Died Pretty

Desperate post-punk vocals, new wave attitude, sturdy folk undertones, a guitar setup that recalls Albion blues, and an organ sound that almost pays tribute to Ray Manzarek and his Doors: put like that, it sounds like the usual synopsis of a self-styled "eclectic" project inevitably destined to collapse into a directionless jumble of sounds and styles. And yet... Yet "Free Dirt" is one of the most cohesive sonic alchemies out there, and, alas, one of the best-kept secrets of the entire rock discography of the Eighties.

The story of Died Pretty begins with a handful of singles released between '84 and '86, the work of a band of five Australians united by their love of Suicide and seriously intent on reviving the glories of the Seventies proto-punk era: but the Present caught up with them, carried them along, and dropped them after just one turn around the dance floor. The road through the endless Australian steppes that "Free Dirt" itself immortalized on its cover would only come to a halt a few years later, at the gates of a Sony contract and a couple of modest successes on the local charts. Then nothing, at least until the providential Aztec reissues, which are putting the band's discography back on shelves right now, hopefully paving the way for a well-deserved rediscovery.

Since we have to start somewhere, the choice could only fall on their historic debut, itself given a fresh polish and reissued with the addition of a bonus disc. Even the ten original tracks alone, though, would have been more than enough to get a sense of what that strange pastiche mentioned above actually sounded like, overseen by a guru of the New Continent such as Rob Younger (leader of the essential Radio Birdman and, later, New Christs).

Live, the five from Sydney had no qualms about ranging freely across their rock lessons, alternating (as the reissue's bonus live tracks attest) Dylan covers with renditions of Lou Reed and Pere Ubu (the name of their first incarnation, Final Solution, sounds like a clear nod to Thomas & co.), depending on how the night was going: this was not, we should stress, the self-satisfaction of the virtuoso who gloats over his eclectic tastes and boasts of being able to play absolutely anything. Died Pretty, who were not virtuosos at all, instead drew on a freedom from factionalism and overly rigid classification, also thanks to their coming from the outskirts of the English-speaking empire. Down there, a sizeable crowd of other now-forgotten alternative bands (for whom the Church and the Birthday Party were almost like the "lucky cousins") had drawn them in, amid an electrifying, playful atmosphere that encouraged everyone to lay their old record collections over decidedly more "contemporary" arrangements.

"Free Dirt" opens with the sturdy folk-punk cadences of "Blue Sky Day", Ronald Peno's emphatic, powerful vocals well supported by Brett Myers' acid guitar and the interplay of violin (Julian Watchhorn) and mandolin (John Papanis). The pace is raised by the country-punk gallop of "Wig Out", steeped in Celtic flavors and tipsy in its frenetic drive, propelled by Chris Welsh's martial drumming. A country lilt, almost Neil Young-like, also colors "Through Another Door", with the roots-inflected slides of Graham Lee's pedal steel guitar eventually giving way to Tim Fagan's stormy sax solo.

An almost Manzarek-esque organ, on the other hand, dominates the obsessive "Round & Round", scarred by another sax eruption, and the murky, Velvet-style psychedelic ballad "The 2000 Year Old Murder", while the punk of "Laughing Boy" and the near-Sixties-garage anthem of "Stoneage Cinderella" (added as a bonus track on the European and North American editions) raise sturdy walls of drums and guitar to back the singer's dazed, theatrical vocal delivery.

The morbid liturgy of "Life To Go" unwinds around a blues piano (Louis Tillett), while the crescendoing guitar clatter and hypnotic keyboards of "Just Skin" lead back into psychedelic territory. And then there's the tour de force of "Next To Nothing": a Stooges-like bacchanal for guitars, organ, keyboards and sax, taking off amid constant shifts in tone and rhythm, with Ronnie's vocals always holding the thread together.

Everything falls within a single musical project, thoroughly representative of its era yet, at the same time, unlike any alternative one could place alongside it. A seemingly simple formula that, in the years that followed, no one bothered to build on — not even its own creators, who, moreover, never recaptured the fire that runs through these grooves.

Just like "Marquee Moon", "The Psychedelic Sounds (of 13th Floor Elevator)" (or even "Funhouse", had punk never existed), "Free Dirt" is one of those works destined to remain little known precisely because it is unique and impossible to replicate: it can lie unheard for decades, but when you stumble upon it again while digging through your memories, it's still there, still young, ready to give you the same feelings as ever.

Contributions by Claudio Fabretti

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10/01/2010