The Fly had very short wordcounts even for the lead reviews, of which this was one. So the temptation was to be florid and sort of poetic. For example:
Trans Musicales
Parc Expo,
There’s a point n life, love, madness, and – above all –
MUSIC stills the groaning clocks of the world, transporting the individual into
a bubble of knowledge that suddenly seems simple and obvious. And for The Fly,
this moment comes when we’re stood in Hangar No.4 in a disused airport just
outside
Earlier, Gang Of Four had emptied Hall 9 – the innovators usurped by a raft of besuited, sharp-move imitators taking the jerky artpunk blueprint into 2005/6’s context. Likewise Clap Your Hands…, all disko-drum and firefly guitars, or the 4 DJ/8 deck assault of Birdy Nam Nam, Dwight Trible’s uplifting soul-hop, the slinky, pernicious El Presidente dividing opinion, Primal Scream yowsa-yawning dad-friendly – but satisfying - Stones-bore.
Trans Musicales is like that. Cause it’s an event that features the bloody Fugees glaring at each other whilst 4000 fans roar and tumble like joyous mush-limbed acrobanshees, and also showcasing a raft of dubby, electronic young French groups in the bars of teargas-soaked downtown Rennes. It’s designed and chic, dirty and unique, where Kill The Young shine with a praeturnatural rock blossom that has thousands of French fans enraptured. The LP’s already out over there. They already understand what it’s about.
And now, so do we: three days, more beer than we care to think about, more music than a heart can bear. An electricity in the blood and a power in the soul. Such moments of insight make magic.
Rev. Shoo
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