We know this because their smirking tells us as much, peering out from under their hoodies and bounteous hairdos with disarming ease.Īt best theirs is an artful wheeze a slouching, celebratory synth-pop confection blankly reciting tales of bourgeois hedonism while hinting at a melancholy that suggests all’s definitely not well with ver kids under the flailing exterior. Teenagers all over the developed world are getting away with it, running around with their disposable incomes and their stupid oversized shoes and their even stupider, trivial revolts stamped across the face of the planet like a particularly regrettable tattoo.Īlthough actually in their mid-‘20s, The Teenagers – the band, that is – exist somewhere in the gap between bacchanalian adman fantasy and the blotchy reality of being an adolescent in the post- Skins era.
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