Gallic Flair: The Teenagers

“Myspace is dead,” wailed Jack Penate recently, one of its illustrious alumni – well, as illustrious as you can be when you’re a sartorial train wreck. “The world’s sick of transparency, artists need to create some mystique again.” Maybe so, maybe so… but Murdoch’s beat box may well birth one final sensation from its atrophying womb to the afro-beat of its death rattle in the dysmorphic form of The Teenagers. Bona fide internet stars, these Parisian purveyors of filth-pop par excellence have just clocked-up their millionth myspace play, signed with London-based label Merok and have a rabidly anticipated debut in-utero. Gigwise catches up with them to find out how it’s gonna go down…

The engorged phallus that is the Teenagers is a tri-headed bespectacled beast consisting of Parisian high school chums Quentin, Michael and Dorian. “We got together to cut our first tune (‘Fuck Nicole’) during xmas 05, gathering to avoid family drama/boredom,” Quentin remembers carefully. “We consumed frozen pizza+vodka and thought we might make something out of it. And we did! 6 months later homecoming arrived…”

‘Homecoming’, which spread round the interweb like a particularly virulent STD, features Quentin and friend of the band known only as Sarah, narrating hilariously opposite take on a holiday romance:

Quentin:

Last week, I flew to San Diego to see my auntie
On day one, I met her hot
She's a cheerleader, she's a virgin, and she really tan.
As she stepped out of her massive car.
I could only notice she was more than fuckable.
I think she was coming back from the game or something because she was holding those silly pom-poms'
On day two, I fucked her, and it was wild, She's such a slut

Cue Sarah:

OK, listen girls:
I met the hottest guy ever
Basically, as I was stepping out of my SUV
I came face to face with my step-cousin or whatever, who cares?
Anyway, he was wearing skinny jeans, had funky hair
And the cutest British accent ever
Straight away, I could tell he was rocker
From his sexy attitude and the way he looked at me
Mmmmmm, he is totally awesome.
Oh my god
I think I'm in love

It crystallizes the diabolical incisive beauty of the Teenagers. Deconstructing the male and female psyche with more devastating clarity than Freud ever managed. Their collected works thus far tend to continue in a similar vein: orating heavily accented arch tales of misadventure over a garagey dirge before falling into gorgeously cooed choruses that could’ve been rendered by their Gallic compadres Air in their post-modern minmalist space station 2 miles above Tokyo, or wherever they’ve got it anchored to their space elevator this week. Those mellifluous passages are totally at odds with the subject matter of their ditties (mainly titties!). And it’s a mighty effective paradox - their only trick perhaps, but enough to get the blogosphere all flushed.