The Kids Are, Er, Right

'Brassy suck! Muffin Spencer sounds like my big sister shouting at me and hitting me because I borrowed her coat!'

'You should give them another chance. You need to see them live!'

'Feh! They sound like the Rebel MC doing Street Tuff.'

'Who? Oh, yeah - from the Eighties. I think I heard it on a Now That's What I Call Music compilation once. You are wrong! Brassy are the tits! They rock! You'll see!'

The kids from the Pamzine and I are having an email fight about Brassy. I don't like them. Their album is a higgledy-piggledy jigsaw of shouting, singing, loud pogo-able guitar and hip-hip scratching. I find it as annoying as a teenager surfing through all one hundred of their mobey's dial tones on a crowded bus. The Pamzinesters, however, say Brassy are as good as Betty Boo circa 'Where Are You Baby.' I tell them no-one is as good as Betty Boo circa 'Where Are You Baby'. It simply isn't possible. Then I see Brassy play live, and I've been eating humble pie ever since.

Truth is: Brassy are way better than Betty Boo. They are better than anyone. What sounds like a jumble to the uninitiated makes total sense tonight. Brassy are the perfect band: two parts female, two parts male, every part a star. There's the skinny girl singer Muffin Spencer coming on like the love child of Run DMC and Daphne and Celeste; a smiley guitar geezer who works the crowd like a Butlins redcoat; an aloof chica on bass, and a maniac in the background jumping between decks and drums without a second's pause or hesitation. And the sound: punky pogo-a-gogo to lose yourself in: call and response sections to yell and point in: scratchy electronica to make you dance like a maniac, and Muffin. Oh, Muffin.

Muffin Spencer is a diva in a football kit, a Venus in bunches and no makeup. This girl is utterly cool; the word is over-used but she deserves it. She's a role model and then some: no self-esteem issues here. 'I'm all that, oh yeah/ I got style to spare!' she raps on Parkside; 'You got a word for me, you say it to my face!' she yells on 'I Gotta Beef'. The kids are dancing and shoving and smiling and laughing and it's hard to tell who's having more fun: the band, the audience, me at the best gig I've ever been to; or the Pamzinesters laughing and yelling 'ya boo sucks!' at me. Brassy are fantastic: 'Got It Made' is the party album of the summer, and I am, as we said back in the Eighties, sussed to the dust.

(email pamzine@yahoo.co.uk for a copy of The Pamzine.)

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