“It’s probably the hottest day since records began. I have no meteorlogical proof for this but sitting in our snapper’s sweltering studio it definitely feels the case, and the heat, along with a 1-0 win for England, seems to have conspired to make for a slightly tipsy Yell.”
There’s something happening on the streets of Sheffield. A buzz, a sense of excitement. Young bands have found a voice, are picking up guitars, singing in their own distinctive accents, and are wooing fans around the country because of it. One of those bands are Milburn…
“‘Er, I was just checking light levels…,’ says Sandman’s snapper.
By this time the four black-clad men stood in front of him in a Sheffield sidestreet car park have already pulled more rock shapes than most bands manage in a full gig, let alone a photoshoot.”
So here’s Sandman, sitting in a quaint Victorian garden, unhassled by the ravages of time, sipping fresh ginger beer and daintily nibbling cucumber sandwiches with Thee Sheffield Phonographic Corporation.
“Across Sheffield, in some of the more imaginative indie clubs, the music will suddenly go quiet, and all you’ll hear is some bloke going ‘aaaaaaaaah’. This leads to a burst of madcap, surf-tinged guitar-work, some cod-Spanish shouting, and results in a room full of kids holding their arms aloft.”