We caught up with Rik Saunders for a deep-dive into the light and dark of The Melodrones.
However you discovered them—whether through a dimly lit Sydney gig, a vinyl hurled from a passing car, or sheer cosmic accident—The Melodrones are a band that defies easy explanation.
Hailing from the self-proclaimed land of Melodronia (population: five), this shapeshifting quartet has spent years dissecting and reassembling music history, stitching together doo-wop romance, post-punk grit, and shoegaze haze into something entirely their own.
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Their debut album is a testament to their restless creativity—a record where Motown’s sweetness collides with the Jesus and Mary Chain’s fuzz, where spontaneity and precision share the same bed.
Tracks like ’Til Kingdom Come and Keep Me Company thrash between reckless abandon and meticulous craft, often written on the fly or born from Manchester’s rain-soaked influence (see: To Err, penned on a guitar from Johnny Roadhouse).
Recorded live in a fever—rarely more than three takes per song—the album crackles with the urgency of a band chasing lightning in a bottle.
And while their sound nods to the Beatles, Pixies, and Flying Nun’s jangle, The Melodrones are no revivalists. They’re scholars of the obscure, spinning their influences into a tapestry that’s as sly as it is sentimental.
Now, with the addition of Amy Yoshiko and the chaos of parenthood (Mody and Mel’s little ones in tow), the band’s orbit has expanded, but their mission remains: to linger in the storm and the eye of it.
As Rik closed out the interview, there was a shared sense of catharsis—and a quiet hope that someday, some 17-year-old will stumble upon this record in a dusty bin, right between Psychocandy and Surfer Rosa, and feel that same electric jolt.
Until then? Put on a nice jazz record this Sunday afternoon and let The Melodrones’ twisted lullabies sink in. Just don’t say we didn’t warn you.
Massive thanks to The Kraken Black Spiced Rum for making this chat happen.
