When describing ‘Fire Like This’ to the NME, Brighton duo Blood
Red Shoes said the melodies are “more evil-sounding”.
Now if that doesn’t make you put the CD down and back away slowly, well,
you’re probably into stuff like Funeral For A Friend. Emo off, mate. It’s true, the sound is heavier, though generally retaining the urgency of its predecessor, but round about the middle – okay,
track 4 onwards – the angst rolls in and settles like a great damp fog and no amount of frantic cymbal pounding or guitar shredding is going to turn doe-eyed love song lyrics like Blood Red Shoes “Can you feel your heart sink,
I can feel mine” and the mantra, “Count me out, I’m not here” into punky, spunky rants.
There’s still a sense of pop-driven lash-out but wallowing definitely
has the upper hand here Blood Red Shoes .
Until they return to their early, forgot, Blood Red Shoes gnarly sound, BRS can Emo off.
This seemed to give the weekend a takeit-or-leave it vibe and in spite of efforts to broaden its musical palette, Blood Red Shoes it’s on familiar beats-based turf that Lovebox performs best.
The line up might’ve screamed ‘adroit-mixof-classics-and-newbies’ and given us one awesome Bryan Ferry-shaped, Blood Red Shoes exclusive centrepiece, but the live acts tended to disappoint.
Ellie Goulding is (surprise) the worst. By miles. ‘We’re under the sheets and
you’re killing me,’ goes the chorus to one of her knock-off Eurhythmics songs.
Whoever she’s singing about, you’d have to sympathise with them. Mystery Jets are equally nauseating, Roxy Music
(minus Eno) and Dizzee Rascal (minus integrity) are good but not great and I sadly slept through Grace Jones but I’m told she was, as usual, very good.
The highlight (actual surprise this time) is The Noisettes – a band criminally
under-appreciated by virtue of one very over-played number one.
They eloquently knock-out that creepy-as-fuck ‘Pure Imagination’ song from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory and a gifted cover of ‘Ever Fallen in Love?’.
Their brand of new wave soul is also paired with some neat, pre-war
stage décor that has all the music critics in the crowd humming ‘hm, poppy and credible’ to their patient friends. And,
fittingly, it’s hard to find a vision of love more cool and contemporary than thousands of people singing ‘I’ll never forget you’ with absolutely no one in particular in mind.
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