Forget time. Forget your shitty job, your calculator watch. Forget Triple J's feature album. Forget obscure movie references, lunchtime cigarettes, and dying one day at a time. Forget your girlfriend's birthday; all the girls that got away. Forget trends. Forget opinion. Forget the Cool. Forget that train ride home, and the dishes stacking up in the sink. Forget life moving so fast. Forget this shitty review. Forget everything. Buy this album.
Remember enthusiasm. Remember Saturday morning cartoons, and wasting summers. Remember kissing girls behind the back shed at school. Remember DIY sparkler bombs, and riding your BMX down dirt roads. Remember you are always one goon bag and one washing line away from a good time. Remember getting your license on the third try and driving around looking for trouble. Remember that the coins clinking in your pocket don't have to define you. Remember watching your first porno with your mates. Remember sharing, bleeding knees, band practises at Adam's house. Remember the trips to Blockbuster on Tuesday mornings. Remember cricket in the backyard. Remember your holographic Charizard card. Remember life, sometimes it doesn't have to be too hard.
This record is about remembering. Remembering that you don't need too much. It's called Big Time, but it is a personalised big time, one anyone can have. They can keep all their cash and fame and cocaine and model wives. That shit is all an illusion. Success and happiness are subjective. And if you needed a reminder, it's here. The vinyl inset lists three paragraphs worth of them; from "wearing Mr Josephs to a wedding and playing Indian Summer on guitar", to, "training your parrot not to scream and positive reinforcement". The last line reads: "you know as well as I do that this is the big time". But sometimes we forget. This album is the perfect soundtrack, and a timely reminder.