The notion of an Australian Gothic is an elusive one at best. On one hand, evocations of dusty plains and dangerous/lonesome highways are basically aping archetypal images of Americana, while iconography such as swagmen, billabongs and jumbucks have a way of inviting criticism and ridicule (see also: cringe, cultural).

How is it, then, that Derwent River Star are able to craft an album of rustic, charming folk-rock like The Winter Dark without coming across as disingenuous or hokey? Released on Tony Dupé's Heavy label and recorded by him in his studio (back when it was nestled in the none-more-green surrounds of Kiama’s Saddleback Mountain), the record’s bucolic vibe is in part a result of its genesis. Drenched in natural reverb and the kind of warm tones Dupé is renowned for, it’s can sometimes feel like a hymn to those oft-forgotten pockets of rural Australia; those tiny towns just off the highways, seeming to exist outside of time (or al least in blissful ignorance of it). The album’s blend of light and shade – 'Bottles & Boats' and 'Frost' fly the flag for light, while Jettison and an untitled instrumental represent the album’s moodier side, although there’s plenty of room left for cross-pollination– reflects the stark landscapes it (consciously or otherwise) induces.

If you organise your CD collection like I do, then I’d suggest placing this one somewhere between the pastoral folk-pop of Rand & Holland’s Caravans and the bleak country of Wagons’ The Curse Of Lightning; which is to say, in amongst those albums that both evoke an Australia far from the glitz n’ grime of its cities and are also indifferent to the schoolbook clichés peddled by the Banjos and Dorotheas of this nation.

by Adam D Mills