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‘New Brigade’ came pounding out of darkness to your door, before flailing around your house like an amphetamine-addled Warsaw during one of Ian Curtis’ epileptic fits. I can’t remember a debut sounding so menacing and energetic; Guitar like it’s being played with a cheese grater, bass superficially compliant, but … Read on
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It seems that at some point, the things people liked, became the things they wanted people to like them for liking. There’s an exception to every rule. Words can barely describe how much of a huge, swinging, unassailable gravel-in-your-jap’s-eye dick this music makes you feel - winking and cocking … Read on
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Recycling Night. Highlight of the wheelie bins’ fortnight. I get a garbage guard of honour. The hot ticket tonight is unarguably Thurston Moore and Michael Chapman at Band On The Wall, but my interest was piqued by this hot shit, Pitchfork-adored, up-and-coming Estonian songstress whose alliterational name with its … Read on
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Sometimes, maintaining an optimistic view of humanity is like being told you have to believe in gravity because any momentary lapse will see you float slowly-off into the pigeonsphere. These two southern Hipster bitches trying desperately to stifle a laugh at our party are seriously loosening my metaphorical gravity … Read on
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‘When I was seven years old, my father bought me a bicycle…’
Not really.
At least, I don’t think so. Over pre-gig drinks in The Castle, my +1 tonight used this as an example of the sort of tenuous intro Pitchfork writers use to start-off reviews. Being as the … Read on
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Q.1: *”Daddy Malkmus, I like to think of death as something as incomprehensible and annihilating to the individual as a sperm’s metamorphosis into embryo. But then I remember all the sperm that die along the way, ending up nothing. Do you have an indefatigable favourite band – A band that … Read on
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My excuse for missing The Magnetic Fields at the Royal Northern College of Music in 2004 was attending the wedding reception of my first girlfriend. As apt an excuse as any for missing the Magnetic Fields…but considering I’d gone out with her for just a couple of months 10 years … Read on
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‘West’:
In the glitchy sink, some chick’s reverberating “Yeahs” bounce off the cocaine-sprinkled porcelain. You raise your head to meet the gaze of your own psychotic pin-prick pupils in the mirror. You’re King of this City; Sure, you may enjoy a bit of a ruckus, maybe even half-inched … Read on
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A strange choice for a standalone, this single starts off as though it should be accompanying some YouTube compilation of seemingly meaningful mini-clips that speak of the wonder in living on this fantastical planet as the simple four note piano noodle repeats over and over – I see a droplet … Read on
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These Furrows’ bio goes to great lengths to convince the reader that they defy classification, or even a sniff of their influences – a piece of Pop-Propaganda smashed less than 3 seconds into ‘No Invitation, No Welcome’, when a sense of the rest of their material along with a picture … Read on