Wednesday 25 March 2009

WHITE LIES – FAIRWELL TO THE PLAYGROUND (FICTION/POLYDOR)


WHITE LIES – FAIRWELL TO THE PLAYGROUND (FICTION/POLYDOR)

There is something about that record that really reminds me of Julian Cope and the Teardrop Explodes.  I guess it mostly lies in how vocalist Harry McVeigh’s style isn’t exclusively distinct.  Then there is the antagonising manner in which the guitars couple with the keyboards somewhat softening proceedings in a painfully eighties fashion which perhaps only serves to undermine the clear intention of the lyrics.  One paragraph along it is already a lot to take in.

This song appears to be about remorse.  The playground addressed could easily resemble/represent a number of things both past and present.  And all of them mental.

While listening to this seven inch I find myself scratching my balls.  As I raise my fingers to my nose the smell is orgasmic.

The success of this record is in the chorus and the thumping hook therein found.  It’s blunt and unsubtle, exactly the kind of familiar disposition that the listener is able to psychologically hug and attach itself to.  This music is not alternative, it’s pop.  It’s clear.  It may as well be manufactured.  What came first: the song and the hook or the post-punk packaging it is dressed up in?

White Lies hail/originate from Ealing, London a place where I know a lot of people, all of which inhabit varying degrees of trait but none of which necessarily assemble fetishes towards mental playgrounds.  Ealing is way out west, an area of London that does not strictly resemble the capital.  It’s on the tube but fails to command or maintain the bright lights of the city.  As a result it has a suburban, grim feel.  This perhaps explains White Lies mindset.

Thesaurus moment: worsen.

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