I used to (actually that’s a lie, I still do) find it incredibly difficult to talk to attractive girls. Not just attractive, but talented, strong, and Independent (go on Destiny’s child – rub it in) Women. I was once cornered, like a hunted animal in a changing room by one. She threw me the curve ball of saying hello, to which I mumbled, stumbled and bumbled over a series of unconnected words, part (nervous) laughter, mixed in with a healthy dose of throat clearing and subject changing. What came out was this indecipherable series of sounds, similar to those people who talk Klingon at Star Trek conventions and the like. There followed an extraordinary period of silence when this heinous creature looked at me, head cocked, puzzled with one of those slightly embarrassed half-smiles on her face. As I stood staring ahead, fidgeting with my suitcase (there’s only so many times you can open and close the openers, right) the pregnant pause needed to be broken. ‘oh, f**k it’ I said, and walked out.
Fake Club are (or so they say) The Spice Girls with instruments, but in realty place themselves somewhere between the perfect pop of scary, sporty, sneezy, sleepy and dibble or whatever it was, and the Riot Grrl of the 90’s, balancing pop sensibility with some full on rawk (see, I’ve even stolen that slightly condescending journalistic term now, whatever next). Their new single, Beauty Queen opens with that sort of shouty thing CSS did so well ages ago, mixed with some huge riffs (albeit Arctic Monkeys rather than Metallica) and a large dose of attitude, both musically and lyrically. It’s a thrilling ride along, only pausing for breath in the middle section before rollercoastering its way to the end.
These strong independent girls are certainly making a name for themselves with a ton of airplay at the moment. Me? I’m saying nothing. Literally. Nothing.