Hamburg just exploded. Who cast a glance in the newspaper in 2013 knows why. Explosion. To be precise: Inwards, imploded again so to say. Where else should the pressure have escaped, they city is way too filled.
So, it's no surprise that the most relevant pop music of the country arises from this city. And by that we don't mean ancestors like Tocotronic, Die Goldenen Zitronen or Blumfeld. FUCK ART, LET'S DANCE! don't have much in common with them. Solely the hamburg typical trait of melancholy has to be named, which FUCK ART, LET'S DANCE! are giving a long overdue update. And at live shows it's not important anymore, because it's about giving yourself up euphorically to the moment - even to explode, maybe.
Back in the days nobody would've dreamed of it. In Hamburg-Stellingen, a district as placid as boring, where the band members met. Exactly, it's the old story: Four boys (by the way from polish, greek, indonesian and german origin) meet on the campus of their elementary school. During the years they lose contact, but find back together again because of their love to music, form bands and finally decide to pull that thing through now. The studies in greek and latin? Dropped. Where does the money come from? Hard work at a clothing store. Night by night tons of sweaters have to be wrinkled up, always the same smell of mothballs. And what happens next?
Tour happens next! Or studio work. „Atlas", the debut album of FUCK ART, LET'S DANCE! came into being in the premises of Jakob Häglsperger (Frittenbude). In Berlin. Which we don't want to bring up really, because Berlin already sounds like hype without matter, vapid. And FUCK ART, LET'S DANCE! are far away from that. 280 kilometres of highway, to be precise. A distance great enough to bring this big, filigree arranged pop music to life - and to implosion.