Die Son Die, Miss Halliwell - the band who know both their selves...

Bit late in on this one I know, Miss Halliwellhave been heavily involved ( obliquely, at will or against ) with the Birmingham 'indie' scene ( for want of a less abysmal term ) for a few years now and are deservedly developing a cult following - for Miss Halliwell this much over used introduction does actually apply, for the fans are fans and the followers are followers - a little odd, perhaps eerie, but totally passionate and obsessive. Understandably so in many respects, for everything good or enjoyable in popular music/ indie is ruined through sarcasm or parodied into submission - with a touch more aplomb and a lot more accomplishment than half their influences and 90% of their contemporaries. Miss Halliwell could be really really homosonically good. They can do hooks, they can do blissful coagulations of acoustics and electronica, they can rip caustically through the no wave genre whilst leaving no cliche behind them - all whilst in jest or parodic smugness. Why be good like everyone else when you can be odd, awkward and ( actually - literally ) interesting. Curve balls of snide lyricism opposed with satisfying progressions will delight, before another post punk exercise is launched into..... the rate of polyphony, the strata of passion, parody, cynicism and ambivalence are impossible to track, for the listener there will always be another realization over the horizon. Double entendres, puns, double meanings, polemical fictions narratives and dichotomies populate the lyrics but also the life of Miss Halliwell - a band name so apt for a collection of artists who opperate schizomatically. Miss Halliwell is a person, an imaginary persona and a performer, a brand and a beast, an alter-ego and another wannabe in jest, deadly serious and tongue in cheek. The parallelean jugglings of Miles Perhowers lyrics dominate the cerebellum of the receiver, the thumping, raucous, impassioned tracks dominate and ride the soul - regard the absence of any mentions of instruments, Miss Halliwell have, through luck, fate or skill developed their own voice and sound. An arresting coagulation of acoustic organicism and analogue explorations. A Tele is no match for the sum of their parts - indeed most of their contemporaries ( and maybe some of their influences ) are no match. Myriads of experiences blossom at a their live shows in the UK midlands, whilst polysential codes of metaphor and analogy are barked by Perhower ( a shrewd phonetic interpretation of the lead singers initials and other pseudonym ). Miss Halliwell is a band acutely, perhaps painfully aware of the Lynchean dichotomies inherent in their inclusion, participation and/or positive/negative interactions in the industry they inhabit and the strata of ambiguities and identities thrive, spawn and harbour.

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