Sly Hats
Liquorice Night

It was perfect. Sly Hats, the solo project of Geoff O’Connor from Melbourne quartet The Crayon Fields, playing in my friend’s kitchen, a bunch of people huddled and listening in, pouring rain outside; pitter patter went all hearts in attendance. Geoff’s heart is out there on his sleeve and he’s twee as fuck. His new album, Liquorice Night, is a flight of fancy, awkwardly beguiling, a sweet and earnest lullaby. The vibe is loungey throughout, never as upbeat as anything on Crayon Fields’ acclaimed Animal Bells. There are few drums; maracas and the like are preferred. It sounds very kitschy but it’s not all plastic – even if the majority of the instruments are – because the production’s got that warm analog glow that is bolstered by female backing vocals and swooping keyboards that warble deliciously.

It’s a nocturnal record but lends itself perfectly to a bleary eyed morning because it’s happy to dawdle and does so just so delightfully, focusing on tone and creating imagery – via lyrics and chords – to get lost in along the way. This album is saccharine, yes, but if it were in fact a sweet, it would certainly be liquorice; a strangely bittersweet flavour. The mood that O’Connor’s crafted is extremely realised and sophisticated. I just wish it was summer again so I could sit amidst a rooftop garden with this wafting into the twilight.

by Richard MacFarlane