Everett True

Song of the day – 406: The Bastards Of Fate

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The Bastards Of Fate

I can only follow where others lead. Here boy. Down Rover. Here Fido.

It’s the title of my new music magazine. Where Others Lead. Every week in constipated black and white, 20 jaded douchebag Australian critics rediscover the bands that Vice was writing about six years ago, and dress them in clothes of zero visibility. Earplugs will be issued because it is A Danger To Future Life to listen to music without some form of self-inflicted impediment. Words will be paraphrased relentlessly, and whole sections of Bob Christgau’s Consumer Guide to Rocks will be quoted according to grade and condition. There will be no hypothesising or marginalising and certainly no – what are those damn things called again, he boilks, looking momentarily like Johnny Depp as a trillion-dollar Willy Wonka – hyphenating. The cover art will always be printed bigger than the review. When I say ‘cover art’, I mean the iTunes symbol for an MP3. No band will be featured unless they’ve performed a minimum of four Nirvana covers, preferably in support to Girls. GI URLs. Leashes will be mandatory. (Little-known fact, but Brighton’s own Kate Bush tribute act Bat For Lashes were originally called Back For Leashes, in anticipation of this very moment. There are photographs in existence. FACT.) If an artist is to be deemed “worryingly listenable” then they shalt be excluded, as the readers of Where Others Lead do not appreciate being worried in their pursuit of pleasure. Simon Reynolds’ Retromania will be viewed as something akin to a bible. Unless we decide to use it as a baton.

Spelling is not at a premium. Bowels will be tickled. Distortion is to be frowned upon, unless it hasn’t been.

Heads will pop when you least expect it.

This band will be on the front cover in 2022. Guaranteed. Unless they’re not.

And this will be the opening editorial, not credited because … what’s the use? Critics only decide Paul McCartney’s career. We have no power over anything real or lasting, unless of course we already have had.

The Bastards Of Fate are lost in the funhouse, in love with its danger. You can’t reach them, not yet. You’re going to have to find your own band, someone a little closer to home. It might take some searching, but they’re out there, just around the corner, in the unlikeliest of places.

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