day 14 – a song that no one would expect you to love

If I’d like this blog-o-journey to have shown anything, it’s that my tastes are rather varied. I’m as comfortable talking about processed girl-pop as I am indie boys whinging with guitars. Which makes this a difficult choice. I’d hope that my friends wouldn’t be surprised by anything I pulled out of this particular bag, especially given that the songs you wouldn’t expect me to like are the ones I’m most likely to covet and push in everyones’ faces. How much you wouldn’t expect me to love this depends on whether you’ve ever been to one of my house’s parties.

Gallows – Orchestra of Wolves

There’s a tradition: 1am. Alcohol levels at their very premium, just before they start to make you lag. Party in a kind of transitional stage. Familiar guitars make a couple of ears twig, and it’s all AVENGERS ASSEMBLE to the living room/dancefloor.

Where the same four or five boys proceed to try and kill each other for 8 minutes (the playtime, generally, of a Gallows track paired with a Rage Against The Machine track.) Shirts are removed, sweaty bodies collide, people are thrown headfirst at sofas…

It’s a formula. Always the same two bands, around the same time with more or less the same people. And, for honesty’s sake, it tends to be Gallow’s Abandon Ship rather than . But I prefer Orchestra of Wolves. Okay?

Largely because frontman Frank Carter gets to say far more horrible things. Due to the family-friendly rules of this blog, I struggle to even paraphrase the contents of Orchestra of Wolves. Let’s just say that Frank is interested in getting to know girls better. A lot better.

Why might people not expect me to like Gallows? Because, genre-wise, it’s hardly in my comfort zone. I don’t like anything particularly similar: it’s telling that Rage get the other spot in our thrashy double-bill, and I don’t particularly like Rage. And, given that I tend music’s more feminine side, the song seems like chest-beating alpha-male material. And yes, that’s exactly why I like it.

But there’s a sense that underneath it all is a really pleasant, polite guy (after all, he’s refusing to get girls drunk so he can have sex with them … even if the reasoning for this is, ahem, a little colouful.) It’s as theatrical as Bowie, or Lady Gaga.

Also, once, a couple of years ago, it made me jump high enough that I was actually able to get my legs around a housemate’s shoulders before collapsing us both to a sofa. As a frail and clumsy individual, that’s about as powerful as I’ve felt.

…Sorry, Ben.

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