SHAMPOOST
Welsh air, space and sound botherers Golau Glau are one of my favourite entities in music, despite my not knowing how many they number or who they are. This is because they are a SECRET BAND. I like them because they are funny, clever and lively fellows and I like them because they once lived in Criccieth where I used to go on Christian adventure holidays and where you can buy OH BOY THE NICEST ICE CREAM.
I ALSO love them because they make spooky, glassy pop songs that share a musical playpark with St. Etienne. But St. Etienne if they were on a massive downer; a St. Etienne who could not be perked up by a lecture on the design of the Royal Festival Hall’s carpet. It is fair to say that what they make is not really the sort of thing I spend heaps and ages listening to because it is quite meditative and I am a bit instant noodles. But hey man, my ears are open, I will give anything a try once unless it is ‘industrial’. Also they are well good.
ANYWAY. Golau Glau mentioned having an hactual copy of an hactual album by Shampoo and I demanded they give it me in the way you seem to be allowed to on the internet. I did not seriously expect it to arrive at my house but it did. The picture above is an exact representation of the exact moment when I recieiieeived it. I remember ‘Trouble’ coming out and thinking it was exciting, rubbish and wanting Shampoo to be amazing really real bad. When I listen to it now it sounds very tinny and a lot slower than I remember. But it is still amazing, rubbish.
Anyway in the spirit of sharing and because I once bought a Shampoo single on twelve in a record shop only to get it home and find that they had put the wrong record in the sleeve but that record was quite good so I kept it and now I can’t find either I thought I would send Shampoo to someone else who might like to put it in their music player before sending it on to someone else. It will be like a chain letter except that no one will threaten you with a spooky curse involving foil-wrapped heather like gypsies used to sell you on the street maybe they still do. I remember being hexed by a gypsy in Bracknell town centre once and the only bad thing that happened to me that day was having my hair ripped out by a Moulinex food processor while making packet-mix sorbet which resulted in a bald spot about the size of a thumbprint that my Mum attempted to cover up with clever plaiting but my sister told everyone in the lunch queue at school and then years later stole the story to use in one of her many ackfing brilliant and incisive poems like the minx she really is. True story, apart from the gypsy, that happened this other time.
If you want the CD next, ‘at’ me on Twitter and I will arrange for YOU to get some SHAMPOOST through your DOOR. You have to promise to send it on to someone you do not even know though, you are not allowed to keep it. And you have to put a note in with the CD on which you have put stickers or at the very least do a drawing.
Rubbish, amazing. But sometimes rubbish is.
