<p><span><span><em>- </em>Pandemics don’t suck, usually. If you aren’t directly affected by the particular malady usually the societal side-effects don’t invade one’s personal space. However, 2020’s pandemic <em>assoluta</em> has not just touched everyone’s lives but it’s thumped them into a shape barely resembling recognisable forms. Every creative arts worker has been dealt a blow that might produce some extraordinary literature, music and art in years to come – if any creatives survive this year and the next. Several big name releases have been wrecked because of the isolation, lockdowns, illness and, grimly, death have dictated that now is not the time for promoting your wares across the globe, hoping for a decent rate of consumer consumption. Admittedly, some artists seem to have been waiting just for this moment to drop some COVID-aware soundtracks, such as <strong>Fiona Apple</strong>’s<strong> </strong><em>Fetch The Bolt Cutters</em>, which seemed to uncannily match the tenor of the times. </span></span></p>
<p><span><span>The Naked And Famous were due to bring their fourth long form release of new material out in May, but a two month pause was dictated by the pandemic, with a late July, northern hemisphere summer release deemed a better time when (apparently) the spread of the virus might have lessened (someone, somewhere said it would “just disappear with the warmer weather” – apparently not). However, this collection of bright synth-pop tunes with lyrics that aren’t too throw-away is here and even though Australians are in the depths of winter (and for Victorians, it’s the winter of great discontent), it might just be considered “a drop of golden sun” (to quote another well-meaning spokesperson for normality). <strong>Alisa Xayalith</strong> and <strong>Thom Powers</strong> have been running TNAF as a duo for most of their career though the casual listener might remember them as a jangling guitar, synth-pop power five-piece with their millennial anthem<em> </em><em>Young Blood</em>. Also, that casual listener might sniffily dismiss them as “Kiwis, aren’t they?” Yes, true – however for pretty much the last decade they’ve been based in Los Angeles, and key elements of the musicology on <em>Recover</em> are heavily influenced by the indie, but still radio friendly, pop of twenty-first century California.</span></span></p>
<p><span><span>Lyrically the duo have taken a very personal journey in placing a lot of their recent history of relocation, their own relationship break-up and serious illness into the words that perch niftily on the layered beats and synths framework of the fifteen tracks on offer. The opener is the title track and oldest song. It started life as something entirely different and now it starts in religious revivalist territory with handclaps and chants about acknowledging that the loss of one’s parents (either through estrangement or death) can’t be replaced by another person. The only way to be walking on stable ground is to use personal connections to “regain” oneself and “recover” over a sweet bed of chords and Xayalith's almost diabetes-inducing vocals. If you want to open your album with an offering for those living in a tenuous, frayed world, you could do a lot worse than letting this one wash over and through you.</span></span></p>
<p><span><span>Most of the vocals on the album are primarily Xayalith’s and her style is perfectly suited to riffing on a theme of reorganisation of a life, find some positive vibes and be a better person. Powers contributes lead vocals on the bittersweet <em>Easy</em> and his light tenor reminds the listener of <strong>Owl City</strong>’s<strong> Adam Young </strong>(he of 2009’s deep earworm <em>Fireflies</em>). Probably a better example of Powers’ lyric and vocal talent is the poignant <em>(An)Esthetic</em> drawing on his near-death experience of contracting sepsis. Leading on from that is the in equal measure raw and uplifting <em>The Sound of My Voice</em>, written with the late <strong>Scott Hutchison</strong>, frontman for Scottish indie-rock band <strong>Frightened Rabbit</strong> which walks through the dark paths of depression and suicidality.</span></span></p>
<p><span><span>Balancing the potentially difficult lyrics of lives upended and despairing are the final track <em>Coming Back to Me</em> and the album’s advance single (from that long forgotten year 2019) <em>Sunseeker</em>. <em>Come As You Are</em> might seem to be the theme song for our 2020 Zoom meeting lifestyle, however it’s far broader than that. It asks that whether you are embracing a new relationship and realising that all people come with baggage, or that society isn’t meant to be a narrow interpretation of one dominant elite’s perception of what’s “right” – all who come in good faith should be welcomed. </span></span></p>
<p><span><span>The album matches the stylistic work of other antipodean immigrants like <strong>Troye Sivan </strong>and <strong>Betty Who</strong>, with the creation of a lattice-work of pretty sounds that, for some, might be just too twee and saccharine for a world going off the rails. Still – as the aforementioned well-meaning spokesperson of normality also said “<em>I simply remember my favourite things / And then I don’t feel so bad</em>” – in times of darkness, bringing some sweet lightness and joy shouldn’t be discounted as simplistic cheerfulness. We need to find ways to recover from this blow to our so-called perfect world view, and TNAF aren’t missing a beat when they provide an acceptable soundtrack to help that along.</span></span></p>
<p><span><span>- Blair Martin.</span></span></p>
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