The last two weeks have been something of a rage induced flurry in the sound doctor clinic. The three or four of us have been pacing up and down the corridors, muttering as our breath mists in front of us, occasionally even slamming our fists down on a desk. I guess we are just angry because it’s winter, and we don’t have a heater. That’s life on the frontier for you. When I was a kid we didn’t even have houses, we had to shack up under a mound of dead possums because that was all we could afford. Time passes but nothing seems to change right? Meanwhile, Jeff from accounts hasn’t sent a payment through to any of the writers in over nine months. There’s mutiny afoot.

Then, from nowhere, like the warm breath of summer that feels as though it will never come, Bored Nothing’s new track ‘Ice Cream Dream’ shimmered over the horizon and into our open but still fairly cold arms. Steadily chugging rhythm guitar underpins the downcast vocals, a sharp guitar line cuts through the squall. If Fergus Miller’s eponymous debut record as Bored Nothing set him up as the prince of shimmering-downcast-lo-shoe-fi-gaze-guitar pop, it looks like his second record Some Songs, due October 22nd on Spunk will make him the genre’s King. I suspect that this cut might be something of sweet intermission among a topically heavier collection of tracks. I spent a minute digging for the connecting thread of the songs underlying metaphor but I’m not so sure there is one. “Everything’s exactly how it seems”. Ice cream dreams.

And, look, if you’re not convinced yet, Ferg has followed it straight up with a tidy cover of Mac Demarco’s excellent ‘My Kind of Woman’ but before I got a chance to show you, that scumbag Miller pulled it down again. You’ll have to content yourself with this older, balder, fatter cover of FKA Twigs’ Water Me.

Read: Australian Artists Pick Their Favourite Australian Songs of 2013 feat Bored Nothing

I’d argue that it was immediately clear from his first single ‘Intuition’ that Charlie Tait was an starkly recognizable talent. The few pieces I’ve read about this song appear to say differently, arguing that it’s this new one that proves it wasn’t a fluke but if you reckon you can fluke that production on the first track then you’re drug addled, fella, and I’m not the “whoops, that’s a lot of pseudephadrine!” sort of addled, neither. Nothing lowers the tone of a written piece than the word ‘fluke’ does it? Anywho, The attention this guy pays to the bottom end is the defining strength of this production. It’s almost as if this is a sunnier, daytime counterpart to the closeted gloom that is the recent (and wonderful) LUCIANBLOMKAMP record. Attention paid to the sonic nuances around the beat is complimented by some vocal Justin Vernonisms and an unexpectedly hooky chorus and the sum total is a very, very listenable song.

When I launched Sound Doctrine Show & Tell with a backyard session from Yon Yonson I had no idea that it would soon become my primary income stream. I’ve had corporate sponsorship offers, product placement opportunities, requests for celebrity cameos and hollywood studios wanting to get in on excitment, all because Andrew and Nathan smashed out last years best upbeat down track for Australia’s most popular music blog. A real rags to riches story, the sort of thing that you almost couldn’t make up. Almost.

I used all that first video hype to leverage a second Show & Tell offering, this time with Sydney’s finest. Yep, they said he’d never do it, but I convinced Tim Fitz Music himself to perform an acoustic rendition of his Triple J superhit Sour for an audience of three, four if you count the abandoned hospital we were in, which is silly – but we were in one. Soon due for demolition, we figured we’d quickly take the opportunity to immortalize the building with Tim Fitz’z ode to the greatest city on Australia’s East coast. In the absence of Tim’s multi-instrumental chicanery, the song feels a touch more sombre than its recorded counterpart and allowed a cleaner insight into the core of a Tim Fitz song.

Filmed by Matt Davis at Silent creative

Our Man In Berlin is a tricky name indeed. It’s an odd moniker to adopt if you’re, let’s say, five separate humans from any place that’s not Berlin. It’s also a really special sort of brain melt to think that the name of the people singing the song you’re about to listen to actually, in itself, implies ownership of… itself. They are the man in Berlin while they simultaneously have some sort of supervisory relationship with this Berliner. After a while it sort of starts to get to you if you think too deeply on it and leads to more dangerous questions like how much does the internet weigh and is that too much? What does the D.D in D.D Dumbo stand for? What even are birds?

Their third and newest single ‘Cirrhosis’ offers immediate life answers in the form of Total Life Forever era Foals guitar rhythms and a heavily affected vocal. “Just a little more time. Just a bit of control” runs the chorus. Golly, wouldn’t that be nice. A bleaker concept still in light of the track’s title, a late stage liver disease that’s most often the result of a life of heavy drinking or hep-C. Not a lot of good cause or effect in that bundle but there’s a light-footed fleetness about the track that isn’t mired down in the sludge of the disease. I suspect the outfit are using it as a placeholder for a less bodily form of degeneration. The careful strictures of the song’s more sonic aspects tell me that this probably isn’t a band that just jam a thing out and call it finished so I’d imagine the conceptual side would follow a similar process. Whatever the case, we’re here now with this new one and I’ll be damned if it isn’t a four minutes of beautifully articulated precision.

There’s such texture in the voice of Simon Okley so as to trick you into thinking that he was singing across a tall range when it’s actually quite a limited depth of pitch. His tone moves from rounder, back of the throat sounds to breathier quiet whispers and backing vocals thicken his thinner chorus notes. It’s captivating enough to retain your attention for the whole of the track despite having to compete with some similarly attractive elements. That guitar section, which is paired perfectly with a clean and clear bass line is just beautiful. When the chorus drops in that same guitar line starts hugging the vocal part like an estranged father recently reunited with a child, endorphins everywhere, tears streaming down both of their faces as they finally let go of all that hurt and all that distance and all that pain. So cathartic, way beautiful. Okley spent his formative “moonlighting” as a guitarist for Oh Mercy but now out on his lonesome he’ll be releasing his record Surrender on the 19th of August. He certainly knows his way around the old throat for someone who was a string noodler all that time. I’m hoping that the album houses more tracks like this one because this is a legitimate song, not simply a pretty voice and a nice groove. Ten more of these and we’re talking about a standout release.

There’s a freshly minted video out for the track too, if you like what you’re-a-hearing.