MY BLOODY VALENTINE
December 5 1987
Wellhead Inn, Wendover
by Chris Scott
To hear loud guitars you needn’t cower in grimy London hell-holes while more Americans take themselves seriously, still convinced that grunge in inextricably connected to the intestines of life. In a pleasant country pub, not 50 yard from the Ridgeway prehistoric footpath, My Bloody Valentine kicked up a floor-to-ceiling din for the hell of it, then had the cheek to sing, ‘Let’s fall in love, it’s exciting.
Imagine Radio 2 in 1967, pleasant sub-psychedelia,
overloaded with a howling of static that could only come from an H-bomb explosion.
Some musical constructivist has celebrated 50 years of the Soviets by nuking
the summer of love on the spot.
Forget the devaluation of ‘perfect’, ‘pop’, ‘noise’, words
which now hold all the promise of unsold fanzines mouldering beneath a thousand
beds. My Bloody Valentine are an awesome barrage of charm and crackling
electricity, wrenched into motion by sheer physical force.
Guitar textures? A 12-string is produced, making even more
of a screech, and still sounding like a bell. Maybe they can’t name a chord,
but this is science made exquisite.
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