William Crighton described Colonial Drift best on Insta recently: “...a swag of songs inspired by my relationship with my big beautiful land.
Things like Aboriginal lore and wisdom, colonial and convict history and the continuous fight to keep the bush healthy and the old growth forests off the back of semis and out of wood chippers.”
Cockatoos screeching, “A top of 51 degrees celcius, that’s an all-time record for Australia,” an Indigenous elder’s voice (“shame on you”), surfing radio stations, “We’re all people, we’re all the same… we bleed the same blood, ay?”, a motor engine struggling to spark – encapsulating many of Colonial Drift’s themes, the opening sound collage Drift 1 sets the scene.
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Crighton co-wrote a lot of Colonial Drift with his wife Julieanne, and when the couple sing in unison it feels inclusive and universal. Visual lyrics are infused with a strong sense of place throughout. You’ll feel like you’re casting a line beside him on a Murrumbidgee fishing trip, “making damper on coal, drinking billy tea”.
“Wild and untamed as a wedge-tail flies/ Saplings grow where their old bones lie…” – Australia, a poignant piano ballad with wind blowing through, employs sensory-rich language to stunning effect.
The late, great Rob Hirst – Crighton’s friend and mentor – contributed to two album tracks: Horizon – with its stirring, recurring lyrics (“More money in mud than dust”) – and the standout Warzone, a rallying call to action: “This is not a warzone/ This is my home”. “We got a Woolies on the corner and a KFC/ Tiny phones and big TVs/ But there’s a part of the sky we can’t get back…” – Warzone timestamps where we’re at right now, culturally. First-rate storytelling through an Australian lens, delivered with chest-beating intensity.
Rolling thunder, ghostgum shadows, emus running, hungry eyes, distant whistling, ancient riverbeds that won’t forget – Further Down The Road awakens all of our senses: “Is anybody out there?/ Further down the road,” Crighton almost-whispers. Extreme vibe shift: “Fire in the sky, feet in Maralinga/ If I work another day in this pit I’ll pull the trigger/ I’ll never get a night’s sleep, I gotta find some peace…”
During Poor Ned’s cooked synth breakdowns, we can picture Australia’s most famous bushranger being chased through the bush by cops, bullets pinging off his homemade armour while he calmly returns fire with a rifle – a perfect example of Crighton’s trademark bush-psych sound.
The Way It Works concludes with a career-best, impassioned vocal performance. Like watchful spirits reminding us we’re never alone, William Barton’s yidaki vibrates through the closing couplet of Beautiful Country and Peaceful Land.
This bush balladeer is dedicated to making music that gives us a deeper understanding of Australian history and First Nations people. Colonial Drift reminds listeners to live in harmony with nature and value what truly matters.
