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Call them what you want: Groupies, Hangers-on, celebrity sluts, whatever. The kind of boys and girls who will only look twice at you if you are the next big thing as hailed by the music press, and, to quote The Rifles, will be "Down South Top Ten in her Mouth with the blink of an eye". If you are. Despite the quite obvious fact that 'getting laid' comes in the top 5 reasons for nearly everyone who starts a band, it seems like The Rifles aren't too keen on the easy meat which you attract when things start to go your way.
The problem here is that if you are busy making infectious rabble-rousing indie-mod pop that The Jam would be proud of, you're bound to get a few tag-alongs. The whole thing rollicks along with the energy of a band that doesn't do ballads and it feels like the next time you hear it should be in a tiny pub, throwing yourself between sweat and beer soaked kids and wondering why, although The Rifles are nothing fresh or inventive, you're having the time of your life.
Angular guitar stabs, boundless energy and mosh inducing chorus, do a tune and popular band make these days: The Rifles might have to put up with the attention for a while yet.
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