A wash of keys, a pumping bass out of dance-land, a high voice (male or female?). . . . In trots a strummed electric figure, another verse, a bit of “na-na-na-na,” so far nothing special, quite the opposite. I’m about to switch it off. Then the verse becomes more urgent, morphing subtly in melody, “waiting in the dark.”
Wham! A frothy repeated chorus of “Why’d you have to go and cut your hair?” slaps a smile on my face, the grin of teen radio listening, of intoxication with melody and rhythm and lodging lyrics. The band pootles, then the chorus revs up and spirals, ever more bubbly and bouncy and so damned lovely, a never-ending (but it finishes right on time without overstaying) bliss bomb of sentiment and pop pageantry.
(From Methyl Ethyl’s album Everything Is Forgotten.)