Looking back, not in anger, but with a genuine sense of fondness, has become a frequently reused attribute of modern music all around the world. In Australia, we're often guilty of a completely dumbed-down approach, with nostalgic references applied in the most literal manner, whereby success is measured by the artist's ability to replicate rather than apply any form of evolutionary processing. We don't want to merely fade in-out of that specific long-gone era, we want to completely slide away to that simpler time. A time before we were married with children. Before cigarettes & alcohol weakened our hopefulness. A time when the importance of being idle wasn't yet muddled with a depressing sense of anxiety that, little by little our (morning) glory days were slipping away.
But, please, don't go away, just because this is another stream of paragraphs about time transportation, glancing into those dust-covered mirrors and crying our hearts out over years passed. There's a point, and not just solely that (kinda) obvious one contained between the lines.
Sydney soon-to-be-superstars, DMA's, proudly display their re-producing abilities, void of the associated shame that should be worn as an fixed accompaniment of their Sporting Lad fashion decisions. And let's be clear, this is nothing to do with the global trends of fashion. The mimicking of such is fair game. Obviously.
But the music here feels faker than the knockoff Burberry cap you bought at Paddy's Markets last weekend. Ambitions to be rock 'n' roll stars, directly developed from proven successful entities and overshadowing any form of uniqueness or creativity, bringing it all down to such an offensively simplistic level.
Some might say this form of stylistic reproduction exists in most modern music. It could even be argued this is more parading of an unashamed influence rather than plagiarism, merely an attempt to keep the dream alive through a direct re-interpretation of an artist that's had a profound influence on their origin. But it's the blatancy and sheer sterile formatting of the activity itself that's so distracting and disgusting. I can see a liar a mile away and this feels like nothing more than an attempt to leverage existing volumes of nostalgia for their own benefit.
I could refuse to get off my high horse (lady) and flap my big mouth for days about how offensive I find the five tracks contained on this EP, sidetracking and jamming my mucky fingers into discussions of national identity, pride, the republic debate, imperialism and The Queen, But I'm outta time and it feels kinda pointless. These guys are already halfway to where they (obviously) want to be. And I've run out of references.