Fever Fever PINS
By Seymour Quigley
Theres a list I made (for the noticeboard in my head) a few years back of songs so perfectly-formed, so exuberant and so relentless that they make you want to cry tears of joy, dance like an idiot and overthrow governments, all at once. Speed by Atari Teenage Riot is one such song; Better The Devil You Know by Kylie is another. And when your correspondent first encountered Fever Fever, outrageously low down the bill at a R*E*P*E*A*T all-dayer, two summers ago, their then-brand-new single Monster lodged itself firmly at the top of that list.
Fever Fever are a fantastic band. For the sake of lazy comparisons, imagine a riot grrrl Beastie Boys, with Jack White on lead guitar, and youre somewhere near the truth. But like all great bands, the genius is there in the details: In the on-stage interplay between ranter/guitarists Rosie and Ellie; in sticksman Smits powerhouse drumming; in Rosies pin-sharp lyrics and statement-of-obvious-fact delivery; in Ellies guitar heroism (often single-handedly shouldering the bass, rhythm and lead parts simultaneously, but still sounding impossibly massive); in the way every single one of their songs hurtles, headlong, into itself; and in the fact that they look, talk and act, onstage and off, like a gang youd sell your kidneys to join, if only your kidneys werent so damnably gauche. Stupid kidneys!
Like most good singles, PINS is a brief summary of why Fever Fever rule distilled into 311, with massive molten guitar riffs, idiosyncratic stop-start riot-rumba verses, urgent call-and-response vocals, and a chorus of I AM MY OWN WARRIOR! bellowed by Rosie and Ellie in a manner seemingly precision-designed to make DIY idealists well up in public. Effortlessly balancing charm, cool and smarts, Fever Fever are a band who could quite conceivably change your life. See them live, form a band, make a fist, take a stand.
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