Desperate Journalist: Goddammit, that’s a painfully great band-name

How do you gain an upper hand over any mean-spirited journalist before he has even uttered or written one word? You give yourself a band name that slaps that dude/tte right in the ballpensack and call it a day. However, if that wasn’t great enough, this North London quartet (directly copied from their Bandcamp-page) is also the cat’s pajamas, if the cat’s pajamas were pubescent sad British teens in an 80s-inspired midlife-crisis – you know who I am talking about, right?

Yes, this band managed what hardly any band trying to infuse the Smiths into their sound manages: they are like well portioned bourbon vanilla in your coffee – you taste traces but it doesn’t overwhelm your cuppa (coffee). But seriously, I am incredibly in love with the – I think – debut album (dto.) and this weird mixture of manic guitar play and the coolest vocals since Morrissey cursed out a meat eater at one of his shows (which was probably last week). At the same time, the band’s knack for beautiful melodies (slightly inspired by the early Cranberries – hm, never thought a Smiths/Cranberries-crossover would work but there you go) makes sure that you don’t want to turn off their album and get out “Meat is murder”. NO! Instead you just waft through this luscious and at times incredibly dark album and feel like – despite the wintery temperatures outside – a white t-shirt, a leather jacket and the thinnest, skinniest black jeans will be the right thing to wear tomorrow (at your job at Disney World, of course).

Plus, this is one of those magical times when the season of an album release actually helps with the whole impact of it because when if not in Winter, beastly cold Winter, do you want to wallow in teenage/millennial/digital native/generation x/baby boomer-angst?

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