Alt-Rock, Lads, and Club Culture: A Reconsideration

Recently in Noisey (Vice Magazine’s music-focused offshoot) an article was published, entitled “Britain’s Alt-Rock Scene Is Misogynistic and Keeping Lad Culture Alive.” The general outline of this article by Hannah Ewans runs that Uprawr and Facedown, two of the UK’s biggest alt-rock nights, as well as the widespread alt-rock publication Front, are misogynistic, exploiting the female body for the pleasure of male consumers, and that they keep the macho, objectifying, and generally dislikeable revival of Lad culture going from strength to strength.
As a general rule, my opinion of Noisey (and to a greater or lesser extent, Vice) veers from suspecting that it is all a massive trolling exercise, to thinking that it is attempting to be serious and that it has the journalistic integrity of a bran flake.

I will acknowledge that the promotional materials for Uprawr and Facedown do little to distance these nights from Lad culture, and that what goes on in these clubs does frequently stray into the territory of sexualised male-centric hedonism, which is where Lad culture thrives like a pathogen in a moist petri dish. Furthermore, Ewans is right in pointing out that Front is for all intents and purposes FHM with more piercings and tattoos.
So, does this mean that Britain’s alt-rock scene is sexist and keeping lad culture alive?

No. For several reasons, I do not agree with what Ewns argues in her article. I believe that there is a problematic rise of Lad culture afoot right now, but I believe that this is a problem that is not restricted to alt-rock, or even symptomatic of the alt-rock scene in general. It is a much bigger issue, and one for which I propose actions very different to Ewans’ solution.

First and foremost, we need to look at the term “alt-rock.” Short for “alternative rock,” this term is variably used as an umbrella term for grunge, pop-punk, late-80s/90s US ska-punk, “skater” music, nu-metal, and a whole host of other things that sprung up in the 90s, mostly in America, that went against the grain of the L.A. scene. So immediately, we are faced with a term that is utterly vague and in no way homogenous enough to address in its entirety.
Is the pop-punk student night Uprawr infiltrated by Lad culture? Arguably yes.
Is the underground heavy rock night New Heavy Sounds infiltrated by Lad culture? No.
Yet, you could easily put forth the case that both are equally at home under the “alt-rock” banner. So, right from the start, the Noisey article tars with the same brush entire swathes of music culture that have absolutely nothing to do with one another, other than being, either by virtue of their marketing or by virtue of their detachment from the mainstream zeitgeist, “alternative” rock. For thesake of argument, I’m going to assume that by “alternative rock,” Ewans is referring to the pop-punk-dominated movement that existed in the late 90s and throughout the 00s.

My second issue is that Ewans is basing her argument not on the music scene, but on two club nights and a magazine. This, to me, seems a very small segment of a scene, and very under-representative. Having been to a lot of gigs that would come under the “alt-rock” definition used here (Alkaline Trio, Billy Talent, Green Day, AFI, etc), I would venture forth the statement that the gigs have an entirely different gender politics from the clubs and magazines that Ewans discusses.
Now, there are some pretty solid reasons for this. Amongst people my age (or thereabouts) there is still, in general, a very strong undercurrent, or occasionally even overcurrent, of Lad culture. So, we can say that Lad culture is still “in” in a fairly mainstream way amongst young people from 18 through to their early 30s. Now, look at the promotional materials for Uprawr and Facedown. There is surprisingly little differentiating them from most mainstream clubs of a similar demographic, i.e.: people in their late teens to very early 30s. They all feature bangin’ choons, cheap(ish) alcohol, and the age-old adage that sex sells. The alt-rock elements really are little more than lip service and a USP, in the same way an “I less-than-three the eighties” night or an ABBA night might work. Or, indeed, a TOWIE-themed alt-rock night.

In fact, Uprawr doesn’t even contain any live music. It is a national clubbing outfit in the vein of Ministry of Sound. With that in mind, is it little wonder that they would deploy tactics such as bikini-clad Jägermeister-ladies or sharing articles from the reprehensible Return of Kings blog? Not really. Uprawr are a brand, advised by brand advisors, and presumably have a roughly-sketched caricature or a key demographic to work from. They are one of the UK’s biggest rock-themed clubbing institutions. In other words, they are pretty mainstream. And what is the mainstream’s branding caricature of rock? Macho, oversexed, hedonistic. And they angle their marketing and club events accordingly. Resultingly, the macho, oversexed, hedonistic Lads jump on board, to show off how hardcore they are, and take advantage of the previously more level gender playing field in the alt-rock scene. And you know what? Any big company, be it Uprawr, Facedown, or Front, won’t actually care. Lads come in, and Lads spend money. So, to keep the easy cash flow, they’re not about to make a U-turn and make their products less appealing to Lads. Instead, they’ll play fairly mainstream levels of alt-rock (everything from a late-90s/00s school leavers’ party, plus newer guitar-based chart material and some stuff too racy or sweary for a school do), and research into what other clubs do to retain their clientele. And act accordingly.

At the end of the day, if you go to a product that paddles in the mainstream, you will get either mainstream attitudes in their purest form (such as Lad culture), or mainstream assumptions of what a particular subculture indulges in. And this is precisely what has occurred with Ewans’ article. Front was created, not as an alternative rockers’ magazine, but as a rival to Loaded. Furthermore, until earlier this year, it was owned by Kane Corporation Ltd, who were not exactly bastions of the alternative music scene. So, despite what its marketing claims may be, Front was, and is, first and foremost a lads’ mag marketed to the “alternative scene” rather than a publication stemming from the “alternative scene” to serve the scene. So to judge Britain’s alt-rock scene on that grounds would be like using Suicide Girls to argue that goth is a misogynistic subculture. And no one would really be prepared to do that.
As for Uprawr, it markets itself for its “its extravert and over top LA style parties” (www.totaluprawr.com/about-us/london/), which in the case of Birmingham is “Located at the ASYLUM a well known venue in the alternative scene for bands [sic]” (https://www.totaluprawr.com/about-us/birmingham/). So, it is more along the lines of a partying experience in venues known to be part of the alternative scene. And let us not forget that the alt-rock scene, or at least parts of it, were intended to go against the L.A. scene, rather than ape it in the way Uprawr does. As for Facedown, it is arguably more to do with the alt-rock scene proper, by virtue of its inclusion of live music by “alt-rock” bands. However, they also have a dubstep room and are advertised as “London’s biggest rock night” (https://www.facebook.com/facedownrockclub/info), rather than “London’s biggest alternative night.” So, again we find ourselves in the sea of mainstream caricatures of rock culture, and lowest-common-denominator club-fillers, by the admission of these very nights themselves.

In all honesty, the “alternative” scene isn’t always the best place as regards gender politics. Pop-punk has a strong foundations in songs that raged about ex-girlfriends, and bands such as Emmure and BrokeNcyde have crawled from what could well be the worst stuff imaginable that lurks within the subculture, in its utterly diverse and almost indefinable vastness. But what Ewans is targeting here is not so much the misogyny and Lad culture coming from within the scene, as the way in which mainstream Lad culture has infiltrated the more mainstream, capital-focused elements that have until now leeched from the scene and given very little in return other than clothing labels and cheap shots of Sourz and Jäger. The bottom line is that if radical feminism was fashionable in the mainstream, you’d need to be carrying the SCUM manifesto to get into Uprawr, as they would see that as the new big moneymaker. But that is not the case. So, to cash in on what´s big in the mainstream, we have Lad culture in all its putrid glory. It’s that simple.

But what galls me perhaps more than the black-and-white flattening of a vast umbrella term, more than the frankly baffling sampling techniques used to make a case in Ewans’ article, is the end statement, where she points the finger firmly at bands to fix all this.
This is not right.
Bands are a small part of a subculture, once a subculture gains autonomy and strength. Take a look at the black metal scene: in the beginning, if the big-name bands had said something (like “burn churches”), the fifty or so core adherents of the subculture would have obeyed. But could Varg Vikernes truly and honestly have any say in what the entirety of black metal subculture do with itself? No. What if Mayhem, Vikernes, Dimmu Borgir, Satyricon, and Watain all said something in collective statement? I still think it would have very minimal impact on the lives of many black metallers.
Alt-rock is an even bigger, even more nebulous scene than black metal, and so it is not squarely on the artists to make the change. It is squarely on everybody in the scene. Full stop. Each member of the alt-rock scene is a perfectly functional person capable of making their own decisions and creating their own contributions to the scene. To say that it is the responsibility of the bands (and implicitly no one else) would be like saying that it is not only the right of Russell Brand to carry on with his Che Guevara antics, but that these antics are his primary responsibility as an entertainer. To say that it is up to Russell Brand and his fellow comedians, artists, and assorted others, to stand up and make our socio-political choices for us.
This statement, or course, is ridiculous.
Of course artists should take part in a progressive movement – if they wish to save their subculture from being taken over by Lad culture, that is their prerogative and they can and should do all they can to aid the cause. But that should never be at the cost of allowing everyone else to be lazy. The subculture is, at the end of the day, an aggregate of all those within it, from clothes designers, to writers, to promoters, to people who just want a night out. A united movement from all those segments of the subculture will effect a change far greater and far quicker than anything bands could ever do to change the state of things. In the case of Uprawr, bands have an utterly minimal input into the night, and therefore to argue that bands must effect change in there is bizarre. Confronting Uprawr must be done by simply not attending. Just make a club night that has a better atmosphere.
There are pockets of resistance, of the alternative that has not been eaten by the mainstream. But these are areas that the mainstream just is not interested in, where equal gender politics and other positive elements are not statements of rebellion or reactionary gestures, but simply a naturalised state of how things are regardless of exterior mainstream phenomena such as Lad culture. That is what the rest of the subculture should aim for. But that means that alt-rock in Ewans’ definition must put on its own nights and print its own zines, free from the interference of national clubbing organisations or the input of corporations. If there truly is a pop-punk fan subculture worthy of the title left in Britain, it needs to stir itself into action and redefine itself as its own positive entity, rather than just a dead scene that is used as a marketing ploy by people selling stuff to the 18-34 demographic.

As a parting shot, just remember: alt-rock is a massive term, and there are vast swathes of it that have good gender politics, whereas some pockets are atrocious. It is with entities such as BrokeNcyde and Emmure that the true problems within alt-rock lie. With the problems that Ewans outlines, it seems to me that it is a case of mainstream clubbing culture using the skin of alternative culture to leech money out of it.
The lessons learned from here are pretty important, and the biggest that I can think of is not to generalise such a diverse subculture by tarring it with the sins of the few simply for the sake of a sensationalist headline.

My homage to the world of work

On second thoughts, let's not go to the world of work. It is a silly place.

(Apologies to Sarah Salih, King Arthur and his Knights, the Pearl poet, and anyone else who has ever attempted to teach me to know better.)

***

‘Twas the feast of the court,
amid maidens fair,
the Green Knight set foot,
to th'assembleds’ despair.

His eyes were most wroth,
a blazing hell-feu,
his comely face glowed
as vernal foliage in verdant hue.

His horse of same shade,
in gold bridle reared,
failed hoofs so dark,
twitched holly-leaf ears.

“Lo,” cried he, “Lo and behold,
I come with a game,
one new to this land,
t’offend the masters and distress the dames.

“Cut off my head, knights,
sever this voice,
from the throat whence it speaks,
you have nary a choice.”

Silence claimed all,
conquered each to a man,
‘til King Arthur stepped forth
to defend folk and land.

“I bequeath you this axe,”
quoth that knight,
“as wild as myself,
to deliver that strike,

“End this court’s plight
‘fore I take what I claim.”
The valiant king raised the leaf-blade,
defying the shame

Of a cowards’ court,
of being in a troupe
of curs and of apes,
who cower from a loup.

Yet ‘fore this great
em’rald blade took its flesh,
the king’s hand was stayed
by a knight so fresh.

He too was brave,
let no mortal contest
the valour of this man,
who wished to prove best.

“No, noble sire,” said the young chit,
“assay your gentle arm,
bloody yourself not with such deeds,
lest it bring sweet Albion to harm.”

Stepped forth this sprightly one,
radiant as the steel
of the axe he just halted,
he, that trembling aspen tree.

A sapling of a knight,
unproved there he stood,
none would grant him mercy,
offer their life as he would.

“Beau challenger,” cried the beast,
 wild green knight elegante,
“you take up my game?
You put yourself forth, I am pleased, enchanté!

“You must cut off my head,
strike visage from home,
sever mind from matter,
slice tendon from bone.”

Black was the mood
on that feast day so dour,
once so blossoming,
now curdled and sour.

The young one hefted that blade
so unseasonably bright,
over his head, over his head,
and beheld the sight

As that monster stood up
from its knees and retrieved
its head from the flagstones,
this none could believe.

“Good knight,” roared that devil,
spilling blood on the floor,
incarnadine words so drenched
dripped terrible from that maw,

“You answer my call,
now to progress on this path,
send CV and cov’ring letter
to my client who waits home by his hearth.”

With that the devil left,
spake nary a word
more of this quest,
other than that what was heard.

So our young hero
followed these commands,
took out his red pentacl’d tablet
of chastity, faith, and broadband.

Dear Sir, so he wrote, 
I am so nam’d Gawain, 
junior of the round table 
you so nearly gained.

I slay monsters and save damsels, 
I speak English and French, 
I give and take feedback 
regarding each passing wench.

I have served my king Arthur
 some years, loyal and mighty, 
yet this eve made me doubtful, 
made my constance more flighty.

List to me sir, 
I answer your call, 
I wish to guard ramparts 
of your client’s wall.

Doubt not my steadfastness, 
my aptitude in battle, 
many ghosts will attest, 
as reference, death rattles.

I merely wish to expand 
my estate, renown and power,
which I cannot do here 
under Lancelot’s glower.

I cannot be promoted to Senior Knight 
with that nepotised lake-lad 
in the throne’s line of sight, 
so to be client's SK would make me most glad.

I am no fée’s son, 
may it please you to note, 
my strength will remain 
in iron armour and rowan boat.

I sign you this letter 
in messenger’s blood, 
from its pool on the floor, 
viridi-crimson flood.

Gawain (Sir) 
Round Table Chair, 
Arthur’s Court, 
Albion Most Fair.

My education is noble 
fret not on that front, 
I fence, dance and flourish, 
speak in verses not grunts.

Experience I am plein, 
yet am thirsty for more. 
I would stare down a dragon, 
and for beauty wage war.

References are my King, 
Arthur the Great, 
and then furthermore
rogues and witches (late).

With Solomon’s wisdom
and his own hot lack of sense,
Sir Gawain pressed SEND
and from there went hence

To th’embroideried chamber
with soft ermine counterpane
to Fair Maiden Blancemal,
who wished to lose part her name.

Royal Blood's Debut Album, and Musings on "the UK Rock Scene"

Today, I woke up to the news that Royal Blood's self-titled debut album is the fastest-selling rock debut album in the past three years since Noel Gallagher's Highly Forgettable Bozos, if the UK chart people are to be believed. Let's put aside the sad fact of modern society that I, like many others, take my morning coffee with a dose of Facebook, and have a chat about this.

For about as long as I've been into music, and doubtless longer than that, there's been the tiresome debate of "is rock dead in the UK?" or "are guitar bands still interesting/relevant/sexy/etc?" To which, I'd always answer "no," and "far as I'm concerned, and who cares if you like them?"

Now, it is the unfortunate and, really, rather irritating case that by the UK rock scene, journalism really means the London music label scene, with maybe some Manchester or Brighton thrown in for a little diversity when the baying hordes of malcontent come knocking on the gilded gates of Universal brandishing burning guitar-pitchfork hybrids. And Royal Blood are one of these Brighton-based wildcards in the world of mainstream music. They're one bassist and one drummer, which  ticks some boxes my end, as I'm a bassist and I'm very partial to Death From Above 1979 and the two-bassists-one-drummer band Exit_International.

For my sins, I hadn't heard of Royal Blood until a few days back, when the record shop I work in got a shipment of their album in on LP. Then, I noticed the Marmite-like effect they were having on some goth acquaintances of mine, who all liked the cover art but were having problems with the music. 

So, I decided to acquaint myself with the umpteenth saviours of UK rock.

In fact, I was pleasantly surprised. They weren't the anaemic pile of deflated bollocks I was expecting them to be, given that the High BloodPressured Burbledewurbles were their chart success comparisons. Unlike Hugh Fernley-Whittingstall's Bumblebees, the Arctic Monkeys, The Libertines, Kasabian, or the rest, Royal Blood can write riffs. GOOD RIFFS. The kind of riffs that can lead daughters astray and grow hair on chests. Big, meaty, blues-tinted riffs, with slick pop melodies glossing the sections in between. 

Just. Riffs.

RIFFS.

RIFFSRIFFSRIFFSRIFFSRIFFS

RIFFS.

Ahem. Anyway, the next thing that I was really pleased by is how tight they are. Of course, if you're a two-piece, you have to be tighter than my best jeans after a rainstorm, but these guys are that tight, with almost surgical precision. Once upon a time, it was required that all bands be tight as a cat's claws in an uncomfortable place, but that no longer seems to be the norm. In a world where sounding like you've been out on the piss all week without rehearsing is considered acceptable, it is good to hear a band that sound like they know each other on a first-name basis.

The songs themselves aren't a particularly diverse bunch, but with the album clocking in at just over half an hour, this can be forgiven. Generally, they all revolve around cement-mixer riffs and smouldering pop hooks, which might explain why they've garnered such a buzz, as that's two large crowd-pleasers out the way. There's an aura of self-confidence and sleaze around the album too. The bass has had its mids and trebles and roaring distortion pushed up until it resembles Screamin' Jay Hawkins' voice more than it does a bass guitar, and the tempo and swing of most of the tracks here are permanently set to "swagger." And y'know what? I like that. A rock band who aren't afraid of being a big, dumb, rock band, with loads of big, dumb, rock songs. Why should we be so afraid of the big dumb rock? Why do we put it away when the guests come over? It's no more offensive than ethereally sighing indie or whatever's going on in the realms of sub-bass dance these days, surely?

I suppose, however, that's where the issues I have with Royal Blood creep in. While I'm by no means ashamed of the big, dumb rock, I'm not sure if I condone the idea that the big, dumb rock that is saving today's scene sounds the same as the big, dumb rock that's been coming out of the States for the past ten or twenty years. It's not exactly a huge leap into interesting waters.

The other main criticism I'd level against this album is that it really highlights the UK rock mainstream's utter inability to maintain good songwriting as soon as it's faced with a decent sonic punch. I'm willing to let it slide this time given the quality of the riffs, but every song sounds the same, apart from one or two moments. God forbid the next album contain power ballads, but perhaps some diversity in tone and speed and melody could be in order on the next album. Hints of spontaneity beyond the riff-verse-chorus-chorus formula?

My boyfriend's verdict on all this is that the UK music press is a load of xenophobic bollocks that navel-gazes so much that its head has become lodged in its lower bowels somewhere, and to an extent, that's true. There's a lot of phenomenal rock revival bands that are reinventing the wheel coming from all over the world currently, many of which are, when all is said and done, better that Royal Blood. The other thing my boyfriend says is "why should I listen to them if they're not as good as Cream?" Which I don't necessarily agree with, but I can see the logic in. There were better bands drifting around. In fact, there are better bands doing similar stuff drifting about right now. But that's not to decry what is, really, a good album if you're into the big, dumb rock. And I'm quite happy to sit back and allow Royal Blood to show some people that the UK mainstream isn't all about autotune if that's what it takes. At least they've got some good tracks.

To proclaim Royal Blood the second coming of sliced bread, as the charts and the press seem to be doing is, in a way, xenophobic given the wealth of great rock out there right now. It's also slightly deaf to the many, many bands across the UK that are doing rock-er things, more interesting things, or just something a bit different from the norm. And they are categorically not channelling Led Zepellin, you weird, weird people. Stop saying that every time someone holds a guitar the right way up.

But you know what? At the end of the day, it's really, really nice to hear a good, accomplished rock album that's full of power and is gloriously unpretentious, and know that people are paying attention to it. Well done, Royal Blood. You've made a good album in a genre whose mainstream is so abysmal, your actually-making-an-effort has been applauded as tantric sex in a bass amp. Keep up the good work and keep getting better.

As for the rest of you lot, please pay attention to something other than BBC Radio 2 and the world of lad-rock. There's stuff like this and better out there.

Return From the Abyss, and Musings on "Supporting the Local Scene."

Hello again! After four years of studying, music journalism, and the like, I felt that I may as well return to blogging, if only to occupy myself during the interminable period of post-degree unemployment. Living out of Lidl and being unable to afford the bus for a month or so, I now have some insight as to why Valium because so popular amongst housewives.

Anyway, something that's been bothering my circle of friends, acquaintances, and questionable Facebook denizens has been the Local Scene, and why one should (or should not) support it.

I am, in all honesty, blessed by my local scene, for it has a load of great bands, from Antlered Man, to Purson, to Cold In Berlin, to Vodun, to The Peckham Cowboys. Who are all rather excellent and you should listen to them immediately. I am still in mourning regarding Sissy & the Blisters. I managed to get concussed at one of their gigs, and whose album demos I downloaded and burned to CD, making cover art for it and everything.

But then, for every band like the ones I mentioned, there are other bands, who, for the sake of keeping the peace and avoiding too much shit-stirring, I shall not name (although my dislike of Savages is so well-documented as to merit a book in its own right, and no one listens anyway) who are part of this "local scene" and yet are about as appealing to my ears as a cat coughing up hairballs, or trying to create a skiffle band out of cardboard.

The adage goes that one should support the local scene. Implicitly there lies the word "unconditionally" at the end of that phrase, as if one is committing a grotesque act of treachery towards music if one doesn't pop off to the local to watch that rap-metal-EDM fusion band that has just started out. As one friend of mine argued, supporting the local music scene is like buying produce from the local farmers market: it gives you a much closer relationship to what is being made around you, and a much closer relationship to what you are consuming. In addition, there is the argument that all big bands started off as local bands at some point. Which are all valid arguments. Seeing the right local bands gives you a chance to be in on something unique or that isn't in the mainstream, seeing something grow in musical terms and in terms of where it plays, and so on. And there's no denying that the local scene is cheaper than the Hammersmith Apollo or Brixton Academy.

The local scene, all meme'd up and ready to go.

But the other side of the argument is that if you support the local scene for the sake of principles, rather than because you like it, you're a sycophant or a hipster. And being a grey, be-trunkèd entity wearing sandals and a fedora that stands at the back, not really approving of what is happening isn't really supporting the scene either. Sure, it might get your money, but what are you actually contributing? If the musicians just aren't that good, or the songwriting isn't good, or you're just not into it, you're giving the impression that the opposite is true. If someone who can't sing in key is constantly told by local scenesters that it was "a good set" or that they rock, for the sake of supporting the scene, well, then surely that's damaging the local scene rather than helping it.
The other argument is that the emphasis on the local scene above all else can be borderline xenophobic. If you're too caught up in the local scene, you might miss that great band who have just started touring and who need to recoup the money they've spent on van hire and hotel fees. But to see them, regardless of how much you like them, would be against your principles, as a local band you're lukewarm about are playing on the same night.

Yes, that's an extreme and perhaps unlikely scenario, but that can be what it gets like. Some people will honestly dismiss bands because they don't live within walking distance, just as much as people will dismiss a band because they're not playing "proper" venues yet. But honestly, what's the difference? If there was a disco fan in late-eighties/early-nineties Seattle who saw all the grunge bands but didn't really get what the point of it all was, then does it matter if s/he had a closer relationship with what was going on around him/her, if s/he wasn't that into it anyway? If there was a rock fan in the same city who dismissed the early grunge bands as "not worth it" because the venues they played were too small and smelled funny, but once Nirvana hit the big time was parading their shirts around like they were the messiahs of rock, then we've got the same problem from two angles.

So yes, I love bits of my local scene, but am quite open about disliking other bits. And if my favourite bands from *insert city or country here* come to play, I'll see them too. Because in the end, it's about supporting what you like, and what you think is good. It pains me to say it, but if you heart 1D, you've got as much reason and right to see them as I have dropping everything because The Vintage Caravan are playing with Grand Magus, or trekking half a city over to see The Peckham Cowboys do a gig for a cat charity in a community-run, music-funding pub. Both of which were excellent gigs, if you're into what I'm into. And I'm sure the signing you wore that onesie to was equally good, even if I do not understand the appeal of it at all.

So yeah. The local scene can be great. It can be the place where truly great bands appear, and you find a load of like-minded people to enjoy them with. Or it can be a place full or mediocre, widdling guitarists and off-key singers who make you support the local bar instead. Take a chance with it, see what's out there, and don't be afraid of seeing bands that are still at the "playing in front of the pub toilets" stage of their careers. The smell of urine may be masked by the smell of finding your new favourite band, whatever that might be (probably a wooden floor soaked with alcohol). But contrary to what people say, if it really ain't your thing, there's no point in trying to jam it down your ears like a stressed person trying to give a cat its medicine. Go see what's happening elsewhere, and try again in a few months' time.

Keep your mind and ears open to the sounds of don the road, but never at the expense of what your heart's jukebox plays.
Now, if you don't mind, I'll be on a Sissy & the Blisters binge for the rest of the day.



The bands I mentioned here, excluding One Direction 'cause they're probably a lot richer and known-about:
Antlered Man
Purson
The Peckham Cowboys
Vodun
Cold In Berlin
Grand Magus
The Vintage Caravan