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Rating: Once, I often found myself having to explain to those who had never heard of them the absolute greatness of David McComb's Triffids, a greatness so evident and cross-cutting that it still leaves me in awe of their records. Today, unfortunately, no one asks me anymore who the Triffids were. They don't seem to interest even the brave Domino Records anymore, which some years ago embarked on a journey of fantastic retrospective reissues on CD, including the magnificent ten-disc box set "Come Ride with Me..." now impossible to find in these dire times of the Eurovision festival. The "triffids'" records are practically all out of print, but their value has not diminished by an ounce over time.
Rediscovering a true masterpiece like "Born Sandy Devotional" today means, first and foremost, paying homage once again to the genius and talent of David McComb. A tormented and extraordinary singer, musician, and author. Even today, David remains one of the most original, fascinating, and ultimately tragic frontmen in all music. Like all legends, David never saw himself age, perhaps because he was already so old and worn out inside when he left us at merely 36. Throughout his brief life, he suffered from various aches and addictions to a range of substances, including alcohol, amphetamines, and heroin; his alcoholism was probably the cause of his heart conditions, which eventually became desperate until a heart transplant was attempted to bring him back a future. Legend has it that the man lived a few more years before surrendering to his vices and torments, and his new heart eventually refused to belong to him. David was only 36 and left an unfillable void in all those who loved him, both as a man and as a musician. Fortunately, his visionary, epic, and unparalleled records remain. Apart from Nick Cave, Australia would never know such talent again.
In various interviews, McComb often talked about the autobiographical nature of Born Sandy Devotional. There is, first of all, a powerful sense of belonging to the land from which he comes, the coasts, the wind, the deserts, the sea. But it's a geography that is anything but celebratory. Here the sun is blinding and the dust annoyingly fills the eyes. The Australian "bush," where some time later the Triffids would record the offbeat "In the Pines," offers a post-apocalyptic vision that seems to come out of a Mad Max sequel. And the boundless horizon of the Antipodes stuns rather than rejuvenates. There is a sense of immobility that terrifies, where everything seems the same and unchanging for centuries.
Within the space of 10 high-level songs in "Born Sandy Devotional," McComb confronts and unsuccessfully seeks to exorcise, accept, or deny the sordid and disordered details of his own life. And his band follows him, exploring without rhetoric certain themes beloved by the generation of punk survivors. Violence, death, commitment, infidelity, and isolation. Always, in the background, the desolation of a native Australia incapable of offering any comfort, only an eternal curse. References to the sea and the lost beaches of this country abound but offer no solace. Ever. As in the opening piece, the hypothetical Calypso of "The Seabirds," already unforgettable. The sound fills with strong lyricism and celebrates in its just under four minutes the epic of a man who will give his life as a gift to the seagulls, right on one of those sunny beaches photographed on the cover. Musically, I cannot precisely place the sound of the Triffids, so laden with both folk and rock influences that it is not easily classifiable. Sometimes they remind me of Simple Minds, suspended somewhere between Sons & Fascination and New Gold Dream; other times, and I know this is a bold statement, I even think of prehistoric Arcade Fire and their epic cavalcades, thirty years earlier... Difficult to make comparisons. Take the vaguely country tinge of "Estuary Bed" that brings with it that characteristic Australian sound, only found in some tracks by the Go Betweens. And I think of "Part Company" or "Man of Sand and Girl of Sea," just to make it clear. Have we ended up in the realm of Steve Kilbey's Church Jangle Pop perhaps? I don't think so... as immediately shown by “Chicken Killer," which is a hammer blow to the nape, à la "Birthday Party" of ink king. And what about the disorienting sweetness of “Tarrilup Bridge,” sung by Jill Birt with a tender and insecure voice to contrast with the almost baritone timbre of McComb that we had nearly become accustomed to. And then the crazy whirlpools of noise and the wailing echoes of "Lonely Stretch," where the music staggers like a ghost train at a very dark carnival. "Lonely Stretch," as will be on the B-side of the vinyl, the magnificent "Wide Open Road," is an atypical “road song” but here neither the driver nor the car survives the journey, in a parched and brutalized land, the same emotional ground as the narrator. The impact of the lyrics is decisive but the musical choices also prove original, allowing themselves never to follow a precise linear path. Sometimes the resulting sound recalls the "Big Music" of Mike Scott's Waterboys, but it allows nothing to the spectacle, though making grandeur an essential value. In "Born Sandy Devotional," keyboards often take over the songs; the pedal and lap steel guitars of Graham Lee punctuate the compositions consistently alongside Robert McComb's violin and Martyn Casey's pulsating bass. The same "opulent" production by pre-Pixies Gil Norton gives the album a rich sound, at times almost Spectorian. The songs are the best David McComb ever wrote and cover a wide spectrum of styles. Whether it’s the symphonic qualities of “Wide Open Road,” their most famous and celebrated piece, or the rolling keyboards of the driving blues of "Personal Things," my absolute favorite.
All these various themes return interwoven in "Stolen Property," perhaps the song that encapsulates all the emotional philosophy and complex sound of the Triffids, their essence. It’s a track that starts quietly and allows itself a devastating crescendo, with a funereal mix of keyboards and jagged strings, unshakable in its sense of despair, regret, anger, and loss. Beyond the absolute beauty of the piece, what emerges once again is the portrait of a young man (23 years old!!!) who evaluates how little he has achieved in life while struggling to cope with a sense of helpless loneliness. "Stolen Property" could be a testament, capable of being evocative and open to any other interpretations but laden with that sense of loss and despair that doesn't allow for remedies. In closing the album, there is still time for the brief and immaculate outro of “Tender Is the Night,” a gentle nursery rhyme that is a small pearl. Sung by Jill Birt in Moe Tucker mode, never so convinced, the outro of "Born Sandy Devotional" finally sheds a little light and hope after so much suffering.
The album is all here, and I assure you that in its roughly 45 minutes, it is of incomparable richness. Over 35 years since its initial release, "Born Sandy Devotional" remains, in my opinion, one of the truly underrated masterpieces of music. Epic in scope and flawless in execution, this album is at once distinctly Australian in atmosphere, yet universal in appeal, and it's no coincidence that, although written and conceived "down under," the record was then recorded in England, proving to be a wise synthesis between the roots of popular and rock music and the new trends of the eighties (post-punk, neo-psychedelia, electronic). From the day of its release, March 1, 1986, I always thought that sooner or later, it would be recognized as a masterpiece, a "Born to Run" of the upside-down world. David would have liked the comparison with the desperate and losing Springsteen, not with the millionaire one. Even McComb would have deserved fame and redemption as a little Boss, but instead, he died alone and almost forgotten in his Perth, a million kilometers away from here. Don't forget him.
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 The Seabirds (03:21)
No foreign pair of dark sunglasses
will ever shield you from the light
that pierces your eyelids, the screaming
of the gulls / Feeding off the bodies
of the fish, thrashing up the bay till it was
red, turning the sky a cold dark colour
as they circled overhead.
He swam out to the edge of the reef,
there were cuts across his skin,
saltwater on his eyes and arms, but
he could not feel the sting / There was
no one left to hold him back, no one
to call out his name, dress him feed
him drive him home, say "Little boy
it doesn't have to end this way !"
He announced their trial separation, and
spent the night in a Park Beach Motel
bed, a total stranger lying next to him,
rain hitting the root hard over his head /
She said "What's the matter now lover
boy, has the cat run off with your
tongue? Are you drinking to get
maudlin, or drinking to get numb?"
He called out to the seabirds "Take me
now, I'm no longer afraid to die", but
they pretended not to hear him, and just
watched him with their hard and bright
black eyes / They could pick the eye
from any dying thing that lay within
their reach, but they would not touch
the solitary figure lying tossed up
on the beach.
So, where were you?
03 Chicken Killer (03:51)
I knelt I aimed I missed I ran
across the fIeld where our love began
The ears of the corn began to melt and swim
My 20/20 vision 95% dim
I bowed my head to the weight of the sun
I saw ribs sticking out through my yellow skin
I felt so tail I felt so thin
And the children were singing, "Here he comes the killer again
Here he comes the chickenkiller again"
I was shooting at the birds on the telephone lines
Putting little black holes on the speed limit signs
And tell me where she is I screamed
And tell me where it Is she's been
Well smiling people gathered round
Wearing coloured silk under coloured lights
And paper streamers floated down
like a skating rink or a boxing tight
And grace descended without a sound
And the children kept singing, "Here he comes the killer again
Here he comes the chickenkiller again"
I ran through that crowd calling out your dear name
to the blind the deaf the dumb the lame
But they shook their heads and pointed to the sky
Saying she's in His hands now my boy
She caught death as only lovers can ever catch can
And the children kept singIng, "Here he comes the killer again
Here he comes the chickenkiller again"
Now the grass is brown and dry beside the track
Broken beer bottle shines like our engagement ring
And as sure as theres a man on the cross on a hill
I'll pay dearly for everthing
Now they stoop and they poke and they prod and they peer
at our prone bodies lying there
Like roosters picking at the body of a hen
And the children were singing, "Here he comes the killer again
Here he comes the chickenkiller again"
My ears were filled with that joyful ringing
My ears were filled with that happy singing
Laughing and pointing and pointing and singing
And the children sang, etc etc
04 Tarrilup Bridge (03:22)
I packed my bag
Left a note on the fridge
And I drove off the end of the Tarrilup Bridge.
Now you read about me in the papers
They say I'm going to be a big star
They're making a movie about my life
And you're going to play the starring part
Now my drinking days are over
Get this through your head:
I was the best friend you ever had
Yes I was your best friend
You were my blinding sun
Now the only thing bright is my name in lights
And the night has only just begun
I packed my bag
Left a note on the fridge
And I drove off the end of the Tarrilup Bridge
05 Lonely Stretch (05:02)
I took a wrong turn off of an unmarked track
I did seven miles I couldn't find my way back
Hit a lonely stretch, must be losing my touch,
I was out of my depth
Land was so flat, could well have been ocean
No distinguishing feature in any direction
I took her down inch-by-inch to the floor
And I pointed her nose through a crack in the door
Fingering my sliver St Cristopher
and saving my empty shells for her
When night closed in up around my neck
My high beam dug deep into the black
And a shiver broke out up and down my back
Yes a shiver broke out up and down my back
Well I could have been mistaken
But I swear that I caught something in my headlights
on that cold night, without another living thing in sight
Without another living soul in sight
I sing Sha Ia, sha Ia Ia
I hit a lonely stretch
Oh baby I was wrong I was wrong from the start
You could die out here from a broken heart
We were two wrongs we were married at birth
And together make up one ugly flaming bird
Heck I pumped it and then I moved up into third
Could have sworn you were shining right there on the verge
I never should have let you out of my sight
I never should have let that precious spirit escape
And I sing, to myself, I sing, to myself
I was wrong, wrong from the start
You could die out here from a broken heart
We were two wrongs, we were married at birth
And together make up an ugly flaming bird
Now my memorys shot I've got a bad technique
Could be driving in circles till the end of the week
But my vision is strong, and my vision is true
Look out now! I'll be so good for you!
Well .....
Theres a spot on a map, its just a tiny dot
That's where my sweetie lives, you know that means a lot
I think of her sitting in the afternoon sun
Sitting and drinking and having fun.
I took a wrong turn, I took a wrong turn
I hit a lonely stretch
Rock my soul in the bosom of Abraham
Guide me back to the bosom of Abraham
So high can't get over it, so low can't get under it,
So wide can't get around it, I took a wrong turn, etc.
06 Wide Open Road (04:08)
Well the drums rolled off in my forehead
and the guns went off in my chest
Remember carrying the baby for you
Crying in the wilderness
I lost track of my friends, I lost my kin
I cut them off as limbs
I drove out over the flatlands
hunting down you and him
The sky was big and empty
My chest filled to explode
I yelled my insides out at the sun
At the wide open road
it's a wide open road, it's a wide open road
How do you think it feels
sleeping by yourself?
when the one you love, the one you love
is with someone else
Then it's a wide open road
It's a wide open road
And now you can go any place
that you ever wanted to go
I wake up in the morning
thinking I'm still by your side
I reach out just to touch you
then I realise
It's a wide open road
It's a wide open road
07 Life of Crime (04:24)
Sunlight was hot, and your mother was calling
My chest burning, rising falling
Dog licking drips from our garage tap
Miles from nowhere just a little dot on the map
I believe you will lead me to a life of crime
Tore the clothes off our backs and looked into the sun
Fouled our mouths with the sin of our tongues
And with sand between our toes
And with stains on our sheets
Down there damn was done
because the flesh was weak
Flesh was weak, down there damn be done
And around our necks the shame was hung
I believe you will lead me to a life of crime
Now your tracks are still fresh
and the branches are broken
Nothing was stolen
but your window was open
I followed the tracks that you left behind
I followed the rail and the curve of your spine
And the grass still grows on the side of the road
Sun still burns
Rain still fails
Sin still burns little fiery holes
I hold on tight now to nothing at all
I believe you will lead me to a life of crime
Now my vision is dimmer
and the weather is colder
I went out for a ten-minute walk
that's the last thing I remember
That was the 5th, now its December
Hey get well soon darling, I hope you recover
I believed you would lead me through this life of crime
I believed you would lead me as the blind lead the blind
09 Stolen Property (06:47)
There's someone standing in the rain like they have no place to go
Maybe that someone is you, maybe someone you don't aim to know
Maybe lost possessions
Maybe stolen property
You just lie around waiting on a signal from heaven
Never had to heal any deep incisIon
Darling you are not moving any mountains
You are not seeing any visions
You are not freeing any people from prison
Just an aphorism for every occasion
As if the only thing that ever matters
is your place at the table
You never read the writing on the label
when you drank from the bottle
it said Keep Away From Children
This is stolen property, this is stolen property
Let her run away
Let her run, let her run away
She can't hurt you now, can't hurt you now
She don't belong any more, learn the hard way
She don't belong here anymore
Finders keepers, losers weepers
Finders keepers, losers weepers
This is stolen property, this is stolen property
Reach out in the darkness now she's not there
Reach out it's getting darker now she's not there
Reach out it's getting darker now
She don't belong anymore, learn this the hard way
She don't belong here any more
You stumble, sometimes fall
Pick yourself up! Hold yourself up to the light!
Duck your head ! Watch for the blade!
Can't hurt you now, can't hurt you now
This is stolen property
This is stolen property
This is stolen property
This is stolen property
10 Tender Is the Night (The Long Fidelity) (03:43)
I knew him as a gentle young man
I cannot say for sure the reasons for his decline
We watched him fade before our very eyes
And years before his time
Surrounded himself with shiny things
First night tickets, ermine, pearls upon a string
And disappeared in all the pestilence
that sudden pleasure brings
He never asks after her anymore
He made a point of losing her address
And every trinket that she ever touched
he keeps locked away
And just burns up In the furnace of hIs chest
Well I spoke to a man who says he's done it all
and the only thing that pleases or excites him now
is hurting, hurting then hurting some more
There's someone I want to forget tonight
Don't you want to forget someone too?
I left him, and I can leave you too
Baby let's go out tonight
It will all turn out all rIght I'm sure
Don't want to drink at home again tonight
So let's go out
Let's go out tonight
It's getting dark earlier now
But where you are it's just getting light
Where you are it will just be getting light
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By fabiopao
"The Triffids describe with more passion than their compatriots the vast desert of the Australian outback and the equally vast desert of the human soul."
"'Wide Open Road' is not one of a hopeful future as in Springsteen’s 'Born to Run,' but a long strip of scorching asphalt of a present without expectations."
