For such a pivotal record in their career, The Boat People certainly don’t play it safe on Dear Darkly. Moving away from the shimmering, Beatles-inspired pop of their 2008 record Chandeliers, they plumb murkier depths on their third album. It’s a record born from twilight hours, a heady excitement of the unknown mixed with the insecurities that come with it. That’s not to say the Brisbane-born quartet have entirely disregarded their taste for classic melodies. The band’s central authors – James O’Brien and Robin Waters – will always be pop songwriters at heart, but what’s beautiful about Dear Darkly is the variety of ways they choose to manifest those talents.

O’Brien is responsible for the more traditional songs on Dear Darkly. He’s penned the opener ‘Under the Ocean’, which serves as a platform for the rest of the record. It’s a wonderfully illustrative number, conjuring up images of balmy Australian evenings by the beach, diving into the ocean “down where the waves can’t drag on me”. Charles Dugan’s guitar tone is reminiscent of another great tune about the Australian landscape, GANGgajang’s ‘Sounds Of Then’. Right throughout Dear Darkly, Dugan sounds like he’s playing from across the Nullarbor, his guitar lines reverberating around the melodies. He sounds plaintive on another O’Brien tune, the reflective ‘Pornography’, which laments the downside of being in a touring band.

But surprisingly, for an album that favours darker shades, ‘Pornography’ is the only lugubrious tune. Waters explores gloomy themes, but he treats them with a sense of playfulness. Compared to O’Brien, Waters is a more adventurous songwriter; a bigger gambler. His audacity can reap rewards, like on the fantastically futuristic ‘Echo Stick Guitars’. Built around an 8-bit keyboard motif and augmented by throbbing synths and 808 drum beats, it sounds like nothing The Boat People have ever committed to tape. But he can also fall flat, like on ‘Soporific’, which is just a little too clever for its own good, or the rather pedestrian ‘Too Much On My Mind’. There is, though, a little gem tucked away in the latter half of the album called ‘Hidden Busses’. It sounds like a song someone might record on cassette and send to their partner as an apology.

Not that O’Brien is devoid of the same kind of bold spirit. ‘Live In The Dark’ swells with a grandeur that’s redolent of Icehouse or latter-era Roxy Music, buoyed by a weightless, vintage synthesiser riff. It recalls the same sense of abandonment that ‘Under The Ocean’ embodies, except this time O’Brien’s imploring you to embrace the moment. ‘Damn Defensive’ is where The Boat People’s pop heart and adventurous spirit collide. Dugan’s guitar lines and Waters’ piano cascade like waterfalls over the band’s taut rhythm section.

After two solid albums that never quite gained a foothold in a wider audience, The Boat People have delivered a stellar third record. Dear Darkly should be lauded for its adventurous spirit, intelligent arrangements, but most of all, for being a sublime, idiosyncratic pop record.

by Dom Alessio