Author of "The Birth And Impact Of Britpop: Mis-Shapes, Scenesters And Insatiable Ones"
The passing of time.
Sigh.
Death beckons.
Chaos reigns.
What’s the bloody point?
Aha, but there is a point.
Find beauty, rejoice in truth.
Thanks be to The Kynd for delivering something quite lovely, something that, truthfully, is a thing of beauty. A pop song with a dizzy melody, brass that sounds like it might not have come from Garage Band but an actual bit of brass, a vocal that is part Lydon sneer, part Stipe enigmatic drawl, and that is cock sure, confident, but also delightful and delightsome.
You do wonder why it is that a band who haven’t released any new music for so many years, decades even, are the ones who have taken it upon themselves to teach the world to sing again. No desire to mimic anyone, no lad or trad rock sans roll, just melodies and dreams. Few who were around when The Kynd were new kids on the block had really thought about them since their demise at the start of the noughties, and now it seems incredible that they weren’t the biggest band on the planet at some point.
What is most thrilling about this is the fact that it isn’t cloaked in irony, it isn’t cut through with cynicism, everyone involved sounds like they are having a fucking ball. Musicians making music. A singer singing. Writers writing. It all sounds so effortless and magical…why don’t all bands do it like this? Probably because they can’t.
Everything here swirls and swoops in a magical frenzy of joy.
Who doesn’t want that in their lives?
“Sunrise: Reprise” is the sound of the summer…it shimmers and shines, it is hopeful and hazy. God it’s gorgeous.
Swoon.
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