The art of less is more, of deliberately working from a minimal palate and resisting the temptation to over embellish, is something that can be surprisingly powerful when executed with panache. The music of The Cats Miaow plays like a study in this exact style; they are on the face of it committed to a four prong attack, the trebly, resonant guitar sound of Bart Cummings, deliciously spidery bass patterns played by Andrew Withycombe, the insistent yet radically underplayed primitive drum flexing of Cam Smith then all three combining to supply a spacious bedrock for the sweet and sour vocal brush strokes of soprano Kerrie Bolton, and yet the merging of these elements leads to something rather epic. Maybe this is down to the luxury of sonic space each player has to fill; the guitar finds airspace to elongate those warm chords and literally exhale the melancholy, the bass guitar absolutely asserts to justify its place with low end stability supplying a platform for melodically explorative runs and reels, the drums are free to express with their sweeping gestures and shuffling sidetracks whilst the vocal is empowered to emote and wrap itself around the tiny moments in song that are projected through a uninhibitedly melodic font. And it is those small moments these songs tend to focus in on, even that brief flash of a loving glance referred to in the title track, it speaks to a moment that is gone in a flash, that could be so easily missed. And yet when we dig deeper into those speed frame memories, it is always apparent that in those seconds, within the indelible feelings that are triggered and then remembered and felt forever, lie the times that feel the most like living.

The Cats Miaow are a band that epitomise the true meaning of indie. They manage this in many ways, not least their signature sound. It is a retro echo at its core, a beautiful Velvets shimmer that puts equal weight in the thrum of sustained resonance and bittersweet sighs of melody. It sounds classic but restrained too, there is no place for self-aggrandising here, a trope of the original eighties indie scene in the UK that resulted in words like twee and flowery flying around sometimes justly, other times not so. But the connection does not end there, for The Cats Miaow were originally known as a dedicatedly DIY outfit from Australia who were only to be found on seven-inch single, private pressing cassette and compilation releases. They recorded to four track tape and played so few shows that it was claimed their entire gig history could be counted on the fingers of one hand. In terms of making the music the only thing that mattered, you could not wish to encounter a more principled band than this. And so, it transpires that, a good three decades after they originally began sewing audio seeds, the band are finally issuing what is actually their debut album. In recent years there have been a couple of compilation records compiling their many single and variously sprinkled releases, as well as an EP of works in progress called ‘Let’s Pretend That We Are Someone Else’ which gave a heads up to the now finally realised ‘When You Smiled And Turned Away.’

And the great news is that it has really been worth the wait. In fact, if the ultimate goal of a debut album is to shine a light on all the individual brilliance and mouth-watering potential a band has to offer then this fulfils the criteria very impressively indeed. It is the minutiae that is studied so effectively throughout that injects an emotional core to the entire song-based journey, that and the clearly evident decades of experience in clever, detailed writing they can now put on full show. None of these fourteen songs outstay their welcome either, all bar one clock in at under three minutes and this does not reflect on content, more the fact that they efficiently get in and do their job of pushing our buttons until the targets could not be hit any closer, a case of indie pop perfection par excellence. The deadly duo that is Cummings and Withycombe are the songwriting heart of the operation, and they could teach even the master’s a thing or two about finding abundance in restraint. ‘If You’re Lost You Can Follow Me Home’ works as both a friendly offering to a lost cat, but with the lift of the chorus and the pulse of human kindness, it is a warm purr suggesting so much more. ‘Journey’s End’ ponders time and passage with effectively hazy focus, closing the circle with a prescient suggestion that endings are really beginnings and vice versa. And despite the satisfying connectedness in tone that plays across these sometimes mournful, always thoughtful, and frequently uplifting songs, there are suggestions of other gears this band can move to when the feeling takes them. ‘Going To A Show’ is a great example, a swirling organ sound ushering a tipsy, juddering motion into a song that tilts us into the realms of the psychedelic, where sunny open spaces are briefly replaced by the damp, giddy motion of a neon lit city space. It leaves me with the very real hope that, in terms of The Cats Miaow’s albums career, this really is only the beginning; the band undoubtedly have many more sonic adventures to undertake should they, finally, decide to make their presence felt.

Danny Neill

You can get yourself a copy of the album via this link: https://thecatsmiaow.bandcamp.com/