Song of the day – 599: Secret Valley

Boy (laconic): “Wake up on a Saturday/Pants around your knees.”

Girl (breathily): “He loves the night life/He loves the night life.”
Boy (morose): “Take your pills and honey/Take it to extremes.”
Girl (breathily): “He loves the night life/He loves the night (pause) life.”

Girl (laconic): “We all hate our day jobs/We’re all replaceable.”
Boy (breathily): “She loves the night life/She loves the night life.”
Girl (morose): “We run around like voyeurs/In an independent film.”
Boy (breathily): “She loves the night life/She loves the night (pause) life.”

The third song on this cracked golden delight of a cassette album – available for free download RIGHT NOW – is called ‘Streets Of Fitzroy’ and it bears even less resemblance to The Thin Kids‘ ‘Streets Of Brisbane’ then I do to your lover. It borders on romantic, inasmuch as failed hedonism always flatters itself that it borders on romance. There’s feedback and borderline pretension. And if everyone sings like they’re hungover, and if all the instruments sound woozy and splatted with alcohol, it’s because they very probably are.

There was a band in England during the early 80s called Eddie & Sunshine. It was during the first real slinky of synth-pop. You probably won’t have heard of them, unless you happened to live in the same 2m sq radius of Soho that we lived in. We loved ’em. Breathy and morose and tuneful, and with plenty of laconic girl-boy call-and-response. They sounded almost nothing like Melbourne’s Secret Valley.

There was a band from Melbourne during the early 80s called Primitive Calculators. Rudimentary and belligerent and, yes, synthetic. You’ll have heard of them, I’m sure. Seven of the eight songs on this cassette/digital-only album release of Secret Valley sound almost nothing like then. The other one does. (This, dullard mope, is a PLUS.) Here. Let’s have a reminder, anyway.

I believe there’s a Tasmanian connection somewhere. (I was gonna mention The Native Cats for the second day running but now I’ve realised who Dan Cross is, I realise there’s no real need.)

Here’s the fucker.

by Everett True

My name is Everett True. I am a music critic. This is what I do. I criticise music. The clue is in my job description – music critic. I do not consider myself a journalist, as I do not research or report hard news. I do not consider myself a commentator as I believe that everyone should be a participant. I criticise people and in return I am not surprised if other people criticise me. It is part of the whole deal of being in the public arena. I am Everett True. Believe in me and I have power like a God. Quit believing in me and I no longer exist.