Fleeing New York

If I was ever to be in a band (obvious flaws being: I can’t play an instrument and I have no musical talent), I would want to be a bassist. Bassists are cool. Bass guitars are cool. They have a certain minimalism. And bass lines are cool. They rumble away underneath everything else and pulsate with a certain desire. Anyway, if I was ever to be in a band and be a bassist, I would want to be a bassist like Emma from Fleeing New York.

Saw them for the second time at the Spitz last night (lots of drinking and no dinner; bad little Bagelmouse) and fuck me, but they are good. The last time I got knocked sideways by a song was way back in 2000 – Radiohead doing Exit Music at the Doncaster Dome when I almost forgot to breathe (actually, the last time was Stellastarr* at the Monarch, but I don’t know what that song was called) – but the final song, called Dull Gold Heart, apparently, managed it. Standing there like I’ve just had a blow to the head, some strange mixture of atmosphere and music. Do go see them; they may just change your life.

(Though the experience may be shattered minutes later when you’re at the bar and find yourself standing next to said incredibly cool bassist. You offer to get her pint in, and at the same time realise she’s got to be at least five years younger than you. Then you go home and cry.)


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