Let me tell you a tale of Australia, beyond the image of bronzed beach bums, pronounced accents, and boomerang throwing. Sure, we play cricket and drink beer, but our penchant is for bloodsport. And our targets? Our own. Americans would rather starve than carve a bald eagle, but kangaroo meat is a constant in Australian supermarkets.
Unique to our fine brown lands is tall poppy syndrome. It’s the mentality that allows us to eat our national animal. As well-loved as we are around the world, Australians have an insufferable inferiority complex. We simply do not believe in ourselves, or the merits of what we produce. Our artists are apparently not worthy of comparison with their overseas peers. Should any Australian attempt to break free of our alleged mediocrity, we sharpen the knives and target their backs.
This is the process: enthusiastic Australian rookie develops their craft, experiences local acclaim, launches into overseas ventures. Cue tall poppy syndrome. Sharp implements—mainly verbal, natch—are quickly wielded as Australians try to cut these precocious achievers down to size.
A prime example is Sydney quartet Youth Group. Even from their inception, Youth Group were not lacking in ambition. They released a series of four collectible singles as their debut, whilst their first record Urban & Eastern started with the seven minute opus “Blue Leaves, Red Dust.”
Urban & Eastern was a solid collection, if in need of a good edit, but prominent already were Toby Martin’s piercing vocals and evocative lyrics. With their bass player leaving to manage The Vines, the recording of second album Skeleton Jar was bogged for months. After a long gestation, it was released to critical acclaim. Skeleton Jar showcased immeasurably improved songwriting—witness the sublime “Shadowland”—and drummer Danny Allen emerged as a fine timekeeper, inventive with his patterns and bruising with his power.
Then came The OC.
“Shadowland” was featured on the show—absurdly soundtracking two characters making out—and then they were asked to cover Alphaville’s “Forever Young.” The buzz grew as their cover spread across the Internet and radio. Eventually, they made the best business decision of their lives and released the song as a single. It, predictably, went straight to #1 on the Australian charts.
Thus the status quo is that Youth Group are a relative household name in Australia. “Forever Young” infects airwaves. Press coverage has moved from street press to publications that you actually have to pay for. In an ironic circularity, former Vine Patrick Matthews is now manning the Youth Group basslines, bringing still more notoriety.
And, yes, there has been the requisite backlash. People have been as quick to disown Youth Group as radio has been to embrace them. Cheap shots have been fired: a support slot on Coldplay’s Australian tour drew inevitable comparisons. Previous indie hipsters championing their cause now pen their epitaph.
The rational part of me admires Youth Group for their tremendous success. Moreover, I feel that my musical taste is vindicated. I knew of this band years ago. However, a significant part of me feels sad. The exclusivity of Youth Group fandom is no more. The religious allusions of the name Youth Group—previously so obscure—has now given way to a cult of an entirely different nature. Most tragically, my Youth Group badge has lost all its indie cred. Listening to Youth Group’s latest record Casino Twilight Dogs makes it difficult to justify the criticisms now hurled their way. Shithouse title aside, the album is a steady evolution of their music. The epic “Daisychains” marry Martin’s sensitivity with Allen’s peerless drumming.
In the end it’s about the music, right? Why must Australians cut down our tall poppies? In part, it’s jealousy. Australians have faced obstacles from our beginnings as abandoned British convicts. We remain subjects of the British monarchy. We are not a dominant peoples, but at the same time we don’t want our peers to rise above our plight. It makes little sense, but that is Australia, I assure you. I may chomp on kangaroo steaks with aplomb, but I am unable to stick the knife into this fine Aussie band.
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