Spookyland is the best band you may not have heard of this year. Maybe you while away the midnight hours surfing Spotify for indie music (get out of the gutter, my friend) and you’ve heard their amazing first single—called “Big Head”—with its rollicking guitars and lyrics about having an ego problem. Maybe you’ve even seen the peculiar video featuring lead singer Marcus Gordon standing on a bridge in the rain smoking a cigarette as the camera moves around like a drunk college student. Maybe you have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about, and that’s okay.
Spookyland is here. They are demanding your attention. They just arrived from Australia, and they’re feeling a bit drenched from making that music video. Part jam-rock band with some Music from Big Pink deoxyribonucleic acid floating around in their blood, their debut is a fantastic departure from the synth-glam that has become so popular recently (who knew computer programmers could make a living hitting “play” on a Macbook, right?). All of the classic rock components are here — drug-induced percussion segues, heavy distortion on guitars, a singer who may or may not be fully cognizant about whether the recording process is underway. There’s an ethos at work, a controlled chaos, and it’s a brilliantly orchestrated jam session.
The song “Champions” is a good example. It has one of the best guitar solos you will hear this side of Widespread Panic, a punch-drunk chorus that rambles up to the podium like an inebriated uncle at a wedding, and highly hallucinogenic rhythm guitars. That might be too many drug and drinking references for one song, but the lyrics back me up. There’s something about being in a coagulated state and dying of heart disease. They put so much reverb on the vocals, you get a slight buzz yourself. On “Discipline” it’s equally unpredictable. I kept thinking of classic bands like The Flying Burrito Brothers (with or without Gram Parsons). There’s some sort of weird folk-country undercurrent here. On “Rebellion” they take some cues from bands like The Jayhawks with the same piano fills. In Australia, do they even know about The Jayhawks? Probably not. It doesn’t help that Gordon is barely out of high school, and his writing style tends to be a little oblique. On “Prophet” you can’t quite place the influence. He sings about aborigines and male body parts, slipping the word “slut” in too many times.
It has to be said that the vocal delivery is an acquired taste. They said the same thing about Bob Dylan back in the ‘60s, and that seemed to work out alright for him. The more you listen, the more you appreciate the storytelling and the jam rock. Most songs reel you in tightly. If you play one of them for a friend, they might wonder what you’re smoking. At their best moments, this is the rebirth of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. At their worst, and particularly on the slower songs when the band takes a backseat and the vocals are more obvious, it’s a bit shrill. I think they know that. The band isn’t trying to win America’s Got Talent. In some ways, the vocals help the band, since it all feels a bit in your face and confrontational. “Can’t Own You” is one of the best songs because, at loud volume, you start hearing clinking glasses in a barroom, start putting together the mental images the singer creates, and finally accept the band for what it is. Wait for the slide guitar, let the mood flow and don’t expect Justin Bieber to show up anytime soon.