Thursday, October 05, 2006

Until the razor cuts

I've been to Luton only once -- more like through, actually, since one doesn't typically spend time in Luton (unless you were squeezed out there); you just zip right through it, blinking out the bleakness. It's a London overspill town, a post-industrial town that once topped a Sam Jordison and Dan Kieran "crap" list. (Fun reads these always are.)

The Razorcuts hail from Luton and my, that's amazing when you think about it. Luton is an ugly, little burg, and yet The Razorcuts were so beautiful and romantic in both word and sound.

I can remember getting my fingers inky with an NME story about the blokes and Tim Vass saying, "I don't think that pop music is about creating perfect records -- it's about creating perfect moments."

Ah, so bloody true! The Razorcuts crafted perfect moments both in their tunes and in the lives of their zealous fans. I hear "A Contract With God" and think of the summer of '88, Sundays (my only day off from bricklaying), nursing myself back to health from a hangover and spent "muskles." I would crawl like a crab outside my flat for a cigarette, the song's Byrds-like guitars still ringing in me brain, the churchgoers across the street sneering at my grotesqueness.

"A Contract With God" by The Razorcuts

"Try" by The Razorcuts