The band from Kent share their latest entertaining offering.

The phone rang at night. My half-smoked cigar lay in an ashtray, still attached to a wisp of smoke that culminated in a cloud hovering above my nightstand. I straightened up in the darkroom at once, my eyes were still tense from watching The third man (1949) earlier that evening. I let the machine get it. 

Joey Lyon’s drums rumbled in the bedroom, and it looked to me as if the cloud of smoke started to wave along with Conor Toner's tiptoeing guitar.

Was I dreaming? When I reached out for a switch in the darkness, beams of light pierced the night from different directions and, for a second, I could swear I caught a glimpse of a band surrounded by smoke.

“I just hoped to catch a glimpse / Of you about the town / I’ve been to the usual places / Still you ain’t been found.”

Slowly, a pink neon sign appeared before me, floating in the darkness. It read Little Suspicions.

Could those shadows be the Kent-based outfit you have surely heard about in late-night dives? I squinted hopelessly to see through the smoke, and the piano caught me off guard.

“If you want me to / I will leave you to it / And if you say we’re through / Don’t be cruel with it.”

I found myself on the floor, face-up, staring at a thousand me in the tiles of a mirror ball turning on my bedroom ceiling. Only, it wasn’t my bedroom anymore.

As I stood up, I looked around, trying to find my bed or the telephone, but both were millions of miles from me, at the other end of an infinite disco dancefloor, flashing patterns of coloured squares.

Dancing shadows all around performed choreographies in rhythm with Craig Barden’s bass. A ghost Saturday night fever. And the strings went A B C# D…

That’s when I realised my body had already given in to the dance routine, unable to resist the piano descending riffs, whether I liked it or not. And I did. 

When in doubt, dance.

I can hear the phone ringing. I turn and see myself sleeping, ignoring it. Shall I pick it up?

But the voice of Moritz Meyns (Vocals) calls from outside my window in Italian; the smoke and shadows float out and away, chasing the night around the globe.

“Bella io Sento (Honey I feel) / Che non-ti interessa più di me (that you no longer care about me) / Quindi dimmi se è Vero (So tell me if that’s true) / Ho l’anima in pace (my soul is at peace) / Se non ti manco (If you don’t miss me)”

I’m afraid I must leave.