Every once in a while, a band drops a debut album that becomes a reference point. These debuts can shape not only the creator’s career, but also the future work of others that are yet to even take their first breaths. Of course, there are no guarantees in this fast-moving and fickle industry, but Ocean Grove’s ‘The Rhapsody Tapes’ has everything required to be an important entry in musical history.
The art of genre-bending is not that impressive any more, so to slap that flimsy label on the Aussies would be an insult. They haven’t just written some hardcore, peppered it with electronics for spice, and then cracked open the beers. Each and every track is bizarre, exploring a new realm of musical possibility, yet all inhabiting and sharing the self-created “Odd World”. The accompanying literature, ‘The Rhapsody Manifesto’, outlines their policies, and they’ve wasted no time in implementing them.
‘Beers’ takes the no-nonsense approach needed to get the album started, while ‘Intimate Alien’ introduces a dose a funk and nu-metal through a clangy bass and an extraterrestrial heartbeat. You habitually find yourself trying to find connections throughout the record – ‘These Boys Light Fires’ is a bit like ‘Beers’, and ‘Mr Centipede’ is a bit like ‘The Wrong Way’ – but there’s no point. Just enjoy it.
If forced to find fault, ‘When You’re This High You Can Say What You Like’ pinches a few techniques from Korn, vocally, in particular. But, they are already one step ahead, as even their limitations are confessed in the manifesto:
“C:\honesty
<in the art form, in performance, in personality?>
<we’re completely assured of our shortcomings, but it’s about knowing your strengths and weaknesses and working on them accordingly>
<we’re not going to buy your respect; we’re going to earn it>”
Ocean Grove already know that ‘The Rhapsody Tapes’ is not perfect, but they clearly have the desire and ability to get closer and closer. In an era intoxicated with manufactured music and wider art, their oddity has to be appreciated. There is nothing quite like them.
MATT BORUCKI