The End Of A Beautiful Career

Smart cookies, those [a]Angelica[/a] tykes...

Smart cookies, those [a]Angelica[/a] tykes. The Lancastrian foursome know there’s nothing as rubbish as a grrrl band who flaunt shop-soiled ideals, so they’ve decided to make like proper pop seamstresses and create their own. Not in a slyly contrived, [a]Chicks On Speed[/a] sense, y’understand.

But in a refreshingly unselfconscious, winningly ingenuous fashion that sways and grins with a tipsy fortitude all of its own. There is, of course, no smoke without a righteous pop fire, and each of [a]Angelica[/a]’s pretty-on-the-outside bubblegum spitballs shares a chromosome or two with such punk-ish godheads as the Raincoats, the Pixies and (especially) Kenickie. But behind the buzzing guitars and butter-wouldn’t-melt vocals, the fairy-floss melodies and battered Blondie badges, there’s a sense of wilful contrariness that blows raspberries at charges of musical grave-plundery. ‘Bring Back Her Head’, for instance, is a cheekily dishevelled, eyelash-fluttering ode to the joys of, um, decapitation, while the fabulously petulant ‘Why Did You Let My Kitten Die?’ is a seething tantrum of cat-scratch guitars and little-grrrl ickiness. It’s all very strange and – like finding a teeming worm farm in your niece’s Polly Pocket jewel box – not a little disconcerting.

[a]Angelica[/a] want to hug your soul and haunt your darkest dreams. Best let them get on with it.