Readers Wifes (the pop group) played at Duckie last night. Place was packed with new faces and a lot of them didn't bat for our team if you know what I mean. Still, we don't want to turn our glamorous nightlife into a ghetto (there's quite enough of that over the river in SOHO, or SOSHIT as we call it round here). Apart from 'Bitch at the Brits' I hadn't heard any of their material. Nice punchy electro sound with funny lyrics about boys, smoking, the Old Kent Road and other shitty aspects of a homo's London life. The band looked great in white t-shirts and pin stripe suits, very Oxfam-formal. They went down a storm and the single is out tomorrow (apparently it's number 1 on the Amazon pre-order chart). I found this review for the song on the Boomkat website this morning:

Erm, a strange one, this is one of those releases that reinforces our opinion that a certain aspect of 80’s pop culture should remain 6 feet under and rotting, please buy this release and burn it while chanting voodoo charms on the sad mullet wearing freaks that perpetuate this soulless excuse for music/fashion. Destroy at your leisure. Rank.

The kind of review that the Readers Wifes will cut-out, frame and cherish. Bless 'em.