Melbourne duo Good Morning had already enjoyed a fruitful 2024, having released the double album *Good Morning Seven* and toured extensively with Waxahatchee. Yet Stefan Blair and Liam Parsons couldn’t resist dropping another long-player before year’s end. That doesn’t mean *The Accident* is an afterthought, however. As on this album’s instrument-stuffed predecessor, the pair continue to develop their songwriting and instrumentation in subtly wowing ways. Listen out for the overlapping vocals on opener “Baby Steps,” horns and woodwinds floating over a low-key country rustle during “Peaches,” and a fertile bed of distortion and drum machine beneath “The Grateful Dead” (inspired by a documentary on the iconic band). Having self-recorded for more than a decade now—a process that took them from Hydra to Joshua Tree and back to Melbourne this time around—Good Morning often comes off so cozy and relaxed that you might think they’re not trying as hard as they could. But Blair and Parsons have always been quiet achievers, culminating in *The Accident*’s eight-minute finale. Gradually shifting from a daydream ramble to a much more ambitious journey, “Soft Rock Band” sees Parsons plunder his personal life while dispensing some of his most striking lyrics to date with signature nonchalance.
Heady hooks and anxious energy drive the debut album from Sydney bedroom artist Jess Holt. As total tommy, Holt picks away at the intricacies of love, lust, infatuation, and friendship over satisfyingly noisy dream pop. Fans of Snail Mail and Alvvays will appreciate the balance of shoegazing layers and incisive lyrics on *bruises*, with tracks “REAL” and “SODA” especially capturing the head rush of emotional immediacy. Produced by Mark Zito (aka Fractures) and mixed by Dan Carey (Wet Leg, Fontaines D.C.), Holt’s spacious debut single “microdose” at once celebrates and mocks the habit of abruptly diving into a new relationship. Holt has described total tommy as the result of coming out as queer and spending time alone in a new city while also partying and falling in love. That vividness of youthful experience rings out loud and clear here, not just in the heated come-ons (see the thirsty “Plus One”) but also the casual trash-talking of “Losing Out,” “Ghost,” and “SPIDER.” While the latter channels oversaturated ’90s alt-rock to hammer home its titular metaphor for an overly clingy person, Holt is never beholden to any one mode for long. Just like her lyrics cover a seesawing range of feelings, these songs careen into new sounds with exciting suddenness.
Years of industry accolades and steady artistic development culminate on Beckah Amani’s wowing debut album. Born in Tanzania to Burundian parents before relocating to Australia and thriving in her musical household, she specializes in confiding indie folk heightened by top-shelf production and instrumentation. Amani frames *This is how I remember it.* as a series of exchanges between two lovers whose relationship has just ended. That opens the floodgates for a wide range of emotions, with the opening “Try for Me” posing a series of frank questions—including “Would you ever die for me?”—and a heartfelt plea of “We don’t have to end” over the delicate R&B shadings of “High on Loving You.” Amani surrounds herself with versatile collaborators who can realize this extended vision of a romantic post-mortem, tapping Australian expat producer M-Phazes on “Free Fall” and enlisting additional work from The Imports on “Superstar.” British producer Jakwob and Australian breakout Alice Ivy help to make “Sober” a gripping centerpiece about being stuck in the same old patterns, with Amani meditating on freedom and bloodshed over fluid drumming from Ezra Collective’s Femi Koleoso. As tumultuous as the subject matter can get, Amani impressively holds her ground. “This is me doing my best,” she declares on “Call Home,” refusing to diminish herself even when she admits to holding on only by a thread.