Last year was sensational for music. This year was even more sensational.
I thought pop music in this agile, ADHD age would never make me feel like this again, obsessed, living and loving and lurching and lounging in these songs to the exclusion of all else. But All Blackshirts To Me is one of those records that simply won’t become background, is impossible to live with rather than live within, a record you’d be a prick to ignore.
Some folk may contend she’s been hanging out with the wrong people recently. Not from where I’m sitting.
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In their own way, they’re Smiths good: a backhanded compliment if ever I wrote one.