The Drones
Havilah

After their third album Gala Mill, a bombshell of a record weighed down with modern war tragedies and horror stories from the forgotten pages of Australian history, The Drones seemed to lighten up a little. Earlier this year, they plied a slightly brighter shade of darkness on their contribution to the All Tomorrows Parties Custom Made seven-inch series. Having replaced two members since it was first recorded, the band breathed a newfound swing into their Bonnie and Clyde classic 'The Cockeyed Lowlife Of The Highlands' and paid tribute to Charles Aznavour's tragicomedy 'I Drink'. It was Gareth Liddiard's promise of black humour finally come to fruition. He has never sounded more alive on record than while screaming the lines of Aznavour's paean to death and alcohol: "I drink 'til I burst in my own degradation/ To the edge of damnation that is waiting below!"

So it comes as little surprise that Havilah too has a sense of humour, albeit one wrapped in barbed wire. The record is just as ferocious as their previous work but rarely quite as grim. There are moments of wordplay – in the title of 'Your Acting's Like The End Of The World' and the second chapter of 'Nail It Down', where Liddiard spits out the lyric, "Her clothes were wet/ Her shoes were damp/ And as she travelled on the weather licked her like a stamp", as if it was a tongue-twister. Elsewhere the singer takes aim at modern vices, skewering the deadweight protagonist of 'The Minotaur' who "spends all day looking at porn/ Or playing fucken Halo 2" and offering his own solution to climate change: "Get your tubes tied/ Or better yet/ Go commit suicide" (and will he be taking the soap box on tour, I wonder? It could make an excellent stage prop.)

Musically as well, Havilah is lighter, if only by degrees. The exception is first single 'The Minotaur', a brutal song with a plodding rhythm and banshee guitar that ends with Mike Noga attacking his kit while Liddiard, Fiona Kitschin and Dan Luscombe do something unkind to their instruments. Elsewhere the tracks range from twangy and rough-around-the-edges rock to majestic country ballads and, at one moment, even the sort of acoustic pop you might expect to hear from former collaborator Dan Kelly. But even when they're having fun The Drones compete for the title of the country's most miserable band – along with that of its best. Havilah marks a run of three brilliant records in a row, not counting their above average debut and outtakes album The Miller's Daughter. The recent SBS historical series Great Australian Albums seems less than authoritative when placed next to a band like this.

by Andrew Ramadge