Thelma Plum - Meanjin (10")

Thelma Plum’s Meanjin arrived in August 2022 as a small, glowing postcard to Brisbane, and it hasn’t lost its warmth with time. Named for the Indigenous word for the city, the EP sets out to map a place and the pull it has on memory. Plum has always had a knack for turning personal stories into pop that sticks, but here she leans into something even more specific, tracing streets, storms and river bends that locals will recognise. You don’t need to be from Queensland to feel it, though. The songs land with the soft ache of heading home, putting your bags down, and letting the past knock around for a bit.

“Backseat of My Mind” was the first hint of where she was going, and it still feels like the centrepiece. Bright guitars and a steady pulse give it lift, but the hook rests on Plum’s voice, which sits right in front, unhurried and clear. It’s about leaving and returning, and how the road can jumble up your memories until you’re not sure what you’re chasing. There’s an ease to the arrangement that mirrors that feeling, almost like the track is looking out the window and letting the scenery blur.

Then there’s “When It Rains It Pours,” which carries the smell of wet bitumen. Anyone who lived through the 2022 floods in Brisbane will hear those images straight away. The production lets little details peek through, a shuffle in the drums, a chiming guitar line that flickers like streetlights on water. Plum has spoken about writing during that period, and you can sense the tug between fear and comfort that comes with watching your city soak. It’s not a wallow. She’s too sharp a songwriter for that. The tune builds in a way that feels like weather, rolling in and easing back.

“The Brown Snake” nods to the Brisbane River’s nickname and it’s a beauty, sly and affectionate. The river is both a character and a mirror here. Plum doesn’t overplay the metaphor. She keeps the lyrics grounded, which lets the melody do its work. Her harmonies still sneak up with that familiar sweetness, the kind that made her debut Better in Blak so loved and ARIA recognised, but the perspective has shifted. Meanjin is tighter, more local, and that focus suits her.

What makes the EP linger is how tactile it sounds. The guitars have air around them. The drums don’t crowd the room. You can almost hear the late arvo heat pressing in on the studio glass. That detail pays off on vinyl, too. The Meanjin vinyl pressing gives those guitar tones a bit more space and the low end sits warmer, so the songs breathe like a summer evening. If you’re the kind of listener who still flips through bins at a Melbourne record store, this is one to grab on sight. It sits neatly next to other Thelma Plum vinyl and slides right into a Sunday stack alongside Julia Jacklin or Stella Donnelly.

Reception at home was strong, and for good reason. Australian critics pointed to the intimacy of the writing and the care in the arrangements, and fans turned the singles into sing-alongs across her national dates. It’s easy to hear why. Plum’s voice carries a lot of feeling without ever tipping into melodrama. She writes choruses you can hum on the train, and verses that sting a little once you really listen. That balance is harder than it looks.

As a bridge between records, Meanjin does something smart. It honours place, it shows growth, and it doesn’t fuss around with bloat. It also stands up as a front-to-back listen. Start at “Backseat of My Mind,” sit with the rain songs, and let the river have the last word. If you’re building a collection and want to buy Thelma Plum records online, keep an eye out for Meanjin vinyl alongside Thelma Plum albums on vinyl, since the EP format sometimes gets overlooked in the rush for full-lengths. For crate diggers hunting vinyl records Australia wide, this one rewards repeat spins. The songs feel lived in, like old suburbs that still have light left in the windows.