Review Summary: Man about town delivers on short, sweet and sensational EP.
Sydney kid Brendan Maclean certainly knows how to get himself in the public eye. His CV includes radio announcing on the national youth broadcaster, Triple J, getting to the finals of Channel [V]’s search for a new vee-jay presenter, and appearing in ads for everything from Coca Cola to Virgin Mobile (he can even be seen on several billboards and on sides of buses for the latter!). He’s even danced in a video for Nikki Webster (think back to the 2000 Olympics opening ceremony…actually, don’t). Don’t be fooled, however. Publicity certainly isn’t his first love. It is when you find Maclean behind a piano or guitar, singing his heart out, in which you truly get to see the truest side of him. His new EP,
White Canvas, is a collection of five tracks that prove exactly this – the music of Brendan Maclean is impeccably written, strongly executed and quite easily lovable.
The EP serves to show the versatility of Maclean as a singer and songwriter. Whether it’s a jazzy, low-key number or an OTT pop-rocker, Brendan shows very clear and crisp talent that’s increasingly rare in Australia’s increasingly samey singer-songwriter scene. His voice floats effortlessly from under-breath baritone and touches of airy falsetto to a booming higher range that accentuates each and every moment it makes a cameo. Tracks such as the tender title track and the melancholy piano balladry of “Beat Me To It” display the delicate, beautifully performed style of Maclean’s low range – the lyrics of loneliness and jealousy emphasising their texture amidst reverberating piano, faint jazz brushes and slow acoustic guitar.
It’s for this reason that songs like “Practically Wasted” leap out as Brendan’s Hyde to “Beat Me To It”’s Jekyll. This song goes for everything it possibly can in its two minutes-fifty – if you listen hard enough, there probably is a kitchen sink in there somewhere. Chopped up vocal samples, fuzzed-out keyboard, boogie-woogie scat and even a flute are to be found amongst the many facets of this bounce-off-the-walls highlight of the EP. The drums, in particular, are excellent in their restraint during the verses, spattering only into snare and tom rolls sporadically before crashing headfirst into the final instrumental break where they are finally allowed loose. Its successor, “Cold and Happy”, is also noteworthy for its bridging between the vulnerable acoustic side to a joyous, full-scale finale with twee harmonies and clap-along rhythms. Maclean intelligently arranges the tracks on
White Canvas to properly divvy between his piano-forte sensibilities, and listening to it from start to finish is that much better for it.
Without a single bad song within sight,
White Canvas is a triumph. You’ll hear everybody from Ben Folds to Rufus Wainwright when you listen to the EP, but perhaps the most important thing you’ll hear above everything else is Brendan Maclean himself. Maybe in a few years time, Maclean will have Virgin-sized billboards for his music – he undoubtedly has the talent to make it happen.
