As I begin to write I am full of contrite promises, a sense of repent that will soon be broken. A scandalous hour spent in the company of Jamie Lee, one that shattered the spell around his near fabled Manchester band MONEY, Antics
and one that questioned why you are in fact reading this very music paper, made everything teeter on the edge, ready to hurtle south. Now that the cloak and daggers are gone, the band must be covered, just as
their music demands to be heard.Antics
Bile leaves Jamie and enters me, albeit with an easy charm.
“It must be frustrating interviewing other people, not just people but egotistical, self-involved people,” he says.
“What is it you want to get out of someone, is it just about the music or is it about who they are?” We sit opposite each other and share nervous
This is a near first for the Londoner turned spiritual Mancunian – interviews have been few and far between.
“I’m frankly terrified,” he confides with a wicked smile. Me too.
This strange apprehension, this feeling of betrayal is
because MONEY are on the brink of something
Unspoilt and otherworldly, the band have reimagined Manchester as their very own paradise and now they leave it in their wake. They’re ready to fly the nest.
I meet Jamie having returned from The Best Kept Secret festival in Holland. Sweet-natured and boiling and bubbling with a dangerous charisma, he’s dangling on the precipice of adulthood, the follies of youth never
too far from dragging him back under.
“I don’t actually think I enjoy festivals, do you?” he asks. “I could be
cynical and say that they’re everything that’s wrong with
the music industry, the mainstream ones, anyway.
There is this impatient attitude and people just make a fucking
mess.” Jamie lets out the first of many contagious belly
laughs and sits back, a roguish young man with a
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