The London dreamers have borrowed their favourite parts from music’s past to create a headrush of love and mysticism
A review of ‘Arc’ by Everything Everything that absolutely takes issue with everything the NME and the Tories stand for
The words come tumbling out of Jonathan Higgs’ mouth like so many bright bees, clouds and clouds of them buzzing about, so numerous and sharp such that their ingenuity, volume and ambition remind me of Joanna Newsom’s meticulous verses. He conjures up drone strikes, billionaires, footballers’ wives, broken war-heroes, landmines, volcanoes, rioters, pterodactyls, post-apocalyptic landscapes, revelatory visions. Not a waistcoat in sight.
Here’s an official video. It’s better than Veronica Falls, I guess.
Now this is some real grisly shit right here. Forget your Swans, forget your Big Black, forget your Danish bands of dubious intelligence
Fucking nice music too! I can hear Crass, I can hear Bikini Kill, I can hear Dutch insurrectionists The Ex … but most of all I can hear anger and determination and energy and bleakness and hope and a refusal to lie down and accept things as they are.
This explains Oasis, right?
Best Coast’s cover of ‘Rhiannon’ flung me into a sort of crisis the other day. When I heard it, I felt like crying. I felt really bad.
Secretly, what modern mainstream pop-hackery confirms is that there’s a fundamental sadness to the role of music writer, or at least there is if you let it take hold – you are employed to basically be a hanger-on, an eavesdropper, a spod, a geek, someone who won’t shut up about something the rest of the world just get on enjoying.
“Dude! Oh my god! Urge Overkill’s here! They’re in the parking lot! They’re all out there! Come meet them!”
Brand? BRAND?!! It’s a motherfucking music paper, you corporate assholes.