Not a real conversation | Micachu and the Shapes live
I enjoyed your show. You rocked, the way only ladies can rock. I’ve been waiting eight years to see you play live. No disappointments there.
Yeah? Thanks man.
Loved the fact you only played for around – what was it? – 35 minutes. No chance of boredom. Loved the grungy minimalism. You were holding your guitar like you were a band-leader conducting a 30-piece orchestra, coaxing the strangest yet most familiar of sounds out of the pit. Loved the playfulness and obvious love the packed-in audience had for you.
Yeah? Thanks man… tell me, do you always talk like this?
No. I’m far less articulate and anyway, I always used to drink before tackling musicians, kinda obviates the need for coherency and helps create an artificially charged enthusiasm. I was an artist when I drank… still, that drummer huh?
Yeah I know, man. Wanna beer?
(Sound of bottles clinking.)
Reminded me of The Fall’s twin drum stools rolled into one, circa ’81. You know what I mean?
What are your songs about anyway? I never stop and consider that, always just see the colours, hear the textures, feel the lights. Half the time I was standing there I was wondering the attraction of cattle pens. Caught the sneer in your lip, but it wasn’t just that, was it? The keyboard messin’ around with various sounds, galloping along and fucking with my ears. Like some sort of emotional cipher. Charlotte asked me what it was like the next day. I avoided use of the word ‘grungy’ because it has too many unsavoury connotations but…
Yeah man. (Laughs.) The songs are about whatever you want them to be about, man.
And I reckon anyone who uses the word ‘angular’ in 2015 should be… Well, you know.
Sorry, what was that man? Losing concentration now.
Fuck it. I just enjoyed the show. Thanks. It was like having a conversation, but not a real conversation. The best kind.