Moto Boy

Mozzer—were you in Sverige 20-odd years ago? We think you were…
If Morrissey was a little less of a miserable, arguably racist posing old foppish shit-haired wannabe light entertainment Tony Blackburn-show type buffoon, and if he spent less time waving flowers about and a bit more time getting out and twatting around smiling with his mates, he’d write music like this. There’s such an optimism about the output of Swede Oskar Humlebo, aka Moto Boy, that it’s nearly-impossible to resist. Young Love opens matters on such a promising, positive, excited note that sets the tone for the rest of an album that draws heavily on the Smiths/Cure blueprint—Ride My Wild Heart is brilliant pastiche.
It’s jangly, wistful, summery, very Eighties, and will have girls and boys alike twirling their hair in their fingers and cleaning imaginary birdshit off their kaftan sleeves whilst shuffling about shyly, staring at the floor in the corner of a particularly shy party.