Plastic Palace Alice -The Great Depression

Thu 10th Apr, 2008 in Music Reviews

I like music legend David Bowie, one of Plastic Palace Alice’s main influences. I love Newcastle act The Seabellies, dubbed as a NSW version of this Victorian outfit. I can appreciate the channelling of Bob Dylan, another Plastic Palace influence. But no matter how many times I spin their debut LP The Great Depression, I simply cannot warm to it in its entirety.

There is no question that Plastic Palace Alice’s album boasts an array of beautiful arrangements, lovely sounding instruments and obviously well-rehearsed players. The Great Depression is a 1930s concept album. I can understand the romance of this idea, but the relevance of this to today’s society somehow escapes me. PPA doesn’t make ideas meet with the listener – constructing a meaning that is difficult to comprehend.

Commendably, it seems that PPA are simply trying to break the mould of typical Australian indie releases with this album, trying to distance themselves and have a sort of unique selling point. By trying to deliberately move away from this scene though, it actually positions them squarely the latest search to reinvent time through music.

Almost everything seems overdone on The Great Depression. For my money, PPA should have stripped back a little, letting the hauntingly gorgeous lyrics speak for themselves (for example, “The dust wins over any chance of perfection,” in The Girl Who Cried Wolf). Instead, we have this repetitive layering, xylophone overdose and forceful, ear-wrenching choral bursts treading on delicate lyrical images.

First single Empire Falls seems to hark back to Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust period, minus the intricate production values and spirit of the times. However, there are some standout moments on The Great Depression. The finale, The Straight Song, provides relief from the scarcity of true meaning portrayed in the other 11 tracks. This six-minute indulgence is decadent, and one of the only tracks which doesn’t seem pretentious. The meaning is not lost in layering, and the energy is more relative – not quite matching the over-eagerness felt on the other tracks.

Maybe I am missing something – and seeing this Melbourne art rock outfit live might complete the picture. I can imagine tracks like Murakami and Red Comedian – with their empathetic strings, poignant guitar riffs, country essences, energetic drums and raw radio vocals – translating well within a live audience setting.

For my ears, I find this LP too intimidating; the vocals too full of echo and awkward creepiness, with any imagination extracted out of the album’s themes. This makes it difficult to appreciate the lush stories under-pinning The Great Depression.