Let me tell you a story.

I live in Watford, near London, and my local Royal Mail delivery office thing (the building where you pick up the parcels you've missed out on because you weren't at home, if you will) is quite far away from the city centre. It's a forty-five minute walk from where I live. Over three kilometres. Not to be a lazy git or anything, but I am not about that life, and when I have to go, I have to get a lift or worse, get on an Uber. 

I had to do that today, to pick up my Architects ticket. I don't like being in taxis and Ubers. I'm not good at small talk, and nothing embarrasses me more than to be sat in a car for ten minutes with a complete stranger. However, I got lucky this time around, my driver was lovely. I ended up telling him I was French, he asked if I knew Vanessa Paradis and then he dropped me off at the post office. When I got back in the car after picking up my ticket, he said he was going to play a song for me, and he played Joe Le Taxi by the aforementioned Vanessa Paradis, and then kept playing her songs.

It reminded me of how much I love her.

It also inspired me to share my favourite French music.

I believe my taste in French music is more eclectic than my taste in music in general. Most of the time, I listen to everything in the alternative spectrum, but when it comes to my own country, my taste is more varied. Granted, France doesn't really have an alternative scene (spoiler alert : this list does not include Chunk! No, Captain Chunk!), but I think it mostly stems from the fact that my taste in French music is heavily influenced by my childhood, my family and the indie phase I left in 2008, back where I found it easier to write in French and spoke much less English.

• BB Brunes

BB Brunes are my all-time favourite French band. There, I said it.

I was quite literally obsessed with them when I was seventeen, eighteen. 2008 was the height of my embarrassing indie phase, my "I don't want to listen to what is mainstream" phase, and just like most girls my age at the time, I wore ill-fitted skinny jeans, flat shoes and sported a thick straight fringe I had to trim every single day because my hair grows so ridiculously fast. I was entirely on board with what we called the Nouvelle Scène Française (New French Scene) and all the French rock bands clearly inspired by Arctic Monkeys, The Strokes and iconic French singers/songwriters. 

BB Brunes' début album is called Blonde Comme Moi, and I listened to it so much that if the Spotify yearly statistics had been a thing back in the day, it would have topped every possible category. Me and my best friend at the time used to listen to it every time we would hang out, we'd blast it in her brother's car and sang along to every word. (I don't think we were entirely aware of everything we were singing along to). Blonde Comme Moi is gritty, energetic, fast and angsty, the songs are about stuff seventeen year old me couldn't relate to, like doing drugs,  getting into fist fights, drinking apple flavoured liquor until the small hours and prostitutes (not that twenty-eight year old me relates, but, you know) and I adored it. (I still do)

The song I've picked is Pas Comme Ca, which is about the band's former bass player leaving the band. (Trust ansgty me to have given it a different meaning at the time)

Say hello to Kyo, the closest thing to an emo band we've had this side of the Channel. (Even though, at the peak of their fame and career, they probably wouldn't have appreciated being called emo and were saying in interviews that they were heavier than Weezer) 

I was thirteen when they released their second album, Le Chemin (their first album, Kyo, is kinda like the first album your favourite indie band has released, you can only find it for £300 on Amazon and they fucking hate it anyway), and they hit it big. It was an era when you had rock music on television and mainstream radios. I used to find new bands to listen to on the radio and in French chart shows. In the middle of the sugary pop and the latin-inspired summer hits, we liked a loud guitar or two, so Kyo made it big. Everyone loved them. My classmates who liked rap and r'n'b loved them. My mother loved them. She bought the CD for herself, I borrowed it, never gave it back and listened to it so much it's a miracle it didn't melt in my stereo. (There was a really annoying scratch during my favourite song, though)

They broke up a couple of years later, then came back and I only ever briefly saw them live at a concert organised by a radio station in a small town in Picardy, they played three songs and by this time, the radio station had fully moved on from rock music to French pop sporting more autotune than words, and saying they stood out from the rest of the line up is a bit of an understatement.

The song I've picked is probably the emo anthem of France, Dernière Danse. One day, I'll get to hear it live and I'll probably ugly cry my heart out.

• Téléphone

In so many ways, me and my brother had similar after-school activities. I spent all my time at the local record store, listening to all the new music, preparing a list of what I would want for my birthday or Christmas. My brother used to drop by the local supermarket every day after school to listen to records and buy one when he'd saved up enough money after a car boot sale. I love the tales of him buying his first Iron Maiden records, experiencing the storm Michael Jackson releasing Thriller was, and listening to his favourite French band, Téléphone. 

I don't have a particular story of how I started listening to Téléphone, it was very likely because of my brother or mother, who both loved them. I'm pretty sure we've got some old records of theirs in our collections, some we've thrifted a couple of years ago, some my mum bought in the eighties. Téléphone were also her favourites, I remember her tapping her toes to the beat of their songs every time they were on TV. I'd have a hard time describing their music. They're a straight up rock band. Their songs are catchy and clever and well written. They split up but the whole damn country loves them so much that if they decided to come back, they'd probably sell out the Stade de France. This I can say. I can't really say more because they're so deeply linked to the story of my family. They're just one of these bands that take me back home, to seeing them on TV, seeing my mum sing along, learning every word to their songs as I watched yet another rock music loving youth in a singing contest cover one of their hits - a rite of passage if you sang on French television. (And a plague to hear so many people butcher Cendrillon)

They have many a hit song and many a banger, and I don't really have a specific favourite, but I do love Un Autre Monde. Ask any French person. That's a classic.

• France Gall

My mother was a teenager in the sixties, and some of her favourite music was from this era. All the famous French people of the decade - Johnny Hallyday, Sylvie Vartan, Eddy Mitchell, Françoise Hardy, Sheila, you name them, she loved them. Her favourite, though, was France Gall. She started out in the sixties by winning the Eurovision Song Contest in 1965 for Luxembourg, but her musical career exploded in the seventies after she met quite possibly the single most talented French songwriter, Michel Berger. She had a delicate voice and gorgeously written songs I have loved since I was a very small child.

I would have been, what, seven, eight years old, maybe. Every Sunday morning, rain or shine, me and my mother would go to the market. My mum was the queen of bargain hunting and she'd spend hours looking at all the stalls to find cool, yet cheap as chips clothes. If you see me wearing something that used to belong to my mum, there's a ninety-five percent chance she purchased it at the Argenteuil or Beauchamp markets on a Sunday morning in the eighties or nineties. It was always the same ritual - we'd start at Argenteuil, then go to Beauchamp, and finally Conflans. Argenteuil was a half-hour drive from where we lived and during the journey, my mum would always sing the songs she loved so much. She didn't even have a stereo in the car. She just sang, even though she couldn't sing in tune for the life of her, and by the time I was eight, I knew most of the words to France Gall's back catalogue. 

I'm not good at picking favourites when it comes to the soundtrack to my childhood, but Ella Elle L'a is the song I always listen to first. I just know it's a tribute to Ella Fitzgerald.

• Vanessa Paradis.

When the Uber driver asked me if I knew Vanessa Paradis, he said something along the lines of "She's French, right? She married Johnny Depp, yeah?". So, yeah, Vanessa Paradis is French, she's been married to Johnny Depp, but the reason why I was reportedly dancing to her songs when I was a toddler was because she's a great singer. She started out in the eighties and released her first hit single, Joe Le Taxi, when she was about fourteen years old, and the song and its music video featuring teenage Vanessa in an oversized peach sweater in front of a New York taxi have been iconic on our side of the Channel since. She's spent a lot of her life being known as Johnny Depp's wife when she had an incredible musical career, in French and in English, to show for herself. 

I have always loved how timeless her music is. There's undeniably an eighties vibe to Joe Le Taxi, and in this day and age, I don't think anyone could write a song about a taxi driver who loves blues music, drinks rum and make it iconic, yet at the same time, it's still adored in France. She had some amazing music in the nineties, and her return in the noughties with the gorgeous Divine Idylle was acclaimed and a huge success. Not to be dramatic or anything, but if I had to pick someone to be the queen of France, it would probably be Vanessa Paradis.

Word is in the street that tiny little me used to dance to Be My Baby, and I do have the cassette tape somewhere, purchased in the nineties.

There will be at least one follow up to this list - a friendly reminder that I'm French.

There are bands that have a story so precise for me that I could drive back to the very spot where I was when I first listened to their music. I could tell you what I was wearing and where I was standing in the crowd when I first saw them live. Somehow, the specifics have disappeared and been lost in translation when it comes to Candy Hearts. I know our paths collided in the summer of 2014, but that's about it.


When Candy Hearts' (and now Best Ex's) frontwoman Mariel Loveland announced the name change, earlier this year, she said : "To me, Best Ex is like a breakup haircut, only I broke up with this part of myself that I no longer want or need. I broke up with a feeling that had no right to be around in the first place. I chopped off the dead, over-bleached ends of my hair my mom is begging me to cut and gave myself a confidence-boosting makeover (with lots of glitter, of course!)." Little did I know that when Candy Hearts stormed into my life, on a day I do not remember when I stumbled upon I Miss You, they'd turn out to be my confidence-boosting makeover, they'd be my breakup haircut, they'd be the start of me chopping off the dead, over-bleached ends of my figurative hair.


Reading an old interview of Mariel's for Substream, I realised Candy Hearts (and now Best Ex) might just be the most "me" band around. She says she wishes she'd written every Paramore album, but also Torn by Natalie Imbruglia. She claims to be inspired by Taylor Swift and Brand New. Find something more "me" than this, I dare you. Candy Hearts are the band I had wanted to have around my entire life, the band I would have loved to find in a battle of the bands episode of my favourite sitcom when I was eight, the band I would have sang along to in my bedroom, probably deafening my neighbours, aged twelve. Had I been in my Freaky Friday phase (is it a phase, really?) when I first listened to All The Ways You Let Me Down and I would have air-guitarred my way through it and scoured my closets in the hope of finding something suitable to channel my inner Mariel in the same way I did with Lindsay Lohan.
One thing I have learnt during my twenty-seven years on this Earth as well as during nine seasons of How I Met Your Mother is that timing is everything. When you meet people is capital. Where you are at a defined point of time is most important. It works the same with music.
I didn't find Candy Hearts when I was an eight year old obsessed with Sabrina the Teenage Witch, nor did I find them when I wished my life was like Freaky Friday, long haired Chad Michael Murray included.
I told you already, I found Candy Hearts in the summer of 2014 - the summer when a boy snaked his way into my heart, only to break it.


The story is older than the world and many people go through it every second of every day. There was this boy, and he lead me on, only to leave my high and dry, with a broken heart and self-confidence at the bottom of an industrial sized bin. When I discovered All The Ways You Let Me Down, back when I welcomed Mariel into my life with open arms and a shattered heart, my feelings were conflicted and intense. There were days when my anger was fiery and red-hot. There were days when the sadness was so heavy I wasn't sure it would ever lift away. I had brief confident spells that lasted just long enough for the boxed pink hairdye to fade away, or for me to be done crossing Portsmouth Harbour by myself on a sunny day. I can now safely say that Candy Hearts were instrumental in getting to the point where I am today - a stage of "over it" when I have fully accepted that it is okay for me to reflect on it and acknowledge every part of it, and when I hope that wherever he is, he's doing okay.


It was a long battle and I started it at the bottom of the industrial sized bin with the remains of my self-confidence and my broken heart. All The Ways You Let Me Down held my hand and refused to let it go. It held my hand and rubbed its thumb on my skin so that I could never forget it was there for better or for worse. It was the hug I needed, the tough love I needed, the comfort I needed. It acted as the best friend I wasn't sure I had, the kind of friend who is okay listening to you moan over and over again about how sad you are and how this is the end of the world, even when you both know it's not. All The Ways You Let Me Down was there, by my side, unconditionnally.


On the exterior, All The Ways You Let Me Down has all the pretty, rosy, sweet and tender parts I love in music. You can hear it in I Miss You, a resolutely positive love song, or in Mariel's delicate voice. You can guess it when you find my baby pink vinyl. You can see it in the album cover, a naked brick wall decorated in shiny bunting reading its title. All The Ways You Let Me Down has all my dreams of loving someone so much I'd miss them even when they are still with me, of road trips with the stereo loud in the car, of diners in America and of coffee dates with my girl friends. All The Ways You Let Me Down is the perfect bubble of everything I grew up on, a sensitive and sweet teenager fed on American TV shows, who tends to romanticise cars and house parties.
One day, another day I don't remember, I stopped for a second and paid attention to the soundtrack of my hopeful morning dance-offs with myself, to the words I was singing along to. This is how All The Ways You Let Me Down went from being just the album I wished I had had when I was a teenager to the album that helped me through heartbreak. The exterior might be sweet and shiny, but the interior is full of hurt, and pain, of sadness and anxiety. That summer, I looked sweet and shiny with my layered necklaces, my frilly socks and my pink hair, but inside, I was hurting, I was broken, and my anxiety was skyrocketing. In retrospect, at least, I wasn't alone.


Sometimes, all it takes is a sentence. You don't need the whole story to apply to your own. You just need a couple of words. In Michigan, Mariel sings "You say that I have your heart, but I'm all alone when they're closing the bar, and I don't know what you're thinking". She probably had a specific bar in mind when she wrote those lyrics, they take me back somewhere completely different, and still, it stings. It wasn't even a bar, it was an empty tent at a festival, a tent where they had the brilliant idea to close the night with Green Day's Good Riddance, a tent where I was standing by myself, drunk on Jägermeister because they weren't offering anything else, a tent where I was looking like an idiot in my plaid skirt, my Kids in Glass Houses t-shirt and my green wellies. I was alone and I didn't know what he was thinking. What are you supposed to make of someone who tells you he thought he liked you and in the end he doesn't, and forty-eight hours later, he comes to your rescue when you're being bothered by a creep.
One day, I stopped looking at my own life and looked at the big picture instead. I realised that Michigan wasn't about about my own, personal broken heart and a tent in Knebworth, England, it was about a boyfriend who ignores you and does not treat you right, and slowly but surely, I saw this was the situation I had been in, too. I had been ignored, lead on and not treated right, and I deserved better.
The issue with being a highly sensitive person who cares a whole lot about what other people think is that a small thing can make you feel an unsufferable amount of guilt. The greatest thing about being a person who counts on music more than she counts on human beings is that a single song can teach you to let go of the guilt that is eating your insides.


In Brooklyn Bridge, Mariel reflects on a past significant other and says "I didn't know what I was doing, you were so beautiful and charming". Sometimes, it doesn't take a lot to fall for someone. They just need to have a nice smile and the right words at the right time, the right way of saying you are lovely, and you fall head first for it. I nursed delusional hopes of him coming back to me and drunkenly swore I was going to get him back, and then I saw behind the beautiful and charming exterior, the beautiful smile and the right words. Moments like those are like scratching the gold from a cheap necklace away, only to see the grey, ordinary metal underneath. Not all that glitters is pure gold. He would never felt the way I did, never had and never will. He had never liked me as much as I had, he never would, and he had never been as hurt as I was. There was nothing to get hung up on, nothing to waste my time on.


And mostly, there was Top of Our Lungs. Top of Our Lungs has my very favourite thing about Candy Hearts' (and now Best Ex's) music : it is the snapshot of a very particular moment. The lyrics are the clear description of a specific moment in time, the caption of a picture. Once again, it is not a song that was written about my personal heart and my personal moments in time. It still found its way to my heart and spoke to it (and me) in ways no other song did. The first verse hit me so desperately, so hard, so violently I still cannot quite believe I did not pen those words myself. "Sometimes I try to find you in the air before it rains, in the hiss of cassette tapes, in the way I pause before I say your name".
I have done it so much, you know. There was a long period of time during which I would see him absolutely everywhere, even where he wasn't. I would go home and think about my day and there had been at least one person who I thought looked like him. They probably did not even look the part, but my brain decided they did. There would be someone named like him. There would be someone who liked one specific thing he did, even though in this day and age and in our society, it's not that complicated to find two people who like the same band, or film, or food, or wear the same clothes. I could not quite explain why I did it, because I know it wasn't unconscious, and I knew it didn't help at all. You're never really getting over someone if you keep looking for them in tiny, little every day things. Then again, maybe you are.
Over the years, my broken heart has never related to a song as much as I relate to Top of Our Lungs. It is one of these songs that takes me back to the best moment I have ever had with him and to the long list of terrible ones I had by myself after that. This song is a rollercoaster, full of ups and downs, so sudden and violent it is an emotional Tower of Terror. This song made me long for him and nursed the delusional thoughts of us getting back together and this song accompanied my journey in getting over him and in stopping to look for him in absolutely everything. This song held my hand through thick and thin, through the good and the bad, through the moments of me kidding myself into believing I was over it and through the moments when I had to face the truth and admit to myself that I wasn't over anything at all.
Today, this song doesn't hurt anymore, and doesn't have the emotional violence of a brick in my chest. This song is a pop-punk masterpiece and a reminder of how far I've come, of how I thought I'd never get better and guess what? I went ahead and I did.


All The Ways You Let Me Down was my breakup haircut, my confidence boosting makeover, but more importantly, a lesson in letting go. I chopped off the over-bleached, dead, split and delusional ends of my hair and grew much stronger. 

As the last notes of closer Keeper resonated inside a packed Kentish Town Forum, I could have told you three things : 

A- I have just had the time of my life,

B- My ribs are now bruised and that shit is painful and

C- This was the last time I was seeing With Confidence in 2017.

2017 has been a rollercoaster year for me, and Australian pop-punks With Confidence has led the way with their tunes, full of sunshine and positivity. I have mentioned it many times before: they have entered my life thanks to their lead single Voldemort, a "carefree fuck you" to mental health issues, according to frontman Jayden Seeley. The three-minute track is a bubble of happiness and lightheartedness, with just the right amount of gang vocals. At the beginning of the year, I have to admit, in all honestly and as embarrassing as it sounds, this song was also my lifeline.

I rarely talk about my mental health on social media or my blog, as I have never been one to want to attract attention to the cracks in my porcelain, but I have an anxiety disorder and have had one since I was a child. I have also dealt with depression in the past. On a daily basis, I would describe these issues as pretty mild. I don't need medication or therapy. Sometimes, though, it becomes bad. Painful. Unbearable, almost. It keeps me up at night and makes me believe nothing will ever be right again. The worries pile up like dirty dishes in the sink. It feels like carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders.

As far as I can remember, music has always been the single most important part of my life. I have friends, I have family, and I am lucky and privileged enough to have a strong support system, but where, sometimes, people disappoint you, music does not. Music is there, constant and stable, quieting the fears and the worries. Linkin Park became my favorite band aged thirteen because of a sentence the late Chester Bennington said in an interview. I grew up keeping close to my heart the music that made it easier to breathe, the songs which acted as soundtracks to the important moments in my life, and the things I was going through. Falling in love with With Confidence was no different. I needed oxygen, I needed a little hope, I needed to look forward to something instead of staring backwards at things I had had to leave behind. Three minutes of a goofy music video later, they were here. Miracle, happy coincidence - whichever way you choose to name it, you're probably right. 

It didn't take me long to go from the stage where I liked Voldemort (the song, not the Harry Potter villain) to the stage where I knew every word to every song. It also didn't take me long to go from the stage where I was happy they were playing Paris on their first ever European headline tour to the stage where I attended five shows on said first ever European headline tour. It's just one of those things. Objectively, it's not the smartest idea in the world. Your anxiety wonders if you're not just infatuated, as if you were the cliché of a schoolgirl with a crush on a pop star and would move on to the next one at the speed of sound. The voice in your heart of hearts knows it's the right thing to do, though. A thirteen-hour journey with an hour-long break in Lille at 4am in the middle of winter is a terrible idea on paper. So is jumping on a plane to Berlin at 6am after a night out in Birmingham. Somehow, it happens. You want it to happen. You make it happen.

With Confidence's European gallivanting is over for the year and during that time, I have seen them sixteen times in four different countries and eleven different cities. It sounds crazy. Tell that to any of my workmates, the ones who regularly say "Whoa, you go to so many gigs, I swear you're at one every week" and they will think I'm crazy. I probably am. The majority of people don't do that. Worry not, I am not about to embark on a Jughead Jones-style speech on how in case you haven't noticed, I'm weird, I'm a weirdo. I'm just going to say I wanted to follow what made me happy. So, I did. It could have been anything. Anything turned out to be an Australian pop-punk band I like to make fun of on a regular basis, a band I like to have an occasional mosh and crowdsurf to.

This year has taught me many things on many different levels, and as far as my traipsing around Europe behind With Confidence is concerned, the lessons are many, too. Pragmatically, it reminded me that four vodka-cokes in twenty minutes followed by a rum and coke and then another vodka-coke is a terrible idea, and leaving a giant margin of error to Megabus is not that stupid a concept. Most importantly, it showed me I still had things to look forward to. I still had the ability to make friends and talk to other people, make the first move in interacting with other humans, hence why I have probably annoyed poor Josh more times than we both care to count, but mostly hence why I have new, wonderful friends. I still had the ability to be carefree and not think about what brought and still me down. I still had music. I still had the ability to love fearlessly, recklessly, endlessly, even when I still insist on hiding that love behind terrible jokes and tour bingo cards. 

I don't know how much of this I genuinely did not know and how much was just hidden behind and underneath the clutter my anxiety tends to create. The only thing I care about is that 2017 has been made absolutely incredible by a small Australian pop-punk band, and in 2018, during the next tour, you can be sure to find me in the pit, celebrating sunny pop-punk and life in general.

---

Sixteen gigs make for a lot of adventures, especially if, like me, you hide everything, every worry and every question under a shrug and a pretend-careless "I mean, Yolo". Those sixteen gigs have all had their fair share of special moments, they have all been unique in their own way. Some people wonder how others can go see a band more than once on a tour, and my answer will always be that the atmosphere isn't the same in every town. Leeds wasn't the same as Leipzig and Birmingham wasn't the same as Glasgow. They were all different. Leeds was sweaty and rowdy; Leipzig was quieter and slightly more emotional. Birmingham was all about finding my friends in the moshpit and jumping around with them; Glasgow had its very own cover of 500 Miles. Every show had its moments, its weather (literally and figuratively), its vibe, its adventures.

I love looking back at those gigs - every one of them, even those that have had their weird instants. The drunken embarrassment of Hatfield, the Uber debacle of Brighton, or the bruised ribs of London will never ruin the joy I felt during the forty minutes to an hour With Confidence was on a stage that day. I wish I was less cheesy, less soppy, less emotional. Looking back, I have only had good times following these dorks around.

The adventure started on a rainy, cold Tuesday in Leeds and finished on an equally rainy and cold Saturday in London. Leeds was on the 28th of February, London on the 30th of September. Seven months and two days when all I looked forward to was the next gig or the next tour.

Leeds was rainy and cold, but the best start I could have asked for. Inside, it was rowdy and sweaty. People started crowdsurfing during Milestones' first song and did so to the very end. It was an endless, relentless explosion of energy. After the show, I went out and made friends. Once again, it was the best start I could have asked for.

The next day, Manchester was freezing cold and had snow on the way back. Someone got punched in the face whilst crowdsurfing and I felt tears coming up during Keeper because I did not want it to be the end. Waiting two weeks for Paris seemed too much to handle.

Berlin was much smaller and people were obviously less inclined to start jumping on top of one another. The moshpits of Leeds and Manchester were nowhere to be found and people were mostly singing along and happily jumping around. The layout of the venue did not make it easy to crowdsurf, and no one tried. I'm still mindblown by what happens on the stage.

Leipzig was not full. I tried to count how many of us there were, but couldn't separate the group of people near the stage and stopped at twenty-eight. All in all, we must have been forty. I cried again - my tears do not surprise anyone anymore, least of all myself. It was the moment when I realised I had pretty much covered the entire setlist with my tears.

Paris was a huge celebration. The sun was high in the sky (we all joked that With Confidence had, indeed, brought better weather with them) and for the first time, I knew people in the venue. I had brought friends along and made new ones on the day, having a cold Coke outside the building or in the sweaty, low-ceilinged room. My hometown did not disappoint and we even had a stage invasion. I stayed on solid ground, watching like a proud mother eyes baby ducklings, and smiled. My hometown did me proud, that day. It was the best end of a tour I could have asked for.

I was on the night bus, on a Monday night, on my way to England. I never liked night buses, as they make for uncomfortable sleep, but they have always been much cheaper than planes and trains, and, as such, they have been my gateway to touring adventures. I was on the night bus on a warm Monday night, warmer than most May nights usually are, and I woke up somewhere between Paris and Calais - much closer to Calais than Paris.

It was the Monday night a suicide bomber ended his life and the lives of twenty-two innocent people in Manchester's MEN Arena, as happy, carefree gig-goers were leaving Ariana Grande's concert.

Of course, there were the worries about the tour, about what would happen to the tour, about Slam Dunk possibly not going forward with the imminent threat. There was the imminent threat. There was the guilt I felt as I had just left home and would not come back for ten days, ten days during which I knew my brother would worry about me, his gig-enthusiast little sister. There were the awful memories of the Bataclan.

There was, somewhere, the desire to live harder. I think, halfway through, that desire won.

Bristol was the opening night, and usually, you never know what to make of opening nights. Are they going to shape up the rest of the tour? Are there surprises in store, still, after that? I know I had friends coming to the Paris gig but, in a way, Bristol was the first time I really went to see With Confidence with someone else, someone who loves them as much as I do. (Rachel, this one's for you).

Manchester had the worries when a car did a strange noise down the road, and the official start of a week of partying. The weather was ridiculous for the end of May - the sun was out and being dressed in black was not a smart choice. We had cocktails before the show and started opening moshpits in the crowd. I might have cried - at that point, the week is drowned in a blur of tears.

Glasgow was, quite frankly, the most perfect mess I could think of. With Confidence covered (I'm Gonna Be) 500 Miles by The Proclaimers, which, if I have understood correctly, is some sort of national anthem in Scotland (Forgive me, but to me, that song is closely related to How I Met Your Mother). It was twenty-seven degrees in Glasgow and, whilst we were suffering and I was collecting my first tan line of the summer, a certain group of Australian people joked on a stage about how this was a regular day down under. We went out after and everything you think will happen after you have walked into a bar that charged you seven Great British pounds and twenty pennies for eight vodka and cokes probably happened. Glasgow has to be one of my favourite With Confidence shows, alcohol and stupid night out aside - they proved to me they could still surprise me and blow my mind, they showed me doing this was not such a stupid idea after all.

At Slam Dunk Birmingham, I was standing behind the crowd with Marie and Hanna, and when Marie left to watch Beartooth, I kinda gave up and ran into the moshpit. Imagine being at a gig, and quite a rowdy one, at that. You're helping someone crowdsurf and it turns out she's your friend. You're on the edge of a circle pit, debating if you should run, and your friend runs past you, clearly having the time of his life. You give in and get into the heart of the action and find more friends to sing along with. Four months down the line, I still cannot really understand the moment suspended in time this Slam Dunk set was. Another one for the history books, maybe.

Leeds was not quieter, but let's say I would have been better off crowdsurfing in Birmingham. The funny thing is, I made my comeback into the crowdsurfing world in the O2 Academy in Leeds of all places, got dropped, and ended up right next to Rachel. If that isn't a happy coincidence, tell me what is. 

Can I call every single person I know a unit? I want to, because I feel like me and every other person I knew coming to Slam Dunk Hatfield had decided this would be a giant mess, as a unit. I reached Internet fame (not thanks to With Confidence) but mostly crowdsurfed to my favourite line, in my favourite song. I don't know what it is about the bridge in Dinner Bell that gets me, and I don't want to know. I'm happy with this song being my fireworks and my magic trick - the things you don't understand but mean more than most others.

I wanted London to be a party. I did not want to be sad and soppy like I had been in Paris. I could not end a week of partying with all my friends in tears. Instead, I finished it off the way I spent it : having the most fun I had had in a very, very long time. London was a perfect reflection of this week. I had a slightly above average (as if) band to soundtrack this with positive pop-punk tunes and the odd tear-jerker, I had my best friends and I had apparently enough energy to open up pit after pit, sing along until my lungs gave out, carry every person who wanted to crowdsurf and join on the crawling on top of other humans fun myself. 

The original plan was to attend ten shows out of Mayday Parade's A Lesson in Romantics tour. Ten turned into four, because I found a job, and I could not quite possibly ask for ten days off on my first month of being an employed human again. It should have been Rach and me reunited for more drunken antics, but sadly, sickness and full-time jobs went in the way and I found myself back to square one. Sort of.

Manchester was my opening night, but believe me, it was strange seeing With Confidence play the UK, thank Nottingham, Leeds, Newcastle, and Glasgow, and know I was not there. Making plans with Rachel, I had, somehow, forgotten one thing : this was not With Confidence's crowd. They did nothing wrong, and hearing Here for Nothing live was a treat of the best quality - there's nothing I love more than hear a song come to life on a stage. People, though, were here to listen to Mayday Parade. So I dad danced the night away, all by myself, and hope no one noticed me. 

Birmingham had the crowd I was expecting from the Midlands. Their Slam Dunk set here had been the best out of the three, and I was expecting the crowd to deliver once again - I was not disappointed. When I saw the moshpit and joined in on the fun, it made up for the solo dad-dancing of yesterday and the person carrying a flag printed with the band's faces. I can apparently go see a band sixteen times live and still think some ways of expressing your love strange. I seem to express mine best with either a, synchronised finger-pointing or b, apple Sourz shots, interpretive dancing, and slightly embarrassing conversations. There used to be a time when I didn't drink alcohol. Then, it all changed, and a lot of my stories related to bands start with the phrase: "That one time, I was drunk and...". On the 23rd of September, I was drunk and decided talking to Jayden whilst inebriated was the only valid way of making up for all the times I'd spoken to him whilst inebriated. I might have learnt to love along the way, but these sixteen shows have not really changed the person I am that much. (Or have they?)

I could have picked any show of the tour to go to, but Brighton was a no-brainer. I used to live in Brighton, and happy as I am right now, in Watford, the seaside town still qualifies as my favourite place on Earth, a place which will always feel more like home than any other. I absolutely, entirely refused to miss With Confidence there, and if I had had to pick one show out of the whole tour to attend, it would have been this one. It was a quiet one. They had never played there before and not many people knew who they were. Georgia and Tyler were the ones who had the accidental and probably unwanted duty to watch me watch them, and shed a tear or ten to Dinner Bell of all songs. Despite being dropped by an Uber driver in the wrong place under the pouring rain, my fifteenth With Confidence show was one of the happiest memories. It has to be the seaside air.

I bruised my ribs in London. That's the first story I go for when I talk about the Forum show. I crowdsurfed to Keeper, the security guy didn't catch me properly and I bruised my ribs. At least, it saved me from being a mess because, in the legendary words of Owl City, "I'm weird 'cause I hate goodbyes". (Beside the point, I know, but someone needs to sit him down and tell him that most people hate goodbyes). I'm bad at goodbyes. I always make them more emotional than they should be. I didn't cry this time - I just bruised my ribs and heard London Lights in London again. 

This wasn't goodbye anyway.

This is "Have fun, see you next year, enjoy a full tour without me".

--- 

I often joke about bands "being sick of seeing my face" or "seeing me more than anyone ever should". If you know me and have heard of my gig stories, you have heard me say that in some way, shape or form. It stems down from a story I've heard about a particular band and people that are not me, and since I heard that story, five years ago, I have always had the nagging worry a band will genuinely hate seeing me around. Add to that the band member who once said to me, not as a joke, "We're never getting rid of you, are we?", and my anxiety disorder, and I suppose you'll understand where I come from with this.

I said that With Confidence haven't changed the person I am at heart and I believe this. Seven months and some days ago, I was already the quite delightful human I am today (read: the small, overly emotional, passionate, and dedicated person I am today), but as I have mentioned, it was all hidden under clutter and worries. Seven months ago, I promise you I did not see myself as passionate and dedicated, let alone delightful. I saw myself as hopeless, a little desperate and lost. The worries are now gone, at least for now. Sorry for the soppiness, but I think you all know who was the storm who blew them away. 

The thing I am most excited about this month is Mayday Parade's A Lesson in Romantics anniversary tour finally hitting the UK. Finally getting to hear what I believe is one of the most iconic and classic pop-punk records of the last decade in full will be, without a doubt, a treat.

A Lesson in Romantics is perfect from start to finish - let's not beat around the bush here. It is the snapshot of a time and of a place. 2007 was the year of enthusiastic side fringes, too much hairspray, guyliner and waistcoats over neon bright Glamour Kills t-shirts, and not many things from this era have stood the test of time. A Lesson in Romantics has. 

The catchiest songs (Jamie All Over, Black Cat, When I Get Home, You're So Dead or Jersey) are picture perfect power-pop tunes. They have the ability to make you bust a dance move or two, deliciously emo with a 2007 twist that would be completely inappropriate a decade down the line (the chorus to When I Get Home, You're So Dead, anyone?). The harmony and mixture between Derek Sanders' and Jason Lancaster's vocals is out of this world, a thing of beauty. Last but not least, A Lesson in Romantics has my favourite thing in music (I think) : a banging key change. The build up to the key change in Jersey gets me hyped like no other song does, and I truly believe you have to give credit to a band who can produce music that makes you that enthusiastic and excited. I would run a marathon is Jersey was playing along the way. (I wouldn't, but you get the idea)

In my opinion, what made A Lesson in Romantics stand the test of time is not just the fact it is opened by one of the best collection of absolute bangers pop-punk has to offer. (I now dare you to find me another album with such a flawless opening. I'll wait) 

It has also secured Mayday Parade a place in the hall of fame of bands that could write an excellent tearjerker. You all know where this is going. We are very obviously talking about Miserable at Best. Everyone has listened to it at least once, and chances are, if you know of Mayday Parade, even if you are not a fan, it is because of this song. Miserable at Best is a five minute long piano ballad about a break up. The storyteller and their significant other have called it quits, and he cannot get over her, cannot get over the fact that she has moved on and he hasn't. Who hasn't sung along to its chorus, doing both parts at once, pretending you could sing in tune? Who hasn't listened to it when they were heartbroken, tragically looking out of the train window under the rain? I know I have. I was in a Megabus eating 28p cream crackers instead of a train, but, same thing, really.

Outside of the catchy singles and Miserable at Best, A Lesson in Romantics offers a stunning collection of songs at are a times nostalgic, reflective, or make you feel like you are on top of the world. (That's Ocean and Atlantic for me. I think all hell will break loose when they play it on the tour) This album has a very specific sound that was never emulated, that stayed in 2007 with flying pigs and neon dinosaurs, but somehow, that made Mayday Parade one of the most important bands of this scene. Since then, their sound had shown a certain versatility to it, and every single one of their releases has been solid to say the least. They have proven time and time again that no one could tug on our heartstrings the way they do, and they have also released a stupid amount of pop-punk jewels, so incredibly satisfying to sing along to. They have, though, never sounded like anyone else, and no one has tried to sound like them, allowing them to keep their unique spot under the sun.

Mayday Parade have also always been one of my favourite bands to watch live. Their 2012 Slam Dunk performance remains one of the best I have seen. I remember them playing Miserable at Best, Derek sat in front of a tiny keyboard underneath a plastic white gazebo. They were clashing with the likes of Architects and Taking Back Sunday and yet, the tent was still full, filled to the brim with people enjoying every second of the show. Just before the bridge, Derek's microphone fell over. While it was being fixed, he kept on playing the piano and the crowd replaced him on vocals, giving the moment something utterly magical. 

You know me by now. I will always be there for a moment of magic. 

Last Wednesday was an incredibly special day for me, as it is every time I get to see my favourite band live. I have often wondered about the meaning of "favourite band" as opposed to "that one band I really, really like", or "one of my favourite bands". What makes Jimmy Eat World my favourite band, the unrivalled band at the top of the list, what separates them from everyone else was something blurry, like mumbling an excuse out of a tricky question you don't want to answer. I wondered if I could genuinely call them my favourite band when I had never followed a full tours of theirs as I had done for other bands. These are way too many questions, in the grand scheme of things. What stopped me from just liking them more than the others and not feeling like I needed to provide the world with an essay on how they were my favourites? This is when I dislike questions, and my hyperactive brain.

I'll never have all the answers, but as far as demonstrations go, Wednesday helped.

It's always going to be tough, for me, to rate the band who's playing before Jimmy, unless I already know them. Every time I see Jimmy Eat World live, I turn into an impatient child and my usual desire to get to know different artists vanishes into thin air.

Amsterdam started with German band Razz, who had already supported the Americans at their Berlin and Cologne shows, in June and July. The quatuor offers us a promising blend of fuzzy rock guitars and poppy sound - think Bastille, just slightly less dark and a little more upbeat. The outfit is very talented and it is clear to see why Jimmy Eat World have chosen them as support on those three shows. Their songs make for a very entertaining half-hour, and they do their job with class and enthusiasm. I wish their music was a little more diverse - I rarely ever pick up on those details, but I felt like all seven songs they played had the exact same structure, and it became a little repetitive halfway through. If they added a little more variety in their set, they could easily go from "entertaining" to "excellent", I felt.

Since I have created this blog, I have seen Jimmy Eat World five times, six if you include the Amsterdam show. It never gets easier to write about it, or to find the right words to describe the amount of love I have in my heart and the amount of joy their music brings me. It feels like those things are beyond words, and yet, I need to try and put them into sentences, I need to try and voice them. What a challenge, my friends. 

What makes Jimmy Eat World my favourite band is the happiness they bring me. I knew this show was going to fly by, as every one of their shows had in the past, and yet, from start to finish, I had the stupidest, biggest, goofiest grin on my face. Two songs in, my jaw started aching because I couldn't help but smile, and even when they played quieter, sadder songs (Hear You Me, 23), my face would not let that smile disappear.
I found myself happy crying during Big Casino. It has always been one of my favourite Jimmy songs - it is a perfect little pop-rock tune, with a soaring chorus that is easy to memorise and ridiculously satisfying to belt out, with just a hint of emotion on the bridge. I have always thought it was one of their best songs, the type of single that had a true shot at daytime radio and number one slots in the charts. It has been released ten years ago and it hasn't aged a day, it is universal, it is timeless. It is what I would call a true masterpiece and I would argue that it is one of the best songs released this past decade. I have always known this, accepted those as facts, and when I would hear Big Casino live, I would jump around, sing at the top of my lungs, take the time to marvel at the fact that the chorus is a thing of beauty. Apparently, on Wednesday, those facts and feelings grabbed me so violently I could not stop crying. I was not even sad - I was just plain happy, satisfied and content. When they carried on with Integrity Blues' Pass the Baby, introducing it as one of their newer songs, I found myself submerged with pride.

I am partial to a "so proud of my boys" moment every now and again, "every now and again" meaning at pretty much every gig I go to. The small bands I see grow make me proud, the bands whose members have been nice to me from the beginning make me proud, the bands whose releases make it to the charts or the bands who win awards make me proud. The pride I felt when Jimmy Eat World played Pass the Baby was not like this - I was just proud to have a favourite band who was not scared to reinvent themselves, even when they were on their ninth album and were established and influential in our scene (and beyond). Pass the Baby is dark, and miles away from bursting singles and tunes like Big Casino. It has a strong Clarity feeling, with an extended outro à la Goodbye Sky Harbor. It is less easy to get into than the singles and it is a reminder that this band can do absolutely anything. They can bottle up happiness in Sweetness, they can capture raw pain in Hear You Me, they can encapsulate feelings we all go through in 23, and they can create unique diamonds that showcase all the faces of their talent like Pass the Baby.

Seeing Jimmy Eat World perform makes you feel elated. They have never struck me as a band who was out there to play rockstar or to play pop-punk band 101. They walk out there, grab their guitars and do their thing. I am so close to the stage I can distinctly hear the sound of Jim Adkins' shoes stomping on the wooden floor. It somehow adds something realer to the show - that is one feeling I can't quite put into words. They have never been a band who ask you to open this shit up and they don't quite jump around, but they have more energy than many bands I have seen. About five songs in, the four-piece is dripping with sweat when the venue is well air-conditioned, and overall, they play in such an inviting way that they end up showing more energy and enthusiasm that the bands who spin-kick around. Every time Adkins talks to the crowd, he sounds a little astonished, a little beside himself that over a thousand people have showed up to sing his band's songs back at him when he couldn't be further away from Mesa, Arizona. This band has been touring the world for twenty years, has released nine albums, has been incredibly successful for the past two decades and yet, they are still surprised at the fact that there are people willing to spend an evening with them. 

I don't know how desperate I would sound if I told you I would be willing to spend every single one of my evenings watching Jimmy Eat World play a live show. I figured out that they were my favourite band and that I loved them more than anyone else because they manage to make me so happy I am shaken up, as if I wasn't sure I could ever be that happy, as if I wasn't sure there was something on this planet who could wake up such feelings in me. For two hours, everything stopped and the twenty-three (twenty-three!) songs they played and the four men that created them were all that mattered. 

Two weeks ago, the iconic festival Lollapalooza was hitting the city of love and baguettes, and lucky for me, all the artists I wanted to see were playing on the Sunday, no clashes - as far as festivals go, this is pretty unheard of.

The festival in itself was a nice and frankly refreshing experience for me. I am so used to going to metal/alternative festivals that I forget I have a music taste outside of the pages of Alternative Press and Metal Hammer. I have a love of pop music, and pretty much of anything that makes my heart beat a little faster, whatever the genre. I often have the thought of pushing myself outside of my alternative/emo comfort zone and go see different artists live, and it was great finally taking the plunge with Lollapalooza - even though, I can't lie, I don't think I would have made the effort if it wasn't for my boys in Donny B. You can't really take the emo out of me.

Obviously, when a festival has the likes of Red Hot Chili Peppers and Lana Del Rey headlining, the atmopshere and crowds are going to be different from affairs fronted by Enter Shikari or Biffy Clyro. The audience was more diverse and, at times, I could see all the festival clichés you might read about in fashion magazines or blogs. The weather forecast rain but I have seen more people donning floaty dresses and flower crowns than wellies and raincoats. I know many people were attending for the name more than the music. Still, I had a great time - if you forget about the toilet queue.

As I said before, the main reason why I found myself in the Hippodrome of Longchamp was my boys in Don Broco. They have found themselves featuring on three different French festival line ups in the space of a month (an exceptional feat when it comes to bands I like), and I couldn't really miss one in my almost-hometown. The sun is still shining when they take the Parisian stage and, as always, they do it with flair, a whole lot of style and boisterous tunes ready-made to wake everyone up. They have a fair amount of fans in the crowd and the number will only grow during the set. On that Sunday morning, while they had the tough task of opening a stage closed by the likes of Lana Del Rey, they grabbed people's attention and refused to let it go. Their summery, stupidly catchy tunes have that power, too - just thinking about it sends Superlove spinning in my brain.
Don Broco showed Lollapalooza what they were all about and delivered an impressive performance - as always, really.

Next up on the second main stage was Charli XCX. I had seen her live before and all three times, I had been impressed by her seemingly neverending energy. The first time I have seen her, she was supporting Ellie Goulding in a rather small Parisian venue, and four years down the line, she has had multiple hits playing on the radio and television and has become able to sell out fairly big venues all by herself. Her set is just that : a collection of hits. Even if you were not a hardcore follower, you would still know most of the songs she was playing as they all are extremely popular. It's been almost a week and I'm still trying to understand why I've burst into tears when she sang Doing It, but, you know. Overall, I've had a blast.

(She's just released a new song entitled Boys and the music video has Frank Carter in it, so I suggest you watch it all now)

The next artist I wanted to see started three hours after the end of Charli XCX's performance, so I sat down with a friend and watched whatever was on offer on the two main stages - a complicated concept. I didn't know Walk Off The Earth and even though I am always a sucker for a good cover, I found it hard to get into what they were doing. By the time they burst into a rendition of Adele's iconic Hello, I had had enough.
I only heard bits of Editors, but it sounded catchy and enticing enough for me to want to give them a post-festival listen.


Everyone knows my music taste usually revolves around the alternative rock universe. I love my pop music and have seen a bunch of DJs live, here and there, but I mostly let it all happen by chance. This is probably the reason why, in my twenty-seven years of life, I had never seen a rap performance live. I have no problem with rap per se - it's just such a different universe from mine that I don't know where to start. Where's my "Rap for beginners" playlist?
I decided to watch French rap outfit IAM. For those who don't know who they are, they have been around and famous for three entire decades and have released eight albums, two live albums and five greatest hits albums. Upon talking about them with my brother, he told me that they could easily sell out stadiums. That's how famous we're talking about. I knew a couple of tunes, so I decided to see them, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. At first, facing a band in which four people had a microphone and no actual musical instrument could be seen was a strange concept, but once I got over my confusion, I could appreciate the performance for its worth. It was good, the level of communication between crowd and band was unreal and I'm pretty sure they won at singalong of the day. 10/10, would bother again, would maybe pay for it next time.





I headed back to the main stage for legend Liam Gallagher. I have always loved the music he did with Oasis, to a point where I can't even remember how or when I started listening to Oasis - it feels like it was always there, always a part of me. I couldn't see myself missing Liam playing, and it was a wonderful set, so honest and beautiful. I think one of my favourite things about him is how he is such a no-nonsense kind of person, the kind of man who has no problem telling what he thinks straight to your face, and then, he just picks up an instrument and plays some wonderful and sensitive songs that tug on your heartstrings. This contrast is everything. He will say that because he came all his way, he's going to treat us to Wonderwall, as if he's doing us a huge favour by simply giving us the time of day, and then he goes and breaks my heart with one of the most beautiful songs ever written. If I ever needed some proof that Liam Gallagher is a legend, I had it.





I think I have been in love with Lana Del Rey's music and universe since I first heard Video Games, and seeing her live was a dream of mine. It was a thing I never, ever thought would happen, and a week before Lollapalooza, I was listening to her songs, thinking that she would be in front of me and I would still refuse to accept it was happening, for real. I wasn't far off the truth - it's been almost two weeks since the festival and I'm still debating whether I dreamt that absolutely gorgeous hour and fifteen minutes of delicate, intricate, unique pop music. Lana Del Rey's performance was absolutely magical, every song felt like a moment suspended in time, something unreal and dreamy, like everything around you stopped, if only for three minutes. She is not the kind of performer who takes up a lot of space, per se - she does not dance, she is not loud, she is not eccentric, she is pretty quiet, almost shy. Somehow, her presence turns out to be huge, she shines so much in all her delicate way. She is beautiful and glamorous, talented and a true icon. Every song stole my heart, but the real winner was, of course, Video Games. The studio version still gives me goosebumps, six years down the line, and the live version brought me to tears. Seeing Lana Del Rey live was a dream, and the reality lived up to my expectations.






My evening was closed off with alternative-rock legends Red Hot Chili Peppers. I am not going to lie, I was so overwhelmed by the prospect of seeing Lana Del Rey and so excited to see Don Broco again that I had kind of forgotten they were playing. The greatest thing about this toned down excitement, how casually I walked near their side of the main stage is that I had so few expectations and was completely willing to be swept off my feet - which I completely was.

The summer is usually quite the quiet one for gigs, and seeing as I was kinda stuck in my home country, I didn't even get the whole jump on a Megabus and find yourself in a sunny/muddy field or overheated venue moment. I stayed home, hit the free gigs (and Guns n Roses' one night in a packed stadium) and listened to the new things that were released, as always. It's a bit more personal, but trying to keep on top of music releases while staying away from social media is a tough one. I haven't perfectly mastered it yet. August, maybe. (I'm not really good at avoiding the socials)

Albums & EPs

I am honestly so, so excited about talking about this beauty that I will leave the "albums first, EPs then" order in the bin. One of my favourite musicians, Mariel Loveland, released an EP under her new project name, Best Ex. It's called Ice-Cream Anti-Social and spoiler alert, it's stunning.

Best Ex is Candy Hearts' poppy little sister. You can tell both have grown up listening to the same stuff and share the same influences, but Best Ex has chosen the eighties influenced keyboards over the fuzzy guitars. The end result is the same in the way that my heart is stolen, big time. Other than that, Ice Cream Anti-Social is very obviously music made by the supremely talented Mariel. Her delicate vocals get along with the keyboards like a house on fire and her lyrics are still the beautiful, honest kind.

In Lonely Life and Someday, Best Ex sing of trying to figure things out, of not knowing what the future is made of, of doing the best we can despite the hard times and dark nights, the frustration and the broken hearts. In Lonely Life and Someday, Mariel has penned anthems for a generation of twenty-somethings who are struggling, every day, to find their way, to figure things out, to do their best. 

The reason why I had fallen in love with Candy Hearts was the way Mariel speaks of love, the way her songs are stories of her life but can easily become the story of yours. In Ice Cream Anti-Social, she's done it again and produced three wonderful moments. February 4th is a lovely acoustic ballad about a long distance relationship, See You Again is the wish of the perfect end to the perfect summer fling and Jellyfish depicts a love that has ended badly, with someone feeling diminished and hurt. ("This is the last time that I will give you my heart again. This is the last time that I will let you walk all over it 'cause I had a life, I had a spine, when I was alone, everything was fine" - let me tell you, this is all too real) The mix between the ukulele, Mariel's vocals and the heartbreaking lyrics could easily make it this EP's crown jewel - but then again, this EP, as a whole, is a shiny jewel, stunning and delicate. 

As always, Mariel's writing is never sugarcoated - on the contrary, it's always honest and real. All six songs in Ice Cream Anti-Social feel and sound like snapshots into her life, right out of her brain and heart and turned into pure art. The beauty of art like Best Ex's music is that it tells a very precise story and yet, it becomes a piece in your own personal puzzle, even though it isn't about you. Ice Cream Anti-Social is wonderful from start to finish, and I already cannot get enough of it. 

July offered us more music made with awesome ladies. After Best Ex, say hello to Milk Teeth's newest EP, Be Nice. This EP is one of this year's surprises for me - I'm not surprised Milk Teeth have done a wonderful job with it, I just was not expecting new music so soon and so suddenly. Be Nice is a wonderful follow up from the band's groundbreaking debut album, Vile Child, and has all the elements that make Milk Teeth the outstanding band they are. There is the very nineties, college rock sound (even though Fight Skirt has punk undertones here and there), Becky Blomfield's heavenly vocals and the unique bass sound, acting as a lifeline throughout the songs. Be Nice is only four songs long ("only" because I'm being greedy and adore Milk Teeth enough to want more) and it is full of anger and passion, it is a little time bomb ready to explode. Once again, the band hits the nail right on the head with the slower numbers - Hibernate is nothing short of a masterpiece. It starts off slow and reflective, I could have almost called it a ballad, but then, there it is - the time bomb explodes and the harrowing cries ("Don't let me fuck it up") turn the beautiful song with the heartbreakingly relatable lyrics into pure, unalterated pain. 

With Be Nice, Milk Teeth show they truly are a gem in this scene, able to be angry and honest and to master a whole spectrum of sound, from satisfyingly catchy to quiet and delicate, and they so it with such grace and talent that it's almost impossible not to get on board. 

Technically, this EP has been released on the 30th of June, but what the hell - it will count as a July release, sorry. With Sainte, Taylor Jardine goes from We Are The In Crowd's cheerful pop-punk to catchy pop that's bursting at the seams with colour and energy. Eyes Are Open does a wonderful job of opening smile, and wave - it is explosive and carries a "now, this is what's up" sentiment about. This song (and EP) are positive and full of live, and they strangely make you want to grab life by the horns. The more upbeat songs in smile, and wave (Technicolor, With or Without Me, Feels So Wrong) are little pop-rock bombs and hits in the making. They perfectly showcase Jardine's unique, slightly broken voice and the ease she shows in going from deep to higher notes. They are also the perfect representation of the general feeling in smile, and wave - there is something very empowering about this EP. A lot of the lyrics are about people who have deceived you and, as a consequence, not wanting to be burdened by their lives, wanting to get out of it and make it on your own. These words scream independence and power, if you ask me. This EP, as a whole, is the musical version of the voice in your head that says you have had enough and you deserve better.
smile, and wave is a brilliant, boisterous start to Sainte's career and I am very excited to see what the future holds. It's a very positive piece of work, a colourful collection of perfect summer tunes with meaning and feeling.

Before I listened to Always Lose for the first time, I only knew three things about The Gospel Youth. A, they supposedly are from Brighton (even though their Facebook page says "South Coast"), B, everyone loves them to the moon and back and C, they kind of belong to the UK pop-punk scene, but not really. By the end of the album opener, I Will Deliver You to the Fireflies, I know another thing : love at first sight is real, and I have just experienced it.
The piano reminds me of one Andrew McMahon, the general nostalgic feeling of the lyrics has something of Deaf Havana, and I don't know about you, but I call this a match made in heaven. All throughout the record, there is a classic pop-punk vibe in the English's sound, and at the same time, The Gospel Youth are not a band who are trying to revive something that belongs to another decade. There is a lot of nostalgia and sadness in the lyrics, yet the end result is strangely comforting. Always Lose, in all its beauty, sensitivity and purity, feels like it could be the perfect soundtrack for any moment you could think of - a rainy day, a road trip in the summer, a sweaty gig in a basement, it all works. This album is, overall, perfect, with outstanding drums, soaring vocals and satisfyingly nostalgic lyrics, and it is a breath of fresh air. In the space of half an hour, Always Lose and The Gospel Youth have given me music to fall in love with, to fall for with all my tiny little heart. I might just go ahead and call Always Lose one of the best albums I've heard this year, a stunning piece of art considering it's only a début album. I suppose that's what love at first sight does to you.



This month, you should also listen to Silverstein's newest record, Dead Reflections, Oceans Ate Alaska's new album Hikari. If you fancy magic, Manchester Orchestra's A Black Mile to the Surface exists, and if pop is more your thing, Lana Del Rey is here with Lust for Life.

The playlist

• This month's playlist will, of course, include a bunch of Linkin Park songs, as a forever thank you to Chester for everything he has created as a musician and done as a human.
• The All-American Rejects coming back with two new tracks, Sweat (a personal favourite) and Close Your Eyes.
• The Xcerts signing their come back with the ¨uber-catchy Feels Like Falling in Love. I think I have run out of words to tell the world to give them a listen. This band feels like home in all its glory to me.
• In Hearts Wake have chosen Nomad as their new single, and the position taken for the music video is that moshpits aren't just a boy's game. This is another thank you, because us girls need bands like In Hearts Wake to stand up with us against those boys who think they're the kings of the pit. We're here, we matter and we can hold our own, please and thank you.
• New tunes from Don Broco, Neck Deep, Arcane Roots, August Burns Red, Knuckle Puck, Stick To Your Guns, Couterparts, PVRIS, Enter Shikari, and new singles from Courage My Love and Waterparks.
• Seaway announced they were coming back with their sophomore record, Vacation, out on September 15th. There's a new single, the excellent Apartment, featuring a lot of feelings and dogs.
• One of my favourite bands, Four Year Strong, have announced a new record, Some of You Will Like This, Some of You Won't, composed of new songs, rarities and unplugged golden oldies. The (I'm sure) beauty is out on September 8th. The lovely The Wonder Years have also announced a new EP, Burst & Decay, which will include reworked versions of some of their songs.
• Another friendly reminder that you should pay attention to Muskets' fuzzy guitars and catchy tunes. Chewing-Gum is a great tune.
• Stray From The Path have a new album out in September, too, and to keep us all waiting (and moshing), they have released a single entitled Goodnight Alt Right. By far their most controversial single to date, Goodnight Alt Right stands up against nazism (as we all should, really) in the most aggressive way possible.
• New Australian pop-punk in the form of Stand Atlantic. The outfit is soon going on tour alongside New Found Glory.
• A little bit of lovely acoustics with Trash Boat's Brave Face for Idobi and The Maine's Bad Behaviour.