The Last Dinner Party

Has Taylor Swift been reading The Spectator?

From our UK edition

The Last Dinner Party received quite the critical backlash when they arrived amid much fanfare in 2023. Posh, precocious and theatrical, armed with lofty ideas that matched their station as four young women who had benefited from very expensive educations, the band encountered widespread suspicion that they were industry ‘plants’, or had somehow bought their way to instant recognition. Happily, their debut album, Prelude To Ecstasy, proved sufficiently accomplished to repel these waves of hostility (strange how the success of privileged young women tends to attract far greater opprobrium than that of privileged young men). In any case, the excellence of the follow-up should settle the matter.

The best film, TV and music of 2024

Film The Substance Seeing Dune: Part Two in IMAX, with the floor shaking as Paul Atreides’s forces charged the palace was my second-best cinema-going experience of the year. Trumping it was watching a DC audience recoil every other minute at Coralie Fargeat’s body-horror The Substance, a film that nods to Stanley Kubrick and David Cronenberg while declaring itself the most original of 2024. Two-thirds of the way through, I stopped wincing and started laughing, probably because my body didn’t know how to react. The film is a brutal parable of female self-loathing and insecurity — exacerbated, of course, by a venal male-led system, which Dennis Quaid’s producer Harvey personifies in a manner as grotesque as any of the movie’s gross-out special effects.

2024

Does it matter how posh pop stars are?

From our UK edition

‘A working class hero is something to be.’ Rishi Sunak and Keir Starmer must have missed the conflicted, sardonic edge to John Lennon’s lyric, from his 1970 song ‘Working Class Hero’, given their rush to scrub away the whiff of privilege in the crudest manner imaginable. Sunak, desperately, by means of bemoaning a childhood forever blighted by lack of access to satellite TV; Starmer by dully hammering home that he is the son of a toolmaker. A country pile, a double-barrelled girlfriend and a mock-regal drawl were valued plunder in 1960s pop As in politics, so in music. In both fields, class anxiety has become inverted. The fear now is to appear too privileged. It wasn’t always thus.

The Last Dinner Party’s Prelude to Ecstasy fizzes with wit and invention

I have lost hope in contemporary pop music. As someone who used to keep his finger on the pulse of new releases, and who went to gigs as often as I could, the absence of innovation has been one of the great disappointments of the past couple of decades. There really isn’t anything much out there, bar, of course, the sainted Taylor Swift. But ever since David Bowie’s death eight years ago (eight years...), the music industry seems to have been in a desperate downward spiral, where flair, originality and chutzpah are sorely missed. Surely it’s time that a new act could supply such things, complete with flute solos, songs sung in Albanian and an orchestral overture? No, I am not making it up.

last dinner party