Review Summary: A distant love makes for Australia's front-running album of the year contender.
In “Camp Out,” the opening song from An Horse's 2009 debut
Rearrange Beds, vocalist/guitarist Kate Cooper boldly announced that “This is a song for the one that I love.” She then confessed “I haven't met them yet, but I'm quietly confident.” In the time between that album and this one, it certainly seems that Cooper has met the individual sought out in the song. Not everything seems to have gone as planned, however, as is quickly established in
Walls. This is an album about distance, loss and frustration – in other words, the aspects of a soured relationship most wouldn't want you to see. It's a confronting and honest portrayal - and it's also quite possibly the best thing the two members of An Horse have recorded yet under any guise.
The set-up remains the same within the band since their formation – Cooper plays guitar and sings; while Damon Cox drums and adds backing vocals. Interestingly, this is a two-piece that has not evolved out of the bluesy garage rock revivalism that spawned your White Stripes or your Black Keys. Rather, the band mix aspects of shoegaze and post-punk into their minimalist sound, with a nod to indie rock in both past and present formations. Perhaps what's best about the two is how well their instruments correspond with one another. As Cooper's guitar crunches and slip-slides in “Dressed Sharply,” Cox will boom-thwack his way through a tom-driven four-on-the-floor. Meanwhile, Cox's tumbling rapid-fire snare in “Leave Me” is complemented by Kate's dissonant guitar jangle, breathlessly keeping up with the punchy pace of the track. The duo have been playing together long enough to know exactly how the other works, and it's this chemistry that keeps you consistently engaged with the album. A perceived lack of diversity within the band's sound soon becomes irrelevant.
It's Cooper's lyrics on the album that are perhaps the most arresting, and the centrepiece of
Walls.
Rearrange Beds portrayed a young woman simply trying to make sense of things between people, and
Walls makes it appear as if these problems have only grown deeper and more complicated with this new long-distance love. “We could count all the planes at the airport,” she sings on the acoustic “Windows in the City” - “but that would mean that you and I are in the same spot.” The distances between Cooper and her love seem to be far more than just physical, too – they simply just don't understand each other, and cannot seem to come to an agreement on anything.
There is a heartbreaking naivete displayed in lyrics like “Your heart seems fine from over here” (“Not Mine”) and “I've noticed that you're not fine” (“Know This, We've Noticed”); as if Cooper has no idea whatsoever how deep the wounds run in this fractured relationship. The idea of using walls as the metaphorical core of the album also works beautifully – the walls represent far more than separation here. “Just look at these walls,” spits Cooper, almost in disgust, during album highlight “Trains and Tracks.” “There's no brain and there's no heart at all.” You don't even have to share the same experiences to empathise with these heart-wreching scenes documented through An Horse's music – it's a pain that feels as though it's simply part and parcel of the human condition.
As it stands,
Walls is the essential Australian album from this side of 2011. It's more than just a successful follow-up, or a defeater of Second Album Syndrome.
Walls is a fascinating, brilliantly-written tale of love and loss that shrugs off cliches and sets up An Horse as one of indie rock's must-hear bands, nationality regardless.
