Shit Gigs My Boss Makes Me Go To: Augustines


I work in the more mainstream edges of the music industry. My boss makes me to go to shit gigs, all the time. Here I review them anonymously.

I would definitely be fired otherwise.

Next up: Augustines.

Designed to soundtrack your next make-up tutorial on YouTube, Augustines are truly the sound of the summer. A band who are destined to be played on an acoustic guitar by that annoying guy in the tent next to yours at Glastonbury as part of a playlist which includes ‘Wonderwall’, ‘Like A Rolling Stone’ and ‘Wonderwall’ again in an attempt to seduce a group of girls he doesn’t know are underage yet. Augustines are set to inspire a new generation of youth who will own trilbies and leather jackets, years after The Kooks did exactly the same thing. Hell, one of their hits may even feature in this year’s John Lewis Christmas advert sung by a Swedish Enya-like synth-pop starlet against a backdrop of some weird Santabot 2.0 determined to destroy the world, or something.

Augustines are basically the American Mumford & Sons: bridging a strange line somewhere between soundtracking the summer after GCSE’s for 16 year old girls in commuter towns and old men who buy £500 Jimi Hendrix vinyl compendiums. A musical Frankenstein formed with the head of Bastille, the arms of a girl dancing on someone’s shoulders at a festival, the torso of a Dad who receives a copy of ‘Ultimate Driving Classics’ every Christmas, the legs of Toploader and the soul of someone who buys vinyl ‘because it just sounds warmer’. They inhabit a cross-section between people who play the ukulele or go to uni in Lincoln and men who have a spider sense-like ability to detect any television within a 10-mile radius playing Top Of The Pops 2. They’re Keane for a type of person who thinks Keane are too abrasive, thinks Hip-Hop is too violent, thinks a Korma is too spicy and thinks Courtney Love definitely did it.

Confused? Understandably, here’s a poorly constructed venn diagram to help you: 


Augustines were in Camden, because of course they were you idiots where else would they be? Being as fair as humanly possible to the crowd at London’s Electric Ballroom you looked like you were having a great time, you seemed to know every word and whether that’s because they were all you listened to when you went backpacking around threw up on a guy called Kevin from Derby at a full moon party in Thailand I don’t know. Something I do know however is that this band will be the music to your life this year. They will soundtrack proms, weddings, break-ups, your Dad’s existential crisis, that new Tumblr post you’ve been working on, the search for your new fedora and even your own funeral if you text your request into BBC 6 Music just in time. Enjoy it.


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