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.
The populist paradox
1 day ago