The return of Everett True | 56. The Popguns
The second song on their new EP reminds me of the last Hole song I ever liked, ‘Malibu’.
We’ve been here before, but I make no apologies. Wendy’s voice still gets me – tears me apart – 25 years on. And maybe it gets me even harder these days, because it reminds me of all that I missed and all that I now miss. (You know what I miss most these days? Being unable to grab that iron bar in my hand and go around smashing clocks and fittings and walls, wrenching off bannisters from entire staircases. Being unable to stub that cigarette out on my arm. Punching walls. I can’t because I can’t let my kids see the marks.) You think I’m making this Song of the Day out of simple nostalgia? You’re wrong. Nostalgia is never simple. I want to dance and leap so high, I never come down. I have no idea about major and minor keys. I have no way of knowing what chords are played where. I just know there are certain notes when played in a certain sequence that cut me every time. I’m not sure why Wendy is singing of love and obsession and desire and pain in 2014 (I appreciate it’s a reference to the 1995 album) cos no one feels that shit any more, do they? (Wait. I’m starkly reminded of a beach in Hastings, last summer, England season time.) But I’m glad she is, but it feels so remote. The guitars do what the guitars must: and they tear me as well. The drums tear me. The bass that sounds like Girls At Our Best! The slightly clumsy middle-eight tears me. I mean, wow.
The third song reminds me a little of The Seekers. You think that’s a diss? Are you crazy?
A friend posted on Facebook yesterday that she left the coffee pot on all day, and had toast for dinner. These simple words made me miss Seattle so much.
This song, this band make me miss Brighton so much it’s near unbearable.
I loved this band. They soundtracked my drunken despair, infatuation buoyed by delusion and brought down by the thought that however bad you feel now, tomorrow’s worse.
The Popguns were obviously in love with The Wedding Present. The Popguns obviously grew up on The Smiths. But their music was always a little too desperate to connect with all the cute indie kids out there. It wasn’t polite at all. (In terms of temperance, it was fucking heavy metal.) You could taste the bitter sea air of all those lonely walks home at 3am. Wendy had a real edge to her voice, the guitars were almost frantic in their determination to prove they amounted to less than the sum of their influences. It’s probably no coincidence I first encountered The Popguns around the time I moved to Brighton: after years of searching I finally had a place I could call home, with all the bitter aftertastes that involved. Nothing special to anyone who came from outside perhaps, but they were to me.