It’s not for the cock, it’s for a good work of fiction

by It’s not for the cock on Wed, 2009/09/30 - 7:28pm Post to Twitter

Fiction @ The New Cross Inn, 24/9/2009

Now, more than ever, it takes very little to get music enthusiast heads swimming giddily with garish sentences to pull quotes from and it takes even less to produce foam frothing at these mouths. “Music writers” don’t really talk about music much anymore; it’s more kind of an excited yelling which, although loud at first, will fade into silence pretty soon. It’s all about hype and about making sure you‘re not too late to the loud, inane, chattering party of hype.

So, with all this in mind, let’s take notice to the fact that Fiction- a four piece band congregated around South East London- are a real, genuine, soulful artefact who deserve to be talked about in fine detail.

Tonight, The New Cross Inn has enough of a cross section of the local characters- students, gangsters, pissheads and out-of-their-fucking-boxes madmen- to see the small space between the bar and stage bustling with a happy, excited and drunk crowd.

As Fiction enter the stage and gather almost sacredly around their ramshackle drum set (there is no drummer as such, rather various band members take turns to batter simplistic and forceful percussion rhythms on the half formed kit) there is a very nice sense that something both creative and fun is about to happen.

The guitars widdle around each other in jerky and upbeat patterns, the lo-fi drums constantly inject little electric shocks into each song and the wry, cool bass parts push the tunes along like a grinning madman sticking a knife gently, but firmly, into a victim’s back.

This all becomes the fitting setting for the engaging vocals of the songs. Often doubling up, singing over one another or quickly changing direction- the band’s vocals offer so much to direct your attention at. ‘Curiosity’ (the set highlight), for example, features everything from the sardonic tones of the opening lyrics- “Who killed the cat? I Did” to the deep, echoing rumbles speaking the title of the song via the carefree yelps belting out “Responsibility!”. The way the song jumps erratically, yet somehow elegantly, from mood to mood and section to section washes a big old smile through the crowd. And rightly so.

As the four members of Fiction end the set breathless, sweating and beaming out Lenny Henry style grins, it must be pretty safe to say that most of the people in the room have had a fantastic night. For a band with such obvious talent and creativity, it’s admirable that they have refused to become arrogant arseholes who make arrogant arseholey music but have, instead, retained- above all else- a great sense of fun.

I know this may come across as the giddy and garish account which I badmouthed at the start, but this band is really doing something slightly breathtaking and worth getting this hot under the collar about.  

To every record label in the world, I say this: On the Fiction MySpace it says, under record label, “unsigned”. What the fuck guys? Seriously. What. The. Fuck.

http://www.myspace.com/fictionlondon