What makes a song ‘Australian’? Triple J’s Hottest 100 reignites a bigger question of national identity

On July 26, Triple J will broadcast the Hottest 100 Australian Songs, as voted by the public. While predictions for winners and even preemptive complaining about the shortlist are taking up column space and social media posts, there is an underlying question: what we mean when we talk about “Australian songs”?

Do these songs sound a particular way? Do they express something about what it means to be Australian? Or is it purely about where the artist was born?

Importantly, how will each of these factors influence voting?

Can a song sound Australian?

Musical cultures with their own unique sounds have existed on this continent for tens of thousands of years. The sound of the didgeridoo is often used as a shorthand to signify Australianness in films, television and, to a lesser extent, popular songs.

However, the history of dispossession and genocidal practices that have accompanied settlement in Australia means much has been lost from these musical traditions. Indigenous performers have been actively excluded from the same music-making spaces where other songs we think of as “Australian” have been created.

Since British colonisation in the late 18th century, Australian music has also been part of global music flows. Settlers arrived with songs and musical influences from their own cultures. Jazz, country, rock and pop inspired local versions of these genres.

But is there anything truly Australian about such music, or is it just imitation? And this conundrum connects to wider issues of Australia’s identity debated during the 20th century: was it a country, or still just a colony?

Back in the 1970s, this question was also on then prime minister Gough Whitlams’s mind. After his election in 1972, Whitlam gave a huge boost to funding for cultural and creative activities to “help establish and express an Australian identity through the arts”, as part of a suite of nation-building activities.

Building the pub rock canon

The dirty guitar sounds of the pub rock scene of the 1970s, with its associated subcultures, are sometimes said to be Australia’s first distinct offering in post-rock ‘n’ roll music.

This was followed by the rise of bands such as Midnight Oil and Cold Chisel, who found success not just by drawing on more local sounds, but also by referencing Australian places, politics and cultures.

The Whitlam government’s broadcasting reforms meant this music had homes on community radio and the new youth station 2JJ (now Triple J).

The bands from this era have come to make up what might be described as the Oz rock canon – a collection of works seen to make up the “best” of the art form. Canons exert a strong influence over how we assess music, meaning these bands will probably appear in the tomorrow’s countdown.

This idea of the rock canon is almost perfectly reflected in the ten entries by Prime Minister Anthony Albanese to tomorrow’s countdown. His selection of almost 100% white male musicians encapsulates the exclusionary nature rock of this period.

The fact that our last two prime ministers, despite being from opposite sides of politics, produced very similar lists, gives us insight into the persistence of this canon, and what ideas about “Australian culture” circulate in the halls of power.

It’s questionable whether any of the bands or songs on Albanese’s list could be said to have a coherent “Australian” sound, yet they have come to hold a place in the national imagination.

Changing canons and new sounds

Triple J’s Hottest 100 of All Time in 2009 was seen as a surprising recapitulation of the (male) rock canon, especially given the station’s otherwise diverse playlists.

However, the highest-placed Australian song on the list was The Nosebleed Section by Hilltop Hoods, representing the recent and rapid rise of Aussie hip-hop.

The 2011 Hottest 100 Australian Albums of All Time (the closest forerunner to the current poll) further updated the canon, with Powderfinger’s Odyssey Number Five (2000) in the top spot, and other top ten entries by electronic groups The Presets and The Avalanches.

Nonetheless, the canon remained male dominated, with the highest woman-fronted album being Missy Higgins’s The Sound of White (2004) at number 29.

The past decade has seen a boom in Indigenous representation on Australian airwaves and stages, with artists such as Thelma Plum, Barkaa, A.B. Original and Baker Boy.

These artists use a range of genres and styles to express pride in their Indigeneity, and critique Australian identity. A.B. Original’s song January 26 was number 17 in 2016’s Hottest 100 countdown. This was also the last year Triple J chose this date for its annual broadcast, speaking to the power of music to reflect – and even inform – popular sentiment.

Given recent national debates, a strong contender for the upcoming poll is Treaty (Radio Mix) by Yothu Yindi (which ranked number 11 of all time in 1991). These shifts show how canons can be unsettled over time.

What if we don’t all agree?

Recently, Creative Australia came under fire for trying to stifle Khaled Sabsabi’s politically-informed art in the interests of “social cohesion”.

But others pointed out art provides crucial space for challenging prevailing ideas, and that social cohesion in a democracy is not about reaching complete agreement, but being able to handle disagreement.

A Hottest 100 that reflects the diversity and even the tensions in Australian society may provoke arguments, but it is in these spaces that we can reflect on what it means to live on these lands.