The Truth About Love by David McCormack and The Polaroids

From the bombastic opener which shares the album's title to the reprised version of "Hypnotist of Lady" which closes the deal, The Truth About Love is a record which runs the range of musical styles - from melody-drenched big pop to straight-up rock & roll, from delicate country to the kind of hooky classics which will sound perfect blaring from your radio.

So in a time of homogenised music, when genre can take precedence over all else, why such variety? The answer to that is simple. Two words: David McCormack. Those who've followed the career of this important Australian songwriter and performer will already be aware of his gift for stylistic variety. And in truth, those who are already aware probably number most of the country's music lovers. For David's career has not only been marked out by critical recognition, but his unique and engaging performance style - and his knack for giving good interview - have made him one of the most sought-after artists in the country.

Perfectly produced, "The Truth About Love" commences the album with a Pulpesque bang, starting out with a burst of vocal, a tease of guitar and an affectionate breath of strings: Remember, McCormack sings, when time was on our hands? Remember all our funny little plans? It seems at first a warm reflection delivered to a lost love, but before long the song's real intent is revealed: ...Love is like poison - it goes straight into your heart and that's when all the blackouts start. Love is like poison.

"Who Can It Be" is next - an undulating pop track that would not be misplaced in a set by America's pop maestros the Flaming Lips - before moving into "Woolloomooloo Sunset" (spot the Kinks reference?) - upbeat pop which, as far as musical relations go, sits in the same family tree as McCormack's much-adored Custard, the 1990s outfit in which he made his name.

In live shows previewing this album's songs, McCormack has been known to gleefully burst into Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean" midway through "I'm Going To Execute Your Ex-Boyfriend". (There is a similar bassline motif there, and McCormack has never been shy of a musical gag, even at his own expense.) The thundering organ at the song's heart puts the final powering cherry on top of one of the album's key tracks, equal parts vengeance and benevolence: Well I hereby put all of your ex-lovers on notice, and I do this not because I'm jealous, it's because I am nice.

On "Hypnotist Of Lady", the chameleon-like McCormack morphs into a kind of creepy but likeable cabaret crooner: I don't want to scare you now, pretty child, with my eyes... I ain't no bad man, I am just an entertainer here to entertain you. Like a Dave Graney song with an acid-tinged twist, "Hypnotist Of Lady" delves into the seedy side of love, with musical touches like theremin and keyboards making the song as seductive as forbidden fruit.

To describe as incendiary a song about burning down a liquor store might seem like an easy shot. And it would be if "Liquor Store" wasn't so vital to this album. The song swells to an outstanding string crescendo at its centre (arranged by ARIA award winning composer Antony Partos) and, as signposts go, that moment celebrates a kind of turning point on the album; if it can be broken into halves, the mood post-"Liquor Store" shifts down a gear and becomes more introspective.

"Lonely" is a gentle country pop lamentation, sad but warm - like all great country songs. Likewise, "You Are Over Me" takes its inspiration from music's rural regions, making the track relevant thanks to those cryptic lyrical twists of which McCormack is so fond. In this case he sings of plastic covered sheets and little rubber bands; elsewhere on the album there is an Irish saying sung in French and a man named Maximillian who got caught in the politics of stereos. Nonsensical at first, this obscured minutiae actually adds another crucial layer to this rich record.

And back again to that thing called love, "Goodbye From Tomorrow" is full of resignation - a lovesong sung to Marilyn Monroe, advising her that whatever might seem rosy now is destined to end. Like the title track, which suggests that love does not come down from above, "Goodbye From Tomorrow" strips the romance right back: And though it seems pretty good right now one day it will all go sour. There are many thoughts on love to be found on this strong and focussed album, but it's the inevitability of heartache which ultimately rounds the record out.

On The Truth About Love, recorded over several sessions in late 2003 and early 2004 with ARIA-winning producers Magoo and Wayne Connolly, David McCormack has created an album which confirms his place in Australia's songwriting canon. It is one of the strongest local releases you will hear all year - and its potential to take McCormack onto the international stage is greater than ever before in his already outstanding career.

And that's the truth.

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