Cash Savage And The Last Drinks - One Of Us (LP)

Some records feel like they were built after midnight, in a small room where the walls sweat and everyone leans in a little closer. One Of Us, released in 2016, has that grip. Cash Savage and the Last Drinks are a Melbourne institution at this point, and this is the moment where their dark barroom poetry locks in with real purpose. It’s a rock record, sure, but it’s also a study in tension and release, with arrangements that catch like dry grass and then go up in a bright roar.

Savage’s voice sits at the centre, low, steady, unhurried. She can sound tender, then curt, then fierce in the span of a verse, and she never oversings. The band work like a single organism around her. Guitars churn and circle without showboating, drums push forward with a pugilist’s timing, and the violin lines slice through the mix like headland wind. That violin is a massive part of the Last Drinks’ signature, giving these songs a lean, haunted edge. It’s not folk embellishment, more a restless counter-melody that keeps the heart-rate up.

The title suggests solidarity, and that’s the spirit that carries through. Savage writes about community and belonging like someone who knows the stakes. It’s no secret she’s Conway Savage’s niece, so there’s a bloodline to Melbourne’s literate, nocturnal rock history, but she’s not trading on the family name. She and the Last Drinks earned their reputation the hard way, gig by gig, pub by pub, and you can hear that live lineage in every build and break here. The songs don’t just start and stop. They gather, shift weight, and surge, like a crowd that suddenly finds a common chant.

There’s romance and defiance tangled together too. I’m in Love became a fan favourite for good reason. It’s a straight-up declaration that refuses apology, sung with clarity and a little smirk, and it landed hard in a country that was still arguing over marriage equality at the time. That chorus sticks without turning saccharine, and the band play it like a victory lap that still has a few bruises. Elsewhere the mood grows darker, with riffs that feel like rain on bitumen and drums that roll like a tram through a late-night CBD. The scenes feel lived-in, familiar to anyone who has walked home from the Tote or the Corner after a set that left the ears ringing and the head clear.

Production-wise, One Of Us favours space over gloss. You can hear the room, which is exactly what you want from this lot. Nothing is crowded. The guitar tones have grit without sludge, the bass is warm and present, and the violin sits right where your spine meets your shoulders. It’s the kind of mix that rewards volume. On a decent setup it blooms, and on a turntable it really breathes. If you’re crate digging and spot One Of Us vinyl, grab it. Cash Savage and the Last Drinks vinyl tends to move quickly in Melbourne record store bins, and for good reason. The dynamics suit wax, from those patient intros to the big, chest-rattling payoffs.

Critical reception at home and in Europe backed up what fans already knew, that this band had pushed past local-secret status. The partnership with Mistletone in Australia and Beast Records in France helped get these songs into the right hands, and the touring that followed tightened an already formidable live act. Not many bands manage to sound both heavy and humane. The Last Drinks do it by letting every instrument speak plainly, and by trusting Savage’s writing to carry weight without theatrics.

If you’re building a shelf of modern Australian rock that actually feels like Australia, this belongs near The Drones and the moodier end of the Bad Seeds world. It has that same sense of weather and place, the same eye for the way a city can harden you and still give you a reason to show up for others. It’s ideal Sunday-afternoon pre-gig listening, or the thing you put on just after midnight when you’re not ready to call it.

For anyone hunting Cash Savage and the Last Drinks albums on vinyl, One Of Us is the one that wins new fans and cements lifers. You can buy Cash Savage and the Last Drinks records online if your local is out, though there’s a certain pleasure in flipping through the vinyl records Australia scene and spotting that Mistletone spine in the wild. However you get it, turn it up. This is a band built for volume, for rooms, for togetherness. The title wasn’t a slogan. It was an invitation.