Growing your hair out’s a bitch. But an end result half as good as Theresa Wayman’s could probably be the best incentive to go through that naff stage where everyone’s comparing you to Nick Carter/Anthea Turner/Celine Dion circa 1994. The multi-instrumentalist and vocalist for Los Angeles murmur-rockers Warpaint most probably isn’t a lesbian (although our gaydar suggests otherwise, our sources insist on her heterosexuality), but she’s got this swagger. Her charisma and her hair (and perhaps her slightly toned down grungey music) hearkens back to Kurt Cobain, who similarly covered his face up with straggly, hair when he sang, yet, similarly, didn’t look as if he smelt too bad. Theresa looks as if she smells really pretty, but still has masculine, un-pampered locks. When all too many girls are going for the little Sikh-boy bun on top of the head, or dip-dyeing their roots bright pink, she’s just letting it all hang out, which is sexy. Julie Burchill once said that a woman behind a guitar looks as unnatural as a dog on a bicycle, but tbh, I think dogs on bicycles look awesome, as does Theresa Wayman. Whenever she plays, she doesn’t only look natural, but totally in command. If Julie had seen Warpaint at Glastonbury, she would be eating so many of her own hats – fedoras, trilbies, sunhats, whatever hat she has – that she’d be hauled up by ITV to talk about her fabric-munching ordeal on This Morning. And she’d weep while clinging to the sofa, trembling and moaning in her soft voice: ‘Oh, Schofe, I just… I just. Didn’t realise how wrong I was!’ in-between gobfuls of shirt.
NB Honourable mentions to the rest of Warpaint. Who are fantastic.