Sick of being the only grey-tinged gal amid an ocean of bald blokes at gigs, Vicky Lindsay Warburton decided to start holding her own. Kind of. Grab your utensils and get ready to mosh not mash.
The kitchen, my winter cave, is in mourning during this seasonally dark period. A few in-house deaths have taken us by surprise: washing machine, RIP. Computer, RIP. We’ve been plagued by the terminal illness of our white goods, timed to perfection in some sort of suicide pact, now gone. Arseholes.
And now the matriarch, The Fridge, has decided to leave us. Not a quick death; this bitch is stretching it out. Our fridge has become incontinent, wetting itself at will all over the not so high-grade laminate; daring it to buckle. Not to worry though, fridge; I’m here, armed with a fresh pad (tea-towel) to soak up your random piss puddles. Oh I’ve read the handbook, declogged and levelled, but this wench has no pelvic control. Damp tea towels have now become part of the kitchen floor, to slip on while embiggening in Crocs.
Clearly, this carer has needed TUNES to keep her going through this period of grief and expense. In the month of commercial love, I’ve found relief in these Valentine-themed corkers dealing with love, loss, love and/or loss. Pucker up and dance on.
New Order, still going. Still bang on the money. Even visually still cool. Bernard Sumner has just grooved into his 60s and his voice remains good, his lyrics edgy. This is a band whose lead singer should be focusing on rheumatism prevention and shopping in the Blue Harbour section of Marks and Sparks, but they’re not conforming.
This track is up there for the actual kids and us ageing kids. Producing this for your 10th album deserves high fives all round; La Roux’s Elly Jackson provides guest vocals and the electronic icing on this disco-synth special. No Hooky, but no problem. We’ve all shuffled around to this in my kitchen this month; even my mother-in-law was spotted head bobbing.
White Denim release their seventh album next month. It’s called Stiff, although you’ll be anything but, wiggling your torso to this energetic Texan four-piece.
They’re one of my all-time favourite live music acts, dishing out psychedelic rock jams that leave you on a life high, wondering where the hell you’ve been. God we all need that. They are a must-see and are ON TOUR NOW if you’re lucky enough to get a ticket.
Their tracks can get pretty frantic and in my massive new fleece-lined dressing gown I’ve been building up quite a sweat. (It’s got horizontal stripes, in grey and cream, so I look like an escaped convict from fat club). My endless profuse sweating is the sole cause of the water table rising, not the endless rain. That and the endless pissing of my incontinent fridge. We alone are to blame for the floods. Sorry.
Coming out of the deep freeze this month are New York band Blondie. Sex bomb Debbie Harry instantly pouting in your mind, eh? Even now at 70 she’s still got that sex appeal. Mad as a hatter but makes me want to slip out of my fleece fatsuit and hang out. Blondie diversified from their new wave sound to disco and put out Heart of Glass. They were scorned by the cool crowd for selling out, but catapulted into the mainstream; my dad, for one, was grateful. Harry’s even older than Sumner. These OAPs give me hope.2014 Views
Vicky is reintegrating back into society as her children are now in school. She teaches mindfulness to teenagers, wears trainers and paddles through the nonsense of life.