Heroes of IchLugeBullets #2: David Jones
Due to the wonderful job market for journalists right now, we’ve just shoved in two concurrent double shifts at work, so naturally our thoughts are still on the grind. My first ever job was procured for me by one of my friends at the time, who has since gone on to become heavily involved in white nationalism and deal cocaine to members of Northampton Town’s youth team. Good times. Anyway, the job, like so many other gigs for teenagers in the N-Town, was in a call centre. Cold calling through double-glazing sales. The job that literally had to be done.
And there was a lad working there called David Jones. Not the Monkee or the Bowie or the football manager who regularly endures chants about bags of sweets and cheesey smiles, but a dull, normal blonde kid, who we later found out was in the Jesus Army. I can literally remember nothing else of this guy which was why, six years down the line, it was so confusing for me when my mate on the Northampton music scene mailed me to say “Remember that kid from Staybrite Windows? His band just went top 40.” I just assumed the kid in question was the Placebo fan who used to turn up for work in a t-shirt advertising the Drew Barrymore romcom “Never Been Kissed”.
David Jones was in The Departure, one of the myriad of post-Strokes boom bands who are now all sitting around their job centre going “Oh fuck, yeah, writing songs with actual tunes, I knew there was something I forgot”. I mean, even Rooster have a track on SingStar’s SingStore, the bar wasn’t set that high in the mid 2000s. At the time, I wrote a pithily dismissive piece for Stylus Magazine, which on rereading may be ever-so-slightly harsh, but a) they truly were appalling and b) it’s still entertains me to think of all the Yank LCD Soundstem stans that site attracted being forced to read inane witterings about minor British indie bands nobody in their own fucking country cared about. In reality, most of my reviews for that site were some elaborate Clockwork Orange shit for American Anglophiles.
The Departure split after their first album went absolutely nowhere, their second album was refused for release by Parlophone for not being good enough, and my memory fused them entirely with the bands The Servant and Apartment. The only artefacts we have of them are stunningly inept interviews like this one where the band appear to be reading off a crib sheet handed to them by their A&R guy (sample quote: We all got quite excited about the whole ethos of what we’re trying to do, which is to take 1980s reference points and transcend them into modern day, edgy, instant kind of sounds.” ) Until… until now.
Hilariously enough, in the same night we were handed Singles’ eponymous debut EP, another associate of ILB handed us David Jones’ new fanzine. Apparently launched to coincide with the birth of a new club night at, where else, the Old Blue Last, I can surely say it’s a pure doozy.
Named in order “to expose people to new music and new ideas!”, this has it all. An “coming up and going down” section (this month- IN: Goth mods and Dalston, OUT: Madonna and “The term electro – just because you use a keyboard doesn’t make you electro”). A picture of some woman with her tits out in bondage gear, who the editor of Rocktimists blog somehow managed to name as the lead singer of some fucking Scottish indie band or other nobody cares about. A request for readers to send the zine “your deepest darkest secrets”, as if “My father used to touch me there as a child” is the kind of line you’d be feeding the random stranger of a below mediocre Gang of Four tribute act. The revelation that there “is only one choice for a Saturday night in Shoreditch”, and, no, it’s not staying the fuck away. It’s, quite clearly, a Rockabilly night! Fantastic. “See the coolest cats and the cutest dolls” says David. I think what he means here is “see some scrawny cunt rejected Vice interns with the worst ink in history pall around with formerly fat girls who despite having normal bodies still have floppy chins who, despite all necessary fashion advice, are still persisting with a Bettie Page fringe that takes up ¾ of their head”.
I leave you with this quote from Dave’s interview of “Danny Connors”, lead singer of The Ladders.
In his own words, Danny is not “arty”! He does not have any pretences, he just lives and breathes music, feeling every fucking note he sings and plays. Danny Connors is REAL!
Fantastic. And yet he’s still a better music writer than Alex MacPherson. Funny that.