King Adora - Big Isn't Beautiful (Superior Quality)
King Adora's Matt Browne states that this is a song about anorexia from a male perspective but, laudable intentions aside, after a couple of minutes of these standard-issue, pirouetting grunge chords, Browne's self-dramatising vocals ("I want to feel my bones against your bones/I am a teenage drama queen"), only the most soft-hearted wouldn't feel the urge to shove a pork pie in his mouth. Reviewed by Squire David Stubbs
King Adora - London W1 Madam Jo Jo's gig
In a summer that's seen Travis headlining every festival, while other nice boys Coldplay have quietly stolen the nation's hearts, King Adora have arrived to contribute some much needed sex and glamour. Well, that's what they reckon, anyway.
For a foxy-looking bunch of glam muppets, King Adora are low on style and finesse and, to be honest, a bit ugly to be carrying on like this. Awkward in skinny jeans and a sort of sleeve thing made out of some old tights, singer Matt Browne is also making the fatal fashion error of wearing a heavy-metal T-shirt he bought in Top Shop. They make fellow Midlanders Slade look like The Velvet Underground.
There's none of the arch, cold beauty of Richey Manic or threatened violence and genuine sexy squirm of 'Nancy Boy'-era Placebo (two bands they profess to hate but seem to be copying). New single 'Big Isn't Beautiful' is the Adora take on the question of anorexia. All sleazy trite "bone on bone" fantasies, '4st 7lbs' it ain't. To offset that, though, there's the barbed noise flooding from the stage. The Adora sound is essentially 'Bleach'-era Nirvana meets Crashland, particularly on 'Whether' and 'Bionic'. The thing is there's too little of it. After 20 minutes, they're forced to skulk offstage due to lack of material.
The real problem here is that there's no romance. King Adora are more likely to spill your chips as they try and knob you in the back of a night bus than take you out for a sophisticated meal for two. Singer Matt has built himself into an adolescent wet dream of how a rock star should appear and behave, but it's all so charmless. Before the closer 'Super Muff Diver' he apologises for the roughness of his voice, which he attributes to "too much muff-diving". Cheers.
Sadly for King Adora, these are more soulful times that belong to great songs and sensible haircuts. Tonight they're screaming loud, but the world isn't listening. It's too busy feeling queasy.
Unlike most bands right now, King Adora don't mind if you know they're having the time of their lives. They're young, thin, play hard, fast glitter-punk every night and, of course, have great cheekbones. Sensible comes later. NME - 12th August 2000
Savour the breathless, slutty, glitter-stained trash of these sticky-fingered stars-in-waiting.
NME - April 8th 2000
London Camden Underworld - 6th April 2000
King Adora, meanwhile, are more sordid, but no less inspired. Boasting a singer who looks like Donna Matthews poured into the New York Dolls' discarded sleazewear, with vocals that swing from helium howls to down'n'dirty bluesman growls, King Adora lash out 20-odd minutes of pouting and preening which suggest they've digested every classic pop record EVER and now want to play you all their favourite bits. Single 'Bionic' is a knowing steal from the Pixies, (down to the Black Francis namecheck), while 'Allure' sounds like Supergrass. Give 'em a few months and the references will be harder to spot, but for now just savour the breathless, slutty, glitter-stained trash of these sticky-fingered stars-in-waiting.
Reading 2000 - Evening Session Stage
King Adora might look like they’ve fallen off the back of a Miss Selfridge’s Factory outlet lorry, but at least they make an effort to entertain someone other than themselves. The Placebo hordes appear in their kohl-eyed masses, and clearly, KA’s glam racket finds favour with their multi-pierced ears. True, they sound like puppies being tortured with a piledriver, but this crowd are anyone’s for a flash of fishnet and a chorus of 'Bionic'.
NME 12th August
"That could be our challenge for this year: try and corrupt Coldplay!"
The best band to be named after a sex aid since Steely Dan, Arab Strab and Betty's Tongue (OK, we made that one up), King Adora are a riot of hairspray and make-up frome that UK glam hotbed, Birmingham. Be very afraid Coldplay...
In the grey chill of Birmingham, they hunt in packs. Bored, vicious packs, bloated with beer and freed for another weekend to roam the streets looking for trouble. A blur of pouting lips, eyeliner and hair dye, they can't believer their luck when they spot Matt Browne poured into jeans four sizes too small and flashing razor-sharp hip bones. On a good night, the taunts and laughter might be enough. But all too often the insults grow specific, voices are raised and punches thrown.
It might all be over in an instant but Matt never forgets. Every cruel word burns inside him, stored away to be used again later. To be used and twisted when he finally wreaks his revenge.
"No-one's gonna get any medals for hitting the likes of us," the singer muses, nursing a beer before King Adora's homecoming gig in none other than sunny Birmingham. His silver-pink lipstick withstands even the heartiest swig. "I can't believe people are still afraid of and still bigoted against anyone that's different. Blokes that if you're not wearing a £100 Ben Sherman shirt and have a shaved head then there's something wrong with you. It feels like we're some kind of underground movement. Like it's us against them."
Sadness shadows his face for a moment so brief NME doubts ever spotting it. Then he grins: "If someone wants to come up and hit us because of the way we look, we're still gonna wake up pop stars in the morning."
King Adora are the anti-Coldplay. The rib-hugging T-shirt and rigid position of burgundy-coloured hair are every bit as important as the songs. It's the Pixies and The Clash, not Jeff Buckley. Meaningless sex, not unrequited love. Matt (alongside drummer Dan Dabrowski, bassist Robbie G and guitarist Martyn Nelson) has wanted to be famous for as long as he can remember. He's been in more bands than he can count, spent years of dole money on cheap speed and Saturday nights, and blunted countless eyeliners. This is his dream - his revenge on the ones ready with their fists - and he won't change it just because everyone loves Travis.
It's glamour, trash, snarls, make-up: everything that the new heroes of British guitar music (JJ72, Crashland, even My Vitriol) don't bother with. So it should be the perfect time for King Adora to cause one hell of a fuss.
"They're all a bit dull," Matt reckons, his eyes glazing over at the mere thought of his rivals."When I heard the guy's voice in JJ72, I was well impressed. But when I saw them...". He tails off, visibly bewildered at the contradiction.
"We've actually asked Coldplay to come out on the piss with us too, but they don't really drink. That could be our challenge for this year: try and corrupt Coldplay," he laughs. "I still believe bands like that are filling a temporary void with Radiohead being away. It's the sort of thing my dad would take me to see in Ireland down the local pub. Blokes in jumpers with acoustic guitars singing about why it's always raining."
There's no chance of that happening with King Adora. Named after a giant vibrator, they filmed their recent video in Ann Summers, met Robbie at a Rocky Horror Show night at a local pub, and played their recent London gig on Valium in famous sleazy Soho club Madame JoJos.
"Are you saying we're obsessed?" Matt chuckles, not in the slightest bit offended. "I'm not that sex-obsessed. I'm just normal. We find it funny that people seem to think we're the only people talking about sex in the whole fucking world! I'm sure Coldplay do it sometimes. I don't think the Dum Dums do, though."
For now, songs about sex suit their dress up, live fast, take-what-you-can attitude. Unlike most band right now, King Adora don't mind if you know they're having the time of their lives. They're young, thin, play hard, fast glitter-punk every night and, of course, have great cheekbones. Sensible comes later.
Matt: "I'm sure there will be a time when we write a great song about love. It's just that sex is the order of the day at the moment! Love gets a raw deal and people make it sound very boring. We're gonna make love exciting. Next year, though. This year it's sex."
A few years back, these words could almost have come from the mouth of another preened, self-confident, vaguely ridiculous-looking band called Manic Street Preachers.
Matt: "We might talk about controversial subjects and we might wear a bit of make-up. There might be a bit of anger, a bit of punk in there, but that's where the comparisons stop."
Robbie: "And if we get fat and start wearing Ben Sherman shirts, then we'll call it a day."
Still, it's a comparison (not helped by Matt's passing resemblance to Richey) set to haunt King Adora. "I'm not Richey Manic," Matt sighs firmly. "I certainly won't be slashing '4 Real' into my arms. I believe the band's the real deal anyway."
Their second single, 'Big Isn't Beautiful', on The Bluetones' Superior Quality label, is far more pop than early Manics anyway. It sounds like a suicidal Supergrass obsessed with the Stones. It's also about male anorexia ("I want to feel my bones on your bones...I'll throw my guts up for selfesteem").
"I've had weight problems in the past," Matt admits, "I was eight-and-a-half stone, which is pretty unhealthy for someone who's 6ft. But that was mainly drug-induced.
It's that addictive personality thing. I used to look in the mirror and think I looked fine. But if someone took a photo of me, I'd look horrendously ill but not able to stop and think. It's like, 'So I look unhealthy, big deal. I'm still gonna go out and not eat and spend whatever dole money I have on drugs.'
"But at the end of the day, it's just a song. It wasn't meant to cause as much fuss as it seems to be doing. Just 'cos it's not a song about being yellow, it shouldn't be a problem."
King Adora obviously don't realise how important the differences between them and their contemporaries are. They add variety and some much-needed seediness into serious times. All that threatened the Saturday night gangs in Birmingham are the same things which should endanger every mellow, steady band now. It's never good to get too comfortable, after all...
"People need us to prove rock'n'roll is not dead," Robbie states, a huge smile shoving his cheekbones somewhere in orbit, "It's in Birmingham."
NME Big Isn't Beautiful Review
Reviewed by Squire David Stubbs, up from the country for the day to check out the doings of the young people.
Big Isn't Beautiful (Superior Quality)
King Adora's Matt Browne states that this is a song about anorexia from a male perspective but, laudable intentions aside, after a couple of minutes of these standard-issue, pirouetting grunge chords, Browne's self-dramatising vocals ("I want to feel my bones against your bones/I am a teenage drama queen"), only the most soft-hearted wouldn't feel the urge to shove a pork pie in his mouth
Review of BionicCould have been recorded at any time in the last 12 years, encased as it is in that peculiarly timeless and sterile MTV sheen.
