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Every now and then, on a quiet night, I take out the Would-be-goods 'The camera loves me' and play it. And if the night is very quiet, and I'm home alone and in a singing-along mood I get excited. Very excited, even. For those of you who don't know, 'The camere loves me' was released in 1988, on Mike Alway's El records and it is loaded with two things: would-be-hits (no, seriously) and great phrases ("and I'll be your inspiration!") beautifully sung.
Why am I telling you that though when it's not 1988 (and it hasn't been for ages) and the Would-be-goods have a new album out (which has also been out for quite a while, I have to say)? Because once upon a time I used to study history, of which I have forgotten almost everything but the dictate to always, always look at the present in the light of the past. Fear not, I am not about to embark on the history of the Would-be-goods; it wouldn't be my sort of thing to do, not to mention it's be too much hard work. All I'm trying to say is: here is a band fronted by a woman who first got the world a little excited about her in 1987 and is still going.
Do you see now? I just wanted you to know what (I think) a friend of mine meant when he said that 'The morning after' is an example of how indiepop grows up. Sweetly, that is; bravely -in a world that largely refuses to grow up; charmingly; and a little un-excitedly. Let me explain.
'The morning after is sweet'; well, that's easy to understand. Charming is equally uncomplicated though less simple. Affecting is another word that pop ups -I stole it from someone, although I can't remember who. These songs are full of pictures: clear, vivid, pretty and elegant and every so often bitter too. I am particularly partial to the phrase "all the loveletters framed on your study wall" or they way Jessica (Griffin) sings "if you quit being Peter Pan", but these are just my personal favourites. There are moments in these songs that can give you the goosebumbs or make you cry ("is it any wonder when the crowd goes wild?") but they're not very obvious and they don't last long. 'The morning after' is not a record to fall in love with and repeatedly listen to on the train to work or before you go to bed or when you get up in the mornings. It is a record which you should play a couple of times a year, when you're in the right mood -I recommened mid-autumn afternoons with yellow leaves but still enough light to make them bright, oh and a park if possible, preferably in London- and swoon because it does, just then, sound perfect.
You just have to wait.
Dimitra Daisy
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