This morning I found myself wandering around Leicester Square at 9am, too early for a 10am press screening of Into the Wild (a terrible waste of time, as it turned out). In the cold light of a cold morning, Leicester Square was even uglier than I remembered. Bare, unattractive, pointless. There weren't even any autumn leaves to kick; just broken glass from bottles of beer from the night before, and what night could that have been if it was spent here. But as I was looking around admiring the tourists for their devotion to London musicals (the queue by the half-price ticket booth was huge), 'The Fear Is On' by The Hidden Cameras blasted through my headphones and I found myself in front of what used to be the Marquee, the venue where I saw the Hidden Cameras playing in 200...2, I think. The way I love the Hidden Cameras goes beyond a love of music and a love of indiepop. It makes my hands all shaky and it's a love of everything that's good about the world.
My mp3 player follows my thoughts and goes on to play 'She's Gone' despite being on the random setting. I guess that's as random as any song. But they are so absolutely perfect, so effortless, so engaging and real that they could have been anything if they weren't a band. They could have been an art collective or a brilliant football team, a group of friends you meet one night and you fall in love with in one go, or a mourning family at a funeral who crack a smile when the priest says the name of the person they so loved.
They could be anything amazing but luckily they became the most amazing thing they could ever be.
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