- Birdz is a rapper who’s been making waves out of Melbourne since a bit before his debut full-length, Train Of Thought back in 2017. His polished skills underwrite conscious hip hop full of sadness, anger and strength. These feelings return in force on his new EP Place Of Dreams, putting muscle and sinew on another steely-eyed review of race relations in Australia and continuing to tell the story of what it’s like to be a black man, trying to make your way through it all.
It’s quite easy to think of Place Of Dreams as a direct continuation of the first LP. Which is not to say that Birdz isn’t developing as an artist, but rather that the message remains the same; like, exactly the same. That's because it has to. It’s not hard to empathise with what is very nearly despair infecting much of Birdz’ music. For instance he’s talked a bit about the volume of racist messages he receives from ‘fans’ on Facebook: ‘love your music but why are you always complaining about white people?’ It seems like you’d have to be completely hardened to living in a country full of people that ****ing hate you, or you’d just ... give up.
There’s an athletic quality that spans the new EP, like a Rocky Balboa montage, as Birdz constantly psychs himself up, ready to face every challenging, confronting minute. Newly minted single Black Child kicks it off in exactly that gear. “Ooh, my, time, flies / Try to make it in this world, known as a black child / No matter whatcha do…” Birdz voice is instantly recognisable, his drawl as always proves versatile as it moves fluidly between singing and rapping. In a similar way it has an innately soulful quality that really hits the feels, only for Birdz to leap into a stream of angry MCing; it’s a trademark of his style for a reason. Speaking of vocals, Mojo Juju’s soothing refrain “Oooh, things are gonna get easier” flies in the face of the hunted quality of the rest of the cut and ultimately feels beautiful but uncertain, hollow, ironic. The beats and production on the EP are handled by the veteran Trials and J. Mangohig the latter of which featured on much of the first LP, as well as working extensively with Caiti Baker and Serina Pech. I’m not quite sure who is responsible for what here, but the lot of it is diverse in sound and also of a uniformly high quality. Take for example what I think is a taishogoto line on Black Child; it’s just inspired.
Much like Birdz' approach to vocals the EP itself leaps back and forth from track to track between melancholy and rage. My Name is full of fire, delivering lines like “Did I say I say something that I shouldn’t have? / Did I say something that’ll make you mad? / Wave the flag, I don’t give a **** / Burn it down while we’re turning up.” If white Australia isn’t already clutching it’s pearls then “**** a ANZAC, what’s that a biscuit?” should have them out in the streets with burning brands. Don’t worry One Nation voters, Birdz qualifies it: “Being ironic just in case you missed it / Think about that before you mention my name.” Beneath the inflammatory bonfire there’s a lot to delve into, which is the point here: don’t speak **** unless you’re prepared to really think about what you’ve got to say.
There’s plenty that works here but nothing quite burns the place down like the viral single On The Run. A furious j’accuse jabbing its finger at white Australia. The chorus is comparatively smooth, as Birdz croons the line “Remember that sorry you owe me?” The verses are brutal, especially when Birdz does his best bogan caricature: “‘cause you ****in’ Abos weren’t doing it right / I mean we came and killed a few and then we brought a whole new life / And all you do is complain, money down the drain / I mean I wasn’t even there mate, how am I to blame!?”
After that Stars is a much needed foil to the fire, a soulful and soul-searching trap-r’n’b smoothy. It’s almost manic-depressive to flip from On The Run to this, but the elegance of the chorus duet with Serina Pech makes it feel just right.
The title track is a magnanimous gesture to finish the EP with, finding that narrow path of inspiration between anger and sorrow and sticking to it with grim determination. Ecca Vandal’s soaring, diva contribution feels perfectly judged. It positions Birdz and this whole conversation towards the future, even if it’s barely possible to deal with the intractable issues at stake. I don’t know about you, but to me it seems like Australia is turning a corner of sorts: finally able to admit that things like the Frontier Wars actually happened -tens-of-thousands dead- and starting to imagine what the enduring cost to black Australia might be. Still, Treaty feels like a concept that might be as far away as ever when so many Australians seem determined to make it stay that way. So, the cost I’m imagining is immense. Place Of Dreams is a statement that brings it home in a powerful and personal way.
- Chris Cobcroft.