Jackson Scott - Melbourne

Before a strange furore surrounded his wiry frame, Jackson Scott was just a kid in his basement uploading songs for the hell of it. ‘Melbourne’ was being given away for free until labels got entangled in the process. It’s the bedroom rock album to conquer all others, largely because it comes from such a genuine, ‘don’t-give-a-shit’ standing. From a distant listen, this debut could’ve been fumbled together on a whim from a guy suffering his most intense hangover. Turns out it’s a post-college grad trying his hand at something ambitious for the first time in his life.

Jackson’s not here to out-slack all of his peers, despite the sluggish moan of ‘Evie’ being Deerhunter with the lights out, a sinister glow matching Bradford Cox-style refrain. Beginning with structure and poise, it soon collapses into a drawn-out, collapsing giant. Scott’s apparent nonchalance grows by the second, nigh on eclipsing the whole of ‘Melbourne’ by the time he’s finished. But that’s only half the story.

What’s trickier to pick up on is ‘Melbourne”s tough-to-match craft, most of which is barely stressed beyond an eye-gouging noise that defines the record. ‘Sandy’ initially comes off like Mac DeMarco let loose on a pitch shifter. Only, it’s tougher than it sounds, creating a two minute lo-fi anthem with jingle bells sprinkled on top. Nothing quite matches its eerie pulse. ‘Tomorrow’ is a bratty, Weezer-channelling kick to the teeth. ‘That Awful Sound’ is easily the most complete track on the record, all emphasis on Jackson’s helium-enclosed vocals. All the same, ‘Melbourne’ works best when it gives less heed to rules. ‘Sandy’ is the prime example. ‘Doctor Mad’, too, with its MBV-style guitar bends and wall of noise, is a mighty feat to pull off.

As a debut, ‘Melbourne’ is about as honest an expression as it comes. Few things are more intimate than hearing a kid making songs in ode to the bands he grew up with. That’s exactly what Jackson’s first work is; an all-encompassing ode to more familiar names, with the odd glimpse of just how giant Scott could become in his own right. The ebb and flow of a considered debut isn’t always present, but that’s part of the charm. It’s a semi-stoned thought process, a bugged-out streaming of consciousness that defines ‘Melbourne’. They say practice makes perfect. As it turns out, if it’s just a case of running with wild ideas and seeing what happens, Jackson Scott’s someone to look up to.