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You can read this is Taiwan, can't you? In Australia? In Dubai? In Singapore? In
Austria, Antarctica and Albania? Well, read. Read and then do the Boxman thing
or however you get your records in Azerbaijan. Get a JJ72 record, any one, and
piss yourself with utter delight at what just happened to your life. Last week,
the UK finally got the plot, realised that a very, very special thing was about
to happen, decided they wanted it to happen and opened right up for this band.
This weekend, their home nation seems to have done the very same thing. Next
week, who knows? Europe? The Western Hemisphere? The World? We'd hold back a bit
and bite our tongues, but they're already hanging down on the floor, drooling
with awe. And lust for Hilary. But we'll leave the leering to the other boys
here today, hmm? So, what a fucking band. What a band. It's The Clash happening
before our eyes, it's The Manics if they hadn't stopped the snarl before they
broke it big. It's a band who were born to make a difference actually making
that difference. Here, in our tent. With our ears and their songs and everyone's
complete and utter willingness to Make This Happen. This is music that matters;
huge, roaring, life-affirming screams from within. It's a rebate for years and
years of us music-lovers being sold criminally short. Payback time. And, with
songs like the glorious, swoonsome "Oxygen" (the absolute sound of
bloody, bitter, desperate love) or the raging, abject "Snow" (bloody,
bitter, desperate hate), there is no way we'll find ourselves unrewarded for
sticking it out in a year's time. Absolutely no way. But enough of us. What
about them? Especially Mark, diving into his feedback as the set staggers to a
close, trashing his guitar in a way that's quickly becoming his trademark, tying
himself into rock tradition as if the songs aren't gonna do that anyway. Wailing
and screaming and tearing out his throat again and again, every note a new
emotion, every song a brand new world. Going for it like he actually knows what
"it" is, like he's got a radar-tracker set on "it", a rocket
launcher pointed at "it" and a bodybag dangling out of his back pocket
to scoop "it up and bury "it". You know - just being a star
before he's actually become a star. Realising that, now the attention's starting
to come, now his childhood dreams are slowly waking true, he's more than worthy
of the role and utterly desperate for more of the same. They are pretty people,
beautiful even. They sound like your loudest prayers. They have songs that would
make you weep, a voice that will stop you breathing and a future we can only
begin to imagine. Wherever you are, make it so.
