BY TIMOTHY ROBINSON
& MARY-LOU REED
LOVE BOMBS
Love songs – real love songs, not the syrupy odes to ownership and entitlement perennially dominating our airwaves and supermarket aisles – are a joy to listen to, and in this case, may even move us to the extravagance of dance, echoing the invitation of one of the early entries of this compilation – And You Love to Dance.
But sometimes love songs go much deeper than that. And that is precisely what this exquisite collection of country rock flavoured classics and tender ballads calls us to.
The farm, the boys, the dog and the ute just don’t get a look in here.
Instead, between the grunt of the opening track, The Joy of Being who We Truly Are, the grit of It Took You Leaving, to the sensitive slower offerings such as The Great Divine Flow and Nothing in Between, the call is ever constant that there’s far more to life for the traveller who is prepared to venture within.
To cease the restless searching for love on the outside … and to be still as it comes to you.
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And as the Love Bombs of the title track explode all around us, Tim Robinson’s genuine Aussie twang blends effortlessly with the pristinely delivered harmonies of Mary-Lou Reed, treating the listener to that rare phenomenon where it’s difficult to tell where one voice ends and the other begins. The outro literally explodes for the joy of love, bringing the song to a suitably riotous conclusion.
An epic ode to the man who set it all in train, Man of Love, lays every card on the table in its razor-sharp discernment of the forces that come for those who challenge the status quo of life as we know it, a recurring theme of this always surprising album as it twists and turns and hints at a variety of styles, but ends up sounding just like itself.
And then last, but certainly not least, there’s the achingly beautiful Don’t Wanna Fight It Anymore, featuring an all female cast as Mary-Lou’s riveting and crystalline vocal is held delicately by the majestically restrained piano of the estimable Catherine Wood, and the simple yet so aptly haunting cello underpinning of Rebecca Murphy. It gently outlines the plight of the obstinate seeker who appears to be caught between two worlds, but in truth is still living in the illusion that encases us all … having registered the truth but as yet is only able to articulate it, and not yet live it fully.
But what an articulation it is, and I would be surprised if not a few tears are shed silently for what we willingly have relinquished in exchange for a few baubles.
Mixed and mastered superbly by Benjamin Hurt, this album grunts, it drives, and it whispers gently into your ear that love – real love – is the only way to survive this corruption of all that is pure.
Highly recommended.
