Ok, here's what I wrote in 2003:
As soon as I saw the The Long Blondes standing in the corner of the venue, discreetly crying out for attention, I knew that they they had ‘it’, that je ne sai quoi, that special something that marks people out. As assholes. Plainly they were preeners and poseurs, more neo-mod dullards attempting to pass themselves off, in the prevailing cultural climate, as rockers. And no Anglo clotheshangers have ever really rocked, Bowie maybe being the closest anybody has got and that’s hardly that close. But, and you know from the way that this is being written that there is going to be a but, I was very wrong, not about The Long Blondes being poseurs – they plainly are – but they can rock also.
They amble stageward, plainly unconcerned about (lack of) tuning and sound balance and strike up. Dorian’s gtr playing is rudimentary but expressive - skewed Brit blues boom riffs sounding like a chewed up TDK cassette that’s been flattened back out and slid back into the ghetto blaster. The lack of polish lending a certain balance and precision to what is being communicated. In contrast the rhythm section plays it like a disco record, or sort’ve. The drummer doesn’t use his hi-hat and so there is none of the tsstsstsst push-pull sibilance of disco but instead, in combination with the bass, a strange Cramps meets ESG loopback that plays off neatly against the simple garage structures of their songs. There’s also a keys player but I can only tell she’s plugged in when she hits horrendously wrong notes. No matter, cuz contextually they sound right, like early Eno as Geordie faux-cowgirl. The singer, all ripped stockings and you’d-love-to-fuck-me-but-you-wouldn’t-dare-try sneer, yelps and barks tales of urban alienation and sexual paranoia. At the end of the set they even twist Del Shannon’s Runaway to fit their agenda, revealing the simple emotional power of a song obscured by it’s usage as nostalgic place setter in Heartbeat backing music and suchlike. And all of this takes place quick; quick enough that the competing pieces of the sound(s) and attitude are only put together later, semi-drunk on the last train home. Whilst watching it’s hard to apprehend everything happening and that’s what makes it exciting and surprising. That’s what makes The Long Blondes the best British band-as-band that I’ve seen this year.
Cold Hans, Stand Up and Be Counted! Issue 2