Interview With Post War Glamour Girls

Post War Glamour Girls are a four-piece from Leeds. They are (hopefully) named after the song Post War Glamour Girl by legendary Manchester punk-poet John Cooper Clarke (‘expresso bongo snaps of Rome, in the latin quarter of the ideal home, fucks all day and sleeps alone, just a tiger rug and a telephone, says a post war glamour girl’s never alone’). They sound somewhat like a gang of pissed-up, pissed-off swamp creatures who formed a creepy gospel choir, notched it down seventeen vocal tones, and them cheekily took a baseball bat to the back of misery’s scurvy-tarnished legs. With reverb. And a certain sultriness. Other people relate this to being influenced by Arcade Fire but I would never tarnish anybody with such a drab, inane comparison. Alternatively, on good days the band recall early Modest Mouse or Grinderman and (from looking at their sleeves) it’s clear to see they are influenced by everything from Swell Maps to Gil Scott Heron, via Patti Smith and Captain Beefheart.

Relative newcomers to the Leeds scene (their first gig was in September last year), Post War Glamour Girls are making up for any time lost in the ether, and  have since been flitting around some familiar faces, having supported Moody Gowns for their single launch at Oporto and Frankie Rose & The Outs at the Brudenell Social Club. Last night they played at Milo, where they supported long-term Negative Narrative cohorts The Brute Chorus. Playing in the mirrored guts of a tin can didn’t do their aura justice but, moving on, you live, you learn, you grow, you spurn. You meet a weird guy who does a strange blog. You get in a taxi. You leave. Your belief in your message remains intact. Your reputation as fuzzy noisemongers seeds and grows a little shoot. Photosynthesis happens. The world turns. The rich get richer, the poor get drunker. On a street somewhere a discarded crisp packet dances in the wind. Alas, I digress . . .

If you like your bands laced with abundant energy, artistic panache, tragic undercurrents and a sinister sheen, then you could do much worse than hopping on Post War Glamour Girls’ bandwagon. Their first single (Ode To Harry Dean) will be out later in the year. Until then you can suck on Crrreep, which is a macabre and brooding (read it and weep) EXCLUSIVE. And check out these lovely, lovely photos they’ve taken for you. They are undeniably some of the best we’ve  ever housed, and for that reason alone we offer them the option of staying indefinitely. As long as they’ve brought some gin, those eyes (Q2) and an accordion (Q9).