There are certain rules that one must abide by to successfully survive the rigours of music journalism.
Number one: if a band come from Sweden, they will either produce delightfully melodic indie pop or the sort of teeth-gnashing uber-metal that makes you want to piss out your own spleen.
Number two: ‘The’ Arctic Monkeys are a teeny bit overrated.
And of course number three: a great name can so often equate to an awful band. Anyone remember Gay Dad? Evil Kevin? The Electric Soft Parade? All wonderful monikers… all pretty shabby music-makers.
Which is why hecklerspray ventured to see My Latest Novel with some trepidation. Make no mistake – that’s a fantastic name. Surely the band we were about to see would be absolutely atrocious? Right? Right?
Wrong.
It’s not often hecklerspray dishes out such favourable comments, so relish this foray into the world of hype while you have the chance: My Latest Novel are quite possibly the Best New Band In The Country Today.
Comparisons have already been made to The Arcade Fire, and they’re not wholly unjustified – much like the Funeral-makers themselves, My Latest Novel embark on a sprawling, anthemic, uplifting and fresh sound that places them several heads and shoulders above their nearest contemporaries.
But there’s also something else – the slow burnt rock stylings of Mogwai, the immediate quirkiness and rhythmic grasp of Talking Heads (most evident on recent single When We Were Wolves), the passion and sheer scope of the second-album-overdue Hope Of The States, the wall-of-sound loveliness of My Bloody Valentine infused with the Scottish heritage of The Delgados. And that’s just off the top of our heads.
They’re an inventive little bunch, and they’re certainly not afraid to show it. hecklerspray actually lost count of the different number of instruments being used on stage. Hell – we couldn’t even name some of them.
The best thing about My Latest Novel is the heart-shuddering proof that the revolution is finally gathering pace. All the pork-pie-hat-wearing Doherty-worshipping no-marks will soon be cast into oblivion, remembered as the musically bereft halfwits they were. In a year’s time, young children will gaze up to their mothers and ask "Mummy, who were those twats The Kaiser Chiefs?" And nobody – nobody - will ever speak of The Ordinary Boys again.
Musicianship is coming back, people. Looking cool and appearing in the NME smacked out of your tits is no longer enough. Bands may now actually have to have possess some… whisper it… talent to make themselves known.
hecklerspray hasn’t felt this happy since the Olsen Twins turned 18.
(Note to regular readers: normal bile-filled hecklerspray service will be resumed as soon this glowing article ends. Don’t worry. Stay calm. Breathe. Breathe …)
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[review by C J Davies]
