Britpop claimed to be driven, in part at least, by the modish pop of the ’60s, but the reality seemed to be that its two most recognisable acts, Oasis and Blur were actually a T-Rex tribute band and a poor man’s Madness, respectively. It was a scene that was definitely more about superficial style than any real substance. I can’t help thinking how much better things might have been if The Early Swerve had been a leading light in those times. And by better, I mean more interesting, creative, mature, inspiring, and perhaps even longer-lived.
“In A League Of His Own” is everything that Brit-pop was missing. To start with, the British Invasion influences feel more like early Stones than late-era Beatles, but there is more to it than that. Given the folky infusions that run over some fantastically unfussy beats, there is more than a whiff of skiffle going on here. But it is also infectious and anthemic, danceable and effortlessly cool, and it walks that line between a backward glance at the past and a glimpse at where things go next.
And then there are the lyrics, witty slices of social observation turned kitchen-sink drama, the sort of thing that Chris Difford did so well and which the likes of Pete Doherty continue not to. Thankfully, Dave Mackinnon is more reminiscent of the former than the latter—much more.
Nu-skiffle, they call themselves, and who am I to argue, but put all images of Lonnie Donegan’s bedpost adjacent chewing gum out of your mind. That was then, and this is now, and now is about stark, dark, worldly-wise anthems to the inner city experience, music to be blasted from the tower block by its denizens, a John Osbourne play set to music. Sometimes erring on the side of menacing, never anything less than marvellous.
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