Two Wounded Birds

Nowadays any chancer can walk round any part of inner London with an indie fringe, skinnies and some pointy shoes without getting eggs/ stones/ cat shit thrown at them, and claim to be part of an ‘alternative scene’ (as bought in TopSh*p). But to pull that sort of nonsense in Two Wounded Birds hometown of Margate is another story. Margate is terrifying. It’s full of psychos and stabbing morons. If you stand out in any way whatsoever you’re basically picking a fight with the entire mental town. Last time I was there (my mum lives half an hour away) a guy in the pub told me that I looked ‘like a poof’ (I was wearing skinny jeans) then, with increasing rage, let me know that he was going to ramrape my arse as a punishment. Fair enough. So hats off to Wounded Birds with their hyper-catchy bubblegum surf n’ punk noise, if nothing else at least you know they’re in it for real, and that whatever critics say is going to be a drop in the ocean compared to the spitting abuse they clock up from the locals every time they nip out for a pack of Bensons.

Ian Mcquaid

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