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Milky Wimpshake
Popshaped
Fortuna Pop
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Article
written by James S
Mar 31, 2005.
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There’s nowt like reading a proper unbiased review of a band you’ve never heard of, is there? Well, be warned dear reader, ‘cos this is gonna be nowt like a proper unbiased review etc. You see, we’ve got history, Milky Wimpshake and me. Living in the gig wilderness that was 90’s Newcastle, you had to find your own local favourites instead.
Step forward Pete Dale, one-time überlord of the indier-than-thou Slampt imprint, and his trusty sidekicks Christine and Grant. As a DIY label boss and promoter, Pete did the spade work that paved the way for the current crop of North East flavours of the month, including The Futureheads and Maximo Park. It’s highly unlikely that ‘Popshaped‘, an endearing cross between a new album and re-recorded rarities collection, will put them in the same league of mainstream acclaim, but it’s a record to treasure all the same.
For any newcomers here, Milky Wimpshake play love songs for punk rockers. Their most obvious forefathers are the Buzzcocks, and their rough-hewn pop-punk sound pervades the likes of (I’m Saving Myself For) You and My Heart Beats Faster Than Techno, which are achingly romantic and full of sexual longing at equal turns.
Dale has always had the courage to marry social politics alongside personal ones as well, and this album is no exception. Here’s To The State Of Mr Poodle, borrowed heavily from 1960’s ‘singing journalist’ Phil Ochs, is a damning indictment of, yes you’ve guessed it, Tony Blair, and Don’t Get Down (get even) is a rallying call to emotionally and physically abused women everywhere without even the faintest whiff of patronage.
The band also do an incredibly nifty line in cover versions. Pearshaped, originally by another unsung Geordie gem Nev Clay, is a tale of a relationship gone wrong as equated to an indelible ink image of Andy Cole after his departure to the Scum, whilst their medley of Daniel Johnston’s True Love Will Find You In The End and Jonathan Richman’s Don’t Let Our Youth Go To Waste is simply one of the most awe-inspiring re-workings ever.
It’s a new song that just wins by a short head here though. Hackney, a paean to both the East London suburb and taxis, is simply sublime. Anyone else daring to write a verse like “The first touch was our noses, a bump into each other; that’s the way it goes-es, I had to phone my mother” would command nothing less than a slap, yet somehow in the hands (and mouth) of Dale it’s the sweetest thing you’ll hear all year.
Put simply, there’ll be very, very few records better than ‘Popshaped’ in 2005. You might not believe me as I’m utterly biased, but I’m also right.
Untitled Document
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