Dumb Things have been perfecting their breezy, introspective jangle-pop in Meanjin/Brisbane since 2017, starting with a homespun self-titled debut and a more focused follow-up, Time Again, in 2019. On this third outing, Self Help, the five-piece continue down that sun-dappled pathway, but there’s a notable deepening of ideas and a warmth that shows how far they’ve come. They exude a confidence born of testing and refining their craft while keeping their easygoing, Queensland vibe intact.
The title track eases you in with a gentle approach before delivering unvarnished insights like “I’ve been reading self-help but I just can’t help myself,” an ironic shrug and honest admission rolled into one.It sets the tone for a band whose easy synergy spans both songwriting and performance. Dumb Things have always shared songwriting duties, but here they go further, letting each vocalist’s timbre offer their own perspective on wary hope, tinged with world-weariness. Sometimes, they even trade lines in the same song, creating an almost communal conversation about heartbreak, restlessness, and reluctant attempts at self-improvement.
Recorded and produced in Brisbane, the album retains a lived-in intimacy. Even so, the band allow themselves moments of expansion: the gentle harmonica in ‘Self Help,’ the post-punk flourishes of ‘Insult to Injury,’ and the 80s 4AD-like dreaminess on ‘Instant Coffee.’ It’s never flashy or forced; you can almost picture them in a well-worn rehearsal room, capturing the offhand magic of longtime friends jamming late into the evening. If their first two records were stepping stones, Self Help lands more squarely on the style they’ve always hinted at, yet still bristles with enough rough edges to keep it human.
Comparisons to The Go-Betweens are inevitable, given their shared Brisbane heritage and preference for jangling guitars, but Dumb Things also tap into broader Aussie, and other indie influences. Fans of Melbourne’s Dick Diver or The Ocean Party will enjoy the bright chord progressions, while those drawn to the wistful swoon of Lush will appreciate the dreamier threads woven through Madeleine Keinonen’s vocals.
Self Help mainly revolves around change – either the lack of it or the sudden realisations and wake-up calls. At its best, it captures the tension between daily routine and the imperceptible hum of passing time. ‘Windows and Doors’ crystallises the band’s relative strengths with a bass-led intro, a quietly confident indie pop chorus, and referencing letters in smudgy ballpoint pen ink and rising fuel prices. ‘Private Lives,’ meanwhile, rides a skittering beat and some of the album’s most evocative vocal interplay. Subtle Joy Division–like drum patterns simmer beneath, culminating in a moody wash that bursts open into a hopeful ending. Such moments show Dumb Things finding the sweet spot: unassuming yet deceptively rich, prompting reflection without labouring the point.
Not every track soars quite as high. ‘Cherry Blossoms’ and ‘Working It Out’ feel a little overshadowed by the stronger cuts, lacking the dynamic lift found elsewhere. Persevere, they still have their charms. ‘Cherry Blossoms’ laments the old places being bulldozed, while conceding that new beginnings will always arise. Sometimes that’s for the best. “The new rockstars have suits and ties and personalised number plates” might be tongue-in-cheek, but it highlights the discomfort of watching cultural spaces slip into banal commercialism. That interplay of acceptance and longing also colours ‘Working It Out,’ where plucky guitars and a slightly ragged vocal channel Pavement’s Slanted and Enchanted era. “I never finish anything that I start,” they sing, in a moment of endearing candour.
By the time ‘Early Starts’ closes things out, you’re left with the sense of having wandered a meandering road, one punctuated by half-sighed confessions, melodic detours, and the easy camaraderie of five voices overlapping. The male-female vocal exchanges become a delicate dance, hinting at those moments of closeness that slip by when we’re too busy or too proud to speak plainly. That stark humanity is what truly sets Dumb Things apart. They sound comfortable in their own skin, eager to uncover fragile truths in everyday details. Self Help doesn’t pretend to be a remedy so much as a reminder that stumbling through life with good company might be all the self-improvement we really need.
Honest, humble, and refreshingly human, it’s the perfect jangly solace for nights that feel too long—and for mornings when everything keeps moving, whether we’re ready for them or not.
Self Help is out 4th April .
