Just Great Pop - Born Ruffians, Hummingbird

I've spent a long time, too much time, deciding what to write on first. A eulogy on the intracacies of the basslines in 'Storm' by Godspeed You! Black Emperor? I've spared you. A lne by line dissection of the lyrics to James Yorkston's 'Woozy with Cider', in my view the most profound an beautiful monologue committed to celluloid this century? Another time perhaps.

So what then?

A post about a band who had marginal success on the back of an appearance in teen lifestyle doucumentary 'Skins' and whose lending of this particular track to flog animal balloons and subsequent humming be suited buffoons almost led me to string myself up? Yep. And why?

Its now six months since Born Ruffians first encountered TV fame by pledging their lot to Orange, almost twelve since I received a tip off of their brilliance by an 'in the know' padre and around nine since I fell out of the Amersham Arms in New Cross, held up by said friend, babbling that 'Hummingbird' was the song of the year. And I am still absolutely addicted. It is a quite wonderful piece of pop music. I say that not in some high minded gesture of patronisation as the indie cognoscenti seem to claim any such is declamation is of late - but rather because it is. In the same way that 'Time to Pretend' by MGMT is, 'With Every Heartbeat' by Robyn is and 'Last Nite' by The Strokes is.

I.e. it is to all intents and purposes a perfectly hummable piece of FM friendly guitar fodder. On the other hand its an intensely complicated piece of music seating itself magically round a quite hypnotic central bass riff, it has a refrain so brilliantly inane that one can't help finding oneself singing it in the face of non-plussed takeaway staff for approximately 12 days after first listen and, for about 20 seconds towards the end of the song it just goes absolutely nowhere, you just about switch off. But then, high octane as before, bam, 'fly away little hummingbird!!!!!' I sang it the first time I heard it. I sensed it coming. But this just hides the fact that the first minute and a half is a trade of scatalogical riffs and gibberish lyrics, each as likely as the next to provide a hit record. Its real beauty is in its complexity which one only notices through ridiculous over analysis. In truth, none of these riffs fit together but they all fall into place.

Its this accidental brilliance that is the alchemy of all fabulous pop music, from Kylie to The Animals. It even, through its refrain, gives one a premonition of the horrors to come: I just can't get you out of my head: 'Oh, oh, ohoh, oh, oh, ohoooooh...' Oh shit. Another 12 days worth.