The Lucksmiths A Good Kind Of Nervous by: Al Cottrill Mon:21-May-07 Label: Candle Year: 1997 WB rating 70 out of 100

Nothing if not productive, Melbourne trio The Lucksmiths have done it again with A Good Kind of Nervous. Running at one release per year (If you count the eight-track Boondoggle EP as one) for five years, they have created another heart-warming production, perfect for a balmy Summer eve or Autumn’s morning haze. Their third release with their new found home, Fitzroy’s Candle Records, contains enough breezy summer pop, familiar lyrics and gentle melodies to sate the thirst of any inner-northern suburb, share-house living, university attending, Lucksmiths fan.

For those that don’t know, The Lucksmiths are generally pretty lo-fi and low-tech. Consisting of a (often acoustic) guitar, bass and standing drum kit, their sound leans towards the sparse side of things. Don’t let this put you off though, as when performed well – which is the majority of the time – the music is a perfect accompaniment to (guitarist and songwriter) Marty Donald’s lyrics and (drummer and singer) Tali White’s gentle, yet masculine, delivery. The intricate details of lives are teased out, with insignificant events receiving odes all of their own. Despite the inherent superficiality of these stories, when properly executed, their ballads can be delicate, heart wrenching and beautiful studies of characters and lives, the small details portraying more than extended analysis ever could.

A perfect example of this is ‘Caravanna’, a great choice to open the record with, encapsulating everything The Lucksmiths are about, and possibly the best track they’ve released. Piano is the perfect compliment to The Lucksmiths sound, adding richness and carrying the melody, and here it used to augment the base instruments in a languorous tune lifted by the band’s backing “ba, ba, ba’s”. The frustrations of life interrupted and dreams postponed are evoked through the gentle description of living in a caravan: “If either one of us could drive/We could drive away/Some things might have to change/I wish there was some furniture/That I could rearrange”.

‘Under The Rotunda’ and ‘Train Robbers Wives’ give rise to increased tempos and upbeat tunes. Opening with a slightly off-key, unaccompanied vocal from White, ‘Under The Rotunda’ dives into a classic Lucksmiths clattering drum and thrumming guitar jaunt. A promising return to the lyrical motifs of What Bird Is That?, with its emphasis on break-ups, it provides an evolution of that album’s relationships. ‘Train Robbers Wives’ meanwhile, plays with one of The Lucksmiths favourite literary devices, dancing around the focus of the song with ‘he’s and ‘she’s, the story not resolved until the last verse.

Lacking the unifying theme of What Kind Of Bird Is That?, and the joyful essence and enthusiasm of Boondoggle, A Good Kind Of Nervous falls slightly short of the second for blind enjoyment, but supersedes What Bird’s study in melancholy. The retention of this sombre mood on some songs though, and the style’s progression here, also helps to develop The Lucksmiths credibility. One of the main criticisms of their pollyannaish indie-pop sound is that it can become too twee, and these tracks are a telling contrast.

‘The Invention of Ordinary Things’ is The Lucksmiths doing what they do best, pulling back on the drums and letting White delicately evoke Donald’s simple rhymes and lyrical wordplay. And when the back end drops off his delivery to reveal that dull, Australian accent, it only becomes more endearing: “We might be dressed as/The ‘Young and the Restless’/But the thing that we’re best at/Is sleeping in”. Another strong song, ‘Columns Of Steam’ reinvents the threadbare jump of Boondoggle’s  ‘Victor Trumper’ and rapid acoustic of ‘Fridge Magnet Song’, but its hyperactivity is a little overbearing. It follows on from ‘Guess How Much I Love You’, which is saved from its suggested twee-ness by competent storytelling and White’s convincing, heartfelt-yet-conflicted delivery: “Good Friday/I’m miles away/And missing you already/From a backyard in Balmain/to the post office and back again.” Both songs are trademark Lucksmiths, and so, unfortunately, are the three that follow.

The difference is that these demonstrate how easily the life can fade from this style. ‘Wyoming’ is overly dainty, with its slow, lilting piano and bland lyrics, while ‘Little Athletics’ ramshackle backing is too easy. Significantly, ‘Wyoming’ is written by White, his comparative inexperience showing in his writing, with his metaphors and wordplay far less complex, and most importantly to The Lucksmiths sound, his lyrics failing to bring interest and life to the triviality of the song’s content; which is the band’s bread and butter. If they cannot draw the reader in, tug at their heartstrings and describe intricate familiarity, then they will collapse on the altar of their threadbare sound. In defence of White, ‘Little Athletics’ is guilty of the same crime, and all the songs would fall apart without his considered and suited delivery.

More contemplative than the relatively cathartic What Bird Is That?, A Good Kind Of Nervous sees the The Lucksmiths broadening their horizons. Their sound has not been so much evolved as refined, as they learn to control the peaks and lulls of their tempo and the level of instrumentation in their distinctive sound. It is certainly a progression, and can only bode well for the future, but for now, it is a very strong album in its own right.. There is potential here for The Lucksmiths to do great things in indie-pop.