Amongst Rough Trade’s racks, immaculate temple of the world’s best music, I was violently stopped in my alphabetical search. A group of girls, dressed in the spirit of the neighbourhood, black leather jackets, smoked leggings and odd Doc Martens, were talking whilst shouting at each other, pints in hand. No, they were laughing whilst shouting. Nuance out of the way, they were jabbering loudly. I moved away to avoid a predictable, bitter-old-man reaction, and finally came out of the shop in a good mood. An hour later, I returned to the temple to attend a rock concert. I weave amongst the crowd; I can’t see the stage yet. The first guitar riffs, intense and heavy, begin to crackle nastily in the sound system. I still can’t see the stage. I hear a feminine voice, menacing and suave. I am now in a scattered nook. I can see the stage, the jabbering girls are going into raptures over the corrosive sound, and then I opened my eyes wide, surprised, swallowing back my saliva with difficulty.
Whether we be Peter, Paul, or John, nothing destines us to be like Peter, Paul or John. We are therefore free to change shirt as often as we please, especially when said shirt isn’t our correct size. Jehnny Beth, under her real name Camille Berthomier, started her film career in 2005. She was pre-nominated for a Cesar that same year for Best Female Newcomer. She quickly blasted her way as a singer and musician in the suave pop duo John & Jehn, and then met guitarist Gemma Thompson, who at the time was training to become an airline pilot, Ayse Hassan, a bass player fan of Halloween, and drummer Fay Milton, who had worked for six months in a psychiatric institute. It’s from all these diverse horizons that Savages wrote their own story, in the whirlwind of London’s underground stages and opening for renowned artists.
As a matter of fact, women aren’t very renowned in the world of rock. It may be simple to name this or that female singer, Angel Olson or Courtney Barnett for example, but it is quite harder to name an entirely feminine rock band. It’s exactly that that renders Savages terribly seductive. But not only that. Besides their emancipatory feminine dimension, Savages hit hard, like a double combo, from the very first notes. A dark, dirty, rough sound, as if birthed in garages. A stone-like sound, coarse, hard, that straight out oozes – let’s say it – testosterone. A guaranteed force, a contained rage. All those terms are beneath what can be experienced. The Runaways can forthwith, promptly and decently, crown their progenies.