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the dome, london
"Boys with guitars playing short, fast, snappy songs.
Sixties visual imagery, beat-group hormonies. Yes, The Weekenders conform
to an indie stereotype but in this case, familiarity does not breed contempt.
Two factors send them hurtling ahead of the hordes of bands with similar
haircuts and guitar sounds.
First, there s the considerable charisma of their leader Paul Tunkin,
who positively radiates a thoroughly justified confidence. The Weekenders
have played only a handful of dates, but you'd never guess. The second
big plus is the quality of the songwriting, which shows a degree of sophistication
you'd expect from seasoned veterans rather than absolute beginners. The
two deceptively simple-sounding songs on their debut single illustrate
their breadth of vision "AII Grown Up" is both upbeat and poignant, a
slightly ambivalent celebration of the end of adolescence. "Househusband"
is a clever role-reversal comedy set to a manic, punk pop melody.
In style and attitude, The Weekenders seem to be aiming for a point midway
between Blur and Suede. At times you could swear that it's Damon up there
doing a wickedly accurate impersonation of Brett's camp mannerisms and
infamous accent At other times My Life Story come to mind Tunkin, like
Jake Shillingford, is an extrovert entertainer with a waspish wit.
Ground-breaking? Hardly. Exhilarating? Most definitely yes."
Dave Jennings, Melody Maker, June 4 1994
the water rats, london
"The Weekenders me a likeable bunch And frontman Paul
Tunkin runs a happening mod club frequented by These Animal Men and Blur
types on a Camden Saturday night He can even pen a dizzy pop tune or five.
It's a pity that instead of letting them live in his own image, he takes
them for a mince down 'Quadrophenia' memory lane into Small Faces pastiche
city. Both Man of Leisure' and 'World Of Your Own' are gigglesomely charming,
because they perform the same flouncing camp as f**k jig around the head
but it'd he nicer not to be beaten around the brain by all the mod reference
points. The Weekenders rescue a sick dog of a night. The wide world will
demand much more of them."
Angela Lewis, NME, Aug 20 1994
the monarch, london
"IT'S official. 1994 is the year of the great English
pop group. There's music that's worth getting excited about bursting through
windows and winding, its way down alleys . You've been thrilled senseless
by Oasis, seduced utterly by Gene; now let The Weekenders share your Panavision
urban dreams.
The Weekenders know. They know why Ray Davies found something beautiful
about the sun setting over Waterloo Station; they know why the sun always
shone on Carnaby Street, they know why the journey is always mare fun
than the destination. They know, you see, and this is why they deliver
an eight-song set which contains eight classic singles which, in an ideal
world, would storm to the top of the hit parade and stay there so long
that they could start getting fabric swatches and carpet samples.
These are songs as scenes in glorious Technicolor films, supporting role
provided by Tom Courtenay The Weekenders' music is engrained with brutal
simplicity; a soundtrack for the urban jungle. It bristles and glides.
It bumps and grinds. It blows and gushes in the way that only truly inspired
music can. And it doesn't matter that the four Weekenders have bad haircuts
and have been wrongly lumped in with a half-cocked Mod revival when their
songs envelope you in a groovy tune and a shared understanding.
Paul Tunkin sings about house husbands and window shopping and going out
and getting down and waiting for something to happen. The Weekenders'
world is seen from cafe windows and bus shelters. It's catching a glimpse
of your nemesis as the train doors slam shut. It's leaving a club as They
arrive. It's the glowing reflection of neon in a grey puddle. These fleeting
snatches of an unobtainable promise are the only reasons for getting out
of bed in the morning
The Weekenders are there waiting to turn your daily blues all the colours
of the rainbow."
Sarra Manning, Melody Maker, Sept 24 1994
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