The Subways

What Cambridge “punk grunge metallers” Tern need is a pantomime cow. In fact, all such competently polished yet plodding pub rock bands should be required by law to take a pantomime cow (preferably a riverdancing one) everywhere they go, in order to add a little amusement and excitement to their otherwise pedestrian acts. Not only would this dramatically increase the entertainment value of their sets but it would provide valuable bovine-based employment opportunities, thus boosting Britain’s economy and helping to stave off recession. Why has no one thought of this before? If we start the campaign now and build up a decent level of media coverage and public support, the next Parliamentary Season could see the Pantomime Cow Act of 2006 on the statute books! Are you with me, brethren?

In the absence of riverdancing cows, and until the world catches up with thinking so radically ahead of its time, we do at least have the utterly fucking fantastic Chalets, who I want to see again. And again and again and again, and then some more after that. The Chalets make lightning-strike pop songs full of fizz and fun and rock‘n’roll impact. They have a glockenspiel, a keyboard, a synth, thundering bass lines and boy-girl-girl-boy vocals. They do arm-waving dance routines and swap instruments a lot and they wear leopardprint dresses. They have come to save you from your dayjob, your council tax and weekly food shop, rescuing you from all things grey and dull and make you dance like you haven’t a care in the world. They make me grin and bounce around and rant ecstatic monologues at my equally charmed gig-mates. They make me very, very happy. Hell yeah, Motherfucker. They have more gigs booked. Go see them.

After such a stellar display of effervescent pop glory, it’s possible that anything would have seemed the anticlimax that The Subways turned out to be. Then again, it’s quite possible that The Subways would have been a bit of a letdown anyway; they’d have washed right over me even if the Worst Band In The World had been on before them. It’s not that they’re bad though - far from it. Singer Billy is suitably earnest and the drummer bangs away to good effect, neither of them noticeably put out by the inevitability of every reviewer all but ignoring their best efforts in order to spend more time dwelling on the very pretty poses thrown by bassist Mary-Charlotte. They do the garage rock thing, and they’re good at it. Which is possibly exactly the point - garage rock by numbers, predictable stuff following a template and just shrieking SCENE. As in “Hey, kids, dig our cool and groovy right-now scenester vibe! We are where it’s at, we are the Beautiful People!” Which isn’t really something that inspires much devotion from me. Ho hum. Still, I’d go and see them again if The Chalets were supporting. That said, if The Chalets were on the bill I’d almost be tempted to go and see the StereoFuckingPhonics. Assuming, that is, that I could bring a couple of Michael Flatley-wannabes and a cow costume…