I’ve missed that feeling. Sidewalking on a sunny day, listening to The Libertines until your ears bleed. Until they shrink to small drops of wrinkled flesh that can only register that incoherent shrieking at the beginning of the title track. Oh what a feeling.
“Vertigo”. A statement of intent if there ever was one.
“Death On The Stairs”. Melodic menace starts here.
“Horrorshow”. This, Lana Del Rey, is how you do Burgess.
“Time For Heroes”. What a tune.
“Boys In The Band”. All subtlety is gone. As if there was any.
“Radio America”. So fucked up you almost don’t notice how beautiful it is.
“Up The Bracket”. Like a seedless watermelon stuffed into your face.
“Tell The King”. Tell him you know how I feel at palace gates. The way Pete sings that.
“The Boy Looked At Johnny”. For years I thought it was about a boy ‘locked’ at ‘Johnny’.
“Begging”. Filler? No.
“The Good Old Days”. Chorus still sounds like the best thing ever.
“I Get Along”. Fuck ‘em.
Joy married to chaos married to talent married to sincerity married to a million other things you will not find today.