The return of Everett True | 120. The Wendy Darlings
I never do this. Or rather, I’ve never done this before.
I’ve always held off from running two Songs of the Day from the same album, though – much as I’ve sometimes wanted to. Not within a couple of days of each other.
It sets a bad precedent.
It makes it unlikely that anyone will look at the second entry.
It’s contrary to the whole spirit of the series. You listen to a band, listen to their song, and you move on. Life is a series of impermanent happenings. There’s too much. There’s always too much.
I can’t resist, though. Don’t want to. Couldn’t if I tried. Please don’t hate me.
They understand – probably not by design, certainly not by committee – what once made Ramones, Comet Gain, Heavenly, Lesley Gore, Shonen Knife, Prolapse, Ramones, Ramones, Ramones, Pastels, Skeeter Davis, Buy Off The Bar, Pounding Serfs, Camera Obscura, Concretes, School, Loves, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Huggy Bear, Lulu, Elli et Jacno, Pee Chees, Orange Juice, Ramones Ramones Ramones, Lungleg, Michel Polnareff, Kenickie, Undertones, Les Calamities, Television Personalities, Chin Chin, half of this series itself… so great. That petulant glee. That grandstanding twenty-something (thirty-something, forty-something…) refusal to face up to the facts and get on with life, the bounce behind the casually thrown-away “yeah yeah yeah”, the laconic grace behind hitting the drums stand-up, the irresistable slide into bratty nostalgia, that schoolyard stomp and schoolyard blam, the ringing jangling guitars, the Phil Spector drums, the boy-girl boy call siren, the laughter, the ennui that exists behind every kid-less Sunday, the late rising, the turbulence, the joy of discovery and rediscovery and discovery, eyes still wide open even though the world keeps telling you to close them, close them tight shut, the voice of adulthood vainly trying to admonish but totally ignored, Brighton beach in the early hours of the morning, racing around Olympia throwing snowballs at fire hydrants, the falling apart and laughing, another boring eight hours at work but it hardly matters because the fucking FIREWORKS ARE PLAYING TONIGHT…
Man, I miss imposed routine.
It’s like a Comet Gain shorn of all the cynicism.
That line, “I want to sing ‘yeah yeah’ all day/You’re not a teenager anymore” is the greatest lyric I have heard this side of Christmas.
Here’s what I wrote on Facebook:
I know I caught many of you off-balance with my recent recommendation for Pop Album of the Year 2015 – a dazzling slice of R&B – but for all you Ramones and Shonen Knife fans, all you Slumberland kids and Belle & Sebastian romantics, all you old school Pastels and Shop Assistants acolytes and TVPs freaks, all you How Does It Feel To Be Loved? Northern Soul dancers, all you Huggy Bear fans… here’s my early nomination for Indie Pop Album of the Year 2015.
For years, I tried to deny this part of me existed. I never want to go back. Really. I never want to go back. But the lady protests. The lady protests much too hard.
If I’d known that there would be three kids in France playing – and bettering – what we were playing so randomly and lovingly and shambolically nearly 30 years ago, would I have scorned the very idea? Or would I have secretly been thrilled? Secretly been thrilled, honey. Of course they cover The Pastels’ ‘I Wonder Why’ on their album. Buy it! Buy it now.
Once I had a secret love
That lived within the heart of me
All too soon my secret love
Became impatient to be free
So I told a friendly star
The way that dreamers often do
Just how wonderful you are
And why I am so in love with you
Now I shout it from the highest hills
Even told the golden daffodils
At last my heart’s an open door
My secret love’s no secret anymore
(‘Secret Love’ – best version here)
Related posts: The return of Everett True | 117. The Wendy Darlings