After the extraordinary attempts by Pendentif last Friday, who – by naming a song and a mini-album after themselves achieved almost meta-eponymity – where can the plucky and bold who follow in their footsteps even hope to out-self-name them?
The answer is: they can’t. Why get drawn into a protracted battle of naming this and that after yourself? Look what happened to The Donnas, who named an album and all the band members ‘Donna’. Each time a front-row drunk shouted something nasty about the drummer, everyone got in a huff.
Dead Cities have a song named – yes – Dead Cities, but in the event, it’s rather incidental, as the song is so overwhelmingly sweet in its sullen optimisim that you just won’t notice.
There are moments of beautiful clarity in Dead Cities, a shuffling, carefully-pieced together song that is deceptive in its simplicity. It bumps and stumbles while maintaining a quiet dignity all of its own making.
The result is a song that happily puffs along under its own steam. It’s gloriously understated – sounding like the welcome result of hours of casual beer-fuelled get-togethers. It probably was.
Assured, simple and with all of the tinkered tunesmanship you’d hope from a Liverpudlian band, Dead Cities – the band, the song, whatever – are a joy to behold.