Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Mike Gentry
The come hitherness that Clairy Browne purrs out is prone to get steamy pretty quickly. The singer from Melbourne, Australia, plays up something that we might ascribe to the old bait and switch. It's not all that dissimilar to the sneaky and slinky tactics of the lanternfish, with dangly illumination in the depths of the sea, luring its prey into curiosity that turns precarious and then fatal. Browne and her Bangin' Rackettes present their soul songs so that they're mostly enticing and delectable. They're impossible to avoid. You want to be close to them. You're not able to help yourself. You keep swimming mindlessly into their clutches. Before you know it, they've got their coils around your midsection and they're constricting. They're taking you back to their lairs, wherever they may be. You might like what you find back there. You're likely assured of that, but there's a feeling that Browne and her cadre get exactly what they want. They are the bosses. They will dictate the situation and you will submit. Hell, now that we've talked this all out, it kinda sounds like paradise.