Thursday, 29 March 2018

World, I'd Like You To Meet Sit Down


On trading Scarphelia for Sit Down, and the story behind our debut EP: 'Cheap Luxe'

It'd been a month since we'd returned from the fateful summer in New York City, I was sitting in the coffee shop in Brighton where Greg had just got a job, and everything felt like hell. Through my headphones, I listened to the demo he'd recorded the night before, a screeching guitar and thundering drum beat that told me more than he ever could put into words. He felt it too. I pulled out a notepad and pen and scrawled a few lines in time with the track: 

My hair's a fucking mess and doesn't even look good. I'm so fucking hungry I don't have any food. When nothing I do matters, all is wrong with the world, I'm an angry, motherfucking angry girl.

It was the first song we wrote as the band we called Sit Down, a name we chose because we wanted something angry and punchy and didactic; Sit down, shut up and listen to this. We were young, passionate and broke, and so desperately furious at so many things. During our time in New York we'd slipped from the matrix, turning on the idyllic world we'd always known, only to realised how deeply fucked it all was. The clawing dissatisfaction that flowed through us swirled in a vortex of anger and a compelling need to do something about it. It was this raw energy that sparked a counter-cultural explosion in the 70's and feminist anarchy in the 90's. It was punk. And the only thing that could do justice to the fury was pure, unadulterated noise. 

Friday, 23 March 2018

The Last Scorned Woman


"I won't be the villain in your stories any more." I said, as the midnight waves crashed against the shore and we shivered in the moonlight, his arm draped over my stiff shoulders. It was strange how brutally cold it was, yet we were both somehow pretending it was worth it.

"You were never the villain." He replied softly, gazing out across the dark swelling sea, as if he'd find the right words dancing along the horizon line. Then he turned, his arctic eyes fixed upon mine, and I looked up at him expectantly. With the utmost sincerity he could muster, he looked at my lips and murmured; 

"More like the saviour."

And with a cross between a snort and a choke, I burst out laughing in his stupid fucking face. 

And that's when I knew that I was free.