How does a band capture not only my attention, but also my sworn dedication for life?

As I cast my thoughts back through the years, I like to think I have made mostly dignified and informed choices relating to who gets my fan money and for what.  Thousands and thousands of my ill-gained and/or hard-earned dollars have been spent on albums, vinyl, cassingles, box sets, USB wrsitbands, DVDs, CDs, books, posters, shirts, postcards, concert tickets and yes, even branded baseball caps (I’m looking at you Rocket from the Crypt). Music entered my head and heart while money exited my bank account. But I’m not complaining as it’s an agreement borne of necessity… some of these songs have saved my life.

Take a close look at the musicians, artists and performers who have shaped my cultural landscape and you will discover a common thread. A thread of sadness. I don’t mean simply depressing subject matter but rather voices, lyrics and melodies informed by a knowing sadness. This sadness is like a private members club. Once your hand has been stamped at the door, you carry the sounds and feelings of these people in your heart forever. Aimee Mann is possibly the world champion of sadness. She effortlessly conveys to her listeners the image of a person with a life full of deep-rooted melancholy. It is about hearing the vulnerability. The fragility. The substantial sense of hopeful despair. My heart breaks every time I hear Aimee exhale “don’t you know that I could make a dream that’s barely half-awake come true”.

Tapping into this dysphoria isn’t an exclusive skill of singer/songwriters such as Mann. Rock’n’roll can pack just as must heart-wrenching dolor into a song. Take my favourite LA band Killola for example. Killola stomp and snarl and swagger with the best of them. They turn out ridiculously well-crafted guitar pop anthems. Drums, bass, guitar and vocals. Simple, yes? But then it grabs you. The voice swings wildly between heartfelt whispers and soaring rock’n’roll gymnastics. Lead singer Lisa Rieffel doesn’t need to say the exact words for you to realise she knows about the sadness. Her emotive delivery can only be the product of a person with a past behind her and a lifetime ahead to make sense of it.

When Rieffel hollers “this is how the world ends” over a rollicking backing track, it is equal parts threatening and heartbreaking. I know about pain like this and Rieffel's voice forcibly combines with the music of Johnny Dunn, Mike Ball and Dan Grody to speak on my behalf. The track Appetite from album Louder, Louder! highlights the power and vulnerability of her vocal perfectly. One moment our rock hero whispers with an almost-childlike timbre and before we have time to prepare ourselves she is growling and stuttering above and beyond the musical space. This soft/hard dynamic recalls the world-weary(ing) style of Australian rock legend Chrissy Amphlett of the Divinyls. We know there is a heart of gold in there (albeit slightly damaged) and she is going to holler until we understand why.

The magical and emotional power of Rieffel’s powerhouse vocal delivery is matched only by Killola’s determination to make it as a indie band. Having rejected the traditional (and redundant?) route of earning a fraction of a cent for each record sold, they spend their time crafting irresistible songs and inventive ways to get them to the listeners. One such event was the deal struck with headphone manufacturer Skullcandy. The company sponsored the band’s second album I am the Messer, allowing fans to download every track for free. Not a band to rest on this triumph, Killola are now planning the release of their already-recorded third album. The music video for first single Cracks in the Armor is a glorious piece of film making (below) and will certainly become an instant classic in this age of viral viewing. I just hope people pause long enough to fall in love like I have. It shouldn’t take too long.