Sunday, 29 November 2009
18. Destroy Everything You Touch, Ladytron (2005)
I couldn't believe what was happening when I first heard this song. It was if someone had grabbed a test tube and concocted a pop song precisely for me – a girl in her late twenties obsessed with the sounds of space, who loved icy singers, shiny synthesisers and incredible introductions. This was all in that song, and I swear – sorry, Mother – that it will always be one of my favourite singles. If you haven't heard it before, I implore you to play it now by clicking that arrow up there – feel it kick in, rise you up, take you somewhere sublime.
For months, I'd put it on my iPod and I left home every morning, my heart rising in its chest as the momentum as its beginning kept building – rising and rising and rising and rising. Its first note would blast out like a bomb every time, lifting my right foot right up, placing it back on the ground with fresh force and fresh meaning. This song made me feel indestructible. This song made me feel like the queen of the world.
It should also have been number one forever, but it wasn't to be. Some record company wrangles for the band meant this song became a lost classic, a piece of perfection frozen in time, a jewel lost in the galaxy. It would have to wait four long years to have its reprieve, too. Playing over the opening credits of The September Issue, the artful documentary about American Vogue, it carried Anna Wintour's cool struts and hard glances as the film swung into life, framing her conquering New York for the millionth time. The next day, I listened to it again as I strode through the wet streets of Hackney, and I knew exactly, precisely, how fantastic that felt.