital last weekend, just ahead of the release of their new album “The Oddfellows’ Hall” next week. One of his songs opens the album – here’s “Rain on Tin”:

The Ocean Party are from that fine Australian music-making tradition that brought us the likes of The Go-Betweens, Triffids, Lucksmiths, Steinbecks; emotionally resonant songwriting, channeling a sense of place, of memory, and reflecting on the roller-coaster of life and experience. You could add “Rain on Tin” to a playlist that also included “Cattle and Cane” and “Wide Open Road” and it would fit perfectly and beautifully.

Denton’s two songs on the album “Rain on Tin” and the equally wonderful “Home” show a range of songwriting and lyrical talents, and his simple, real recording beautifully captures the feel and space of a band playing together.

“Rain on Tin” ends with the line “my biggest fear is that I’m forgettable”. Denton’s contribution to The Ocean Party and other music ventures over the past 6 years, and our collective actions listening and sharing the music he has made should ensure that isn’t the case.

“Monday” by The Sunday League

This may well be my favourite song from the other* Hobart music compilation called “7000 – The Pick of Hobart Independent bands”. And “Monday” is a perfect song for a Monday naturally. Even though Monday in NZ is still a Sunday in some parts of the world, it’s still a perfect song because it’s by The Sunday League.

The Sunday League take me back to the likes of The Cannanes, The Lucksmiths and The Steinbecks; all chiming perfect hollow-body electric guitars, earnest melodic vocals and lyrics reflecting on the everyday things of existence in suburban Australia. Like rubbish collection day and overgrown Pittosporum trees.

It’s music so familiar you’d think you should have heard enough of it already. And yet, something like this can breeze along, with those ringing guitar notes, quivering Australian voice and honest band-in-a-room recording, and it’s just perfect for dreaming and escaping to imagine watching the bin collectors work their way down a tree-lined street you’ve never been to, in Hobart, Tasmania, postcode 7000.

* check out the “Community 4” Hobart music compilation on bandcamp for more Tasmanian underground pop goodness.