The True Story of Bananagun

Put on your sunglasses and your fringed jackets, turn on the lava lamp, mix yourself a martini, let out a jungle holler, then press play, and there you are, at a party in Melbourne, via Fela's Kalakuta Republic in the 70s and the funky tropicália of Os Mutantes in São Paolo in the 60s. There are djembés, and squeaky cuica drums. Surf guitar riffs. Hip-hop beats. Skateboards. The band is a five-piece – all young veterans of Melbourne's indie scene – given to layered rhythms, blurry vocals and fluid arrangements of guitar, bass, percussion and woodwinds. This slice of good-natured retro-futurism is their debut album, and more remarkable for it, with 11 original tunes informed by a sort of bouncing, colourful naturalism and a global psychedelia that feels curiously reassuring. Joyous Latin tinges and West African highlife influences soak through tracks such as ‘The Master’ and ‘People Talk Too Much’, with their sunny grooves and free-form shapes; Eastern mysticism meets flower-pop meets guitar-heaven on ‘Freak Machine’ and ‘Out of Reach’ is all earwormy hooks. Recorded in the bush, ‘Bird Up!’ is a 90-second cut-and-paste of parrot calls and kookaburra laughter that reinforces Bananagun's back-to-the-source vibe. More than just a party album, this one will turn the windmills of your mind.