Twenty fifteen and Crushed Beaks

Aine and Ben's wedding day

Here we are on the fledgling wings of yet another year, thousands of bands vying for our attention in a sea of Soundcloud links, drop dates and nervously planned record release gigs. On days like this I’m glad to be a lowly consumer rather than an actual musician. While it makes me sound lazy (and talentless), I much prefer snuggling on the sofa with a cup of coffee and listening rather than wrangling up band members’ calendars and figuring out who is available on what date at X venue in X city. What a headache. Cast solely as the role of Listener, I have none of the drama I hear and see occurring regularly among some of my musician friends (and strangers alike). I can pick and choose the little nuggets of lovely I listen to rather than say, having to sit through a long­winded Skype yarn from my drummer who has to go to his kid’s 1st grade Noah’s Ark performance instead of playing a gig that’s been planned for ages. Because, you see, Abby’s Imaginary Band is made up of oldsters, like me, with decent taste, day jobs and offspring:

“HE’S THE MALE OSTRICH. I CAN’T MISS IT.”

What a fucking pain. Right. Happy New Year. Moving on.

I must admit that while I scour the internet, shops and magazines for new music, radio has proven itself an integral part in opening my ears to tunes I otherwise would have missed. Take new-­to-­me favorites Crushed Beaks and their airwave­-friendly single ‘Overgrown’.

A few choice senders have been playing the grooves out of it, and for good reason. Hailing from SE London, Crushed Beaks have been tickling ears with several EPs since 2011. 2015, however, will play host to their full-­length debut, Scatter. Armed with a mutual love of horror flicks, Alex Morris, Matthew Poile and newest recruit Scott Bowley present smart, hook-­filled pop with just enough fuzz and grit to tempt the ears of staunch shoegazers and indiepop kids alike (hi).

Fear not, my chickadees. On February 9, you can have your own physical copy to dance/swoon/sip coffee to courtesy of their own label, Matilda Records. If you are lucky enough to find yourself in London on the same day, pop by Sebright Arms for the album launch party. Tickets are limited so get on it. In the meantime, you can find me sitting quietly in my Wohnzimmer, listening, fingers crossed for a Berlin gig in the near future. Let me know, fellas. I’ll be on my sofa.

Remember: buy local, wherever you are. Happy weekend.

(It’s worth mentioning that I spent the better part of two weeks lying awake at night, wracking my melon in an attempt to pinpoint whose voice Poile’s reminds me of. Yesterday I got it. In the higher registers there are quite a few Richard Butler moments. In my head, anyway. It’s not a bad thing. There are worse voices to be compared to, most certainly. Snore.)

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