The Go-Betweens
16 Lovers Lane

THE REVIEW

The brilliance of Pop never fails to astonish me because each time I think I know it, I search for the precious stones in the endless subgenres, only to find there are individuals like The Go-Betweens from the land of kangaroos who remind me that I really don’t know a damn thing. I dig like a miner, with my worn-out candle dripping scorching wax that mixes with the sweat on my brow, sometimes irritating me to the point where I throw down the pickaxe and wonder if it's really worth it; pounds and pounds of music found, listened to, discarded because although initially shiny, it proves to be pyrite, fool's gold.

But to live, one has to go on, I have a family waiting for me at home and a moment of discouragement can't make them starve, so I continue to dig through the tunnels of Country, the corridors of Jangle, the depths of Folk, the endless grooves of Lo-Fi. Occasionally, though, I realize it's on the surface, in the already pillaged grounds of the most common Pop, where the most precious gems are hidden; a random spadeful brought "16 Lovers Lane" to my hands, and I analyze it starting from the simple cover dominated by the full figure of Amanda Brown, listening to it at the end of the day when I leave the mine, and the sky darkens a little later than usual.

The Go-Betweens took quite a while, five albums, to release this treasure chest filled with jewels, now buried by the sands of time; indeed, we are talking about 1988. Not many bands have had so many opportunities to produce their masterpiece, which makes one think about how many masterpieces could remain in the world of ideas, pursued through promising debuts, strong follow-ups, great maturity albums, and then bam - the band breaks up, killed by boredom, writer's block, fierce arguments, or discord-bearing floozies.

That wasn't their case, or at least not entirely, but for that, there's history to tell, of which "16 Lovers Lane" represents a central chapter; if you skip it, you understand nothing of the unfolding of events, causes and effects get mixed up. Rarely, at the end of the day, have I left the mine aware of having found not a stone, not an artifact, but an actual buried treasure; brought to light, one realizes that what they hold in their hands, from "Love Goes On!" - a terrible title, yes, but an extraordinary song - to "Dive For Your Memory", are ten genuine museum pieces.

It's an 80s-colored chest, full of a refined, lacquered and shiny Pop/Rock, without a lock, immediate, with "The Devil's Eye", "Love Is a Sign", "I'm All Right" slipping through your fingers while you eagerly bring them to your face after digging avidly into the chest. And as in every gold rush, here too it's full of jackals wanting to steal your pieces or buy them at ridiculous prices, to then display them in their showcases, for everyone to see: "Streets Of Your Town" turned out too tempting an opportunity to make The Go-Betweens a monument of Australian music to show the world, and it worked; similarly, "Was There Anything I Could Do?" ended up becoming a stolen gem given to the radios, a gram of hidden melancholy that this group always carried in their pockets.

So before it's too late, I take a couple of gems to carry away hidden under my hat, I find myself having to choose between the heartbreaking "Quiet Heart" and the seemingly (but only seemingly) sunny "Clouds", in my opinion, the two most representative sides of how well, for us miners, the work of Robert Forster, Grant McLennan, Lindy Morrison, and John Willsteed has done, along with the already mentioned Amanda. As often happens, in doubt, I take both.