Stars

Stars are a pop band. No need for hyphens and expansions: 'pop' as a descriptive is as accurate and succinct as is needed. Not that anyone will tell you this. They are 'indie', 'epic', 'alternative', et cetera before they are 'pop'. Now that the term is as far removed from the word ‘popular’ as it realistically can be, why this is the case for any band who fail to breach the mainstream may be a case of pride rather than accurate categorising. Pop is a dirty word, and to be fair Stars are a dirty band.

Not dirty in the sense of distorted guitars and unhinged performances, but in a (slightly) more traditional sense. Amy Millan and Torquil Campbell's lyrics are brimming with innuendo and subtle sexual references, their voices full of temptation. They stalk each other across a stage littered with flowers and bedside lamps, all sideways glances and hair flicking.

'Take Me To The Riot' and 'Elevator Love Letters' explode in the live setting, tales of nearly lost love rising above euphoric guitars and bouncing drum loops. To call the other members of Stars a 'backing band' is a statement that is as ignorant of the majestic soundscapes they create as it is technically false, yet the way they complement the pained, deliberate vocals throughout leaves you with no doubts of the band's driving force.

It is on 'My Favourite Book', a highlight of 2007's In Our Bedroom, After The War, that Stars are at their most comfortable. Amy, slightly stretched by the more straining sections of the previously mentioned couplet, is in her element here; sighing into some middle distance to nothing and no-one. Of course her words are for every single person in the room, and for them only.