Angus & Julia Stone
In the final moments of Angus & Julia Stone’s self-titled full-length, the Australian folk-rock duo adopt a pace and palette that brings to mind Neil Young’s 1975 guitar epic “Cortez the Killer”. Nearing seven frequently stormy minutes, the album-closing “Crash and Burn” locks into a sumptuous groove that encapsulates the Sydney-bred siblings’ intimate, mood-driven album: saturnine solos, aching vocals and all. Produced and recorded with fan-turned-mentor Rick Rubin, it’s naturally radiant and singularly disarming—testament to the intangible power of chemistry. On “Heart Beats Slow\", the Stones centre themselves in an increasingly warm bath of shimmering guitars, sudsy basslines and the intermittent howl of a Hammond organ. Elsewhere, in the hypnotic twinkle of “Wherever You Are”, they play off one another vocally amid a gentle, fingerpicked guitar figure with similarly beautiful ease.
The Sydney siblings embrace mixed emotions and oblique mantras on this eponymous album, without diverging far from the familiar tropes of love and the ’lorn.
The siblings return with an album that adds power to their trademark blend of blissed-out Laurel Canyon folk and eerie MOR, writes <strong>Paul Mardles</strong>
You know when a band you’ve dismissed utterly blindsides you? <strong><strong>Andrew P Street</strong></strong> develops a belated crush on this brother-sister duo’s eponymous third album
Aussie siblings’ folk-rock is finely crafted but lacks emotional ballast. Review by Matthew Wright.