Sime Nugent - Broke andBanned: Songs of SimeNugent

Thu 9th Jun, 2005 in Music Reviews

Either my ears are clothed in six shades of shit, or the world is spiraling into a dizzying panic of deafness. Get this – young Melbourne lad Sime Nugent channels some of the most pure and elemental sounds of the past eighty years or so, he moulds and smacks it into a cohesive triumph of an album, he lets a whole lot of mates helps out – Broke and Banned is essential listening for anyone who loves music.

Imagine, if you still can, music not as a bunch of genres and record labels, but rather something that happens between people. Like sex, small talk, a corroboree, or airborne diseases. That’s what I mean when I say music. But no, you schmucks still shell out for the pointless reissues of your youth. Sime Nugent will sell a few hundred albums this year (provided all his extended family can find it in shops) and you’ll have blood on your hands. Damn right I’m stretching a point; sometimes you have to.

Having not lived in Melbourne since the end of the last decade, of course I wouldn’t be aware that the Yarra has somehow turned into the Delta. Seems it has, though. And Nugent has pulled up a milk crate and settled down to write some of those airborne diseases I mentioned earlier. Broke and Blues is not necessarily a blues record, let me get that straight. It is far too expansive and aware of the history of pop music for it to be that. Which is where it succeeds where, say, Ash Grunwald may not (to these ears anyway). Despite his fine taste in cover versions.

Into The Trees finds Nugent duetting with Angie Hart (Splendid, Frente) in a tale where they plead “have your old fashioned way with me”. Some of the tunes on the album sound like old lost field recordings but this one is fully realised and all carefully pitched emotion. And intimate as hell; like that sex I mentioned earlier. They sing close together, sharing the majority of vowels: the fact that they manage to slip in and out of time only makes it all the more tender.

Cut, then, to Gentle As She Goes. This one ain’t no blues piece either; this is Nugent in folk singer mode, in full flight, like a Drake on Merri Creek. First time I heard this, as he tickled his guitar at the end of the first verse, I burst into Bryter Layter: except, a Melbourne boy can’t sound so precious and precocious as a private school boy in blazers. He does give it a bloody good go, though.

And then to Your Words Deny, which (perversely) sounds like the hit single. This is a Low Transit Industries release so you know when I say hit single I’m not feeding you no Zebras or Scars. It is a slow crawl (natch, drawl) reliant upon bursts of funereal harmonica; a simple, obsessive character portrait (and is that really the sound of an amped winter’s wind as the atmos track?). If you would be so kind as to imagine early Leonard Cohen, only slowed down to above 10 rpms. It is expertly recorded, capturing the sound of fingertips on guitar strings.

Others may prefer the more rockin’ moments, though – Nugent being backed by the bass of Pat Bourke (Dallas Crane) and the drums of Mike Noga (The Drones). I’m Away, Trying To Get You and The Change are all rootsy tunes that would work on any pub jukebox – from inner west to the end of the line. They’re probably best enjoyed by mates, however. I’m guessing: I don’t have any. If I did, I’d put ‘em on when they came round. Sounds like that’s what Nugent was getting it – must be the corroboree I spoke of earlier.

Back again via Somewhere By Now’s bizarre backing vocals – sounds like the minstrel show in purgatory last time I was there – and to the languid Any Day, with its kaleidoscope of sounds, shifting their focus as the song progresses. Broke and Banned is an album of new treats with each song (notably, each song has a slightly different lineup, recorded at a number of different times and places). Throughout it all is Nugent’s rich voice, his ability to sound like he belongs in 2005, regardless of the fact that he may be time traveling. Like I said, you’ve been warned. The blood is now (melodramatically and metaphorically) on your hands.