It’s been a wild few months for us here at The Blues Brothters headquarters. Our once faithful manager Shane revealed himself to be a fucking snake by abandoning us without notice to work for ‘Mini Mike’ Bloomberg, the nefarious oligarch and disgraced former Mayor of New York, on his disastrous 2020 presidential campaign (Which failed miserably). After losing faith in Shane and all our other US industry contacts, we became increasingly disgusted by the rootless cosmopolitanism of the New York music scene and decided it was time to hit the reset button and return to our native sunburnt country. It was time to go Down Under.

After spending the past four years, ten albums and 199 tracks aiming our sights almost exclusively on the heart of The United States Of America, we decided it was time to dissect and destroy the pathetic cultural miasma that suffocated us during our formative years in the utterly stupid country of “Australia”. BB Down Under is more of an audio essay than an album (Those expecting a sequel to Elvis In Space or Alien VS Predator will be sorely disappointed), and our newfound independence has allowed us to be ruthless and unflinching in our attack on the national cultural and entertainment complexes. Obviously, the terrifying emergence of the recent Coronavirus pandemic has infected the sound of this album, much as it has infected The World, but this is in line with our former work. It is impossible for us to create music at this point that isn’t caustic and uncompromising in its assessment of the global climate. Despite all this, the album remains a pure critique of Australia, and is constructed entirely from samples that we own 100% of the rights to. It is an artistic statement that is devoid of outside influence. A pure vision.

No punches are pulled on “BB Down Under”. From the opening track “Peak Speed”, a scathing indictment of Australia’s archaic national broadband infrastructure, to the final track “Heavy Rolling Seas”, a circus-like fever dream meditation on the disappearance of Harold Holt, no sacred cows are left unbranded by The Brothters. Living in uncertain times with an even more uncertain future has eliminated once and for all our tendency to obscure or self-censor the real targets and sentiments in our songs. If this is our final statement in music, which it won’t be, we could say with confidence that nothing was left unsaid. If asked on our deathbeds to voice our true feelings on Mal Turnbull, we could say it’s all there on track 2, “It’s A Hundred Years of Mateship”. If, once we have passed onto the next life, a curious descendent were to speculate on our views of the rural populist political icon Bob Katter, they could simply log on to our bandcamp and listen to track 9, “Fishing Camping Hunting Shooting”. All questions have been answered. This is the most important album of 2020.