I do hate bands. It doesn’t last long, as The Girl reminded me; my brash statements of loathing only last as long as it takes me to forget my words. That’s useful, because it means I get those little moments of surprise when I catch myelf out. The Horrors are an amazing example of that. I despised Strange House, utterly, I despised its sound and sentiment, their faces, their fucking hair and then I forgot. I forgot in time for Primary Colours, my favourite album of 2009.

It doesn’t always work like that though. I’ve seen Razorlight four times now, all at festivals, and have ruined the experience of people around me with my grumpiness and misery. They represent the moment when my discovery of New Bands intersected with my discovery of The Way New Bands Are Used. They make me think of Topshop, and fashionable sneers, and all the conversations with K- that I sat through before I took her home. Razorlight remind me of so very many things I don’t like about places I went a lot, people I saw a lot, nights doomed to repetition.

And ‘America’, Razorlight’s anthem to nothing. To utterly nothing. A vacuous wander through one man’s vacant glance in the mirror. “O-woah-uh-oh-OAH!” Fuck off.