• What is a Musicbrick?

Then, suddenly, flicking through Mtv one night for want of anything better to do, i happened upon a video which lunged at me with other possibilities..glamourous, androgynous, with a hint of the past and everything pointing towards a better future. Four blokes flouncing around with a strut and swagger that suggested to me all at once that music could be joyful, mysterious and playful. Those Guitar stabs, that voice. The Look. It had everything i didn't even know i was looking for.

I wanted to hear it again the second it had finished. This was where i wanted to be, this was closer to the home i knew our American cousins couldn't provide.

The following day i surged to our local independent record shop and there it was, white cover, with a picture of a seated figure (was it a man or woman?) holding a stogie and revolver. On closer inspection i noticed the clothes were painted on the female form, what was going on here?! I handed over my 2 quid and rushed home to clarify that the song i had heard was as exciting as i remembered, upon opening i checked the track listing..

The Drowners

To The Birds

My Insatiable One

I must have listened to those three songs on repeat for the rest of the day, ingesting every word, vocal nuance, riff and beat. This band were now MINE.

It came to pass that over the following weeks the parka, jeans, and boots were replaced by skinny blouses, Dad suit jackets and an adopted arse slap dance..for the first time i felt like a member rather than a fan. Coinciding with the release of this new found glory, the weather took a turn for the better, anything seems possible whilst the sun shines, and with a cocksure soundtrack to back it up, i could see no grey, only colour and hope.

Listening to the songs now, i am instantly transported to that time, the sights, sounds, smells, friends and parties. Drinking cheap cider on a Thursday before donning aforementioned blouses and suits to attend the local alternative night. We walked in the early summer evening with our jackets over our shoulders, passing through the council estates we had grown up in, ignoring the jeers from the shell suited kids we had grown up and out of. Not caring. Knowing.