Review: Jack Davies and the Bush Chooks’ The Nighttime, The Wind, The Crocodile
Jack Davies and the Bush Chooks
The Nighttime, The Wind, The Crocodile
Good Intent
Jack Davies has been a low-key WA treasure for a while now, casually establishing himself on the scene as somewhat of an enigma, making rare, lauded appearances, and gathering his Chooks to release numerous singles and EPs over the last six years, including such classics as Vegemite Sandwich and Half Frozen Beer—a couple of his greatest, most iconic tracks—and now finally, we have a debut album.
His gently rocking folk ramblings of suburban Australiana have garnered him a cult following, and now, just back from a successful 10-date national album launch tour (with one upcoming show left in Jack’s hometown of Freo), it seems high time the rest of the country cottoned on to the softly spoken songsmith. Across 11 tracks, this album gives a good summary of the different sides and sounds of Davies, with some of his most expansive arrangements yet.
My Hard Times opens the album, inviting you into Jack’s world through the lobby entrance of a swinging, shambolic, old western bar complete with creaking, whisky-soaked floorboards and an old-timey piano. The twangy guitar and upbeat vibe juxtapose the hard times Davies is warbling about, which is reminiscent of the fun sound of early Bob Dylan records. The Colours follows on in this vein, but with more violins, giving this track more of a Tim Rogers & The Twin Set folky vibe.
Imagery is rife in Davies’ music, as per the name of the album, he loves objects, things, nouns and metaphors. The next few songs that follow are three great examples, and some of the best songs on the album.
Clothes Peg is the first single, with gently strummed guitar and a jazzy sensibility, complete with keys and strings, as Davies ruminates, “I don’t wanna be just another clothes peg on the line.” Gently layered instruments start to swirl and soar as the track reaches its conclusion, rocking out—well, as much as Jack Davies rocks out.
This Highway Is Stained is another highlight. At first, it sounds like it might be a comment on the decay of society, but upon listening to the lyrics, it becomes clear it’s about a certain Highway and the Captain Stirling it was named after. Implying blood stains, with the blunt opening stansa, “There’s a statue of a murderer in our city, beneath the buildings on Hay Street. They named a highway after this murderer, and a pub where the students drink.” Despite the heavy subject matter, it’s a sombre, but beautiful, melodic song with delicately strummed guitar and Davies’ gently wavering voice.
Davies’ music always has a sense of subtlety, restraint and intimacy. His soft and delicate vocals, with its distinct Aussie lilt, sit barely above the acoustic instrumentation. Sometimes starting solo, with just him and his guitar, then building and building with the band, at times he threatening to break into an all-out jam, though never quite does, just teasing you for a moment before subsiding. Though when performing live with his Bush Chooks, he brings more energy, with the rock elements occasionally shining through.
The last in the solid trifecta is the tactile, emotive imagery of Orange Peel. A quite wonderful and sweet tune, with its sweeping vocal and fast, fluttering, finger-picking, as he muses, “Our love is an orange peel on the dashboard.”
At times he channels his classic influences, with elements of Dylan and Lennon coming through on the retro stomp of You’ve Got The Fear, with some nice electric lead guitar mixing up the sonic template a bit, while Thinking About The Blues also shares a traditional sound—a wonky blues jam, plodding along on the beat. You Deserve To Be Loved changes things up again—a shimmering, beautiful song with soft, muffled vocals over a sparse, looping, picked guitar. Little Dog follows closely with another delicate emotional arrangement, ending the album on a heartfelt high.
There’s some stellar songwriting chops on display, with Davies more firmly establishing his own singular style of pondersome, folky, Australian melancholia. Given a full-length album canvas to work with, Davies has painted a full, colourful picture displaying his range.
While we’ve known about his quiet genius for a while, Jack Davies may be ambling closer to the spotlight with this long-awaited debut, a complete and mature work of art. Its full production demonstrating the potential that previous singles and EPs have hinted at, as one of the best emerging singer-songwriters in the country. May the rest of the country and world find out about our little secret, and see the bush chooks fly high.
ALFRED GORMAN