- A certain segment of me loves Twin Haus for the ambitiousness that drives seemingly everything they do; and pleasingly, that factor is ever-present here on the labyrinthine musical maze that is their new EP. Nothing Lavish consists for the most part of two structurally intense ten-minute jams, and not by any stretch is releasing something like this a comfortable, all-smiles experience for a four-piece rock band these days – or maybe ever. Ambition is a risky business now, is the point. Simplicity makes more sense.

But Twin Haus do have as extensive a following as an ambitious band from Brisbane could possibly want, because they’ve worked to build a reputation as one of the town’s most interesting live spectacles. Four young but somehow already very hairy, spritely boys, thrashing away at their instruments like it’s 1991, with absorbing and unexpectedly melodic results: it’s a sight to see. Because of this, the fans will devour this EP, but they’ll also love it, seeing as it’s quality Twin Haus fare. Except with a now much broader palette of sounds leaking through.  

The opening moments of track one Synthetic Egg, for instance, bring to mind the softer, slightly mutilated acoustic sounds Grizzly Bear occasionally played with on Yellow House, before the baritone warbling of lead vocalist Daniel Grima transmigrates into a sedated falsetto and helps shuffle us into a corridor the likes of which you may have heard throughout In Rainbows. Then that whole thing reaches its ear-splitting climax and we’re treated to some kind of heroin-jazz sax and trumpet exchange, which then gradually and furiously throbs its way into another climax so catastrophically all encompassing you can barely feel it by the end.

Self-Love is the purposeful little footnote to the opener; it’s got some rad improvised guitar skronking going for it, and some particularly jazzed drumming towards the end. Lead single I Used To Think then rears its head, what with its twinkling opening guitar and ride cymbal boogaloo, before that fucking other guitar lets out what sounds like a scream of pure psychic agony and we’re plunged into the cancerous, subzero depths of what feels like a state of mind operating under the influence of some horrible realisation.

The standout moment to this whole affair, however, must have to be the last track, The Revue. Partly because it feels like a bit of a respite from all the darkness previously going on, but also because it’s fun in a way that a lot of TH’s other material has never been interested in being. It’s got a bright, mischievous self-assuredness to it. It sounds like Animal Collective staging intercourse with Mac Demarco, before, at the two-and-a-half mark, they shift into a completely different gear. The second third of the song is this haggard uphill trek into the final section, which is a weird prog-surf trip down some altogether different rabbit hole. So it’s basically like fifteen different songs played both sequentially and all at once.

But no matter what they’re doing, you can always just hear how well-oiled a machine this band is – the rhythm guitar might be arpeggiating its way down the track, leaving room for the other one to schitz out a bit, occasionally meeting up with it for some casual interplay; the bass thrums along always like a vintage engine of some kind, and the drums – well they’d make your high school music teacher proud. And when there are vocals, there are just vocals. Nothing Lavish knows that it actually is lavish, and that’s the joke, but it’s completely serious about it. Get it?

- Joe Saxby.