I have always been big on covers. I suppose this love derivates from the years I spent watching the French editions of American Idol and Fame Academy. Even now that these programmes are not as popular as they used to be, my love of artists putting their personal twist on another artist's song has remained, strong as ever, and it is in no way surprising that many of my favourite bands have found their way into my musical journey thanks to the way they have performed another singer's number. As my love for alternative music grew deeper, Fame Academy and American Idol have been replaced by the Punk Goes compilation, a series of albums created by Fearless Records, which principle is to have various bands covering songs of different genres (pop, classic rock, crunk) or eras. 

In 2014, Punk Goes 90s, vol 2 was released, and Natalie Imbruglia's iconic Torn was performed by a band I had never heard of before, Hands Like Houses. As I liked the original (should I really use the term original here, as Natalie Imbruglia's version of Torn was a cover as well?), I decided to listen to it, and the rest is history. It didn't take me long to jump headfirst in the Australians' universe, and in the spring of 2014, I fell in love with a beautiful record called Unimagine.

For a reason I wouldn't be able to explain (I suppose some things are beyond words, which is ironic considering I am attempting at putting words on one of my favourite records of all time), from the start, I knew Hands Like Houses were more than just a band, and Unimagine more than a record. It goes beyond the impact they would have on my life. It goes beyond the fact that a mere two weeks after starting to listen to their music, I would go see them in a different country. It goes beyond the fact that I have seen them live fifteen times. It goes beyond the fact that I knew I would love this record forever - so far, three years down the line, I haven't been proven wrong and I still feel the same way when I spin these songs. For a reason I can't put words on, I grasped quite quickly that Hands Like Houses were more than just a band, that they came attached with a universe and with a voice of their own. They aren't a band you just passively listen to, I felt - once again, this is not something I could explain. It's just something I felt.

The first time I listened to Unimagine, I didn't play the first track first. I picked the one song which title I liked the most, which is a fairly stupid decision on my part. Nowadays, I wouldn't ever think of doing it, but back in the day, it seemed like a reasonable way to go about things. This song turned out to be Oceandust, an absolutely gorgeous ballad with a stripped-back melody, which allows you to focus on Trenton Woodley's incredible voice and the power of his words. Everything about Oceandust is delicate and intricate, just like lace. The guitar riff isn't unnecessary loud, isn't loud for the sake of being loud, and even the short gang vocals are soft, almost whispered. What matters most in Oceandust, I've always felt, is the message. 

I couldn't exactly tell where I was in life in 2014, this year is cloudy to say the least. In hindsight, I think I was at a crossroads. I was starting to feel better about myself in general, I was starting to feel the depression retreat, and even if it sounds like a minor event, even my favourite band at the time breaking up probably meant that an era was ending and a new one was starting. Even though I have next to no clue where I was in life three years ago, I know for a fact that Oceandust encapsulates the way I have always felt about my future, and the way I still feel about what comes next every time a new wave of depression comes crashing.

"I don't want to pretend that I'm stronger for it all, I don't want to pretend that the sadness is gone, 'cause I wanna know that I'm steady on my feet. I don't want to pretend so peace will be real to me" 

This is the exact way I feel about most things in life, but very largely about depression (even though, back then, I think I was scared of calling it what it was and still is). Even though I have never been a person who wants to fully detail (online or in real life) the way she feels, I never want to lie about it either, as if lying about it, minimising it, meant that when I started feeling better, it wouldn't be real, it would be yet another trick of my brain. 

Three years later, I believe that I should have listened to Unimagine from the first song to the last, but I think it was important, at the time, to know that I was getting into a band whose words describe the way I feel about Life with a capital L so perfectly, so accurately. 

The second song that stuck with me is The House You Built. I may be a lyrics person, one of those who hold on to words like rocks that stop me from getting lost at sea, but the first reason The House You Built stood out was that, quite simply put, I liked the beat. I liked the intro, the drums that make you want to tap your toes, and I liked how light and catchy it is. Once again, Trenton's vocals made the difference. In Oceandust, I could just sit back and think they were incredible, think his voice capable of hitting high notes. When it comes to The House You Built, the only word that comes to mind is light, airy, as if the voice floated just above the strong melody. Then, of course, as the lyrics person I am through and through, the lyrics person I have always been and will always be, I realised the words hit home. 

I couldn't tell you how I found out this was a song about family, but I did. I know I didn't read about Unimagine for a long time, so it couldn't have been through reading an interview given by the band. It just seemed obvious, at the time, that The House You Built told the story of a family, and, as someone who has never had the picture perfect family or a fairytale upbringing, I unconsciously decided to keep every song about family close to my heart, as if they were a little family of their own, here to say the words my own didn't, or couldn't say. Apart from its topic, the main reason why I love The House You Built so much is because it's an incredibly positive and hopeful song. I know there are many songs about positivity and hope in the world ; just like love, it is one of the most widely discussed topics in music. The House You Built stayed with me because it is a narrative. It has an evolution. You go from "Don't look down even though they're looking down on you" to "Don't look down, because there's no one looking down on you". You go from "he is losing ground" to "she is gaining ground". The song becomes more and more hopeful as it goes, more encouraging. This feeling is only enhanced by the bridge.

"Hey Mr Beaten Down, you found your heart again in the hope you built your house around. You gave your little light, you gave your little light a brand new start". 

I have never quite figured out where the first sentence ended and the second started, where "in the hope you built your house around" fits, and both versions of it work perfectly, in my opinion. I could spend hours trying to explain what these words mean to me, the place they have in my life and in my brain, and I would only fail, or blurt out something cheesier than anything I have ever said before. I will just settle by saying those two sentences, wherever they start and wherever they finish, are some of the most wonderfully written sentences I have ever heard.

If reading about the songwriting process or the topics addressed hadn't been necessary to figure out The House You Built and Oceandust, even just the basic concept behind them, I found myself in need of a little help to understand Developments. The album's opening track quickly became one of my favourites thanks to how unusually catchy it is. I can't picture myself dancing around to it while I am making lunch, yet I can still describe it as catchy, thanks to how present the keyboard is, especially at the beginning. The shift from the delicate notes of the keyboard to the guitars that become stronger and heavier as the song progresses is what makes it unique, and the explosion of the drums after the bridge makes it an ideal, perfect album opener. For a long time, I was content letting Developments be one of these songs that would not attract the Lyrics Person™ in me again (believe me, getting emotionally attached to words becomes a lot to handle, after a while), until I registered one specific sentence in the chorus : "It's darkest before the light". 

As soon as those words had seeped into my brain, they were everything I was looking for and waiting for in the song, they became my favourite part, and when I was struggling with every day life, they became a motto. It's dark right now, but it will be better. You feel like things have never been worse, but it just means that it will get better eventually, because it's darkest before the light. Once again, I could spend hours trying to explain the breath of fresh air this sentence has been, and once again, I would only be cheesy and corny. 

I ended up reading about the meaning behind Developments, and what I found out was extremely interesting.

 "Developments is based around the idea of a photographic darkroom - it takes darkness and careful treatment to develop an image. In the same way I feel like dark times, and the patience and optimism to see them through, are the only way we can retain memories and learn from our experiences. For me it's a justification of difficult times as perspective to better understand and appreciate our present as part of a whole." 

Over the years, the horribly impatient person I have always been had to learn patience, had to learn that good things come to those who know how to wait, had to learn that waiting and the passing of time don't mean wasting your time, had to learn that, just like Rome, happiness and contentment don't build themselves in a day, and they need a lot of nurturing and care, just as much as time. I had to learn that waves of depression and high anxiety would not leave me in the blink of an eye, they would take their time leaving the shore and retreating back into the ocean, I could not wish them away, and impatience was never going to make things better. If anything, being impatient could only make things worse and more frustrating for me. Those were two of the most important lessons I have ever had to learn in life, and having such a stunning, positive song by my side was the icing on the cake. (Or an extended hand to lead the way)

Those three songs, those three universes, those three moments (Oceandust, The House You Built and Developments) are what turned the wonderful, unique album I spent weeks listening to on repeat when I first discovered it into one of my favourite records of all time. They are what cemented it into my life, what transformed what could have been a fleeting phase into something solid. Of course, there are many other reasons why Unimagine is so high on the list of my favourite records. I could try and list many more reasons, and we would still be here tomorrow.
There is the concept behind the music video for A Tale of Outer Suburbia. 

There is Shapeshifters, one of the most poetic love songs I have ever listened to in my entire life, and yet the word "love" is never used once. 

There is how A Fire on a Hill soars. 

There is how I cannot decide of its genre, because putting a genre to it, forcing it into a box would take some of its best aspects away, never mind the genre I would pick. 

There is the way my heart bursts when I hear No Parallels, especially live.

I think, though, that the most incredible thing about this album, what makes it as unique as I believe it is, is that I keep discovering things when I listen to it, I keep noticing details, a string of words here, a connexion between two songs there. It's been three years, and I keep trying to figure many of its different aspects out. It gives me the feeling that I could spend my life digging and still, I would never know everything there is to know about it, which is why I think of it as a world of its own. We will never know everything about the earth, and I will never know everything about Unimagine. I could write about it again in six months', a year's, ten years' time, and the result would be entirely different. This album is more than just a collection of unclassifiable songs, it's a journey. It's a journey every time I listen to it, a collection of feelings and of moments in time, of frames of mind and of words, of places I have been and places where I imagine being, a journey that feels like coming home, a journey that doesn't need a specific or ideal weather, season, place, environment or time of day. It's a journey I will never get tired of making, it's a journey I will never get to the end of, and I am absolutely, entirely content with that. 

Only three days after seeing them in a small, Parisian venue, I jetted off to Birmingham to watch Lower Than Atlantis embark on their biggest headliner tour to date. There’s a little over a thousand people in the room. That’s just a tad bit more than Paris then.

Eastbourne boys Roam open the night (well, it’s 6:15pm when they take the stage, so maybe “night” is pushing it a little bit. Evening? Late afternoon? Tea time celebrations?) with their infectious pop-punk tunes, their Sum 41 inspired riffs and, as always, enthusiasm by the truckload. Have we finally found a band that’s more stoked to be on a stage than Roam or have we called off the search because it’s hopeless? Every time they play, anywhere it might be, never mind if they headline or support, they give off some sort of “fuck, we’re actually DOING THIS, guys” vibe, and it might just be my favourite thing about them, if I’m completely honest. That, and how stupidly catchy every single one of their songs are. That, but absolutely not the fact they dared saying Eastbourne was better than Brighton. Come on, now, boys. You might have had Angus, Thongs and Perfect Snogging, but we have Sticky Mike's and Architects.

It sadly seems, though, that Lower Than Atlantis’ fans aren’t in this for the pop punk, and the circle pit for Deadweight was one of the worst, if not the single worst one I’ve ever been a part of. The crowd seems to take a liking to Head Rush or Hopeless Case, though, and shy but well-deserved sing alongs are heard across the venue.

You can’t fault Roam on any of this. Not at all. They played beautifully and brilliantly, and they will get to that big stage level sooner than we think. Last Friday night, they just deserved a better crowd.

And then the world will have to follow.

I won’t beat around the bush when it comes to Hands Like Houses : they fully deserved to be main support on this tour. Watching them play only six songs, six tiny songs, only twenty-five minutes is like being given a present and then having Santa snatching it off your hands to give you a broken stick instead.

Maybe I’m grossly biased because they are at the top of the list of my favourite bands, but Christ, now that was a perfect set from start to finish. It’s not just the set any support act dreams of playing, it’s the set any band does and should dream of playing. Everything about this band and their performance was absolutely flawless : the way they played, Trenton Woodley’s vocals, the sound quality, the cohesion and communication between the band members, the way they inhabit the stage and make it their own, the message of honesty they are conveying (especially through a song like I Am), the fact that they are so confident in their new material that their setlist will only consist of songs from their excellent latest album, Dissonants, guitarist Matt Cooper’s shiny lamé shirt. Everything about the way these five extremely talented men play on a stage is pure gold, and I strongly believe they are one of the finest bands in the world, as we speak.

Christ that was frustratingly short. You barely have time to get pumped that it’s already over.

As closer I Am resonates across the overall impressed Academy, loud and proud, like everything they do, I am sure of one thing and one thing only : Hands Like Houses deserve to conquer the entire planet. We’ve slept on them for far too long, now. Let’s finally give them the popularity they so rightfully deserve.

Watching a band you love slowly fading away is the most painful thing there is, as a music lover. When you’ve poured a lot of your time, your love and your energy into a band, it hurts starting to fall out of love.

There’s a part of me that will love Young Guns forever, as sure as the sun will set tonight.

But there’s a part of me that’s trying to come to terms with the fact that I’ve grown out of them and it breaks my heart.

I’m not going to beat around the bush when it comes to them either - I don’t think they should have been main support. I know they’re more established than Roam and Hands Like Houses, but surely, a band on the way up should have been given more stage time.

They sound really, really good. I can’t deny that, and I never will. It’s not because I’m growing out of them that I will be awful for no valid reason. They do sound good. The older songs (Bones, I Want Out or Weight of the World) still get a strong reaction from the crowd and sing alongs can objectively be heard.

I, though, have a feeling it falls flat after Hands Like Houses’ brilliance. It’s good, but it feels incomplete, and the only thing I can do is clutch my drink and repress the tears because all those years ago, the last thing I was when I listened to Young Guns was incomplete.

It’s nothing short of brilliant to see Lower Than Atlantis fill such a big room. I’m one of those people that fight real hard against my natural underground music lover urge to keep my favourite bands in tiny venues, but I also like big props, fireworks, giant screens and singalongs more than anything else on the planet.

The Academy in Birmingham is not exactly the perfect theatre for fireworks, we’re not exactly there yet, but we still get nice, big fancy screens, a platform for drummer Eddy Thrower and amps decorated with the wavy lines of the band’s latest album, Safe in Sound. (Spoiler alert, these amps will be thrown across the stage at the end of the show by frontman Mike Duce. When in a rock band, I suppose)

The Academy in Birmingham might not be the time or place for fireworks and smoke cannons, but it definitely was the time and place for singalongs. The setlist was the exact same as the one in Paris on the Tuesday, but this time, the crowd’s answer wasn’t “shy at first” or “ew, feelings” moving on to “FINE, I actually like this band, might as well sing along”. The audience started belting out the lyrics to opener Had Enough from the first line and didn’t stop until the last words of closer Here We Go. It was a strong, beautiful hour and a half of a crowd who loved a band so much they were willing to replace their lead singer by singing much, much louder than him.

Said lead singer helped a little bit and didn’t really sing that much, in the end. I have a feeling I have sung more than him, which is, to be completely honest (and maybe a little bit picky) here, a little disappointing. (And probably what the people next to me paid for)

I love my singalongs. I repeat it in every single review I write. The best live moment of my entire life included sixty five thousand people involved in a singalong. But there is such a thing as too much - like when you start questioning if you’ve paid to hear the crowd sing or the band play.

Apart from this small glitch, Lower Than Atlantis delivered an incredible performance and showed the Midlands (before showing the rest of the UK) why they were going to the places they are. It’s no surprise they’re becoming one of the leading forces in Britain’s rock music. It’s no surprise they’ve been announced as support on blink-182’s upcoming German tour. They work hard, they have a knack at writing catchy songs, they have an array of dedicated fans willing to replace their frontman and open walls of death at inappropriate moments - clearly, they’re on the way up, and up, and up again, and it’s fully deserved.

They also have one of the best drummers of our generation. I’m no musician myself, I couldn’t play Wonderwall to save my life and I’ve never been able to play a note on a recorder, but I can tell when someone stands out, and boy, does Eddy Thrower stand out. I found myself being absolutely stunned and amazed by his drumming more than once, and it’s not something that happens a lot, believe you me. I know he is an excellent drummer, and I always known. I remember my friend Alice telling me about it five years ago. I suppose it had never struck me until that night.

What else can I say? This tour is a career defining moment for Lower Than Atlantis. And I’m excited to be by their side for what comes next. 

The neverending list of bands I adore.