Do you remember those days when music crept up behind you and squeezed your butt? When records winked from across the room? When they sought out the dark corners and whispered sweet nothings in your ear? When songs snogged you silly on the dancefloors of your imagination? Do you remember that insane, intoxicating thrill?
Do you remember Baxendale?
Baxendale were all those things for me. Such a surprise. A support to Stars in a Notting Hill basement. Or was it to The Clientele? And does it really matter at all?
Giggling cover-girls. Shirley Lee from Spearmint. Papercuts and absinthe. Sunglasses at midnight. Music For Girls. Swooning in the sunset. Dancing inside out.
The vitriolic jealous ache of ‘The Nineteen Sixties’; the glorious abandonment and celebration of ‘I Love The Sound of Dance Music’; the uproarious sneering of ‘Summer Of Hate’. Genius.
And was there ever a song that captured the breathless teenage anticipation of summer more perfectly that ‘Hanging Out With Her’? That line where Senay sings/speaks about breaking into her old school, lying on the tennis courts and listening to The Boards Of Canada gets me every time. And when she exclaims “Jeez, look at the time!” I swear I’m transported to a lifetime away with names half forgotten and faces half remembered.
Snog me silly one more time and pour me a glass of battery acid.