Unknown Country – Broderick Smith (Liberation)

Broderick Smith doesn’t really need to tailor his albums to please anyone anymore. Realistically, it wouldn’t matter what he does, he’s not going to receive widespread radio airplay or get his videos on television or suddenly have a new mass of fans turning up to his shows. He has enough credits in the band to avoid the need to prostitute himself at this point.

With this in mind he’s able to make an album that is designed to please only himself (and possibly the other musicians who choose to play on it). Once its made he can hope that as many people as possible get to hear it in the knowledge that a reliable percentage of those people are going to like it enough to buy it. Or not.

The practical and probably inevitable result of this is that Unknown Country is a sprawling, unedited affair. But that can be a good thing. The subject matter of this collection of songs is so diverse that is appears to completely be without a theme. The subjects range from the Bali Bombings to the Tasmanian Aboriginal activist Jack Napoleon, from New Orleans street poetry to the sport of boxing and from Colonel Tom and Elvis to Joe Byrne, the apparently most eclectic member of the Kelly Gang.

Yet somehow Smith and his main collaborator Matt Walker manage to draw these songs together through the use of a force as unifying as the lyrics and themes are divergent. That unifying force is the music – music that is collectively tastefully woven, dark, melancholy and spacious. These’s plenty of sonic texture across the album but it’s often the result of subtly murmured parts rather than adamant music statements.

Smith’s voice is the lead instrument though. He sounds weary and resigned as if he is carrying the weight of the stories he is relating and the difficult histories of the individuals that populate the songs. It’s a unique voice – at times he sounds like Lou Reed would if he were singing Australian bush ballads, at other times he sounds a little like Neil Young and sometimes he evokes Harry Dean Stanton in his most ponderous times. But in every case he sounds unmistakably Australian.

It’s an album that rewards being listened to in its entirety even if that is unapologetically a challenging process to endure. It can be heavy going due to the uncompromised way the songs are presented. Make no mistake this is not “easy listening” music.  There are certain songs that do deserve to be singled out. The most sonically challenging song is The Ring, a almost industrial sounding examination of boxing. It’s followed by Smashman, a slinky blues shimmy that is a amazingly vivid look at the life and motivations on tow-truck drivers. Who would have thought?

Walk Into My Soul is a beautifully simple song that’s more western than country while a trio of songs on the middle of the album Crazy Mary, Jack Napoleon and Mary The Larrikin collectively make up a missing chapter from the secret history of Australia.

The album’s title and opening track is a beauty. It’s like an Australian reply to Chris Whitley’s Big Sky Country and with that song it share’s a starkness and spirit of place that is at once foreboding and enthralling.
It is a fine way to open an admirable album.