I've just spent the last half hour watching the Channel 4 broadcast of Keane's Warchild gig on Sky+. The benefit of my belated watching is I've been able to fastforward through the crap and boring (The Magic Numbers, some other bloke I can't remember) and still watch the jolly awesome (Brendan Benson, Lily Allen, Keane covering Queen & David Bowie). One of the most upsetting moments, though, beyond the suffering of children born into war, was seeing Fyfe Dangerfield of Guillemots.
It's not that I don't love Fyfe, or indeed the Guillemots, in fact I love them and their crazy, crazy music. At Glastonbury their set was in my top three. Or five. There were lots of good bands. So it isn't a dislike for them at all. No, what saddened me was that Fyfe had had a haircut.
See, Fyfe's hair was the band of Guillemots personified. Except it wasn't a person. So I guess I'll have to change that. See, Fyfe's hair was a metaphor for Guillemots as a band - crazy, seemingly out of control to the outside world, but ultimately a finely-formed mess that knows exactly what it is doing. It flowed, was thick and full, was beautiful, was an inspiration to young men like me who are learning day-by-day that it's only so long until male pattern baldness kicks in. And he's gone and cut it all off! It's short! FYFE'S HAIR IS SHORT AND PERFECTLY ORGANISED! It's a disgrace!
Still, the band are still fantastic, both on record and live, and this is great news. I've seen Guillemots live twice, and they simply don't let down. You leave a Guillemots gig feeling happy, your thirst for life insiringly unquenched, and the blood in your veins temporarily replaced with pure, liquid joy. Exhibit A in the case for liquid joy vs. Guillemots (whatever that means): 'Made-Up Love Song #42'. Any song featuring the lyric 'I love you through sparks and shining dragons, I do' can do no wrong in my book.
mp3: 'Made-Up Love Song #42' by Guillemots
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