This one has been wrestled with for months. Expressions like "fucking an airborne nun while she cleans your room on the outskirts of Dunedin" have been scrapped, resurrected and scrapped again for being too vague and too unjust and too vulgar. Recycled sentences arguing in the defence of the timeless purity of re-formatted pop music and distrust for those that purposefully dispel it have been copied and pasted and deleted. Unfitting stereotypically Australian references about Donald Burke, simplified suburb life and Southern Cross tattoos partnered with the tagline "the album we had to have" have tangled up our praise like a pair of King Gee overalls suffocating a hills hoist after a particularly rough southerly wind change whooshed up from the Mudgee Plains. Casually delivered lyrics about inevitable death, hopelessness and frustration have glued themselves at the rear of our brains, the strands of bleakness long outlasting their uptempo protective sheets. Fists have been clenched as gut-wrenching one-liners have continuously sounded simplistically perfect and pure, even after the thousandth time they've passed through our ears. Obviously, packing all that jubilation into articulated sentences isn't an easy task.
So this is what you'll get. A few lines that won't even begin to paint the picture. A numerical value which will probably spark your curiosity. And that one over-arching sentence that you hate seeing and we're not huge fans of either — this is probably the best Australian album of the year.