Photography: Ebony Rose
Listening to ‘Air Balloon’ sans distractions, as pure music, as pure human transmission, as I have been for an hour now, it seems to summate everything that’s broken with my relationship to British pop music.
Alex Turner’s Brits acceptance speech was everything that rock’n’roll is meant to be: unpredictable, dumb, funny, exciting and attention-grabbing. But it was so much more than that. It was a call to arms.
Ohhh, Charlotte. How I adore thee. I hear this and I want to be up on deck with you, scouring the seven seas with your bad pirate self.
Girls don’t need to be giddy and blatantly physical to subvert the male cock-rock structure, y’know. Sometimes, you need to play the victim.
Shellac know they are performing at a kids’ party and are always ready with the jokes, the hats, the pantomime routines. We in turn are always prepared to be delighted.
I totally blame Dave Grohl for this bullshit.
All in all, cool show. What is all worth it? Sure, ’cause I got in for free.
You know what I like? Noise. Slabs of noise. Noise that can smother your brain, melt your ears, and inject pure pleasure straight to your head. Or genitalia. Or BOTH.