If you’re chasing the best songs of The Drones, you’re in for a rough, beautiful ride. This Melbourne-via-Perth outfit, led by the growling, poetic Gareth Liddiard, spent nearly two decades turning punk blues, folk rock, and noise into something closer to Australian gothic literature set to guitars. I’ve spent countless nights with this catalog on headphones, in the car, and blasted through cheap PA speakers at pub gigs, and every listen reveals another layer of dread, humor, and raw craftsmanship. Below are the 20 essential tracks that trace the band’s evolution from their scrappy 2002 debut through their final studio statement in 2016, pulled from across all six of their studio albums.
Shark Fin Blues
There’s a reason “Shark Fin Blues” was voted the greatest Australian song of all time in a 2009 Triple J poll of more than 70 of the band’s songwriting peers. Liddiard wrote it in the wake of his mother’s death, borrowing a chord shape from an old Karen Dalton tune before turning it into something entirely his own. The production is deceptively simple: hazy, distorted guitars drift over restrained drumming before the track explodes into a chorus of screeching riffs and those instantly recognizable “na na na” backing vocals. On a good pair of headphones, you can hear every bit of grit in Liddiard’s vocal take, which is part of why the track still lands as one of the most emotionally devastating opening statements in Australian rock.
Baby²
Tucked into the second slot on “Wait Long by the River and the Bodies of Your Enemies Will Float By” (2005), “Baby²” is a tighter, more compact piece of songwriting credited to the full band lineup of the era, including drummer Christian Strybosch and bassist Fiona Kitschin. It moves faster than most Drones material, built on a scrappy garage-rock pulse that keeps the album’s darker moments from ever feeling monotonous. Liddiard’s vocal delivery here leans more sardonic than tortured, which makes it a great palate-cleanser between the record’s heavier emotional set pieces.
The Best You Can Believe In
Clocking in at over seven minutes, “The Best You Can Believe In” is one of the sprawling centerpieces of the band’s breakthrough second album. The arrangement builds patiently, letting the rhythm section establish a slow-burning groove before the guitars start to unravel into feedback and dissonance. Liddiard’s lyricism here is less narrative and more impressionistic, a series of images and half-formed accusations that reward repeat listens. It’s the kind of song that benefits from a proper listening session rather than background noise, so if you’re serious about catching every nuance, our guide to compare headphones is worth a look before you dive back in.
Sitting on the Edge of the Bed Cryin’
At close to eight minutes, “Sitting on the Edge of the Bed Cryin'” is one of the emotional high points of “Wait Long by the River,” a slow-building meditation that gives the whole band room to stretch out. The Drones have said this stretch of the record channels grief and disorientation more directly than almost anything else in their catalog, and the arrangement reflects that, moving from hushed verses into cathartic instrumental swells. Live versions of this track, including one recorded in New York in 2007, show just how elastic the song became on stage. It’s a track best experienced start to finish, uninterrupted, ideally with nothing else competing for your attention.
Six Ways to Sunday
Pulled from the band’s 2002 debut “Here Come the Lies,” “Six Ways to Sunday” is a woozy, half-drunk meditation on time, boredom, and the slow crawl toward Sunday drinking. It’s rougher around the edges than the material that followed, recorded when the lineup still included original members Rui Pereira and Christian Strybosch. The song’s structure loops and circles rather than marching forward, mirroring the hungover, cyclical feeling of its lyrics. For longtime fans, it’s a fascinating window into the band before Fiona Kitschin’s bass and backing vocals became such a defining part of their sound.
Sixteen Straws
One of the standout tracks from 2006’s “Gala Mill,” “Sixteen Straws” runs past the nine-minute mark and opens with a traditional first-verse lyric before spiraling into an original tale of desperation and survival. The album leaned heavily into Australia’s colonial history for its lyrical themes, and this track’s grim narrative fits that mold perfectly. Musically, it’s patient and folk-inflected, letting Michelle Lewit’s violin and the band’s slow-burn dynamics do a lot of the storytelling work. It’s a demanding listen, but one of the most rewarding pieces in the entire catalog once it clicks.
Jezebel
“Jezebel” digs into the same colonial-history well that defines much of “Gala Mill,” recorded during sessions at a remote mill on a farm in Tasmania. The band’s decision to record somewhere so isolated shows up in the atmosphere here, all creaking tension and slow-motion menace. Liddiard’s vocal performance walks a careful line between narration and confession, never quite tipping into melodrama. If you’re building out a playlist of the band’s history-obsessed material, this one belongs right alongside “Sixteen Straws.”
I Don’t Ever Want to Change
This “Gala Mill” cut is one of the more tender, vulnerable moments in the band’s catalog, a rare instance where Liddiard’s lyrics read almost like a direct plea rather than a story about someone else. It became a recurring live favorite, appearing on multiple archival live releases the band put out decades later. The arrangement stays relatively restrained, letting the emotional weight of the vocal carry the track instead of leaning on noise or dynamics. It’s a good reminder that beneath all the distortion, The Drones were always a genuinely great songwriting outfit.
The Minotaur
Released as the lead single from 2008’s “Havilah,” “The Minotaur” is a lean, three-and-a-half-minute blitz recorded in a mud-brick house outside Myrtleford, Victoria. Liddiard uses the ancient myth as a metaphor for modern complacency and the weight of leadership, a typically ambitious conceptual leap dressed up in a genuinely catchy garage-rock riff. The recording, co-produced with Burke Reid, has a rawer, more immediate energy than some of the band’s longer epics. It’s one of the most accessible entry points into the “Havilah” era for new listeners.
Nail It Down
Opening “Havilah” at nearly seven minutes long, “Nail It Down” sets the tone for the whole record with a slow, grinding build that gradually accumulates layers of guitar noise. It became a fan-favorite live staple, regularly stretched out even further in concert, including a memorable performance captured on the “Live at the Hi-Fi” release. The mix gives plenty of space to Mike Noga’s drumming, which shifts from restrained to explosive as the song progresses. If you want to understand why critics called “Havilah” one of the era’s most underrated Australian rock records, this is where to start.
The Drifting Housewife
Reviewers at the time compared “The Drifting Housewife” to a slowcore blend of Jesus and Mary Chain and Nick Cave, and that description still holds up. Thematically, the song deals with marital breakdown and domestic unease, delivered with an unsettling calm rather than the band’s usual snarl. Dan Luscombe’s guitar work adds a shimmering, almost hypnotic texture that contrasts nicely with the darker subject matter. It’s one of the more atmospheric tracks on “Havilah,” rewarding close, attentive listening over background play.
I Am the Supercargo
This moody, Americana-leaning number features one of Dan Luscombe’s most memorable guitar solos, often compared to Neil Young’s more ragged, emotionally direct playing. Liddiard’s vocal delivery is gentle at first, almost conversational, which makes the song’s darker turns land with more force. Songwriting credit here goes to Luscombe himself, a reminder that by this point The Drones had become a genuine collaborative unit rather than just a vehicle for one voice. It’s a slow-burner that pays off best on a late-night listen, ideally through decent headphones so you can catch every texture in the mix.
Careful As You Go
Soft, acoustic, and unusually gentle by Drones standards, “Careful As You Go” deals with themes of emptiness and quiet dread rather than the band’s usual full-throttle catharsis. Critics at the time noted its resemblance to American Music Club filtered through a Beatles-style melodic sensibility, an unlikely but fitting combination. It’s proof that the band’s songwriting strength never depended on volume or distortion alone. This is one of the tracks that tends to win over listeners who find the band’s louder material a little overwhelming on first listen.
Oh My
“Oh My” returns to a heavier, Nick Cave-adjacent sound, with guitars that nod toward Neil Young and Crazy Horse at their most ragged. The track’s lyrics carry a bruised, sardonic humor that’s easy to miss on a first pass but becomes clearer with repeat listens. It sits comfortably in the middle of “Havilah,” acting as a bridge between the album’s gentler moments and its heavier closing stretch. Live, it became a showcase for the band’s chemistry, with the rhythm section pushing the tempo harder than the studio version.
Luck in Odd Numbers
Closing out one side of “Havilah,” “Luck in Odd Numbers” is a slow, moody number that stretches past eight minutes without ever feeling padded. Liddiard’s vocal has been compared to a more melancholic take on the kind of understated delivery you’d hear from The Magic Numbers, while the guitars carry a muddy, Neil Young-inspired grit throughout. The song’s patience is the point, letting tension accumulate rather than resolving quickly. It’s a demanding listen, best suited to a dedicated sit-down rather than a casual play-through.
I See Seaweed
The title track from the band’s celebrated 2013 album stretches past eight minutes and opens the record with an unhurried, almost cinematic build. Self-released by the band and produced by Liddiard alongside Burke Reid and John Roberto at a home studio in Nagambie, Victoria, it captures a band at the peak of its powers, patient and confident enough to let a song breathe for that long. The album went on to reach No. 18 on the ARIA Albums Chart, the band’s highest chart placement to that point. Critics at the time called the record less a rock album than a demented film score, and this opening track sets that tone perfectly.
How to See Through Fog
Released as a single from “I See Seaweed,” “How to See Through Fog” is one of the more immediate, riff-driven moments on an otherwise sprawling record. It gave listeners a slightly more digestible entry point into an album full of long, patient builds. The guitar interplay between Dan Luscombe and Liddiard is especially sharp here, trading texture and lead lines throughout. Whether you’re listening in the car or through a solid set of earbuds, this is one of the tracks where the band’s mix really rewards close attention to detail.
A Moat You Can Stand In
Widely considered one of the most old-school Drones tracks on “I See Seaweed,” “A Moat You Can Stand In” returns to the band’s noisier, more confrontational roots. The lyrics take aim at prominent Australian media commentators of the era, delivered with a sharp, almost gleeful bite that critics singled out as one of the album’s funniest and most cutting moments. Musically, it’s the most immediate, barn-burning cut on a record otherwise built around patience and slow-motion tension. If you only have time for one loud, cathartic Drones song from this era, this is it.
Laika
Named, in spirit if not directly, for the kind of doomed, isolated figures that populate so much of Liddiard’s writing, “Laika” builds through a series of intense crescendos that reviewers highlighted as some of the album’s most powerful moments. The arrangement takes its time, letting piano and guitar textures accumulate before the track reaches its full, cathartic weight. It’s one of the tracks that best demonstrates why critics described this era of the band as masters of tension and release. On headphones, the layered instrumentation really opens up in ways that can get lost on smaller speakers.
Why Write a Letter That You’ll Never Send
Closing “I See Seaweed” at over nine minutes, “Why Write a Letter That You’ll Never Send” is widely cited by fans and critics as one of the finest closing tracks in the band’s catalog. It brings together everything the record does well: patient builds, emotionally raw lyricism, and a band completely locked in with each other after more than a decade together. Some reviewers said they’d give the song a perfect score if the rating scale allowed it, which tells you a lot about how it lands live and on record. It’s the kind of closer that makes you want to start the whole album over again the second it ends.
Frequently Asked Questions
What is The Drones’ most famous song?
“Shark Fin Blues,” from their 2005 album “Wait Long by the River and the Bodies of Your Enemies Will Float By,” is widely regarded as the band’s signature song. It was voted the greatest Australian song of all time in a 2009 Triple J poll of the band’s songwriting peers.
Who was the lead singer of The Drones?
Gareth Liddiard formed The Drones in Perth in 1997 and remained the band’s lead vocalist and guitarist throughout its run. His partner, Fiona Kitschin, joined on bass in 2002 and became the band’s other constant member.
Are The Drones still active?
The Drones went on hiatus in December 2016, with Liddiard and Kitschin going on to form Tropical Fuck Storm the following year. The band briefly reunited for benefit shows in 2025 and announced a reunion tour for August and September 2026.
What genre is The Drones?
The Drones are generally classified as punk blues and garage rock, with strong folk rock and noise rock elements that grew more pronounced across their later albums, particularly “Gala Mill” and “I See Seaweed.”
Which Drones album should I start with?
“Wait Long by the River and the Bodies of Your Enemies Will Float By” (2005) is the most common entry point thanks to “Shark Fin Blues,” but “I See Seaweed” (2013) is often cited as their most fully realized artistic statement. You can browse more artist deep-dives like this one in our songs archive if you want to keep exploring.
What’s the best way to listen to The Drones’ music?
Given how much of the band’s power comes from dynamics, quiet passages exploding into noise, a decent pair of headphones or a solid earbud setup makes a real difference. If you’re shopping for new gear, our guides to compare earbuds and compare headphones can help you figure out what will do this catalog justice.