Saint Etienne are eating themselves, singing about the joy and anticipation of seeing their favourite band, of seeing themselves. Self-mythologising, London-mythologising, pop-mythologising. They’re so far into their navel, they’re sending shivers up their own spine.
And mine. I mean, look at this place, constantly turning over the past. This kind of pop nostalgia is catnip. Obviously, Saint Etienne’s celebration of that pre-gig buzz could apply to bands now, but “maybe they’ll open with… a top five hit”? Does anyone think like that now? You probably know exactly what they’re going to play by aggregating setlist.fm stats.
This did nothing for the girls, who scrapped over a toy ladybird. Junior admitted she liked the beat, but she wasn’t captivated by the feeling or the propulsive synth wash. Perhaps she’ll get fuzzy about this in a couple of decades.