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It’s sometimes the case that the most beautiful things don’t come from the most beautiful places, or the times you hold dear aren’t the times when it all felt so easy. Feet On Fire, the second single to emerge from The Slow Readers Club’s eponymous debut album comes from that place in between euphoria and dejection.
The Manchester-based quartet – comprising Aaron Starkie, Vocals - Kurtis Starkie, Guitar/Vocals - James Ryan, Bass - Neil Turvin, Drums – are gathering fans around the UK by releasing tracks which explore the turbulence of our times.
The electric pulse that brings Feet On Fire to life sets the tone for a discomforting chase through euphoric claustrophobia. As the guitars flood in with muted aggression, the words begin to speak of a conquest that was hunted for a one night affair, but returned to affect retribution as the hunter. Then there’s panicked moment when the sanctuary of a warm sleep ends an hour after the alarm was supposed to go off, bringing forth anticipation of a cold P45.
Evidently, a theme persists around the work of The Slow Readers Club, and the words of frontman Aaron Starkie, in that the protagonist (Starkie himself?) earns the guilt bestowed by a blissful, stolen moment before paying the emotional cost. The music grabs you in the choral eruption of a communal celebration, and then drops you into shuffling introspection in one fell swoop. Like a cold shower on a hot day, the extremes are intensified by familiar sensations that rub side-by-side.
Continuing a theme of contradiction and parallel pleasures, the beat which underpins Feet On Fire could easily disconnect an overthinking brain from dancing feet and simply make you move. The band opt for a simple route to the heart, namely through the uncompromising thump of the indie disco floor filler. The bass and drums routinely march to their destination, whilst the guitar lines takes simplicity as the way to avoid competing with the bleeps and beeps that sparkle throughout.
The reference points the band themselves hold up as the most obvious are Interpol and The Killers, given the distinctly metropolitan darkness that envelops their sound. They’re not far wrong.
Feet On Fire
She Wears A Frown