Should I stay or should I go? Belair Lip Bombs take the baton and run with one of punk's dichotomies on their debut, a classic power-pop mania for early adulthood when shades of gray start to overwhelm your rosy picture of how you believe that things may develop outside. “Should I stay here?/Say no?/Say yes?/Or go?” Frontwoman Maisie Everett sings on “Stay or Go,” searching for a sign to make the decision for her and worrying that harboring big dreams—the album's nominal “life”—is just asking for disappointment.
As the Melbourne four-piece wrestle with the frustrations of indecision, of unattached lovers, of wanting to quit the rat race you've just started, their greyhound sound resists sticking. Whatever fuels the great antipodean guitar pop bands—the Beths, Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever, the greats Flying Nun—they've got it (as acknowledged by Third Man, who are reissuing the album after its Australian release in 2023). This is indie rock made to hit right in the heart of the fun, built from a solid record collection (TV Testimonials, Breeders cool, Strokes clean, casual virtuosity à la Pavement) but also with a breeze that belies any tight study. “Gimme Gimme” begins with a taunting, chin-locking “Marquee Moon” lockstep, but loosens up as Everett pleads, “Don't leave me high/Don't leave me dry-yy,” making a giddy waterslide through the meanders her vocals. If her lyrics are based on how tiring it is to try everything all the fucking timethe band never sweats.
Belair Lip Bombs mainly oscillate between two modes: a borderline bumpy knee so cool it makes you desperate to impress them, and rushed, unbridled euphoria. Among the former, “Walking Away” keeps a self-pitying friend at arm's length. “Look the Part” builds tension through purposefully nasty guitar stabs and the soaring feeling in Everett's voice as she tries to find meaning in an unfathomable situation. These restrained moments give the haunting and unbridled songs a barrier-breaking power.
Opener “Say My Name” moves along a descending rail, the rhythm section jangling like a loose chain, the middle eight pounding and moving like it's breaking down for a fight. “Things That You Did” is an attractively raucous mix of Beach Boys-esque harmonies and atonal chants straight out of the Raincoats playbook. It's horrifying to listen closely and realize that this sweet-sounding song is calling out a man for sexual assault: It's either downplaying the seriousness of the matter, or it's a slightly unsuccessful attempt to emphasize how banal these experiences are.
