Far too often an EP is seen as a compromise: a compromise between artistic expression and financial shortcomings. As the sale of singles dwindles, and the only people willing to actually pay money for the shorter recorded products are poor, freelance DJ’s with no Internet connection in their $90 per-week apartments, the realm of the SP and EP is now inhabited solely for the record companies. Now either a flashy demo or an elaborate money-making ploy, the overwhelming truth of the matter is that the EP is no longer an artistic statement in its own right, but a sampler of sorts: the compressed version of your repertoire. Tell us who you are in six tracks or less…

People disagree with me on this point, but I stand firm: Augie March’s Thanks for the Memes is rather shithouse. For a band treated as deities by many in the Australian indie music scene, their debut EP is, in retrospect, really quite mediocre. But the debut EP is not only a point of embarrassment, it is a vitally important documentation of a band’s development. Let’s face it, they’re usually a disaster, but what better way to go down than in digital audio, on a plastic disk with nice, glossy packaging. You’ve gotta be proud, even if the music sounds like arse.

This month’s EP’s of choice are a relatively eclectic mix, but ones that have brought to mind a rather scary little issue. I’m not one to strike out against any one genre, but it seems Country-and-Western music is seeping through the cracks in everyone’s ceilings and poisoning the water beside their beds. Everyone seems to have that little country twang in their throat, and everyone wants a fucking mouth-organ or slide-guitar for Christmas.

Ghostwood - Ghostwood (Modular)

Ghostwood’s self-titled is another of the recent crop of New Wave revivalists, sitting nicely behind Expatriate on the Aussie front, their standing marred by weak vocals. ‘Red Version’, otherwise a strong song (the bass perhaps a little loud in the mix) echoes early U2, as does the repetitive, riffed-to-the-hilt ‘Blue Version’. Repetition is the key for this band, each track built upon a single riff, the dynamics shifting around this one pervasive element. Of course, as with most EP’s, there’s the slow number: the track to show their gentler side, ‘Ghost’. The result is a farce, its pitchy vocals difficult to overlook, and in the subsequent track ‘Run’ we see why it just isn’t effective. Ghostwood’s strengths come in husky screams and hectic mess, ala ‘Run’, and they’re utterly convincing as rabid, punk-inspired rock musicians. By giving in to the pressure and attempting to cram in as many styles as possible, Ghostwood have done themselves a disservice. This EP has one rather impressive high, one particularly depressing low, and all the rest sits comfortably in between.

Institut Polaire - The Fauna and the Flora (Popfrenzy)

Institut Polaire’s is the EP of the month by a long shot. The Fauna and the Flora is terrifically vast piece. Driven by the clean vocal talent of Erik Hecht, the band weave their heavy instrumentation creating a lush, unique country vibe. Brilliantly produced by Rob Grant, the horns and violin bring texture and life, and the vocal harmonies add a splash of gracefulness to the scene. ‘The Flora and The Fauna are Too Closely Allied’ is the long-titled centrepiece for the EP, violin and trumpet offset each other gorgeously as Hecht sings the potent line, “I think I’m probably too young/To be ticking off my days.” Perhaps a tad depressing in terms of lyric content, Institut Polaire nevertheless sound like they’re having an utter ball. ‘East, West & I’ is another country ballad chock-full of harmonies and Johnny Greenwood-esque guitar licks. ‘Lullaby for a Warmonger’ should be, in all respects, the EP’s low-point. The ‘Everybody Hurts’ guitar, the cringingly pretentious sampled quote (“Gentlemen, this is democracy manifest”), the cheesy harp, on paper, suggesting pretty lameness. In actual fact it’s nothing short of stunning, and far more graceful a political diatribe than Dan Kelly’s “cock-sucker, motherfucker” rant. Without going to nauseating extremes, The Fauna and the Flora is an indulgence, as Institut Polaire successfully balance their orchestral bent with their down-to-earth influences.

Land of Talk - Applause Cheer Boo Hiss (One Little Indian)

Land of Talk’s Applause Cheer Boo Hiss – a mini-album if we’re going to get picky here – is seven tracks and 27 minutes of rock. From the opening it seems tailor-made for a pouting lead singer, bobbing his head and thrusting at the people closest to him. The trick? The lead singer’s female. Beneath the distorted guitar and pounding rhythms sits a rather timid voice, double-tracked for the most part to give it more ‘oomph’ I suspect. Between the insipid slow rock of ‘Sea Foam’ and the overblown ‘All My Friends’, the vocal talent (similarities abound, from the mid-range of Regina Spektor, to Sarah Blasko’s huskiness, to Chan Marshall even) is all but lost, the melodies insignificant. In all, Land of Talk have failed to do the essential act: cull the superfluities. Applause Cheer Boo Hiss might get your foot tapping, and might even get the more adventurous of us jumping around in a crowded pub, but there’s little more to it than that.

Madagascar - Goodbye East Goodbye West (Western Vinyl)

Goodbye East Goodbye West is a little long, and a touch too indulgent and repetitive, but when Madagascar hits a chord it stays hit. The gorgeous instrumental tracks that the group churns out are the stuff of dreams – with piano accordion, glockenspiel and musical saw providing the melodies, their sound is as unique as their island namesake. ‘The River in its Sunday Garb’ sounds like a horror movie soundtrack played by the locals of a tiny French provincial village: it’s macabre but playful, ‘Allo ‘Allo meets Bram Stoker. ‘Imperium in Imperio’ is again an example of this hands-on approach to ambient music: the buzz of the accordion more than enough to fill the void, the occasional injection of wordless vocal ‘Ooohs’ and ‘Aaaahs’ bringing an attractive ad hoc element to it all. Madagascar’s is a uniquely provincial, anachronistic charm, not often found in the music of our time, sitting amidst that rare group of musicians headed by Beirut or the little-known gypsy-folk of Monsieur Camembert.

Skipping Girl Vinegar - One Chance (Popboomerang)

Skipping Girl Vinegar’s One Chance has created its own buzz around the music scene, and judging from the sheer oppressiveness of this rambling mess of hand-claps and banjo twangs it’s sure to get your attention. Mark Lang’s vocals bear a similarity to Gareth Liddiard’s (of the Drones fame), in that they’re all about expression, with not an ounce of care given to the technicalities of singing. The B-side, ‘Cold Come the Nights’ is a touching little acoustic number, with mouth-organ and banjo, showing that Skipping Girl Vinegar aren’t just a one-trick pony… they’re a rabid, diseased and angry one-trick horse/lion mutant with a taste for blood. It’s all a bit of fun, but I fear that the two-minute lifespan of ‘One Chance’ is pretty much all we can afford these guys.