Koalas and the boomerang. Paul Hogan and the Crocodile Hunter. Untold zillions of boisterous, brew-swilling, hostel-jumping backpackers. Oh, and, uh, 'roos, or whatever. You can add newcomers Blueline Medic to that hallowed list of exports from the island continent of Australia. With a name like Blueline Medic, you might be asking yourself how much your co-payment will be, but no, no, they're not an insurance company or even an HMO. In the great tradition of Aussie guitar noise, they're a capital R, capital B, Rock Band.
Buzzsaw distortion, thoughtful lyrics, more power chords than you can reasonably be asked to deal with, and a vocalist that's equal parts J. Robbins, Bad Religion's Greg Graffin, and super-sensitivo and Hessian-last-named Blake Schwarzenbach are Blueline Medic's most salient features. Actually, the universal-sounding vocals are decent enough-- I'm not ripping on Donnie Dureau for having an unoriginal voice. In fact, it's the perfect voice for the band's sound.
J. Robbins is not only a convenient reference point for describing Dureau's voice, but the affable and hook-conjuring mind behind Jawbox and Burning Airlines also manned the nobs and untangled patch chords on The Apology Wars. But unlike some of his other semi-recent production efforts (Promise Ring, Jets to Brazil), Blueline Medic's songs have enough teeth to showcase the man's production skills, and conversely, his able hands add contours to songs that might have otherwise sounded stale and quotidian.
Things get off on the wrong foot, unfortunately. "Cathedral" (Dureau's a big Raymond Carver fan) is lyrically engaging, but the melody-- especially for the all-important opening track-- sucks. The vocal phrases are too wordy, strung-together, and shapeless to redeem the punk-by-rote song.
"Ever the Lawn" benefits from the contrast with its lackluster predecessor, and bubbles over with quirk, similar to much of the material off Burning Airline's debut, 1999's Mission: Control! "Making the Nouveau Riche" is a straight ahead, almost corny pop-punk song about leading an unconventional lifestyle, but more specifically, about being in a band. It works, getting by on sheer kinetic energy and memorably off-kilter lyrics: "I'm without a zack/ A truth/ A coin, a kopeck or an elusive brass razoo."
"At Least We Had the War" is the fourth and finest track on the album. It's also guaranteed to make you do an auditory double take as you wonder how the fuck Morrissey took over your CD player; the intro and ending to the song are as good a Smiths imitation as there ever was. The meat of the song is murder-- sweeping, semi-epic pop with better-than-average melodies boasting smooth transitions between the tonally different Smiths-sounding sections and the main body. "Not Interested" is likewise heavily Smiths-informed in certain parts and smart-punk in others.
The well-titled "Shuffle and Scrape" sounds like something off some Golden Era of Dischord release, very much in the spirit of Jawbox's seminal album, Novelty. "Somnambulist" displays Shaun Lohoar's simply tasteful drumming, while also incorporating decorative chiming sounds to great effect, one of the rare departures from standard instrumentation. "Up Against the Fault," on the other hand, is simply a good example of the band's flair for the anthemic.
There's nothing particularly mind-blowing about The Apology Wars, but the warmth and comfort of a new and eminently listenable rock band is noteworthy on its own. That the unimpeachably solid songs are also graced by thoughtful lyrics and underlined by obvious enthusiasm is reason to keep an eye on the Melbourne-based four-piece.
