Big Stars?

There are some things that you just don’t want to hear: your parents were eaten by a giant anaconda whilst on holiday in the Peak District; doctors have no alternative but to remove your face; you need to decide immediately whether you lead the rest of your life without shins or forearms, etc. But, perhaps most awful of all is that the strains making their way from the speakers at this very second and swirling in the air around you appear in the latest Ashton Kutcher film. The horror, the horror! Will it somehow infect your brain like an invisible disease and turn you into a geriatric loving, floppy haired fool? Will you survive the three minute experience only ever to watch trite romantic ‘comedies’ again? The unrelenting horror of it!

But, ‘Big Star’ isn’t the middle of the road fare we have come to expect from such films: there isn’t a hint of twee-ness, an anodyne voice or a Taylor Swift-esque song in sight, which can only be a bonus.

Richly gothic in sound (striding PJ Harvey, New Order, Jesus and Mary Chain) it sounds like it has come straight from the murky depths of the 1980’s. Scuzzy, down and dirty guitars; menacing, cracking drum beats and Stacey Chavis’ breathy, low refrains make for quite an intoxicating combination.
Not quite the horrific offering expected.