Canberra, Australia, hasn’t produced many rock gods over the years and the few that emerge tend to bugger off elsewhere pretty quickly. Case in point is the Craft brothers and their late-90s rock band Sidewinder. After Sidewinder dissolved at the peak of their moderate popularity, the band members scattered to the winds. I saw Nick Craft at a local gig a few years ago, doing the solo thing. Now his older brother, Martin, has resurfaced.

Residing in the UK and performing under the name of M. Craft, he has a new record out by the name of Silver and Fire and it’s really quite good.

The track that has garnered the most attention to date, lead single “You Are the Music,” is a bona fide pop classic. Taking the locked-tight rhythm section of disco and omitting the weeping strings and saccharine vocals, Craft presents us with possibly the first folk-pop song to induce John Travolta-style dance moves. The lyrics are simple and the tune is hardly revolutionary, but the arrangement is sleekly effective and even subversive in the way that it plays with your musical preconceptions.

Craft’s strength lies in his ability to draw from a wide musical heritage, predominantly from the late 60s and early 70s (Gainsbourg, Harrison, Young, Lee), and create tunes that are idiosyncratic and memorable. Obviously, the familiarity of many of his touchstones means that several songs smack of empty pastiche. As if the music world isn’t already full of classic-gear-toting classicists! Still, Craft has the X-factor, a hint of transcendence in the melodies—the suggestion that you will come back to this record almost as often as the ones that it calls to mind.

A clear contender for the “Most Likely To Be Dismissed As A Cheap Knock-off” award is “Lucile (Where Did the Love Go?)” The guitars jangle and chime with tube-amp crackle and warmth. Craft’s vocals rise up with optimism, as the sun-drenched backing singers encourage him onwards. You can picture a pastel-colored video clip featuring extravagant hand-gestures. Does it matter? Not a bit. If I could wipe the smile off my face for second, I’d examine the song’s precise heritage and conclusively point to the uncorrupted inheritance of the “awesomeness” gene from its musical forefathers.

Craft is also not averse to exploring darker territory. The minor-chord (with handclaps) chug of “The Soldier” evokes loss and sorrow without drawing on obvious tricks. There’s a sinister dimension to the vocals that suggest the titular soldier’s story may not end with happy tears and hugs. Whereas other songs on the album beat you over the head with their catchiness, “The Soldier” takes a less direct route, but with similar results.

In a year that has produced a swathe of punchy, classic-pop albums, Craft has given himself a good chance of being remembered for as long as his idols.

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