Fur Patrol

Though their songs are unerringly catchy, Melbourne based four-piece Fur Patrol are firm believers in the power of simplicity. Their song’s first approach is a grab of full bodied Rock n Roll – an equal sprinkling of post-grunge angst and pre-garage soul, introspective, lyrically cathartic and wrapped up in an instrumental blanket warm and inviting.

For a band that honed their craft in the live arena, Fur Patrol scrub up very nicely in the more structured confines of the recording studio – the powerful track listing on Collider is a testament to both their inherent sense of compositional dynamics and their full throttle approach to life, music and all that falls in between.

Originally hailing from New Zealand, the first taste of this raw potential came with the release of their debut EP Starlifter in 1998, a recording that tapped into the natural interaction between the band members while also showcasing the burgeoning song-writing skills of front woman Julia Deans.

This was followed up a few years later with their debut album, Pet, an epic of sorts that spawned the massive single Lydia, which was the most played song on New Zealand radio for the year. Such was the buzz on the group; the album immediately attained Platinum status.

Lydia‘s rough edge lyrical refrain saw it quickly become an anthem for the jilted, its success catapulting the band towards four Tui’s at the music awards of that year and into the consciousness of punters from both sides of the Tasman.

A tour across Australia with rising talents Motor Ace cemented the band’s relationship with Oz and saw the band relocate to Melbourne. It was here that the first sounds for this, their second album, were committed to tape at Melbourne’s Sing Sing studios. This extended bout of recording (nearly six weeks in all) was followed up in London where the album was mixed.

The unprocessed sonic blast that opens Collider gives an insight into the nature of their artistic vision. The four-piece are very much a throwback to the halcyon buzz rock days of the late 1970s – oozing musical cool while never losing sight of a good melody. It’s all there on the second track, the part-surf rock, part-power pop anthem, Rocket, a good time slab of distorted energy showcasing the unique vocals of Julia Deans – a colourful and ever-changing enigma of sorts – and the tight rhythmic strum of ex-Svelte guitarist Steve Wells.

But this is hardly a template for the rest of the album. The slow build of Enemy is the closest that it gets to a true ballad before a robust guitar hook kicks in, fattened up by the choppy beats of drummer Simon Braxton and the constantly roving bass playing of Andrew Bain, who seeks out dark melodic twists in the strangest (yet somehow most appropriate) of places.

Deans must surely be possessed of one of the most interesting voices in modern rock music – shifting elegantly as she does between a soaring falsetto and an assured growl. Nowhere is her soulful range better hinted at than on the track, Into The Sun, a breathy and lush song which adds a dreamy counterpart to the more intense barrage of music around it. “Are we serious”, Deans asks. “Is this too far to leave it alone?” It’s a sweet moment, revealing the tenderness that lies at the heart of all their creative endeavours.

What stands before you now is an album of rare distinction – a soundtrack to the shifting dynamics of the musical environment which leaps boldly from the delightful mock-pop chorus of Into The Sun to the clean old school jangle and strum of All These Things; from the Kinks-like kick-start of Get Along to the delicate shiver of Little Heart. Fur Patrol rarely amble by in steady time. Instead, their classic arrangements are augmented by generous lashings of harmony and melodic intrigue, ensuring that this will be an album to be treasured for the ages.