‘Sunday Roast’: Courtney Barnett’s most underrated song
My name is Callum and I am an Australian music addict. OK, I feel a lot lighter now that’s off my chest. I guess what started as a little Tame Impala here and there turned into a bit of Babe Rainbow and some mild Dope Lemon before developing into all-out King Gizzard and The Lizard Wizzard marathon sessions. I’m completely hooked, and when I’m in the midst of a multi-day withdrawal, it’s the soothing tones of Courtney Barnett that level me out.
Before I descend into a monologue about why she is and most likely always will be one of my most treasured musicians, allow me to at least justify my addiction. You see, Australia is a pretty baseless representation of people’s sunnier ambitions, a place where you run to – admittedly, I have done this – when the humdrum of British life becomes tiresome and you think a speedy injection of sun will fix this.
Initially, this was what I got from their music. My emotions colourfully responded to the hazy melodic sounds of The Babe Rainbow from the second I heard the opening chord of ‘Monky Disco’. But when I delved a little deeper, I discovered a community of musicians operating with complete freedom, following the self-assurance of their own artistic voice and being celebrated for their unique production techniques. In its entirety, the Australian music scene feels deeply rooted in something nostalgic, yet showcases it through alternative sounds of the future.
But at the heart of that obsession stood Courtney Barnett with her wicked storytelling and crafty melodies, writing that cut through the sea of normality I felt like I was experiencing in music during the 2010s. She’s a technically accomplished musician for sure and would win the approval of any music fan who knew their onions, but with Barnett, there was something different that appealed to me. It was something more transcendent, rooted in the genuine charisma and character of her voice, that felt like an old friend greeting me home.
As such, I’m probably not the most qualified to name her most underrated track, for my view of her work knows no such thing. Her 2015 debut album Sometimes I Sit and Think, and Sometimes I Just Sit was an all-killer-no-filler record that perfectly depicted the aching pains of modern millennial life. After taking some time to make Lotta Sea Lice with Kurt Vile, she came back with Tell Me How You Really Feel in 2018, which ramped up the social commentary by ten and brought with it a more scathing version of the artist.
But on the closing track, she put her proverbial arm around the listener and proved why her voice is the most treasured of a generation. ‘Sunday Roast’ was a relatively simple composition by Barnett’s standards, but packed as profound a punch as ever.
It was deeply rooted in the ability I always suspected to be Barnett’s biggest strength: companionship. She said the track was inspired by “seeing your friends suffer and feeling helpless in helping them…I put it last just to leave you with a hopeful note.”
It’s unassuming and gentile, but exactly the sort of message her fans want to hear. As she sings, “Just bring yourself / You know your presence is present enough”, a slow reverberated guitar line cries out in the background, mirroring the sigh of relief you exhale when you know this song has your back. The drums are ever-present and help her message of hope beat on, yet feel completely modest simultaneously to create a paradoxical track of both power and tenderness.
But that’s what Barnett is as an artist. She is the light and shade of everyday life, the friend who punches you in the face and tells you everything will be fine. All the while, she quietly harbours the sort of technical ability fit to incite jealous fits of rage. Still, when she performs, there’s nothing of the sort, for everything is steeped in humility and authenticity. She’s the artist of our times, and in an increasingly disconnected world, this is the song of our times.
