The Undertones
Teenage Kicks

THE REVIEW

This piece is the best according to John Peel. Peel is right. This piece clings to your skin, like impetigo. This piece is dirty and yet wholesome, like none other. You trace the outline of the fences with your finger: but where are you? Inside? Or outside the fence? “In the neighbourhood” says Fragal Sharkey. The suburbs are the only true human consortium, the only human remnant, the only remnant that cannot totally annoy an admirer who also rationalizes. There is not enough time to understand. Just choose. Not even. You isolate yourself from appearances to sniff out existence; only with your “teenage kicks.”

“Another Girl” emerges like Venus from the shell. Estranging. The red lips, seraphic and that elusive smile burn in the sun like the yellow dandelion. They will disappear with silent hisses. But, in the meantime, we bend over the cartilage, adoring; the grated guitar in a continuum is warm, warm as typhoid fever. It overwhelms the soul, pushed against the body by the stomping drums that dictated our beginning. Then, the least idiotic clapping in history tickles the risk of the caricature. The insane heart pulses, pulses, exposed like salamanders at the change of season. Finally, the blood of Derry longs for another “Gloria.”

Without this song, I don’t know how to stay; not to weave a tale. I don’t know how to live. “It’s the best I ever had.” Those immortalized shivers. “Are teenage dreams so hard to beat?”.