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.
