What A Bunch Of Wasters!
		"Things change, people. Time moves inexorably on. 'Twas often said that a Londoner could only call himself a pukka cockney if he had been born within the sound of Bow bells. Nowadays thanks to the sound of police sirens, boom-shaking BMWs and joyriders you wouldn't be able to hear the actual bloody bells if you were born at the other end of Whitechapel Road. So we have a new definition of a cockney and that definition is this: you can call yourself a bona fide cockney if you were born in the shadow of Telecom Tower. What is it with the cockney talk? We'll tell you. Over the past few months we have been noticing a slew of London-based acts sneaking through the Dickensian streets of this fair city, stalking the Shoreditch success story of The cor blimey boomshankas Libertines. We've mentioned Razorlight before - they've oozed from the same East London dives as The Libertines and their well-constructed blend of cool cheekbones and Strokes-esque riffage has seen them recently sign to Mercury. Behind them there lurk a bunch of reckless troubadours called - with succinct aptness - The Rocks. Their singer is called - with jolly irony - James Taylor. Then The Rocks have some lairy distant cousins called S. Rock Levinson who play a whipcracking brand of rock'n'roll. Then behind S. Rock Levinson we have Sarf Londoners The Ludes, who look like The Faces and peddle a good line in louche, booze-friendly tunes. Then coming up on the outside of the Ludes we can clock West Londoners The Souls, three well-dressed cats with mod-ish tendencies and a nice line in surging Supergrass melodies. Rather happily, pretty much all of these acts have been spotted playing at Camden's Dublin Castle, spiritual home to uber-Londoners from Madness to Blur. Some things still stay the same, after all..." Simon Williams
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