Nick Murphy Breaking The Light by: Chris Thompson Fri:02-Feb-07 Label: Cavalier Year: 2006 WB rating 79 out of 100

Anyone who knows me will say I have a reputation for always running late. It’s a terrible reputation to have and one which is, in my case, completely deserved. The worst part is, while the reputation is irksome, the actual act of being late for something doesn’t usually bother me. But the first time I heard Nick Murphy’s solo debut, Breaking the Light, I was running late for a business flight and was quite stressed about the whole affair. I had just started a new job and could literally not afford to miss my plane. Needing background noise, I slipped the CD into the player and was off.

I’ll admit to being apprehensive when the foreign-language spoken-word intro to opening track ‘Elated’ got things underway – this was not the time for pretentiousness. But then the track proper burst from the speakers, its lush Brian Wilson-inspired harmonies enveloping my ears and seemingly willing me to a calmer state of mind. “Close your eyes, close your eyes,” it urged and, although resisting that life-threatening temptation, I certainly relaxed. The rest of the trip is a blur, but I do remember being particularly taken with Murphy’s instantly likeable songs and vowed to give them a second hearing on my return.

It was well worth it. After the multi-textured vocal workout that is ‘Elated’, the somehow familiar mid-tempo folk of ‘Urban Boredom Song’ sets the tone for the rest of this strongly-written and expertly-performed collection of pop-rock cum folk-country numbers from one of the minds and voices behind Melbourne pop stalwarts The Anyones.

The surprising ‘Days in the World’ swirls from its arpeggio guitar opening into a rock chorus and back again without missing a beat. Far from the Pixie-ish formula of quiet-verse-into-heavy-chorus though, it feels completely seamless, soaring in between the softer moments and is an album highlight. In fact, there are very few wasted moments on an album that, thankfully, relies much more heavily on the strength of its songs than it does on the myriad guest appearances from the likes of Ross McLennan, Philippa Nihill and Marcel Borrack.

With its clever harmonies, country guitar and pedal steel, ‘Can’t Hear Your Whistle Blow’ is what Elliot Smith may have sounded like if he had grown up in Nashville instead of Portland (and hadn’t been morbidly depressed). Murphy’s clever and humorous turn of phrase is evident in this anti-authoritarian track: “I can’t hear your whistle blow/Can’t bring me under your control/Won’t ever be your little ho”. It’s an indication that the man can make a point without taking himself too seriously, which is an all too rare commodity in the singer-songwriter game.

Both songs illustrate exactly why this album was one of the under-heralded gems of 2006 – a mélange of styles and sounds that somehow meshes into an album that is vibrant, varied and interesting while retaining a sense of cohesion. It is this cohesion that usually goes missing as an artist tries to obtain that elusive title of “indefinable”. Murphy is not quite there, but he’s not far off, either.

Throughout Breaking the Light the singer-songwriter wears his influences on his sleeve, which is not necessarily a bad thing. The eerily-titled ‘Lover’s Death Song’ draws from 1960s folk at the same time as it brings to mind the work of Grandaddy and The Thrills. The piano stomp and organ-tint of ‘Into the Stream’ is reminiscent of some of M Ward’s earlier work. While ‘The Cake Song’ sent me scurrying off to my sole Simon and Garfunkel album to find out if it sounded as much like ‘America’ as I thought it did (it doesn’t).

Speaking of America, it is the accent of that country that proves the only major drawback of Murphy’s album. As choosing to eschew an Australian accent while singing, Murphy instead pronounces his “R’s” like a deep southerner. It’s a small gripe, and while I’m not advocating that all Australian musicians tread the nasal path in the footsteps of Ben Lee and Missy Higgins, I’d rather not hear a Melbourne boy sing about his local “Shah-ping cent-err’s aisles”.

The album closer, ‘Cherished Wonder’ is every inch a lullaby, easily as much as that Billy Joel song (you know the one). Presumably written for Murphy’s son Nathaniel, to whom the album is dedicated in the linear notes, it is a pretty and affecting piece about treasuring those things we love while we can. The final lines “Tear those clouds apart/Feelin’ the sun bear its heart/Hold onto this one moment in time/’fore it’s gone” are testament to the heartfelt, if not entirely original, nature of Murphy’s lyrics.

All things told, Breaking The Light is a beautifully written, performed and produced record. Despite its obvious influences, it is an original and thoughtful piece of work and while it probably won’t change your life, it will make it that little bit richer