Have you heard of The Indelicates? They are a band. They are very ever-so good. Well I think so, and so do some other people too.
If you have heard of them, follow the link at the bottom of this paragraph. If you haven’t, read on. If you have heard of them and then decide to read on, then please be aware that *some* of this article may not quite be 100% factually correct. But never let that get in the way of a good story, right?
That link in full: http://tinyurl.com/koreshsuperstar
They released an album (their second) this year on their own label – Corporate Records. But unlike most other self-funded indie start-ups, this label has balls. And a highly effective multi-media content distribution system, whatever one of those is.
Eschewing the modern trend of making people pay a prescribed amount of monetary tokenism to purchase the album, The Indelicates’ Songs For Swinging Lovers is available on CD and as a pay-what-the-hell-you-like download. You can pay nothing, which is great if you’ve never heard of them and would like a listen, or if like me, you’ve paid for it but need to download it again on your other computer. And as any marketer knows, you get the punters in with a free download, and then they buy the tee-shirt, the gig tickets, the Ltd. Edition seven inch, the poetry book, and the branded Christmas Fudge. As Catch would say: ‘Bingo!’
Anyways, where was I? Yeah, The Indelicates, that’s right. They’re a two-piece with lots of other band members. Formed in Brighton in 2005, they are fronted by the not-married-but-are-a-couple-who-share-the-same-assumed-name-but-don’t-read-anything-into-that Simon Indelicate and Julia Indelicate – or Jumon or Silia in the ghastly modern-day parlance. The insolent debonair Simon Indelicate grew tired of the Bacchanalian debauchery and rock’n’roll excess (and loose-knit cardigans) of the poetry scene, and hitched his wagon on the sedate, laid back and well-dressed world of... erm... Rock’n’Roll.
Julia was a sometime polka-dot wearing escapee from the once-kinda-cool-yet-now-nothing-but-a-sub-Sugababes-catastrophe that has become the frankly embarrassingly god-awful P*p*tt*s. She had met Simon at one of those slammin’ poetry rhyme-off style events, like in the film 8 Mile, but more British and presumably more polysyllabic and with less mum-cussing. They hit it off, got it on, and formed a band (they formed a band) – although it is lost from the annuls of history in which order these events took place. Maybe they formed a band, then got it on, then realised they actually had a lot in common. Or maybe theirs is a story to be told by Mills and/or Boon at a later date. Maybe I should just twitter them up and ask, but that would be a bit too much like genuine research.
They released a record. Not ‘New Art For The People’, a song which opens with a fella having spilt his seed, Onan style, all up in some wayward coke-whore's hair. This, categorically, is not how Simon and Julia met. They said so in an interview, and I believe near-enough everything I that remember that I think that I've read, especially when I can't find the proof.
They released a record – a rather fine debut single, on Sad Gnome Records, ‘We Hate The Kids’, an attitude shared by most free-thinking people. Certainly Sad Gnome agreed, stumping up the cashmoney to release an Indelicatastic EP with the self-deprecating and not all self-aggrandizing title The Last Significant Statement To Be Made In Rock And Roll. This was quite rather very good too. And a bit of a lie.
The next significant statement to be made in Rock’n’Roll was the news that the Indellytwins had in fact got a record deal. In exchange for some magic beans, a flagon of cider, a promise of some studio-time and the all-important creative control, they signed to Weekender Records. They released three singles with Weekender – ‘Julia, We don’t live in the Sixties’, which not only is a magnificent title but is also factually correct; ‘Sixteen’, which is ace and whistle-y and nicks a line from Don Juan, which is way better than nicking a line from Kate Moss; and ‘America’, which as the title suggest is a love letter to the United States at a time when everyone was hating on our Trans-Atlantic bastard-cousins . In amongst all of that came the quite stunning debut album, American Demo, a record that in terms of lyrical content and musical style is pretty much like most mix-tapes I used to make. Albeit, a mix-tape without the hip-hop tracks I’d stick on to enlighten indie-kids’ minds.
At some point in this timeframe, they wrote and performed and released as a bonus track the song which anyone who is writing about The Indelicates is contractually obliged to write about – ‘Waiting for that fella from that band, what were they called? The Libertines? Yeah, that’s right, Waiting for the fella from the Libertines who is always in the tabloids and in court to die’. Obviously, they didn’t mean it, man, not in that way. It’s not like they had poisoned Pete Doherty (for it is he) slowly, adding a little bit of some dastardly chemical to his soup/ syringes/ alcopops on a daily basis, and were waiting for him to die as a result of their actions. No, they meant it like: this is what the tabloids want, a celebrity death, a celebrity drug death – PICTURES OF HIS DYING MOMENTS ON PAGES 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,&9 IN YOUR SUPER SOARAWAY SUN. Like when Nicky Wire proclaimed he hoped Michael Stipe went the same way as Freddy Mercury – they are voicing the cynical mercenary tabloid opinion that the tabloids themselves are too embarrassed ever to voice themselves.
So, American Demo, an album laced with cynicism and bile and genuine love and misguided affection (‘Unity Mitford’). Beautiful piano solos and arena guitar solos? Hells yeah (‘Stars’). It really is a wonderful, uplifting record, and even the programming of the songs works: the instrumental opening, the big set-piece ending – ‘Thank you and goodnight’. It’s like those albums that you always dreamed of writing when you were a wide-eyed nascent dreamer indie/rock kid, but didn’t have the musical ability, the lyrics, the wherewithal, the drive to make it happen. Well fuck you, ‘cos the Indelicates do. And have done so.
Always aware of the visual possibilities of their music (S-indelicate wrote a musical based on The Book Of Job, you know, out of the bible. It’s called ‘The Book of Job, a musical’) the Indelicates have played with some wonderful imagery. From the pistol-blowjob from the front-cover of their debut single, to the white line of American Demo (as in, which side are you on?) they’ve devoted considerable effort to match the music with the art. Their videos are equally stunning affairs, directed in-house by guitarist Al Clayton and his film-making partner Stuart Laws. From the political rally and news broadcast of ‘Julia...’, the old-peoples home of ‘Sixteen’ to the recent hoe-down tap-dance extravaganza of ‘Sympathy for the Devil’ and the Taxi Driver homage of ‘Flesh’, The Indelicates have never shied away from the controversial or ridiculous, the shocking or the beautiful (‘New Art...’).
Anyway, there was a recession, an economic meltdown notable for the collapse of a bunch of banks and financial institutions, and the scaling back of Weekender Records. The Indelicates celebrated their freedom from the chains of record company oppression by self-recording and releasing the genius ‘Recession Song’ and Indelicates recession wear ‘value’ rock tee-shirts. Fuck aye.
Then along came Corporate Records, and Songs For Swinging Lovers, recorded in East Berlin, for that authentic socialism-forced-into-capitalism. The result? A slow-burning album of real wit and understanding, intellect and beauty. And now? Well, I refer the honourable reader to the link at the top. The third album, by Britains best-kept secret band, The Indelicates, a David Koresh themed concept album called David Koresh Superstar (sadly not Waco-a-go-go, which I suggested). Culture, Alienation, Boredom and Intellect. Genius.
And here's a sneak preview...
Jamie
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