Church of the Open Sky

Anyone reading this blog needs no introduction to Midnight Oil, nor any explanation of the high regard in which I hold them.

You'll understand, then, that when I heard about The Break I was excited.

I've found something to cherish in every Oily side project. Rob Hirst has been particularly prolific, and the Angry Tradesmen's Beat the House is one of my favourite albums of the last decade. But the Oils themselves had something more than raw musical talent, a synergy which brought them beyond the sum of their parts.

The Break reunites the musical core of the Oils - Rob Hirst, the musician drummer; Jim Moginie, guitar wizard and resident gizmo man; and Martin Rotsey, the yin to Jim's yang, bringing clarity with his clean and precise guitar. Completing this powerhouse is Brian Ritchie, of US Alternative group the Violent Femmes - a band which, musically and thematically, have little in common with the Oils. Perhaps they were drawn together by their uncommon history - one of success despite fierce independence. Regardless, it was the ex-Oil's who called on him, and it's clear that he can deliver.

Church of the Open Sky is an unusual album. It's not an album of its time, but rather of its place. It's about living on the edge of suburbia, and here, that means living by the sea. It's about a last refuge from human arrogance, amongst the humbling power of nature. It's about knowing our roots, and keeping them.

From the outset, CoTOS wants to shake up your preconceptions. The opening seconds feature a minor key sketch of Irish folk music - just long enough to have you check that you're playing the right CD and turn the volume up - before launching into the driving rhythms of Cylinders, a maximum impact surf anthem with a killer riff. This is what CoTOS does best - foot tapping, uncomplicated, joy filled rock. And then there's those familiar elements - the flawless drum breaks, the twin guitar assault. It's new, but instantly familiar.

Late in Cylinders the riff is reprised in a higher key, taking everything to 110%, and it never fails to make me grin. Such moments of musical genius are scatted across Church of the Open Sky - from the wonderful little uplifting chord progression in the chorus of Blasket Islands, to the operatic grandeur first hinted at in Winkipop and later expanded upon by The Surfing Priests.

It's always clear that, despite their instrumental nature, these songs have a story to tell - one of joy and sadness, anger and reprieve. However, it's not until the late stages of the album that it becomes clear - this is but the soundtrack to a greater production to exist only in our imaginations: the first surf-space-rock opera. After Phobos-Grunt, the songs develop a thematic cohesion, pitting the forces of rock against an alien threat, culminating in Cyclops with the negotiations at the end of the world.

Or at least, that's what I hear. Perhaps the beauty of the instrumental is that you're free to imprint your own stories on each emotional framework. My Church of the Open Sky is about remaining grounded in a world of technological distractions, a journey through rock to rediscover my core beliefs. But yours will be unique - 3 parts Oil, 1 part Femmes, and 1 part you.

The Break can't quite recapture the magic of Midnight Oil - but they are far, far more than 3/5's of its parts.