"Fuck, it's Bruce Springs in his youthful teens, properly re-mastered for the forever gloomy 2012 generation". Two bars into the opening track from DIIV's debut LP and our loyal webmaster, Jonny, is already shooting off Electronic Emails to his mates exclaiming his high levels of enthusiasm and, more importantly, yelling "First" over the crowded room of fellow over-opinionated Internet Trollbots. And then quicker than he can wipe the jizz stain from his perfectly aged all-american denim cut-offs, the fist-pumping waveforms vibrating through his headphones transform into a baseline wicked enough to hang an Ian Curtis jury. "Guilty as charged, sir", came back the verdict. But then again we've all been convicted of a bit of plagiarism in our lifetimes. In this post-Timberlake world we call it nostalgia. And it hardly matters that DIIV have countless reference points, load songs with familiar throbs and throw in more than a few borrowed couplets. Not when their sound is smothered under such a thick warming blanket of depressing fog, a vacuum of all-engulfing emotional density. Partnering these bellowing compositions are lyrical murmurs that just float perfectly alongside, swaying lazily in the wind like a heroin addict on pay day and/or a field of opium plants relishing the refreshing cool breeze.
And that's the real pleasure here. Assisted greatly by these indecipherable, unimportant lyrical groans, Oshin is an album defined by adaptable sequences. Misery is just the surface level, with minor celebrations of joy and triumphant revelation hidden underneath, adopted as required to suit your daily adventures, whether they be following sunshine beams as you flee a horrific 12-count murder scene or simply drug experimenting yourself into a coma, chasing random glittery flickers of a fast-fading tweenage existence. Hard to imagine this album finding much love in the forthcoming barbeque social season, but right now, partnered with the cold gripping paws of the much-Tweeted-about Brutal Australian Winter, it presents itself as both the final promising hope and the dismally futile sinking refuge.