Thelma Plum - Meanjin EP (10") - Orange Vinyl Vinyl

Thelma Plum’s Meanjin EP lands like a set of hand‑written postcards from home, each one smudged a little by rain and memory. Released 12 August 2022 through Warner Music Australia, it finds the Gamilaraay singer‑songwriter turning her focus squarely to Brisbane, whose First Nations name gives the record its title. You can hear the city in the details, the way the songs tilt toward river light and summer storms, and the way her voice carries both tenderness and grit. It is a compact release, but it lingers.

Backseat of My Mind was the first hint of what this cycle would be. It’s glossy in the right places, but never overstyled, carried by jangly guitars and a chorus that sneaks up like a memory you thought you’d buried. Plum sings about the way old love sticks around, even when you’re doing your best to relegate it to storage. There’s a road‑trip pulse to it, windows down on Coronation Drive, city sliding by. It slots neatly alongside her earlier highlights, but the perspective is calmer now, more knowing, and it suits her.

When It Rains It Pours folds the weather into the story with a wink and a wince. Brisbane knows rain better than most, and the 2022 floods were hard to shake. The track plays with that double meaning, thunderstorms on the forecast and in your head, while chiming guitars and a roomy snare keep it buoyant. Plum has always had a gift for bittersweet pop, the kind that invites you to sing along while your chest tightens, and this is one of those cut‑to‑the‑quick moments. It sticks because it feels lived in.

The Brown Snake might be the most literal love song to the city she has ever written. The nickname for the Brisbane River can sound like a jab, but Plum turns it into a fond portrait, earthy and unglamorous and beloved. There’s a gentle sway to the rhythm, with soft percussion and warm acoustic lines wrapping around her vocal. She is not trying to romanticise the place so much as admit how it claims you, flaws and all. That honesty is the thread that runs through the EP, and it keeps the storytelling close to the bone.

Across Meanjin, the production leaves plenty of air around her singing. You get chiming electric guitars, a few glistening synth touches, and backing vocals that bloom at just the right moment. Nothing rushes. The songs feel like they were written in quiet pauses between storms, which matches the themes of return and reckoning. There is pride in the use of Meanjin as a title, a nod to Country and to the way place names carry history. Plum has spoken before about home pulling her back, and you can hear that pull in the little references, the streets and suburbs that sneak into her lines without fanfare.

It is easy to draw a line from her breakthrough album Better in Blak to this EP. The former was a bold reckoning with identity, trauma and survival, and it vaulted her to national attention. Meanjin narrows the frame and softens the lens, which is not to say it is lighter. It is just more at ease with contradiction. Love is messy. Cities are messy. Family and memory even more so. Plum has the songwriter’s knack for taking those knots and teasing out a melody you want to carry around.

If you’re the type who sifts the new arrivals bin at a Melbourne record store, this one will call to you. Meanjin feels like a classic side‑A, side‑B release, short and replayable, which is why fans keep hunting for Meanjin vinyl and other Thelma Plum vinyl pressings. Stack it next to Better in Blak when you buy Thelma Plum records online, and you’ve got a neat snapshot of an artist growing into her voice. For anyone browsing vinyl records Australia wide, or comparing Thelma Plum albums on vinyl, this EP is the rainy‑arvo choice. Put it on while the light fades, let those guitars glow, and see if the river in your own town starts to look a little different.