The Fleece, June 2nd 2022
The Lovely Eggs’ set is tattered with torn up love songs; punk odes to getting drunk and veering off the rails.
The band is a love story in itself: the pair, Holly and David, celebrated their 15th wedding anniversary on stage that night. There’s something eccentrically romantic about a love that was confirmed next to a psychiatric unit – where the pair married – and reaffirmed the morning of the gig with a cup of tea in a Premier Inn.
It’s reflected in their music; quirky, morbid, and strangely beautiful. If Dalí was a rock star, they’d be his influence.
Like a ragdoll with a microphone, Holly turns punk into a fine art. She is well-versed and hellbent in her craft. She plays the guitar with it resting on her chin, one leg in the air as if thesong is a tightrope she must risk her life along. She screams at her audience like a woman scorned.
This theatrical showmanship – which is also reflected in the youthful spirit of their riotous support act, ARCH FEMMESIS – wins the crowd over faster than a slap to the face.
There is nothing quite like a punk band on the first night of the Queen’s Jubilee weekend. There were two very different Englands that night.
Songs like ‘Wiggy Giggy’ or ‘I, Moron’ are angry and strange. Their complete senselessness cuts right to the core of each listener, dressing each person down to their nerves. It is as if their music is in a language no one learns but everyone knows by heart. They’re speaking in psychedelic tongues.
Listening to them live feels like an homage to lives lived well. The pair seem to know something the rest of us do not. Holly tells the audience that, ‘life is all about music, and fuckeverything else’. That night, life revolved around them; nothing else mattered. How could it?
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@katejeffrie
