I did some ironing this afternoon. Five shirts all crisp(ish) and ready for the week ahead. Now I don’t really mind ironing too much. It is always a fine excuse to listen to some music. Today I span the ‘Shouting At Wildlife’ set by Kid Canaveral. It brought a creeping grin to my face.
I know I am late to the party on Kid Canaveral, and even though I downloaded the excellently titled ‘You Only Went Out To Get Drunk Last Night’ much earlier in the year it’s brilliance did not really hit me until yesterday. Or, at least, if it had hit me earlier in the year I’d forgotten all about it until yesterday... Which is entirely possible.
So today I snagged myself a copy of the album and gosh, it really is insanely catchy isn’t it? You will no doubt have already picked up on the free download of ‘Good Morning’ (sample lyric: “I wanted a drink, I wanted a dance, I wanted to love you, I wanted a romance...” yum) and the already several years old ‘Smash Hits’ (sample lyric: “When I tell you it doesn’t matter, you tell me that she like The McFly and you like Erase Errata...”)
But did you know that the rest of the set is equally spectacular? It is.
Now listening to the album had me thinking several things, but the most vital of those was this: When I was 17 or 18 or thereabout I wrote a wee book for my friends. It was a post-modern masterpiece that thinly fictionalised the exploits of five teenage cycling friends. Okay, so the the ‘masterpiece’ line is pushing it a bit, but you get the idea. The point is that there was an imaginary pop group in that book and in my addled memory (the manuscript to the book being long-since tossed on the pyre of exasperated youth and unrequited love) Kid Canaveral come closest to sounding how I imagined that group to sound. Which is to say they sound like falling over oneself in hysterical lust for the boy and the girl cycling past like Jenny Nowhere; that they sound like London Pride kisses and cheap cider crushes; that they sound like Buzzcocks sporting Undertones badges and playing ‘Wednesday Week’ in a bedroom of Ronettes fans. Which, in our daydreams, is exactly what we were and what we pray we always remain.