Much is often made of The Saints staking an early claim on punk, beating out bands like the Sex Pistols and The Clash to initial release. Regardless, what’s most impressive is just how well the Brisbane quartet’s 1977 debut album holds up decades later, right from the scathing, yet tuneful opening title track. Released in late 1976, the title track was inspired by a wayward late-night train ride—and to the suffocating political environment in Brisbane at the time, thanks to Queensland premier Joh Bjelke-Petersen’s intense conservative rule. As an Australian band who were influenced by US proto-punk acts like The Stooges, MC5 and Pretty Things—yet couldn’t even boast of living in a city as prominent as Sydney or Melbourne at the time—the song’s urgent chorus was an unmistakable rallying cry for anyone who felt exiled: “I’m stranded on my own/Stranded far from home.” The Saints—singer-songwriter Chris Bailey, guitarist-songwriter Ed Kuepper, bassist Kym Bradshaw and drummer Ivor Hay— released that first single on their own label after failing to find a proper home for it. They were signed to EMI soon after, but struggled with the contrived punk identity that the label had laid out for them. And though bands like Sydney’s Radio Birdman are more widely known from that first wave of a Aussie punk (I’m) Stranded endures today because of how timeless and true it is. By including amped-up covers of the Elvis lark “Kissin’ Cousins” and the signature 1965 tune “Wild About You” from Sydney garage band The Missing Links, they cherry-picked the past for authentic flashes of attitude. (Reissued versions of the album included riotous versions of Ike & Tina Turner’s “River Deep Mountain High” and Connie Francis’ playful “Lipstick on Your Collar”). Recorded live in the studio with a tracklist that mirrored their live shows, the album is frantic and forward-thrusting, with a wiry nest of distortion on songs like “One Way Street”. But the band also slow down at times, showcasing Bailey’s smouldering talk-singing on the Modern Lovers-esque “Untitled” (a reissue-added outtake from the original album) and his crestfallen pub balladry on “Messin’ With the Kid” (which evokes The Stones’ “Sway”). Meanwhile, Kuepper commits himself fully to throttling hooks and breakaway lead guitar throughout, including his ultra-frenetic soloing on the Buzzcocks-worthy frayed-nerves sprint “Erotic Neurotic”. The band would relocate to Sydney and later London, making two more albums before splintering into solo careers and Kuepper’s post-punk pioneer group Laughing Clowns. But The Saints’ adrenalised, romantic and articulate brand of punk has only grown in influence since this album’s release, shaping future Aussie acts like Eddy Current Suppression Ring and Civic. It remains a particular touchstone for the kind of hungry, jaded anthems with which a young band can successfully claw their way out of exile.