Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Ian Grimble and Richard Matthews of Communion Music at 2KHz, Crouch End, London
Hey Sholay, the band of buds from Sheffield and Leeds make us think about the lonely and the blue, but they make us think about how those feelings can be dashed. They can be struck from the record with just a little effort. Just get a buzz going. Just keep moving on, leaving the past in the past. Leave the beast in the past. There's nothing but death to stop a body completely. Just move on and on and see what those churning legs and valiant hearts can accomplish.
Within the confines of a psychedelic song like, "Golden Is The Colour Of The Sun," lead singer Liam Creamer wonders about the color of a person's heart and what that should mean. If it's golden, he sings that "it would make more sense to give up your heart," for whatever reason. It could be that having that much of a golden element, all that ore in a body could poison it from the inside out, or it could just be that it would be too tempting for others to not want to grab it, steal it away. They'd take a knife to you and swipe it whenever you had your guard down and having to worry about such a thing wouldn't be worth it. It would be stressful. They sound like they're channeling Updike, when singing, "Run, rabbit, run," in a spooky hush, pointing out the unsettling feeling of being the prey, a sentiment that comes out in the song, "Shut The Devil Out Of The Bedroom," and even partially in, "My Blood."
We're all just meat and bone, cursed with thoughts, sensations and emotions that we often don't know what to do with. We gather with others and see if they can help diminish the twitching in our rabbit skin and the jumpiness that we can never fully iron out of our systems. Sometimes it works and other times, our conditions only worsen. Hey Sholay's music flies in the face of all of the silly loves and cruel deceptions that we lead ourselves through. It kisses the sweet pinings and it smacks fears on the ass. These are exasperations of the holy mess that's always creeping, that we need a little luck to get through and over.