Hinds
Riding Solo
Look, don’t feel bad, we all thought Hinds were just an exchange-student Big Moon. Who would have thought the young band would have had so much MGMT in them? That revelatory moment when a no-fi indie band has its fifth-dimensional epiphany, this is pure phenomenon; an orgy of tractor-beam noise, block-party chant-pop and lyrics you hope are about masturbation, for the sake of the Star Wars community. Remember Throwing Muses coming out with Not Too Soon? That again.
Sorry
Rock’n’Roll Star
A brilliantly cranky garage-pop dissection of a one-night stand with an unnamed famous musician that doesn’t quite ring true. For example, there is no mention of NDAs or taped applause, and at no point does anyone shout: “Am I good enough now, Mama?” Although, to be fair, Asha Lorenz sings with a tone of weary disappointment, the verses do sound like hungover STD treatment and there is a deeply frustrated jazz saxophonist nearby.
Madness
The Bullingdon Boys
Where you are, the election is all decided and Madness’s back-to-basics nutty-noir takedown of the privileged, self-serving “chancers brigade” slouched across our front benches is being either a) Chanted by Suggs from an open-topped bus chasing Boris Johnson out of Downing Street, or b) Muttered dejectedly by thousands queuing to sling their livers on to the organ-harvesting Trump Trucks. Did Madness swing it for Jezza? Answers on a postcard, addressed to last Thursday.
Alanis Morissette
Reasons I Drink
In the same world where Elton John marches into an AA meeting decked out like Thanos’s pet condor, Alanis is up next, confessing her own addictions brought on by “this sick industry” at the community centre piano. Her abilities to bawl angsty 90s soft rock seem undiminished, though, so dig out your plaid shirts and journals accordingly.
Gerry Cinnamon
The Bonny
Not being Norse, you may be unfamiliar with the tradition of lighting a “bonny”, a bonfire to commemorate the deceased. Luckily, here is everyone’s favourite busking ferryman superstar to repopularise the practice outside of the village from Midsommar. A reminder that life is futile and all your hopes, dreams and achievements will one day be reduced to a pinch of ash you could fit inside Lizzo’s handbag. A Buckfast Nebraska.
