Party Dozen

What does crime look like? Blue collar, white collar, a felt collar. The pound, yen, rouble and dollar all bent to suit the need of greed. Visible is risible, whereas invisible is commendable is many quarters. One man’s Robin Hood is big money’s Public Enemy Number One. Crime pays the criminals. That’s the way it is, isn’t it?

There’s also the endless crimes against society, the erasure of existence and rapacious removal of communities in the name of ‘progress’. Money-driven and dystopia in full flow, sky-high blocks of overpriced rabbit hutches full of dead souls that spoil the horizons in every manner. No wonder the world continually looks down.

Most importantly, what does crime sound like? Sydney’s Party Dozen (saxophonist Kirsty Tickle and percussionist Jonathan Boulet) return with their own assessment on misdemeanours down under, below the belly, between the cracks and feeding back reportage from the scene of the grime, reading the riot act whilst lurking within the shadows. Corruption and backhand deals running amok. Global capitalism in excelsis.

This is an album of binaries, dichotomies, parallels. A place where order and disorder meet head on, a chronic collision of sonic vision. Ten soundtracks that comprise a two-part filmic narrative. A conceptual and perceptual procedural.

Close your eyes, open your ears and imagination and you’re an accessory. Ignore your intuition and you’re guilty as sin.
‘Coup De Gronk’ opens proceedings. It’s exactly what you’d expect from its title, a carefree jazz-funk collapse, a wayward relapse into old habits, leopards and spots go hand in hand.

‘Piss on Earth’ is a schism and blues break and shakedown in the vein of The Groundhogs. ‘Bad News Department’ could be a long-lost Earl Brutus song, a slam-glam-stomp glitterbeat from the dark heart of the street. Where ‘Peter Gunn’ meets his match.

Every listen to ‘Crime in Australia’ throws up new suspects, raises more questions and nails more miscreants. This duo channel their surroundings, divining inspiration from their observations and in the process create a listenable racket.

Abrasive at times, ambient in others, for an album disingenuously described as one of “many dumb ideas” it’s a cohesive collection of critical satire.