How many lead singers does a band need? One? Two? Amaranthe have got three. That’s what I call covering the bases. Three singers. A male rock, a female pop, and a sort of growly male death metal one just to make sure no one mistakes them for Lady Gaga teeming up with Linkin Park. (I bet I’ve lost you now.)
I’ve got a suspicion my fondness for all things German happened in 1979 when Barcelona defender Miguel successfully managed to kick an important Fortuna Dusseldorf player off the pitch during the opening minutes of the Cup Winners’ Cup final in Basel.
Johan Cruyff had retired, I’d eaten the last of the Edam and my peculiar juvenile leanings towards continental Europe began to shift. A sort of geopolitical wobble that landed on West Germany. But in spite of the excellence in organisation, engineering, Adidas and Puma, three World Cup finals and perfecting the bicycle kick, one thing Germany was not noted for: popular music.