There was the Christmas my mum bought the three of us a book apiece in Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings trilogy, in order of age which meant it worked out a less fairly for my brother and sister but then I’ve always been the biggest nerd, so who was going to complain? They were clean-covered new editions, colour-coded and obviously intended to tie in with Peter Jackson’s multi-million Hollywood adaptation; and on the back cover was this stupendously pompous quote borrowed from a Sunday Times retrospective:

The English-speaking world is divided into those who have read The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit and those who are going to read them.(1)

Perhaps if I had read The Lord of the Rings in my precocious primary school days, when I’d spend the holidays leafing through Dickens and Ben Hur in the chair in the corner I’d have loved them, but although I thoroughly enjoyed it I’ve never felt the need to pick up the others. Another member of my family, who was motivated to pick up the first book in the trilogy by the purchase, came up with an alternative version of the Sunday Times quote: those who have read them; those who are going to read them and those who realised on page 100 that the hobbits still hadn’t finished that birthday party.

It was these words that stuck with me as I began to work my way through David Foster Wallace’s postmodern opus.

I would argue that the English-speaking world can be divided into three groups, as follows:

- those who have read, and in my experience adore (2), Infinite Jest;
- those who cannot believe you made it through it; and
- (by far the largest group) those who have no clue what you are on about.

What is it about Infinite Jest that fills those in the know with such fascination? There is certainly no other book that carries with it enough cultural mystique to sneak it onto any kind of twilight-of-one’s-youth bucket list. I was ignorant enough to assume that its place in popular culture was merited by its being the longest book in the world, but from the briefest of searches one can easily glean it is approx. 1.5 million words short of holding that title (3). War and Peace comes in just behind it (4), and while I doubt many have actually read it provides at least a mainstream shorthand. I cannot deny being swayed by my friends (5) and various indie rock-certified online challenges one thing is certain: what Infinite Jest lacks in size (6) it makes up for in, shall we say, structural challenges.

So, what’s it about? Well, Infinite Jest is essentially one gigantic cock-tease with 388 footnotes, which takes place in a perverse, semi-parodic and slightly terrifying dystopian future – terrifying in the sense that some of its predictions seem far more likely now than I suspect they would have done in 1996, when the book was completed. It is part-set in a tennis academy, a rehabilitation centre and on a freezing mountainside and features a revolving cast of prodigies, addicts, legless terrorists and one extremely dysfunctional family. The title refers to a semi-mythic film, more commonly referred to as “The Entertainment”, said to so captivate those who view it that they want for nothing more to watch it in an ongoing loop until they ultimately expire, gibbering and starving and in a pool of their own excretions. This is something worth bearing in mind before you, the reader, delve too deep.

And beyond that I don’t really know what to say, because the reason I think I became so engrossed both in the book and in wider discussion of same is that I had absolutely no clue what to expect. The most common question I have been asked by those who have yet to tread the path to its full conclusion is is it worth it? does it get better? – but an honest answer to that question would have ruined the book for me. So I shall do what the late David Foster Wallace would have done and put my answer in a footnote (7).

That being said, I doubt leaving the experience with so encyclopaedic an understanding of the makeup of various drugs, both illicit and prescription, was truly necessary to my understanding of the plot and watching the video to the Decemberists’ “Calamity Song” probably tells you as much about the more technical aspects of the tennis/war games amalgamation that is eschaton than you probably need to know.

Incidentally, this piece by Aaron Swartz certainly helped me tie some threads together in the troubled two-day aftermath to my finishing the book. Obviously, spoilers abound.

(1) See publisher Harper-Collins’ information page for the 75th anniversary boxset edition of the trilogy and prequel.
(2) However a cursory web search reveals that this adoration is in no way universal, with the book’s ending being particularly divisive – see this post for a particularly eloquent example, although THAR BE SPOILERZ.
(3) at least according to Wikipedia.
(4) ibid.; Wikipedia states that IJ is 575,000 words long as opposed to War and Peace’s 560,000.
(5) Sadly Whitney did not make it to the end of the book; however, that did mean my own quest benefited from her kind donation.
(6) Which is not for one second to suggest that the book’s size is in any way insignificant – it was Infinite Jest that sold this philistine on ebooks as a format following an accident involving a large paperback, some stack-heeled boots and the pedestrian crossing at the junction of Hope Street and Bothwell Street.
(7) I’d put it like this: much as “the Entertainment” proves fatal to its viewers by rendering even basic human needs irrelevant, so too does Infinite Jest the novel suck its readers into a similar loop – I cannot be the only one who, on reaching the narrative’s final page, immediately flicked back to the beginning only to realise that to truly make sense of the details I’d missed I’d have to read it all over again – this time taking profusive notes. Let me say this about the structure of the book: as I finished it on my iPhone it became clear towards the end that the book was going to finish with no conclusion in the conventional sense of the word – something which I would imagine would be less obvious to readers of a physical copy as those several hundred pages of footnotes provide a comforting bulk that, depending on how you placed your bookmarks (and you must have at least two) lulls the reader into this false sense that plenty of pages remain for their questions to be answered.

So, is this a failing? Well I certainly felt the same of many of my fellow readers, but let me direct you to this quote from the writer in an interview given a few years later:

There is an ending as far as I’m concerned. Certain kind of parallel lines are supposed to start converging in such a way that an “end” can be projected by the reader somewhere beyond the right frame. If no such convergence or projection occured to you, then the book’s failed for you.

Pompous? Perhaps. A pointless intellectual exercise? How very harsh. All I know is that, in finally getting around to writing up this piece, I an tempted to disappear into a world wide web’s worth of analysis and speculation for another couple of days.

And if I ever write something that sticks with my reader in quite the same way, I will have done something right.

Apropos of nothing other than today’s struggle to get the riff to “Give Me All Your Luvin” out of my head. In no means intended as a reflection of the quality of the song, or any indication that I was watching international sporting events about which I struggle to look past the half-time entertainment last night.

Since we’re on the subject of my favourite podcasts I should point out that J. Neas’ Indie/Rock Mayhem, which is essentially his North Carolinian college radio show bottled up for those transatlantic listeners who rarely stay up so late, remains a must-listen. Among the new releases being discussed as part of last week’s ’roundtable’ feature was a newie from none other than Nada Surf who our hero had to confess to having “never having seen live” but who were playing soon. I hope he got the chance to see them because despite the RARE TREAT of their being in Glasgow in Tuesday I have just had to say no. Because I am ninety, have a tendency to pass out in shopping centres and have already committed myself to the Twilight Sad later in the week.

HERE is the video for “When I Was Young”, from new album The Stars Are Indifferent To Astronomy…

HERE is where you can download self same track FOR FREE
And HERE is where you can buy tickets. You lucky beggars.

So, Twilight Sad’s much-anticipated new album is out today and they’ll be kicking off a tour in support of it in the charming surroundings of Glasgow’s Grand Ole Opry (WARNING: contains indie rock) on Thursday night. This means it will be MERE FEET* from my house, and since Dave has already filled me in on the venue’s dancing etiquette I am totally psyched and ENTIRELY WITHOUT FEAR:

- If you accidentally bump into somebody you should apologise – whether it was your fault or not.
- If you accidentally knock over somebody’s drink offer to replace it immediately.
- The dance floor is for everyone – not just you. Try to leave the outside lane clear for progressive dancers, the centre of the floor for social and freestyle dancers, and the area towards the stage for line dancers.

Never mind dancehall etiquette, there’s some serious life skills contained in there.

HERE is the slightly-disturbing video for “Another Bed”:

HERE is where you can buy all your “packages” for new album No One Can Ever Know, including CDs and limited edition double vinyl
and HERE are your ticket links for the live shows, which are as follows.

The Twilight Sad on tour:
09/02 Glasgow, Grand Ole Opry
10/02 Manchester, Ruby Lounge
11/02 Sheffield, Queens Social Club
12/02 Birmingham, Hare and Hounds
13/02 Bristol, Fleece
14/02 London, Cargo
15/02 Nottingham, Stealth
16/02 Leeds, Brudenell Social Club

*Slight exaggeration

So my friend Stevie, who you may know as the curator of music podcast Slide Into My Hand, shot some bits and pieces of video around the time of the Franz Nicolay/Chris T-T/Dave Hughes show I put on last year which he’s planning to put together as a documentary at some point. A couple of weeks ago he uploaded some videos of the performances, so if you’ve never heard me sing before and fancy watching me lend my dubious talents to Dave Hughes’ cover of Evan Greer’s “I Want Something” (don’t worry, there’s some real renegade folk punk before that unsettling event occurs) just hit the play button above.

[Incidentally, if you don't as yet subscribe to Slide Into My Hand now would be a good time as I have contributed a couple of selections to this month's edition. Which is not me saying I somehow make it worth listening to, but rather if you don't know Stevie but you're reading this it makes a good introduction. And you should know Stevie. Stick around, I'll introduce you.]

Below the jump are some more amazing performances from Franz Nicolay and Chris T-T, and you can find even more on Steve’s YouTube channel.

Oh, and if you want to get involved in the fun next time: it would be nice to sell another ten tickets for Jim Bob at the Old Hairdressers on 27th May before I send my weekly progress report to his manager tomorrow. I like nice round numbers. It would only have been two, but Dave is ace.

PS If you’re not in Glasgow, you can find the rest of Jim Bob’s tour dates here.

In which your blogger attempts, at great inconvenience, to sample every commercially-available dessert in the Greater Glasgow area so you don’t have to.

It might be a little bit too much to ask but I think, whatever your workplace, it’s nice to have a place you can stumble into after a rubbish night’s sleep and moan coffee! bacon! in a manner perhaps befitting an extra from a low-budget zombie production. In this scenario you will be greeted not with the slack jaws and quizzical expression of the minimum wage don’t-call-them-employees of some global chain but with a friendly smile, a freshly-made panino and a “latte, was it?”

It seemed apt that I lost my job round about the same time that the tiny Starbucks on Renfield Street closed. I spent so much time in there my order was already underway when I came through the door, and my barista came to my wedding (at least, I think she did… I can hardly remember who came to my wedding). So when I ended up back in an office on the other side of the road the panic set in when I realised that I’d have to walk to a Pret or a Caffe Nero if I needed a caffeine injection during the day. How miraculous then that I was a month in the door when Laurie’s opened on Hope Street.

In my former life the space where Laurie’s is now housed some recruiter or other but to be honest, it was always too nice a space to waste on just another office. With mahogany tables and ambient lighting it’s been transformed into the perfect little venue for a sit-in lunch and, a mere pedestrian crossing away, ideally placed for a takeaway breakfast and coffee provided by Glasgow’s Artisan Roast.

Chris Wilcher, who the internet tells me used to be the pastry chef at the Buttery, runs the place with his mum Martine; an angel with a wicked smile who’s always happy to recommend the most ridiculous piece of cake to take away. You can see her come into her element at lunchtimes, beavering away to turn a place with a tendency to get ridiculously busy (in no small part due to its perfect location) into a temple of tranquillity. Now despite the Michelin-starred credentials, which have a tendency to deter a fusspot of simple tastes like me, I think you’d struggle to find a better sandwich in Glasgow. While the range of filled panini and foccacia, as well as daily soups on offer, happily cater towards the mundane it’s the house specialities that really come into their own. New York deli-style and gangster-esque names make lunchtimes fun and there’s no mayonnaise or unidentifiable goop on a single one. My current obsession is the Man From La Mancha – chorizo, chicken, roast peppers and mozzarella on a tasty, herby foccacia. Also, amazingly filling – I never have to top up with crisps or fruit when I visit.

But of course, this column isn’t called “sandwich dates”. I know where you want me to go with this.

Yes: the cakes. Given the owner’s expertise I’m sure I’ve led you up to expect something special, and Laurie’s really doesn’t disappoint. Part marketing tool, all gastronomic delight, that day’s specials are displayed lovingly in the window to tempt the passing city centre foot traffic (and it works, I’ve seen it happen). Breakfast is a handmade croissant, Belgian waffle or muffin; the cupcakes are to die for (try the coffee, or the lemon meringue) and the carrot cake is categorically the best in Glasgow. The place also does a mean Victoria sponge filled with berries instead of jam, although today I was distracted by the presence of a new fluffy clementine-and-orange number instead.

The place also does events, and already has themed dinner and dessert “masterclasses” to its name. Later this month it hosts a multi-disciplinary arts night with music, dance and art co-hosted by On The Stage of the Present, and while the posters are hardly inspiring the promised tapas and “mock-tails” (no alcohol license, sadly) the Wilchers will be putting up ought to make up for it.

In the interests of fairness I should really mention that this place isn’t one for the budget-conscious among you – having said that, I’ve paid about the same at at least two other lunch spots on the slightly more upmarket end of the scale and on both occasions have had to throw most of my food away (told you: fussy cow, particularly where unadvertised coleslaw is involved). I might be trying to wean myself off of Laurie’s as part of my daily routine, but to be honest it’s so mobbed in there every lunchtime I doubt they’ll even miss me.

Laurie’s hosts Accept for Presence – a night of performance, music and artwork – with On The Stage Of The Present on 16th February, 6:30pm. Tickets £4 in advance from the cafe, or £6 on the door.

LOCATION: 127 Hope Street, Glasgow G2 6PE
OPEN: Weekdays from 8am, closed Sundays.

As if The Internet was some sprawling Sunday spilling supplements over the bed, then depending on what sections you normally read you may have been aware that writer and pop culture critic Chuck “Have I Told You How Much I Love Chuck” Klosterman did something which, well, in the opinion of at least one blogger was “kinda gross”. Bemused by beatsmistress tUnE-yArDs’ victory in the Village Voice’s annual Pazz & Jop critics’ poll-of-the-polls he took to the web – in this case, his regular column with the predominantly sports-filled Grantland – to express said bemusement.

Full disclosure #1: if you have read this blog for more than like six months you might be aware that I kinda love Chuck “Have I Told You How Much I Love Chuck” Klosterman;
Full disclosure #2: if you have read this blog for more than like six days you might also be aware that I kinda love tUnE-yArDs, and specifically her Pazz & Jop-topping album w h o k i l l.

Now, although there are certainly parts of Klosterman’s column that made me feel pretty icky, I think I understand very generally what he was trying to do here. Who among us doesn’t weigh up our favourites alongside others come the end of the year and come across at least one common thread that’s either passed us by completely or that we just. don’t. get? Honestly I could see myself writing a similar piece about Bon Iver or Fleet Foxes, whose records both make it into that list’s top twenty; the difference being that if I wrote such a piece (and since I do not have any sort of ‘name’ to trade on) I would make sure that I:

(a) listened to the album I intended to address more than once; and
(b) refrain from confusing the word “asexual” with “androgynous” with “you know what? I just don’t fancy him at all, sorry” with reference to Robin Pecknold.

I should really stop right here and say that not listening to a piece of music you intend to critique more than once, as well as a fundamental inability to grasp the distinction between two very different means of self-identifying neither of which are what you are trying to say are both pretty huge problems to be surmounted before one can seriously call oneself a critic; but the reason the piece has pissed of a lot of people is because it is an example of something that runs far deeper – a genre of music criticism which, for want of better terminology, I have been known to refer to as bearded white dude shakes his fist at things he doesn’t quite understand.

And yeah, I know that’s totally sexist – seriously! some of my favourite music critics are bearded white dudes! – but also, in this case, a statement of fact because Klosterman is bearded, white and a dude. And also, not cool! One of the things I have always loved about Chuck “Have I Told You How Much I Love Chuck” Klosterman is that he has never proclaimed to be an arbiter of what is cool! He’s like this scrawny perma-child who’d now old enough to at least be your embarrassing uncle if not actually your dad from Farmville*, North Dakota; who by virtue of possessing many an excellent turn of phrase has stumbled into this role of cultural commentator which he ignores in order to write almost exclusively with breathless enthusiasm about 80s hair metal and one of those interchangeable American sports with “ball” in the title. Before marrying Melissa Maerz in 2009 pretty much every girl he ever loved left him for a fictional interpretation of John Cusack, and he has written something snarky about Ryan Adams in approximately 70% of the books and essay collections of his that I own which is most of them.

*Discovered this morning: the iPhone auto-corrects ‘farmville’ to ‘FarmVille’. Gross.

So do I care that Chuck “Have I Told You How Much I Love Chuck” Klosterman are once again disagreeing on something musically? No; no, I do not. What I care about is that with this piece of writing he has been pretty disrespectful about an album which is actually good, which sounds as if I might be saying the same thing but is really a tirade against the sort of lazy music hackery that seems to think that you can hold yourself out to be a music critic while at the same time completely ignoring the music to talk about the frontwoman’s hair extensions, dress sense or likelihood that she has had a nose job.

And I say “frontwoman” because when this tactic is employed the target is pretty much almost certainly going to be a woman.

Or possibly one of the Strokes.

But, you know, certainly not David Bowie who has probably put more effort into his image than just about any artist ever. Because you would not disrespect David Bowie in such a way. You just. would. not.

Now, there are a few female artists who can escape this sort of fashion parade. PJ Harvey has worked her backside off for it, so whenever she releases an album that at least tries to bury its raw sexuality in war metaphors she is looked on as an equal. Sleater-Kinney towards the end of their career I suppose, if you ignore the fact that most of those reviews of The Woods went along the lines of let’s-stop-talking-about-their-gender-now-because-this-is-a-mighty-ROCK-album! Like-Pearl-Jam! Then there are the pop queens, the Beyoncés and Rihannas, whose bruises and baby bumps will always be up for discussion no matter how right-on their lyrics are. Authenticity is, of course, the premise of a man and his acoustic guitar as if for your three minutes and forty-three it wasn’t music, by its very nature performance, but rather the window to the soul.

Listen. I write this just as guilty as you of over-identifying with other people’s lyrics, but let’s talk authenticity when the sad songs of heartbreak stop the minute the singer gets into a new relationship. You can keep your twenty quid if you don’t get to hear that one Dashboard Confessional song you identify with so.

It just seems fitting that I write this the week that Lana Del Rey’s album FINALLY, HONEST TO FUCK comes out because have you ever seen one artist so scrutinised on the basis of like those two songs everybody’s heard and one slinky dress and wooden performance on Saturday Night Live? I do not have much of an opinion on Lana Del Rey, although I admit that her photoshoot from Russia’s Interview magazine tops this post because I think it is a gorgeous piece of art as well as potentially a magnificent fuck-you to every single one of those music journalists who thought the bee-stung lips more worthy of commentary than that 1930s-style disaffected delivery she brings to a song like “Video Games”. A song which couldn’t have less to do with video games if it tried by the way, but which wedges itself in my head the minute I see the name Lana in his favourite sundress Del watching me undress Rey written down which is a sign of a mean pop hook. It’s doing it right now.

The many, many people who are paid to have opinions about Lana Del Rey this week are having a field day. Find me a review of the album that does not begin with a dissection of the hype before grudgingly admitting that, actually, the music is pretty good and I might even buy it.

Incidentally, Sasha Frere-Jones has like the last word on the issue – and all of these issues – in the latest New Yorker.

Why is pop music the only art form that still inspires such arrantly stupid discussion? The debates that surround authenticity have no relationship to popular music as it’s been practiced for more than a century. Artists write material, alone or with assistance, revise it, and then present a final work created with the help of professionals who are trained for specific and relevant production tasks. This makes popular music similar to film, television, visual art, books, dance, and related areas like food and fashion. And yet no movie review begins, “Meryl Streep, despite not being a Prime Minister, is reasonably convincing in ‘The Iron Lady.’

On a separate point I will admit that in my role as a fan of problematic things nothing in this post should in any way detract from my love for Chuck “Have I Told You How Much I Love Chuck” Klosterman, about whom I will continue to have fantasies where we drink gin together and I will tickle his beard while at the same time spouting forth on why it makes me no less relevant that I have no interest in listening to Pavement.

In which, even when she is being the world’s most rubbish and lazy music blogger, Lis puts together a selection of songs that have caught her attention through the joys of iTunes shuffle this month.

Even if I was the type to take on resolutions, I could not say I had started this year the way I meant to go on. It was not until the weekend just passed that I began to feel the cold, which ultimately became a chest infection, that had been plaguing me since the beginning of the year start to pass. I spent much of this weekend curled up on the sofa (the blanket Lilit had been using while she stayed last week hasn’t moved since our big-windowed, high-ceilinged living room is taking on the arctic conditions it always takes on when the weather is freezing) telling myself I could have two days of nothing but allowances, pyjamas and junk food. Monday! I’d begin again!

It… didn’t quite work out that way.

But I’m still here, and I’m still singing the same songs under my breath.

I will write more soon.

Zen And The Art Of… last month’s mix, January 2012

1. BOY: “This Is The Beginning”
German girl duo BOY snagged the privileged title of being my first favourite band of 2012 on the strength of an acoustic EP they’ll be releasing later this month. This first taste of forthcoming album Mutual Friends is something very different: a dark, breathy pop tune which probably isn’t that surprising when you consider they’ve got the drummer from Phoenix involved. Definitely one to watch out for.

2. The Antlers: “I Don’t Want Love”
One of January’s lesser-known pleasures is getting to discover the 2011 music you missed out on, generally as a result of other people’s year end compilations (SPOILER ALERT: mine are still out there). Canadian kings of the music blog genre Said the Gramophone are one of the very best at this, so it’s them you’ve got to thank for the Antlers’ inclusion. Not everybody‘s into these Brooklynite hipsters which is fair enough, I’m not sure to what extent I would be either – but this is the dreamy taste of Saturday-night-into-Sunday-morning loneliness. It’s from Burst Apart.

3. Kurt Vile: “Downbound Train”
Why hello there, one of my favourite musical discoveries of 2011, teasing the desolation of one of my favourite Springsteen songs by replacing its 80s sheen with your trademark sludge. You are lovely. This is on the So Outta Reach EP, which features tracks taken from the Smoke Ring For My Halo sessions – I have a feeling the former is out of print, so get that instead.

4. Rachel Platten: “Remark”
NoiseTrade is a pretty wonderful website, offering loads of music in exchange for a bit of promotion or a pay-what-you-want ‘tip’ for the artist. I’d label its beat something along the lines of pleasant-enough-americana so tend to stick with the names I know – otherwise I’d have too much to listen to – but the site is obviously run by passionate fans and their descriptions, or just pretty pictures of girls in heavy eyeliner covering Christmas songs, catch my attention. Which is to say I don’t know much about Rachel Platten, but if you like what you hear there’s plenty more where that came from – just ignore the fact that NoiseTrade’s featured download today is from the funny-looking creature behind Owl City and you’re set.

5. Let’s Say We Did: “Galaxies”
Because it wouldn’t be a mix without some cunning lyrical observation on the loss part of love from some lovely little indie outfit – this time Sweden’s Let’s Say We Did, courtesy of my pals at Big Rig Records. If you like it, there’s more where that came from on Bandcamp.

6. SCOUT: “Come On and Go”
So many of us have recently said goodbye to a pretty shitty year, and my friend Josh more so than most. He shared a song from this album that meant a lot to him one December night, and on a better day like today it seems apt to share with you. I don’t know much about the band (other than they’re all-caps and had a song on The Sopranos once?) but you can buy This Soft Life on eMusic.

7. Micah Schnabel: “Zen And The Art Of…”
Like the flip-side to the fine art of self-destruction, who among us hasn’t learned a lesson or two in the art of fucking up one’s life by now? I’m Dead, Serious is a second acoustic rampage from the frontman of Two Cow Garage aka the greatest band to never get a record deal; and I wouldn’t have known of its existence were it not for my mate Paul who has this executive role in keeping me posted about garage-punk bands my boyfriend used to put on mixes for me who nobody else has ever heard of.

8. Son Volt: “Bandages and Scars”
So I saw the utter lege that is Jay Farrar perform as part of a Woody Guthrie tribute at the Celtic Connections festival (check out my first review for culture website The Arts Desk there) last week – the song from his own Son Volt that rounded off the evening was of course the most apt. From 2005′s Okemah and the Melody of Riot.

9. The Menzingers: “Obituaries”
Youse all know my best gig-buddy Mad Rachel, aye? Of course you do. I’ve been wondering, lately, if despite the SUPER AWESOME LAST.FM COMPATIBILITY that brought us together in the first place our musical tastes are beginning to drift apart, because when she’s not out with me she’s been spending a lot of time on what Frank Turner would call the ‘toilet circuit’ listening to all these shrieky punk bands that hurt my wee ears. She brought me round an album of theirs once and I wasn’t into it at all – but it seems since signing to Epitaph these PA punks know what to do with a tune. Also, you can preorder The Impossible Past on BLUE VINYL. Schweet.

10. Evil Hand: “Returned In Time”
Now I’ve done my fair share of bumming up Derek Bates’ other musical outlet, so why his admittedly solo project failed to make an impact is beyond me. This is from last year’s Huldra, as well as Song, By Toad‘s Festive Fifty.

11. Loch Lomond: “Holiday”
This is actually taken from the Night Bats EP that was out way back in 2010 on Song, By Toad Records (yes, him again). But it came up on shuffle during the computer problems I’ve spent much of this month dealing with, and it’s got that spooky, harmonious feel that’s a perfect fit even now that the holidays are long over.

12. Conor Mason: “Last To Leave”
Conor Mason does the singer-songwritery thing with just the right squeak of guitar strings and wail of a whistle, plus there’s a chord in this song’s refrain that’s one of the most comfortable things in a song I don’t really think is supposed to be. He’s from Derry, but will be putting out his third album Standstill with our Armellodie Records in March. Preorder here.

13. Abi Wade: “Stability”
Not only is the lovely Kaite writing my blog for me these days, she’s also laying on the music recommendations thick and fast. Never mind the smoke-and-honey voice, by turning the cello into both instrument and found percussion Wade was always going to win me over. Watch an incredible live performance of this track as you wait for the mix to download, but it looks like if you want more you’re going to have to suffer iTunes to buy her And Blood And Air EP.

14. Kasey Anderson: “Hang With Me”
I know, I know: bearded white dude takes glorious female-fronted pop song and robs it of everything that makes it sexy. I hate it too, but you get the impression that Kasey Anderson’s having about as much fun on Robyn’s glorious chorus as I do. Sadly it would appear that one of the most entertaining musicians I follow is done with the internet, but you’ve got til tomorrow to help fund his forthcoming album, Let The Bloody Moon Rise.

15. Sad And French: “The More Tattoos The Better” [demo]
I don’t follow back bands on Twitter. Hell, I don’t follow back anybody on Twitter because seriously, I have little enough time as it is and who knows if we’ll even talk but if we do… but anyway, I told Sad and French that because they had the greatest bio I’ve ever read, they could be my exception. It sounds just like you think it will.

[DOWNLOAD] Zen And The Art Of… [zip, mp3]

Those of you who read more than one Glasgow/Edinburgh based blog with a fairly musical remit probably already know that it’s a fairly small tank in which we swim, battering our wee gills off the same little plastic castles and constantly running into the same… tuna… sorry, this is a really shit metaphor. So that’s one less Glasgow/Edinburgh based blog with a fairly musical remit you’ll be reading now, eh? Regardless, the fact of it is that sometimes all of our tastes overlap and we end up running the same features about the same bands at the same time which I suspect results in nobody reading any of them.

And so I will defend my choice not to write at length about the sheer, delicate and emotive genius that is RM Hubbert’s Chemikal Underground debut proper, Thirteen Lost and Found, because Nicola Meighan’s interview with Hubby and producer/collaborator/pal Alex Kapranos for The Quietus is quite frankly magnificent.

Besides, I bet I’m the only one of youse who has ever had a pint with one of Cincinnati’s Minor Leagues. Although it wasn’t frontman Ben Walpole, who was the subject of this interview.

Who’s in the band, and how did you get together?
Ben Walpole (vocals), Patrick Helmes (lead guitar), Luke McGlasson (trumpet and guitar), Jesse Rogers (bass), Hilly Kenkel (vocals) and Matt Retherford (drums).

Patrick and myself started writing songs together in 2000. He worked at a library and I worked at a newspaper, so we decided to unite and record wordy pop music. We built the live band around what was originally a recording project with no real plan, but have been working together for going-on 12 years now with almost 100 songs to our credit.

Three words to describe your music…
Melodic, thoughtful, pre-arranged.

What influences you?
Big melodies and small pleasures.

What releases/shows do you have planned at the moment?
North College Hill, our sixth album, out Jan. 31, 2012… working on its companion record about another neighborhood in Cincinnati, titled Northside, hopeful for a summer release.

Shows in the works for NYC, Pittsburgh, Dayton, Cincinnati and Chicago for late February/early March.

This is a concept album, of sorts, about your hometown – but do you think it will appeal to Scottish listeners?
I think so. I hope so, at least. It’s really more about nostalgia for childhood and the sadness that surrounds the passing of youth – pretty universal themes. The town of North College Hill just so happens to be the scene of my own personal childhood-pining situation.

And what are you listening to at the moment?
Singer-songwriter kick of Randy Newman, Leonard Cohen and Scott Walker… And Duran Duran’s Notorious album, because it’s awesome and criminally under-appreciated.

BUY: Datawaslost

When I made a commitment as part of my 30 before 30 to “put on a gig”, the intention was really that it was only going to be a one-time deal. Sure it was a buzz, getting to hang out with some incredible musicians and create a sell-out night that the people who attended seemed to enjoy but could I pull it off again? and could I handle the stress in trying?

The answer, when I was given a fantastic opportunity, was a resolute YES.

Obviously.

And somebody else even wrote the PR copy this time.

‘Driving Jarvis Ham’: new novel and live tour from Carter USM singer Jim Bob.

Following on from his critically acclaimed debut novel Storage Stories, Jim Bob‘s second novel Driving Jarvis Ham is published by The Friday Project (Harper Collins) on May 10th.

The novel will be available in hardback, paperback and as an e-book. The limited edition hardback edition will have a link to a coded download EP with four all-new Jim Bob songs on. The EP is called “Day Job”.
Tonight Jim Bob will be performing songs from his back catalogue, both solo and Carter USM, and reading from the novel. Support comes from Gordon McIntyre (ballboy) and a first Scottish show from Walsall’s 8-Bit Ninjas.

Here’s what Jim Bob’s publisher has to say about Driving Jarvis Ham:

A friend reflects on life with Jarvis Ham: tea-room assistant, diarist, lift-cadger. Princess Di fan, secret alcoholic, relentless seeker of fame, and all-round irritant.The novel is for anyone who has ever found themselves looking across at a childhood friend, and wondering why they still know them. Everyone here who has read Jim Bob’s book has pissed themselves laughing. It is very funny, but very, very dark. We look forward to unleashing Jim on the festivals and bookshops of our nation this summer.

So, there’s that. It’s on Sunday, 27th May 2012 and once again at The Old Hairdressers, Glasgow. I’m giving you guys a couple of days’ heads up before it goes out to Jim Bob’s mailing list because, well, I like you but this one is pretty much guaranteed to sell out. Head to Eventbrite for tickets.

You know the cynic in me has her suspicions about the reasons that Voyageur, the fourth album from my personal goddess of americana Kathleen Edwards, is getting more attention in certain quarters than previous releases ever did but the fan in me doesn’t care. It’s not as if any of the reviews have lost sight of the sheer beauty embedded in this collection of songs – any more than than the writer of this blog can attest to never having had her head turned by a big-name production credit before.

That some change of personnel would be present behind the scenes on this record is perhaps inevitable – last year Edwards’ marriage to record producer and collaborator Colin Cripps ended, and the relationship casts a poignant shadow over some of the album’s more spellbinding moments. Yet although some sadness is evident, if anything Voyageur‘s story is one of coming full circle and moving on – right down to its very title, the French for ‘traveller’.

But let’s start at the beginning.

I’d had my poster girls before of course, but it was Kathleen Edwards – specifically, 2006′s Back To Me – that convinced me I wanted to play guitar. I bought a second-hand acoustic on eBay for less than what it cost to ship it to me, and for a good month I sat on my bed dedicating every laboured chord I picked out of my new favourite album’s title track to the boy I had convinced myself had made a mistake. That lasted until I realised that I’d never be able to sing at the same time as play, so I incorporated a lyric into what was then the name of my blog and granted the guitar new life as an oversized and underpriced photography prop.

While she’s always been one of those writers blessed with the ability to draw you in with the sort of lines you think could never understand you better, part of Edwards’ talent is her ability to take other people’s stories and make them her own. She’s cast herself as the dutiful partner watching her man gunned down in a school playground and as a young murder victim in the last few minutes of her life; indeed on Asking For Flowers‘ tender title track she even cast herself as a friend going through a painful divorce. I’m a chameleon… I hide behind the songs I write she sings on “Chameleon/Comedian”, one of the album’s standouts, and while you just know that the critics are lining up to cite the song’s inspiration as Justin Vernon (assisted in no small part by a background primal I-don’t-need yelp that’s reminiscent of the very best of Bon Iver, but isn’t, at least I don’t think so) I’d wager the answer is a little closer to home – perhaps the most autobiographical thing Edwards has ever written.

But once you know the back story, you can’t help drawing the parallels. Voyageur takes off with an “Empty Threat” more carefree than its lyrics, while singles “Change The Sheets” and “Sidecar” sparkle with all the mischief and playfulness of Edwards’ best pop hooks. Meanwhile “A Soft Place To Land” is perhaps the most desperate, heartbreaking adult lovesong I have ever heard, so full of resolve and resignation and longing that I challenge anybody who’s ever had a door close on their heart not to cry.

And that’s just the start. It would be strange indeed if such a period of momentous change did not make itself felt on these songs, and “House Full of Empty Rooms” and sprawling Gillian Welch-esque closer “For The Record” spill with a new-found intimacy. Could the grass be greener at last now that I’m all grown up? Edwards wonders aloud on “Pink Champagne”, and although she already knows that the answer wasn’t what she expected it to be you find yourself thinking that hindsight’s shadows have given her a wider range of colours to paint with.

And so the girl takes a breath, turns her head and lets the door close behind her.

STREAM: Voyageur at Kathleen Edwards.com
BUY: Amazon [UK] | iTunes [UK]

Kathleen Edwards on tour:
23/02 Dublin, Academy
24/02 Glasgow, Oran Mor
26/02 Manchester, Ruby Lounge
27/02 Birmingham, Glee Club
28/02 London, Islington Academy

And, according to yesterday’s mailout, a bunch of US and Canada dates will go on sale on Friday.