The men of Dexters design a mood that makes you feel like you can shoot down the moon. Well, maybe you aren't necessarily the one they're thinking of as the possible shooter, but you sure as hell can stand by and watch as they fire rounds up at the sky and bring that sucker down before the morning light crashes the party.
The songs that the East London group writes are massive anthems, set to the thought that right about now, tonight, today, this very minute, is the time that we should all set out to "reclaim those glory days." They might not even be that glorious, but they're ours, or they were ours and we want them back. We have grown peculiarly fond of them and we demand their return. We will use force to have them back, come hell or high water.
Lead singer Tom Rowlett and the rest of the gang shout out their commands. They demand everything they've worked so hard for. They demand second chances and they demand first shots. They don't ask for much more than they deserve, or what's coming to the next guy. They'll take it back the hard way, if they need to. They shoot every word, every line out from the center of their chests. They are bolts of frantic nervousness, of urgency. These are the feelings of trying not to get buried asunder, of being forgotten and swept up into the splatter, or the squalor, as they see it. It's to claim those beautiful moments of inspired fire.