Papercuts Rekindled

Nina Simone - For A While

2009-12-23T22:33:00.003Z

My favourite album of the year is 'Watertown' by Frank Sinatra, from 1969. It is a concept album about the decline of a marriage. Unfortunately they get back together agin, which kind of spoils it for me. There does not appear to be any film of him performing any of the songs, but as a more than compensatory bonus, there is this footage of Nina Simone wringing every last drop (and a few more besides) of emotion from this song, which is actually quite a minor one on the album. No happy ending for Nina, God bless her.

25 from 2009

2009-12-22T13:17:00.003Z

Dear friends,

Here is my end of year roundup "tape". As ever, few tracks are actually from this year, but my toss-giving capacity is greatly reduced. Please make up your own sleevenotes for the time being. The files themselves have funny names, but they have been tagged properly, so they should be fit to grace any portable listening device, and even be listened to in the right order, should you shun the shuffle as you should. Obviously you might like to buy anything you like, blah blah blah, unless it is by millionaires, they can sod off, innit.

http://www.mediafire.com/file/ndtnmzm0gqy/2009%20version%202.zip

Do not thump me Hiawatha if you object to any of this. Just tell me.

Cheers,

Peter xxx

NOTES FROM THE GOOD SHIP SHOPPIE POP

2009-11-27T23:14:00.001Z

NOTES FROM THE GOOD SHIP SHOPPIE POP
Under Thatcher, both practitioners and aficionados of the arts were considered enemies of the state. Thus any output from anyone halfway aware of the situation can be considered political, regardless of content. Here is moored the good ship Shoppie pop.

Edith, 4 years old, said to me in an accusatory tone, "Daddy, you don't know much about girls, do you?"
"No, I bloody don't!" I guffawed bitterly. We were not talking about the same things.

It's the Need for Symmetry again. Geometrical patterns forming around the retina. Here she is, everyone's little investment.

I am unaware unsure intrepid and unavailable, unfathomable and intractable, tumbledown and slapdash, helium-filled and Simonized, celibate and consumptive, terrible and indifferent.

Playdoh clit-flick Anti-Christ.

The first EP proper came in a hand-coloured sleeve. Like all hand-coloured sleeves, hand-coloured meant carelessly scrawled upon. Still, it was carelessly scrawled upon by one of the objects of one's obsession, and therefore to be pored over and treasured. I imagine these hand-colouring session were a riot: all the band members lying on their fronts, Chelsea boots kicking leisurely in the air, tongues lolling out with the effort and concentration. Mine must have been done towards the end of the session, when the colourist was dying to get back to their effects pedals or watching a battered videotape of The Monkees or The Banana Splits, maybe Get On Board With The Double Deckers, in their very own Shop Assistants hideout, a converted bus in an Edinburgh lock-up, electricity pilfered from a lamppost outside.

I am one of the select group of people who think The Shop Assistants are one of the best bands of all time. What's more, I am one of the even more select group of people, a group that might just be a one-man band, who think they went downhill after their first single, which is actually their second single.

I got the third single on twelve inch because it was on offer. I bought it from, sin of sins, HMV on Sauchihall Street, Glasgow. The person who served me was the kind of 80s vintage HMV employee, job for life, who seethed with contempt for anything that might not have been willing to bow down before the twin gods of Buster-era Phil Collins and frizzy-haired conquerors Dire Straits, anything that might labour under the weight of the "alternative" label a label that meant hhomosexualityand socialism, to name but two 80s evils that required eradication, preferably through the effective wweed-killer of the approved blandathons known as Radio One playlists. The barcode rang up the normal price. I meekly, that is to say, indiely, pointed to the dayglo orange pay-no-more-than 79p sticker. Mulletman sighed heavily, brutally, much like a Glaswegian taxi driver if you ever dared not to have the right change. I thought I was finally going to be able to die for my art, decapitated by a black vinyl disc, a martyr to buzzsaw guitars smothering plaintive melodies. But he just sent me to another till, where the correct price was applied and I lived to dither another day.

I had a friend who was a fellow Shop Assistants fan. I guess it brought us together. She walked through Angel Delight, I stumbled through porridge. She was from Edinburgh and she told me the Shoppies' singer Alex could often be seen "clanking around Edinburgh in her leathers." Think about that image for a moment. The streets of Edinburgh, I think it is fair to say, have seen their fair share of clanking, both real and supernatural, but rarely has it been caused by a young woman with a fine folk voice dressed head to toe in black leather. She wore a Marlon Brando cap and went on to front a group called The Motorcycle Boy. She probably couldn't afford a motorbike until she reached middle age. In fact I bet she's still saving up now. Her vocals were like a rainbow slick of oil on an autumn puddle, and her defiance was as old as the volcanic rock she walked upon - You leave me and I'll scratch your eyes out.

The Shop Assistants gave one of the best concerts I've ever been to. The Beastie Boys were still in Cookie Puss mode, so support band Pop Will Eat Itself were still good, the ideal warm-up really. What's so fucking good about Candy? That kind of thing. Then, sandwiched between The Poppies and The Shoppies, came Peter Case, a bewildered Jay Gatsby who was forced to suffer a great deal of vociferous abuse. For some reason, I had heard of him, and tried to listen. But it was hopeless, and so was Peter Case. Then came the Shop Assistants and they were loud and brash and had two drummers and if they were shambolic, as legend has it, I didn't notice. I don't know if it still happens now, but in those days women performers got lecherous comments hurled at them by drunks and numbskulls. After a while this became intolerable for the guitarist, whose name was, I think, David Keegan. I think he might have been from up north. He kicked someone in the crowd in the head, or rather he brought his Cuban heel down on someone's head, pressing it down like one of the plastic footballers in Subbuteo poor-substitute Striker. The atmosphere became electrified with the promise of rioting. It didn't really develop into anything major, but it was thrilling, it was rock'n'roll, it was what I wanted from life. Add to this the troubled expression of one of the drummers as events unfolded, and I was in something approaching heaven. This was what eighteen-year-old me wanted from life. Rarely was I to experience it again in such a mountain-pure form.

I got their album on the popular musicassette format, a format second only to the cassingle in the embarrassment stakes for pop fans. It's a hard-contested field. 8-track cartridges have been revered for some time, lauded by Big Black et al, but there are, as far as I know, no songs about musicassettes or cassingles. I would like someone to take the opportunity to tackle these artefacts in song before they disappear from the collective memory for ever.

The album was, at the time, a dreadful disappointment. It was on some kind of major label, Chrysalis, I think, so it had to be shit. And that was the end of that really. They disappeared, dissolved. The unavoidably inferior Motorcycle Boy, drumming for Meat Whiplash, guest guitar on a Vaselines record, not much else as far as I know. Which is the way it should be really, like a slowly disappearing vapour trail in a blue blue Scottish sky.

King of fools

2009-11-19T12:57:00.003Z

THE JESUS AND MARY CHAIN: THE RIOT YEARS

2009-11-08T18:53:00.002Z

THE JESUS AND MARY CHAIN: THE RIOT YEARS
Everybody loves a riot, and I am no exception. But real riots can be so unpredictable. It's all too easy to get a brick in the back of the head or a truncheon up the jacksy. One rioter once asked me if I could lend him a handkerchief with which to obscure his features, but the only I had had bogeys, so I was forced to pretend I hadn't got one. When I first started working in the Basque Country, Friday night was riot night. We would come out of work to be met by the huge hulking figures of riot police and would have to basically follow a line of them up to the railway station, which was being guarded to dissuade the disaffected youth from indulging in one of the favourite pastimes, setting fire to means of public transport. This is all very well, but it can (and did) go wrong, and the regular bouts of stone throwing were as unpredictable as forest fires. Good fun, I admit, but best to keep your distance if you value your freedom and/or physical integrity. So what better way to enjoy a riot than in the controlled environment of a small concert hall or nightclub? This was the brave social experiment carried out by followers of The Jesus and Mary Chain in the mid-eighties. Like May '68 without the slogans. The Jesus and Mary Chain made great records, records with cheese wire solos and dustbin lid drums. They were unavoidably exciting, and the experience of very loud feedback in a confined space could be quite agitating. Add to this the group's habit of playing for ten minutes or so before skulking off-stage and it is no real surprise tempers could be stretched to breaking point, if indeed this is what happened rather than just people "having a laugh" or whatever.

I went to see The Jesus and Mary Chain at Nottingham Rock City when the riot thing was still in the air. I was under-age and had borrowed my brother's provisional driver's licence. I had some kind of mental block at the door when the bouncer asked my date of birth and was ejected from the queue and put in some kind of holding pen, all my rock'n'roll dreams in the balance. I can't remember how I managed to convince my interlocutors that I really was over eighteen, but I did. Me in my cut-off donkey jacket. This was, after all, the time of the miners' strike (another false legend) or thereabouts and a cut-off donkey jacket seemed like a nice balance between a statement of solidarity and Duranee-baiting stylishness.

Once inside the venue (a fairly charmless place next to a car park, but by the far the most exciting place I had ever been) the long wait began. I think there were two support bands, but they were the kind that pay to get on the tour and everybody hates them. They must have got a fair bit of abuse that night. Someone's elder sister was working behind the bar (no doubt a glamorous student at Nottingham Poly), and gave my friends cheap drinks, but not me, because I had embarrassed myself in front of her in some drunken incident or other involving vinegar. I considered being mortified but... nah, no point. We waited. And waited. We had some chips. We waited, waited, waited. By now the venue was filling up and it was clear that quite a few people were there for a ruck - men with moustaches and white trainers, Terry-from-Brooksidealikes, Clough-era Notts Forest fans, definitely not people interested in The Jesus and Mary Chain and their clearly delineated scalpel slice through Warhol-fuelled selective rock'n'roll history. My clearest memory of the night is everyone, JAMC freaks and ruck boys alike, standing around trying to look tough when the DJ played Time Flies By When You're The Driver Of A Train by Half Man Half Biscuit at ear-bleeding volume. Try it some time, it's a pretty tricky pose to pull off.

Eventually the objects of our adulation shambled onto the stage. Obviously at the time I had a Bobby crush, so I was disappointed that Gillespie had either decided on a new sticky-uppy haircut or had been replaced. It later transpired (via the Hello Goodbye section of Mojo Magazine) that this gig was the début of John Moore. Bobby G was there, but backstage, giving his replacement moral support. Apparently he told him that all that was expected of him was to keep time, look good and dodge the bottles. Well, he didn't look good, and there were no bottles thrown. It was a disappointment, Bobby G not playing, and I find it hard to cling to the notion that this was some kind of historical event, a new drummer being baptised. I suppose in effect it was the beginning of a very slow end. The gig itself wasn't very good really, not after such a long wait. I think they were on for about half an hour, and I think they'd learned to defuse the latent violence by playing an excruciatingly long version of one of their more tuneless B-sides. Certainly the aforementioned Terrys from Brookside were hoping to start something by shoving and pushing and swearing and threatening, but the majority of punters were gentle souls more inclined to Pastelism than punishment, and nothing really happened. I'm glad I went, but to be honest, it wasn't much good. I loved the feedback, loved the melodies, loved the idea, but the vocals were almost inaudible, the shape and texture of the records was lost, and you couldn't help feeling that the band's obvious contempt for their audience was kind of deserved. That's not a nice feeling. So we all trooped out and some of us returned to the land of the tractor and the cow-pat, and went back to school next day with something to brag about and a legend to start building.

Years later I saw The Jesus and Mary Chain again in Prague. They were fantastic, but my abiding memory of that particular ghostly tube stop on the Revolution line from 1968 to 1989 was the wonderful sound of Big Star's Big Black Car hollowing its way from the PA in a cavernous venue as the audience trickled in. This time I was with people who'd taken real risks in the name of rock'n'roll, for which read freedom, people who'd run samizdat printing presses and so on, people who felt it was a really big deal to see The Jesus and Mary Chain. So I knew I was in the right place, and that I had been in the right place all along.

(I wanted to embed this, but I can't get it to work, but please click away.It is a video entitled The Jesus and Mary Chain North London Poly Riot)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hclcrEpui64

It's good to hear your voice, you know it's been so long

2009-03-09T12:45:00.001Z

And it's hard to believe this song is 30 years old.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uPq9tF1FbnA

(having trouble embedding it if someone can help me out?)

Maybe you should welcome the new soul vision

2008-10-22T13:02:00.007+01:00

One of the first LPs my sister and I bought together (by the cliched but nonetheless effective methodology of saving up our pocket money) was Dexys Midnight Runners' debut album, Searching For the Young Soul Rebels (1980). Listening to it again, it's stood up very well; it's full of humour, intelligence and acute observations as well as the distinctive sounds of a kick ass horn section. Classic songs on the album include "Geno", still a great and curiously moving song; and the hyperarticulate "There There My Dear".

One song in particular, Thankfully Not Living in Yorkshire It Doesn't Apply, reminds me of dancing in the livingroom with a guy we called Randy Andy, a friend of my mum's in the category normally known as "freak", laughing with sheer joy because he was such a funky mover. The song contains the inimitable line "Lord have mercy on me, keep me away from Leeds". Which at the time, based on a complete absence of evidence, we deduced was about the Yorkshire Ripper.

Dexys went through some odd incarnations after this northern soul, teams-that-meet-in-caffs period: moving from serious, rather po-faced men in black clad in woollen hats to embrace the excesses of the day. Who can forget the risible dungarees circa "Come on Eileen" and the questionable hair? To the jaundiced eye, the age old problem: they seemed to have sold out as they got more popular. Their appearance on Top of the Pops for Jacky Wilson Said was notable for the pictures of darts player Jocky Wilson displayed in error by BBC props staff. Kevin Rowland went through several breakdowns and ended up heavily made up and wearing a dress on the cover of his solo album My Beauty. Not that there's anything wrong with this, of course; better a dress than dungarees.

Absolute Beginners (the Film)

2008-01-14T18:22:00.000Z

I think this was the most expensive British musical ever, or something like that, and was a total flop on release. Well, I think it is time it got the digging it deserves. It is so highly stylised that anyone who doesn't fully surrender themselves to its logic will not enjoy it. Once you enter into the spirit of its studio-bound Soho, however, it is top entertainment. The music, despite the involvement of Gil Evans, is a bit trying, to put it mildly. But surely this is better than an attempt at "authenticity", especially when the plot deals so explicitly with falsehood and prioritising practicality over idealism. That is does this with the help of Slim Gaillard is surely a one-off worth celebrating. Sade is surprisingly good, both visually and vocally. The protagonist, Colin, mouthing along to Paul Weller is quite a jolt. The choreography is competent (to my ignorant eyes) and there are echoes of Fellini (explicit at one point), Ken Russell's Tommy film and Cliff vehicle The Young Ones. It is surprising to me that the likes of Patsy Kensit and Eddie Tenpole are not bigger stars than they are. Presumably Ray Davies's career was pretty slow at the time it was filmed, and his turn as a henpecked husband is gloriously understated. Surely this film would find more of a welcome in a world where the Pirates of the Carribean series is such a big earner. And where else are you going to find a film featuring a fight between rival groups shouting their allegiance to either "Mods!" or "Trads!" respectively. Not to mention the equally hens' teeth occurrence of the insult "chocolate drop" used in anger.

Four stars out of five.

PMQs

2008-01-14T18:16:00.000Z

One unexpected advantage of the digital age is that I am now able to review Prime Minister's Questions every week. I can just press a button and my hard disk recording device will tape it for me, whether or not my attention is drawn to it by a lot of preceding fuss. This week was Nick Clegg's debut as Liberal head honcho. I thought he did OK, although I did not know who he was until he stood up. Never having watched PMQs in its entirety, I was surprised by how, erm, likable, or at least relatively entertaining, Big Dave Cameron is. At one point he answered a question from Big Gordon Brown, who insisted that he hadn't. This was a bit odd. Not side-splitting, just a it weird. The theatrical nature of the event helps, I think. After all, the proper debates are often unwatchable except by the hardy few. It was a few days ago, so I have forgotten most of it. I will have to either take notes or be a little more prompt next week.

PJM 2007

2007-12-14T19:58:00.000Z

Here is the tracklisting for my end of the year roundup CD, with reasons for choosing them. No one has heard it yet, but still.

1. JOHN BARRY – THE WHISPERERS

I watched this film when it was on the telly.

2. IAN BROWN – ILLEGAL ATTACKS

I particularly like Sinead O'Connor's contribution to this record. It is also here as a tribute to me seeing Ian Brown having a fag outside his hotel in Reading.

3. STYLE COUNCIL – SHOUT TO THE TOP (INSTRUMENTAL)

Not sure why this is here. It's good though. Better with the words, mind.

4. R DEAN TAYLOR – THERE'S A GHOST IN MY HOUSE

Got this on a Motown compilation for a quid out of Fopp before it went into meltdown.

5. GRINDERMAN – NO PUSSY BLUES

Apart from everything else, what I really love is the guitar sound, which is one of those little guitars. I did some research and found out that they are called travel guitars.

6. DINOSAUR JR – ALMOST READY

This is just brilliant really.

7. EDWYN COLLINS – HOME AGAIN

I went to his comeback concert.

8. JONA LEWIE – STOP THE CAVALRY

From the Stiff Records box set, most of which is rubbish. It was cheap, but I would still like my money back. Roogalator.

9 and 10 ROKY ERICKSON – BERMUDA/THE INTERPRETER

Again, I went to a concert, in this case, Roky Erickson's British debut. It was good, but nowhere near as good as these two songs, which are from a 7 inch single originally.

11 and 12 THE MONKS – CUCKOO/I CAN'T GET OVER YOU

This is a 7 inch single too, now extra tracks on the CD of the album. Edith has spent the past few minths asking for "cucko music", so I am always delighted when I come across something that fits that description.

13. TONY CONRAD WITH FAUST – THE DEATH OF THE COMPOSER WAS IN 1962

I went to a Tony Conrad concert in which he droned on for bleeding ages. Here is a nice short drone from his session with Faust.

14. TELEVISION – BLANK GENERATION (LIVE)

From a Richard Hell compilation CD, which might be the album of the year if I could be bothered listening to it more often.

15. YOKO ONO/J SPACEMAN – WALKING ON THIN ICE

From an album in which "guests" do new music for Yoko Ono songs. They are all pretty good, but this one stands out for me as WALL OF PAIN of the year.

16. SUPER FURRY ANIMALS – WALK AWAY

Bought this especially for this end of the year roundup. Had never heard it before, but it is good. Reminds me of the Dion does Roy Wood and Wizzard extra track on Dion's Born To Be With You (?) CD reisssue. And it has been another year of Wales in my head.

17. ESG – ERASE YOU

From a "rarities" CD, which I think is better than the non rarities CD I got a few years ago. I suppose the word is "insistent".

18. GORDON JACKSON – THE JOURNEY

19. LAURIE JOHNSON – THE PROFESSIONALS

My idea of a joke. Still, they are both very good. I find Gordon Jackson a bit too much like hard work, as is true with most of the folkies that are being dusted off these days. I hope they are all growers. This track is the most "psychedelic" on a fairly plodding album.

20. JOHN LENNON – NOBODY TOLD ME

I like this song. It is from the soundtrack to the film "John Lennon vs the USA" which was on the telly at some point. All the tracks on the soundtrack are political in some way. Here we are concerned with "Nazis in the bathroom", which has inspired me to draw a little Hitler moustache on our Toilet Duck.

It has very much been a year of Nazis too, what with "Downfall" and "Winnie and Wolf" both dealing with the Fuhrer.

I am begining to warm to my task, but there are only two tracks left.

21. CANDIE PAYNE – ONE MORE CHANCE (INSTRUMENTAL)

This is a Mark Ronson production. It has been his year as well. I hate the little twat. I like Candie Payne though, for bringing back kitchen sink psychedelia, my favourite imaginary genre
.
22. WHITE NOISE – BLACK MASS: AN ELECTRIC STORM IN HELL

I hadn't actually heard this before putting it on here.

God Gave Rock and Roll To You

2007-11-03T20:01:00.000Z

Here is a zip file of mp3s of my "best of" for 2007. It is a bit early, but who cares? At a later date I shall provide detailed sleevenotes and link to vaguely related videos, but in the meantime, here is the zip a de doodah:

http://www.gigasize.com/get.php?d=r1vo6xtk7tc

I hope it proves entertaining, perhaps on a long journey or at the launderette.

Radio Two Shitefest

2007-10-13T00:10:00.000+01:00

I haven’t done this in a while, for various reasons too dull to mention. Anyhoo, I’m going to be a bit briefer than before, so that it seems easier to do. And also because my critical faculties don’t really extend beyond ‘this is shit’ and ‘this is transcendent’.

I’m only basing this on this week’s playlist on Radio Two, as I have failed to note down what got my attention recently. Finally, there’s a whole new section, now - not only is there Good and Bad, but also a section for the songs I am Unsure about! Woo.

nb, some of the videos are not proper videos, just those shoddy fan videos you get on Youtube.

GOOD

Richard Hawley – Serious – this reminds me of something I can’t identify. I don’t think it’s much of a song really, but it’s catchy enough. The video is amusing.

Kylie – Two Hearts – of course this is going to be great. Plucky Kylie etc etc.

UNSURE

Take That - Rule The World I quite like this, but my 16 year old self is recoiling in horror. To appease this I imagine that it’s being performed by Suede, and that helps a great deal. Besides the lyrics are kind of Prozac Brett Anderson anyway.

Seal – Amazing – I never knew that Seal’s real name was Seal Henry Olusegun Olumide Adeola Samuel until I looked on Wikipedia. Now I know. I’ve never been a fan, and this song hasn’t changed that but it’s a bit of an earworm, I’ll give it that much. If it was by Unkle Jam I'd probably give it an easier time.

Mika - Happy Ending – it utterly pains me to say this, but this would make a passable Scissors Sisters b-side, and is therefore classifiable as ‘not absolutely fucking mind numbingly dreadful’, therefore elevating it many levels above Mika’s previous effluvia.

The Hoosiers - Goodbye Mr A I want to hate this, I hated the previous single, and feel this is very similar, but it’s somehow not as awful. I would make the ELO comparison but it’s been done to death.

Leona Lewis - Bleeding Love – I’ve only heard this once, and a perverse 5% of me wants to like it. It’s how I imagine power ballads were like in early 1990s South America. Although thinking about it I’m not sure why this would be a good thing.

BAD

Amy MacDonald - L.A. – Her previous single was dire, yet this surpasses it in the shite stakes. I can’t quite express the baffled rage I feel in regard to this song, and indeed to her. I honestly cannot believe that anyone would think her voice is at all pleasant – it’s almost comedically low, and ‘oirish’ to the point of being distorted. I saw her do it live on some TV show, and she dropped her voice at least an octave, and it was fucking bizarre. And wrong. Perhaps she is an elaborate joke. I hope so.

Orson – Ain’t No Party – Tedious, just tedious. The singer’s voice is retarded, they’re clearly gay for Toploader, and have written this song expressly with the intention of it getting using in adverts and the other inbetween bits of telly. If I’m ever at one of their parties I’m going to kill myself. After I've dispatched with them and their moronic mates that is.

Ben’s Brother – Carry On - My antipathy to this lot is already known, and nothing has changed with this song, it basically the same song as last time, so I won’t repeat myself. Basically, they really shouldn’t ‘carry on’.

Ja, bitte!

2007-08-10T00:05:00.000+01:00

Here's some that didn't make me vomit!

RICHARD HAWLEY – Tonight The Streets Are Ours
I don’t know much about the rest of Hawley’s output, I believe he was in the Longpigs, and is mates with Jarvis, and initially I thought this song might be Cocker’s latest, although Hawley doesn’t have quite enough charisma to fool me for long. Whatever though, it’s charmingly upbeat and just a little bit timeless, which will do for a drab Wednesday afternoon. I have come to accept that my critical faculties have been altered, some might say dulled, by months of listening to Radio 2’s daytime playlist. What of it though - I am content. It’s like valium.

SOPHIE ELLIS BEXTOR - Today The Sun’s On Us
Like Hawley, someone who’s reinvented themselves after Britpop. How many more are there around today? Louise Wener doesn’t count. Anyway, here Sophie manages to take this quite positive lyric and make it sound wistful. I’ve always liked Sophie; she has very good legs.

AMY WINEHOUSE – Tears Dry On Their Own
It took me awhile to notice Amy Winehouse, having for a long time filed her away in the bit of my brain reserved for Glamour magazine, strappy heels and cocktails with the girls. None of which appeal to me, apart from the cocktails, so for ages I ignored her. I realised I was mistaken when Rehab came out, and although she’s clearly heading for a massive crash she really does have a remarkable voice, and this is one of the strongest songs on the album. Also, the world needs pop stars who get fucked up and fall over, and are mouthy and don’t give a shit.

JOSS STONE – Tell Me What We’re Gonna Do Now
A surprise entry in the Ja, bitte! list here, I had no idea who this was the first couple of times I heard it and by the time I found out who it was it was too late; I was already captivated by her overly mature voice, and the straightforward stylings of this track. I guess that’s why I didn’t click that was Stone, I associate her with overblown vocal displays and hideous white soul. As an aside, I love these singers who are basically children, there’s something quite satisfying about watching them go off the rails as time goes by.

THE THRILLS - Nothing Changes Around Here
Does what it says on the tin (the tin says ‘Standard Indie – Non Toxic). I see this lot as methadone to the Shins smack. It’ll do. Although I hear methodone is highly addictive which fucks that analogy out of the water.

Also-rans for the good list: THE REVELATIONS - Baby, I Want You To Know/ GROOVE ARMADA FEAT. MUTYA - Song 4 Mutya/ ARCADE FIRE - No Cars Go

EDIT: Cannot get the link for Joss Stone to work, but what the hell, you all know how to use Youtube, right?

Nein Danke!

2007-08-09T23:52:00.000+01:00

Hello! Here I am again with my ramblings. First up, the crap that's been on Radio Two in the last month or so.

AMY MACDONALD - Mr Rock and Roll

Christ this is awful. I’m unclear what it’s about, but there’s something almost nauseatingly embarrassing about her singing about someone being rock and roll. It’s like a shoddy uncle trying to do a hip-hop dance. The music itself is so remarkably uninspired and cliched that its pointlessness is almost remarkable. Almost. Her voice is deeply unsubtle, like a blunt hacksaw. Finally, ‘multicultural’ is not a suitable word for a pop song. And actually, nor are most of the other words in the song, not in this combination at least.

BEN'S BROTHER – Let Me Out

Have you seen (at top) what this lot look like? It’s like an advert for banality. Anyway, song starts with emo piano, alarms bells should be ringing around now. The vocal wanders in, with some shit lyrics, and the voice is a cross between Steve McFadden (on that duet CD he did with Barbara Windsor. Or whatever) and Joe Pasquale. Essentially unpleasant is what I’m saying. The mixed messages in the chorus elevate it from bland to actually annoying (‘Let me out. Or let me in'. WHICH IS IT TO BE?).

JAMES BLUNT – 1973

Born in 1974, the only way James would have been in a club in 1973 is if his pregnant mother had been there, no doubt passively inhaling cigarette smoke, which as we all know can lead to birth defects. I put it to you that James’ birth defect is to be condemned to a life of producing shite, annoying MOR songs.

RUFUS WAINWRIGHT - Rules And Regulations
Rufus’ previous song irritated me so much that I would leave the room when I came on, much like when Big Girl by Mika comes on. His Thom Yorke esque voice is whiny, and just so gloomy. This song sucks the life-force out of me. What fucking rules and regulations are you on about anyway? Cheer up goth.

NELLY FURTADO - In God's Hands

I don’t have much to say about this, but why is it that some singers often do say, two or three great upbeat tracks then follow it up with this kind of drivel?

Also rans: NATALIE IMBRUGLIA – Glorious/ GOLDSPOT – Friday.

Three for Ten Quid

2007-07-19T10:12:00.000+01:00

I sometimes go to a little record shop in Reading that sells secondhand CDs at three for ten quid, which usually seems cheap enough to take a chance or to pick up something you've had your eye on but never dared pay full price for.

LFO: Frequencies

I used to have a double CD called Warp Influences, which was early techno and house records. Foolishly, I sold it, but the memory of it was enough to persuade me to choose this album by LFO. I expected it to be more minimalist, but even so it is pleasantly bleepscapist and makes for good background music whilst playing Lego or toy cars, two of my most frequent activities now that I am a stay-at-home dad. There is one track called "Love is the Message", but it sounds like the lady vocalists are cooing "hunt the sausage". Neither message seems particularly relevant to the music, but still. I think this album might be a grower. It begins with a track aligning itself to house pioneers like Phuture and Adonis rather than KLF, but I think it is quite similar to KLF's Chill Out album, a form of easy listening. Perhaps it stuck out more in 1991 when it was released.

The Cramps: Flamejob

This album is now available with loads of extra tracks, but this is the original release on Creation Records from 1994. I was hoping it would put itself forward as the greatest late Creation LP, but unfortunately it is for the most part quite tame, at least by Cramps standards. It ends with three cover versions, which are probably the highlight of the album, including a strangely affecting version of (Get Your Kicks On) Route 66. Thoughtful and sedate, it effortlessly evokes the passing of time, a surprising end to a Cramps album.

Sonic Youth: Rather Ripped

Another album that saves best for last, the closing track here is called "Or" and appears to revolve around fanzine interviews, something Sonic Youth used to make a point of making themselves available for. I conducted one myself on the Daydream Nation tour, and if I'm perfectly honest, I consider that album to be their cut-off point. Still, it's nice, if slightly chilling, to be a small part of this lacerating lyric - "What comes first, the music or the words?". Yes, I asked something very similar. (The answer is jam sessions.) Like the Cramps album referred to above, this LP lacks a certain spark or edge of desperation, and it's a shame the bonus track undoes the good work of "Or" which is a fantastic closer, like "Caroline No".

I bought the above three together. I can't remember what I bought the next one with, but I remember I only bought it to make up the three CDs required to qualify for the cheaper price:

Ministry: Early Trax

Ministry is a group I would like to like, along with spin-off projects like The Revolting Cocks and 1,000 Homo DJs. Here we have some early 12" singles and their accompanying remixes and B sides. They are not blessed with the corrosive guitars of later Ministry records and come across as something like a poor man's Depeche Mode. They do not sound particularly angry or twisted, so to my mind they are not much use. I suppose you could play them at a party, and the album might be a grower, if I ever give it a chance. I have been tempted to check out later Ministry, but I have not got round to it yet.

You may have noticed that these reviews have been written with only the most cursory of listens to the albums in question, so I reserve the right to completely change my mind.

Radio Woohoo More Like

2007-06-29T10:37:00.000+01:00

Part two of my monthly round-up.

Feist – 1 2 3 4
Aw, this is lovely. What a nice voice. Hadn’t heard anything by her before, so it’s a bit depressing that I’m discovering stuff though Radio 2 now. Brass instruments and faintly shambolic Kate Bush feel. First place!

The Bees – Listening Man
Really nice production, all retro, if that’s the right description. Lovely, laid back, confident pace. Bit like Clinic but happy not angry.

Travis – Selfish Jean
I railed pretty hard against Travis back in the day, and Coldplay too. It’s clear now that neither band is a fraction as medicore as the dirgemongers they’ve spawned. Anyway, this song is great, all jaunty and compelling. I am converted (in this instance at least).

Unkle Jam – What Am I Fighting For?
I was really surprised to hear this on Radio Two – it feels much more suited to a younger station, and definitely more a night time song. Also the word ‘jam’ is funny. Jam. It’s almost as pleasing in the mouth as ‘Dade’*. Dade. Say it now. Dade. Jam. Jam. Dade. Dade.

Enrique Iglesias - Do You Know?
Starting with the sound of a ping-pong match, this song spent much of the first half of the month in my Bad list, but oddly it’s totally grown on me, but I really can’t explain why. A radio version of Stockholm Syndrome?

Simon Webbe – Grace
Again, a surprise hit. This style of music has never appealed to me, but with Radio Two you take what you can get. This song however, is calm, understated and just plain nice and oh my god you best not play me any Lighthouse Family cos I’ll tell you I’ve changed my mind about them and then I’ll probably start going to church, voting Tory and eating desiccated coconut. This is the slippery slope my parents warned me about. Quick, fetch the Throbbing Gristle box set; this is an emergency.

*As in CSI: Miami (Dade). ‘Sunglasses ON, Horatio, sunglasses ON’

Radio Poo More Like

2007-06-27T22:12:00.001+01:00

Hey, me again! I'm making this a monthly thing. Readership of 3, if I'm lucky. My original idea was to list 10 good and 10 bad songs for the last month, as heard on Radio Two. I had too many bad though, and not enough good, so here in part one is my abridged baaaad list. Gooood follows tomorrow. Aren’t you excited!

Mika - Big Girl (You Are Beautiful)

I had time for Mika’s first single. It was charming, vaguely intelligent; I thought he might be an all right kind of cove. How wrong was I? This latest lyrical vomit is utterly awful; I go and lock myself in the bogs when it comes on. People think I’ve got the shits, but I don’t care, I never want to hear this heavy-handed hymn to lardy lasses and how great every single one of them is ever again.

Paul McCartney – Dance Tonight

For me, this song is as surreal as the stuff on Yellow Submarine. The concept of the long-faced Gillian McKeith lookalike providing musical accompaniment to people ‘dancing tonight’ and having fun is just plain weird. Plus is that a ukulele? Unforgivable Paul, you look like a right nonce. No wonder Heather fucked off. She knew this was in the pipeline.

Andrea Corr – Shame On You

First of all Andrea gets some credit for leaving the Corrs. That’s the extent of my goodwill though, as this song is basically a Corrs’ song that has been put through some kind of generic lite dance processing machine in order to give Andrea some edge, I imagine in an unimaginative attempt to buoy her career along for a bit longer. Is ‘MOR Dance’ a genre? Andrea’s just invented it if not.

Gareth Gates - Angel On My Shoulder

In some interview recently GG was explaining how he had a fresh and exciting direction. Whereas Andrea Corr at least has the decency to try something a little edgy (I’m being generous here, ok?) GG has opted to perform a song so overwrought, down tempo and downright tedious that it makes me wonder whether his label isn’t trying to sabotage him from the inside. Genuine queries – who buys this shit? And at what point in one’s day does it feel right to listen to this? Is it for when the Samaritans are engaged*?

Robin Thicke – Lost Without You

Two problems – first this is a sorry excuse for a song, pretty much a textbook example of everything I hate, and second, his name is Thicke. THICKE. Is the final ‘e’ silent or voiced?

Sonny Jim - Can't Stop Moving

When I first heard this I was optimistic but by the second listen it was clear that it’s insubstantial chaff. Chucking together a load of vintage samples and saccarine motivational quotations, a la ‘Wear Sunscreen’ and generally ripping off the Go Team!/ Avalanches may impress Steve Wright but not me. Try harder Sonny Jim.

Scouting For Girls - It's Not About You

“Dear Jim

We really like McFly, even though they’re a bit shit. Can you fix it for us to be like them? Obviously we don’t want to be as good as them cos that would be disrespectful, so can you fix it for us to be a third rate tribute act to a third rate somewhat generic guitar band?

from Roy, Greg and Peter from ‘Scouting For Girls’

Fergie - Big Girls Don't Cry

Some people, myself included would point out that one Anastasia is quite enough for the world. Fergie’s voice on this is pretty weird, strangled and cutesy and all over the place. The one redeeming feature of the song is the unintentional humour in her pronunciation of the line ‘I’m gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket’

Justin Nozuka - Mr Therapy Man

Justin is 12 years old and last year for Christmas he got an acoustic guitar and a random blues lyrics generator. Since then he has put togther some cod blues records, much in the style of tens of other nondescript male singer-songwriters with guitars and sensitive-yet-macho haircuts, and is inflicting them on us. He lives in Luton and although he often sings about his ‘baby’ (who in this song has left him boohoo), he has actually only got as far as brushing up against Laura’s boobs in General Studies.

*I didn’t want to write this, as I know full well the Sams operate a phone system whereby if one branch is busy you’ll get put through to another branch, meaning the phone is always answered. Well done them.

Radio Two baybee

2007-05-30T23:13:00.000+01:00

(I figure some posts here wouldn't go amiss! Is anyone reading?

Anyway, I have knocked something up. It follow below. Obviously.)

This is my five best and worst newish tracks as heard on Radio Two in the last week, with brief commentary...

Good

1. Umbrella - Rihanna

The 'ella-ella-ella-eh' part is like catnip to me.

2. World is Outside - Ghosts

Reminiscent of Valentine by the Delays, gets the dance/ rock balance right.

3. Willy Mason ft KT Tunstall - We Could Be Strong

Catchy and charming, with minimal Tunstall. He looks like the sort of chap who would entertain a novelty beard though, so some reservations remain.

4. Samson - Regina Spektor

Not the type of song I usually like, but I like RS, and her voice goes a long way to make a miseryballad or whatever this is into something rather listenable and not heavy handed (take note Natasha Bedingfield)). The video is pretty also.

5. Someone to Love - Fountains of Wayne

A last minute entry here, I've only heard this once, but it sounds interesting.

Bad

1. Last Night I Nearly Died - Duke Special

Offensive voice, terrible sixth formish concept for lyrics, stupid gentle crescendo into repetative nothingness on the chorus.

2. Tiny Dancers - Hannah We Know

Songs by blokes with girl's names in the title in fuck me right off*. Can't actually work out what the song is about, so feel the name is a bit gimmicky. The singer looks like a sickly creep.

3. Cherry Ghost - People Help The People

Just monotonous, over-worthy lyrics.

4. Natasha Bedingfield - Soulmate

This is just painful. Overwrought, whingy, no one cares, woman! Ooh, she knows long words, isn't she clever, not like all the others!

5. Ben's Brother - Rise

Just look at them.

*with the exception of Eleanor Put Your Boots On by the Frank Fergusons.

Top Telly from Irvine Welsh and Someone Else

2007-05-24T10:22:00.001+01:00

(I started a new blog but no one read it, so I am repeating it here.)

I am proofreading the subtitles for this new Irvine Welsh TV thing called Wedding Belles. Due to the nature of the job I can only watch it in fits and starts, on a tiny little screen on my computer. Even so, I can tell it's a fantastic piece of work. Apparently it airs on March 29th, and then the DVD will come out, I suppose. My favourite scene is when the crackhead heroine is enjoying her drug of choice whilst listening to Krautrock by Faust, which is one of my favourite pieces of music, punishingly hard psychedelia that seems to go on and on for ever. Then she tries to kill herself. Something about the conjunction of music, image and content makes this scene especially moving to me, even without the benefit of a proper context. I suppose it is because I share her desire for oblivion (at least some of the time), but me being me, I know that after the oblivion wears off I would be right back where I started, if not actually worse off. I suppose this is one of the positive effects of being a negative bastard.

Murphy's Law

2007-05-24T10:19:00.000+01:00

(I started a new blog but no one ever read it, so I am repeating it here.)

I had a closer look at my Murphy's Law Series One DVD what I got from Woolworth's for £4 last night. Imagine my surprise to find that it's the same story over and over again:Pilot Episode - Murphy's Law: A team of undertakers are moonlighting as diamond thieves - and the bodies are beginning to stack up. Murphy goes undercover to infiltrate the team and discovers a sinister connection with Japanese heroin dealers. Electric Bill: When Richard Mooney is arrested on suspicion of being 'Electric Bill', London's most infamous kidnapper, Murphy and Annie are in a desperate race against time to locate his latest victim. Mooney isn't talking so Murphy goes undercover in prison to win his trust. Kiss and Tell: A beautiful serial killer is terrorising London's business elite. Murphy goes undercover as a top financier and joins the same health club that the victims belonged to. Now he must date a number of beautiful and sophisticated women, each of whom might be the killer. Manic Munday: A top Irish snooker player is ordered to fix his next game - or die. Murphy and Annie go undercover to protect him - and uncover the sinister organisation behind the death! threats. Reunion: A top member of an east end gang is murdered - and London looks set to be torn apart by a bloody gang war. Murphy infiltrates the ranks of a rival gang and sets about gathering evidence against its leader. But as time starts to run out, and as tension on the streets reaches boiling point, Murphy and Annie find themselves on the front line...Having said that, the Irish snooker player one sounds quite good.

Stopper For None

2006-11-05T15:32:00.000Z

Last night I started reading a book called Starter For Ten by David "dandy" Nicholls. You may have seen advertisements for the film based on this book. It is about students in the 80s, and they go on University Challenge. I did quite well at this week´s University Challenge (by my standards) so when I saw the book going for half price, I thought i would do my bit for the eventual ruin of the publishing industry as we know it, and snapped it up. (Actually I had to go back the next day after thinking through the possible repercussions of spending three quid on a book.) Anyway, I have been waiting all day for a chance to pick it up again and have a bit of a laugh. But instead, I have been brouhgt to my knees by this:

"I'm stood behind her for the whole of the extended twelve-inch version of 'Blue Monday' by New Order."

That's it. A whole day of anticipation ruined. Now what am I going to do? Watch the fucking rugby?

Automatic for the people

2006-11-05T03:01:00.000Z

My mother travelled from Scotland to Hong Kong a few weeks ago, and she brought with her a CD by a Scottish singer/songwriter, David Heavenor, called "The Automatic Eye". This was a more personal gift than it sounds: David is a family friend who used to spend time at our house in the 70s and he is one of those figures from the past who I remember through the filter of summer gardens and heat on the tarmac with the strumming of a guitar as backdrop; he seemed to like spending time with the kids, the price for which was always a story; and the tales he used to tell us ("and the captain said, tell us a tale!") , including the legendary story of the hut in the woods, with its genuinely terrifying denouement, still burn in my mind. The gentle, unmistakeable Scottishness of his voice and its clear timbre contain so many things that I can't even name which are all to do with my memories of childhood, and my undeniable nostalgia for the place where I come from, which, at the risk of sounding sentimental, often seems even further away than 6,000 miles.

I've always been distrustful of people who sing unnaturally, in an accent other than their own, as if ashamed ("Brown Sugar! Just like a young girl should!") ; and I love those voices which in song are no more than a gear shift away from the spoken word: like David's.

The best track on the CD (what cheesy radio DJs call "the standout track") is called "Sign In a Stranger" and lines keep recurring to me, sitting at my desk in the office in the glass edifice where I spend my day, or lying awake at night worrying about work:

building up like storms,
bursting in mid-air

When David sings, in a hush, "I'm walking behind you, I'm climbing the stairs", I'm in a darkened, damp Edinburgh close with someone I can't have. It's strange being transported by something as simple as a song, but I realise that that's what I love about good music, that it can speak to you on so many levels: even though I now know nothing about David, his experiences, his life, I feel as though I know everything I need to know.

How I Want To Live My Life

2006-10-25T16:25:00.000+01:00

Inside I'm Plastic Bertrand:

The Byrds

2006-10-17T08:34:00.000+01:00

The Beatles are the sound of sitting on a damp wall waiting for something good to happen; of discomfort first mingling with, and then becoming the same thing as, the certainty of salvation.

The Byrds are something different: a beach, a leaf-carpeted grove, slanted sun in your eyes, the promise of something beyond.

I have been listening to this music for 20 years now, so that seems as good a reason as any to invest in a new box set. There Is A Season, it is called. I can’t remember what the previous box set was called, but There Is A Season is a good title, containing as it does a no-arguments-brooked reason for its existence.

There is more Gene Clark here, and with good reason. You don’t miss your water.

Disc 1 kicks off with some pre-Byrds stuff and some tracks from Pre-Flyte. Unlike many exercises of this type, they make pleasant listening aside form, or despite, their evolutionary importance. You can’t say the same for Steve Marriott gurning his way through Consider Yourself or the Reed/Cale demos that lie like the Slough of Despond before the Velvet Underground box set.

Then onto the well-loved classics, straight down the line, with the odd googly for good measure. The tracklisting flows beautifully, a broad and deep introduction to the band with no dud tracks whatsoever: chiming, drowning, skipping, dawdling and traipsing – out on the end of time. The dynamics are spot-on; propulsive and convincing, the rhythm section draws you in like quicksand, the Eighteenth Emergency of Pop.

Tracks tagged onto reissues can shine here, showing themselves to be the true equals of their more celebrated siblings. 65 minutes of bliss – just right. The exact number of drum beats and tambourine tattoos, the exact quantity of piled-high Rickenbacker glory, of heaving walls and pounding floors, of shaken mops of hair and breathless rides home.

Flash is fast, Flash is cool

2006-09-27T12:22:00.000+01:00

It must be the first and only time that the word “sacroiliac” has ever appeared in a song lyric. On paper it’s a toweringly cheesy idea, but somehow in song it works: how else to explain the unexpected shiver down my spine on hearing in passing a bar or two from Blondie’s “Rapture”?

I don’t think it’s just pure nostalgia either. Something about the cool, easy way Debbie Harry (oh, how it used to irk me when they called her Blondie! No, that’s a category error, I should have self-importantly cried) drawls: “Fab Five Freddie told me everybody’s fly…” makes the unworkable work. Poor old Vanilla Ice, who tried the same thing to practically worldwide opprobrium just a few years later, should have learned from Debbie’s chutzpah: do it first, do it best, then henceforth keep well away from a genre you are plainly ill-suited for.

Like many things, of course, none of this bears closer analysis, least of all the lyrics (“You get in the car and you drive real far/And you drive all night till you see a light/And it comes right down and it lands on the ground/And out comes the man from Mars”, anyone?). But I’ll throw my hands in the air like I just don’t care, and that’s what music is all about.