There’s something gloriously unfashionable about ‘Boss’, the debut album from Sydney’s The Vors. At a time when so much guitar music seems trapped between algorithm-friendly restraint and self-conscious nostalgia, The Vors simply kick the door off its hinges and stumble into the room carrying a carton of beer and a head full of hooks.
The Bondi four-piece have spent the last eighteen months sharpening their sound through a run of singles, but Boss feels less like a carefully curated debut and more like a band finally letting loose everything rattling around inside their collective skull. It’s loud, fast, irreverent and infectiously alive.
The Vors occupy that sweet spot where punk swagger, garage-rock recklessness and power-pop melody collide in a shower of sparks. The guitars are gloriously overdriven without descending into sludge, while the rhythm section drives everything forward with the kind of relentless momentum that suggests the whole thing could fall apart at any second – except it never does.
That tension is part of the album’s appeal. Boss thrives on the edge of chaos.
Tracks such as ‘You Treat Me Like An Asshole’ capture the band at their most immediate. Beneath the title’s deliberately blunt-force provocation sits a brilliantly crafted slice of emotionally bruised rock and roll, all snarling guitars and singalong defiance. It’s the kind of song that sounds equally at home blasting from a sticky pub jukebox or rattling around your head at 2am after another regrettable text message.
‘Hi Vis Low Res’ refers to that trademark uniform of the trades people and construction workers around the world – the high visibility vest – which has the unique effect of enhancing testosterone regardless of gender. And such is its ubiquity, wearers just became part of an anonymous crowd of faceless beings who get things done.
Written by singer Davor Pavlovic, the song combines societal themes and personal experience, as he explains:
I wrote the song after a lifetime spent in commercial construction, where I would drag myself into the city at 5am, along with thousands of other tradies, lost in a sea of Hi Vis.
Dressed to be seen on the job site but with everyone wearing the same thing, you just seem to become part of the blur, less visible. I hated it, and I did it, but I dreamt of the weekend. Everyone dreamed of the weekend and those that didn’t, they were full of shit.
It’s an interesting industry. It accepts people who have dropped out of school, have no education, just out of jail, travelling, and can’t speak English. For a lot of people, it’s all they can do, so in part, they are trapped and are forced to find ways to entertain themselves during their working day.
This charming candour bleeds into every note of the track: a punk barrage leavened by humour and melody and seemingly drawing inspiration from other songs with a sly wink. Every note shouts a louche, larrikin stance that could only be born from the bleached, sand encrusted suburbs of Bondi:
Elsewhere, the band’s affection for classic Australian pub rock, post-punk abrasion and indie-rock melody reveals itself in flashes rather than overt references. The Vors aren’t interested in reinventing anything. Their gift lies in understanding exactly why this music works and attacking it with enough conviction to make it feel vital again.
Throughout ‘Boss’, Davor Pavlovic and Chris Franklin trade guitars and vocals with the chemistry of musicians who know that enthusiasm often trumps precision. The result is an album that feels lived-in rather than polished. Every track seems powered by the simple belief that rock and roll should be exciting.
And that’s really the defining characteristic of ‘Boss’. It’s exciting.
Not because it breaks new ground or announces some revolutionary new direction for Australian guitar music. Quite the opposite. The Vors understand that sometimes the most radical thing a rock band can do is remember that rock music is supposed to be fun.
‘Boss’ is packed with big riffs, bigger choruses and enough ragged charm to carry it through its rough edges. It barrels forward with sunburnt confidence, never pausing long enough to second-guess itself. By the time it reaches its conclusion, you’re left with the distinct impression that The Vors would probably rather play another gig than explain their artistic intentions.
Fair enough.
On the evidence of ‘Boss’, they should keep doing exactly that.
The Australian underground has never really stopped producing bands like The Vors. What’s increasingly rare is hearing one this committed to the simple pleasures of loud guitars, sharp melodies and reckless momentum. Boss captures that spirit perfectly – a debut that arrives grinning, sweating and slightly unhinged, with absolutely no interest in asking permission.
The result is an immediately enjoyable debut.
Boss is out now through Cheersquad Records & Tapes and available to download and stream here and through the link below.
Pavlovic says of the recording:
David Akerman, who had engineered all of the recordings, wanted the songs on the album to sound sonically fluent. Initially, the band didn’t care that the sound of the album jumped around a lot, but Dave really took it upon himself to create a consistent sound across the entire record. It’s something that I’m truly grateful for. We had a lot of back-and-forth conversations with Dave and Casey Rice, who mastered the record, and it really felt like a project that everyone who was working on it was truly invested!
You can catch the band launching the album on 6 June – details below.
Feature Photograph: Derek Henderson
