Dallas Crane - DallasCrane

Mon 23rd Aug, 2004 in Music Reviews

Dallas Crane are 2004’s Saviours Of Rock. At least, that’s what the media would have you believe. Formed in 1996, they’ve done the whole paying-the-dues prerequisite of glory – they waited two years to save up the cash before recording their first disc – in shithole dives across this fine land. Hard workin’, a bit scruffy, and ready to rock – it’s all there.

What’s the difference between them and all the other much-vaunted revivalist-rock bastions that’ve gone on to overseas success and then, seemingly faltered – hello, The Vines... how y’doin’, Jet? – then?

It’s simple. Dallas Crane can walk the walk as well as they talk the talk. Or, rather, as well as others talk the talk for them. Remember, this is the band that would regularly be labelled the best band in Australia by Tim Rogers during a recent You Am I tour in which the currently-hot four piece were his band’s support. High praise indeed. And just in case there was any doubt as to their rock credentials, they appear on legendary label Alberts – you know, the place that’s been home to AC/DC, Billy Thorpe & The Aztecs, The Easybeats and Rose Tattoo. Even Rogers couldn’t pull that one off.

So. Now that their license to rock is established, what does the album actually sound like? The short answer is this: damn good. Wayne Connolly’s production throughout seems to be of the non-intrusive variety. Rather than overproduce the band – remember, nobody really needs a shitload of phaser… anywhere! – the man who’s helmed Underground Lovers, Big Heavy Stuff and You Am I recordings in the past has given Dallas Crane a very live feeling. There’s a sense of the band playing together in one room, and of being unfeasibly loud. The guitars of Dave Larkin and Pete Satchell are pretty up-front in the mix without being overwhelming, while the rhythm section of Pat Bourke and Shan Vanderwert appears in the middle of the sound field, keeping everything reined in with a drum sound that’s so huge, so well captured that you can almost see the machinery. Larkin and Satchell’s vocals are (though it sounds like they’re occasionally doubled) left almost unadorned, which make amazing the moments where sweet harmonising takes the place of a fabulously serrated set of rock pipes.

First things first. The most important two-song run of the album that’ll win over any doubters as to the band’s abilities is the combination of Can’t Work You Out and Unlucky Star. In terms of song sequencing, it’s a masterstroke. Can’t Work You Out is, riff-wise, seemingly an update of The Rolling Stones’ Miss You, but on steroids. While one guitar circles,  Keef-style, the other plays a descending riff as an insistent bass drum starts up. Harmonies – No I can’t work you out… and it’s makin’ me a little sad – fill out the sound, before the drums finally kick in in earnest, spurring things on. It’s a solid head-nodder, and that’s even before it gets to the solo – again, an example of the band’s ability to lay back and not rush through things. Every note matters. It sounds like you’d imagine a gig staple roof-raiser to sound like – and that’s in your living room. Hell, they even shoehorn in a series of “woh-woh-woh-woh” bits. It’s got it all, and  crams it into just over three minutes.

Unlucky Star, on the other hand, is an exemplary slice of the funkier side of Dallas Crane. Lyrics about fighting off personal demons and circling ravens sit on the top of some sort of guitar battle as clean funk riffing (in the left channel) dukes it out with glassy, liquid soloing (in the right channel) while a walking bassline circles the two pugilists. It sounds suspiciously non-rock, but feels distinctly like a band pushing itself, in much the way that Powderfinger have begun to with their last three or so albums. It’s not a by-the-numbers track, but it’s one of the strongest on the album, tied with the deliciously Mod-feel hymn to emotionlessness (whether druggy or otherwise) that is Numb All Over for the position of the most replayable tune. (Though it must be said that the latter wins points for possessing the album’s most addictive use of “lah-de-dah-dah-dah-dah” in a tune. That, and it mentions Jekyll and Hyde.)

Further on, Wrong Party brings Satan and general evil into the proceedings, and contains one of the most succinct descriptions of evil of late;

And one beautiful sunrise
I put a jet in your high-rise

9/11 in a two-line statement, just before a guitar solo with more than a whiff of batik-clothed psychedelia. It’s a song that’ll probably get the band some shit in different territories, but it’s a tongue-in-cheek look at things as serious as terrorism and assassination with a reminder that this is all just a rock song. U2 it isn’t, but then, who needs to be po-faced all the time?

Elsewhere, the low-key, more obviously songwriterly side of the band is highlighted. Open To Close is a subtle ballad that tells the tale of a barkeep, waiting for the end of his shift, meting out a slow poison to his customers. Under The Moon is a delightfully soft tale of wistful celebration that owes a lot to the softer, acoustic work of Paul McCartney. It’s more akin to the neo-folk side of things than rock, really, but it’s spectacularly devoid of the tweeness that marks much of that genre. Alright By Me ends the album on a more uncertain note than has been felt before – tinkling piano and a this-is-as-good-as-it-gets feeling create an oddly peaceful, pastoral exit note.

Musically, the band have a great grasp of space and timing. This is an album that puts one in mind of a relaxed, Sunday gig. There’s moments of sheer paciness – Dirty Heart kicks things off with a starting-line, revved-engines sort of feeling, and the joyously sarcastic Wannabe stomps along in classic rock-monster style – but more noteworthy are the places where the band chooses to slow things down and take their time.

The solo in Numb All Over is a great example. It’s preceded by a quite lovely portion of riffing before going hell-for-leather. Just when you think Wannabe is coming to an end, and the song’s petering out, the band slams back in with the force of a kick to the head that leaves the listener shaken, particularly if listening on headphones. Iodine is topped by a guitar interlude that slows as it plays out, giving the feeling of a car slowing as it nears the top of a hill – so much so that the listener can feel themselves urging the player on to complete the tune. It’s an involvement that stems entirely from the band’s comfort in playing around with time signatures and messing with feel.

After all – thousands of mediocre teenpunk bands prove that anybody can play fast. To rein it in, however, takes a steady hand and a sense of tact – and Dallas Crane’ve got ‘em both.

(Of course, this should in no way detract from the release found in the muscular, more emphatic guitar work found elsewhere on the disc – the Oasislike Come Clean’s anguished, boozy bends over a downshifted backing, or the twin soloing over the ‘80s nightclub-feel Out In Space, for example. Single Ladybird, too, sees the band adopting a flaming rock stance over an old children’s rhyme, adopting it for rather more nefarious purposes.)

The You Am I comparisons that’re invariably garnered by Dallas Crane are indeed fitting. Dirty Hearts seems to take a leaf out of Russell Hopkinson’s swinging drum stylings, while Rogers’ angular chordings show up elsewhere across the album. The sort of stride that that band hit on Hi-Fi Way is indicated on this album - but Dallas Crane seem to wear the rock mantle with a little more ease. There’s not a feeling of laboriousness here as there can be with some of You Am I’s work – though both bands are certainly showmen first, studio-hounds second. This disc sounds, on occasion, like the sort of thing that Rogers is trying to nail and falls just short of.

It’s worth mentioning the album’s art direction, too – it’s great. Charco’s work fits the group well. Quite aside from the band’s logo – rock loves band insignia with arrows on it; a little bit Mod, a little bit ‘70s metal – the cover’s tongue-in-cheek, slightly trippy line drawings add a bit of jokiness and a little more ambiguity to the band’s tunes. Each song’s represented by a box seemingly ripped from the pages of a comic. The devil shows up, naturally (on a number of tracks, though most notably as the puppet master of Osama and George W.) while the quiet lyricism of Under The Moon is played off against the image of la Luna on a bender. The most fitting, though? Wannabe is represented by the worst stripe of bandwagoning new-rock-enthusiast-’cos-it’s-cool hipster; there’s even a faux-hawk there. It’s proof that Dallas Crane, while being a seriously good ensemble, aren’t afraid to be less than serious about their output – or about the world it’s being released into.

In all, Dallas Crane is a solid, layered album that sees the band drawing upon their accomplished live performance while deepening the songwriting of their previous two discs. The result is almost flawless; the right combination of loose-yet-crisp production and a band that’s perfectly locked into its own groove. This album is the sound of a band on the upswing. Get on board: Dallas Crane is one of those landmark albums that’ll sound just as good in ten years, every time you put it on.

If good exists in the world, NME are creaming themselves. And finally, they’ve a real reason to.