Australian wunderkinds THE SLEEPY JACKSON’S debut album “Lovers” (2003) was seemingly universally acclaimed, but somehow crept under the W&H radar, so in a sense its’ long-awaited follow-up “Personality” is a debut album situation for this writer.
Not that the record itself is made by a rookie who’s lucked out so far. SJ prime mover Luke Steele is clearly a man with a far greater vision than his reputation as the slightly introverted Australian songwriting savant his works suggests him to be. Or the burgeoning Antipodean Mark.E.Smith his predilection for line-up changes also tends to label him, come to that.
Well, whatever drives him, it’s clearly verging on the obsessional. “Personality” took over two years to create in Sydney with producer Scott Horscroft at the helm, assisting Steele’s singular vision and strategically drafting in the requisite lorry loads of strings, horns and beamed-down-from-heaven backing vocals which couch the standard guitar, bass, drums and keyboards on most of the tracks.
Inevitably, the orchestral input will no doubt have most writers suggesting “Personality” is Steele’s “Sergeant Pepper”, “Pet Sounds” or “Urban Hymns”, but naturally the reality is rather more elusive. Steele himself has suggested the record is his attempt at a “perfect pop album” but while there are certainly heavy hints in the direction of Brian Wilson, Phil Spector and Todd Rundgren, Steele’s songs are still too marvellously idiosyncratic to lose their edge entirely. And yes, that is indeed a good thing.
And, mostly the results more than justify the hype. Opener “You Needed More” is celestial, cinemascope pop if ever there was, with distinct nods to Bowie/ Bolan vocally and a lush-as-hell production which actually deserves the epithet ‘Spectorian.’ The enigma factor of Steele’s lyrics are always a jarring counterpoint and despite the swooping beauty of the melody, the song ends with a dissatisfied Steele muttering “if your Father was like anything you talked about, he would not be proud of you.” Oh-kay.
A similar intent drives the subsequent “Devil Was In My Yard” when Steele sings “I’m going to make it, but whenever I break it I will not see you”, although musically the song’s beauty is gloriously intact, and the ensuing “God Lead Your Soul” comes on like a delicious cross between early Bowie, The Triffids and the calmer bits of Big Star’s harrowing “Third/ Sister Lovers.”
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Steele’s rich vein of form continues when he hits the punchy “God Knows” with its’ burnished pedal steel and tinge or two of Elvis Costello. The “all I want is to lead you there…into the light” kiss-off is both catchy and hugely affecting, while the Morrissey-esque title of “I Understand What You Want, But I Just Don’t Agree” fails to derail an immediate gem of a tune with elements of arch Go-Betweens and elegant strings which hook you in within seconds. The deceptively gentle “Miles Away”, meanwhile, works beautifully in its’ slipstream: the sound of anaesthetised loneliness across the miles, ending in the no-argument couplet “we still love you at home, but you’re not here now.”
Steele continues to provoke as the album heads for the final strait. “Play A Little Bit For Love” emerges unsteadily from its’ disco-lite Beach Boys cocoon, before flirting with the Prince influence Steele has mentioned of late; “You Won’t Bring People Down In My Town” marries a defiant title with some slightly syrup-y strings, but holds back a sour aftertaste to offset the saccharine and the flirty, flighty “Dream On” and the Todd Rundgren-by-way-of-Alex-Chilton finale of “How Was I supposed To Know?” bring on the passionate climax a record of this scope and calibre fully deserves.
Of course, when you finally come back to earth, you begin to wonder how Steele and his compatriots can successfully reproduce such a celestial-sounding record, but ultimately this is an album very much in touch with great pop and – I suspect – even in a stripped-down form, these songs will be resonant indeed. “Personality”, then, is every bit as multi-faceted and complex as its’ title suggests and once again has us reaching for the superlatives. For once, concurring is a very pleasurable experience indeed.
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