2015 – Teleman – Strange Combinations

(The year 2020 marks my 50th birthday. Leading up to the day (22nd November), I’m planning on writing a blog entry for each year, picking a song or an album from then that I love, talking a bit about why, and giving it some context in my life)

Ok, so we’re going to have the conversation about vinyl. I know it’s boring, and such a tired, old man thing to discuss, but we are going to go there. I love vinyl. I always have, ever since I was a child. And like many, I’m super glad it is now the norm for artists to release records again.

For me, it never really went away, although to be honest I always bought my music depending on what was the most convenient vessel in which to play it. Most of the vinyl I bought during my formative years were singles, on the whole 12″ records, and I didn’t buy all that many albums. I tended to get cassettes, because I used to like listening to tapes on my Walkman. Then I bought CD’s, as I could stick them on in my car.

But I always had a hooked up record player, up until 13 years ago when I had a daughter and ran out of space. I sold quite a lot of my rarer records then, making quite a lot of money, mostly old limited 12″ singles that were long out of print. But I still bought records, as I always prefer to have a physical copy of something.

This goes back to my youth, when my dad would listen to records and I would sit at his feet, usually looking at the artwork. I have talked on this blog before about Jeff Wayne’s War of the Worlds, and how entranced I became by the pictures on the sleeve. Out of the Blue by ELO had a similar effect. Even to this day, part of the joy of the postman bringing another package is getting the artwork as well as the music, and I’m pleased to see that people are starting to put thought again into how covers look, not just how the small avatar within Spotify might draw the eye.

Plus records look nice. In my mind, there is nothing more tactile than a rack full of records to flick through, to see what’s inside. Its just a pleasant experience, unmatched by anything else. The fact we can do that again in shops is a big thrill.

I’m been quite blessed though in that even though I live in a very normal, domestic part of the Home Counties, there are fantastic record shops on my doorstep. The town in which I live has this curious little shop that is crammed with old, battered records, some as cheap as a pound. My absolute favourite though, and possibly my favourite shop in the whole world, is The Record Shop in Amersham, barely 4 miles from my front door. I have been frequenting the premises since my teens, and owner Graham has been there all those years. I love browsing through the racks, well stocked with new records and thousands of second hand titles. He is a legend in my eyes, has taken thousands off me over the years, none of which I be-grudge.

And so my choice for 2015. This was released solely on vinyl in a limited run of 250 copies, and I was so excited to get one. I love Teleman, and consider this to be one of their best songs. The sheer audacity to give such a wonderful song this tiny, limited release is impressive, the amount of radio play it achieved at the time showing what a great little pop track it is. It bounces along gloriously, the equal of any eighties synth track.

So yes, long may vinyl continue. Sure, there is something a little “beard and cardigan” about it, but who cares. Buying records makes me happy, and surely in this crazy world, anything that achieves this is a good thing.

2014 – The War on Drugs – A Ocean In Between The Waves

(The year 2020 marks my 50th birthday. Leading up to the day (22nd November), I’m planning on writing a blog entry for each year, picking a song or an album from then that I love, talking a bit about why, and giving it some context in my life)

I’m not sure why, but I sometimes find it hard to connect with the sound of new music. When I listen to BBC Six Music, there is something about the reverb soaked, sparsely instrumented tone of most modern acts that fails to move me. It somehow feels as if the music exists within the recording apparatus itself, rather than the room in which the musicians were playing.

I feel this way about a lot of music from the late nineties, but to the other extreme. As much as I love bands such as Mansun, album Six at times sounds like a demo for Pro-Tools, a musical casserole where at times they needed to calm down a bit. Too many ingredients are thrown in, making it hard on the taste buds.

For me there is a sweet spot inbetween, where bands manage in an organic way to demonstrate how they’ve laboured over every bar, but still give their music space to breathe. Music resonates with me best when I can feel the musicians in the room. This may sound like a contradiction, particularly as I’ve spoken so much about electronic music in this blog, but I think you can tell. Despite the technology of bands like Depeche Mode and New Order, you can feel the performance in the track and the space where it was recorded. Listen to the track Plastic on New Order’s most recent album, and you can feel the participation of group members in the construction of one of the highlights of their career.

And I get that feeling in bucket loads from the music of The War on Drugs. My introduction to the band came through 2011 album Slave Ambient, but Lost in the Dream absolutely blew me away. There is so much to enjoy, especially the mood of the album, all perfectly balanced. I adore the ambient soundscapes that link some songs, but also the power of the more traditional elements.

Song An Ocean Between the Waves is my absolute favourite. It’s a long song, but never rambles, showcasing their talent and creating emotion and mood. It sits alongside track Pain from follow up album A Deeper Understanding as a perfect mixture of Americana and attention to detail, each element of the band’s music perfectly balanced. It sounds amazing in any environment – headphones, vinyl, anywhere, and never fails to move me. As a band, they never sound fashionable, but create what they feel is right.

It is harder to get into new music as you get older, and I would love to know why. I have a hunch it’s not the fault of new bands, but rather my propensity for backward thinking and nostalgia. Most of the new music I like these days sounds like old music anyway, further enforcing that point. In my twenties and thirties not hearing and appreciating the latest “hot” bands used to really freak me out, but now, I couldn’t care less, which is both a shame and a weight off the shoulders in equal measure.

2013 – My Bloody Valentine – New You

(The year 2020 marks my 50th birthday. Leading up to the day (22nd November), I’m planning on writing a blog entry for each year, picking a song or an album from then that I love, talking a bit about why, and giving it some context in my life)

Sunday 3rd February 2013 was no ordinary morning. I woke to the news that I could download a new My Bloody Valentine album. I could go to their website, hand over some money, and within moments be in possession of new songs by one of my favourite bands. I found the immediacy almost intoxicating, the thrill that within a half hour of knowing it would sit on my iPod, ready for a listen. With In Rainbows, there was a 10 day warning but for for this, there it was. No advance notice, no anticipation, just maximum excitement.

It’s so hard to remember what life was like before downloads and online streaming. At times, I find it overwhelming, this vast repository of songs, everything available at my fingertips, the opportunity to listen to whatever I want to. However, I still find myself mostly at a loss to know what to put on, in a way I never get with my record collection. As I look at my records, nicely lined up on the shelf, something always catches my eye, but give me a blank search bar in an app and my mind goes empty.

That said, it must have been torture back in the days of having just a Walkman and a C90 in my pocket. All those evenings of curating mix tapes, hours spent kneeling by the hi-fi with a pile of singles, stabbing play and record, getting the balance of tracks just right. I used to love making tapes for friends, getting creative with the box art, sticking little pictures in the window between the reels. But to go out and about with only 90 minutes of music on your person (and whatever limited battery time your Walkman allowed) was tough.

But when I could have everything it did consume me, and now I realise the harm it can cause when it comes to appreciation. There was a time when I would download everything on to my phone but listen to hardly anything. Now, I make a point of buying (usually on vinyl) what I really want, and make sure I enjoy it, getting myself back to how things used to be in my glory days.

So back in 2013, I paid for the download of m.b.v., but I also purchased the vinyl. Whilst not reaching the heights of Loveless, it’s an impressive body of work, different enough to their work in the nineties to not sound like a band re-treading old ground. New You is my favourite, realising the rare trick of making My Bloody Valentine sound relaxed and laid back. The tension that normally exists in their music is replaced with a languid, smooth vibe, displaying more melody than you would expect.

Since m.b.v., there have been rumours of new music from the band, but nothing yet. I hope it drops the same way – that I’ll wake up one morning and there it is. Because that morning back in 2013 was so exciting, the thrill of anticipation and instant satisfaction.

2012 – Beach House – Myth

(The year 2020 marks my 50th birthday. Leading up to the day (22nd November), I’m planning on writing a blog entry for each year, picking a song or an album from then that I love, talking a bit about why, and giving it some context in my life)

To some music fans this is going to sound like blasphemy, but I going to say it anyway. I’m not a huge fan of live music. And amongst followers of music, this is something quite difficult to admit. During the current Covid restrictions, I’m sure most are aching to go to a gig, to stand and watch a band perform, but I’m completely not fussed. I had two gigs I was planning to attend that were cancelled – The Flaming Lips in July, and A-ha in December, but I wasn’t all that bothered. In fact, I was disappointed they rescheduled rather than give me my money back.

Why is that? In my late teens and twenties, I went to hundreds of concerts. I’d been to practically every venue in London, standing and jumping amongst the sweaty masses, but since turning 30 I’d not really been that bothered. I’ve been to the odd gig, but always found it a bit unsatisfying. I’m always waiting for the moment I can leave, worried about getting the last train, worried that my ears are going to hurt the next day, annoyed by someone in front of me who thinks it better to record on their phone for future reference rather than watch the concert with their perfectly adequate eyeballs and memory.

The “ear hurting” excuse is a genuine concern. At a Happy Mondays concert in 1990 there was a moment where I felt something in my ear canal “give”, and I have had tinnitus ever since. It was during the support act, Gary Clail, at Wembley Arena, which was so unreasonably and unnecessarily loud that I’m sure I’m not the only one. My hearing was practically non-existent after the concert – I remember bellowing in a takeaway and barely hearing a word. When I woke the next day and it was still the same and a creeping dread swept over me. It took a week for what you could call normal hearing to return, leaving a high pitched whine. It bothered me at first but to be honest, I barely notice it 30 years on, only when it’s quiet and I really listen to it. When I do go to concerts, I wear plugs, and have on occasion noticed changes after gigs which get me worried I’ve caused more damage. I saw Suede in 2018 at the Hammersmith Apollo and had a tense couple of days with muffled hearing, convinced I’d damaged something else.

That said, I have been to some truly inspirational concerts. Blur at Alexandra Palace in 1994 was a highlight, but more for the occasion than the music. Radiohead on the OK Computer tour was also incredible. Often though its the smaller, more subtle events that stick in the mind. I was a fan of a folk band called Eden Burning in the 1990’s who played wonderful, intimate gigs, and Martin Simpson at a local jazz and folk club left me spellbound.

So what’s all this got to do with Beach House. I’ve never seen them live, but they are a band for whom I would make an exception, particularly if their TV performances of this wonderful song are anything to go by. I adore the building grandeur of Myth, from their 2012 album Bloom. It is the perfect opener for any record with its sparkling repeated riff and soaring conclusion, waves of stuttering magnificence bringing proceedings to an aching end. So this song is head and shoulders above all others in 2012 to stake its claim as my favourite.

I have happily bought all their albums and never been let down. 2015 was amazing, with two excellent albums released in quick succession, and I really enjoyed the more recent release 7. For a duo, they make an excellent sound, and after the pandemic is all done and dusted, maybe I will get my ear plugs out of the drawer and go and see them.

2011 – North Sea Radio Orchestra – Berliner Luft

(The year 2020 marks my 50th birthday. Leading up to the day (22nd November), I’m planning on writing a blog entry for each year, picking a song or an album from then that I love, talking a bit about why, and giving it some context in my life)

I don’t have many things in common with snooker player and commentator Steve Davies, but one is a mutual admiration of North Sea Radio Orchestra. A keen music fan, he has extolled their virtues on many occasions, and I can totally understand why.

My first exposure to the band was through being sent a review copy of album Birds for blog The Line of Best Fit. I soon fell in love with it, and reviewed album I A Moon for another website called The Liminal. I was thrilled when the band actually took a quote from my review and placed it on their website, though sadly now the host website no longer exists they have taken it down.

I really liked this album. There are more “songs” than on Birds, but I love it when the NSRO let their imaginations run riot on songs such as Berliner Luft. As a child, I grew up to the soporific sounds of Oliver Postgate’s television programmes such as Bagpuss and The Clangers, and this is what this track reminds me of, particularly the intro. I know very little of Krautrock, so cannot claim any authority over whether this is also an influence, but I’m open to the idea and any recommendations of bands who sound like this.

I so admire the audacity of collectives like this who use their talents to make music that stands little chance commercially, but entertains and enriches the life of a few dedicated followers. As such, I will happily purchase anything they produce. In fact, I was delighted to pick up this years Record Store Day release of this album, and so now own a copy on vinyl, which sounds wonderful.

I’m sure they don’t make much money out of these releases, particularly as there are so many of them in the band, but long may they continue to make such wonderful and life-affirming music.

2010 – Yeasayer – Ambling Alp

(The year 2020 marks my 50th birthday. Leading up to the day (22nd November), I’m planning on writing a blog entry for each year, picking a song or an album from then that I love, talking a bit about why, and giving it some context in my life)

I find it hard to believe that once, I used to work in an office. With my own desk, and the same colleagues sat around me, tucked away in the corner of the building with my back to a wall where I could safely hide away. Although it’s hard to admit in polite company, on the whole I actually prefer working from home, and there have only been a few occasions where I’ve missed being among other people. I get to spend time with my little, magnificent team online, who are my favourite people at work anyway, so have seen little reason to ever go back full time.

When I was there, some days used to go better than others, and if I had a bad morning, I observed a lunchtime ritual. I would go into town, get some food, and then time my walk back with a suitably rousing song to get me all fired up for the afternoon. And there was nothing finer than this one. The walk from Marks and Spencers to the office door was about 4 minutes, and so timed to perfection, I could burst through the automatic doors just as this song finished. “Stick up for yourself son. Never mind, what anybody else done”.

I like to use music as a rallying cry. Another favourite was Do It Right! by The Go! Team, a band I completely love. I always find this song fills me with confidence and bravado, and I often play it before I have to go into a challenging meeting. I even used it before an interview once and yes, I got the job! It gets the pulse racing and makes me feel strangely invincible.

Ambling Alp is an absolute banger, swishing together the best aspects of modern music with the pop sensibilities of the 80’s. Perfectly arranged, it shows extreme confidence, something that also comes across through the audacious video. I always found their promos to be lots of fun, especially Madder Red which is one of my favourite videos of all time, so I make no excuse to pop it below.

Sometimes, you don’t want anything too challenging, you just want to hear some pop music, and that’s what this track is, pure and simple. That said, there is nothing simplistic about this song. It’s an masterpiece of pop perfection, perfectly balanced between populist music and alternative sounds, and will hopefully invigorate many a lack lustre afternoon for years to come.

2009 – Fuck Buttons – Rough Steez

(The year 2020 marks my 50th birthday. Leading up to the day (22nd November), I’m planning on writing a blog entry for each year, picking a song or an album from then that I love, talking a bit about why, and giving it some context in my life)

First off, apologies for the language, I don’t name these bands. I do wonder whether Fuck Buttons would have wider appeal had they named themselves something slightly less offensive, even though I do think as band names go, it’s one of the best. On the Isles of Wonder soundtrack album for the 2012 Olympic opening ceremony, they are rather amusingly down on the sleeve as F Buttons, which sounds like the name of a butler in a 1950’s Hollywood movie. But the name does rather limit their chances of getting mentioned in a chart rundown or during a TV commercial. But do they really care?

I bought their album Tarot Sport basically because the entire world seemed to be raving about it, and I didn’t want to miss out. Bizarrely, and it seems unbelievable to me that 10 years ago this wasn’t part of my life, but this was before I was signed up to any music subscription service, and so I bought the album on Amazon, not hearing it until it arrived.

I was soon captivated, no more so than by the track Rough Steez. It reminds me very much of Loops of Fury by The Chemical Brothers, another fine track, and I find it very easy to lose myself it its false repetition. Because actually, this song is packed with variation, lots of original flourishes that keep it vital and sonically impressive. The introduction itself is an absolute triumph, scratching in me so many itches.

I love overwhelming noise. You Made Me Realise by My Bloody Valentine is the benchmark, of course, plus the section in Drive Blind by Ride. I love it also in electronic music. Mellow Doubt by Beck ends with a lovely, sweet acoustic song which I once fell asleep to, only to be woken by a cacophony of electronic cheeps and whistles that form the bonus track, giving me a rather rude reawakening. But the static and thrub of electronica that opens this track gives me particular thrill, plus the swash of guitar feedback that undercuts the song itself.

This may sound weird, but music like this helps me to focus and concentrate. I often listen to Fuck Buttons when I’m under deadline, when I need a piece of music to help me accomplish a task. There is something in the almost claustrophobic tightness of the music that inspires me. It’s also perfect to run to. They have been rather quiet of late, although I equally love Slow Focus, and particularly Ben Power’s output as Blanck Mass, in particular his participation on the latest Editors album, of which more in 2018. When I need music to fill every corner of my brain, I turn to this, and let it seep into every corner.

2008 – The Acorn – Crooked Legs

(The year 2020 marks my 50th birthday. Leading up to the day (22nd November), I’m planning on writing a blog entry for each year, picking a song or an album from then that I love, talking a bit about why, and giving it some context in my life)

In my experience, some songs and albums last you a lifetime, and some flare brightly for a moment before smouldering in the background. It has been a long time since I sat down and listened to Glory Hope Mountain by The Acorn, and I have a feeling it won’t actually spark the same fire of enthusiasm, but for a time in 2007 this album was my everything, and I barely went a day without listening to the song Crooked Legs.

This was another album where it’s introduction came through me helping write music reviews and articles for blogs. It wasn’t really working out on the original site, as everyday the postman seemed to bring me countless cheesy compilation CD’s. I was reviewing by track-list, and not actually listening to the CD’s themselves, which to me seemed like fraud. This meant when I did actually get something original, I didn’t give it the full attention it deserved as I was so burnt out by having to write 200 words on Top Gear – Driving Classics or Sunday Afternoon Love Songs.

So I jumped ship. A fellow reviewer from the original site had set up a new blog with a friend and offered me a life-line. I don’t think he could have appreciated at the time how much that meant to me, but I was touched by the invitation and proud to be part of the start up of this new venture. That website was The Line of Best Fit, still going strong to this day and the equal of all it’s peers. I was sent quality albums to review, given the chance to write features and interviews, and found the whole experience wonderful. Eventually, the pressures of two young children meant I had to stand down, but I was so grateful to those two guys for taking a chance on me, at my best an average writer, and whenever I see their faces pop up on social media I feel a warmth of thanks and friendship.

I didn’t get the chance to review Glory Hope Mountain but I was sent follow up No Ghost in 2010, which I adored. It’s funny reading something you wrote 10 years ago, and hopefully without sounding conceited, it reads pretty good! I would have broken up that sentence in the third paragraph a bit though. This album is more power driven than the one before, which displays a more delicate touch. There seems more group participation on Glory Hope Mountain, whereas No Ghost sounds more like the singular vision of the chief songwriter Rolf-Carlos Klausener.

That sense of a group playing together comes to the fore in Crooked Legs, a song that sounds as if it was recorded in a school music room, where everyone has been allowed to raid the cupboards and grab an instrument to bring back to the carpet and play. I adore the jumble of noise jingling and jangling around, beautifully mixed into a track that is both delicate and powerful in equal measures.

The lyric that resonates is “Oh, to be, fooled by the wool that has covered me“. Sometimes in life, I yearn for a desire just to accept the truth I have been told, not to feel the need to pick it apart. Religion played an important part in my upbringing, and I envy those who just accept what they believe to be a truth. My messed up brain won’t allow me to do that. It wants to pick at the wool that tries to cover my eyes, looking for weaknesses in the argument. Glancing at the news today through open fingers, I see fervent Trump supporters, Brexit activists, and anti-Covid gangs so adamant that they are RIGHT, with the passion and the strength of their commitment unshakeable. Where do these people get their rock solid acceptance of ideals from? I know I never could. There is too much grey and ambiguity in the world.

Aside from a few smaller, more minimal pieces, there has been little output from The Acorn released in my country since No Ghost, and that maybe is the reason why they have drifted from my mind. Fellow Canadians The National released The Boxer around the same time and have followed this with albums that just get better and better, and remain firm favourites of mine to this day. But I adore this song, and the memories it sparks.

2007 – The Arcade Fire – Intervention

(The year 2020 marks my 50th birthday. Leading up to the day (22nd November), I’m planning on writing a blog entry for each year, picking a song or an album from then that I love, talking a bit about why, and giving it some context in my life)

Like every right minded person, I was really impressed by the debut album from The Arcade Fire in 2005. That year to me felt like the dying embers of alternative music television and media, and this release was everywhere. Even friends nagged me to give it a go. At first, I resisted – I can be annoyingly contrary when people keep on recommending an album. But when I caved in, I loved it, and was very excited about Neon Bible.

The culmination of my fandom for The Arcade Fire came when they played Glastonbury in this year. This was just before the birth of my daughter, and so I sat there with my heavily pregnant wife, completely blown away by their performance. I loved how excited and in the moment the band seemed, all focused on their performance, working as a unit. I love their passion, and their onstage exuberance, each band member shouting out the lyrics like any member of the crowd.

Intervention was one of the highlights, Regine seated at the pipe organ, the band smashing through this emotional, darkly lyrical treat. I can’t put my finger on what, but there is something within the words to this song that really speaks to me, a tale of misplaced loyalty and commitment to a organisation that doesn’t really care about you or your life at all. The final two songs in their set were Rebellion, and Wake Up, both of which sounded incredible.

I have one blind spot with The Arcade Fire, and that is 2013 album Reflektor. I don’t know why, but I’ve never connected with it at all, only really being able to listen to the title track. I don’t know the reason – I love each of their other albums, particularly the most recent Everything Now. But there is something about the their fourth that leaves me cold. Each song outstays its welcome, dragging on too long, something they nipped in the bud with their latest.

Neon Bible remains my favourite, for its passion and energy. They could never return to this sound – thankfully, they are a band who evolve with each album, but they were incredible then, a formidable live band and wonderful song writers.

2006 – The Decemberists – The Crane Wife 3

(The year 2020 marks my 50th birthday. Leading up to the day (22nd November), I’m planning on writing a blog entry for each year, picking a song or an album from then that I love, talking a bit about why, and giving it some context in my life)

I have to confess that I am quite fortunate in lots of ways, and have managed to survive these 50 years without any major incident and any significant bereavement. People I know and love have died, but the majority at the end of a long life or illness. I have seen the impact unexpected death has had on the life of friends, and grieved with them, particularly those who have lost parents. I have also lost some childhood friends, but the distance of time and personal contact lessened the sorrow.

The most profound sadness came with the passing of my maternal grandfather, who passed early in 2007. He was in his mid-eighties, and had been poorly for some time, and so it came as no great surprise, but left me with a nagging melancholy that stayed longer than it was welcome. The sadness was coupled with myself and my wife expecting our first child. I would have loved him to have met my daughter, even if just for a short while, just so he could see that even in his absence, it would be a long time until he was forgotten.

The music of the band The Decemberists sound-tracked most of 2006 and 2007. I fell for them in a big way, my entry point this, their fourth album, and their first on a major label. At the time I used to write music reviews for a blog called The Music Fix, and so got introduced to lots of new music. Amazingly, all those reviews are still on the site, and I used to get all sorts of crap to listen to, as this review of Houswork Songs Spring Clean Edition will testify. But occasionally I got sent some really good stuff and enjoyed the recommendations of other reviewers, particularly this album.

From there, I delved back to previous album Picaresque which I loved even more. It rambles less than The Crane Wife, feeling a more cohesive collection of songs. But I adored the epic stature of tracks such as The Island and Sons and Daughters.

On the way to my grandfathers funeral, me and my pregnant wife needed something to listen to, and so we put The Crane Wife into the car stereo, and every time I hear it I think of him, particularly the first track. “I will hang my head low” spoke to me, as I struggled to make it through the day.

Some five months later, I drove to the hospital to collect my wife and baby daughter. For the journey, I listened to Picaresque, and to the closing track Of Angels and Angles. I did feel that there were angels in my baby’s angles, in these crooked, spiny limbs she’d been born with. And I remembered my dear grandfather, and how much I would have loved him to have been there that day, waiting at my parents house with my gran by his side to greet the new addition to his family.

Music sticks to events like glue, and I will never be able to listen to these songs without thinking of these events. Many other songs do exactly the same, in both good ways and bad ways. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.