Batrider Tara by: Kieran O'Shea Mon:10-Sep-07 Label: No Promo Year: 2007 WB rating 70 out of 100

The words bleak, angry, and depressing are always close at hand when it comes to describing Melbourne’s Batrider. A look at their artwork, read of their blog, taste of their live show all suggest that such descriptions are entirely accurate, but to leave it at that is to severely misjudge this band. Their debut album Tara, although loud and confronting, is full of contrasts and contradictions. There are changes of light and texture, mood swings, volume shifts and classic touches that underpin each of the tracks, these changes often all appearing in a single song.

Batrider have crafted their catastrophic rock that is both garage and grunge with a low end drive that is entirely rhythm based; the drums and bass often follow the same patterns, repeated continuously, while the guitars compliment each other with crunching distortion and high pitched wailing. Together it all sounds like four different instruments embroiled in a feverish argument, but one in which they are all arguing the same point. At the centre of their distinctive sound is lead woman Sarah Chadwick’s guttural roar. Her voice flitters between a tortured drunk and a screaming banshee but reveals a hidden fragility that is instantly captivating and emotionally charged.

Opening track ‘What’s The Point’ demonstrates Batrider at their finest, unwilling to be portrayed as a band reliant on volume and force, changing structures peppering their songs. Chiming guitars and a smear of distortion start as the vocals appear distant and ragged next to drums that deliver only a hi-hat and kick. As quickly as the rhythm gains momentum the course is altered in a tribal rhythm, soon followed by a swing ambiance. The guitars and bass crunch together as Chadwick drunkenly whispers "What’s the point of me/ and what’s the point you".

Her pleading tone continues in ‘Dad’, starting as near spoken word then firing up to a scream as she consider the past and correcting her mistakes. The song demonstrates the band’s taste in rearranging instruments and pairing them together for different effect. The bass is removed so vocals and drums can take charge again but a distorted guitar chugs along following a repeated riff. By the end of the track the individual riffs are broodingly repeated together into a hypnotic drone.

It is fair to consider that the shifting dynamics of the vocals is relied upon quite heavily and so too is the format of allowing songs to rise and dip in strength and volume, something easily noticed no matter how they construct these changes in the compositions. But it is with the dramatic changes of tempo and mood that the band surprise and reveal the diversions they are capable of.

An example of this, the highlight of the album ‘Legs’, is Batrider thoroughly straining themselves. The guitars are dainty and unsettling as they dance and pick their way alongside the vocals, tribal drums and fuzzy bass rising but never hitting their expected peak, teasing the listener. The lyrics, then repeated, describe the insecurities of being naked and the creeping sensation of an expected sexual encounter, but delivered at double the pace. It is a song delivered simply and to good effect. Similarly ‘Bounce’ is Batrider at their most melodic, again avoiding peaking crescendos. The chords are predominantly major, the mood light, and Chadwick reveals tenderness in her voice. The drums take centre stage, often only sharing the space with the vocals as guitar chords are struck on the first note of each bar. The chance is welcome and avoids the structures exhibited on the majority of the other tracks.

Batrider have managed to create an album that will please fans and surprise new listeners. But, although they demonstrate that they can handle their own intensity, and offer a softer side, there isn’t enough of it on the album. While some songs reveal unexpected changes, this too becomes predictable, never really deviating from their tried-and-tested method of cutting out certain instruments from middle sections, changing vocal dynamics, and their fondness of starting songs quietly and ending in chaos. All they have done is mix up the order in this process, reducing the once unexpected to the repetitive.

But by no means is Tara a disappointing debut. Batrider write exciting music that is flecked with darkness and urgency, music that can change in a heart beat. Underpinning their work is a determination to remain honest to oneself at all times and ignoring what others may say. This is Batrider’s achievement in the Melbourne music circuit and Tara is a deliverance of this live promise. They will be sorely missed when they leave for London at the end of the year.