[sic] Magazine

The Enemy – No Time For Tears

“Highly anticipated” is an over-worked phrase when applied to a new single or album but it can’t be argued against in the case of The Enemy. I raved about them in my blog when they started but even such phrases as “This lot are sooo going to be massive” and “They simply KNOW how good they are in the same way Oasis did & have the promise to be on that level didn’t prepare me for the steepness of their accent. When I wrote “There can be no doubt they will be doing Brixton Academy in a year. They surely will become The Enemy of The People in the same review in early September ‘06 I certainly didn’t realise I could add “and then regularly sell it out as a matter of course, be playing with Kasabian and Oasis at Wembley Stadium & selling out a record 6 night run at The Astoria in London within the next two”

What are now old singles are still played very regularly on radio, they must be one of the most “played in the background of TV soap and drama” bands of all time. They have been accused of ripping off Paul Weller, then playing with Paul Weller – when two and a half years ago Tom Clarke was saying to me he had bought a CD compilation of The Jam on the back of me mentioning a certain kinship between them. Tom has quite simply got spooky musical ability. I have been reliably informed he can master an instrument and build it into his song writing ridiculously quickly (such as the trumpet featured on the first album). His ability goes far beyond an undeniable way with a catchy song. I have noted before a smidgen of Brian Wilson lurking, very hidden – but I believe it’s there, abuse me if you must.

There’s no Wilson on the new single, though it heads you to the beach as surely as California Girls – a noise like sunrise over a tower block and it’s into a Sherman tank of a shuffle beat carrying in a simply massive track that takes you back to ‘Screamadelica’ era Primal Scream wrapped in a side of beef. The 80s Zeitgeist is further employed in the effortless mix of Stadium Rock and The Lover Speaks. The guitar riff, choppy then into sustained power chords, could be sampled from a Simple Minds BIG 80s production. It might not be “new” music but it takes so much of the past and is so creative with it that you can never shout “copy” – it is the product of such a music filter (Clarke is the Dr. Manhattan of music) that it appears daisy fresh and now. Lord, it’s ready to eat the world.

Clarke’s instantly recognisable vocals start on this at the snarl end of his range, righteously pissed off like Lydon but without the Nihilism. By the euphoric chorus it’s obvious this is an anthem, at the fag end of winter this is a call from the Gods to leave the city for the Promised Land, where ever that may be. On the strength of this many will be taking their exodus to Ibiza where ‘Away From Here’ only got us to Brighton or Blackpool. After the second chorus it sounds like Rowetta is on board and the guitar has the Blues, crying out for a Weatherall mix. Of course certain music is enough to “get you out of the city” without “cashing in the kitty”, big enough to take you on a carpet ride for 4 minutes – you may still be in your flat at the end but, by Christ, you’re refreshed.



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