The return of Everett True | 20. Rattle
I’ve been in London for a few days, hence the stutter in this series. Scared, intrigued, overwhelmed. This is little to do with London. Except that my new friend Petey – mother of a Skinned Teen – and I saw a couple of fine female bands (PINS, Shopping) play on the Camden Crawl last Friday, and we both made the same observation. One is trad (male) rock, one isn’t. One is accomplished in a traditional (male) sense of the word, and one isn’t. She felt Shopping were unique in their sound. She didn’t like PINS as much. I have seen Delta 5, Slits. So I don’t necessarily think Shopping are unique in their sound (not that this matters).
You wouldn’t say Rattle are traditional rock, not a bit. Indeed, back of my mind, I have a feeling someone described them as being one of a brace of post-Scout Niblett bands (which of course is going to intrigue me). I mention this here because London scared and overwhelmed me and this music helps to cleanse me, reassure me. I understand it, really I do – but I still find it life-affirming, challenging. I love the clatter among the silence. The knowledge that something is being lain bare.
This isn’t so much London – much as I enjoyed my time there – as Worthing beach.
This music is… listen to it. Now you tell me. How the fuck is fucking music critic Everett True (“Proper Music Journalism(TM)” © Everett True 2014) not going to be loving this? This is everything I believe about music: its humanity and rhythm and silences and fucking and rhythm and magic and solitude. Really it is.
This is me, right now.
And this is Rattle. There’s something of the wonderful climax and anti-climax of This Heat about them, don’t you think?