Music Spotlight: London Still

Song Spotlight

A uniquely Australian tune for a different generation.

A song I accidentally stumbled across.

I first heard it last year, when my mum played it to me in the car. Initially, it was nice. I appreciated the folksy twang, the deep-rooted Australian character, and the catchiness that made this track the defining Waifs tune, even two decades later. But it didn’t strike a particular connection with me.

We went to watch The Waifs perform live late last year, in what turned out to be perhaps the most enjoyable festival I’ve ever attended so far. You mightn’t have picked it at first glance. A lineup targeting a generation above. I was really excited to see Crowded House and The Church play, plus Angus and Julia Stone were there too! Speaking of, I feel like I appreciate their whole discography and incredibly talented musicianship a lot more now beyond the laid-back hits Chateau and Big Jet Plane. Anyway, I wasn’t quite as familiar with acts like Mark Seymour and The Waifs. That being said, I knew they shared a special place in the heart of many Australians. So, when I had the chance to head up to the Sandstone Point hotel with Mary and my parents for the evening, it was an easy decision.

Back to London Still. Well, since we arrived a little late, it was the song which opened the festival for us. An encore to conclude The Waifs afternoon set. It was beautiful. The crowd sang in unison on the grass and the charm of this lesser-known group was not lost on me. This song resonated with many, my mum included.

Now, on the road, I understand why. The guitar feels warm; the drums soft. The vocals are a transmission to home.

Knowing that my mum loves this song makes it even more meaningful. Listening to it on repeat while cooking in the evening transports me back to that concert, but also every beautiful, golden evening back in Australia. Outside with my family. Perhaps watching the Lions play on a Sunday. Or, coming home from school on the bus, walking up the front steps, and setting aside my homework to chat around the kitchen bench, or play basketball until sundown with my younger brothers.

Of course, the song is fixated on London. At the turn of the century, that was a second home for many young Australians. Accessible working visas, social migration, and a yearning for travel led many to make the trip abroad. In 2003—when this song was penned—the exodus was still strong, although it would begin to fade in coming years.

The “still” aspect of the title, and in the repeated chorus, alludes to a stay longer than expectations, with a tone of reluctance even. As though lead singer, Donna Simpson, isn’t entirely sure why she still resides there. Yet, there is a certain magnetism to the city that keeps her there. The people. The culture. The “funky records” and “fine art on Sunday.” Quirks that eventually become comforts.

There is also a shaky uncertainty underlying the whole song, perfectly underscored by the feel of Simpson’s voice. When speaking of coming home she stutters: “And if I ever come home, and I… I think I will.” There is also overwhelmingly simplicity that resonates here. Homesickness. Lines like “I miss you like my left arm that’s been lost in a war,” and “I wonder what I’m missing. I think of songs I’ve never heard.” There is longing here. But not necessarily a strong enough desire to return. Do they feel stuck in London? I’d argue they feel changed. Simpson wonders “if you can pick up my accent on the phone,” implying that she thinks her Australian identity may be crumbling a little. Her accent may be leaving her. Understandably, a scary proposition. Like if you look into a mirror and no longer recognise yourself.

Whilst years abroad in London don’t quite have the same appeal now as they did for Australians in the 2000s—as the crime, insane cost-of-living, and gloomy weather aren’t quite benign enough to ignore in favour of the vibrant, centre-of-the-world city life, social connection, and the home-away-from-home base to explore Europe—this song continues to speak to many. Myself included. I’ll be in London soon. Not for long. But there.

Though it doesn’t have to be London. This song feels like home to those away from theirs, wherever they are in the world. Often, I, too, find myself dreaming “of home and not of London anymore.” Yet, the road feels like home now in a way. Like Simpson, now familiar with all the “tube” lines and feeling like “we got it sorted” and “we really got it down,” you quickly acclimatise with your new home. In some ways, that feels scary. It feels like you’ve replaced one for another. That the old self you knew, wrapped up in the places, people, and objects you cherish in another land, are slowly decaying every time you get a little more ingrained in a foreign way of life. Whenever you come back though, the most important things will still be there.

Life abroad is romanticised. It appears liberating, transformative—often formative, as well, to the life a young person will eventual forge—and most of all, fun. It is. At times. But if you’re anything like me, there’ll be frequent lows for every soaring high. Home will beckon, over and over again. It takes patience to see how incredible the experience has been in the bigger picture and allow yourself to simply live in the present, despite everything you’ve left behind, and everything waiting for you when you return. Sometimes, you’ll just feel confused and not know what to think, as Simpson does here. Embrace it. You’re not alone. For me, this song has been showing Australians abroad that fact for the past two decades. It offers a warm hug, edged with a tinge of sadness, and the feeling of being seen. Great tune.