Bleak Squad: Strange Love review – Australia’s newest supergroup sound like they’ve been together for years | Australian music

Occasionally the musical universe offers unexpected gifts that we might never have thought to ask for and had no right to expect. Strange Love, the debut album by new Melbourne supergroup Bleak Squad, is one such gift. The names speak for themselves: Adalita (Magic Dirt), Mick Harvey (the Bad Seeds, the Birthday Party), Mick Turner (Dirty Three) and Marty Brown (Art of Fighting, SodaStream, Claire Bowditch), who brought the band together.

Brown’s intuition that such a combination would go well together has proven inspired. Such things can easily end up sounding better on paper than in practice. Instead, Bleak Squad sound pretty much exactly as you’d expect, given their name and collective histories: the hour is late, the lights are low, the writing is sharp, the arrangements are tight – but the playing is expansive and open-ended, with songs designed to be stretched out in live performance.

This is a genuine collaboration, with significant written contributions from all four members. Vocals are shared mainly by Adalita and Harvey, with guitars by Adalita and Turner. Harvey, the best multi-instrumentalist, does a bit of everything, while Brown takes most of the drums, piano and more besides. In lesser hands, it could be a dog’s breakfast, but the sound Bleak Squad have arrived at is coherent and fully formed.

Of course, Adalita, Harvey and Turner are all established soloists, with distinctive voices. You can hear echoes of all four members’ respective projects, and the ghost of Harvey’s old bandmate Rowland S Howard seems to hover over all of it. But nothing feels forced or contrived. It’s a real band: Strange Love sounds more like a fourth album than a first, by an act that’s honed their craft for years.

The reality of how the record was made is quite different. Bleak Squad’s method was to play each other their songs once, teaching the basic parts, do a run-through, then record the second take, leaving room for soloing or improvisation. The nine songs flow like a river, usually unhurried, occasionally cascading over rapids. To an extent this lends an element of sameness (and it does, at least on the first listen), but it also feels like one long, satisfying trip.

Adalita is at the top of her game here. Unabashed about playing with her heroes – Turner and Harvey coming from the musical generation before hers – her vocals and lyrics on Safe as Houses and Lost My Head are richly assured. The delicious surprise is what a great foil the ever-deadpan Harvey makes for her, whether in duet (Everything Must Change, World Go to Hell) or when he steps up for lead vocals (Ghost of the Bad Humour Man).

The latter is one of this album’s highlights, and provides welcome comic relief. It’s actually not quite as bleak as it sounds: on face value, Harvey could be talking about depression, but he could also be poking fun at his rather stoic image. “I told my jokes, those caustic puns, / not popular with everyone, / as dry as dust, / they obscure the sun,” he sing-speaks, like an Australian Lou Reed. (Reed’s sense of humour went over plenty of heads, too.)

Time will tell whether or not Bleak Squad is left to stand as a one-off project by a group who all have their own stuff going on, or something more lasting. What I’m more confident in predicting is that they should not be missed live: four Australian music greats with charisma to burn, uncanny chemistry, and a quality set of songs tailor-made for those long, dark nights of the soul.