The Twang - 'Two Lovers'
Sometimes a little bit of humility saves a whole world of pain. Like if you were forming a band which just fails to re-create the best moments of the second-string bands formed in the wake of the late '80s indie-dance 'Madchester' boom, and you aimed to fill these songs with nearly-clever street poetry, in a voice which, to be charitable, would like to be better than it is...well, you'd maybe want to stop acting like you're THE BEST.
The Twang, being seized by the kind of self-belief that makes Robbie Williems look like Elmo from Sesame Street by comparison, are having none of it. They know they are kings. They know this because Liam Gallagher swaggers about like he knows he's a king, and so therefore he is. This is how every would-be People's Band has to carry themselves these days. If you act like you're the best, you'll become it.
But the thing which must be keeping the Twang up nights, apart from the nagging suspicion that they've got a dreadful name for their band (seriously, the Twang? What else was on the beermat when they were thinking of band names? The Doink? The Biff? The Widdly-Widdly-Skree-Oh-Wah-Twiddly-Dee?), is the possibility that they're only ever going to be nearly any good.
It's certainly frustrating to watch. Here's a band acting like they've managed to conjure up the next logical musical step since Michael Jackson first went squeak, and all the time they've simply fused Hard-Fi with the Mock Turtles.
Even more annoying is that you can see how good it would be if a baggy-arsed bunch of chip shop rock groovers took over the indie world, just like the Happy Mondays did, once upon a time.
All they need to do is act like they want us to give them time to get better, and maybe they will. Carry on like this, and there's fat chance that anyone will be listening by the time they get anywhere.