Thursday, September 3, 2009

Repeaterbeater

No more stories/Are told today/ I'm sorry/ They washed away/ No more stories/ The world is grey/ I'm tired/ Let's wash away.

That's the title. Really. It gets better: totally inspired by my lemon flavoured slice of internet, you score yourself the new Mew album, settle down in your fancy computer chair and fire it up. 3 minutes and 14 seconds later, you ring me up on my HOME PHONE (who does that?) yelling "Matthew, track one is fucking backwards! What kind of bullshit are you trying to pull?!" and then 4 seconds after that you ring me up AGAIN (mobile this time) apologising profusely and promising flowers and chocolates to make it up to me. As well you should, because you hurt my fucking FEELINGS! Also that song rocks.

We are that couple from the TV shows, the one that fights and swears and rips clothes, and then kisses passionately, runs into the bedroom and slams the door. And Mew is the perfect soundtrack. There has never been a more sugary sweet apocalypse, never a more violent honeymoon. It sounds like the absolute last thing anyone would ever want to listen to, and that's wrong too. It's awesomely indescribable. It's a new primary colour.

So, then, what the hell do i write about it? All i can say for sure is that if i wrote a song about being stuck in a washing machine, and then recorded it while stuck in a washing machine, it would be as close as i'd ever come to Mew.

This wasn't my first taste, though. And The Glass Handed Kites, Mew's previous effort, is...well... it's different. To this. In that it's the same. I mean, it had more straight-up-and-down rock songs, but No More Stories is a more straight-up-and-down rock album. But Mew are in no way straight-up-and-down. YEAH WORK THAT OUT! IT'S LIKE I'M REVIEWING MY OWN MIND!

I think Mew is my ignorance. All of it.

My point is: who gives a shit. I obviously can't tell you a damn thing about this album. Whatever it is, i like it alot. Give it a listen, call me a loony, grab some furry red shoes and your favourite flute and meet me at the end of the world. Where the world begins. I'll be the one stuck in a washing machine.

Don't call me at home anymore.