A blue Peugeot 407. The seats are black if I remember correctly. I’m sitting in the backseat, on the right side because I’m the youngest. I love this car, it feels so cool, so grown-up. I believe it can go faster than any other car on the planet. It feels incredibly big, like it could fit more than five people. More like a limousine than a car. I know that my memories are warped, that neither of those statements are true. I know however how important that car was as a space where music was played. Ironically, one of the records I associate most with that car is Midnight Oil’s Diesel And Dust, an album that primarily deals with the struggle of Australia’s indigenous communities and the importance of environmental causes.
Beds Are Burning might be the first song I remember singing along to, completely unaware of its environmental message, simply lost in the ingenious catchiness of its melody. Listening to the entire album now as a 22-year-old in a time where climate change is the most pressing problem of my generation feels empowering and disillusioning at the same time. An album from 1987 should not be this relevant. An album from 1987 should not hold the same prophetic value as it did upon its first release. Issues that were important enough for Midnight Oil to dedicate an entire album to more than 30 years ago shouldn’t make up the headlines of today’s newspapers. And yet they do. the only thing that is not depressing about these facts is that the music is still incredible.
Because one thing is certain: this band knows how to write an impressive tune. I’ve already recounted the impact Beds Are Burning had on my younger self. Its opening is iconic, its drum and bass carrying Peter Garrett’s vocals effortlessly, the impactful call and response patterns, the break before that chorus hits my ears. I remember singing along to this at a young age, proud of myself to remember the words. It’s one of the best rock songs ever recorded, simple and effective with magnificent instrumentation, culminating in a glorious crescendo of the classic rock set-up paired with brass and string sections. Put Down That Weapon, the second song on the album, is more aggressive in its lyrics but continues on the same high standard of chorus catchiness. 80s synth organ meets husky vocals, the lingering of an electric guitar and a beautifully dry drum beat. I don’t mind either of these two songs being stuck in my head for the next few days.
Addressing the struggles of indigenous communities or ethnic minorities can be problematic when the addressing artists are not themselves part of those groups. Who can tell a story? Who has the right to sing off history? Off the wrongs that have been done? I don’t have the answers and I certainly don’y have the right with my limited knowledge of Australia’s past. I do however believe that both Warakurna and The Dead Heart do their best to address these struggles with the utmost respect to the affected minorities. The former includes one of the most haunting lines on the entire record: this land must change or land must burn, a rallying cry, effective in how direct and memorable it is. There is an incredible drive to the chorus, easy to follow yet powerful, solid and heartfelt at the same time. A sense of urgency and importance is woven into the rhythmic foundation, a desire to convey more than great rock music.
That desire to put something right is even more prevalent on The Dead Heart, incredibly close, removing any sense of sonic distance, instead placing you directly in the centre of the track. The melody is hauntingly beautiful, insanely intense with the sharpness of the clap track still echoing in my ear. Metallic percussion meets a full brass and strings section as glass-like bells fill the upper registers. I’m not the one to decide who is allowed to tell these stories – but I do know that Midnight Oil’s songs force you to listen. Forty thousand years can make a difference to the state of things / the dead heart lives here.
I am in the backseat of my father’s blue Peugeot 407, bobbing along to Diesel and Dust, completely unaware of the stories it tells, of its warnings against environmental catastrophes and the condemnation of the oppression of Australia’s indigenous communities. Listening to it now, I cannot not hear the political urgency in Garrett’s voice, cannot ignore the anger poured into those lyrics, the detestation for the crimes of white men. And yet, I’m still in awe of how infectious every single chorus on every single track is. It’s almost shameless for an openly political album like this to be this musically engaging. But only almost.
Want more Australian music with political urgency? Listen to Stella Donelly – Beware of the Dogs
The Dad Anthology 