I See Seaweed

Louder Than War wrote that the album "had a more filmic, widescreen feel and was not unlike some of Nick Cave and Mick Harvey's scores",[7] whilst the "rawness" of the music earned comparisons to that of early PJ Harvey.[8] The album was considered to be more "expansive" than previous Drones albums,[9] with many pointing out the contributions of new member Steve Hesketh. Chad Parkhill of The Quietus writes that his "piano and keyboard work seems not so much to add startlingly new elements to the band's songs but to allow them to develop their artier ambitions" going on to write that "additional textural detail [...] allows the songs to rely less on bludgeoning loud/soft contrasts than in the past."[10] Alex Griffin of Tiny Mix Tapes writes that the record comes "with more dread-filled hopelessness than an entire tent of doomed Arctic explorers, while somehow remaining more elliptical and brutal than anything else they’ve released, moving with a mixture of reckless uncertainty and whiplash dynamism that makes “Jezebel" feel like breakfast cereal".[11] Chris Gridler of Beat writes that while the band's previous releases were "entrenched in the surrounding landscape and its people", on this album they "branch out and move to more universal themes" despite retaining their "strong sense of place".[12] Andrew McMillen of Rolling Stone writes that the album contains "cracks of beauty and humour amid the darkness".[13]

The opening title track "alludes to rising seas and overpopulation"[13] and features "a melancholic verse" that "crescendoes into an explosive refrain later totally downcast in the bridge"[9] and has been called their "heaviest song – lyrically and musically" since the aforementioned "Jezebel".[13] The song "begins as a tragic story of youth until, in a deft and devastating transition, everyone on earth is lassoed into complicity."[14] The second track "How To See Through Fog", the sole single released from the album, contains a "particularly arresting" piano melody.[9] The song is "about anti-conformity or, at least, an existential ideal of self-determination", whose narrator is "revealed as insecure and indecisive."[14]

"They'll Kill You", the following track, "details the failures that twenty-something Australian emigrants encounter when they try and escape reality by positing a greater one beyond that country’s borders. The cracking of illusion is painted in the way the chord progression yields and opens to a seasick lurch down the scale in the bridge, sliding like the point in an argument where things start getting thrown, and sinking towards the inevitable conclusion: "this birdhouse migrates too"" and has been described as "devastating".[11] The narrator on this track, in comparison to the "lost cause" of the previous track, is "going down fighting" and the song "tap[s] into the big, ugly emotions that have felled – and fuelled –most of us, like grief, disempowerment and regret."[14] "A Moat You Can Stand In" harks back to the band's earlier, noisy style[9] and "lays the boot into Alan Jones, Andrew Bolt and other demagogues doing their best to destabilise the current (Australian) government",[10] also described as being "hilarious" in its "skewering" of these topics.[13]

"Nine Eyes", the following track, features semi-autobiographical lyrics that finds "Liddiard using Google Street view to observe the socioeconomic damage wrought on his home town of Port Hedland by "cashed-up bogan" mine workers"[10] and has been described as "equal parts disturbing and funny".[12] "The Grey Leader" "eviscerates the hypocrisy of Australia's conservative politicians".[10] The song's refrain, "Nothing will ever change your mind", "sums up life’s intransigence and how little we can influence any of it."[14] The following track "Laika" details "the story of a dog shot into space as part of the controversial Russian space trials of the '50s" and has been described as "the most haunting tune on the album. Its curious use of piano, sudden orchestral boost and harmonizing female choir result in full-on cinematic grandeur that's fairly distant from the group's usual aesthetics, if never less commanding."[9] Liddiard described the song as "an allegory for the lack of free will, in a philosophical, biological sense."[15]

The final track "Why Write A Letter That You'll Never Send" has been described as "fiery", building from "a gentle acoustic intro [...] to its halfway point" before "erupting into a rant about everything from the holocaust to the Vatican, even wily a dig at Band Aid".[12] The song "has plenty of zingers, but the structure of the song reveals that they're equally self-directed".[10] Mixdown magazine writes that the song "link[s] increasing technological isolation to the loss of letter writing, detachment from politics to celebrity stardom, failed dreams to a failing society, learning nothing from catastrophe to the valorisation of war and humanity’s ultimate failure." The article also identifies elements of list song, references to Henry Timrod's "To Captive Owl" and to Ode on a Grecian Urn in the song's lyrics.[16] The song has been musically compared to the works of Robert Wyatt.[17]

The album's cover features a photograph of a Hawaiian lava flow entering the water. The shot is taken down the 'tube' of a breaking wave, by photographer CJ Kale, who was roughly 20 feet (6 metres) from the point that the lava was entering the water.[18]

Professional ratings

Review scores
Source	Rating
The Big Issue	[22]
The Examiner	[23]
OndaRock	7.5/10[17]
Sputnikmusic	4.5/5[9]

I See Seaweed was received enthusiastically by the Australian press. FasterLouder wrote: "I See Seaweed often feels less like a rock album and more like a demented film score".[24] Andrew McMillen wrote that it "captures a singular band in scintillating form, delivering yet another astounding collection of songs."[13] Writing for Lot's Wife, Nick Reid praised the album's lyricism & called it "a force to be reckoned with."[25] "While polemicists of the left and right continue to fire the occasional shot in the simmering Australian history wars," notes Patrick Emery writing for Sydney Morning Herald, "The Drones' sociological narrative" on I See Seaweed "remains devoid of ideological pretence, and rich in its portrayal of the inherent flaws of humanity."[26]

The album has also received highly positive reviews from several international sources upon its release. Sputnikmusic wrote that the album "showcases The Drones at their creative peak. All eight tracks are meticulously structured, providing an excellent backdrop for Liddiard's dazzling poetry."[9] The Quietus wrote that the band "never sounded quite this good".[10] Jorge Salas, writing for Spanish magazine Muzikalia, praised the album as The Drone's best in years, and called "Why Write a Letter You'll Never Send" the band's "most beautiful composition" to date.[19] Italian website OndaRock noted the band's consistency with the release of the album, and praised its more textured & dynamic music.[17] In a year-end round-up, Darren Levin of The Guardian wrote that the band, alongside "Aussie rock stalwarts" such as Adalita and Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, "put out great records in 2013. (Of course they did.)" He went on to write: "The Drones, in particular, consistently find new ways of being the Drones. Frontman Gareth Liddiard’s newfound fondness for Russian classical composers took the drama on I See Seaweed to another level, as did the addition of pianist Steve Hesketh to their lineup."[27]

In 2013, the album was nominated for a J Award which is determined by national alternative radio station Triple J.[28] I See Seaweed was also nominated at the 2013 ARIA awards for Rock Album of the Year.[29]

The album received acclaim from a variety of sources both within and outside its native country. Over 100 writers from The Music website ranked the album first in their lists of the "20 Best Australian Albums of 2013".[30]