"Everything around you is vaguely familiar but disconcerting in its familiarity...all looks normal except your circadian rhythms are all screwed up. You haven't eaten well, you have slept well, it's unnecessarily bright [and] you're covered in that weird, synthetic travel grime." "Sevastopol" almost seems to take on those qualities—a stream of languid electronics with an even prettier rattling atop, as if your body was battling to keep up with the excitement of experience while your master clock is still ticking out of control, humming to keep yourself sane.
A surprise visitor tapped the door of I Blame Coco’s North London rehearsal room at the end of 2009. As Coco Sumner – the Coco you are blaming – was losing herself in the afternoon run-up to an esteemed charity gig at The Union Chapel with Arctic Monkeys and Richard Hawley, the simian silhouette of Ian Brown loped into view, nodding approvingly in the corner of the room. ‘And he told me,’ says Coco, in a rare moment of self-congratulation, ‘that my lyrics were mega.’ - Mega! - ‘Mega,’ she reiterates. ‘That’s what he said. It was one of the sweetest things anyone’s ever said to me.’