The Brighton cliques second book is spiky, unusual and uncompromisingly brilliant. Can they drag the avant garde into the mainstream?
Porridge Radio frontwoman Dana Margolin recently gave an interrogation to the NME that made its headline from one of her quotes:” I’ve always known that we’re the best band in the world countries .” Margolin went on to suggest the present burst of interest in her clique was woefully belated (” Plainly we’re really good and we know it … where have you been ?”) and that their destiny lay in performing to arenas and sports stadiums around the world:” I wanna be Coldplay, obviously .”
This swaggering bravado is standard practice from a certain kind of alt-rock band. The same gobby self-assurance helped propel the Stone Roses, Oasis, Kasabian et al on to the front pages of the music press. The gap here is that every one of Margolin’s statements seems to come accompanied by a roller of the eyes. Porridge Radio are a product of Brighton’s fertile but subterranean DIY scene: a world of cassette-split EPs with American noise parties, debut books recorded in garden sheds, lo-fi cover-ups of Daniel Johnston carols and free all-day galas in tiny venues alongside bands called Satanic Ritual Abuse. Whatever you compile of all this, you certainly couldn’t accuse the people involved of being fuelled by vaulting commercial ambition.