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"Here we go again, up and down at 2am" screeches
Hedrons lead singer Tippi on Bad Charm and aren't you
just desperate to join her in the back room of some
skanky Camden pub with the floor sticking to your
Converse trainers and your hair dripping with lager?
If the answer's "no" you're either truly mad, or
grown-up. It's up to you to decide which is worse.
If you've been frequenting musicOMH.com over the past
few months, you may have noticed something. I bloody
love The Hedrons. They won me over somewhere towards
the middle/end of last year with a single that gave a
away a free badge while imploring me (and you and
anyone else who was listening) in a poptastically
punky way to Be My Friend. Who in their right mind
could resist?
And not only because they have a drummer called
Soup (although isn't that reason enough on its own?
Just think how much better that is than having a
drummer called plain old Dave or Gary) but simply
because their songs are fun, furious, full of
infectious energy, killer riffs and a shouty
girltasticness not seen around these parts since
Kenickie recorded The Skateboard Song. Close your eyes
at any point throughout this album and you can imagine
them pogoing up and down on a tiny stage, leaning over
the audience and being everything a rock star should
be even though they're barely out of school uniform.
The anticipation built up by brilliant single after
brilliant single seemed good enough, but the album
manages to surpass this, from the moment it opens
with the familiar Heatseeker through Couldn't Leave
Her Alone, which is, at just two minutes 38 seconds
long, the perfect punk anthem and has a killer riff to
boot. Exactly half of the tracks on One More Won't
Kill Us come in under the three minute mark, and with
only one, the final track What Am I To Do, lasting
longer than four, each one is a short, sharp
bite-sized chunk of what music should be.
Naysayers will no doubt make noises about nothing
desperately original, Polly Styrene and X-Ray
Spex and Helen Love, but just leave them
alone and sneer at them from the other side of the
dancefloor because they don't know what they're
missing. They're probably all Scott Matthews
fans anyway.
If you need any more convincing (is my word not
good enough for you?) just take a look at
the endorsements they're flaunting on their press
release: everyone from Kerrang! to the NME to the
Daily Telegraph loves them. Which means that not only can
they cheer you up and make you dance with their
infectious punk energy but they can also ensure world
peace and unite Middle England into a joyous,
rifftastic moshpit in which Tippi Hedron will be
Queen, Soup will be Minister for Ace Drumming and I
will be beaming at the side of the stage, proudly
displaying my little Hedrons button badge, smug in the
knowledge that I was listening to their singles and
their album way back when.
Remember, for reasons of conspiracy that are me to
know and you to wonder about, the more Hedrons singles
there are in the world, the less Scott Matthews
records there will be. You Have Been Warned.
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