Pulled Apart By Horses
Oasis recently split up… again. Britain’s eyelids remained un-battered. Probably due to nearly two decades of bands remaining radio-friendly and boringly reserved, inspiring avid music fans with little more than yawns and groans (and also because everyone knows Liam Gallagher is a prick anyway). Coldplay have been flying the flag for ‘shitpop’ in recent times, spreading more of this infectious drivel to the mainstream market. It’s time for the flag to be burnt and melted to Chris Martin’s stupid face.
Enter Post-Britpop. Glaswegian six-piece Dananananaykroyd are one of few pioneers grabbing the accessibility of Britpop, putting it in a bag, taking a shit in the bag, and throwing it straight in your face. Two drummers, two screaming vocalists and a shite load of distortion power drill the catchy hooks home, before suddenly dropping into the quiet and melodic – verging on parental friendly – sections.
Dananananaykroyd have aptly coined their sound as ‘Fight Pop’ which, other than making me envisage a savage circle mosh pit at a Take That concert, seems to gel well with their sound but isn’t necessarily a blanket term for the bigger picture of what’s actually occurring. You see, whilst their music contains characteristics of the happy-go-lucky buoyancy of mainstream pop music, other bands like Leeds’ Pulled Apart By Horses and Birmingham’s Blakfish bring a more brutally fierce approach to Post-Britpop. These groups rely more heavily on ballsy underpinning riffs and raucous angst screaming and their subtle moments, whilst still present, are less frequent in and amongst the hectic compositions.
Pulled Apart By Horses, like Dananananaykroyd, have been busy loitering in the shadows down the back alleys in toilet tours, recently popping up into the side stages at Festivals like Download and Reading & Leeds. They’re beginning to rally up enough middle fingers to give a collective “fuck you” to the suit and tie clad, Blackberry Bluetooth talking, laptop sporting, venti mocha latté sipping wankers who dictate what music will bring in the cash. Post-Britpop has a menacing grin on its face with one hand held behind its back concealing the sawn-off shotgun which is to pop a cap in the ass of those who are content with coasting along with the same-old-same-old.
Punk, to draw on an overly drawn on cliché, was a backlash to the growing boredom with psychedelic music and hippies who dominated the 60s and much of the 70s. Post-Britpop is a backlash to the mundane indie music and the flock of topshop/topman fashion sheep over the past decade or so. Don’t be mistaken, Post-Britpop entrepreneurs aren’t doing anything radical with their fashion style like wearing latex onesies or bringing back the mullet, they’re what skater dudes would call hesh – unkempt, tight jeans, mesh camps, facial hair and a general “who gives a toss?” chic (if you can indeed call it chic).
Post-Britpop isn’t a pedigree breed. When we were lumped with the likes of Suede and Blur, the kids in the US of A were getting high to Sunny Day Real Estate (aka the forefathers of emo) and Glassjaw (aka the forefathers of post-hardcore). Whereas it’s true that the limeys enjoy jumping on band wagons (ahem both world wars anyone?) it’s safe to say that the influence of these bands instilled jealousy from us Brits and carved the path for our thriving post-hardcore/emo scene which ultimately lead to this infusion with the Post-Britpop bands.
It’s these bands who aren’t afraid to flaunt the inflections of their regional accents that prove British music is far from a stale loaf. And the loaf, freshly baked, is ready to jump out of the breadbin and fuck up those across the pond, demonstrating that we’re not all a bunch of Bono-boning pussies.
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Kids Will Be Skeletons 