A multi-award-winning experience of what it’s like to live in constant fear, from rookie Hungarian director László Nemes
You are probably justifiably weary of us lot telling you how brilliant Shack are. You want to listen to Korn or Travis, not some washed-up late-30-something gap-toothed geezer strumming his guitar. You're sick of the tale of woe (Liverpool. Failure. Loss. Smack. Repeat 'til fade. Genius buried under there somewhere, destined for certain loss if it weren't for a label finally coughing up some money for 'HMS Fable' to be made). It's a class thing too, if you really dig in: these are northern lads made almost good, a bit like (grimace) Oasis, only uglier. What poetry could their gritty lives throw up that could possibly stir the hearts of refined English students?
Look, you lot need this song in your lives. Even if you've hated Shack up until now. Who else but Mick Head would write a bittersweet, pointed jangling ballad about how, in Amsterdam, sex is procured for the disabled? And not even notice it was a potential single, complete with lethal chorus, until live audiences demanded it be recorded and released? It's an epiphany. Go, let it in.
A disappointingly shallow dig into the soul of a man who should be on the edge, but isn’t
The A$AP Mob member’s second album is personal and poppy, and features a guest spot from his mum
LA/Vancouver trio White Lung soften the edges of their hardcore sound on their gripping fourth album
An over-sugared combo of Katy and big names in grime, techno, hip-hop and d’n’b