I looked, concerned I'd accidently trodden on her. But I hadn't.
"Eeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiii! OH MY GOD!", she continued. "He's so fit. I fancy him sooooo much. Don't you fancy him?!"
Nonplussed, I gestured towards the five figures, spluttering the only question I could think of
at the time: "Which one?"
"Spider. He's soooo fit. Don't you think?"
Did I think he was fit? It's not something I'd ever considered. Confused, I stared at her. But
before I could voice my confusion, it was too late. She was gone. Like Keyser Soze.
Like Lord Lucan. Like something else fleeting and elemental. Darting into the heaving mass ahead,
determined to get closer to the object of her affection.
It was troubling. Because she had raised the consideration in my mind. Maybe the
outpouring of critical love the band have recently received hasn't been driven by anything like
the quality of the new album. Maybe, just maybe, the entire British music press all just think
bassist Rhys 'Spider' Webb is really fit.
Anyway, the other thing it made you wonder was that after being told that The Horrors had become
My (Neu!) Bloody Valentine, 15 minutes stood in the Electric Ballroom would suggest that
they've become The Monkees.
No? The screaming female fans. The bowl haircuts. The (sartorial) common threads. The second
album produced by Portishead's Geoff Barrow... Ah. Well. You know. It would have been, had Micky
Dolenz had his way.
It was (unsurprisingly) Primary Colours which dominated most of tonight's performance. A sub-10
minute three song encore was as near as we got to the first record, but where normally it's the
apologetic respite, the thanks for coming, here's the songs you actually wanted to hear, tonight
the encore was served up as a demonstration of quite how far they've come.
Sheena Is A Parasite and Count In Fives are still brutally effective blasts of garage punk
intensity, but they lack the control and the ambition The Horrors now ably demonstrate.
I Can't Control Myself grindingly re-appropriates the heart and soul of Spiritualized's
Come Together in stunning fashion. Mirror's Image elegantly projects itself between Tom Cowan's
graceful synthesizer runs, Joshua Third's wall o'feedback guitar and Webb's throbbing bassline
like the unholy union 'twixt Depeche Mode and Interpol, while the astonishing,
perpetual motion of the interconnected sequenced runs that make up the epic Sea Within A Sea were
terrific.
All the time Faris Badwan conducts his masses. Gothic, barely understandable and slightly frightening,
he's a totemic presence at the front of the stage - even dressed in a t-shirt so large it looked
suspiciously like he'd borrowed it from Robert Smith, and that they could, if necessary, get all
four of the other members in it alongside him.
Impressive stuff from a band who aren't getting much wrong at the moment. And Spider? He's a good
looking chap. Just not my type.
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