Courtney Barnett had quietly released two EPs and was working in an inner Melbourne bar when she attracted the attention of the world. It was getting towards the end of 2013, and breakout song ‘Avant Gardner’ would soon spur her to tour around the globe.

It was a remarkable and somewhat surprising rise to international acclaim. Barnett’s songs are so richly immersed and ingrained in Melbourne, and Australian, culture, but their base of witty observations and simply yet insightful musings on everyday life ensure that they’re relatable to an international audience.

Melbourne is an active character in nearly everything the 27-year-old writes – the protagonist in ‘Elevator Operator’ gleefully fare evades on the 86 tram before weaving their way down Swanston – and while these references might over the head of an American, it’s the characters that we all know and easy to grasp concepts that create the songs’ brilliance.

On her debut album, Barnett doesn’t skirt over this newfound fame or ignores it completely, she faces it head on, and lets the listener in on her innermost worries and innate concern with it. Across the record, the awkwardness of worldwide attention is debated, along with Barnett’s trademark whimsical, oh-so Australian observational storytelling.

Sometimes I Sit and Think, Sometimes I Just Sit is a defiant statement from an artist who is going to keep doing it her own way, and it’s an undeniable success. It’s a rock n roll record at its core, and benefits greatly from Dan Luscombe’s contributions dispersed across it, along with the always great Bones Sloane on bass and Dave Mudie on drums.

Opener ‘Elevator Operator’ offers another side to Barnett’s knack for storytelling, moving away from her own introspective considerations and focusing on Oliver Paul, a 20-year-old who likes to go to the top of buildings and pretend he’s playing Sim City. It’s a jaunty and all-together fun song with an infectiously repetitive rhythm, and an impressively rich character is created in four minutes or so.

“Sometimes I Sit and Think, Sometimes I Just Sit is a defiant statement from an artist who is going to keep doing it her own way, and it’s an undeniable success.”

First single ‘Pedestrian at Best’ sees Barnett at her angriest and loudest, with a whole range of pent emotions let loose. Across the past two EPs, the Melbourne via Hobart artists’ vocals have been slow, drawled and slightly muffled, but here they’re raw and screamed. “Put me on a pedestal and I’ll only disappoint you / Tell me I’m exceptional and I promise to exploit you” she seethes the thinly veiled reference to her recent astronomical success, before concluding with one of the great one liners: “I think you’re a joke but I don’t find you very funny”. You wouldn’t want to be on the end of that one.

If the album is anything to go by, the young artist is nervous and slightly uncomfortable with her recent rise in fame and fortune, lamenting that she’s “made a mess of what should be a small success”. But this is easy to deny. Courtney Barnett could be used a textbook example in how to deal with suddenly being shoved into the music world’s spotlight. She’s taken it in her stride, refused to rush an album out, and retained her home-grown sensibilities that contribute greatly to her popularity.

‘Depreston’ has already garnered a huge amount of attention, and there’s little wonder why. It’s a brilliant little song that uses Barnett’s wry anecdotal stories to tackle what’s usually a pretty dry and depressing topic: the trials of being a first home buyer. All disillusioned youths will identify with Barnett having to “look out further” as she goes house hunting, although she’d later admit the house in question was actually in another suburb. Decoburg just doesn’t have the same comedic effect though.

Lyrics have always been the standout in Barnett’s music. They’re constantly sharp, disarmingly simple, and irresistibly charming, managing to say a whole lot while also seeming conspicuously mundane at the same time. On her debut, the singer songwriter is often brutally honest and openly vulnerable, exploring her own insecurities and worries internally while also looking out at the world around us. She tackles expansive issues like environmentalism and the destruction of the Great Barrier Reef on ‘Kim’s Caravan’, and although it’s a worthy subject, it’s seven minute track is perhaps the only lull in the album. But she also finds the time to tackle the likes of organic food and food truck slogans.

‘Nobody Really Cares If You Don’t Go To The Party’ is an anthem for the introverts, culminating with a feeling that everyone’s had before: “I wanna go out but I wanna stay home”. The song is anything but shy though – it’s loud and in your face, contrasting with the subject matter. Barnett also explores her relationship with fellow musician Jen Cloher more openly, addressing the tribulations of long-distance touring on ‘An Illustration of Loneliness (Sleepless in NY)’, where she says that their “love life seems intwined with death”.

At more than seven minutes long, ‘Small Poppies’ is the longest song on the record, and also serves as the centre piece of sorts. It encompasses much of the anguish and concern that pervades the record in a slow and meandering rhythm backed by carefully restrained guitars. “I don’t know quite who I am, oh but man I am trying / I made mistakes until I get it right,” she sings, a somewhat strange statement from an artist who has barely made a musical misstep in the last couple of years.

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“I wanna disappear into obscurity”, she continues, something which seems unlikely after a recent appearance on Ellen. The song eventually descends into a wonderfully mess of guitars and distortion, before cruising to a quiet finish. It’s one of the best songs that Barnett has released, and she’s never sounded as confident as she does when she admits: “I used to hate myself but now I think I’m alright”.

Barnett’s first proper full length album comes to an end with a bit of a surprise: an acoustic, mournful song that is a culmination of sorts of all the troubles and insecurities laid bare throughout the album. “I know that I let you down”, she sings quietly, before stating simply: “I love all of your ideas / You love the idea of me”. It’s an unexpected and somewhat unusual finish to the album, but it’s a welcome one that shows the diversity of Barnett’s many talents.

Sometimes I Sit and Think, Sometimes I Just Sit typifies everything that makes Barnett so great. It’s not ground-breaking or particularly complex, but it’s impossibly relatable, and undeniably enjoyable, further cementing her place as one of our best exports in a long, long time.

There’s no doubt that in many ways Courtney Barnett has been placed on a pedestal, but she certainly isn’t disappointing anyone.

Courtney Barnett’s Sometimes I Sit and Think, Sometimes I Just Sit is out this Friday the 20th March via Remote Control/ Milk! Records

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