(Photo by Elizabeth Weinberg)
When Courtney Barnett emerged in the mid-2010s with two EPs and debut album Sometimes I Sit And Think And Sometimes I Just Sit, there was something about the Melbourne based singer-songwriter that set her apart. At that time, six decades on from the birth of rock music – a time long enough to make originality and an avoidance of homogeneity almost impossible – Barnett felt like a breath of fresh air. A flair for lyricism, brilliantly designed to give the impression of meandering stream-of-consciousness – and delivered with her laconic, speak-sing Aussie vocal – combined with sparkling tunes and a distinctive guitar style.
Barnett is one of those artists who doesn’t feel the need to rush between album releases (indeed her previous record, in 2021, bears the title Things Take Time, Take Time.) Eleven years on from that debut, Barnett has established herself as what one might call “indie-famous”, and this year’s Creature of Habit is just her fourth solo album. The old adage of quality of quantity seems to be a judicious one – it is a record that has garnered universal praise from critics.
Two things become apparent as Barnett and bandmates take to the stage; Warpaint’s Stella Mozgawa has replaced former skins-man Dave Mudie on drums, and Barnett’s impressively enduring mullet appears like it has been shaped to uncannily evoke Wings-era Paul McCartney. Opener is new(ish) tune ‘Stay In Your Lane’ which contains electro sounding percussion and prominent fizzing bass, resulting in a fuzzier form of rock than found on previous albums.
Old favourite ‘Avant Gardner’ makes an early appearance; a humorous, real-life account of Barnett’s suffering an asthma attack while doing the weeding, is perhaps the apotheosis of her early career knack for beautifully digressive mind-spill. It’s so linguistically dense that any convincing singalong moment has to wait for the song’s more accessible refrain “I’m not that good at breathing in.” A pleasure in seeing Courtney Barnett live is to watch her wield her guitar, oftentimes raising its neck into the air and wrestling it like an alligator; ‘Small Poppies’ – atop Sloane and Mozgawa’s dark and moody groove – is full of her fractured and unflashy style as, in a workman-like, Neil Young sort of way, she emits impressive squalls of strangulated soundscapes.
Tonight we have the rarity of hearing the full ten tracks from an artist’s most recent album and a few certainly hold their own amidst the more established tracks; ‘Mantis’ is dedicated to a person within the audience whom Barnett has heard got themselves tattooed up with the insect that adorns her latest album. Though it is certainly dynamically brisk and hummable rock, a lady in the audience ahead views this as the perfect moment to peruse photographs of soup on her smartphone.
Though ‘Same’ represents Barnett’s newer material, it does employ her well-trodden, Nirvana-esque four-chords-over-two-bar pattern before breaking out into a poppy, falsetto-fuelled chorus. Another instantly attractive melody arrives within the verses of ‘Site Unseen’ – performed on record with Waxahatchee’s Katie Crutchfield – while the bouncily melodic, strum-along simplicity of ‘Wonder’ could be the highlight of the new material.
The moment when ‘Another Beautiful Day’ – another new song – evolves into its drum-free distorted outro is perhaps the only moment when things, sonically speaking, go slightly awry. The rumbling bass and guitar feedback overwhelm Barnett’s vocals as they go AWOL in the mix. Yet, as a roadie hands Barnett a white Stratocaster, it eventually develops into quite a riveting moment; the grumble of feedback gradually subsides to reveal the gentle, gliding riff to ‘Depreston’. The song – what is ultimately a haunting ode to mortality smuggled in via a trivia-laden tale of house-hunting in the suburbs – remains her most defining song. Romantic couples can be witnessed in each other’s arms as they sway along to the refrain “If you’ve got a spare half a million, you can knock it down and start rebuilding.”
Having both witnessed Barnett live on multiple occasions, and been a viewer of 2021 documentary Anonymous Club – often an intimate exploration of Barnett’s struggles with anxiety and imposter syndrome – one is struck by how at ease she always appears on stage. She laughs and smiles frequently over at her bandmates, addresses the crowd with sincere gratitude and appears to relish each assault on her instrument. Perhaps a convincing facade may have previously been employed but, with this overall vibe of this year’s album being one of relative sanguinity, it doesn’t seem too hopeful to suspect that 2026 sees Barnett in a healthy place.
A four song encore includes ‘Mostly Patient’, a genteel, fingerpicked solo spot for Barnett; within the sparse arrangement, one can fully register her vocals – both authentically Aussie and somehow ultra-distinctive. Old favourite ‘Pedestrian Best’ fuses both early Kinks and ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ with more of that wonderfully rambling lyricism (“Give me all your money/And I’ll make some origami, honey”). If things do indeed, take time, take time, Barnett’s records and live appearances are certainly worth the wait.
Scott Hammond
