Darlin' buds

In a world that seems all too gloomy, there is something disarmingly lovely about Allo Darlin’.

Formed by Queenslander Elizabeth Morris, 28, the band have a reputation for carefree, uplifting pop soaked in the brightness and warmth of her tropical home.

“We play sunny pop,” she says. “It’s happy and joyous. I don’t know why; the songs just come out the way they do.

“They are never sickly-sweet or too rosy, though.”

It was while working in a sound-editing studio in London’s Soho that she found the name for her band. “It was in Berwick Street, and you could hear the guys on the market stalls shouting ‘allo darlin!’,” she explains. “And it seemed perfect.

“It’s a stupid name, but all band names are stupid!”

Starting off as a solo artist, armed only with her ukelele, Elizabeth and bandmates Paul Rains, Bill Botting and Mikey Collins, are now celebrating their third anniversary.

In a digital world, it’s nice to know their reputation is based on getting out and gigging.

“I think we are more a ‘word-of-mouth band’ than anything else,” she says.

“We are quite old-fashioned. We love playing and get a real kick out of it. People come and see us and like us – and that’s the way it works.

“Some bands would rather be recording, but I like to play to people. I write music and have to play it.”

She’s come a long way since her early days with her fledgling outfit The Darlings.

“When I was playing on my own I was just playing really tiny places, but I could be more spontaneous,” she says.

“Being in a band means everything has to be set in stone, but it’s great being out with my best mates – sharing the fun times and stresses.

Stresses? Surely not.

Elizabeth giggles. “Yeah, we have our share of those,” she says. “We had a disastrously triumphant – or triumphantly disastrous – tour of the continent last year with a van which wouldn’t start.

“It happened every day. We thought it would be cheaper to buy one than hire, but it was a disaster. And on the final day, while driving to a show in Brussels, we crashed it. It was the perfect end. It started filling up with carbon monoxide and then caught fire. We had to leave it in the French countryside and leave all our gear.

“We made it to the gig – which was still a five-hour drive away – but had to play with borrowed practice amps and a cocktail drum kit. We were a mess, but it was still a good show though.

“Now we find it weird when something doesn’t go wrong.

“Last year we had to cancel the first part of an American tour because our visas didn’t arrive in time. And then, in Montreal, a man broke into the bar with a sledgehammer and chased us out. He had a thing for a waitress there, and came crashing right in!

“It’s so boring when everything goes right. We are good in a crisis, though.”

This spring sees them releasing second album Europe, the follow-up to their acclaimed eponymous debut. And the first single to be released is the intensely-personal Capricornia. And, she explains, it’s a slice of pure Antipodean joy.

“Capricornia is the area of Queensland that I’m from. It has imaginary state lines, roughly around the Tropic of Capricorn, which runs directly through my hometown. There’s a nice ’70s monument that marks the spot where the line passes, out on a lonely dirt road where all the kids learn to drive. My family has lived in the area for six generations. It’s a beautiful place.”

The album is something of a departure, she explains, which is sensitive to the prevailing economic gloom.

“The songs are not as instantly sunny and are more introspective,” she says.

“I was aware of stuff going on, so it didn’t seem appropriate to do another bunch of carefree songs like the first album. But hopefully we come out the other side of it smiling.

“Everyone is struggling but I hope people come to the show and feel happier at the end. You can’t ask for more in life.”

And it is still saturated in that vivid Aussy sunshine.

“I guess your background does affect you,” she admits. “Everything is sunny down there, and even a day of rain is joyous, as it hardly ever happens.

“I try to stay open to what the music tells me. It’s a happy-sad thing – and it’s the perfect tonic.”