“Hayman hasn’t spent the last six months debating whether to try and hold a girl’s hand; he’s already slept with her. But Hefner didn’t simply produce a bunch of songs about cute sex either…”
“Hayman hasn’t spent the last six months debating whether to try and hold a girl’s hand; he’s already slept with her. But Hefner didn’t simply produce a bunch of songs about cute sex either…”
The Best of Hefner (Konkurrent)
The packaging of The Best of Hefner proudly proclaims them “Britain‘s Largest Small Band”. This is the sort of statement which immediately evokes obsessive fans in corduroys hiding in their bedrooms. This is the sort of statement which suggests song writer Darren Hayman sound-tracked the idiosyncrasies of being an indie kid in the late 90s. Unsurprisingly then, it’s not difficult to describe this collection of some of Hefner’s best tracks as twee. Yet this is not music for the socially inept to cry to. Hayman hasn’t spent the last six months debating whether to try and hold a girl’s hand; he’s already slept with her. But Hefner didn’t simply produce a bunch of songs about cute sex either…
In his delightfully cracked voice Hayman covers politics, place and religion all to a chugging backing of two-chord power pop complete with reggae and country inflexions, there is even one or two excursions into electronica towards the end. However, despite the far-reaching musical flourishes, Hefner’s base, the place where they truly flourish and return to again and again is the driving, simple melody and barely in tune vocals. There is something almost hymn-like about it all, rousing yet meek, celebrating everything from girls smoking in bed to the future death of Margaret Thatcher.
Even the depressed bits manage to retain a sense of optimism. “Hello kitten, I don’t miss sex/it’s just the feeling of skin against skin that I need”, Hayman smiles in Hello Kitten, an ode to masturbation. Indeed, no matter how cute Hayman’s voice and simple rhymes (“me” with “me” on A Better Friend!?!) get, there is always a sleazy undertone to Hefner’s songs which is both at odds with the strummed guitars and bouncy riffs and suits them to the ground. It takes the edge off the more disgusting confessions whilst never obscuring them.
Essentially Hefner make guilt music. It is the catharsis of admitting you enjoy immorality that makes them appealing, and to be truly honest, who isn’t going to laugh the day that Margaret Thatcher dies?
Words: Tristan Burke.