Los Campesinos! - "Romance Is Boring"
NME.COM feature on Los Campesinos! - "Romance Is Boring" album including album review, artwork, tracks, listen now, tour dates, discography and more.
Still baring their souls but now stepping up their sound, they’re niche no longer
If you’ve ever spent a pained afternoon concocting a mixtape that you’ll never send, or an increasingly drunken evening watching the object of your affections resolutely ignore your existence, then chances are Los Campesinos! were the band you’d been waiting to discover for years. Fuelled by brutally honest lyrics laced over wryly uproarious indie-pop, the seven-piece’s first two LPs...
- Feb 1, 2010
Dreary, drippy shite
- Mar 16, 2012
Clinging to childish trappings, but with a morbid slant
- Nov 11, 2011
02 Shepherds Bush Empire, London, 2nd February
- Feb 10, 2011
'A Good Night For A Fist Fight' was recorded in December 2012
Ellen Waddell to depart band following final show in London
Gareth Paisey speaks as his band give away free download 'Tiptoe Through The True Bits'
Artist/Album artwork images hosted by Last.fm. For copyright enquiries please see here.
I grabbed hold of her wrist and my hand closed from tip to tip
I said, "You've taken the diet too far, you've got to let it slip"
But she's not eating again, she's not eating again
She's not eating again, she's not eating again
You glug and you glug
Salt water from sandcastle bucket
You glug and you glug
And the tide turns in your stomach, splash your shoes
By now it's just the three of us:
CAN WE ALL PLEASE JUST CALM THE FUCK DOWN!?
An analogy that makes sense to most:
This opportunity had found me unmarked at the far post,
He grows out his stubble just so that he can
Scratch at the sunburn that colored my arm
Civilians read bibles behind glass windows
Is this what constitutes normal behavior?
I think we need more post-coital and less post-rock
Feels like the build up takes forever but you never get me off
You pull your dress over your face and I stare down towards my chest
Chastise both our greasy hair, wonder whose gut is the softest
But let's talk about you for a minute with the vomit in your gullet
From a half bottle of vodka that we'd stolen from the optic
In the backseat in your car because it wasn't safe to start it
"You're far too fucked to drive", were the words that you imparted
And the dashboard assembled
Descending height order
Half a decade of father's day
It's another thought for another passed on
Run the water 'til it scalds you know that I'm listening
Pitter patter runs the shower hits the bare porcelain
Watch the dirt run down the plughole, hear an echo within
They described you in detail, I knew everything
Darling, I'm with St. Bernards
And we're scouring the Alps and the Andes
And if they die then it is on my head
They follow paw prints in the snow to my throne to my bed
Just like when we were seventeen
We said wed move to Malta, claim nationality
And now that we are twenty-three
Days tethered to the running track
First and foremost,
Let it be said,
I am writing this at 7: 10am,
On the hard dry tarmac of a vacant forecourt.
She turned her back on the church and put all her faith in me at the back of the chapel where I taught her to screw and blaspheme.
We turned our backs to the church,
With our trousers around our knees,
While screaming the scriptures she said I was her favourite heresy.