Serge Gainsbourg in sequins brandishing a flick knife; Duane Eddy brawling on with the Shangri-La's; Connie Francis fresh from juvy hall with only vengeance on her mind. It's the guttural twang of surf colliding with the hip-shaking go-go grooves of Yé-Yé.

The wax spinning on the platter is the eponymous debut record by Baby Carla. Those grooves shaking up the tone arm are the product of a 60 year journey through genealogy and circumstance. It's a journey that began when her parents left Mama Italia in those bleak years after the second great war, looking towards Australia with a grim determination. There she was born and raised, dancing on tiled floors to the sounds of the old country and its new economic miracle. Patty Pravo, Nada & Mina Mazzini all fluttering around her ears and onwards into her nascent imagination. But growing up in the cultural halfway house common to most migrant stories, she found her new nation apathetic to those twangs emanating from the Adriatic. By this time, those musical halcyon days were receding into Italy's own memory, in the way that boom is always followed by bust. It was fate that she would meet her Italian compatriots Sacri Cuori when they backed Hugo Race in Australia. She was a voice floating adrift, a starlet without a setting; they were wanderers searching for that alluring something - elusive and almost extinct. They had found the 'Last Italian Diva' in the most unexpected of locations. Since then they have collaborated on two records, Delone and Florida, and recorded and performed with the likes of Howe Gelb, Marc Ribot, M Ward & Calexico.

And now comes Baby Carla. Written in Australia, recorded in Italy and completed back in the Antipodes, it's a beam cutting through time: resurrecting Italy's past musical glories and refracting them through the unlikely prism of modern Australian rock. Sleazy layers of guitars hang thick over a swinging rhythm section like the sweat of a sultry summer night, whilst synths and organs pine like drifting police sirens. And cutting through all that beautiful noise, Baby Carla glides like the breeze that whispers in our ear – finally, things are going to change.