The Sequins: Patients

With 'Patients' there is no need to have patience – most bands are content to make you wait it out in the verses for the crowning choruses. The Sequins understand my music junkie needs: they stack up their choruses, one on top of the other, just a little precarious like the Jenga tower. Instead of craving the choruses, I crave this whole song; where each melody takes a hairpin turn from the last and flutters its shaking wings in directions completely unexpected. It’s the song’s precipitous ascent that makes it so fragile. At no point does it lay back and relax; the whole thing is so precarious that an accidental flick of my hand could send it scattershot groundwards.

It’s because the song is so fragile that I need to hear it so much. I need this song, and this song needs me. If I forget to keep it repeating over and over then there is danger of it evaporating right away, and were that to happen, I’d be inconsolable. I need to hear the guitar riposte, I need to hear the brittle-earnest singing, I have to have all that fervor and fever and dashing and dancing and lopsided grinning. This one song can nearly end my mourning for Sarah Records, whose eleven year absence has been too long. Like fellow west-midlanders the Sea Urchins, this is immutable yet frail pop that makes my heart beat faster and faster.