Graeme Jamieson ~ The Magnificents: Get It Boy

I had the privelege of a preview to the prospective new single from The Magnificents, who, as you may already know, have the potential to become the best band in the empire, in my opinion anyway. It's called 'Get It Boy', and, once they've returned from dropping horses on a European Tour with Mogwai later this month, you should expect to hear this sure-fire hit tune filtering its way through the wires to your wax dunes. In the meantime, here's a constant stream of consciousness, brought about by said sneak peek, while, for those o' you who think talking about music is like dancing to architecture, don't tell me you don't Morris Dance around the Maypole, you bunch of pagan goons...

Growing up in the Stalin-era Soviet Republic, before Perestroika, I would lock myself in the underground fallout shelter whenever I got my hands on something by Pasternak or Voznesensky. During the purges, I had a radio in there, and a radio cassette player, a lamp, and, many years later, I still find myself locked in a room whenever I sniff something artistically seditious or culturally insurrectionist. So, on the 27th of March, here at the offices of Strelyali on the delta of the river Neva, when I got my hands on a concept disc from The Magnificents, I played the first track until my eyes moved three times, and off I popped. Reconvening in the old samizdat studio, which now doubles as the 'Parliament Room', on account of Anatoly's house fire, and his aviarian appetite, I twitched the 40 watt bulb and told the owls to sit tight... as I plugged into the pulse of this distillation, with its contradicting art-dunked stock/funky wind-sock, like a bulletin of Beretta's brought by the British onto the black market, very difficult to trace, buzzcuting the hairs on the back of my face, get-get the new yo-yo, with its pleasant stimulation, new language, dot dom communication, vena cava invasion, violation of the Treaty of Versailles, invective, like Mikhail said: some bands you run from, turn away from, others you can't... I get the impression that any more of this, and they'll be finding their way to every speaker near me, and Mikhail, what the hell's wrong with these owls? Now it's staccato, on the road to mesopote, and it's thrilling, I'm joyous, by way of the zigzag guitar treatment, and a lilting, lifting electronic score with a subito percussion that seems pared back, every word in the chorus is filled with heart and spirit, this is more than exciting, it's obscure, as it detours lyrically, intellectually, as the finish line comes back at you, timing is everything, at least it's everything in this thing, and its whole nine yards of a most polished, complete work, with too many sycophants/coming through the wires/tonight... I can't keep the balls of my feet on floor, it's in the knees now, such kinesis, all the better for the tangential audio, singalong vocal backing, the at-attractive voice on "Boy", what a powerful narrative, delivered so cooly, with the confidence, soul and emotion of a speedway superstar, who's okay if you want him to take control/start invading his privacy, I see signals to andromeda, generational stuff, of an important record, a staging post beneath an analogue trapeze, above the intensity in the voice that belies some satellite coverage, courage, standing on the bonnet of my car as I speed the limit, beautifully divided into three, innit, with its movements made by organisms in response to the intensity rather than the direction of a stimulus, libretto, demanding my attention, and screaming "Notice Me!" Yeah, there's the phat buzz again, like a fearless bee... Oh, wait a minute, is it "collonnade", "collocate", "collimate", or "colligate"? Whatever, it's thrilling, and it captures the disorderly intellectual/menstrual energy, demanding, involving, dicussing the legacies today, paying attention, homage, respect, to that dream-state accent, with it's back track volts, jolts, compelled, dispelled, an august, imposing, refusal to back down, susurrus, sine qua non, I want to learn these words, this boldness, that vengeance, what bravery, how valiant, their swagger, no, their thrillingly, urgently, bravura gait...

Graeme Jamieson