Kate Murphy reviews the new single from the Hartlepool songwriter
Pure 60s jangle and irresistible bluster, this track from Jamie Anslie barges in with a mac on and a fag lit, makes a lot of noise, and is over and done with in two minutes and thirty-nine seconds. I have all the time in the world for it.
It’s London when it was swinging, it’s a for-the-hell-of-it hurricane made to be chanted and moved to, it’s London when it was riding high again thirty years later, complete with cocky nasal swagger and the easily imagined, always-nearby muffled cries of “Who does he think he is?!” somewhere in the background. It’s the simplest kind of feel-good, knows exactly what it is and what it’s doing, and champions a style that’s going to outlive us all.