Wholly Vague

Looking back - the music of 2009

2010-02-12T21:25:00.002Z

From my own perception I spent most of 2009 looking backwards into the history of music, specifically the 1980s and following the ephemeral trails left by new pop and (what was then) the daring electronica made by machines and sang with a passionate detachment that historians can only dream about. Despite the trail being somewhat weak in terms of the legacy and impact that new pop and 80s synth pop seemed to have on popular culture it sneaked back enough in the music of La Roux and even bizarrely Lady Gaga in that strange androgynous playfulness (or cold calculated lunacy depending on your viewpoint) that she exhibited. Still, she never made so much impact on me as Boy George did back in the early 80s seeing him on TV and experiencing my first taste of gender confusion - was it a girl? No it's a boy! But he's wearing make-up and a dress mummy! I can only link my extreme open-ness towards the multiple ways in which sexuality and gender can be expressed to growing up in the 80s where it was possible to experience it on a weekly basis if only through watching Top of the Pops - and people think Russell T Davies is being subversive with gay characters in Doctor Who. Hardly.... Anyway I deviated somewhat from the point which was to remind myself that I did not spend the entire of 2009 stuck in a retro music wonderland but I did listen to quite a lot of the modern stuff as well as evidenced by my anal approach to dividing up the albums I buy/add to Itunes into the year they came out. I am sure I am not the only person to do this... commencing with Starsailor's All the Plans which like most of Starsailor's more recent offerings is pleasant but forgettable, I struggle now to even hum any of the songs stark in the list. They even have those vaguely pretentious names like 'Neon Sky' and 'You never get what you deserve' cough Coldplay cough. I bought the Answering Machine Another City, another sorry after reading an interview with them in some trendy muso mag that I can't remember the name for the life of me. It's pretty good in a kind of sounding-like-the-subways-but-less-noisy-kind-of-way, rather earnest and the singer's voice got on my nerves a bit because of his habit of over-pronouncing his words. Bastila couldn't be bothered to think of a title for their album other than um Bastila which is lazy but they have a trumpet player which is pretty exciting and lots of energy live which sadly doesn't translate well onto album like many bands I see randomly at a festival they are quietly consigned to the itunes tracklist for eternity. Mongrel's Better than heavy was a free gift with the independent or guardian something like that so is very worthy as a result I managed about 2 seconds before I got bored. Plus I am not that fond of Reverend and the Makers who constituted a sizeable portion of the record. The Black Ghosts... now this is an album I do like despite their lack of ability to think of an album title and the wistful 'Full Moon' that lurks on the beginning to the Twilight film no real indication of their ability to write a stonking disco tune. Did I really just use the word stonking oh dear I did I blame having to write too many reports at work it has seriously dimmed my ability to think of pretentious metaphors. Ho hum The Big Pink A Brief History of Love seemed to be part of the half-hearted shoe gazing revival (well you don't imagine them to have enough energy to be passionate about it do you?) with its scuzzy production and hazy lyrics about girls and whatever. I like Crystal Visions and Dominos (nothing to do with the pizza people I assume) but the rest seems to be blurred into one big messy mass so lets pass on that to White Rose Movement who released one bizarre single Cigarette Machine which seemed to be an Elvis piss-take on a politically incorrect subject, not as immediate and loveable as their debut but let's give them a chance hey! Anthony and the Johnsons made me cry again with The Crying Light and so I only listen to it at my most resilience, I only hope that Anthony is blithe and cheerful in real life as he is melancholy on record. Ou est le Swimming Pool rocked my festival mind but Dance the Way I feel didn't quite capture the spirit of seeing four men who look like they come from completely different musical backgrounds in one band (the singer in a cardigan no shirt for god's sake) bouncing round the stage like a very wrong boy band. Not that any boy bands are ever right but this is extreme. Dots to connect was some compilation of American bands doing covers of miserable tunes but it had Veil Veil Vanish and Bell Hollow who are awesome kind-of Goth bands. Fever Ray, well I don't know what to say exactly it disturbs me and thrills me in equal measure a brooding slab of awesomeness particularly 'When I grow up' which never fails to send strange shudders through my ears into my brain and crystallise into tears of amazement as such a song could ever be written. Like The Twilight Sad Forget the Night Ahead it is not an easy listen; squalling feedback, grumpy singer in the Scots vernacular and a true horrorshow of song narratives that make you want to cower next to the stereo with your hands over your ears until it stops. But its that kind of challenge which I expect from my music. Kiss of Life by friendly fires was a sweet candyfloss track that I hope will be toughened up for their next offering, its a teeny bit, well a lot twee - we want strong colours not pastel! The Cheek Hung Up on being the Menswear for the new Millennium and Brett Anderson surprised me by going all torch singer on us and delivering a majestic song The Hunted which reminded me of the swooning delights of The Wild Ones. Hmmm the Editors went a bit weird and electro on In this Light and on this evening: I have to say that I liked the sparse musical backing but unfortunately the lyrics are so clunky that their amusement factor completely destroys the attempt at seriousness. Like actors that have one way of acting singer Tom only really has one way of singing - sonorous, po-faced and absolutely no sense of mischief or even a raised eyebrow. Remind you of anyone? Whereas Yeah Yeah yeahs pulled off the same retro vibe with aplomb on It's Blitz mostly because they seem more fun and Karen O yelps and stutters her way sexily through. I think they should have A levels on the song titles to the Manic's last album Journal for Plague Lovers which saw them return to form in a blisteringly beautiful way, and Nicky's last song to Richey is so plaintive that even thinking of it stirs the tear ducts. Somehow they get away with song titles like Jackie Collins Existential Question Time without looking like prats but then the Manics always got away with many things that no other band can, they have that magic. Royksopp Junior was overall a disappointment for me although I love The Girl and The Robot which is infinitely catchy - I think they used up their magic all on that song. Kitsune Maison Compilation 7 introduced me to Two Door Cinema Club Something good can work and at the polar opposite of this sweet paean Heartsrevolution whose electronic mash-ups like Ultraviolence complete with girly sinister vocals are fabulously decadent. La Roux I liked when they first emerged but I went off the high voice antics pretty quick still not a bad return to the 80s, although listening to the real thing kind of spoils the novelty. I went off Maps as well who went all hippy and rave-y with Let go of the fear. The Maccabees weren't really my thing either but Amadou and Mariam are, certainly The Magic Couple does not lie, they have soul and groove in buckets. More so than David Sylvian who continues his war on music with Manafon a nonetheless hypnotic exploration of sound topped off with David's incredible voice (it got me to try out Tilt by Scott Walker which is deemed to be unlistenable but I rather liked it although perhaps listening to Sylvian prepared my ears for it I don't know). Passion Pit Moth's Wings continued the domination of young men with very high voices making music, well not sure if there is really a dominance but I blame Mika. Another band that are better on record than live, like MGMT they were very flat and disappointing. Blacklist I have no idea who they are but seem to be slightly gothic and Midnight of the Century is suitably dark and brooding as a dark and brooding thing can be. Two giants of the 1980s teemed up as John Foxx got together with Robin Guthrie for Mirrorball, no lyrics as such just Foxx ooh-ing and aah-ing over melodic guitar, would sound good in one of those weird water tank things where you can do nothing but relax. Guthrie's former singing partner Elizabeth Fraser did not do quite so well with Moses which sounded like the Cocteau Twins mashed badly with the Gotan project, a bit dated really. Everything Everything another promising band with My Keys, Your Boyfriend which has one of the best lyrics of the year 'It's like I'm watching the A4 paper taking over the guillotine' and despite the presence of another squeaky male he just about gets away with it because of the beautiful melody which is how Interpol would sound if they were on happy pills. The Pains of Being Pure at Heart are a well cute band with a cute name and cute band members and cute songs about being in love and being young and eating too many sherbet dib dabs and even better all this cute-ness is not sickly at all because they have absorbed the dirty feedback sensibilities of bands like My Bloody Valentine, hurrah! The Horrors ditched their Victorian steampunk goth overtones (shame) and got grown up and (but not too) serious with primary colours where Faris howled about ice ages and got his fragile frame into a lather but it worked and that's what matters. Howling Bells did not achieve so well IMO with Radio Wars it's like they had all the right ingredients but something did not rise properly so it came out the studio oven all flat. Paul Haig sneaked into the end of the year with Relive and proved that he is quietly continuing to produce great works without fuss. John Foxx was a busy man with another release this time with Steve Jansen (ex Japan) and D'Agostino A Secret Life proving very gentle and subtle, perhaps too much so as it is the kind of music to lie in a dark room to when you have a migraine. Not that its a bad thing, mind. I like the Hours' See the Light again another band that quietly does its thing getting album covers from Damian Hurst and supporting Kasabian, an explosion of piano and 'will to live' songs that give you hope when your wallowing in the doldrums. Simian Mobile Disco is slightly more then A Temporary Pleasure but not having much cause to dance round the house at the moment it largely remains a silent pleasure. White Lies oh yes To Lose My Life caused me much hilarity when I bought it not just for its obvious 80s leanings but also the completely un-subtle references to DEATH and GLOOM and SUICIDE it gives hope to polo neck wearing 6th form miserable-ists writing poetry in their messy bedrooms. But saying that it is a surprisingly catchy set of songs which means I cannot hate it, to lose my life coming out as a collision of Duran Duran and Joy Division - now if only that had really been possible how good would that be? Fab and now onto my favoured band at the moment Franz Ferdinand who burst Tonight: Franz Ferdinand all over 2009 and made me sit up and realise how fabulous they actually are! Mind you the best songs are all squandered at the start of the album in a funk-tastic orgy of Ulysses, Turn it On and No You Girls - stop Franz you are really spoiling us. Then its Jack Penate who forced upon me a similar about turn with Tonight's Today which followed me around Top Shop and beat me into submission with its Latino vibe (hang on isn't that the preserve of Friendly Fires) and I was very surprised to find that boring troubadour Mr Penate could actually be quite exciting if only someone would give him a pair of maracas. Next, a set of bongos... Clark bended my mind with fierce electronica in the shape of Totems Flare the kind of musical meanders where the tempo and whole atmosphere changes with the wim of a pitch shift. But the Wild Beasts Two Dancers is for whom I reserve most of my love this 2009, the unassuming blokes from the North (although Hayden's denim suit is very outre and consequently disturbing) who produce such innovative, mesmerising and downright bizarre music. If they were a cake they would be one of those super expensive and gaudy macaroons in the golden shop window in London. The Boxer Rebellion financed their own album Union and whilst there is nothing to rave about it is pleasant enough in a generically good alternative music style. Ha ha and if that sounds condescending then its not meant to be. I am only recently getting Grizzly Bear but Veckatimest seems to be everything that Bon Iver and Fleet Foxes are not e.g. interesting, tuneful and wistful in a heartfelt rather than a soppy pathetic way, its hard to articulate the difference as such but there seems to be more substance here. They probably have beards though as the beard has inexplicably become fashionable. Empire of the Sun went Walking on A Dream but were too close to MGMT for comfort so it washed into a blissed out haze-fest devoid of much spirit but fun to sing along all the same. The Victorian Englishman's Club have an unwieldy name and on Watching the Burglars do a convincing Adam and the Ants before collapsing into a coma from inhaling too much air whilst gulping; believe me it's good. Wave Machines another festival find with Wave if you're really there and I was there, I really saw them and I really heard I go I go I go which is easily their most upbeat song with a mean message, always a fun juxtaposition. Kasabian continued to head downhill with West Ryder Pauper Asylum I dunno they just seem to have lost their edge since their debut which still stuns me with its menace, especially if you walk the streets of Leicester with it in your ears. And that was 2009.

2009-11-17T21:52:00.001Z

Not really so much about music but a link to another of my 1980s obsessions

club country 12" - the associates

2009-09-08T13:49:00.005+01:00

A return to the Halcyon year of pop 1982

For the 12" version of 'Club Country', Billy Mackenzie stares out challengingly from the cover defying you to dislike this joyfully sneering slab of noise. This version comes with pummelling drums to start and a rather jazzy synthesiser bit in the middle. Like boys in lace and make-up it's definitely of its time but defiantly relevant considering the amount of artifice that seems to come with the media.

Unwittingly every day seemed to start the same

'A.G. It's You Again' another version of 'Arrogance Gave Him Up' from Sulk, less polished and with a strange, slightly hectic feel from the giddiness of the drums. So less like the theme tune to a nature programme.

In bed with Bourdieu

Never is it so evident that there is a 'cultural capital' attached to the making, selling and listening to of music. A very few incredibly manipulative people seek to define and control the tastes of the nation - even the world - and would dictate what radio stations play and what infiltrates our head-space. Never underestimate the capacity of music to mess with your head and subconsciously inform your outlook on the world - as a mind-altering substance it is second-to-none. Phil Collins should come with a warning. Ocean Colour Scene should be banned for its capacity to make one feel nauseous and Paul Weller.... well he should only be sold to those who promise, PROMISE, to burn it immediately afterwards once they have taken the required dose. Thank goodness then for 'Ulcragyceptemol' the antidote to the dangerous poison sold to us by the corporates, a stream of common sense and epithets for successful living. Let Billy Mackenzie guide you towards being a better person and the distant piano chords soothe the soul unfortunately harmed by the Beyonces and Britneys. "Put them down" and be a good boy.

she loves me not - alan rankine

2009-09-04T13:22:00.014+01:00

In his inspiring work 'Rip it up and start again: postpunk 1978-1984' Simon Reynolds cautions us to be wary when dabbling into the music of our post-punk heroes after 1984. Not only had the shiny bauble of New Pop become 'bloated' and 'plunged into decadence' but Pop Stars suddenly found themselves spokespeople for the world on a scale never seen before. It was the time of the Po-Faced Political Message but also of Pop Stars blowing hugely ridiculous budgets on videos and yachts, champagne and cocaine, the record labels getting fatter and fatter. Everything Went Over the Top in the security of a bouyant market and Smugness ruled in the pop charts, epitomised by those horrible Spandau Ballet songs 'True' and 'Gold'. By 1985, as Reynolds quotes, even the great John Peel was lamenting that "I don't even like the records I like." But there is something strangely addictive about 'bad' music, after all witness the whole 'Guilty Pleasures' movement. And a dabble here and there into the post-1984 cultural wilderness can be rewarding, although generally anything from the mid-late eighties does suffer for being inflicted by what was deemed fashionable in the day, i.e. too much honking saxophone, overwrought female vocals and bathed in that smooth, syrupy production that makes it hard to distinguish the real instruments from the synthesisers. Far from being 'Abba on speed' New Pop began to sound like Abba had swapped the speed for Ovaltine.

It seems to me it was more the loss of the Punk and Post-punk spirit that Reynolds and Peel were mourning, the warped beauty of New Pop that for a brief moment lit up the mainstream more brightly than the bland monotony usually labelled 'Pop' music. Looking back there are treasures to be found. The Cure's 'Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me' (1987) is the best twisted Pop record ever made after 'Sulk'. Paul Haig descended into 'The Warp of Pure Fun' in 1985 and emerged with his dignity intact, while 'Perhaps' (1984) saw Billy Mackenzie haphazardly balancing between youthful hysteria and a growing propensity towards a 'maturer' style (although the later, unreleased, 'Glamour Chase' would see the transformation complete). ZTT were doing good things e.g. with Propaganda, although they were overshadowed by the crass antics surrounding Frankie Goes to Hollywood. David Sylvian, Gene Loves Jezebel, The Wake, Siouxsie and the Banshees.... the Post-Punk greats did not die they just reinvented themselves. However the mainstream certainly returned to the 'manufactured' - no longer could it be countenanced that something like 'Party Fears Two' could sneak into the top ten, into everyone's living room and steal their hearts with its sultry shimmer.

Into 1987 we wade, when Billy Mackenzie's erstwhile Associate, Alan Rankine, released 'She loves me not'. Prior to that he had spent time producing other peoples' records (such as the Cocteau Twins and Paul Haig), working with cultish record label, the wonderfully named Les Disques du Crepscule, and living in Belgium. It's not quite a forgotten classic but like Haig's 'The Warp of Pure Fun' (of which it is reminiscent and not entirely a coincidence since Alan Rankine produced it) it is just that, a fun record which, in this period of 80s revival, is able to stand up to (and maybe even surpass some) contemporary attempts at melding the guitar with the synthesiser. Responsible for most of the instruments / parts in the Associates, Alan Rankine has a keen ear for melody which makes even the weaker songs palatable, but even he was not immune from the taint of sax and syrup. The mid to late 80s also seemed to be to the detriment of the guitar, which almost disappears into the murk here, surprising since Rankine ranks with the best of the Post-Punk guitar pioneers in terms of the sounds he managed to conjure with his fingers and a few effects. Still there is enough sophistication to make up for the disappointment that it sounds, well, so conventional at times. Especially when compared to the diverse and wonky marvellousness of 'Fourth Drawer Down'. It's like listening to 'Perhaps' - you know that both men had to move on and could not have produced another 'Sulk' (and nor would they want to) but it makes you yearn for its weirdness, it's boldness in abandoning the typical song format and its attempt to cram every possible emotion into one circle of vinyl.

And 'She loves me not' certainly starts with a bang! and ends with the apocalypse! clamouring for your ears' attention. 'Beat Fit' has rather silly lyrics but is infectious and introduces several of the 1001 synthesiser noises which identifies this record as a spawn of the 80s - as does the hyper female backing vocals and ubiquitous saxophone. Luckily this is not too intrusive keeping as it does to the rhythm of the song rather than meandering all over it. Alan Rankine's singing voice is remarkably urbane, slightly gruff and cynical at times, but that seems to suit the world-weary, even baffled, tone he affects. 'Days and Days' is the first of one of the more schmaltzy songs here, along with 'Last Bullet' they are quite light and relatively forgettable, but then I have never been a fan of ballad-type songs so they are probably okay if you like that kind of thing. 'Loaded' juxtaposes icy, melancholic synths (the ones that remind me of speeding down German autobahns at night lit only by orange sodium) and a softer vocal, ostensibly about throwing your cares away and having a good time but underlaid with that sadness it suggests it can only ever be ephemeral? Finally a guitar is spotted from very far away singing to itself in the background. 'Enough of that' says the sax and wrests domination of 'Your Very Last Day', unfortunately quite a plodding song despite Rankine's attempt to enliven things up with a dramatic vocal, but tones its influence down for 'The Sandman' which deals with a chilling subject (child abuse) in a surprisingly sympathetic way, when it potentially could be very clunky especially since Rankine's lyrics are far more literal than his former partner's. 'Break for Me' adopts that cod-reggae rhythm that was once so popular (please don't bring it back!) and that 'shimmery-curtain' percussion thing but apart from those two crimes against music it is a pleasant moment, a break after the frenetic rush of 'Lose Control'. And certainly a moment's pause is required before the stand-out track of the album, a slight intake of breath before the aural assault begins. Betraying more than a little of the 'more is more' philosophy that so drove the Associates ever upwards towards musical greatness, 'The World Begins to Look Her Age' is an attempt to capture the end of the world, well what the end of the world would sound like if only hysterical female backing singers, chuntering saxes, synthesisers and Alan Rankine were all that were left. Into this one song Rankine crams an album's worth of ideas and sounds and textures; its overloaded certainly and in the hands of someone less skilled it would probably collapse under its own weight, but this was the man responsible for 'Club Country' and however he does it, somehow it works! It's like magic because taking it all apart it's a pretty much standard 80s pop tune but combining all the unprepossessing elements together with a random song structure, explosions, layer upon layer of alarm and panic, ramping it all up and over eleven, well... it's an exhausting experience. But like the best of the Associates it makes you feel; its more than wallpaper or something to put on in the background and ignore. This is a song that defies being ignored! And it's certainly better to go out on a bang than a whimper. So yes, there could be many things wrong with this record but when it works the sheer verve reminds you that greatness never dies completely.

Sadly, but unsurprisingly, there are no videos of Alan Rankine solo on YouTube so a badly taken picture of the album cover is all I can offer in way of illustration. Luckily he is a very handsome fellow :)

And just for fun, the Associates do 'Club Country' on Top of the Pops, Alan keeping out of the bizarre sartorial choices made by some other members of the band, thinking here of Martha Ladly in the swimsuit!

Squeaks, pops and Scratches: Adventures in Vinyl

2009-09-02T20:26:00.004+01:00

It has been a long time in coming. It must have been over a year ago when I decided that it was time to test the idea that vinyl is the preferred listening choice of the 'serious' or nostalgic music lover. Although I was brought up with vinyl I would hardly call myself nostalgic for it since it always seemed a bit of a palaver setting it all up and then making sure that the needle was in the right place. It was when my house-mate pointed out that you placed it on the edge of the record to start rather than have to find the songs manually that I realised that perhaps I was a little bit out of my depth. I realised I was even more out of my depth when it took me over three hours to work out how to record the lps through the computer; after much knashing of teeth it was possible to be confident that the software that came with the record player was clearly rubbish rather than it being my fault for being unintelligent when it comes to technology. Fortunately Audacity saved the day and much knashing of teeth and tearing of hair later I worked out how to record the lp, save it to itunes and convert it to MP3 all in one evening. To quote the Inspiral Carpets, 'Nobody said it was gonna be easy...' It became slightly more surreal when some of my worst concerns about buying second-hand records on ebay and in charity shops came true and the lp simply would not play and any amount of cursing at it would not compel it to not jump and not crackle like a crazy coco-pop monkey on lsd with maracas, however it reminded me that someone had obviously loved the album so much they had played it to death (that one of these records was 'Sulk' by the Associates was quite pleasing in that respect if it was not so frustrating in wanting to listen to it...). Anyway the said purchase has opened up a whole new world of music, chiefly because it enables me to seek out even more obscure stuff from the 80s that is only available in vinyl, yay!

Summer Sundae 14-16 August 2009 (a review in bullet points for brevity)

2009-08-17T22:16:00.007+01:00

Good things about Summer Sundae 2009 (general)

It didn't rain - hooray for sun!
It clinched more space from Victoria Park so there was more room to walk about and the sound clash from the various stages was less pronounced
The Garden was relaxing if you wanted some peace and quiet... ha ha albeit with lots of screaming children having a pillow fight
Now the Charlotte is gone Summer Sundae is one of Leicester's few hopes of seeing new bands and it did not disappoint!!
The Streets got swine flu so Idlewild jumped to headline!!

Bad things about Summer Sundae 2009 (general)

Having to avoid psycho ex-housemates
Disorientation caused by a larger site to play about in
Electronica largely absent this year - too much reliance on guitar and whiny folk singers, get rid!
Some strange choices of time-tabling
Constant queues in the Ladies toilets (but when doesn't that happen???)

Notable bands at Summer Sundae (in no real order of preference)

Wild Beasts - the mad poets of Kendal were glorious. These guys deserve to be HUGE - who else would dare sing sweetly choir boy about diverse and unpleasant (ahem) subjects as snogging drunken in alleys, yobs on a night out, fathers being ignored by the courts and the sordid dreams of shiny-shoed men?? I lost my heart in that tent
Idlewild - thanks to the defection of The Streets Idlewild were promoted (thank goodness) to headliners and gave a rollicking set of over an hour despite being unprepared for it, although the passion and anger of former years has definitely mellowed (but that's what you get for being over 30)
Minnaars - described as math rock crossed with indie dance not sure exactly what that means but definitely exuberant and kicking the retro guitar-synth into the twenty-first century, set the tone whereby younger bands put some of the more established bands to shame for their sheer panache and verve
The Kabeedies definitely get a mention for the best on-stage banter of the festival, not sure their sound is doing anything new but fun all the same like swallowing a whole bag of minstrels in one go
The Charlatans - Tim Burgess just stepped out of his time machine looking like he had never left the 90s. Like Idlewild the Charlatans rose to the occasion with the right amount of nostalgia / new song ratio and invited the crowd to feel touched by the wonder of their presence (or something like that) - anyway it proved that clunky Oasis stole the crown that should have belonged to the Charlatans
Kevin Hewick proved that people over 50 do not have to be staid and boring and can lie on the stage playing their guitar with their teeth. But only just.
Monotonix defy any kind of description except they are completely bonkers - playing scuzzed-up dirty rock and roll IN the audience - a security guard's nightmare they must be - moving their instruments around, only wearing pants, chucking water, hairy and sweaty, leaping off balconies, a drummer who is the personification of Animal - audience participation to the max and proving that it can be done. Monotonix I salute you
Ou est le swimming pool - strange sartorial decisions abounded (bat-winged cardigan with nowt underneath? tank-top gym wear? check shirt and hairband with moustache? Shirt and jacket like dodgy club promoter?) kind of wonky pop by a boy band who hate each other's guts
The Cheek - are they the new Menswear of the twenty-first century? Or is there something brewing in their heads which will blow us all away with its total awesomeness? Only time will tell but there was a good attempt at feigning aloofness whilst trying not to laugh as the sweat drips from the chin

The disappointments

Mystery Jets - pretty dull really except for their one good song about being in love with a girl who lives two doors down, since they sacked the Dad it seems to have gone downhill
The Domino State - wanted to sound like Echo and the Bunnyman and the Chameleons, sounded more like Richard Ashcroft without the Verve, bloated and dull
Broken Records - unforgettable folk whining, the first of many
St Etienne - it was amazing to finally see Sarah Cracknell in the flesh and with a feather boa but there was something lacking in the performance, bit flat and they only played one really really good song, Only Love Can Break Your Heart, the rest was slightly drivel (sorry)
Bon Iver - less said about this the better as only more whiny folk. Should have been on in the day not the evening, its like getting a sparkler and it fizzing out before it even starts
The Zutons - like Bon Iver it makes me feel like there is something fundamentally wrong with my brain - both these bands are so popular but they just leave me cold. Zutons had no warmth no sparkle just sounded conventional and adding nothing to the musical lexicon - very disappointing ending to Summer Sundae this year

Bands I should have seen / seen more of

65daysofstatic - VERY VERY LOUD but sounded promising
Micachu and the Shapes - clashed with The Cheek and our allegiance was to the boys from Suffolk
Hugh Cornwall - punk and post-punk relic
Future of the Left

Ou est le swimming pool prove that sartorial decisions are not their strong point

The Charlatans - effortlessly good

The Kabeedies - blurred but bouncy

Someone forgot to inform the drummer about the visual aesthetic - Minnaars

The Wild Beasts - obliterated by light and poor camera on mobile phone

The best way to see (and hear) the Zutons - slightly out of focus

Yawn, yawn - Bon Iver

Suffolk's finest - The Cheek

choose your own adventure - heartsrevolution

2009-08-11T20:13:00.002+01:00

'choose your own adventure' books were always a bit of a con: firstly, of course you could only choose the adventure in the parameters of the author's imaginings (sometimes quite sadistic if it was one by Ian Livingston and Steve Jackson, such as monsters with huge numbers of eyes bursting open in blisters from their backs that lounged in pools of disfiguring acid, ice maidens with slaves controlled by metal collars that could burst and kill them, beautiful women enslaved within magic armour that forced you to kill them whilst tears rolled down their face, haunted houses owned by devil worshippers far more vindictive than any hollywood fright fest, vampires with biscuits made of blood to catch the unwary adventurer... who knows what impact such things have on the intensely open minds of young persons) and the fiendishly complicated and ultimately time-consuming approach to fighting monsters meant that it was always more tempting to choose your own outcome (vanquishing the monster of course) and keep going backwards and forwards through the options until the happy ending was reached. heartsrevolution on the other hand are a boy and a girl and 'choose your own adventure' is a deceptively simple, though compulsively hectic rush of adrenaline which despite its cutesy exterior hints at a dark heart beneath.

veil veil vanish - into a new mausoleum EP

2009-07-25T22:52:00.002+01:00

Goth somehow suits the eternal greyness of Britain, desperate to glean something elaborate out of the mishmash of brutal box like houses and grotesque Victoriana that blights our nondescript towns. The Cure and their ilk are as familiar as the cracked pavements and greasy windowsills on the high street even if the black lace gloves and creepy makeup is largely gone. Now the Americans come to steal our monopoly on melancholy. Veil Veil Vanish from San Francisco, not somewhere to be immediately associated with the intense mournfulness that spreads slowly and with intent from the speakers. I wanted to think 'they are trying too hard' after all the Ep is entitled 'into a new mausoleum' and it's like duh death and goth how obvious. I wanted to hate it. To take songs like 'Reproach' and gleefully tear them to shreds (which the masochists would probably love if they have a goth-like inferiority complex). To use the fact that they appear on the Cure tribute album 'Perfect as Cats' covering 'The Upstairs Room' as evidence that you may as well go and listen to the original instead. Instead it's been on repeat all evening. It is the blissfulness of colliding guitars, exploding into the aural equivalent of gazing up into the wonder of a starfilled night; the intense anxiety / obscurity of those shattered by existence and needing to sing about 'shadows dripping like honey kissing'; the exhaustion of feeling captured in sound.

white rose movement - kick / cigarette machine

2009-06-25T13:52:00.007+01:00

Named after an abortive movement by students from Munich to oust Hitler from power, the band known as White Rose Movement epitomises dystopian world views of Ballard, Foxx et al tied to the pop bombast of Duran Duran - yes its another eighties throw back electroclash special but WRM do it so well you can forgive them for being a little bit derivative. Dancing towards the apocalypse, the power of 'Kick' (their debut) lies in the tunes they meld, speaking of the sleaze, tension, general nastiness of 21st century life, narrated by the sensual, sulky vocals of singer Finn. Certainly there is something inextricably sexy about synthpop, perhaps its the breathy vocalists the genre seems to attract, which both Finn and (former) bandmate Taxxi demonstrate (the double xx there perhaps another nod to pioneers like John Foxx?), alongside a catalogue of teasing yelps, random screams and emotional outbursts that makes this album so vital, so alive in its conception of 21st century nightmare. Like the movement known as 'New Miserablism' e.g. Interpol, Editors, White Lies etc there is more than a hint of violence driving the melancholy, but unlike say the White Lies for instance there is no compromise in 'Kick' as to there being any hope that we will break out of this; you can kick and scream and rail all you want but we are stuck in this mess. So you might as well revel in the seediness, in the sleaze and leap in with guts. Check out 'Speed' and 'London's Mine' for maximum exhilaration, 'Girls in the back' cuts deep whilst the hidden track after 'Cruella' is to swoon for. Also for the record; Newest single 'cigarette machine' (how quaintly subversive) sounds like Elvis had he been hanging round the English high street too long and ingested the local patter.

Balgay Hill: A play about Dundee, Billy MacKenzie, The Associates, about heroes, fame and home

2009-06-18T21:03:00.008+01:00

History is (mostly) straightforward. Events happen, are recorded by a number of eyewitnesses, whether written down or carried in the minds of those who experience it. These become the definitive 'facts' which give us our sense of identity, our sense of who we are, the sense that we are the product of a long line of Others - that we are here today because of their actions. We impose upon it a beginning, a middle and an end. And because we are a perverse species we mostly like to insist on a happy ending.

Even music is prone to such gross simplification. Not so 'Balgay Hill' a play which reflects the inter-connectedness between home, our sense of belonging and the memories which become (formalised as) our histories.

"Neither James (Brining, Director) nor I wanted to write a straightforward bio because nothing about Billy or his story is straightforward. He is an amazing character full of contradictions trailing a litany of legends in his wake. He is a different kind of hero blessed with an extraordinary voice" (Simon Macullum, Writer).

Balgay Hill is (loosely) the story of Billy Mackenzie, maverick and magnificent singer with The Associates, told through the interwoven lives of four individuals from Dundee, where Billy was born and now rests close to the titular Balgay Hill. At first I was uncertain as to how this could be accomplished without seeming forced in terms of incorporating Billy's (larger than) life into the lives of mere mortals (so to speak), however it was very sensitively done, with the main framing device being a video that one of the characters was making about Billy's life as, they quite rightly said, there is no real, lasting memorial to him. Only fragments of a life that was lived for the briefest of moments in the spotlight; the seminal being when Billy shimmered onto the Top of the Pops stage - wearing a black beret and raincoat, seemingly trying not to laugh at Alan Rankine and the chopsticks stuck in his hair - rightly identified as a key moment (as beautifully described by Simon Reynolds in 'Rip it up and start again'). Such fragments can be misleading - how much do we really know about someone like Billy?

"To think you learned to know someone and find / That you don't know, don't know them at all." (Club County, The Associates)

Whilst Billy's life provided the structure for the events (the details of which would be familiar to anyone with more than a passing interest in The Associates, they cannot help but attract big stories to them), there was always some blurring between what belonged to the life of the character, and what belonged in the life of Billy. This was effective in that it created a real sense of how memories operate, they are often jumbled and incoherent, hard to fathom as to their time and place until we place them into a narrative. These memories were not existing as something given, but we had to piece them together, to give them meaning.

"I found a coin and washed away the silt / I found a shiny coin / A coin whose head was slightly to the tilt / Who'd leave it there in silt / guilt?" (Nude Spoons, The Associates)

Whilst it seems ironic that going by his singing voice you could have thought that Billy Mackenzie was as likely to have come from Saturn than from Dundee, also poignant was the emphasis within the play, in the words of writer Simon Macallum, "our relationship with the place of our birth". And although Billy himself left Dundee several times he always came back. Two of the characters in the play had never left, one never really belonged there, and the last only returned (as was implied) to die there, according to the Japanese saying. Sadly this was the same for Billy, who was found in his father's garden shed in 1997 having taken a fatal overdose. The closing of the play on Balgay Hill, close to Billy's final resting place, no happy ending, no tying of the ends reflects (for me) the reality of memory, there is no end, and with there being no end the memories will live on, gathering their own momentum; not Billy-as-he-was but Billy-as-he-is-remembered which will necessarily be different depending upon who is doing the remembering. Yet this is the nature of memories, they are idiosyncratic, highly personal and indisputable, the perfect foil to the 'boring old history' that we are forced to learn because someone tells us it is important. But it got me thinking, why do some memories endure more than others? Which memories of Billy will endure and which will fade? All in all it was more than a curiosity piece, it was a thoughtful and engaging work which deserves a lot of success. Now I wonder if Take That the Musical will have the same effect....

"So what if this party fears two? / The alcohol loves you whilst turning you blue / View it from here, from closer to near / Awake me!" (Party Fears Two - The Associates)

Some pictures....

Looking across to The Law from Balgay Hill

Looking across to the 'Silvery Tay' from the cemetery on Balgay Hill

The Dundee Rep Theatre

The best record shop I have visited in ages, Groucho's in Dundee

NB All quotes from Simon Macallum are from the 'Balgay Hill' programme; song lyrics from The Associates album 'Sulk'

Crystal Stilts - Alight of the Night

2009-06-17T22:46:00.005+01:00

The name Crystal Stilts sounds like one of those magical objects found only in European fairytales; like Baba Yaga's house that spins on chicken legs, the nettle shirts that Elisa must knit for her doomed brothers or the singing ringing tree that restores the morally bankrupt Princess to goodness. Likewise the sounds constructed by the Stilts are somewhat vague and ethereal, with a tinge of the typical English weather. If drizzle and mist could sing, rather than whisper with eerie precision in your ears, 'Alight of the night' might be the consequence. Singer Brad sounds like he is enveloped in the stuff, his melancholic drawl subsumed beneath the weight of the ponderous production, recalling the wooziness of sinusitis, or that early sensation of numbness when operating on little sleep. The world becomes cocoon-ed, perhaps a little indifferent, a little detached; its rather reminiscent of My Bloody Valentine and Shoegaze bands, but without the excruciating ear-bleed. Whatever - the results are beguiling, particularly songs 'The Dazzling' and 'Departure' which set a simple repetitive rift against bass-lines that chog along almost jovially alongside the mournful (and unfathomable) vocals, the slight melodies weaving in and out. The power of the rhythms rise above the murk and prevent this album sinking into its own navel, creating an oddly uplifting experience.

Do the Mussolini (Headkick)

2009-06-12T00:42:00.004+01:00

In the movies machines almost never listen to music, indeed they seem to go out of their shiny way to avoid it. So the machines in the Matrix might get some stirringly creepy soundtrack to their human-growing activities, but in the reality they would only be listening to the hum of the electricity generated. Cybermen may have a glorified I-Pod attached to their 'ears' but it is doubtful they hear anything more than the stomp stomp of their heavy feet as they go about their deleting business. However if machines were going to listen to music it would be tempting to consider that they would not look much further than Sheffield's Cabaret Voltaire, surely the most suitable soundtrack to any dystopian nightmare? There is no softness in their creations, no hint of the natural world in their stark soundscapes, brittle textures and distorted vocals. So whilst some songs recall beauty, some revel in the soppy-ness of love and human relationships. Not the Cabs. 'The Original Sound of Sheffield '78/'82' could only be forged in the fires of Steel City, the sweat and grind of the mill, the continual threat of gory accident or death, hastened by the dilapidation and griminess of everyday existence. It's like heading back to the Industrial Revolution in a rusting shopping trolley, as told creatively through tape cassettes and voice modulators, guitars pushed to their limits through electronic veils. Obscure, obscuring. So "Nag Nag Nag" worms its seedy way into your skull, un-fathomable instructions barked in bleary voices, seemingly recorded in a wind tunnel. "Do the Mussolini (Headkick)" constructs its beat around metallic intestines, churning through the sewers of human existence to spew out only garbled messages. Whilst the woozy clatterings of "Yashar" are imbued with traces of Eastern melody, generally this is a grim, if satisfying, trawl - satisfying in that it reminds forcefully that music does not always have to be a pleasant or uplifting experience - it can be discomforting, unsettling even. Take the saxophone on "Wait and Shuffle" merely a discordant meandering, only here it sounds threatening, as far away from the smug tedium of jazz as can be imagined. Then in 1983 'The Crackdown' lets us imagine how it might be if the machines decided that they liked to disco. Only a very imaginative (and un-self-conscious) individual might attempt a shuffle to "Baader Meinhof". Anyone might move themselves around to "24-24", still cloaked in urban tension, but far more accessible with it. Still, even if the beats are more familiar, the dissonance only becomes greater with immediacy; imagine Britney Spears doing a cover of "Why Kill Time (When You Can Kill Yourself), imagine if pop could be this discomforting? (Although the sight of Britney, post breakdown, continuing to gyrate on stage is pretty discomforting in itself) Chinks of light are also beginning to appear in the darkness; "Animation" with its shiny guitars and jaunty, if jerky, rhythm effectively creates machine-funk, "Diskono" escapes the dirge that otherwise drowns its comrades, describing (perhaps) the ecstasy rush of LEDs, and, of course, "Just Fascination", the closest to a conventional song as the Cabs are willing to provide, sent askew with its claustrophobic atmosphere - the prototype of electro-Goth. The future is bleak, (if) the future is Cabaret Voltaire; listen to it and despair.

The searing sound of Cabaret Voltaire - 'Nag Nag Nag'

Dot to Dot Festival 2009 - Nottingham

2009-05-25T22:40:00.009+01:00

The Dot to Dot Festival, for those who are not familiar with it, takes place over two days in May in two cities, Bristol and Nottingham. I had the opportunity to attend the festival in Nottingham, which spread around fifty bands across five venues. Fortunately all of them are close to the city centre however I saw only the minutest percentage of bands (only seven!, which is pretty pathetic really) and, of course, there being many frustrating clashes where I had to choose. Still I was very pleased with who I did see, and I liked skipping between the venues (most of which I had not been to before) with the aid of a red wristband, none of the mud or trouble with rain like a proper outdoor festival.

The Pains of being pure at heart were LOUD and reminded me more than a little of My Bloody Valentine crossed with a Sherbet Dib Dab, although they didn't make my ears bleed (fortunately as it was still only 3.30pm). Very cutesy, very fun but not too twee!

When Maps first emerged they (he) made music from the bedroom, woozy and unfathomable. Now Maps are out of the bedroom and onto the dance floor! Whilst new touches to old favourites like 'Back and Forth' refreshed their sound, the new ones (including 'Let go of the fear') were a bit formula electronic for my liking, having lost some of the idiosyncratic melodic touches of 2007's 'We can create.' One which had the repeated refrain 'Love will come' was downright sinister.

I wondered into the Rock City's basement venue to watch Telegraphs who were a bit too US Rock copyists to hold my attention for very long. In the main room I found Mumford and Sons four young men sounding much older than their years with a succession of folk-y songs played on acoustic guitar, double bass, steel guitar / banjo and piano. The singer looked a bit like a young Stephen Fry as the group next to me had the pleasure of pointing out.

There was more than a shiver of anticipation for the next act Patrick Wolf; I confess I knew very little about him but it was evident from the moment he stepped onto the stage in leather leatherhosen, knee high socks, and most of Barry M's makeup range exploded onto his face that this is someone who is DIFFERENT, maybe a bit STRANGE. Well my measure-stick of 'different' is 'Sulk' by the Associates and the music did not even come close to the bizarreity and bravery of that album.

Much of it was quite conventional if I dare say it, the addition of a violin giving an eastern European flavour which perhaps makes it different to other bands around at the moment. Who can say? Never mind, it was entertaining enough and Patrick had a fine pair of lungs on him.

Ladyhawke lurked in the darkness and barely came out from under her fringe, but who could blame her when for the first ten minutes there were about eight photographers sticking their camera lenses in her face? When they had gone she seemed to visibly relax and even came out front for a guitar solo (of sorts). Backwards-looking-but-future-sounding songs like 'Delirium', 'Magic' and 'Dusk til Dawn' were rousing and got the crowd going despite the vocals being washed out by the over-enthusiastic synths.

Omigod - Friendly Fires - I was NOT prepared for the frenzy! Nor the sense of euphoria despite the beer raining down and the crush of the crowd! Starting off with the best song on their album - 'Lovesick' - it only got better and better, singer Ed Macfarlane drenched in sweat from gyrating so much, guitarist and drummer duetting on cowbell and shaker to the beginning of 'On Board', the mad hysteria to the arrival of 'Jump in the Pool'... as a total immersive experience it was more than enough to make me want to do it all over again when the final strains of 'Strobe' faded away.

To end on such a high it was difficult to go and watch another band after that, and Crystal Antlers really were not doing anything for me so reluctantly I gave up the pretence that anything could match the Friendly Fires!

the black ghosts - the black ghosts

2009-05-17T22:19:00.008+01:00

It is rather shameful to admit that I completely passed The Black Ghosts by when they first emerged... introduced to 'Something New', which was a rather jaunty tune with a pleasing discordant chord opening, nonetheless it (unfortunately) came across as rather insipid outside the context of its encompassing album (although in place it makes perfect sense). It took an opening song to a recent low-budget film with lame (ahem) sparkly vampires to ignite that fatal interest.... A little bit of research and it emerges that the 'Ghosts are formed from the smouldering ashes of Simian (splitting into two with Simian Mobile Disco being the most obvious link), a band who exists virtually in my collection and is virtually never played, being a bit too day-glo and sickly sweet for more melancholy tastes. The Black Ghosts are, however, leaning more towards this vein; despite the high energy forced into dance-able tracks like 'Repetition kills you' and 'Anyway you choose to give it' there is a certain fragility in the arrangements - a sense of loss underlying the optimism - that keeps it interesting, a vibe that hangs together upon the wistful, yet fortunately not so cloying, vocals of singer Simon Lord (he seems to have lost most of the affectation he employed in Simian although there is an ill-advised lapse into cockerney at times). Damon Albarn also appears but I am not sure he adds much in the way of interest (meow!) In terms of the songs... there is a certain schizoid nature at work here; if you heard some of these songs randomly you would hardly link the two together. Take 'Full Moon' (from said sparkly-vamp-fest) which could be from the pen of a folk group, all lilting guitars and throbbing bass speaking of the earth and pine trees, immediately followed by 'I don't know' which was made for all I know by intelligent computers and robots manipulating synth pads, only the voice recognisably human (and even then you would hardly link the Simon 'here' with the lushly-tracked Simon 'before'). Both have in common that they are ridiculously catchy. Gloriously dramatic to open, 'Some way through this' is aching to be the soundtrack to bleeding hearts, however in the next breath 'Anyway you choose to give it' revels in the obsession caused by love - although the narrator is of sufficient presence of mind to almost resent their paramour for causing this parlous state - to what must be one of the most criminally underrated disco stomps this century (it's not the kind of thing I hear at the disco anyway when it should be!) As well as disco, the 'Ghosts also reveal a well-raided musical styles sheet, managing smooth ('It's your touch'), funky ('Until it comes again') guest singers ('Repetition kills you') and ballads ('Don't cry'). It all builds for the cataclysmic final blow-out - 'Face' - constructed around the repetitious call to arms 'you've got to face the music', underpinned with basic killer beat and 80s throwback synth crunches that makes my heart skip with excitement and notch up the volume. One to play as loud as you dare in the hope that the neighbours will lap it up with grateful pleasure.

The video for 'Anyway you choose to give it' , which sort of goes with the idea that it's made by computers or robots!

For comparison purposes, 'LaBreeze' by Simian....

...and the brilliant 'I Believe' by Simian Mobile Disco (you might recognise the singer)

bell hollow - foxgloves

2009-05-05T22:59:00.006+01:00

Foxgloves are amongst my favourite flowers, a graceful blush of pink amongst the trees, carefully designed to manipulate the bee into its pollen-lain interior.... Bell Hollow likewise draw you in with a rich, velvety sound like those petals. Whilst having more than a passing resemblance to Interpol and their ilk (not a terrible sin in my book I'll admit) Bell Hollow do not have the same aggressive edge exhibited by that band, more of a shimmery softness around the edges; so trailing a hand lazily in the water on a sultry summer's day (rather than getting all hot and irritable on the sweltering streets of New York). Opening with the spirited dance-y 'Seven Sisters', Bell Hollow echoes all the pleasant aspects of those fey whimsical bands that you feel might be too delicate to be bruised by the rigours of success (and alas Bell Hollow are no more, adding weight to that ad hoc theory....) Even Nick Niles singing "and we're young and wild" barely stretches to upbeat. Even so the sound of melancholy is a wondrous thing, his voice drips with such lusciousness it has the effect of making even the most prosaic of actions compelling. Exhibit A on 'Our Water Burden' - "take the letter on the mantle, open it slowly, read my hand-" convinces me that even a shopping list would be transformed in his capable larynx. If you have an irrational hatred of jangly guitars then this album might be hurled against the nearest wall in a fit of pique, for herein is plenty of delicate chiming 'bell-like' guitar (I am honestly running out of metaphors and words to describe this kind of thing, no wonder music journalists go a little barmy in the search for better and greater adjectives), inducing all kinds of pleasant imaginings in the mind of the susceptible listener; personally I am still reclining in a boat slipping silently through the water, somewhat like the doomed Lady of Shalott, especially by the time 'Eyes like Planets' mopes into view. Things head rapidly downhill after that before pining away with the despair of 'Lowlights' only...only... before there is a brief flash of resilience 'The Bottle Tree' which crackles with the bitterness of resigned 'told-you-so' - 'that was then, but this was now, you got what you wanted but it went sour' - a battered cry to be careful what you wish for if ever there was one. Still, a good dose of melancholy which never collapses into utter misery is always welcome, only the sad note to end on reflects the fact that it DOES end here. Forever. And the bell tolls goodbye.

The lovely strains of 'Seven Sisters' (as found on YouTube)

The Stills - Logic will break your heart and Oceans will rise

2009-04-19T11:31:00.004+01:00

I refused to even engage with the second album from The Stills (Without Feathers) as soon as I learnt that David Hamelin, who had previously been the drummer, would be taking on vocal duties alongside Tim Fletcher, who sang for the majority of their first album 'Logic Will Break Your Heart.' Not that I have any specific prejudice against singing drummers (ahem Phil Collins ahem) and I am very sorry to Mr Hamelin but the sublimity of 'Logic Will break your heart' was mostly secured for me because of the vocals of Mr Fletcher, which are often so beautiful I often found myself longing to have his dulcet tones drip-fed into one ear continuously (the other ear would be reserved for David Sylvian) as I am certain this would make the world a much better place to inhabit. Anyway, I am running ahead of myself to get on to the second without talking about the first... Aside from having an inspired title, 'Logic Will Break your Heart' for me was the best example of the harnessing of an intelligent post-punk sensibility and reconfiguring it through the glossy sounds of the '00s; okay they are still dealing with the same issues as everyone else, love, death, love and death, however the heartfelt nature of Tim Fletcher's keening vocals helps to lift this collections of songs above the murky parapet of indie rock and imbue them with a fatalistic core that taps into our deepest fears of melancholy and being alone-ness (or something to that effect). An instinctive pull towards melody pervades songs like 'Changes are no good' which contains some of my most favourite lyrics ever - 'All the world's deranged and I'm left crushed, people delayed or in a rush' - for their simplicity. 'Fevered' is sheer heartache melted and poured into the amplifier, a tiny tear clinging to the ephemeral plastic of our mass culture.

Like the Killers, the Stills kind of lost their edge on their second album although, as I admit, I have not taken the time to listen to it and find out. I will have to wallow in my ignorance for the third attempt 'Oceans will Rise' is taking my attention at the moment and... hooray there is Tim Fletcher's voice stamped all over it and David Hamelin's voice is pleasant enough and there is plenty of melody to counteract the slight element of U2-esque bombasity that has crept in, but then 'Logic...' had such an atmosphere of resigned introspection that even the slightest cranking up of those guitars could blow away its fragile pretensions. Saying that, I think The Stills have sacrificed some of their quirkiness for conventionality, unless they were a conventional band all along and 'Logic...' was merely an aberration. Still, whilst some of the songs are forgettable ('Hands on Fire' is pretty bland, 'I'm with You' predictably dull) there is enough to make you hope; 'Snow in California' is a lovely song with seductive harmonies, 'Snakecharming the masses' a more low-key appeal and unusual structure; an achingly beautiful song seems to be trying to get free from 'Dinosaurs' if it wasn't for the intrusive 'rawk' guitar that stomps heavily all over the fledging attempt. So 'Logic...' still beats the pants off 'Oceans' merely for its refusal to get too enmeshed in the need to be anthemic - for this reason, 'Oceans' seems rather forced instead of effortless.

Courtesy of YouTube, the sublimity of 'Changes are no good' from 'Logic will break your heart'

Taking it easy with Mansun and Marion

2009-03-19T23:04:00.004Z

There seems to be a 90s revival happening at the moment, lots of rumours flying around about the 'seminal' (I say this with a heavy amount of sarcasm) 90s band The Stone Roses reforming, and The Charlatans and Saint Etienne playing at the Summer Sundae festival in Leicester this August, to suggest but two things floating around the Internet ether. So I decided to have a listen tonight to some tunes that I was listening to in that very decade. A couple I have to mention; the first is 'Take it Easy Chicken' by Mansun. I was never a huge fan but I did love this song, due to the wonderful sneering vocals and the dense guitar riff that drives into your skull with the subtlety of a migraine. Besides the gratuitous incorporation of a farmyard animal into a song title is pretty funny. The second song I 're-discovered' was 'Sleep' by Marion; poor Marion never really seemed to get anywhere and I think they ended up re-releasing Sleep twice in slightly different versions. Like 'Take it easy chicken' I get the sense that Marion do not really like the protagonist of their song, although singer Jaime Harding is too polite to sound really cruel. I always like the lyric 'Go to sleep there's more fish in the sea' as a potential put-down, sadly I have never had an occasion to use it.

empires and dance - simple minds

2009-02-17T20:06:00.010Z

It's always an exciting moment when an assumption that you have held for such a long time is irrevocably shattered in the light of a new discovery. I was always dismissive of Simple Minds based on the fact that when I was conscious enough to listen to and remember music their output was pretty much the overblown stadium rock God posturing of the mid to late 80s which I cannot help feel numb towards (stadium rock in general that is). There's nothing wrong with ambition yet achieving the pinnacles of success (almost) inevitably mean a slide downwards and the 80s are littered with countless bands who reached the stars only to be burnt and cringe into a congealed mass of MOR. Of course there are exceptions to the rule, however based on my admittedly scanty knowledge, Simple Minds appear to fit into this arbitrary category quite nicely. Reading the reviews for their 1980 album Empires and Dance it seemed to suggest it was something of a masterpiece and having listened it is hard not to think it is far more sophisticated than their later rock efforts. Not that it was even popular at the time, like many of the bands I have discovered in recent months abandoned by their record companies and the public, it does not seem much of a coincidence that much of it is dark (read miserable), experimental (read all over the place) and oblique (read incomprehensible lyrics). I have no idea what Jim Kerr is singing half the time but something about his pronunciation makes it seem important. Opener I Travel bursts brightly into being quite aware of its brilliance, a sparkling intensity of spacey synths, squalling guitar and decadent disco that could slip into the charts today and you would swear it was by Ladyhawke or White Rose Movement or Neon Neon it is so NOW (but of then) except for Kerr's unmistakable vocal style of course (him not being a woman either which is all the rage in electro in the noughties). It all ends too soon. Today I died again is heavy with echo and subdued in comparison, concerned with a life lost - 'The clothes he wears, date back to the war.' Celebration is starker still, a glam-stomp only someone forgot to put the glam in, disappearing with it into the void instead. This Fear of Gods is almost-trance drip dripping into consciousness (like a fast train travelling through snow-bound mountains) until it turns on a chord and disrupts itself crashing into brighter sparks. So many echoes here... Capitol City reminds me of dirge-pop, not in a good way particularly. 'Hey Waiter' things are getting a bit peculiar around here, firstly Constantinople Line comes over like a Gothic Japan, and now some woman is talking in French (a la Visage), until a nursery rhyme mash-up and hideous wounded saxophone keep cutting her off (aha must be twist/run/repulsion then). Its back to business with Thirty Frames of Second channelling the same nervy sense of paranoia that would define post-punk pioneers like Magazine, and the shiny synths here reminiscent of those great 80s school TV programmes we watched like Dark Towers and one I cannot remember the name of but it concerned an spooky boy alien who landed in a gravel pit. Kant-Kino has a great title and lovely squelchy synth attack which comes and goes again before it is even introduces itself properly. You have to love how some bands can just throw away a great idea like that. Oh for the experimentation of youth! Which leaves the final Room 'I only live here, a fragile man' emerging from the slow burning mire, only to peter out again... Empires and dance indeed, the hedonism before the crash (as we may/may not be experiencing again), the sound of a band struggling to contain a thousand ideas (so lets put them all in).

A performance of the brilliant 'I Travel' from 1980 (with thanks to YouTube)

Here comes everybody - the wake

2009-02-15T19:13:00.007Z

In 1985 Scotland's The Wake made the kind of music where you are afraid to sneeze in case you disrupt the delicate melodies; even breathing seems a harsh activity in the company of the ethereal Here comes everybody a relatively hidden gem in the history of Factory records. Although at first condemned for producing sub-Joy Division standard post-punk dirges on their debut (as must every band signed to Factory at the time) by the mid-80s The Wake were coating their tales of love lorn and love lost in woozy blankets of loveliness, sugaring the misery so to speak. Elements of pop and dub-tinged bass provide the bedrock bubbling away beneath which prevents songs from floating into the ether or the sensitive listener either drowning in sorrow or in syrup, whilst the vocals are gentle without sounding too twee or cloying. Indeed singer Caesar sounds so doleful, even on the more upbeat songs like Talk about the past, you might have, like me, the strong desire to want to force feed him with fairy cakes and tea until he gives in and raises a smile. Nevertheless it is the fragile beauty of the triumvirate of Torn Calendar, All I Asked You To Do and Here Comes Everybody which all deal to some extent with the disappointment caused by love (a good topic for the day after Valentine's) which are the most endearing. Here Comes Everybody overlies cavernous drums with tender melodies and crushing heartache - 'I lost you in a lonely crowd, you wanted to be free / you wanted to be someone else, I'll always disagree" whilst All I Asked You To Do wears its pop sensibilities on its sleeve and, like The Cure at their best, is infectiously catchy, the simple melody underlain with mists of synth to create a dream-like atmosphere. Torn Calendar is the wispiest little thing, best consumed in the quiet rather than the bustle of everyday life. Together with The Names (sort of their label mates) The Wake create soundtracks to lose yourself in the waves of soothing melody.

new song - Howard Jones

2009-02-13T21:55:00.002Z

Seeing Howard Jones on Top of the Pops performing New Song with a semi-naked man in chains standing beside him is one of my earliest memories, and for some reason it has always stuck with me. Listening to the song now in adulthood it seems a very peculiar juxtaposition between a rather twee and naive-sounding primitive synth-driven muzak sound with very grown-up lyrics exhorting us to be all post-modern and open-minded, so 'don't crack up, bend your brain, see both sides, throw off your mental chains' which has subconsciously become a kind of mantra. It is a shame that after writing such lyrics as 'challenging preconceived ideas' HJ went and blandly called it 'New Song', which, along with the dated soundtrack, unfortunately detracts from what I think is still a strong and important message especially when in the depths of a 'I have no reason to be here' existential crisis.

Pop Always Shines on TV

2009-02-12T22:00:00.007Z

Two videos from the 80s which both happen to revolve around the act of watching the television in an otherwise deserted room - Independence Day by The Comsat Angels and Visions of China by Japan. Both want to convey an important message. With respect to both songs being fantastic, the production values of the videos are pretty terrible and suspiciously similar.

Poor Comsat Angels' singer Steven Fellows is agitated because instead of the usual Saturday night entertainment he is being subjected to continual images of people in uniform marching through New York and rockets being launched. Like him I would be pretty frustrated if that happened. So he gets together with his band-mates to sing about it.

Poor David Sylvian looks pretty bored too, trapped in a room with only a TV and jigsaw to occupy him. Occasionally he puts the TV on but like the Comsat Angels' TV this one is faulty and keeps showing only static and unreal images of China. Oh look there's some people marching in uniform! Even worse the only clothes he has left to wear are a check shirt and some dungarees. Bravely he struggles on and even manages to complete his jigsaw before being rescued by his bandmates and taken to a fancy dress Communist party.

When the Postman Doesn't Call on Valentine's Day

2009-02-12T19:51:00.006Z

The shops are awash with hearts and flowers and chocolates and all the trappings of a commercially insipid and putrid Valentine's Day. Call me bitter but in the spirit of being perverse I have concocted my own Anti-Valentines compilation, selecting the most twisted, miserable and bleak songs which bring either unsympathetic thoughts of love or present an alternative to being trapped in the nightmare of what constitutes the perfect ideal vision of a romantic relationship (as in the fantasies of advertising companies). Hey so they're not all totally connected to love but the title alone should convey enough:

Touchy! - A-ha

Tears Are Not Enough - ABC

Dog Eat Dog - Adam and the Ants

I could be Happy - Altered Images

Hope there's someone - Anthony and the Johnsons

It's Better this Way - Associates

What's A Girl To Do? - Bat for Lashes

Small Talk Stinks - Bauhaus

I don't love anyone - Belle and Sebastian

Blue it is - Billy Mackenzie

Declare Independence - Bjork

Love Burns - Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

No Need to Cry - British Sea Power

Why Should I Settle for You - Candie Payne

Maybe Someday - The Cinematics

Love + Pain - Clor

Men's Needs - The Cribs

Music is My Hot Hot Sex - CSS

How Beautiful You Are - The Cure

We're So Happy - Danse Society

Some Kind of Fool - David Sylvian

The Trial - Dead Can Dance

I Luv U - Dizzee Rascal

I Love You Cause I Have To - Dogs Die in Hot Cars

Darling, You're Mean - The Duke Spirit

Is There Something I Should Know? - Duran Duran

Getting Away With It - Electronic

There's A Ghost In My House - The Fall

Get Up and Use Me - Fire Engines

Bandages - Hot Hot Heat

Leif Erikson - Interpol

Fall in Love With Me - Japan

Don't Let Him Waste Your Time - Jarvis Cocker

Heart and Soul - Joy Division

Everyday I love you Less and Less - Kaiser Chiefs

Destroy Everything You Touch - Ladytron

Can't Stand Me Now - The Libertines

I Want to Burn Again - Magazine

Going Missing - Maximo Park

Jealousy - Octopus

She's a Rejector - Of Montreal

Rip It Up - Orange Juice

XOYO - The Passage

Chained - Paul Haig

The Murder of Love - Propaganda

Lipgloss - Pulp

You and I - Mass

Love is the Drug - Roxy Music

Only Love Can Break Your Heart - Saint Etienne

Dirty Disco - Section 25

Overrated - Siobhan Donaghy

Typical Girls - The Slits

Stop me if you think you've heard this one before - The Smiths

Say Hello, Say Goodbye - Soft Cell

I'm Free - Soup Dragons

I Think I'm in Love - Spiritualized

Still in Love Song - The Stills

Beautiful Alone - Strangelove

Walk on By - The Stranglers

Is This It - The Strokes

Life's What you Make It - Talk Talk

Watch me Bleed - Tears for Fears

That Move - Teddy Thompson

Infected - The The

United - Throbbing Gristle

Suffocated Love - Tricky

Rockwrock - Ultravox

You've got my number (why don't you use it) - The Undertones

Femme Fatale - The Velvet Underground

History - The Verve

Get Free - The Vines

Pagan Lovesong - Virgin Prunes

All I asked you to do - The Wake

Inaction - We are Scientists

Freeze - We are Performance

Last Christmas - Wham!

Love is a Number - White Rose Movement

Fell in Love With A Girl - The White Stripes

Must be the Moon - !!!

abc - lexicon of love

2009-02-12T19:25:00.002Z

On the subject of Sheffield bands, ABC are another ubiquitous 80s band but once which I feel were right to be lauded, particularly for their 1982 album Lexicon of Love (I am working on the theory that 1982 was one of the best years for music in the world ever). It's totally a concept album - Martin Fry gets dumped and writes a whole album's worth of material about it, poor man must have suffered- however it is a concept that works brilliantly. It's got some of the symbols that stand for some of worst excesses of 80s music to boot like saxophones, orchestras, irony and that kind of histrionic texture that can swathe the music in syrupy gloop if its not carefully applied by someone like Trevor Horn. Yet this is when pop was at its finest and this is one of pops finest attempts at capturing the headiness of a time when the UK was crawling out of the despair of the late 70s and men could wear make-up and have bouffant hair and sing in gold lame suits on Top of the Pops and nobody would bat an eyelid (although it was supposed to be the dark ages then in comparison to our supposedly more tolerant present). Songs like Poison Arrow are stupidly catchy at the same time as being gently nasty - 'who broke my heart, you did' cannot be more direct and seething - and anyone who is not a sobbing wreck by the end of All of my Heart blatantly has not got one. Even the less well known songs like Tears are not enough and Valentine's Day keep pace, Date stamp beginning with the sound of cash machines and exposing the business of love for the fraud it is (ironically it is almost a dead cert that some of these songs will be doing the rounds on those cheesy Valentine's Day compilations). I also love the trivia that the girl who inspired this album was invited in for a cameo - she is the girl saying 'goodbye' on The Look of Love, part one.

Here is a glimpse of the famous gold suit.

simple minds - promised you a miracle

2009-02-12T18:53:00.006Z

I always mightily disliked Simple Minds, mostly because they are one of those bands like Coldplay and U2 who have that overbearing sense of bluster and swagger which suggests that, wrongly or rightly, the limelight is more important to them than the music. They were part of Live Aid. Like Spandau Ballet and Duran Duran they are always trotted out as an example of an archetypal 80s band like there is nobody else to choose from. Their most popular songs are dull bland and pompous like Don't you (forget about me). Bizarrely enough however I was inspired though (by listening to Spandau Ballet of all things) to investigate as to whether their earlier incarnations would yield any interesting surprises. And it did. (This is clearly a dangerous challenge to set myself, after all what if I started liking early stuff by Bon Jovi or something???) I was drawn towards the shimmering, tangential pop of Promised you a miracle delighting in its attempt to eschew the usual verse chorus set-up for leaping straight into the chorus, Jim Kerr's posturing vocals interwoven with a pleasant jangle reminiscent of fellow Scots Orange Juice (although the echo stops there) and delicate synths. It's pretty funky compared to their leaden attempts at rock that came later. Notable mentions to fellow companions from New Gold Dream (81/82/83/84), the dreamy stylings of Glittering Prize and the title song, with its incredibly familiar synth-led melody which I recognise from some crappy dance tune of a couple of years back, Open Your Mind by Usura. It's amazing what dance music has cannibalised. Perhaps there IS something in my nascent theory that 2 Unlimited were inspired by John Foxx...

A performance of said song on the much-missed Top of the Pops.

delicatessen - there's no confusing some people

2009-02-11T14:30:00.003Z

In an unexpected case of history repeating itself I found the third, and last, Delicatessen (who formed in Leicester no less) album from 1998 by accident in the secondhand racks in Record Collectors in Broomhill, Sheffield, the same place I found hustle into bed (1996). It was only two pounds, cheaper than a pint of beer, so how could I leave it there? (I wondered at the same time if I was flicking through CDs which had been there since I had left University (getting on for over 10 years) which gave me some comfort that one part of Sheffield had not disappeared under a shiny new, ultimately soulless, tower block). Anyway the album itself is remarkably pleasant after hustle, not so filthy and violent and repugnant which admittedly, for me, gave that album its charm. Singer Neil Carlill's voice is as rough and ready as ever, the songs tend to ramble a bit, but there is a brightness and a wistfulness about the music which did not exist before, although the lyrics seem to me as oblique, Lightbulbs and Moths takes its title literally for instance. The sun is beginning to shine through the cracks in the boarded-up windows, alas it was perhaps too late for chart glory (if that was the aim), although it still outshines a lot of the trash churned out in the 90s, recall for instance (in whispers) Sleeper, Powder, theaudience, Menswear and their ilk.

comsat angels - sleep no more

2009-02-10T19:28:00.005Z

Hailing from Sheffield, Comsat Angels appear to one of those 'What if...' bands, bands that should have been / should be more famous than they were/are (I am finding that a similar dirge can be sung for many bands found upon my late 70s/early 80s journey of discovery). Founded in the years of hopelessness that gripped the country, Comsat Angels released three albums of consistent magnificence (according to the reviews) and then started to disintegrate under pressure from lack of success and found their sound compromised and diluted (it is telling that a future reconciliation concert will feature songs only from the first three albums). At the moment this is conjecture to me as I have only experienced the second album, however what I have found there has encouraged me to seek out more in my own immutable way via a CD binge and whilst awaiting those I am availing myself of Sleep no more (1981) the second. And what a bleak album it seems at first listen. Along with Cabaret Voltaire churning out the grim-ness, Pulp (about to) relish in the narrative detail of the baser elements of human behaviour, ABC cataloguing the wreckage of relationships and Human League ignoring the dour past for future sparkle, it is a wonder that Sheffield did not collapse under the weight of its despair at this time. However there is miserable bleak and stately bleak and this falls into the latter category. At first listen it seems musically quite minimalist however there are hidden depths here; Dark Parade is majestic, a slow simmering anger of a song, building in tension until singer Simon Fellows cries out 'No release' in a way to make the nerves in your body tingle all over. The title track Sleep No More creates an eerie atmosphere in its attempt to go nowhere except into the realms of insomnia. Eye of the Lens was not on the original release however it is a joyful inclusion here, its searing tempo and buoyant rhythm underlying a creepy tale which seems to owe a debt to Kafka. Revelling in uncheery paranoia it may be, Sleep No More somehow elevates itself above the turgid introspection that mires bands like Radiohead.

Reasons why the saxophone is not the work of the devil No 3

2009-02-10T19:01:00.003Z

Switch by Siouxsie and the Banshees

In different places into wrong categories / Familiar problems cross the wires

Gruff Rhys of the Super Furry Animals recently proclaimed somewhere that the saxophone would not appear on their next album; to all intents and purposes this is cool, after all the saxophone is associated largely with the cheesy blandness of airport lounges, elevator shuffles and that horrid excuse for improvisation called 'jazz' (bebop bedobop bedeedeoolbop in the best Howard Moon impression) as well as the worst excesses of the 80s like the godawful Baker Street. Yet the saxophone can appear in some strange contexts. Like, for instance, who would ever dream that Siouxsie and the Banshees would ever allow a saxophone even ten foot near them? The Banshees are associated for me with gothic spikiness, spitting in the face of established taste and grubby glamour, into which the bright shiny saxophone with its myriad buttons and fussy detailing would NEVER figure. Yet there, in their debut The Scream (1978), is definitely the sound of the sax. It would seem to be the fault of guitarist John McKay. It is exhilarating the juxtaposition between the two; the sax here is not optimistic, shiny nor bland, it is a dread beast filled with the anxiety and despair for (of) the age, transplanted into a keening riff that rattles the nerves and silences the sneer of punk. Such a doomy (mis) use of an instrument serves well the dark lyrics and dramatic vocal stylings of Siouxsie.

dead can dance - dead can dance

2009-02-05T21:56:00.006Z

Despite mankind's onward climb towards civilisation there is the sense that the primitive pagan elements of life are never far away, whether it is the underlying violence that simmers in society, erupting in occasional bouts of violence (whether by the knife or by the gun), the superstitions that many continue to practice on a daily basis (however idiotic it seems I cannot go under ladders, put new shoes on the table or open an umbrella inside), or the attraction of simplistic, tribal influenced music, that manifests itself in repetitive and hypnotic rhythms. The kind of music which grabs you in blind reverie and taps into those shadowy parts of your brain which have eluded evolution and the increased sophistication and complexity of modern day living. And so - Leaping into consciousness with the sound of explosions, ecstatic yelps and compelling rhythms of The Fatal Impact, the debut from Dead Can Dance captures the imagination with the power of its primal borrowings. Singers Lisa Gerrard and Brendan Perry yelp, glower, sigh and yodel their way through musical atmospheres reminiscent of the wildest terrain, resolutely earthly but soaring unearthly, seeming to explore the baser instincts of the human psyche ready to burst from the civilised shell at a moment's provocation, as well as its great beauty. Songs like A Passage in Time and The Trial are dark and elegant, as 'Gothic' as they come; Frontier like the Cocteau Twins had they emerged from the rain-forest. Despite the shadows they evoke it's not all darkness - the restless shifts of Ocean have a subtle beauty that recalls the sunlight glinting on the waves, whilst East of Eden effects a, dare I say it, jaunty tone that lightens the mood even where the lyrics do not, until the shivers of Threshold return us to the cold.

To prove their power - The Trial live (1986):

See how Goth they are

2009-02-03T21:46:00.001Z

A bit of Danse Society courtesy of YouTube

Danse Society - Seduction (The Society Collection)

2009-02-03T20:25:00.006Z

Danse Society are a kind of comedy, electro Goth that sounds like the version of Goth that the Mighty Boosh might come up with given a couple of keyboards, guitars and some very big hair. If you don't believe me, let's take a look at the ingredients: Discordant guitars - check! Dramatic singer, booming voice, pronouncing his words very properly - check! Synth-tastic atmospherics - check! A drummer about to collapse from pounding the drums so much - check! VERY SERIOUS song titles with slightly disappointing lyrics - check! Throbbing bass - check! Black clothes - check! Dry ice - check! (see video posted above for proof)
That's not honesty, that's delusion
There feels to be a lot of love in this collection, even if it does not always quite hit the heights of musical genius, with singles from 1981-1983 released by the band through the Society label. Neither are there any huge surprises here if you have been paying attention to all those electroclash 80s throwbacks well the template basically starts here. 'Clock' starts powerfully enough and continues in the same vein with a simple chiming guitar riff over driving percussion, the singer pronouncing Must get 'Motivation before they stop the clock' which suggests that he must be having the same day at work as I am. 'Continent' goes darkly sci-fi before launching itself into a stomping rhythm, undermined by the disturbing, whispered vocals.
In your nightmares we're all so happy
The stop-start staccato opening of 'These Frayed Edges' segues into a more conventional rock outing, the repetition of 'frayed edges' suggests the want of a more convincing chorus - although the throwaway line about the 'from the future' is what got me thinking about the Boosh in the first place and their future Electro Sailors. They do like a dramatic opener and 'We're so Happy' does not disappoint - the sound of thunder announces its arrival, building to a crescendo with the stamp of synth and drums, when (hopefully) the singer throws away his cape and reaches into the air as he sings forth the first note - yep, it's that kind of song. Yet something seems to hold DS back, perhaps the tempo is a bit sludgy and despite the promises of triumph it never really gets off the ground. 'Women's Own' takes clattering saucepans as inspiration, a sly nod to the housewife's choice of magazine? 'Ambition' 's long, ponderous opening eventually explodes into a decent stab at melodrama, and whilst 'Danse/Move' is another attempt at greatness it unfortunately fails to set the dancefloor alight but we might at least see it smoulder.
That's not love, that's confusion
An album, then, of not-quite-getting-there, yet endearing with it.

Rediscovering the 90s

2009-02-03T15:56:00.004Z

I decided to go through my CDs and get rid of the ones I never listen to anymore which seemed a little like sacrilege except for the benefits in terms of storage purposes. Already my CD tower is filled to the brim and the rest of the collection must languish in a box on top of the wardrobe so they do not ever stand a chance of getting played. They might as well be taken to the charity shop to be picked up by someone who might love them more than I. Most of the CDs hidden away are from the 90s when I got into the CD buying habit thanks to Record Collector and Fopp in Sheffield. Record Collector had a massive selection of second hand CDs, perfect for skint students and those obscure records impossible to find anywhere else. Fopp too was outrageously cheap compared to the HMVs and Virgins and also specialised in the harder-to-find albums, e.g. anything that is not mainstream. Looking through the box I was reminded of my one-time consuming interest in drum and bass - like Roni Size, Spring Heel Jack and Goldie - and those strange, lolloping, descended-from-baggy bands like Campag Velocet (which appealed to me for the obvious Clockwork Orange influence but who played one of the most poorly attended gigs I have ever seen) and Regular Fries, who I saw live a couple of times and massively enjoyed because they were completely bonkers, one of their instruments being a bird cage festooned with objects. Then there were the romantic dreamers Suede and the Verve, whose fortunes, and ability, fluctuated quite wildly depending on the mental stability of their frontmen, and, of course Pulp, the first 'proper' band I saw live, being introduced to the craziness that is going to gigs (the second, Suede, was even more carnage) and stood 2 inches away from Jarvis Cocker and got very excited, as well as my sister and I queuing outside HMV in Bristol for hours to get their autographs (whatever happened to Sound City?) It's interesting that a few of these bands seem to be absent from iTunes - for instance Dark Star whose song Gracedelica is a tantilising reference on a cassette tape I cannot play, and an unknown band with a song called 'New Brunswick' - so perhaps I will have to wait until the 90s revival proper before I can listen to the 2nd and 3rd albums by the Regular Fries (I only ever thought there was one!). And bis (!) purveyors of beyond-tweeness with their secret vampire soundtrack and eurodiscos, whatever happened to them?

White Lies - To Lose My Life

2009-02-03T15:40:00.003Z

I was looking forward to hearing the new album from White Lies, the next group of indie kids to have jumped onto the 80s throwback wagon (wow what would THAT look like??). So far I have only made through one song - To Lose My Life - before laughter prevented me from downloading any more. Its not that I don't like it, far from it, its very catchy in its own right. As usual the media are rushing to compare them to Joy Division, originators of the raincoats brigade, however this is a lazy reference as they bear only passing resemblence. I would like to think that Ian Curtis would wince to think that the excruciating lyrics - example 'Let's grow old together / and die at the same time' - was being compared to his poetry! I would suggest that White Lies have lifted their influences more from the Midge Ure-era Ultravox / Duran Duran school of weighty and portentous song-writing, coupled with the bombast ambition of U2 and Coldplay and Snow Patrol and Elbow and Editors and all those bands stuffed with earnest young men, proving too that they can pack out stadiums with their particular brand of melancholy-lite. And that is why Joy Division are the wrong comparison, their grief was private somehow and introspective, whereas White Lies cannot quite shake the sense of hope and optimism in their music, which Joy Division did well to banish entirely.

Europe after the Rain - John Foxx

2009-01-25T15:53:00.005Z

After the emotionally distanced and anxiety-ridden Metamatic (Underpass and On the Plaza are anti-advertisements for the modern world) John Foxx reconnects with his romantic side and goes all exuberant for Europe after the Rain.

Reasons why the saxophone is not the work of the devil No 2

2009-01-25T14:14:00.007Z

Japan - Methods of Dance

"Then out of the blue / you're here by me"

Japan always seemed so incredibly serious about their music; even in their pre-fame glam rock poseur phase they seemed so earnest to get it right (even if everyone else thought they got it terribly wrong). Their music is so expertly crafted it is often difficult to find anything wrong with it, unless you enjoy nit-picking. It is not surprising therefore that if anyone can, Japan can do great things with the saxophone.

1980's Methods of Dance from the album 'Gentlemen Take Polaroids' is one of the finest moments in Pop, rock, whatever. It starts with the lonely wail of the saxophone over low rumbling synths, joined effortlessly by delicate 'piano' and David Sylvian's moody and obscure singing. I think there is a glockenspiel in there somewhere. It is the chorus which grazes magnificence however, the music falls only to rise on raptures of synth, voice and sax, all merging into each other, the woman's voice lending it an air of exoticism which Japan were to stamp all over this, and successive album, 'Tin Drum.' The percussion sounds like the beat of angels' wings. But it does not stop there, the sax solo in the middle bit (wow I am so un-technical when it comes to songs) manages to show how this much maligned instrument can be graceful without overwhelming, before we are treated to another rendition of the chorus to fade. Whilst Japan's music continues to beguile and astonish with its apparent simplicity, Methods of Dance cannot be matched for sheer atmosphere and troubling sense of melancholy.

Reasons why the saxophone is not the work of the devil No 1

2009-01-23T23:29:00.004Z

Ultravox! - Hiroshima Mon Armour

"Somehow we drifted off too far / communicate like distant stars"

Tucked away amongst songs filled with the bile, aggression and horror of the emptiness and banality of modern life is the wonder that is 'Hiroshima Mon Armour', possibly one of the most achingly beautiful songs of the post-punk age, a paean to everything innocent lost. Beginning with the soft, melancholic chunter of the drum machine, then the meandering and eerie synths kick in before the saxophone makes its entrance. But what a soft and affecting entrance it is, low and subtle rather than the the honking devilish solo that was to become the staple of the 80s. John Foxx's strangely disaffected croon only adds to the atmosphere as the song rumbles along at a slow and stately pace (the lyric 'riding intercity trains / dressed in European greys' is for me the best description of the images that the rhythm evokes). Even the lengthy improvisation on sax at the end manages to preserve its dignity - this is the most Polite and English of sax solos, never becoming unrestrained and not Getting Too Carried Away. This song was notable for me in that it proved to me that saxophones were not always Bad and that Ultravox pre-Midge Ure were infinitely superior.

In Remembrance of Billy Mackenzie

2009-01-23T21:09:00.002Z

I forgot that yesterday (22 january) was the anniversary of the passing away of Billy Mackenzie (The Associates) so here's to his memory and his wonderful soaring voice

Magic Magic

2009-01-23T21:03:00.003Z

A band and an album of the same name, Magic Magic are obscure characters being almost impossible to locate on the 'net and with their album only available from Rough Trade (I had the fortune to visit the Rough Trade East shop recently and it was well worth a visit, although my bank account would not agree). This was one of my attempts to buy an album on the strength of the review alone (I did this with Interpol and it worked very well) - a gushing review in the Sunday Times singing the praises of these young men from the US who have two drummers and use banjos and sing whimsical songs about jellyfish, alongside a picture of them covered in what looked like blood but could be strawberry jelly. I think it was the picture that enticed me, after all it suggested they would either be very twisted or quirky. It turns out that Magic Magic are more quirky than twisted after all, their lyrics describing fantastical scenarios sung in a childlike and naive fashion, very sweet in fact but without being cloying. It took me a couple of listens to get into it properly as it is far more folk orientated than the post-punk fest I have had of late. Now I love it and will urge everyone I know to rush to Rough Trade and purchase a copy!

Crispy Ambulance - The Plateau Phase

2009-01-10T10:31:00.002Z

With so much stuff sloshing around in our culture these days it has been remarkably easy to find new avenues for exploration. It must have been so different for earlier generations, without TV, without cinema, without the enormous printed media, without the Internet. Sometimes finding stuff so easily does seem like cheating in a way, there is the small thrill of the initial discovery and then it becomes just another bit of stuff along with all the rest. I try to gravitate towards those albums which have a story behind them, a story that I have often concocted to 'tell' the way in which they were found. As it is with Crispy Ambulance (a name which seems revealing somehow even though it is nonsense) who first came to my attention whilst watching the film Control about the life of Ian Curtis (I ended up not learning much more really than what the NME has told me). The singer of Crispy Ambulance, Alan Hempsall, stood in for Ian Curtis once when the latter was unable to perform. I thought then, what a bizarre name for a band. I remembered it though, which is how I came to listen to their one and only 'proper' album, The Plateau Phase. At the time of release in 1982 (I am coming to the conclusion that 1982 was one of the greatest years for music) Crispy Ambulance seem to have been unduly affected by the music media's continuing obsession with Joy Division and were condemned for 'slavishly' copying said band. I have always thought the praise for Joy Division was somewhat fanatical; Joy Division, to me, on record come across as distant and aloof, rather bleak (live it seems they were far more aggressive), Crispy Ambulance on the other hand feel so much more alive, even if their subjects are as melancholy, and the album throbs at times with a primal power. Take Are you Ready? which builds slowly and slowly into a mantra, developing the suspense... then unfortunately things falls flat with the dirge-y Travel Time but never mind, they tried. We are back on track with The Force and the Wisdom, Hempsall howling over minimal keyboards, the bass echoing eerily in and out, conjuring visions of dark forests and night-time. Although inspired by Sex Pistols and Magazine like most bands at that time, Crispy Ambulance also seem to be closet hippies, I am not sure exactly why I think this but there is something far looser in their sound than the jerky rhythms of the post-punk leaders; that they take their inspiration from nature as well as from the Modern. Hempsall's voice, whilst flat at times, is unaffected and 'real.' The repetitive, driving rhythms echo hypnotic 'tribal' rituals (but might also be where the charge of being 'turgid' came from depending upon whether you like that kind of thing). Take The Wind Season which, close to the end, breaks down into chants of 'oo ah oo', and We move through the Plateau with its refrain 'Nature attacks you and Nature heals you.' Whilst Death from Above sounds like they were trying to capture the feel of the Arctic, something which Joy Division also excelled at, however Crispy Ambulance's effort comes across as slightly wistful, suggesting there is some optimism beneath the froideur.

So much music, so little time...

2009-01-09T12:55:00.006Z

It's been ages since I posted here and so many albums I have neglected to even compose the beginnings of a review... in order to catch up I am going to cheat and keep everything to a sentence, hoping to capture the essence somehow.

PS Except for The Cure all of these albums are from the 1980s

The Crackdown - Cabaret Voltaire
Grimy and forbidding, the sound of steel shutting down, nihilistic shopping centres and underground car parks, not to mention wildly innovative.

Head on The Door / The Top / Disintegration / The Cure / Faith / Japanese Whispers / Pornography / Wish / Seventeen Seconds / 4:13 Dream / Mixed Up - The Cure
In the search for the perfect emotional rush - be it happiness, heaven, gloom, despair, optimism, hope, fear, boredom, tension - The Cure just about nails every one you could ever imagine; they are more than essential, they are vital.

Voice:The best of Eyeless in Gaza - Eyeless in Gaza
Two men, a synthesiser and effortless amounts of quiet creativity

Immigrant / Promise / Voodoo Dollies: The Best of Gene Loves Jezebel - Gene Loves Jezebel
Perfect before they decided to go all Bon Jovi, the Welsh coalfields meets melancholy meets two oddly-coiffed brothers makes dark, wild fairy stories

Life in the Gladhouse: The Best of Modern English - Modern English
Bizarrely labelled as 'Goth' more agitated popsters producing some interesting tunes (some which appear to have inspired LCD Soundsystem), unfortunately remembered only for their soppiest offering 'Melt with You'

Swimming / Spectators of Life - The Names
Finally a group to dispel notions that the Belgians can only produce good beer and chocolate, lovely dreamy, wobbly pop to fall in love with - 'Life by the Sea' going onto my list of the most beautiful songs ever

For all and none / Pindrop - The Passage
Britain seems to be good at producing dramatic, if obscure, intelligent pop, The Passage are no exception even if sometimes they come across like a typical English day, wet and murky

If I Die, I Die - The Virgin Prunes
There is no justice in the world that the flamboyant, sarcastic, entertaining, over-the-top 'Prunes should not be as famous as their childhood friends, U2

Garlands - The Cocteau Twins
Before they started cooing of elle megablast burls and itchy glowbos, the Cocteau Twins exercised a darker imagination, captured here in all its stark beauty

Here Comes Everyone - The Wake
Etheral vocals, woozy sounds, lovelorn lyrics and dainty guitar, The Wake represent the template for many an 80s / 90s twee Indie band; there are many moments of sublimity e.g. 'All I asked you to do' which sets a high standard for tugging at your heartstrings

In the Flat Field - Bauhaus
Help! this is scary stuff, the desperate sound of a band struggling to get out of the East Midlands (I know how that feels...)

Double standards who me? LOL

2008-11-19T00:10:00.002Z

Hmm remember a time not so long ago when the 1980s were universally reviled for their incredible lack of palatable music and general hilarity in that anyone would ever be seen dead in legwarmers and a ra-ra skirt. Yet how soon we are to forget... or maybe it was all a media confection anyway, as is much of the so-called popular imagination of the 80s. So I have to admit that I was surprised to find that some of my now favourite bands existed in the 80s and produced surely some of the most compelling music ever committed to vinyl and cassette, now CD and iPod (perhaps even mini-disc if that cute format had not been relegated to the Betamax pages of technology history). It seems that others have been thinking along the same lines and now the lies have been swept away. Saxophone solos are not necessarily the work of Satan as we are discovering - although not strictly from the 80s, Hiroshima Mon Armour by Ultravox! showed that saxophones can be tasteful, it was only over-use by Trevor Horn and others that destroyed its credibility (perhaps). Over-indulgence in the studio (drugs as well as music) would not necessarily result in a cringing unlistenable mess as long as the creative impulse was not completely shot to pieces - step forward Sulk by Associates which is near as dammit the most perfect album ever and it comes out of the 80s ha ha! And so a new generation of young persons are reclaiming the good elements of the 80s that have so long been subsumed beneath the dross loved by the media - so instead of Japan we have Duran Duran, instead of Propaganda we have Frankie Goes to Hollywood, instead of Associates we have Wham and instead of Ultravox! we have Ultravox (okay this is where it gets confusing so post-Foxx Ultravox to be more precise). Why can't we have them all? I say we should fight for an alternative history of music! And fall in love with those falling in love with the true spirit of the 80s... Ladyhawke, Late of the Pier, Ladytron, These New Puritans, Wild Beasts. That should be enough to get the Recession party started...

Club tropicanca birds are free

2008-11-14T09:32:00.005Z

Some perverse syncronocity is at work, so lets explore the links between three works that perhaps bear no relation to each other yet seem to clump together in my consciousness. Well it's not that they don't share anything... all written in the musical ferment of the early 80s, the wonky new pop influence evident -Club Country (1982) bringing up latent memories of Club Tropicana (1983); picture the scene as the cod flamenco guitars of Alan Rankine strike up, the studios dissolve in a blue haze and past sails George Michael on his lilo, cocktail in hand smiling charmingly at Billy MacKenzie's untamed exotic vocal stylings whilst beside the pool friend Robert Smith dances blissfully, the seeds of Birdmad Girl (1984) being planted inside, he only turning arch cynicism into sweetness. Lets go so far as to suggest that the next link in the chain be La Isla Bonita (1987) only now the sweetness has become cloying, the early stabs at hedonism (even if to sneer) replaced with faux nostalgia for a popstar's dreams...

So my ipod has discovered it's favourite bands to be The Cure and Joy Division. Okay so there is no proof of a conspiracy but sitting here this morning already there have been 5 tracks by the Cure and its not as if they are the most represented band on here... Associates and Japan might enter into fisticuffs to gain THAT title! Not that I'm complaining mind, I have this strange Philip K Dick-inspired idea that the ipod is somehow designed to tap into the feelings emanating from your brain waves so that it tailors the music (when on shuffle) to suit your mood - hence last night when I was feeling a bit down it responsed quite brilliantly with Fight (The Cure) amongst others with it's inspiring lyrics to fight against the gloom that engulfs you in its bitter embrace. Apart from Pornography though - which remains a difficult album for me to digest even in the happiest of moods - I find the Cure strangely uplifting, as with Joy Division, perhaps even with the strange howling of Bauhaus in the flat fields, the recognition that these despondent feelings are not yours alone.

Last of the Pier - fantasy Black channel

2008-10-06T22:36:00.003+01:00

Wow this band... every time I put this album on I just want to spin around the room in mental way singing my head off (although some of the songs don't have words just create fantastic pictures...) I guess if I had to describe the sound it would be a mash of voice and plastic, muzak and laughter, pathos and inebriation, the headlong crash of youth discovering it has no boundaries 'cept itself. All the usual cliches LOL. I found it after the fire at Weston pier which kind of made sense to the name.... 'Space and the Woods' - favourite things condensed into sound with (trying to be profound) lyrics (got to love the pretentiousness of youth) 'I know they don't owe me anything not after what I've done'... but what crime is that except to make a superb album? 'Heartbeat' another stunner despite the lack of actual lyrics. getting work up a treat 'a heartbeat a flicker a line' but does it mean except on a machine (it's just a line after all)? I feel them crawl into the cables... saving the best till last a magnificent stomp along this 'bathroom gurgle' ... it could mean so many things... the gurgle of water, the gurgle as blood is drawn... hey come on they put these thoughts in my head! "we have all been wasting our time" don't worry guys it's just false modesty...

limbo, panto - wild beasts

2008-09-09T21:16:00.004+01:00

Imagine a bastard child of the Associates and Orange Juice, throw in a dictionary and tales of furtive goings on and you are close to imagining the sound of Wild Beasts. The song titles are a delight in themselves, the imaginatively entitled 'Brave Bulging Buoyant Clairvoyants' with its catchy (if a mouthful) refrain and the evocative 'She purred while I grrred ' tells you all you need to know... finally a band with an acute sense of the absurd arrives to brighten a turgid offering from over-hyped indie miseries and 80s copyists. Because for all their subtle similarities there is something new and exciting afoot.... so the Associates link is not lazily made to referencing singer Hayden's operatic yearnings but as a context for the oblique lyrics and obscure sense of humour that is demonstrated (of course there has been bands since but I fail to remember any at the present moment), such beauties as 'take these chips with cheese / as an offering of peace' and perhaps the most arresting as it floats across a crowded field, sung in all seriousness. Lilting guitars and the deeper richness of bassist Tom's voice combine to create a sublimity rightly championed by Steve Lamacq amongst others, for, above all, how could a band not be loved for such lines as 'I swear by my own cock and balls'? It is unfathomable.

A secret wish - Propaganda

2008-07-24T21:53:00.002+01:00

If pop was always this obscene and this beautiful, a discovery that only you've made crawling into the myriad sounds conjured up by the machines, selling your soul to the statuesque alabaster carved of English and German uniting in the hands of megalomania of sound... power force motion drive propels its forward on wings of fairlight constructions, is it a sense of humour or wilful perversity that drops a jazz solo for goodness sake into this teutonic wilderness, lives and loves are lost in the blink of an eye, you murdered love 'I was the witness but now I'm the judge... I am the judge! And I judge this to be more than a guilty pleasure, dripping in the decadence of the 80s mania for pop - dance away the shoulder pads and celebrate the melancholy redolent under mascara tinged skies. Sorry for laughing but how can you turn a hyper-mania indie dirge legend to a synth drenched industrial pop dirge only a genius would even have the lunacy to attempt it but to pull it off... there is magic here in spades, the most unlikely spaces thrill with glitter; Jewel the sound of cheese graters if they could sing, its counterpart Duel so ludicrously conventional you have to wonder... 'Frozen faces can always melt' so throw away those assumptions now! Its sooooo 80s but can you forgive just a teeny bit for the marvellous pomposity of it all, feel the drama as everything AND the kitchen sink is flung in (somewhere even synth pop supremo David Sylvian lurks before he turned his back on artifice and reclaimed his soul). Selling my soul, selling my soul, never look back (goodbye the modern age with your dreary copyists)... it has the super shiny sheen of gloss Trevor Horn's sticky fingers by association even if he was too taken by the sleaze of Frankie and the hyperbole of Morley taints it still but a synth pop treat best consumed vociferously.

'There you stand making my life possible' - The music of David Sylvian

2008-07-20T20:21:00.005+01:00

If you told me a few months ago that I would be listening to music which seems to be inspired by those who live in the endless deserts grassy savannahs and tangled forests away from the superficiality of the western world, the silence in-between the puzzle of existence, isolated communities, ambient jazz noodlings and mystical spiritualism then I probably would have laughed for a long and hysterical moment. Needless to say my changed has been changed from contact with the long and interesting career of David Sylvian. Prior to recent David Sylvian had existed for me in that periphery in the mind rarely explored, a name with such connotations attached as world music, difficult, obscure, a pretentious and aloof chap (also mixed up with David Byrne) but with little actual meaning. So when the name becomes something real it is hard to resist the category being dragged up, assumptions and all, to be re-fashioned into something new and exciting. So the category David Sylvian now means a rich complexity of sound, the only singer I can give time to for ambient jazz (yes really) David Sylvian I have to hand it to him. He has kept me going in the times when I felt down, the rich melancholic timbre of his voice at once soothing and troubling, the gentle hush of twilight in an over-stimulated world. Like Billy Mackenzie he underwent something of a dramatic change from a very mannered, (if not as hysterical as Billy M), approach to singing, finding and settling in with his voice over a number of years, along with the relentless desire to experiment with music and seeming to push himself into new territory with each new release. The one thing holding it all together is his voice, familiar, easing gently into more adventurous soundscapes.

Perversely I started with the album which is considered to be the most difficult to listen to - Blemish - written during the break-up of Sylvian's marriage and completed in a relatively short time. Although the accompanying instrumentals were stark (at times the scratching of a guitar is the only embellishment) and the songs at times could be accused of being rambling, I was surprised how quickly I took to the album. Particularly compelling were the sentiments explored - 'How little we need to be happy' and 'The heart knows better' really struck a chord and filled me with confidence that experimental music does not have to be a chore or a pose but can be enjoyed.

Going back in time Brilliant Trees was Sylvian's first solo album after the split with Japan, interesting in that it sounds almost nothing like his previous work (see the Dolphin Brothers Catch the Fall for a more obvious take on what Japan might have sounded like had they not imploded) but explores different musical textures including jazz (shudder) and acoustic. It could be a mess but musically its coherent and held together by its themes of understanding your place in the world (inspired by reading Sartre's Nausea which accentuates the desire of intellectual pretensions so missing in some music). 'Pulling punches' opens the collection in an exhilarating way, perhaps the most upbeat number, followed by 'Red Guitar' which is my absolute favourite even despite the obvious jazz influenced piano, regarded rather disgustingly by a friend of mine, which only endeared it to me more. More introspective are 'Nostalgia' and 'Brilliant Trees' and no less wonderful for it.

Everything and nothing (with its plaintive cover) is a quick way to come up to speed with the work of Sylvian, an anthology of his work whilst with Virgin records, including the albums Dead Bees on a cake and Secrets of the beehive as well as various rarities and singles that have not made it onto previous albums. It also includes the glorious 'Pop Song' which Sylvian apparently wrote in response to being asked to do something more commercial... as you can imagine it is anything but, merging discordant chords with grumbling lyrics and for the possessor of such an emotion-filled voice it emerges that it is possible for Sylvian to sound utterly blank. A superb two fingers to the charts (needless to say it didn't get anywhere but are we surprised?) 'Bamboo Houses' continues the Eastern influences so explicit in Japan's music and it is the diversity of the styles covered that so intrigues; Sylvian has the intelligence to surround himself with excellent musicians that are as eager to deconstruct sound as he is.

Despite the power of his voice, the largely instrumental albums that Sylvian has released are not disappointing in that they lack which is so appealing. Gone to Earth contains some of the most evocative music I have ever heard, conjuring up hidden idylls in their titles as well as the soundscapes created; 'A Bird of Prey vanishes into a bright blue cloudless sky' and 'Sunlight seen through towering trees' leave no mystery as to the atmospheres they wish to create in the imagination. This is the second half of the album, the first half is concerned with songs that are just as beautiful, even the lengthy 'Wave' (over nine minutes) does not outstay its welcome and (excuse the terrible analogy) ebbs and flows with Sylvian's emotional lyrics, very compelling. 'Taking the veil' is much gentler yet throbs with the same power. It is purely an emotional engagement, I find myself at a loss exactly how to articulate the impact... the same too with Alchemy: An Index of possibilities which brings together other instrumentals, the short 'Words with the Shaman, Pt 2: Incantation' (featuring lively percussion from Steve Jansen) is gripping, impossible to guess exactly where all the sounds come from (real or taped) but of this earth. It is grounded, evocative of the difference to be discovered when conventional approaches are abandoned. It is a constant; Japan were playing with difference, even if it seems submerged under style, and Sylvian to me represents the ceaseless roaming of an unsettled soul, seeking for constancy, perhaps not finding (or wishing) to find it...

Catch the fall - the Dolphin Brothers

2008-07-14T22:11:00.003+01:00

Having become worryingly addicted to David Sylvian in the interim of writing my last blog post (but more about that later) I found this little gem of an 80s album (1987 to be precise) lurking on itunes accessible through one of those handy little collections that itunes cunningly puts together to tempt you to buy more stuff having, as it does, a tenuous connection to some loved performer (in this case Japan). In this case the connection is not so tenuous as the Dolphin Brothers are bona fide former members of Japan, Steve Jansen (brother of David Sylvian, clatterer of drums) and Richard Barbieri (wielder of synth) sounding here very much like Japan 'gone commercial', Jansen even sings spookily like his big brother. In many ways this album is atrocious, it has that forgettable late 80s production sheen, world music pretensions, too many instruments, obligatory female backing singers but with enough of a smattering of the stuff that made Japan so brilliant, lurking there just beneath the surface... but lacking (really) whatever made them so compelling (also see John Foxx's and the Associates' work around this time which is enough to knock any hero from their pedestal). However there is something endearing about how from the wreckage of a band implosion comes offerings that are not quite but almost... so 'Catch the Fall' floats into consciousness pleasantly enough, 'Shining' wears its POP pretensions all over its sugary saturated sleeves... theres some wonky guitar wriggling through 'Second Sight' ... then I realise that Jansen and Barbieri are standing by some trees, ahem in a very similar (arty) manner to Sylvian on 'Brilliant Trees' a bit too convenient and the pink filter looks naff... well you get the idea I suppose, the guitars get a little bit more bombastic on 'Real Life real answers' but this is a mostly inoffensive affair. 'Pushing the River' ends on a positive if melancholic note, despite its lightweight sound at strange variance to the attempt at portentiousness it has one of those chord changes that weaves it's magic and invites surrender... one of those magical moments that exists in the space between voice, chord, instrument when there's a pause, Steven Jansen sings "I'd die for you" and the music swells to meet him as the lump rises in the throat... and you realise that even trifling obscure 80s music can have that impact and pretentiousness evaporates.

obscure alternatives - japan

2008-04-27T14:28:00.003+01:00

the early incarnation of japan was inspired by the de reigeur roxy music, david bowie and new york dolls, 'obscure alternatives' an apt title being largely ignored by the UK music press (so obscure) as being derided for their outmoded approach to music in the light of post-punk and new wave (so alternative). it rather goes against that quaint British idea that we like to champion the underdog. so there is a certain misery pervading japan's otherwise brimful of youthful enthusiasm and defiance throughout (not least on the cover where they stare dolefully), echoed in titles 'sometimes i feel so low' and 'deviation' and subject matter which deals with colonialism (Rhodesia), as well as more traditional subjects. it is not hard to imagine why the band decided on a complete overhaul in time for their next album (Quiet life) however it is not so bad, instrumental 'The Tenant' revealing a calm and quiet beauty that exists alongside the claustrophobia.

the very best of... japan

2008-04-16T20:11:00.003+01:00

the musical journey continues albeit meandering down another path which appears to be sign posted 'new romantic' but then has been hastily scribbled out by another hand rather crudely. ah Japan, until today only a dimly acknowledged existence in my mind but from today an essential part of a late 70s, early 80s musical odyssey. and yes you have to be quick as japan had a pretty short shelf life, like the associates imploding at the height of their chart success, a long-winded climb which saw many fits and start, break-ups and changes of direction from glam rock poseurs to new romantic visionaries. japan are also credited with producing one of the most oddest chart hits in 'ghosts', its anxious vocals laid over seemingly random, atonal synth creations (like someone messing in the studio) but strangely compelling as these songs always are. 'ghosts' kicks off this retrospective which largely ignores the glam rock beginnings and starts from third album 'quiet life' where they ditched this direction and set off on a far more melodic path augmented with synths, brass, sax, but as opposed to their peers (like Ultravox for instance) setting it off on a creative tangent towards the East. i would suggest that whilst every CD insert wishes to claim some kind of superiority for every single outsider 80s band in inspiring a myriad copyists, Japan is the only band so far where I can hear the obvious. 'Quiet life' for instance resonates with staccato guitar, chundering synth and David Sylvian's rich, languorous, if drawling, voice, immediately showing where Duran Duran got most (if not all) their inspiration from - 'girls on film' is clearly 'quiet life' recycled and re-processed. sure there are also references in the music, most obvious to me from roxy music (sometimes sylvian sounds uncannily like bryan ferry) and probably david bowie as well since every band in this period seems to owe a debt to Bowie (one day I might listen to him to find out how). a glance at the videos on Youtube also shows why japan are credited with the 'new romantic' tag, they are all bouffant hair, lipgloss, eyeliner and quiet flamboyance. apparently david sylvian was thrown out of school for wearing make up and dying his hair, still pretty subversive now since you only have to look at the comments on youtube to see that people cannot cope with such expressions of individualism without having to denigrate them. Like the best pop songs here you will find defiance in the face of indifference, flamboyance shot through with melancholy or something more sinister. the lyrics of 'gentlemen take polaroids' for instance seem to have a creepy subtext but you would not guess that from the way the song floats along woozily from the speakers and into your ears, until the prolonged ending of ghostly sighs. two songs about parties - 'the art of parties' and a cover of 'all tomorrow's parties' - promise disappointment rather than the smiles that come from balloons and jelly and ice cream (add 'party fears two' and 'i'm a party' to make the most miserable party ever!) as i'm keeping a tally i might as well mention that yes there is saxophone, most noticeably on 'methods of dance' which is also the stand out track for me here, blending female vocals, the afore-mentioned high keening noodling sax, moaning bass, glockenspiels, and near-indecipherable lyrics, all of which hit their emotional receptors in my brain with gusto. kudos also to the mesmerising 'taking islands in africa' and 'nightporter' which showcases Sylvian's voice with minimal backing of piano and oboe (or clarinet), very affecting. as an introduction it worked its magic on me and now I am seeking to investigate the japan back catalogue. see you in the racks!

the correct use of soap - magazine

2008-04-13T11:04:00.003+01:00

there is something highly claustrophobic about the new wave, post-punk movement; after all the social values against which punk railed, perhaps the only ones brave enough to show the ugly side (despite the condemnation of punk as nihilistic and yobbish, who else has had the guts to reveal the true exploitative nature of the royal family except the sex pistols?), remain seemingly as permanent and indestructible as ever even today thirty years later. for me its encapsulated in the title to magazine's third album (1980) - why does it matter if there is a correct use for soap? who defines what is the correct and incorrect way? should we care, I think so! so whilst you are dreaming up a myriad incorrect uses for soap and revelling in that remaining freedom, allow Howard Deveto (singing), John McGeoch (guitars), Barry Adamson (bass), Dave Formula (keyboards) and John Doyal (drums) to soundtrack such irreverent musings with their brand of nervy, anxiety ridden collection. And does the anxiety seep into everything here! It's a new decade but seemingly there is nothing to celebrate, only the misguided attraction towards being in love which is anything but joyful ('I want to burn again') or based on irrational, negative impulses ('Because you're frightened.') "I'm a party' alludes to the least amount of fun you might have at a party ever - 'a song from under the floorboards' poignantly details the feelings of those who cannot fit in and 'model worker' reveals why because it's about having to fit in with demands of others ("I just want to know while the revolution lasts, will it enable me to swallow broken glass?") Yet despite the disillusion felt, this album avoids drowning in gloom retaining a funky, jaunty edge, with Deveto's often flat, slightly cynical voice the most obvious manifestation of doubt. evident to are all the hallmarks which would eventually be abused throughout the 80s (saxophones, female backing singers, synthesisers) but here are used sparingly to create effect rather than swamp. as relevant today for anyone who feels all at sea in the modern world...

The Radio 1 Sessions Vol 2 1984-1985 - the associates

2008-04-09T20:15:00.004+01:00

In which Billy Mackenzie attempts to re-write Associates history. Well it was probably not his intention but launching into the speedy delivery of Associates' classics minus Alan Rankine offers a very different prospect to the originals, conveying a vague, if not quite there, sense of 'let's get these over and done with.' 'Message Oblique Speech' in particular is twisted into some almost semblance of straight forward (if murky) guitar pop without the strange undercurrents of sound created on 'Fourth Drawer Down' and 'Kites' lacks the delicate sonic flourishes of the 39 Lyon Street version, its gentleness butchered by an un-sympathetic guitar. However, the insouciance with which Billy's voice soars and spins and meanders around with the melody keeps his performance compelling as always on this second volume of songs culled from the Radio 1 archives. So here are sessions for Richard Skinner, Janice Long, Saturday Live and Phil Kennedy. More successful is a suitably melancholic version of traditional weepy 'The Crying Game' where the beauty is all in voice and unobtrusive piano, and a low key 'Dogs in the Wild' which makes it into a kind of jazz version somehow working and likewise 'Gloomy Sunday' retains an incongruously uptempo backing along with a calmer, if still dramatic, vocal. I find the cover of 'Heart of Glass' unfortunately pedestrian. 'Obsession Magnificent' is better, Billy sounding re-energised and begging the question what happened to it? The equally powerful 'Give' would eventually turn up on Wild and Lonely as 'Something's got to give' and hearing it in its earlier form breathes life into what would be trampled into submission by lacklustre production (even if the production here is not the best either). And although I am not a fan of 'Take me to the girl' it endears with its softly spoken introduction from Billy (suggesting he could have had a fantastic career as a Butlins entertainer if that had floated his boat... I'M JOKING) and the casual delivery of the song itself, although the synths in the background spoil things by sounding cheap and nasty. The last three songs also appear on 'Perhaps' in a very similar guise, it might be my ears but I couldn't discern much difference to the finished article except 'Breakfast' sounds somewhat richer, slightly more lavish. But as I say that might just be my ears.

the warp of pure fun - paul haig

2008-04-08T19:57:00.005+01:00

Whilst the 60s and the 70s are usually deemed revolutionary times for music, the poor 80s are usually remembered in the terms of the dross that clogged up the charts. Oh there has been a reconsideration of the early part of the decade when songs like 'party fears two' could ride high in the charts and the 'New Pop' seemed to offer a new hope for literate, melodic and fabulously camp pop that would engender some delight in watching re-runs of Top of the Pops. But why bother when you know you will only get Tiffany, Debbie Gibson, Frankie goes to Hollywood or the hideous clones peddled by S/A/W and their ilk? My archaeology into 80s music (following links and connections) however has peeled back the layers to reveal that just below the surface of the glossy horror of the charts is an entirely different picture of artists sticking to their guns and experimenting the sounds in their heads without finding any glory or respectability from the majority of the record buying public, despite critical acclaim. Such is Paul Haig, formerly of the pneumatic Josef K, and about to release his tenth album. Leaving behind the spiky guitars and urgent vocals that characterised the Ks, Paul Haig has (according to my 'net researches) since dabbled in swing, funk, electronica and rock. There is also the collaboration with Billy Mackenzie (Memory Palace) uncovering a vision between the two men to want to swing precariously between genres, not labelling themselves as purveyors of crowd pleasing similarity. I started with 'The Warp of Pure Fun' purely on the subjective connection with the other Associate, Alan Rankine, who helped produce most of the tracks here and contributed guitars and keyboards. Although recorded in the mid 80s the album was never released until much later; like Billy Mackenzie, Paul Haig seems to have suffered from poor relations with his labels.

Enough of the history, which is probably very poorly expressed anyway! Considering my less than positive views of the mid 80s music - partly conditioned by a fear of descending into nostalgia - I approached with trepidation. But I found much to enjoy even if my powers of description are limited at the moment. Haig's voice is not the most romantic, but is dramatic and although it seems he might overpower the lighter arrangements, such as on 'One lifetime away', when the music builds to meet him it creates a pleasing juxtaposition. It cannot be said that you completely escape the typical 80s touches, including (horror of horrors) sax, overwrought female backing and those strange synth noises that they loved so much then, but generally it fulfils what I increasingly appreciate in pop music, conveying an intelligence and flamboyance without losing sight of the ephemeral joys pop brings, so not too clever by half to be horribly ironic and destroy whatever beauty and meaning it had. Most compelling is 'Endless Song' which I am currently playing to death because its combination of squalling guitar, minimal synth and Haig's pronouncements sends me into raptures for the unknown reason that it just does. How can you explain these things? Anyway, other good things come in the shape of 'The only truth' where Haig is helped by Bernard Sumner from New Order and others, and 'Sense of fun' where some poor sucker is lambasted for not having one (perhaps not so poor if directed at the record label ha ha). One to convince those who feel that the 1980s have nothing to offer, along with 'Sulk' and 'Metamatic'.

interview with Alan Rankine, Resonance FM Tuesday 11 March 2008

2008-03-11T23:26:00.004Z

Personally I had never heard of Resonance FM and probably never would have had it not been for a message on the Associates list that I belong to telling of an interview with the great Alan Rankine! Resonance FM itself appears to be one of those strange arty type things that Bourdieu would have a field day with because god only knows who it caters for. When I dutifully turned on at 7.45 just prior to Alan Rankine's interview at 8pm I was greeted with the sound of wolves howling and then some guy joined in with them on the guitar. Apparently he records his songs live with the animals around him. It was surreal but I could not help but think what it would have sounded like if Billy Mackenzie had ever done a duet with his whippets in tow! Whilst the interview with Alan Rankine was far less surreal, it was great to have the Associates' history from the man himself. Probably having nothing to lose, Alan seemed to have a refreshing honesty - lots of people in the Associates career history were 'shits' and talked about their drug taking without managing to glorify it in any shape or form, unless panic attacks in hospital are appealing! I guess if you are used to Heat magazine revelations there will be nothing new here but not having tracked down a copy of Tom Doyle's book, or sure that I want to, it was interesting to hear the band's trajectory from low budget cabaret stars, to naive young men agog in the brutal English capital full of shifty record company types, beating them at their own game only to freeze at the moment of stardom and reach a point of no return. Although heavy on the history there were enough quirky personal details to bring to life the relationship that the two men must have shared (along with Michael Dempsey and John Murphy who were treated at least by Alan and Billy as members of the Associates) having no money, experimenting at weird times of night, looking for kindred spirits who shared their sense of music and mischief. It is not surprising the pressure got to them and sometimes it seems difficult to enjoy the intensity of Sulk because it signals the beginning of the end. Poignant also to hear Alan Rankine speak of Billy Mackenzie's suicide, but also with warmth from his memories of a man who spent many hours perfecting his appearance before going out but who was also happy to muck out his whippets and be covered in dog shit. And therein lies the surreal world of the Associates of which we can only have tiny glimpses but it helps to flesh out the question when listening to Sulk etc, 'who would have the balls to make this?'

beat pyramid - these new puritans

2008-03-09T22:54:00.004Z

this
ALBUM pulls me back in
to present times with its irresis-
table meld of intense beats, shouty voc
als and obsession with numbers a theme whi
ch ties this relatively short collection together. It g
oes or even harks back to when bands announced their
modus operendi in no uncertain terms to fuck with the min
ds of their unexpecting public - here for instance despite the ap
parent volume of songs the bulk is killer tunes with the odd filler. but
it does not suffer for it when the actual contents are so compelling. 'Num
erology (aka numbers)' marries a catchy riff with an interesting question that
is actually answered (hooray, how many songs bug you with their unanswered q
uestions?). Although tied to the new wave heritage I hear shades of rap here, even
hot chip in the wobbly synths and young tremble / cocksure certainty of the singer's vo
ice which takes the mash up further than a mere exercise in 'how many indie bands can you
name.' 'Swords of truth' possibly even references Star Wars ('strike me down') but we'll not hold
that against them, neither that they have already become so achingly trendy that they have been as
ked to provide aural backdrop for a fashion show - instead just enjoy the twitchy sound of 'swords of
truth' and '£4' which runs the bizarre lyric by you repeatedly 'four of your pounds' until it seems quite nor
mal and enjoy the fact that they can create musical soundscapes far better than I can create a pyramid of words (because blogger won't let me)

freaks - pulp

2008-03-04T22:37:00.002Z

Pulp are mostly famous for their brillantly observed paeons to the marginalised, the outsiders who drift along on society's margins wryly looking in and revelling in the irony that being 'normal' is either overrated or as strange as the freaks are accused of being. Such traits were formed early, however the dry humour which characterises albums such as 'His and hers' and 'different class' appears to have been a later addition. Whatever humour there may be is buried deep in 'freaks.' Take the first song 'fairground.' Here the fun usually associated with eating too many sweets and candy floss and feeling sick after going on the rides and shooting at silly plastic ducks in return for an evil incarnation of zippy in a red dressing gown is tainted with a hideous hysteria, reminiscent of those fears that enabled Stephen King to create an evil clown (It) and convinced fellow Sheffielders Human League to sing about the 'circus of death.' Russell Senior intones in his flat voice the horrors of the specimens in jars he has dragged his sister to see (a dog with two heads) whilst Jarvis and the rest of the band shriek madly in the background. This is 1980s Pulp, a far remove from their shiny 90s incarnation. Tales of madness, malfunctioning relationships, melancholy and claustrophobia, exploitation and dismay abound. Jarvis alternates between Scott Walker type crooning ('I want you', 'they suffocate at night', 'don't you know'), cold and distant ('master of the universe'), frightened/frightening ('I'm being followed home' / the 'never-ending story') and plaintive ('there's no emotion', 'life must be so wonderful'), his knack with a lyric already evident in the sketches he draws. For the most part the music serves to echo the narratives that are built through the songs, such as 'being followed home' which reaches a crescendo as the narrator is chased down a 'cobbled street' that stinks of piss and fish (you have to love Jarvis for the incidental details he furnishes us with), or the simplicity of slide guitar and keyboards for the ballads like 'don't you know' which captures its fragile beauty perfectly. 'The never-ending story' is the total converse of the soft 80s pop-porn of Limahl and nameless female singer, tribal rhythms bizarrely reminiscent of the Rite of Spring and so sounding completely unlike anything else you can imagine, rising and falling with the tale of a (surprise) malfunctioning relationship where the male protagonist is treated / treating with utter contempt. After the intensity 'Freaks' is closed with another tender ballad, even if the sentiment is anything but tender - 'Festering in silence, growing in the dark... and this they saw as love' Oh dear love is evidently a tragic subject in Pulp land if you haven't already noticed here and for ever after. But it has a gloomy reality about it - 'she met his wishes, he found that he had changed his mind' and it is difficult not to be affected by Jarvis' wounded howling as the song winds to a close, backed by squalling violin and a gentle lullaby-like plod. Overall its a schizophrenic album, seemingly unsure what to do with itself and terribly traumatised as a result, but somehow endearing in its desperation.

kiss me kiss me kiss me - the cure

2008-02-28T22:37:00.002Z

from the first throbbing chords and howling guitars 'kiss me kiss me kiss me' sets my nerves on edge; this 'kiss' is not nice and pleasant and soft and warm, its intense and hungry and draining and demanding your concentration, near drowning you in despair one minute, bringing you to intense highs the next. its a schizophrenic masterpiece, always too much and not nearly enough, the closest description of obsession and torment as maybe committed to music; smith sings 'I never wanted any of this I wish you were dead' and you wonder what you have let yourself in for.

a delight definitely despite the less than joyful titles such as 'torture', 'if only tonight we could sleep' and 'the snakepit'. after the hate of 'kiss', 'catch' is laconic and wistful. 'torture' is all melodrama, gothic bass and high chiming melodies whilst Robert Smith sings like a Poe story - but despite the relentless gloom ('hanging like this, like a vampire bat') the melody is ridiculously catchy and I even find myself humming along to the synthetic horn section (?) around the 3 minute mark which for me has to be one of the most sublime moments in music as Smith sings desperately about his unknown torture. it seems wrong though to be entertained by someone's suffering but isn't that the essence of pop music? and why such singers as Mary J Bilge continue to be popular because their life is a soap opera? i would like to think that the cure play on that morbidity if only through the sheer lengths they seem to go to depict the darker sides of the human psyche. 'if only tonight...' has an eastern flavour, a haunting reminder of the (stereotypical) exotic-ness of the Orient with its mystery and melancholy in dark eyes. 'Why can't I be you?' along with 'just like heaven' are perfect pop songs, a headrush of love subverted in some way either through a slightly unhinged desire to submerge into someone else ('I'll hug you to death') or doomed love ('I found myself alone, alone alone, upon a raging sea, which stole the only girl I loved and drowned her deep inside of me'). 'How beautiful you are' has to be the most vivid song I heard about the loss of faith in human nature so starkly detailed in narrative form and startling beginning 'you want to know why I hate you, well I'll try and explain.' the romance created by the words, rustic violin and piano, only serves to bring the world crashing down further, we feel the narrator's crushing reality check as though it were our own.

'the snakepit' is a far less pleasant experience musically, underneath the dirge guitars there is tune seeking to escape but gets lost in the wreaths of echo. 'all i want' sounds raw, guitars slicing through the fragile synths and Robert Smith doing his best to unsettle us with proclaiming tonight 'he's feeling like an animal' and all he wants is to 'hold you like a dog.' Lucky girl! There is clearly more fun times to be had however in the Cure camp as 'hot hot hot!!!' attests; I could even push the boat out and say its funky, a way to sneak the cure into the disco, as could 'the perfect girl' which rambles along prettily. I admit here the appeal of Robert Smith's voice is its indulgent sound, if that makes any sense at all! 'Icing sugar' is even bizarre, a rollicking rhythm built on a high bass line and - of all things - a saxophone moaning away in the near distance (they get everywhere). it ends with 'fight' a pugilistic call to arms, at turns stodgy and repetitive, yet curiously compelling. I have given up trying to understand why I am drawn to particular songs over others ('a thousand hours' and 'shiver and shake' pass me by for instance) yet here I like the chord changes that sound vaguely eastern, conjuring up images of ancient mongol warriors like Attila the Hun. i think he would have agreed with the sentiment 'never give in' at any rate.

The back room - The Editors

2008-02-27T20:00:00.003Z

Humankind has spent quite a few of its thousand years or whatever on earth devising little boxes to organise the word into. Whether or not these boxes help us to understand it better or simply serve to create deviseness , cliques and misery is not a question to easily answer. I for one despise the concept although I spend a lot of my life organising it into neat little lists which I can then feel miserable at not achieving and I suppose its the same with boxes, we can organise everything to a certain point before we realise there is always something which will not fit. And then they or it are made to feel miserable. Anyway in a spirit of deviousness I present 10 reasons to love this album and 10 reasons to set fire to it and dance around its ashes. Whether I mean them all or not is my little secret.

Here with ten reasons to love this album:

1. 'Munich.' Enigmatic song title but relatively straightforward ditty about the need for sensitivity because "people are fragile things". It also amounts to the closest they get to a jibe - "you should know by now, be careful what you put them through" - although of course singer Tom is far too earnest for it to sound too nasty. Sage advice for everyone who breathes.

2. You like jangly indie guitars? Great, so do the Editors! You like mostly gentle songs discussing love, life, relationships and the misery of living in a Midlands town (with the worst railway station in the world)? Hooray, you might find solace in its atmospheres created.

3. The Editors aim to be EPIC in their endeavours, which results in some anthemic tunes. But not anthemic in the Oasis-beered-up-hug-your-drunk-mate kind of manner, oh no, in a manner that is far more sedate, more about grandeur, reaching for the stars rather than for the pint glass. In the words of 'Camera' - "you fall from grace, but fall with such grace."

4. If you enjoy songs which collide melancholia with hopefulness you may very well enjoy these.

5. There are moments of frenetic rush amidst the calm, "All Sparks" echoing the sentiment that the subject is rushing to their doom all too soon as the embers fall from their dying cigarette whilst "Fingers in the factories" sees a level of desperation kept under wraps until that point but which rails against the tediousness of a life we are expected to be thankful for.

6. "Bullets" is majestic, its repeated refrain 'You don't need this disease" conveying a real sense of urgency over guitars spiralling heavenward.

7. There are no saxophone solos.

8. There is a pleasing flow to the arrangement of the songs, for all the hits of intensity from songs such as 'Lights' and 'Munich' and 'Blood', we are seduced into calm with "Fall' and "Open your arms".

9. "Blood" is not only a viscous scarlet material but the name of one of the best songs here, an energetic romp about someone living in dubious circumstances: "you're with the red lights, your side of town." Yikes, sounds familiar...

10. After taking your heart and subjecting it to various lashes, highs and lows, they have the wit to end on a note of serenity with "Distance" which is quite spectacular. Lulled by tender voice and gentle guitar we feel a fulfilling end to the listening experience.

Alright that was actually harder than I thought. Here then, are ten reasons to light this album with one of the life sparks and watch it burn, dancing and laughing, until a pile of pathetic ashes.

1. There are some real highlights, however as a whole it gets a bit samey. This is particularly the fault of the guitar which does not radically alter its sound throughout and maintains the same jangly monotony.

2. Like Coldplay, Embrace, and all those dour serious bands, earnestness gets a bit dull after a while. And who are the Editors to keep preaching to all these people? It seems to be a catalogue of telling people off - treat people better, stop being self-destructive, blah blah

3. Why is Munich called Munich? There seems to be no explanation as to why its named after the German city and its annoying me. A justifiable reason to want to burn it.

4. On a good day, the ballads sound tender and warm. On a bad day, they just sound dirgey.

5. Its pleasant but that can be pretty damning. There is little mystery. Its easy to hear what they sing about (although I swear 'Lights' begins with 'I still love the lino baby'), all the songs have recognisable verse chorus structure. Its hardly challenging or creating any provocation.

6. There are loads of indie bands like this, take your pick. Do we really need another? Especially since the Editors do not necessarily bring a new perspective to the themes considered here.

7. They might be a good live band, and the live atmosphere might enable some of the more tedious songs to breathe, become more lovely, but I have not been able to find out, humph.

8. It makes you long for something more experimental. It wears its influences and intentions too much on its sleeve and, although such honesty is endearing, you cannot imagine them coming up with anything different (and the second album is pretty similar). Perhaps a kazoo or a glockenspiel would have livened things up a bit?

9. The songs are pretty enough but as I am finding after returning to this album after some prolonged absence, I am finding it hard to recapture the reason why I felt attracted to this album in the first place. The magic seems to have gone.

10. Because it's fun to burn things.

The Radio One Sessions Volume One 1981-1983 - The Associates

2008-02-23T23:05:00.003Z

Radio hasn't been the same without John Peel. He was one of the rare DJs who managed to transcend the usual constrictive categories that bedevil how we must identify the sounds that entertain (or not) our ears. If anything he was promiscuous, playing anything and everything that took his fancy. It made for an interesting experience! And throughout all the ramblings about the Associates I think I have more than enough times conveyed that is something I liked about their approach to music - they did what they liked and, for the first three and a half albums, it worked. So bring these two worlds together, the environment of the Peel session and the brains of an inventive, willful couple of artistes and there is hopefully fireworks, loud sizzles and bangs and ooohs and aahs.

Collected here are four sessions, three for John Peel (with Alan Rankine 1981, 1982, without Alan Rankine 1983) and the last for Kid Jensen (1983). Stripped of obsessive compulsive production tendencies the first two sessions are Sulk made raw, anarchic even, without the shiny glossy polish which would pronounce them POP! Yet its never shambolic or indulgent. Growing addiction to spangly 80s guitar (check!) is well served here (too much girl, I can't do technical terms) 'Me myself and the tragic story' complete with feedback and spooky oooohs from Billy Mackenzie sounds less like a current affairs programme as it does on 'Sulk' (as Arrogance gave him up). If Billy Mackenzie seems subdued then he is BACK in full force for a hectic 'Nude spoons' and 'It's better this way'. For some reason unbeknown to me I never really warmed to 'A matter of gender' however it improves with the addition of shimmery guitar and slightly more anxious vocal. By now the late nights and hedonism must have been setting in. 'Ulcragyceptimol' has its sense of fun, 'Put me down, I'll be a good boy, honest' sings Billy and you don't quite believe him so he gets increasingly squeaky about it (it worried me when I looked at my iPod recently and realised how many squeaky male singers exist there, maybe its a subconscious affectation of mine?) Skip forwards to 1982 for the second Peel session or, it's alternative title, 'some more reasons to weep for the break-up of messrs Rankine and Mackenzine.' Instead of its resultant cheesy 80s stomp, 'Waiting for the Love boat' is far more subtle, although obviously starved of a sufficiently deep enough drum Billy Mackenzie is forced into sombrely proclaiming 'bom bom bom' at regular intervals over muted guitar and what sounds like a glockenspiel. 'Australia' too is less frantic, instruments wreathed in fog, whilst half chewed words emerge like spectres in the distance. Nothing pedestrian about 'Love hangover' either with its sparse beginning, voice and piano, sounding like some arty performance at the Barbican with cats wailing in the background before funky song proper. By 'A severe bout of career insecurity' there has to be something really spectacular to keep up the subversiveness. Its not enough that the lyrics seem to be detailing some kind of breakdown (although inevitably its probably about something else entirely). Exhibit A - affected, sullen accent to singer's voice. Exhibit B - breaking into the Sound of Music halfway through. I am definitely a fan of the misuse of hideous musical 'songs' (grumble had to sing them in school choir grumble grumble).

Then it gets all serious. No more larking about in the studio. Two what might be called 'Torch songs' (or those songs people now might wave their lighter too, guess that's safer than a torch but must also be dying out now with the smoking ban) 'God bless the child' and 'This flame'. Theoretically such things should move my stone eyes to tears but despite the beautiful Mackenzie voice, sparse piano, it ain't happening. Maybe because I just watched a film about a gigantic scary monster taking over Manhatten and my mind is full of images of monsters biting people before they die a horrible death from explosion.

The last session for Kid Jensen in 1983 covers four songs which would end up on Perhaps. Due to the increasing reliance on mechanical means of instrumentation (although I can hear guitars, they're alive!) there is little discernible difference between these and eventual album versions, though it could also be my cloth ears. 'Helicopter helicopter' would benefit from being trimmed as a crunchy bassline does not for an interesting experience make. 'Theme from Perhaps' is Perhaps minus singing so you have an opportunity to appreciate the wobbly synth rhythms which curiously sound more dated now then the earlier stuff. 'Perhaps (Schizophrenic version)' was not broadcast and it is evident after one listen why not: prefiguring Prolapse by several years (Scottish band with strange shouty male singer and melodic if combative female singer) a strange Scottish man shouts and (kind of) sings his way through a rambling story which seeks to offend on every level. This is Steve Reid. Somewhere in the background Billy Mackenzie sings away to himself (fittingly in the explanatory notes it explains that he was lying on the studio sofa with the microphone between his knees, evidently he was only half awake and so did not realise the butchery going on). Lurching from mess to the subdued grandeur of 'Don't give me that I told you so look you' is one of those classic Associates moments, sadly spoilt by murky cheesecloth dropped over the speakers. And closing with 'Breakfast' was a good move, although it doesn't quite hit the giddy heights it deserves.

Fleeting moments as fireworks are.

Silent shout - the knife

2008-02-20T22:40:00.004Z

Wednesday is gloomy, despite the crisp winter's day there has been only a focus on excessive workloads to which there seems to be no end. So instead of reaching for something to lighten to mood I decided to descend into the darkness of the world of the Knife.

Brother and sister, the Knife have worked hard to keep their identities a secret (although looking them up on the web it becomes clear that they can be unmasked however I prefer to retain the mystery) through a series of elaborate masks and refusing to embrace the commercial side of the music industry. They produce astonishingly twisted electronica, often with synthesised vocals which can be playful as well as disturbing. Very rarely do they have any relationship to organic sound - 'Silent shout' is perhaps the darkest of their three albums so far in the atmospheres created.

Opening song 'Silent shout' pulsates with shimmering waves of sound beneath lyrics of loneliness and frustration. 'Neverland' is more garish, its stomping, repetitive beat prefaced with simple descending chords and and offbeat clatter. 'I'm dancing for money that burns in my hand' - it goes without saying that this vision of neverland is not a pleasant one. Standout tracks are 'We share our mother's health' with its crazy popping synth loops and grating vocal sounds, and 'Like a Pen' which has an adorable frenetic bassline, the background swoops and whistles very eery on top of this (both songs also have sweet cartoony videos to accompany them). As for the rest, 'Marble House' is stately cabaret; 'One hit' sounds like Zippy (un)masked as a pervert singing about the fate of women to a ludicrously catchy beat (sample lyric - 'for a reasonable salary I will wash the world'); 'Na na na' builds gentle lullabies from the machines and 'Forest Families' describes some sort of enforced flee - 'they said there were communists in the family, I had to wear a mask' - the sounds bubbling under convey dark wintery woods dusted with snow. And such is the world of The Knife, 'far away from the city' with 'trees... apples, fruits maybe' and 'clean air' but the flip side that it almost in perpetual shadows, maintaining an effective ambiguity.

turn on the bright lights - interpol

2008-02-19T19:42:00.002Z

Describe the words that come into your head when listening to this album?
Melancholy, introspective, gloomy, mournful, languishing, obscure, hopeful, complicated

How would you describe Paul Bank's singing?
Not lacking in emotion as such but seeking to detach himself from anything that messy, often failing to do so. A cross between a human and a dalek.

How would you describe the instruments?
The guitar parts are melodic and tuneful, often pondorous (like on Leif Erikson) which is connected to the sense of melancholy. I have not paid much attention to the bass line but it rumbles pleasantly beneath the surface. The drums are not a huge feature either, not sure if they are that exciting as drums go?

How do you feel about the lyrics?
I am not sure if they are wilfully obilque but most times I have no idea what they are going on about. Poetical you might call them, or two clever by half if you dislike that kind of thing. It doesn't lessen my enjoyment as I am fond of bands who try to be too clever, maybe it's kind of an endearing failing. I would say that my favourite lyrics are in 'Obstacle 1' which I cannot decide between 'she can read, she's bad' and 'she can't read she's bad' which would bring two completely different meanings to the song. I cannot bear to find out what the lyrics are actually are as I am more inclined towards 'She can't read, she's bad' and I suspect it's all wrong.

What would you say were your favourite songs?
'Obstacle 1' , 'Untitled' (immediately upon hearing this I knew I would love the album), 'Say Hello to the Angels,' 'PDA' and 'Leif Erikson.' Obstacle 1 and PDA are the most upbeat songs however they unsettle in terms of the lyrics (e.g. 'we have 200 couches where you can sleep tonight' - is this referring to a traumatic stay in hospital?) yet they puzzle me the most in terms of their subject matter - just what is being sung at the end of PDA? 'Say Hello to the Angels' is more schizophrenic with its changes of pace and surprisingly cheeky lyrics 'I can't control the part of me which swells up when you move into my air space.' This combats the idea that Interpol are dour and lacking in humour. Leif Erikson on the other hand is affecting and tender.

And your least favourite?
Probably 'Stella was a diver and she was always down' which has a fabulous title but I quickly tired of the actual song since it seems to go on and on in an uninteresting manner. I haven't listened to it for a long time however so I might revise this harsh opinion.

Would you think there is much mileage in the accusation that Interpol sound like Joy Division?
I guess there are more similarities than differences in terms of the atmospheres and moods created in the songs. However I think Joy Division are more abrasive and unsettling. Interpol can be intense yet they lack the spirit of punk I think which seems to permeate Joy Division; although not being that familiar with Joy Division's music as I only own one album I would have to reflect for longer about my response to this question. I would say that Interpol draw on the late 70s, early 80s new wave/new pop influences which I am currently diving head first into and that is not a bad thing!

Any final thoughts?
I bought this album after reading a review in NME and seeing an image of the band in their suits and I was not disappointed. There are some good ideas and it struck a chord in me at the time, which continues to reverberate now. I don't think it will become one of those CDs I am embarrassed to own!

Alternative Eighties - various artists (BMG 2002)

2008-02-18T18:41:00.003Z

I bought this CD on the premise that it was cheap and seduced by the 'alternative' in the title, as my memories of the 80s were of pretty crap music and bands with bad hair. However as I have since discovered not that many of the bands represented here are very alternative at all in terms of being alternative to the 'mainstream' - indeed they may actually only be alternative to other 80s complilations! And not all of the tunes are strictly from the 80s, although a few sneak in via reissues. However it's somewhat refreshing - you won't find the usual suspects such as Wham, Duran Duran, Human League and Culture Club here.

Some of the reasons to give this complilation a willing ear: 'Boys don't cry' by The Cure before they became completely miserable; Echo and the Bunnymen's serene and sulty 'Killing Moon'; the best song ever to get in the top 10, 'Party Fears Two' by the Associates (their inclusion finally answered the puzzle of whence came that naggingly gorgeous piano riff from Radio 4's Weekending); 'Birthday' by the Sugarcubes with its daft, childlike lyrics; the rumbling 'There's a ghost in my house' by The Fall. 'Blue Monday' is a bit obvious from New Order but it's still a good tune. I remember my history teacher at school tried to introduce us to the Icicle Works on one of the last days of term and we all sneered but 'Love is a wonderful colour' is appealing in a bombastic kind of way. There are also not too many songs with the dreaded honking saxophone solo, although 'Brilliant mind' by Furniture sneaks one in. There is no respite!! I won't admit to having a soft spot for 'The King of Rock and Roll' by Prefab Sprout and will blame it instead on the giant hot dog in the video.

Yet there are also plenty of reasons to give this a wide berth. For a start it has the Blow Monkeys, Elvis Costello and the Style Council, peddling their horrible light soul funk jazz whatever... such artists should be kept far away from me. So should the Bluebells with the hideous 'Young at heart' which has troubled the charts for too many weeks in its time - they make me want to vomit, although not as much as Marti Pellow or Simply Red. I also cannot understand the inclusion of Erasure, surely they have always been mainstream? The rest are tolerable but I wouldn't rush out to overdose on information about the Passions, Bauhaus, The Only Ones, The Primitives, The Lotus eaters or the Psychedelic Furs or a whole host of bands with the prefix 'The'. They probably all use saxophones too.

As with all these compilations its rather frustrating that they could have included so many more bands who actually deserve the title of 'alternative' but then it's probably just a lazy cash in to coincide with some resurgance in the popularity of the 1980s. Still it has its uses especially if my idea for an 80s disco comes to fruition...

Boring fact - Michael Dempsey is possibly the most featured bass player here, appearing as he does on 'Boys don't cry', 'Party Fears Two' and 'The first picture of you.'

the garden - john foxx

2008-02-17T09:07:00.006Z

After his flirtation with (mainly) synthetically created sounds on 'metamatic', John Foxx offered up in 1981 'The Garden', abandoning the starkness and clean lines of moderism for lusher songs inspired by the beauty of nature, romantic overgrown old ruins, Catholicism, the warmer weather of southern Europe, superstition... its complete antithesis. However its not so simple as a break, more a contination of 1979's 'Systems of romance' (recorded when in Ultravox). Not only does it combine conventional instruments and song forms with creative useage of synthesised voice and instrument, it features Robin Simon on guitar and, most cheekily, it contains a song with that very title! There are enough ideas in 'The garden' however to prevent it from becoming repetitive - and if it does stray towards recognisable themes and textures, that is partly my own fault for binge purchasing. Highlights are surely 'Systems of Romance' and 'Night suit' which nudge closer to the jauntiness required for dancing, whilst 'Europe after the rain' is a gorgeous song to open with, its seductive imagery not quite hiding a plaintive air that longs for the warm nights and fountains Foxx sings of to replace the grey sodden cities left behind. And even better, although this is an album of the 1980s there are no saxophones to spoil the atmospheres created, hurrah!

metamatic (remastered) - john foxx

2008-02-16T19:41:00.004Z

metamatic (1980) speaks to me of the consequences of modernist excesses that continue to constrain so many town and city centres in their concrete grip. remnents of the clean, bright future shock that so quickly turned sour (10 to 20 years or so) leaving fearsome dark subways reeking of piss, tower blocks of crumbing panels and needle gardens, souless neighbourhood shopping centres heavy with metal shutters and choking on litter. a country on the verge of collapse sold to the economy and selfishness.

they may at first, appear so very bright and shiny. 'plaza' is almost a hymn to queues for cinemas, seminars in lounges, giant 'hoardings of italian cars', smoke glass, outside escalators (like childhood memories of san diego, the amazement of the outside escalator!). i can almost imagine being 'on the plaza' shielding my eyes from its white concrete glare. but an undercurrent of violence exists here - 'i remember your face from some shattered windscreen' - and its meaning suddenly becomes a whole lot darker. in the offerings presented here, it seems as if john foxx becomes the machine - his voice as synthetic as the music which skitters in the background. he stands alone too on the cover, gazing blankly into a screen of bright light as he reaches to touch it. listen closely to catch the unsettling atmospheres he creates; at turns jittery, sometimes atonal, often harsh. it's not pretty even if the textures created are striking. unsettling too are the lives of the anonymous, unknown inhabitants of this dystopia - 'he's a liquid', 'someone's gone liquid in the sheets', 'melt into a mass,' 'he was a new kind of man' 'faces blurring, faces merging' 'they read the bible about a flood'. whilst the 'underpass' might represent progress it comes at the cost of collective amnesia - 'well i used to remember / now its all gone / world war something / we were somebody's son' - set to a catchy refrain. still, it's all harsh shapes, supremely masculine, no tenderness or romance to speak of - for every poetic couplet such as 'she was dressed in a white suit / she looked like a bride too' is juxtaposed with the image of 'it's a burning car.' its all too real to be escapist with the legacy of the future world experiment still mouldering around us.

at times it can be relentless, especially with two CDs worth of material to peruse, and the music can at times sound distinctly dated or reminiscent of computer games, yet it has worn quite well. i would also suggest that the themes are still pretty relevant - the cruel anonymity of the city, the feeling that violence is never far away, the fear (real or manufactured), the search for meaning in a relentlessly changing world (just look at the evolution of the ipod / iphone for god's sake). i guess it fits my love/hate relationship with the city perfectly coz sometimes even in the hideousness of grey-streaked concrete can be found beauty.

Ultravox! - Ultravox!

2008-02-14T23:52:00.002Z

After the quiet introspection of 'Systems of romance' Ultravox's debut arrives to blast away any notions you courted of them being fey dreamers or detached onlookers of a society descending into its own scumminess. Here they seem to be in the thick of the horror as 'Satday night in the city of the dead attests' all raging guitars and not-at-all-sedate singing from John Foxx as he spitefully lists all the manner of mundane violence taking place on our nation's streets (ring any bells?). Here the roots of punk and glam-rock are more evident over the later love of swishy noises from synthesisers, although they creep in here and there alongside gorgeous stabs of violin. Most arresting is 'I want to be a machine', a lengthy ballad to the desire to cast off messy complicated emotions for the relative security that detachment brings. It starts off quietly enough, only an acoustic guitar to accompany Foxx's plaintive vocals, bringing in subtle violin and slowly building to an exhilarating, if unsettling, climax.

Concerned with themes of alienation, disgust and the desire to either disappear or adapt in the face of confusion, these are all perhaps resonant today at least for those who feel out of place in society, unable to see how it reflects their desires or needs.

Systems of romance - ultravox

2008-02-12T16:30:00.002Z

After the spikiness and hyperactivity of 'Ha! Ha! Ha!', Ultravox's third album is palpably different. A collision of atmospheric guitar and clunky synthesisers, tinged with elements of dreamy psychedelia, it seems to suggest that they were heading towards a softer sound, whilst retaining the energy and spirit which defined their earlier offerings. However, Ultravox were pretty much unable to ignite much interest in the minds of the public in the late 70s, although moving into the next decade such a sound was to forge ahead as part of the 'New Pop' and 'New Romantic' movements. Instead they only found their visions slighted, so much so that the band were dropped by their record label, struggling on for a while until singer John Foxx left the group to retreat into studio seclusion (resulting in the entirely synthesiser-led 'Metamatics'). It was not until their second incarnation (via the adoption of Midge Ure) that Ultravox were able to find success. The world would finally catch up but by then, some might argue, their sound had been diluted as to become risible.

In the twenty-first century 'Systems of romance' sounds surprisingly less dated than I expected, considering the preponderance of now-dated electronica. Perhaps because of the recent resurgance of electro-pop and related detached musings on the human condition (okay, maybe there is less of that) it is not so alien. The opener 'Slow Motion' is frankly astounding, swooshing in on electronic waves and bravely setting the agenda for anyone who wants to effectively meld machines with guitars. 'I can't stay long' is my favourite, John Foxx's at times clinical, at times melodic, always bizarrely rational, singing style here is perfect, capturing evocative moments in the sparsest of poetical couplets. The theme of dissolving / disappearring is one which crops up repeatedly: like for those who are content to be under the radar ('The quiet men'); playing with identity ('Someone else's clothes'); changing states of being... throughout an underlying sense of unease pervades everything. Just what are we? Even the most energetic tracks such as 'Blue light' incur an anxiety in its disturbing almost-disco, though it is most evident in 'Dislocation' with its moody, echoy backing and distant, heavily altered vocals (setting the template for early Depeche Mode perhaps). There is nothing fixed here. However, despite the cleverness I can't help thinking Ultravox don't always take themselves too seriously, the playfulness demonstrated by 'Maximum acceleration' which features whistling! Furthermore, they haven't been completely devoured by technology as most of these songs retain the band's post-punk roots, the glides and swoops of (new guitarist) Robin Simon's guitar remaining prominent. And 'When you walk through me' reminds me of something like 'Arnold Layne' with its syrupy-sound and surreal narrative. Finishing just perfectly with the sublime 'Just for a moment', which loses none of its magic for being recorded in a barn of all places (one good thing about remastered albums are the extensive sleeve notes which offer up such nuggets of information), and it slides away, leaving dreamy thoughts of the 'long green light of a July afternoon / sliding down a vague conversation.'

Perhaps / The glamour chase - the associates

2008-02-11T14:59:00.002Z

i'm finally nearing the end of my odyssey to purchase the album back catalogue of the associates (note to self - its not wise to give into an obsession!) thanks to a combination of shops, ebay and internet shopping sites. there are gaping holes - still waiting for Amazon to find perhaps the only copy of sulk in existence! how exciting and the nightmarish is it to live in a world where you can have almost anything you want, when you want! sadly it took the death of singer Billy Mackenzie for this state of affairs to be realised. for 'true' fans of the Associates it previously was but a dream to be able to get their hands on past glories, and in the case of 'the Glamour Chase' it was never even released by the record company after their relationship with the larger than life chanteur, not that good during the making of 'perhaps' (1985), went from bad to worse. something about him spending a shedload of money and not producing anything they deemed commerical enough. but lets leave the messy complicated bits to rest and let the music speak for itself.

With 'Perhaps' you can kind of appreciate the dilemma that Billy Mackenzie was in at the time. He had been involved in making what many describe to be a masterpiece (Sulk) and his long-term musical collaborator Alan Rankine had departed after various insurmountable problems surfaced between the pair. No pressure then to follow it up with something equally amazing and to show that he was not dependent on the magical and inventive musical soundscapes dreamt up between him and Rankine! And to give Billy his due, he has a pretty good go. I was prepared to be quite disappointed by this considering the sort-of consensus that deems Mackenzie and Rankine became lost without each other, descending into musical decrepitude, but... I actually liked it!

However nothing can compel me to like 'Those first impressions' which to me sounds uninspired - I am glad I had not been in the position to have to judge the associates on this song alone. It's fine as a pop song but it doesn't engage me at all, possibly because Billy sounds (to my ears) so bored singing it. 'Waiting for the loveboat' is better, bouncier with amusing lyrics although it goes on for faaarrr toooooo long at the end with Billy apparently being tickled or attacked somewhere subterranean (apparently they chopped off an interesting finale to make it fit on the LP). It could also do without the annoying honking saxophone, never an instrument I can connect with emotional subtley or estactic raptures. 'Perhaps', 'Schampout' and 'Helicopter Helicopter' continue in the same vein, pop with a deliciously wonky feel, although the lyrics can be a bit silly and the musical accommpaniment perversely jarring. 'Breakfast' in contrast comes flowing ludicrously easily into the ears, a tender and beautiful ballad (and I normally hate ballads) with minimal fuss which suits Billy perfectly. 'Thirteen feelings' is radically different again with its dramatic strings, driving beat and soaring vocals. I find that I prefer Billy's singing on the last four offerings, like on 'The stranger in your voice'; luckily he is on top form because most of the musical arrangements are forgettable. I am hard pressed to find anything is as appealing as Alan Rankine and his glorious guitar work. 'The best of you' is a duet with Eddie Reader, however there seems to be no point for her to be there for, as with most of his duets, Billy's voice stamps all over hers. If I was being evil I would say that the theme of this song perfectly encapsulates my feelings about the Associates' career... Still, I'm not evil so I will only say that I was happy until the dreaded sax reappears (eek!) wailing away with its evil intent to ruin my listening experience. Still, it's redeemed by the discordant chords of the strings at the end. The sax is back on 'Don't give me that told you so look' however it is easily ignored for the fantastic title, which Billy also manages to sing very suavely. Overall it presents quite a downbeat ending to the album as a whole and leaves you rather despondent as to what could have been.

'The Glamour Chase' came a few years later but you could be mistaken for thinking it was from an entirely different artist. It was never released during Billy's lifetime which much have been extremely frustrating for him, more for the politics surrounding it rather than it being a terrible album. It's not always to my taste, definitely straying into more what I would call conventional pop territory, more sleek than raw. After the often scatter-brained lyrics and sometimes petulant attitude of 'Perhaps' (like that godawful saxophone) it seems that Billy is presenting himself here as more mature, more sophisticated, more smooth. A reincarnation that results in some pleasant enough sounds like opener 'Reach the top' and a cover of Blondie's 'Heart of glass' but they glide by pretty unremarkably. 'Terrorbeat' has that 80s bass which reminds me of Level 42 so yuck. 'Set me up' is pondorously slow and has a potentially cheesy voice over - where Billy betrays hardly a crumb of his lovely Dundee accent - but finally a song works for me, mostly because a pleasing harmony is achieved between voice and tune and it doesn't overstate itself. 'Country boy' is like 'what'?? - it would make better sense without the obviously clunky bass/drum and the lyrics about a 'pretty virgin' who should be a 'lure' to the narrator's 'prey' is a bit ick. 'Because you love' is the kind of ballad I would avoid like the plague - I cannot help but think of the 'power of love' by Jennifer Rush which upsets me unduly, as does the squelchy bassline. 'The Rhythm Divine' is infinitely preferable if I had to be stuck in a room with it - also famous for being sung by Shirley Bassey, my irrational prejudice against her means that I can happily assume that Billy makes a better job of it. I felt nothing like hatred towards 'Snowball' but its too close to jazz/ swing for me to want to listen to it repeatedly - again Billy does a good job but its not going to convert me yet. Back on safe ground with 'You'd be the one' and 'Empires of the heart' - no need for irrational prejudices against these. 'Empires...' is my favourite because there is emotion in the singing and for once the music does something interesting, although it is still too glossy. Of the last, 'In Windows all' is another ballad, pleasant enough, 'Heaven's blue' a short poignant piece of piano before PAM!! the energetic stomp of 'Take me to the girl' provides an upbeat finale. I cannot listen to this song however without thinking of the video where Billy looks bored out of his brain - find it on youtube and weep at the terribleness of this and most Associates videos - so its kind of tainted. Easy to sing along to however if you like that kind of thing.

Double hipness - the associates

2008-02-05T22:41:00.001Z

With the computer battery counting down this will have to be a super speedy whip through. Reactions to this collection of demos and bits of discarded songs culled from here and there in tribute to Rankine and Mackenzie (the musical odd couple that somehow made wrong things sound so right) has been pretty mixed. Even though I snaffled this off ebay with some trepidation (who wants to be thought a complete obsessive after all that they resort to buying albums of demos, tsk) it was with some excitement that it turned out to be okay - more than okay. Meandering through sick cabaret (Billy's touching way with a lyric already evident even in early demos, rhyming things such as gangrene and vaseline) through to early takes on favourites such as 'The Affectionate punch' and 'I never will' the early incarnation of 'Party fears two', which are interesting as an insight into the song-creation process. At the risk of sounding pedestrian (ticking clocks are for once no good for creativity) It is also notable for the inclusion of Billy and Alan's aborted reunion in 1993 which resulted, for me at least, in a few songs of note, including the wonderful 'Edge of the world' which here is more guitar heavy and in my opinion the better for it. The collision of the more mature sound (the craziness of early years is lacking possibly because of that history) from both resulted in something promising but that is how it must stay, merely as a promise not achieved or going anywhere (as many of the songs included here found their fate). After all that, its probably most useful as a piece of musical curiosity which otherwise might have been lost.

A splurge of Billy Mackenzie - Outernational, Transmission Impossible, Auchtermatic and (with Paul Haig) Memory Palace

2008-02-04T23:30:00.001Z

Take these together - it becomes clear quite how eclectic and varied Billy Mackenzie's gift to music was. It's not always an easy or straight-forward journey (even if you would desire it so!) At times it can be frustrating - especially when 'Outernational' goes too far into the kind of 90s laid back electro that has you fast approaching torpor rather than feeling anything remotely approaching interest (something which also inflicts 'Wild and Lonely'). It's all a bit too sedate at times and horribly smooth. You long for a stumble, an ounce of imperfection. But just as you begin to despair Billy rewards you with gems such as 'Colours will come', which, despite its admittedly soppy sentiments, never fails to lift my spirits on a dull day, something to do with the sense of conviction with which it is delivered (why it works on this and nothing else is a mystery I am still unravelling). I find the rest of the album a bit of a blur, songs seem to segue into each other with little distinction, oddities such as a cover of 'Pastime paradise' could perhaps be more jarring, but, the torpor wins out. A curosity more than anything else.

'Transmission Impossible' and 'Auchtermatic' crystallise Billy's plans for two separate collections of songs, which Nude buggered up by trying to combine all the 'best' bits onto one album (Beyond the Sun). Both enable more of Billy's final work to come to light, presenting slightly different versions of songs like 'Beyond the sun' and 'At the edge of the world', on the whole slightly more raw, stripped down versions which showcase Billy's voice perfectly - after the melodrama and vocal distortions of earlier albums like Sulk especially, its refreshing to have more clarity around the magic his voice weaves with its stunning textures. 'Transmission Impossible' is best heard alone in the dark, without distraction; a series of tender ballads, mornfully delivered in the richest of voices, simply accompanied for the most part with piano. And that is all it needs. I would hesitate to call 'Auchermatic' more upbeat; it does have 'Sour Jewel' to kick things off, however this is tempered by 'Pain in any language' and 'the soul that sighs', the former particularly seems to me an exercise in anguish set to music. Billy also does an Elton John with a song about Marilyn Monroe, 'Norma Jean', however it is nowhere near as cloying and horrible as 'candle in the wind' so I breathes a sigh of relief. With relief the lyrics on both albums veer from quite accessible to quite baffling (one favourite is 'the wall was high / and the gallery seething / at times like this / all I want to do is spin) the pensive, 'um', face expressed by Billy on his own cover to 'Transmission...' sums it all up perfectly.

Lastly there is 'Memory palace' a joint collection of songs Billy made with Paul Haig (former of Josef K) when they had no career to speak of and some time hence to noodle about in a studio and make the music that they wanted to make with no interference. Rather then it being horribly indulgent (which it could be), it's actually a lot better then some of the record company sanctioned stuff. On a first listen, styles veer wildly (and I am rubbish at categorising such things so probably get this wrong) from melodic pop-type songs (take a chance) to more electronic-led efforts (stone the memory palace) to rock (listen again, give me time).

Expect the unexpected... and even then, expect something else. The most compelling singers, the most interesting bands, for me, are the ones which keep you guessing, remain a mystery as to what drives them, what stimulates the creative output. Where the music is more important than anything else, not the life which goes with it or the kudos it brings. Something must have kept Billy going until it all became too much. It is that which these, and his other albums, celebrate and even if its all we can 'have' (posession seems such a vulgar desire after all) of his unique talent its perhaps more than enough.

Hustle into bed - delicatessen

2008-02-01T12:14:00.001Z

The reasons for choosing to puchase an album are many and varied, well that's bleeding obvious, yet it is interesting to reflect on why. Why that moment? Maybe it caught your eye in the rack, maybe you remember a half-mentioned anecdote which rendered the band suddenly fascinating? Delicatessen were of the latter proposition; in my student days much time was spent in Record Collector, a store in Broomhill, Sheffield which had rack upon rack of second hand CDS, a treasure trove of obscure delights. I chanced upon (amongst other things) this 'hustle into bed' - the only thing I knew about the band was that the singer was allergic to water or something equally bizarre. It also had a song named after a letter sent by Jack the ripper and a suitably seedy vibe from the moulded greens of the front cover artwork. Re-emerging from isolation amongst a pile of unloved singles (now off to the charity shop) it is a strange album, full of asthmatic gasping singers, gin-soaked violins and deep melancholia. Not one for a quiet Sunday afternoon unless there is a bloody knife on the butcher's block.

Ha! Ha! Ha! - Ultravox!

2008-01-31T14:13:00.001Z

Ahhh Vienna... raincoats... ice machines working over time... strange moustaches.... pianos in huge rooms.... singers named after annoying biting insects.... my mum doing the hoovering to 'dancing with tears in my eyes... these are the things that pop into my head when I think of a band called Ultravox.

'Dead in the streets / who's that girl? / Ireland screams / Africa burns!'

Ultravox are chiefly remembered for the one song, the aforementioned 'Vienna', a slow pondering affair which fails to make much sense but seems to have struck a chord in the British public for laughing at the collapse of a rival empire. If there was any justice in the world they would be remembered for their work pre-Midge Ure, however there isn't so it languishes in obscurity and means that you can buy such evocatively titled albums as 'Ha! Ha! Ha!' for only about £6 in HMV.

'One day I'll just erase the tape, wave goodbye, and fade away / Get lost in the frost again'

Conceived in 1973 by John Foxx, Ultravox! like many bands went through various lineup changes which would be tedious to pursue here. Except to say that they emerged as one of the vanguard of new wave bands, a heady mix of punk, politics, glam, synths, apocolyptic visions, violin, and, of course, sex. They produced three albums of which Ha! Ha! Ha! was the second. Repeated lack of interest from the British public however, tension and unhappy record companies contributed to their demise. Foxx left the band, Midge Ure was invited to take his place, and... well Ultravox (minus exclamations) went on to become one of the most famous bands of the 80s. Foxx was either gutted or felt he had a lucky escape from all the dry ice and raincoats...

'This whirlpool's got such seductive furniture / It's so pleasant getting drowned'

This is the sound of someone laughing as the world collapses around them. It is the glee of someone revelling in the chaos they see all around them, seeing the desperate people trying to be normal but only in denial of their own hideousness. 'Rockwrok' sets the agenda. Its filthy and its rock! Despite its ponderous beginning, 'The Frozen ones' continues the breckneck pace, brilliantly sending up the modern condition of apathy - all well and good but what happens when you want someone to care? Foxx's voice has the right edge of detachment although at times you sense he is close to revealing a feeling, maybe under duress.

'Your picture of yourself is a media myth / Underneath this floor we're on the edge of a cliff'

Civilisation topples, the world is not what it seems... oh hang on we've heard all this before, ha ha ha! Despite the cliched doom-mongering 'Fear in the Western world' is a delight, all grating, shrieking guitars, discordant violins and portent sentences, still only too apt over twenty years later. I would listen to this as the Titantic sinks. Whilst 'A distant smile' is deceptive, opening with an oh so haunting piano riff, seguing into super charged guitar workout and descending into a confused mess of found sounds.

'Our secret destination / touch down in the haze / As the cameraman pans away'

'The man who dies everyday' seems to be a good title for a Bond film, conceiving of the world as stage set populated by the strange and the freakish dressed up as the norm, like the protagonists of the 'Artifical life' , which also contains my personal favourite of all lyrics thus:

'She turned to perfection once / But realised she'd only turned to pain'

If only we could have that pinned up above all school halls we would save a lot of bother.... Our narrator though is under no illusions, he knows that this time is the only time he has so lets make the best of it! While he's still alive! We won't ask what prompts the fatalistic conviction, its probably better not to know.

'A shock in the dark can be good for your heart, oh yeah'

Perhaps, but so can a soothing end to an album and after all the jittery pokery, 'Hiroshima mon amour' is captivating (much attention is focused on this song for apparantly spawning the New Romantic movement), pervaded by sadness for what is lost - 'Future's fused like shattered glass / the sun's so low / Turns our silhouettes to gold' - not least the mournful saxophone solo (harnessing the gentler tones of the much maligned instrument). And so it fades away like so many memories.

Vogue estate - Stephen Emmer (1982)

2008-01-26T19:15:00.001Z

It is not difficult to become overwhelmed with how so much music remains in ignorance. Imagine all the music that might be perfect for you yet languishes in obscurity! However the discovery of a new artist(s) often brings with it newfound delights which would have remained shrouded in obscurity. And so to Stephen Emmer, a Dutch artist, who in 1982 made an obscure little album called 'Vogue estate' - described (somewhere) as a film score without a film. It is reminiscent of the music I remember as a child in the car driving late at night, such as that by Jean Luc Ponty, his haunting electric violin in my ears as neon lights skipped by; exposure to the Associates also came then which is why it is some coincidence that I only found out about 'Vogue estate' because Billy Mackenzie appears on one of the songs. It seems that Michael Dempsey (bassist) and Martha Ladley (backing vocals) also appear (Martha sings on one of the songs) however the creation of this album (and the presence of any other Associates) otherwise remains a dense mystery. For once the 'net is proved useless.

Four songs caught my ear - 'vogue estate theme', 'wish on' (with billy mackenzie), 'eleven and then left', 'never share' (with martha ladley). If it was a film.... the opening would be in the mountains, the credits rolling over fir trees (somewhere like Switzerland with clean, crisp air) as pretty piano melodies float by. 'Wish on' is an altogether darker affair (should we not be surprised with Billy on board?) with rasping, hunted cello laid under discordant chords whilst Billy thunders away like an outtake from 'Sulk' - by now we are cruelly lost in the forest and he has no sympathy for us ('wish luck, wish on' he says). Conversation with him seems futile so we hide behind a tree until he vanishes in a burst of falsetto. But there is light amongst the trees in the shape of 'eleven and then left', following the pretty melody to the edge of the forest, where we discover a lonely, abandoned Martha Ladley (also of the muffins) singing her heart out. And there the film gets cut....

Beyond the sun - Billy Mackenzie

2008-01-25T21:10:00.001Z

With Billy Mackenzie it always seems to be a wrench from the ridiculous to the sublime (which makes for exhausting and complicated relationships with his music), however I doubt it was his intention to leave such a bizarre trail of outputs. It comes to my mind (at the moment addled with guilt for dallying on the Internet all night trying to find evidence for the 'Vogue estate' album, rather than doing any serious work! (more on that another day) and mingled with exhaustion) that he always worked best with fewer people, although that is based purely on my assumptions made about 'Wild and lonely' which features no less than 22 collaborators besides Billy, and rumours about 'perhaps' which went through a number of producers. Before it was the stellar partnership between he and Alan which brings to my mind the hideous cliche, too many cooks... and probably too much money! It would be tremendous if it had all been intentional, some terrible joke concocted against an industry Billy reputedly hated. Maybe it is linked to the sad fate of the former 'rebel', the outsider who, when they become part of the system they struggled against, cannot help but succumb to its worst excesses in some kind of horrible inevitable perversity - given too much it becomes harder and harder to capture the magic of the 'struggle'... I cannot help but think of Foucault (the softer, finger puppet version though) who would probably say that it is part of the tension, the once dominated, in seeking the righting of their wrongs against the system, only becomes the system once they are in 'control.' Or I think it was Foucault anyway... Enough, lets think about music instead of this vain posturising of idle thought.

Prior to Billy's tragic demise, it seemed that he was about to drag himself out of the artistic mire he had fallen into. In a typical move for this consumer-orientated world it took his death for the back catalogue to be taken seriously. So emerged this collection of songs on Nude records (also home of Bowie-obsessed Suede for inevitable comparisons although Brett Anderson's voice is more of a thin wail than the rich outpourings of our favourite) which Billy signed to just before his death (unfortunately most of my research is from the 'net so I cannot verify it's truthfulness). However it seems that this collection was pretty truncated and represents only a small number of demos, tarted up posthumously by Simon Raymonde (Cocteau Twins) amongst others. Still it is a lovely collection, slightly mired by some bizarre juxtapositions of songs, mainly drenched in mournfulness. Retrospective listening cannot help but make some banal comment about the sadness in Billy's voice (also the strange mixture of anxiety/confrontation expressed by Billy on the cover image) and lyrics with regards to his eventual suicide but I do not see the need to do so. It hangs over the songs heavily enough for no further explanation to be needed.

Lets go backwards, as with posthumous albums it is difficult to ignore talk of endings. 'Nocturne VII' is deceptively quiet to begin, Billy almost mumbling, barely audible above a tender piano, slowly rising to a crescendo of voice, strings and piano until it fades away to whispers once more. Utterly moving. And then we get an example of the strange jarring musical juxtaposition that either delights or annoys (for another one try listening to 'Skipping' from Sulk and following it with something like 'Calling all around the world' from 'wild and lonely') - '3 gypsies in a restaurant' a rant about Hitler set to electronic eastern european tinged melody. It sounds as bizarre to write it down as it is to listen to. Next is definitely a return to form - 'Sour jewel' (such an image created by two lone words put together) a glammy, poppy, almost rocky (!) stomp which would not sound out of place (then, meaning 1997) amongst groups like Suede, Pulp, even Oasis if they were fronted by someone who could actually sing! For all his talk of chance, suddenly Billy comes over all fate - 'were you aware that we had to meet?' Perhaps it was a hidden command to all his past, present and future listeners? Then inexplicably 'and this she knows' is back to piano / voice ballad before you can say 'ulcragyceptimol' leaving you wondering if you had hallucinated the previous tracks. Still it has A fetching lyric about living by the sea - 'She lives by the sea / The sea gives her everything she's ever dreamt about.' 'Beyond the sun' is my favourite Ballad by Billy, a sweet paeon to a regretful life/end of life (?), although the allusion to 'crystal ships' is lost on me, it is his wounded plea to 'help me to understand / why others seem to plan / their memories' which appeals to me. I can't help thinking it's a good question as well. I was interested to see that Alan Rankine is listed in conjunction with 'At the edge of the world' which thrilled me a little - there is something about a lost partnership, for hoping that they still liked each other at least. This song has grown on me, partly for its low-key, soft rumble of bass and almost trip-hop- (sorry to use that horrible word) like melody. It's hard to describe exactly but there is a particular section where after an instrumental, Billy goes mmmm, returns to the refrain 'at the edge of the world / where the cold wind blows / in a sea of dreams / that seem to know' - its the last line when the bass kicks back in and something very special happens (another moment like this in 'Skipping' when Billy starts to sing 'Embarrassed etc.' for a second time, seems bored and gives up, makes a kind of half-hearted attempt at mmm-ing, returns to 'marvellous, lousy, could this be your safest way' with definitely more of a scottish burr than normal and then gives a small chuckle as he starts 'Ancestral etc' which for some reason makes me love this song to pieces). It the kind of moment which compels you to re-listen... '14 mirrors' is memorable for its strong chorus and meandering guitar although by now the lyrics are starting to concern about the narrator's state of mind. 'Blue it is' moves into un-quenchable sadness, just listen to the way he sings 'blue it is but I'll be there' and by 'Winter Academy' it is almost too much; in goes cynical detached listener, out comes a quivering wreck. Then we reach the beginning of our journey (although this is really the end) - 'Give me time' is tainted, fragile pop - now we know time is running out and there needs to be some certainty but will our hero ever find it? It is hard to tell if the atmosphere is made harder for what happened later; it was never finished, and because Billy never heard it as it is now. Was it meant to be so haunted? It is impossible to ever know.

So a tantilising might have been... but much more, one which should not be consigned to the fate of a ghoulish curio. Maybe I am getting soppy as I get older (and as I get more squeamish - I wonder if there is a link?) but I cannot help but feel there is real heart here. Rest in peace, Billy xx

(As an aside, writing this I was greatly indebted to the Billy Mackenzie Tribute site http://www.billymackenzie.com/ which has most of the lyrics to the Associates / Billy Mackenzie albums, very helpful for checking that you are hearing things correctly (which obviously I was not!). It also has a wealth of information including fascinating interviews with the Associates and Billy from the 80s and 90s.)

Wild and lonely (remastered) - The Associates

2008-01-24T23:35:00.001Z

"Those first impressions They keep us guessing" sang Billy (Mackenzie) and we want to believe him. We want to believe that this was the musical direction he should have always taken, that the experimental years (the sulks, the fourth drawer downs and the affectionate punches) were the blips and this was what he wanted all along. To sound, not like an avant garde, pouting (impishly), always-close-to-hysteria glamour puss backed by some of the most audacious sounds ever to come from whatever hellish womb they were born in, but to sound more like, um, George Michael. Okay then. Not that I have anything against George Michael and his ilk (no, not really) but its never been my thing, that kind of pop which skates by in a haze of what might be called blandless if it did not actually turn my stomach with complete loathing. But still, lets give Billy a chance, after all in a singing contest he would blow George Michael away and far beyond the edge of the solar system before George even opened his mouth. I swear he is that good.

Wild and lonely... wild and lonely... conjures images of moonlit nights and starry skies, rambling through knee-deep grass, the trees swaying overhead with the slightest of breezes. But close your eyes and immediately its the synthetic-ness that intrudes - especially the fake trumpets and saxes which, if they are real, don't do a very good job of convincing. Many blame the production - if you adore cotton then this would be nylon, eager to please but ultimately itchy and unbearable. Maybe I'm being harsh... as Billy said, first impressions keep us guessing and my first impression was that 'Wild and lonely' was tolerable, if disappointing. So I listened again and again and got past the glacial distance between this and the pre-sulk goodness. Let's start with the good. 'Fire to ice' is a stonking opener, Billy not sure whether to be defiant or resigned in the face of abandonment; at turns annoyed, 'now you're feeling so pleased with yourself you're so sure and ease with yourself', then sighing 'I never could take good advice.' 'Fever' enters the room to a pleasant reception although again it catalogues the mixed feelings of still wanting the one who has hurt you even though you know it's pointless. A good metaphor in fact for my relationship with this album - technically I know its not the kind of thing I would listen to, it's too obviously pop and yet I find myself drawn to it, humming bits at odd moments. Except one song I won't be humming is the sickly sweet 'Calling around the world' which I can imagine S Club 7 singing.... best passed over quickly and banned from the ipod. 'People we meet' and 'Just can't say goodbye' maintain the upbeat tempo in the face of adversity, indeed it is a much calmer Billy (wild being a tad ironic in the circrumstances...); 'The Glamour chase' is reminiscent of eastern bazaars (not that I can explain why, it just has that feel to the music), whereas 'Where there's love' gets a bit too high and squeaky to make it enjoyable. Then... oh joy a song to be worth getting giddy over! 'Something's got to give' has a wayward feel, promising subversion beneath its pop gloss and you have to cling to it tightly as there is precious little here - Billy sings 'I'm at my most sincere' and all is right with the world. And it's enough - there is more granted but only 'Wild and lonely' the final track seems worthy of comment, a rather melancholy song of plaintive disappointment, a discordant piano at 'a lonely bar' - 'the floor you prayed on / takes away / a safety that was yesterday.' And Billy sings 'just to know I'll never be untrue' ... and it makes sense that he could save this album because he sounds so sincere even if the music doesn't. But then Billy could even sing a diana ross cover and get me dancing in the aisles... oh he already did (love hangover). Oh Billy, you are making me like pop music! You are making me destroy the barriers so painstakingly built after years of denial! But I love him all the more for it.

(PS there are 4 more songs added to the remastered versions, some covers and a long-winded remix 'fever in the shadows'. There is a suitable lack of drama which is why I see not point in making anything of them).

The Affectionate Punch - Associates

2008-01-23T18:48:00.001Z

I was shocked today to find out that Heath Ledger, actor, was found dead yesterday aged only 28 years old. It seems likely that a drugs overdose was involved although that is pure speculation at the moment and it does not seem right to inquire further. Whatever the reason, it is sad that the world has lost another talented individual. May he rest in peace.

I spent most of yesterday listening to the Associates, it seemed the right thing to do. I always lack the eloquence to say how much things mean to me but it is unhappy that Billy Mackenzie is not around to know how much people miss him and love his music. I recently joined a thread celebrating him and the music of the Associates and it seems that everyone is so much better at expressing their feeling for the music, for Billy and how it/he means so much to them. Not that it really matters, we all contribute in our own little way, even just by listening, loving and passing on the enthusiasm.

Imagine a place where music was always inventive. Imagine a place where music had influences but those influences were only a foundation on which to build rather than the reason for being. They were in the heart and not on the sleeve. Imagine music which sounded like nothing that came before it and nothing that came after it; kings of 'top of the pops' all too briefly, unable to live up to their own high (if torturously achieved) achievements and disappearing into limbo pursued by ghosts screaming "bring us another SULK!!!!" 'The Affectionate Punch' is both nothing like Sulk - which is far more hysteric, melancholic, mischevious, glamourous and epheremal - but everything like it (can be traced from it), sharing a sheer diversity of mood, an electricism found in the relationship between music and voice and an exuberance which is infectious - take 'A', where Billy for the most part sings the alphabet and makes it seem the most interesting and poetic thing in the world (Robert Smith of the Cure apparently does backing vocals on this but it is impossible to tell as Billy must have smothered him), or the jaunty 'Would I... bounce back', with Billy singing 'If I threw myself from the ninth storey would I levitate back to three, well would I' assured (then) of his own immortality. 'Transport to Central' is rather odd and creepy, however suprisingly there are some tender moments - surprising because regarding 'Sulk' and 'Fourth Drawer Down' there are very few moments which could be described thus ('18 carat love affair' is too tongue in cheek, 'Gloomy sunday' well, too gloomy) although Billy's later output could lay claim to many such moments. Anyhow, here we have 'Logan Time', sad and affecting, mourning either loss or absence - 'I talk such nonsense while asleep / I lie for hours without your heat.' And 'Deeply concerned' with its combination of gentle piano and Billy's wrenching sighs at the end convinces. Everything works - there is no dull moment, Alan's virtuosity on everything except drums the perfect foil e.g. 'Paper House' with its riffs reminiscent of celtic wildernesses and 'Even dogs in the wild' a song which attempts social comment but gives up halfway through, and Lastly, 'A matter of gender' which captures the excitement of wanton behaviour (perhaps). And there are bonuses! 'You were young' which worries with its too catchy refrain of 'youth is hope/ age is corruption', 'boys keep swinging' the cheeky Bowie cover and b-side 'Mona property girl' which first launched the Associates on an unsuspecting (and unfortunately unimpressed) public. I doubt it would impress more people now, pop if anything is sadly sliding into the mire, drowning under reality TV shows and the lack of 'Top of the Pops' which whilst rubbish was entertaining rubbish and now I have gone for several years (maybe 5?) without knowing or even caring what is Number 1. This speaks to me of the hope that pop always has, to be vital, strange, to be reflecting moods which we all feel if we allow ourselves.

In memory of Billy Mackenzie

2008-01-22T09:29:00.001Z

Today is for remembering the fabulous Billy Mackenzie, he of the angelic voice and equally angelic smile.

The breeze, the breath of God, is still,
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token.
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!
(Spirits of the dead, Edgar A. Poe)

Fourth drawer down - Associates

2008-01-21T14:33:00.001Z

Tomorrow being, tragically, the anniversary of Billy Mackenzie's death (a prospect which I can attribute some of the miserablism I feel this week as it is never very fulfilling to be reminded that someone so talented has disappeared from the world even if it was not one in which they could live adequately or even bear to) I thought it was timely to reflect on the various albums which are starting to obscure the sight of my CD player at home so large is the pile growing. Picking one at random gets me to 'Fourth drawer down' a claustrophobic and schizophrenic album if ever there was one. It is captivating however in its monstrosity and anyone idly surfing the net for information on the Associates cannot miss the stories behind the making of this album, seemingly an excuse for crazy experimentation involving such things as cups stuck on heads, fish stapled to coats, weeing into guitars, putting drums into water, you know the usual stuff, fuelled apparently by copious amounts of drugs and vampirish nocturnal habits as that was the only time they could get into a studio. Still if artists are going to be wildly experimental and apparently imbue copious amounts of drugs then it would be fabulous if only the results could be half as inventive and compelling and nightmarish as the gems served up by Mr Mackenzie and Rankine for consumption (the hacking cough at the end of 'Q Quarters' inspired this terrible pun in case you were wondering).

'White car in Germany' immediately unsettles with its dirge-like ponderousness and booming vocals detailing a pessimistic, if obscure, site-seeing tour - what happened to the future being bright and all? Whilst 'A girl named property' must never ever be played whilst walking around a grey city on a miserable wet day for fear of civilisation crashing down (best save it for food shopping in the local capitalist-friendly supermarket, the brightly coloured vegetables become ever more disturbing when set against the elegant and melancholy backdrop). 'Kitchen person' ups the tempo to well above 11, hardly pausing for breath - guitars pushed to their limits, giddy glockenspiels, shuddering bass lines - it is with delight that you find Billy M singing through a vaccuum cleaner tube and wonder if any household item is safe in this pair's hands.... Haunted by the discordant sound of organs to sink down to the depths amongst the weeds with 'Q Quarters' convinced that Alan R must have stolen a submarine for this one (suddenly drums in the water start to make sense), the lyrics made doubly sinister by the matter-of-fact delivery ('washing down bodies seems to me a dead end job'). Extreme paranoia seems to inflict the narrator of 'Tell me easter's on friday' and the fear is only lifted with the infectious bounce of a tune that is 'Message oblique speech' well as bouncy as this collection gets. Try guessing what the lyrics mean.... 'An even whiter car' sounds like the Berlin wall falling also this predates that event by several years. 'Fearless (it takes a full moon)' is not immediately appealing, more gloomy than doomy, but 'Point Si' takes us back to greatness. A couple of instrumentals next, in the intensity of 'Straw Towels' it is almost possible to sense the overdose which consigned our two fearless musical innovators to matching hospital beds and 'Kissing' is fun, less twisted than its predecessors and (almost!) hints at disco. Just when you think it's about to become normal we find Billy M singing in the bath, water dripping (clearly not well by the dreadful coughing), frightful sounds in the background - oh its only 'kitchen person' and 'white car in germany', of course! - a suitably bizarre ending. Although I find the entire album only possible if in sane mind (kitchen person is sure to drive me over the edge one day I can tell) and stable condition I cannot think of anything (yet) which could possibly compare to its inventiveness. I'll let you know when I do.

Entomology - Josef K

2008-01-16T16:32:00.001Z

Today's collection of songs is from a band named after the hero of one of the most disturbing books ever written, 'The Trial' by Franz Kafka. However this album is neither harrowing not a trial, I salute it for the 22 (22!!) tracks of frenetic majesty, carried by the oddly languid yet simultaneously urgent singing of Paul Haig. Cobbled together in 2006 from a couple of albums as a kind of retrospective (the band only lasted about 2 years in total so there is not reams of stuff). the spiky guitar and discordant rhythms glue this recond together - in many ways the sound is oh so familiar - for that you can blame retrospective listening and newer bands such as Franz Ferdinand who 'borrow' and re-create the sounds of this time (somehow I never really got to liking FF very much though despite some entertaining singles) - it gets me thinking that it must have been something to be around in the early 80s when all these bands first appeared. But that is some regret not worth even thinking about as it involves birth and accidents of, okay so I was around then but too teeny wee to take much notice of anything not on the Top of the Pops radar. Stand out track for me has to be 'Sorry for laughing' whereby the singer apologises for laughing at someone for how they look, which despite its mean-spirited lyric is incredibly striking for being an attitude not many people would own up to. If I had to pick a fault (and be mean) I would say that I find the songs a little distant, aloof even, but after the emotional outpourings of the Associates it is not so disconcerting. Even if I haven't achieved anything today I can agree that I spent it in the company of some intriguing music.

Skank Bloc Bologna and Wood Beez - Scritti Politti

2008-01-15T13:31:00.001Z

Assisting my exploration of all things early 80s is Simon Reynold's Rip it up and start again a fine publication extolling the virtues and crazy stories behind the post-punk wilderness of the late 70s and early 80s. Prior to the bland synthesier led tribes dominating the mid to late 80s was an amazingly experimental time.... well of course there are always experimenters but judging by Reynold's book this decade had it in spades. That is how I came to learn that Scritti Politti, who I had been aware of but as a hopelessly sugary pop band so cloying I could feel my ears rotting just listening to it, were actually quite revolutionary. Singer Green Gartside did not hide his love of philosophy and Jacques Derrida and instead used the theories to craft his songs, a love of aphorias beneath the what could be considered to be rather mundane lyrics about love. So listening to one of their early efforts 'Skank Bloc Bologna' of their album intrigingly entitled 'Early' I was impressed by the lolloping bass and fragile guitars, the gentle chimes in the background and Green's fey vocals - the groove bizarrely reminds me of one of Blur's efforts although the name escapes me for the moment, but the same kind of 'itchy' melody for want of a better word, maybe fidgety would be more apt. But also with a strange laid back vibe, like there is nowhere for the group to direct their energies there being a lack of revolution in the UK at the time? Listening to 'Wood Beez' straight after from the mid-80s surprised me with its jarring difference (rather like listening to early associates and then diving straight into Billy Mackenzie's later offerings), now awash with swathes of synthesiser, the fey becomes sickening, synthesised choirs, that deadening 80s production that takes away any sense that human beings made the song... however maybe my ears have undergone a change but I rather liked it.

The unemployed philosopher's guild

2007-12-20T16:22:00.001Z

Hmm, I like to think I don't have an addictive personality but that is self-denial really (which is perhaps a good reason why I keep away from mind-bending drugs ha ha). However I am pretty obsessed at the moment about finger puppets, but not just any finger puppets. They have to be from the Unemployed Philosopher's Guild (http://www.philosophersguild.com/index.lasso?page_mode=home) who create little personalities from the worlds of philosophy, literature, politics and religion. I defy anyone not to fall in love with these little puppets! So far I have a collection of 6 - Edgar Allan Poe, Michel Foucault, Marie Curie, Karl Marx, Che Guevara and Freidrich Nietzsche. I like to entertain myself with the idea that if these people could have met in 'real' life what would they have talked about? Probably rubbish like most people...

Sulk - Associates

2007-12-19T09:51:00.001Z

Some people can't help telling you what to do, it seems to be a compulsion. Luckily some people completely ignore what people tell them and go ahead and do what they want anyway and it is in this spirit that we are fortunate to have 'Sulk' the third album, and, I would say, masterpiece, from the Associates. Fuelled by all sorts of craziness and excess and experimentation, it mesmerises with its spirit of inventiveness and moments of high drama, Billy Mackenzie's amazing vocal acrobatics elegantly served by the assortment of melodies conjured up by Alan Rankine. One of my friends called this album 'depressing' however it is impossible to take it all too seriously considering the mischevious and playful nature of the pair; consider their nonchalent appearances on the sacred Top of the Pops - one time Alan fed the audience with a chocolate guitar from Harrods whilst on their first appearance Billy Mackenzie refused to look into the cameras and looked at himself on the monitors or gazed off into the distance instead. Neither would this album be with us had the boys not spent copious amounts of record company money, who were only ready enough to give it to them. And all this occurred during that supposedly most conformist and embarrassing of periods, the 80s! And whilst 'Sulk' in many ways is an album born of its moment, sometimes the squelchy synthesisers and muddy production threaten to date it, listening to it now with 21st century ears I am continually amazed by how extraordinary and completely unique it is. That this album was liked by the record buying public of the time is even more heartening, spawning three hit singles for the band. However it was to be a fleeting success, Mackenzie and Rankine afterwards split and anyone reading into their later history would be disappointed to see that two obviously talented individuals did not really benefit from their success.

Describing it and sticking 'Sulk' into a convenient genre box is thankfully impossible. I have seen it described as a pop album with a dark heart, it is also very playful in the way the vocals and melody dance around each one another and the lyrics are willfully opaque. Yet it cannot shake the melancholy which clings to it. Beginning with quite a jaunty instrumental 'Arrogance gave him up' this in no way prepares you for the first song proper, 'No' a harrowing dirge where Billy sings about tearing his hair out by the roots and biting his nails down 'to the quick / worrying myself sick about you.' You start to wonder what you have let yourself in for when pianos clatter away to themselves in the background. It's the equivalent to an Edgar Allan Poe story made sound (in 'And then I read a book' Billy sings about dreaming his teeth falling out, shades here of 'Berenice').

'Bap de la bap' should by all rights be completely wrong - a nonsense lyric laid over a racket of drums and synth which I can only equate to the feeling you might get if sucked into a washing machine and spun about by forces you don't understand. I love the sound of dread it creates through the lyrics about the mysterious 'bap de la bap' which 'follows you around... it splutters and it coughs.' The relentlessly downbeat 'Gloomy Sunday' is less entertaining, a cover of a classic which is supposed to have inspired hundreds of suicides however this is possibly because it is not such a good song rather than it celebrating suicide in any way. The only thing I like is the way the melody contradicts the vocals by being strangely upbeat.

Then arrives an uninterrupted series of songs which never fail to sweep me away with their warped magnificance. 'Nude spoons' is enjoyable for its vocal acrobatics of 'nude spoons euphoria' and you cannot help but be swept away with the hysteria as Billy Mackenzie sings about wanting to hide things away in the ground only to wonder why things are buried in the first place (which as a museum studies student is the contradiction we often face); 'Skipping' continues the intensity and contains some of the album's most audaciously unintelligible lyrics. It is hard not to be carried along with the emotion spilling out all over the place. Here life is invested with high drama and it sounds so deadly serious although blantantly it can't be, can it?

'It's better this way' is cold and ruthless in its efficiency - 'you hold out your hand, I draw mine away / I was once in touch now I've nothing to say'- yet somehow captures that horrible awkwardness which makes life so messy after a break-up. 'Party fears two' has to be one of the best (and strangest) pop songs ever recorded, melancholic and upbeat in equal measure, the Billy Mackenzie's voice meandering and finally disappearring altogether into the higher atmosphere. 'Club Country' is another contender for the best pop song ever recorded - a frentically charged romp which I could happy listen to everyday for the rest of my life. Everything is perfect, the Spanish-tinged melody, Billy's slightly disturbing croon, the off-kilter and manic synths of the chorus, the ingeniousness of the lyrics which are not afraid to use words such as 'therein', 'soldered' and 'refrigeration.' They are clearly having a laugh it is all so pretentious but the beauty of the song shines through the archness and convinces you to forgive them anything, just as I suspect Billy's dimpled smile endeared him to many.

Ha I am clearly writing an essay about this album and still I am only half way through the songs! Lets continue swiftly; after Club country's magnificance comes to an abrupt halt, 'nothinginsomethingparticular' appears in its jarring upbeatness and all the better for it. I believe this was the last song on the original UK 80s version of the album (there are so many versions floating around I get confused) and so it works well, that you have travelled musically in a circle through almost every emotion you can think of. On the most recent remastered version of 'Sulk' however are a number of additional songs which were not included in the original version, including the double a side '18 carat love affair' / 'love hangover' two songs which are so incongruous to what has gone on before that you wonder if you are listening to the same band! '18 carat love affair' is silly cabaret however just about gets away with it and 'Love hangover' - the Associates do Diana Ross with surprisingly entertaining results. Back to the bizarre lyrics fetish is 'Ulcragyceptimol' where Billy sounds like he's singing to his whippets, although 'be a friend put him down' brings a sinister turn. 'And then I read a book' is the most claustrophobic offering here, detailing a breakdown of some sort which makes for uncomfortable listening. Relieving the tension is 'Australia', a blast, I dare say it, of optimism, continuing with a pleasant (if forgettable) instrumental named after men's hair dye, 'Grecian 2000', and a stripped down version of 'It's better this way.' 'The room we sat in before' not only reveals the stunning simplicity at the heart of the songs beneath all the madness and posturising but the wonder of the voice that Billy Mackenzie has.

This is a fantastic album, very deserved of all hyperbolic praise it recieves. 'Sulk' is one of the '1000 albums to listen to before you die' as suggested by the Guardian:
http://music.guardian.co.uk/1000albums/0,,2211598,00.html (Look under A)