Of being a fan of bands that don’t exist. Or might have existed – one can’t be certain. I have a highly tuned imagination, you see. Years spent hallucinating in dark, abandoned corridors. A whole other existence where Club Tropicana has always charged for drinks. Where the sun never shined on TV.
And okay, a quick fumble with Monsieur Google proves I didn’t invent early ’90’s noise beatniks Die Cheerleader (a quick glance through the ‘D’ section of LGM’s not-for-sale record store racks would have ended with a similar result). T’was the height of riot grrrl, around the time when Huggy Bear’s “Her Jazz” was a demon record (I checked: it still is), and suddenly all these wonderful, angry, female-fronted bands were cropping up – some of them very good indeed, and a useful counterpoint to the more ethereal guitar-drone stuff that I was simultaneously into. Début album Filth By Association lived on the stereo back in 1993, and where-as the world turns on its axis and tastes do their best to involve, I can still spot a stonking good rock track when I hear it.
Die Cheerleader / Smothered
PS: This blog (i.e. not me) is now on
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