Dick Diver, Melbourne’s foremost tenants of terrace house poetry—all damp rising in the walls and beer and hummus in the Kelvinator and overgrown grass skirting since off-kilter bluestones—have here honed their brand of lazy confidence, cynical optimism and inspired smart-assery. The album is framed by a sincerity that is charming and, in its own relaxed way, galvanising. Forster and McLennan comparisons are of course justified (though one might dig a little deeper justifiably liken both these bands to lesser known Australian greats such as Even As We Speak or The Moles), but this band has its own voice and its own narrative, one that is unique to a bunch of 20-somethings in Melbourne’s inner north in 2011. The role of each member is fluid and much of joy in this album comes from hearing and sensing the four of them interact (both overt and covert); instruments, lyrical sentiments and wisecracks are shared and outdone...until we reach that line, which references Kerri-Anne, Wet’n’Wild and Geelong in one breath... (Posted on 3/11/11)