The Secrets Collection I hate keeping secrets. Especially when lifting the lid reveals a musical feast barely tasted. A new pop dialogue barely spoken. An untold heartache of Melbourne's ‘only beat band’. Unlike many tall tales, this one matters. The Secrets Collection, a compilation of 23 tracks lifted from the band's 3 decade career, is a rare lesson in musical optimism - that the true measure of a band is not sales but the perfection of its own artistry. Each track is a silver bullet of pop sensibility, exploding in a feel pretty good frenzy. It hits you hard. The deeper you delve into these melodious streams, the more you are left drowning in regret. Regret that this is revelation rather than reminiscence. You know you should have heard it before, but maybe you have, for a band seldom blends so successfully its musical heroes with raw originality. The Jagger snarl, the Split Enz bent that sombre burn of a Police lament. It's there in spades but laced with that indefinable quality of a band still hungry for the hunt. These songs are loaded with purpose. A self-belief pervades these hooks, and you may have been hooked too, had anybody else bothered to believe in these best kept secrets. For a while, at least, the airwaves were open. Commencing life as ‘Ginger’, the band enjoyed enough Los Angeles radio play to have Atlantic Records biting at its debut single, ‘Heartache’. A rare disco diamond, the track pounds with swagger and virtuoso performances. Engineered by Gil Matthews, it is a clear stand-out from the band's 1970s catalogue which, alongside the whisky rich smoldering of ‘In the City’, could easily have broken the group. But with disco hearts failing and recording funds bleeding dry, it simply wasn't to be. A change in decades provoked a new-wave makeover, but not before the band farewelled dance floor fever with the very droll ‘Anita’ and ‘She Won't Dance in the Disco’ - its hypnotic chorus and lyric ‘won't dance in the disco no more’ proving remarkably prophetic. With a fresh line-up and moniker, ‘the Secrets’ in the 1980s were about redemption, Pop redemption. Through the hurricane of production excess that defined hits of the day, frontman and Secrets' stalwart, Peter Rechter, steered the group to a higher melodic plane. In a prolific career spanning more than 50 years, this is surely his best work. The Cryin' EP is a guilty affair. Recorded on eight-track at Melbourne State College in 1982, and engineered by the groups' then bassist, Greg Heenan, it is truly a celebration of 1960s nostalgia. The sparkling harmonies of ‘More of Your Lovin’ compliment perfectly the wistful chorus progression of ‘Cryin’’, and with ‘Woman’ the band displays a drive and recklessness reminiscent of early Kinks. How brash to embrace the pop purity of yesteryear in a world gone mad with soppy ballads! There is a crispness to these tunes. Each melodic shift and lyrical turn is loaded with purpose and executed masterfully. Yet for all the songs' idealism, the secret hadn't spilled. Relentless gigging did little to draw punters to the band's mod-drunk beat. Championed by DJ pioneer, Billy Pinnell, however, the Cryin' EP eventually landed with local rock god Lobby Loyde (Coloured Balls, Aztecs). On hearing all his heroes in the mix, Loyde offered to produce the band's next EP for a cut of future royalties; such were his burgeoning expectations for the group. The confidence of a band about to do something special fuels the Loyde Sessions. So too a precision in production and performance. It is fitting that the sessions begin with the rising fire of ‘This Time’. If the band was ever to have its moment, the time had come. The fusion of Loyde’s contemporary soundscaping and the band's backbeat instincts is the mark of these recordings. This formidable combination shines most brightly in ‘Feel Pretty Good’. Re-recorded at Loyde’s insistence, the track takes on a more menacing flavour than the original cut on the Cryin' EP, before erupting in its glorious chorus. ‘All the Way’ and ‘Good Times, Bad Times’ are as delightful as they are memorable, lead guitarist wiz-kid, Joe Mandica (still a high school student at the time of recording) puncturing the tracks with his Harrison-esque elegance. Timeless and intoxicating, it is remarkable that these dusty gems were recorded in one night only. The pulsating optimism of the Loyde Sessions could not, however, deliver the Secret's overdue fortune. Defecting members and label signing setbacks instead forced the band to retreat to Mandica’s sister's basement to escape its withering albatross. Self-recorded across the autumn / winter of 1985, the Basement Sessions are a great musical conundrum. Not prepared to embrace fully the signs of the time, nor unshackle itself from its retro pop intuition, the band seems to be battling against itself - suddenly unconvinced of its own mantra. The smooth textures of the Loyde sessions are abandoned for frenzied beats and electro-shock keyboards. Rechter's lyrical buoyancy remains but with more than a hint of insincerity. It could only be with wry humour that Rechter cries ‘I love every little thing’ with those basement walls rapidly closing in. But the claustrophobia of the sessions gives the tracks a gritty edge. Mandica's stab like guitar inflections dominate and you can almost feel Rechter's teeth clawing at the microphone. Stylistically, the Basement Sessions showcase the band at its most diverse. From the defeated drones of ‘Only Lonely’ the band moves to ‘Spooky Movie’, a bewitching number which surpasses the Skyhooks' ‘Horror Movie’ in punch and absurdity. The rhythmic intensity of ‘Catch Me’ contrasts perfectly with its long yearning melody and ‘Automatic’ perhaps sums up this period best of all: crunchy, relentless and detached. Set on automatic, the Secrets produced a startling array of factory line pop gems in these sessions. That they remain largely unheard is enough to break your heart. But this band was made of tougher stuff. Its heart is a brick - born of the searing heat of the basement's musical furnace - and, like an old fashioned love song, unbreakable. With renewed interest in Rechter's 1960s back catalogue (Peter and the Silhouettes, Tolpuddle Martyrs), the Secrets' pop heart beat once more through the mid 1990s. A more mature sound and vision saw Rechter and new lead guitarist Graham McCoy embrace again the wistful wondering of more innocent times. The country sad ballad ‘Don't Come Any Closer’, written for Bobby Vee, sparkles with 1950s pop purity, while ‘Claudette Jones’ (a cover of a Peter and the Silhouettes' original) thumps along with 1960s garage rock authenticity. Slick production enhances the mesmerising chant of ‘Hail to the Champions’ and leaves no doubt that the Secrets' flair for pop sensation is no accident. This is canny composition. A rare treat. The best kind of heartache. So... Listen - do you want to know the Secrets? Julius Seizure 2014