Melbourne’s Terry has perfected a blasé, disaffected take on indie pop that smartly avoids cynicism and sarcasm. Last year’s I’m Terry, their third album in three years, is another strong collection of unassuming pop hits—often flat and plodding in that Australian way but always richly melodic, and with a warm homemade aesthetic that reflects the modesty typically found down under. Terry’s one of those bands that could’ve existed at any point in the last 30 or 40 years—they would’ve fit right in on Flying Nun—but are also always unmistakably themselves.
I’m Terry.
They are Terry. Three LPs in three years that continue to fulfil their promise of their first 7”s: one moment a witty “art” punk Wire scramble, the next moment a dumb “pub” punk oi stomper, the next a beautifully orchestrated shimmering soundscape of rudimentary melodies cascading over one another; the point being these are disparate but always succinct songs soaked in melodies, vocal harmonies that sing-song verses and terrace chant choruses, all peppered with flourishes of synths, horns and violins.
They perfected this almost immediately, and each record is a masterful fulfillment, and so…I’m Terry.
There are so few bands attempting lyrics along these lines, so it’s worth to point toward them, as this is Terry: please be kind. We are spared the righteous indignation of identity politicians, but the empathy here for those under the boot of the colony, of the fortress, of the rich and privileged, and the disappointment and disgust at the effects of what we are calling toxic masculinity informs their more aggressive lambast, and this is delivered in an overt lyricism that doesn’t disintegrate into preach or self loathing lamentation.
There’s an unbridled joy in Terry at the experience of making songs in times they are clearly contrary to, the empathy and the pleas for kindness and all that… I’m Terry is an expression of a humbling kindness, and 2018 needs more Terry!
The Fat Angel Sings 