Jangle-pop. Brit-pop. Enemies, from different sides of the ocean, who are doomed to never face off in battle, and as such, can only glare with furious tension. Until now.
Melbourne’s Rolling Blackouts do a nice job of pairing the two genres, and that’s because they allow their Oz-core sensibilities reign supreme. Suck it, ya English pricks. Fuck Oasis, long-live the Go-Betweens. The jangle is strong here, blooming in every direction – it feels like Rolling Blackouts might have been born with their hands in a permanently guitar-flaying position.
But the British resemblance is still there, in the way the verses are delivered in that yearning way that’s not too dissimilar to Blur or Pulp. And there’s too much ambition and power – you never see that kind of thing in the usual ‘Strayan pop that’s content to just hold it’s own amongst talk of the dole.
Rolling Blackouts have got something special in there, hidden amongst layers of catchy chords, shimmering acoustic guitar, and a chorus that itches to be shouted back by an adoring crowd.