Media Musing #2
Don’t think I’m letting the Americans off the hook. Oh no. Turn the page of last week’s FIlm and Music section in The Guardian and there’s celebrated Brooklyn-based author and MacSweeney’s founder Dave Eggers eulogizing his misspent suburban Illinois youth hunting down records by, of all bands, The June Brides.
“Unlike the other bands we knelt before, this band didn’t ever disappoint us. They just made gorgeous and very personal, very literate and messy rock music, they left the rough edges rough, and the unassuming nature of the recordings made the songs so human and fragile they sounded as if they had been recorded, drunkenly, in a living room lined with books. And the horns! The viola! No one has ever used either any better, and no band meant more to me for a long while.”
And no wonder Jamming! Magazine went bust: if The June Brides was as good as indie rock got back in mid-80s Thatcherite England then we deserved to go out of business. Eggers is endearing in his undying love for the group, and his encounter with Phil Wilson, now a civil servant, is quite sweet. But still, was there ever an uglier band?