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This is nice.
A visualisation of how many Mærsk ships are out to sea at any given moment.
Growing up in Merseyside, with a grandfather who was a captain in the merchant navy, I think it’s always important to remember the reality of the world, the role of ships and docks in our culture, past and present.
Thanks to Frankie Roberto for spotting it.
Phil Elverum has made a visual playlist of videos and music that are good reference points and (possibly) inspirations behind the newest Mount Eerie albums, Clear Moon (released end of May) and Ocean Roar (September).
It’s an interesting mix of a lot of things I’m interested in: Pacific North West music (Eric’s Trip, Nicholas Krgovich, Earth), ’80s UK goth type acts (This Mortal Coil, Cocteau Twins), ethereal soundtrack music (Popul Vuh), a good dose of Black Metal, and a lot of natural landscape fantasies.
It’s great that artists can make these kinds of context documents for fans: to share actual inspirations that can be in some way experienced, understood and add value to their own creations. These things used to be limited to the ‘thanks’ section of LP inlays, where I would see which bands, record labels and — occasionally — authors, artists, books and films would be referenced before going into town and spending money on one or two of those things.
Anyway. Enjoy the playlist, and pre-order the LP.
Einar and Jørn from Voy have finally made a video to explain and demonstrate Ugle: the networked owl.
In their own words:
Ugle is a wooden owl that can be controlled over the internet with an iPhone application. It lets you send colour-messages from your phone to your home. When you change the position of the colors on the owl on the screen, the physical owl turns its head to the chosen color. It is a decorative personal message system where the household has to decide what the colours mean.
I bring up Ugle quite a lot, in talks, in conversation, in day-to-day life. It’s the perfect example of the kind of products that people should be designing for the home — networked but not screaming network, undemanding, ambiently conveying meaning. The meaning is constructed between the people that use it, rather than being dictated by the object.
It is designed for natural tendencies, casual observation, rather than trying to create a new behaviour.
Too many products that come out of the Internet of Things end up putting utility above beauty, whereas it can be both. Ugle demonstrates that it’s possible to have a domestic, networked object that is functional and pleasing to look at (see also the Good Night Lamp by Alex D-S).
Ugle is calm, ambient, networked and beautiful, and that’s what our homes need.
Watch:
Lovely.
Today is Record Store Day 2012. A day designed to “celebrate the art of music” by encouraging people to visit, engage with, and purchase physical products from physical record shops.
It’s a noble aim, to support something that has brought a lot of light to people’s lives — the people at Probe Records in Liverpool, Piccadilly Records in Manchester have been particularly helpful in nudging me down avenues that the racks of HMV, Virgin MegaStore or the algorithms of Amazon’s recommendation engines never could.
The first thing that is particularly interesting about RSD is that it mimics the music industry’s recent shift from sales to events. Touring acts are now the primary focus for income from the major labels, and RSD is an event to encourage merchandise sales. There are plenty of in-store performances in record shops to entice the curious. Although, if you’re a regular at Rough Trade East in London, you might be put-off by today’s special performance: Keane.
The second thing that is interesting is the means in which RSD offers added value: limited edition records. Small number pressings of seven/twelve inches by bands such as Arctic Monkeys, The Hives, Talibam!, Belle & Sebastian and, er, Abba.
What these two things are doing is drawing a massive line in the sand, demonstrating what record stores can do that the online merchants of Amazon, eBay, Discogs etc can’t do: physicality and ‘value’. The online value is usually down to price; offline value is about being able to be part of something, hold something beautiful, and — crucially — be one of the few people to have that experience or product. As Andy Votel notes, “tangible & sociable (not invisible)“.
The internet does scale well, the ‘real’ world does intimacy well. The question is: can the web successfully do limited edition publishing, with intimate value?
It is dangerous to mimic the models of one form in another, and I don’t want to see a replica, but the frictionlessness of online is perverting the value in supply and demand. If everything is always available, can it have value?
It’s a question I’ve looked at briefly in some work. MemCode — a small publishing project — follows an issue model of publishing, looking at quarterly editions of memories and form experiments (issue 2, blue). An initial idea was to have a payment system, for intangible moments/memories, with a built in half-life of the link. That’s a form of the solution, but it doesn’t enable a person to retain the ‘product’ permanently, and leaving a trail of dead links across the web is littering.
Another form of this is a project I have worked on with Philter Phactory’s Weavrs MMM — a storytelling platform for bots, where a majority of the narrative is hard-written and a percentage is generated based on searches and API calls. It’s a version of ltd edt as each version is likely very different, but it’s not quite the same.
At the moment, it is very binary: paywall or completely open. Yesterday, I noticed this tweet from Caitlin Moran (by way of Mary Hamilton) about a temporary paywall amnesty:
The first thousand to click on it will experience NO paywall. I think everyone who clicks on it after that dies, sadly. But! Still!—
Caitlin Moran (@caitlinmoran) April 20, 2012
I think this is the start of something along the lines of what I describe above. The offering is the value of not having to pay, but also the satisfaction of being one of the people who got it when it was available.
A limited edition offering, a ‘first pressing’.
The Guardian Data Blog has done some excellent work exploring the links and references in Anders Breivik‘s Manifesto. This is genuinely fascinating, a much better way of engaging with how a person processes information and distorts it.
This won’t explain Breivik’s motivations entirely, and a lot of things are contradictory, but it is a brilliant means for exploring the contexts that encourage such unhealthy paranoia and delusion.
I was invited to take part in the Sheffield leg of a series of events run by Creative Times called The Beauty of Digital.
I spoke briefly about digital not being a thing, and it being a tool. I made a bunch of slides that looked like this:
Click to view slideshow.It was an enjoyable session with a pretty inquisitive audience. The rest of the speakers were James Wallbank (Access Space), Bea Marshall (Moogaloo) and James Boardwell (Folksy).
LINKS ETC:
1. X1172 by Max Capacity, via New Aesthetic
3. Chromaroma by Mudlark
4. Derby [2061] by Mudlark
5. Birmingham Civic Dashboard by Mudlark
8. One Minute Internet, Part 2: Fukushima (March 12, 2011) by Marcus Brown
10 & 11. MemCode, Issue 2 by Mudlark
14. Ugle by Voy
15. SXAESTHETIC by James Bridle
16. Foo Fighters, Live From Reading ’95 by The Uprising Collective
17. You Don’t Compare Wolf, via New Aesthetic
18. Parasol via Circumambient (oft NSFW)
Some brief ambling today led me to Hitchcock’s definition of a MacGuffin.
It might be a Scottish name, taken from a story about two men in a train. One man says “What’s that package up there in the baggage rack?“, and the other answers “Oh, that’s a McGuffin“. The first one asks “What’s a McGuffin?“. “Well“, the other man says, “It’s an apparatus for trapping lions in the Scottish Highlands“. The first man says “But there are no lions in the Scottish Highlands“, and the other one answers “Well, then that’s no McGuffin!“. So you see, a McGuffin is nothing at all.
Superb.
Last week, Marie and I posted the last entry to Playlist Club, a 51-track compilation featuring an appearance from all the contributors of the last year. It was the end of a year-long project, and it wasn’t an easy thing to do. As I said over on PC:
Hopefully, you’ve found one or two new songs or artists that you hadn’t heard before, or rediscovered some forgotten gems, and that we’ve done our bit.
Our time is up now, kids. These 12 months — and the shedload of songs, stories and elevenses they have brought — have been a lot of fun, but it’s time to move on. A year seemed about right, and there are lots of excellent new ways of discovering music that have popped up since we started (a favourite of which is This Is My Jam, say hello & hai! ), and perhaps our purpose is served.
The other side of that, is that it got a bit tiring. I have endless respect and admiration for the people behind the 365, curating a person to contribute every day, needs full-time editors. Marie and I jumped in head-first without really thinking it through. I’m glad that we did it, after calling her on a flippant comment, but harrying people every week — with occasional anxiety about missing our set publication time — came to be a bit of a drag. When people are dead into it, they are dead into it; when they’re a bit lackadaisical, it’s a bit frustrating. Of all the weeks, we only missed one day (cheers, Brandon) and had a couple of late shows. Not bad, I think.
Anyway, so the ending of it. We’d got tired early December, but decided we would stick with it until there was a natural moment to break it up. A whole year, 52-weeks, seemed as arbitrary as it did good, so we decided that mid-February would see the end of Playlist Club.
It seemed so final. We’ve got a real URL, a proper logo (thanks Kipi), shiny badges (shout if you want one) and a massive stack of people who still wanted to contribute (sorry, pals). We’ve put in many hours to this thing, often with minimal reward, but it was a fun thing.
Importantly, it was a thing, but its life had run and we put it to bed. I thought that maybe we could just tweak it, make it a monthly thing and lighten the burden on us, but it would just slowly diminish and lose any lustre that it had. This way, it may be a bit disappointing to a few people now — but we’re not disappointing everyone for a long time.
It was good to do. I’ve been thinking about endings, off and on, for a while now. There seems to be a disjunct between ending Real things and Digital things, even if they’re not that different. In the ‘real world’, it is easy to put things to an end. Artists end their own stylistic periods, musicians kill off personae/bands (“Mount Eerie is a new project. The Microphones was completed, or at least at a good stopping point. I did it because I am ready for new things. I am new.“), narratives are drawn to a close (Gold Blend couple) and we all sup the last of the tea.
I’ve noticed an odd trend of the concept of time in Digital. In ‘the past’, time has been planned, forward. Things plotted against and things made to arrive on a certain date, for a certain reason. An ad campaign would have its lifespan for as long as it could afford screenspace, newspaper ads, or billboards, or backs of buses. The product was locked into time and – because of that – had to end. Digital has given the illusion that time is some how more real now. Things are always on and always available, Day V Lately from the Yellow Pages campaign could be, right now, looking for his record in Vinyl Tap — so he will tell you about it, right now.
But what happens when he definitely is not?
Been a mad few months and got lots on-the-go at the moment. Gonna be a bit quiet on the Twitter front for a bit. Cheers, Day V—
Day V Lately (@DayVLately) May 11, 2011
He gets busy, doesn’t have time for us any more. Takes a break. Or goes on holiday:
Friends. I have gone on holiday to prepare for world domination yfrog.com/ocwv94j But know this: you have not heard the last from me. B x—
Bertrum Thumbcat (@BertrumThumbcat) October 31, 2011
It might be a bit facile to pick two fictional characters from ad campaigns, but they’re indicative of the difficulty in letting go. There’s the illusion that they could always come back, but there’s a slight hint of desperation — if what we’ve got lined up doesn’t work out, we’ll be back.
There’s no desire to sever the ties, but I think that’s important for getting on with new things.
At the bottom of the road, there is a shopspace that keeps changing hands into faddy niche shops. Most recently it was a pop-up shop selling antique French furniture, a venture that lasted marginally longer than the Garra Rufa fish pedicurist that had recently vacated the space. Before that, a variety of hairdressers turned over.
It’s recently been occupied by a long-running bookshop not 100-yards away, Books On The Park. I’d been to Books On The Park before, it was supremely cramped and a bit surly. Still, indie bookshops are a dying breed and must be supported, so we went into the new space.
Beyond all the pristine folios — a superb cloth covered collection of Chekhov’s short stories and Norse histories priced just outside of mid-month whimsy — were perfectly kept books of all topics. This is fairly novel, as these kind of shops tend to have a bit of a jumble sale approach to quality. There were boxes of books earmarked for charity shops that had not made the standard.
I’m a terrible hoarder, with a bad habit for picking up books I will have no time to read, but the allure of excellent covers is always too great to resist. Some people are suckers for classic Penguin cover designs, and they’re right to be, but I have a huge soft-spot for Faber & Faber. Very under-rated, and wilfully modernist a lot of the time, they are stark and beautiful. I picked up a couple of paperback editions of Beckett plays (editions I haven’t got already), and ended up in the poetry section. Scanning the spines, I pulled out a brilliant yellow book collecting poems by Don Marquis, called archy and mehitabel.
I’ve never heard of Don Marquis, but I opened it up and it reminded me of two favourite things: ee cummings and George Herriman’s Krazy Kat & Ignatz.
Like Krazy Kat, archy & mehitabel features a cast of animals — the text is written ‘by’ a cockroach called archy, and featuring a lot of animals that have previously been humans: mehitabel, the cat; warty bliggens, the toad; freddy, the rat.
In punctuation-absent, faux-broken free verse, Marquis creates rich characters filled with back-story, warmth and humour. There’s an irreverent play with language that pokes fun at its formal absurdity whilst defining clear accents, lexicons and personalities of its characters. mehitabel’s refrain of “wotthehell” here is a great example:
i have had my ups and downs
but wotthehell wotthehell
yesterday sceptres and crowns
fried oysters and velvet gowns
and today i herd with bums
but wotthehell wotthehell
i wake the world from sleep
as i caper and sing and leap
when i sing my wild free tune
wotthehell wotthehell
under the blear eyed moon
i am pelted with cast off shoon
but wotthehell wotthehellthe song of mehitabel (extract), Don Marquis
There’s a depth to the words and use of language that raises it above a pretend naïvety; the use of animal characters is to offer the ability to indulge a different perspective and gently poke fun at the human world from a differently privileged position.
A little research showed that there is a clear link between archy and mehitabel and Krazy Kat and Ignatz: George Herriman illustrated the original newspaper publications of Marquis’ columns, in his typically brilliant way:
Which makes me very happy, and reminds me of the wonderful purpose of physical bookshops, particularly second-hand ones: accidental discovery, judging books by their covers and trusting your own hunches. Love live indie.
One day they’ll pass, and we’ll say “wotthehell wotthehell”.
Have today experimented with using the iPad as a pseudo-gallery installation, showing Gummo and Trash Humpers as I worked. An interesting experience — and certainly a good way to go with Korine. The glanceable screen doesn’t have to be about conveying information.
via Instagram http://instagr.am/p/gQUNl/ January 11, 2012 at 05:24PM
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“Unfortunately the copies that arrived from the manufacturer were not up to our standards. In an effort to provide the best vinyl quality available, all copies of the album are currently being re-pressed” — Joyful Noise Records
Subterranea | Excavating spaces from the depths of the mind « dpr-barcelona
Subterranea by Rick Gooding. Courtesy of Woodbury University School of Architecture
In an era of digital representation, Gooding celebrates the precise and beautiful craft of manual drafting. He works without rulers or measuring devices and carefully constructs his drawings using the most basic architectural drafting tools: a straight edge, a 314 pencil, and an eraser and erasing shield. Gooding works exclusively in black and white. The simple palette occasionally produces Escher-esque qualities. Subversive flips of figure/ground and slips in optical logic confuse the readings of these rigorously constructed drawings.
This is the previously-unavailable music video for “Bass Drum Dream” by the Microphones. Feast your eyes and ears.
This video is one of many gems in Calvin Johnson’s VHS collection, which is currently in the midst of being digitized and uploaded to the Pink Elephant’s Graveyard on the new K website.
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Hopefully, you've found one or two new songs or artists that you hadn't heard before, or rediscovered some forgotten gems, and that we've done our bit.
Our time is up now, kids. These 12 months — and the shedload of songs, stories and elevenses they have brought — have been a lot of fun, but it's time to move on. A year seemed about right, and there are lots of excellent new ways of discovering music that have popped up since we started (a favourite of which is This Is My Jam, say hello & hai! ), and perhaps our purpose is served.
Huge thanks goes out to everyone who contributed a playlist (many of whom we still owe a gold badge), to those who simply listened, to everyone who shared and got excited and especially Lydia for her wonderful logo up there.
So, that's that. Time to lift the needle from the run-off and put our music box away.
It's been fun.
Watching The Sky With Our Hands In Our Pockets [Spotify]
Yo La Tengo - Nowhere Near
Hum - Apollo
Death Cab For Cutie - A Lack of Color
Smashing Pumpkins - Landslide
Great Lake Swimmers - Moving Pictures Silent Films
The Weakerthans - Sounds Familiar
Nada Surf - If You Leave
Peggy Lee - Where Or When
Steve Albini once said, "Punk rockers can do anything. If punk rockers were running NASA, we'd be drinking tea on the moon by now."
So this playlist is an imagined conversation between an astronaut and the person they've left behind. Part break-up, part hello, with interruptions and transmission failures and all the ups and downs of being together and being apart.
About Playlist Club-er: Emma Lannie (@sleepyem)
Emma Lannie writes stories, organises literature events, makes books with Time Travel Opps and blogs sporadically here.
Fred and Janet [spotify]
Marty Wilde — Abergavenny
Soft Cell - Where The Heart Is
Jackie Lee - The Town I Live In
Morecambe & Wise - Positive Thinking
Those Dancing Days - I'll Be Yours
Sister Sledge - Thinking of You
Cliff Richard & The Shadows - In The Past
The Pale Fountains - Thank You
This is mostly about a yearning for the past. I still bore my wife bringing up stories of how we first met and then unmet and my kids patiently listen to tales of when I was a kid a long time ago. Thank you kids for your patience.
So this is a healthy stab of teen family melodrama (Soft Cell, Jackie Lee), out and out kitsch nostalgia (Marty Wilde) and straightforward romance (Cliff, Sister Sledge). Even the newest track from These Dancing Days reminds me of love affairs and indiepop from 25 years ago not 2 years ago.
And Eric & Ernie (it would have been Roy Castle if i could have found it) prompt me of where I was happiest. In my front room in the 70s. Lying on the floor in front of the TV with the two people who I've named the list after.
About Playlist Club-er: Jem Stone (@jemstone)
Jem is a father of three from mid Sussex, works for a large broadcasting company and is waiting for Bobby Gillespie to give him back that biography of Joe Meek that he lent him 22 years ago. He owns the entire Sarah Records back catalogue.
Lonely Hearts Love Songs [Spotify]
Lonely Hearts Love Songs by Will Humphrey
No Pussy Blues - Grinderman
I Don't Want Love - Antlers
Challengers - The New Pornographers
Come On, Let's Talk About Our Feelings - Fight Like Apes
Indiscriminate Act of Kindness - Foy Vance
Sweet Little Mystery - John Martyn
Lucky You - The National
The Shadowlands - Ryan Adams
I've always been interested in love songs (or sad songs, depending on how you're taken by 'em) that play with the idea of wistfulness - the idea that things could have somehow turned out differently if you'd have put more (or less) effort in.
I don't find any of these songs depressing or uplifting, really. They're more musings on what's happening to you right now, whether it's Nick Cave's blood and thunder wit upon ageing on the Grinderman track, Foy Vance's charity storytelling or Ryan Adams's extended refrain at the end of The Shadowlands. What's more, no matter who I talk to - everyone views these tracks in different ways, depending on their mood. That, I think, is the power of wistful songs. Also, there's a few shouty little numbers in there too..it's not all maudlin.About Playlist Club-er: Will Humphrey
Will Humphrey is a tall, cheerfully cynical planner type. He's a mildly obsessive Stoke City fan that spends most of his free time trying to hit small round balls into bigger holes with curious implements. He can be found here on t'terwebs.
Things I Like From Things I Don't [Spotify]
Errors - Supertribe
Duchess Says - Tenen Non Neu
Boom Bip - Manabozh
Ane Brun - Do You Remember?
Lambchop - The New Cobweb Summer
Grizzly Bear - Two Weeks
Greenskeepers - Vagabond
The Horrors - Whole New Way
It's a bit of a grab bag, but specifically made of songs I like from things I don't. Mostly, albums, but in a few cases entire bands that I think are shit. Usually these songs were the first thing from them I heard, and nothing else in their work or that album quite lived up to the promise. Waifs like these tracks are easy to forget about in the midst of Spotify and gigabytes of MP3s.
About Playlist Club-er: David Hayward (aka @Nachimir)
David Hayward is a videogames odd-job man and professional bad example. He produces a bunch of UK games events such as upcoming A Bit of Alright on Feb 3rd.
image c/o David Hayward
About Playlist Club-er: Einar Sneve Martinussen (@snve)
Shhh Secret Santa [Spotify]
Jose Feliciano – Feliz Navidad
The Waitresses – Christmas Wrapping
The Handsome Family – Stupid Bells
Brenda Lee – Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree
Lilian Briggs – Rock N' Roll Polly Santa Claus
MC Lars – Gary The Green Nosed Reindeer
Tom Jones – Baby It's Cold Outside
Eels – Everything's Gonna Be Cool This Christmas
Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band – Santa Claus Is Comin' To Town
The Fall – No Xmas For John Quays (Peel Session)
Pet Shop Boys – All over the world
The Aislers Set – Christmas Song
Frankie Goes To Hollywood – The Power Of Love
Sufjan Stevens – That Was The Worst Christmas Ever!
Its A Playlist Club Secret Santa. This week we've asked some of our Playlist Club chums to generously donate one whole festive track to our Secret Musical Santa's Sack. As its secret we're not telling you who inflicted what onto the playlist so you can love/ despise or pity them all in equal measure. People good with numbers might also note that this weeks playlist is shockingly >8 songs long. Just this once we've decided to break one of the golden rules (its a Christmas Miracle!) after all we think its what baby Jesus would have wanted.
Enjoy...
Brought to you by
Tigershungry, Topfife, Minkette, Nachimir, Benburry, Infovore, Myyada, Blowupchurch, Duncangeere, Mday, Anjali28, Doougle, CJ_Parker
Oh yes & a special mention for this track which was suggested but sadly an ask too far for Spotify.
Smithery - Working Songs [Spotify]
Carter Burwell — The Wicked Flee
British Sea Power — It Comes Back Again
Hans Zimmer — Radical Notion
Nick Cave & Warren Ellis — Song For Bob
Hanz Zimmer & James Newton Howard — A Dark Knight
Nine Inch Nails — Right Where It Belongs
Ennio Morricone — L'estasi dell'oro (The Ecstasy of Gold)
Clint Mansell — We're Going Home
Music is an important part of the rhythm of work. Where once there were drum beats propelling ships across oceans, and workers songs propelling mean and women across fields, there are now stereos playing eighties classics radio in offices, and rows of headphone-clad desk jockeys.
This is a playlist for the knowledge-reaper, the concept-wrangler, the strategy-smith. A concentrated soundtrack to your own daily heroic battle. Refrains and themes, jeopardy and hazard, contemplation and doubt, belief and purpose. Cue the strings, and get things done.
About Playlist Club-er: John Willshire (@willsh)
Marketing, Economics, Making, Stories, Art, Music, Analogies & Puns.
Clear Light [Spotify]
Health – Tabloid Sores (Nosajthing Rmx)
Com Truise – Cathode Girls
Pictureplane – Real is a Feeling
Lunice – Hitmanes Anthem
Zackey Force Funk – Noizeinbrain (feat. Kutmah)
Hudson Mohawke – Thunder Bay
Rustie – City Star
Kingdom – Dreama
Clear Light is a playlist. It's not about anything really.
About Playlist Club-er: Christoffer Hedborg (aka @c_hedborg)
Good Evening Mr Brown [8tracks]
1: Shake Aletti — Inside Out (Toy Tigers Remix)
2: SSion from the album BENT — PSY-CHIC
3: Of Montreal — Gallery Piece Stems (Minitel Rose Remix)
4: Phil RetroSpector — Dont Mo (Yazoo VS Four Tops)
5: DJ Lobsterdust — Stayin' Hot (Nelly vs. Bee Gees)
6: The KDMS — Tonight (Box Codax Remix)
7: Telonius, Prince Albert — Last Night (Extended Club Mix)
8: PULL UP TO THE BUMPER PHASE5 MOOMBAHTON REWORK
Love songs that contain a lot of lust. Because there's nothing hotter than the real deal.
About Playlist Club-er: Åsk Dabitch (@dabitch)
Dabitch hates to write about herself in third person but loves to use the royal we.
Image credits: Dabitch, Cannes, France summer 2011
War Breaks Out [youtube]
SISTERS OF MERCY — TEMPLE OF LOVE (12'' Version)
Sigue Sigue Sputnik — Love Missile F1 11 (Bancock Remix)
MARRS — Pump Up The Volume (UK 12" Remix)
Falco — Rock Me Amadeus (Solieri/Extended Version)
Blancmange — Dont Tell Me (12" Version)
Yazoo — Situation (12" Version)
Bronski Beat — Smalltown Boy (12" Version)
Frankie Goes To Hollywood — Two Tribes (Annihilation Mix)
This playlist is a memory of the eighties; of naughty cigarettes, staypress trousers, “Frankie says” T-Shirts and a holiday in Blackpool. That’s it.
About Playlist Club-er: Marcus Brown (@MarcusJHBrown)
I am Marcus. I smoked cigarettes in the 80’s.
All the tracks in this playlist are from albums that were released in the last couple of years for no pounds and nothing pence. It only lasts about 20 minutes but they're all tracks that still make me want to be a rapper. Click the download button on each track to be taken to the relevant artist's site for the full free releases.
Jumping and Pecking [8tracks]
A playlist of wonky pop and folk music made by solo artists before 1990.
Playlist Club-ber: Ricky Haggett (aka @kommanderklobb)
Ricky makes videogames. He is a co-founder of independent developer Honeyslug, and is currently working on Frobisher Says, Hohokum, Wild Rumpus. He once saw Ivor Cutler in Kentish Town.
http://klobb.posterous.com
Cold in Scandinavia [Spotify]
I've been noticing how much of the new music I'm listening to is coming out of Scandinavia. There are some possibly obvious reasons why of course, with a turn to the melancholy and a belief in recommendation engines being two likely culprits.
Anyway, the plan was to put together a list of new, entirely-Scandinavian music I've been enjoying. What we've ended up with is not entirely new, not entirely Scandinavian, with three tracks from the same vocalist and a bit of a mishmash of styles. I think I'm still safe in the claim of melancholy, though. Hope there's something you haven't heard before. Hope there'sPlaylist Club-ber: Ben Burry (aka @benburry)
Ben works as a site reliability engineer, wrangling monsters in Shoreditch. He spends a lot of time at the BFI, a lot of time listening to glitchy electronica and not enough time tinkering with hardware. He is older than he feels.
True NWOBHM [YouTube]
Get out yer cardboard guitar and enjoy!
Playlist Club-er: Mark MagillMagill is a true punk who's been putting out records forever. Mark has released records with Grampus 8 (pop punk), Meow Meow! (indie pop), Down & Outs (street punk) and currently SSS (crossover thrash)
Brickbats and Brimstone [spotify]
Solomon Linda's Original Evening Birds — Mbube
Elvis Presley — Blue Moon
The Velvet Underground — Pale Blue Eyes
Arvo Pärt — Summa
Gram Parsons — Hickory Wind
Blur — No Distance Left To Run
Donovan — Turquoise
Suede — The Next Life
"Often, now that the dog days have passed and the evenings blur with a greenish glow at twilight, I'll think of crooked sand tracks through the pine plantation, the buckled asphalt on the long, east roads and the fields of husk and dirt surrounding the Beet factory chimneys that burnt the air of my youth. And, in early October, uncertain how to proceed, I'll listen to this soft, low music again."
About Playlist Club-er: Andrew Pendrick (@andrewpendrick)
Andrew Pendrick is minor folk hero in his native Nova Zembla for his role as Chief of Propaganda in the Student Uprising of 1996. His portrait of the American poet William Fort-Dene (a distant cousin) hangs in the only Moldovan restaurant in London and his play, "A Gorilla In The Roses" remains unperfomed. He currently lives incognito in the west of Sheffield, England, spending the last two years attempting to resolve his 'Solus Rex' chess problem.
Image by Andrew.
Go Back. What Was Must Never Be. [spotify]
Nic Jones — The Little Pot Stove
Dan Deacon — Wet Wings
Davy Graham — She Move Through The Fair
Gorodisch — Moth To The Flame
The Watersons — The North Country Maid
Directing Hand — Down In Yon Forest
Iva Bittová — Ne Nehledj
Laurie Anderson — Same Time Tomorrow (live)
The title of my list is taken from the first line of Alan Garner’s novel Thursbitch. Garner, in turn, borrowed it from Jean Cocteau’s film Orphée. I first thought I was compiling a celebration of Folk Music, the songs which my parents passed on to me as a child. But as I listened for suitable songs, I was haunted by Thursbitch's tale: an 18th century Cheshire salt-trader's shepherding of the Earth using ancient ritual, broken by the planting of a Christian Church. I dreamed folk memories of the Pennines, bleeding into visions of Albion. I thought of the trade and hunting routes which brought hominids from the East, crossing the sunken kingdom of Doggerland. I wrote an essay on the subject, and then crossed it out. I felt the pain of the incorrigible nostalgic when I realised that a map is not the same as the thing mapped. So... the playlist begins with a song that took roost in my head during a childhood narrow-boat holiday, (back when Dave Stewart & Barbara Gaskin's "It's My Party" was Number One). It finishes with a song I heard recorded, from the gods at Saddler's Wells Theatre, with my new girlfriend, who eventually gave birth to our two kids and then became my wife. It is an incomplete, inaccurate, incomprehensible and intimate map of (English?) history. Io! Euoi!
About Playlist Club-er: Dan Sumption (@dansumption)
Dan Sumption set up the web agency Hard Media in 1995 and, three years later, sold it to Leo Burnett's, where he rode the dot com boom. After several more years of freelancing and working for private clients, he wound up at the BBC building the iPlayer, and now works for YouView creating the interface for the next generation of connected TV. Most people, however, know him as the guy who totes a camera around Sheffield at night, posting the resulting pictures on Facebook and at danshotme.com. He also blogs, less freely and less often than he used to, at www.sumption.org. In his spare time, he fosters children and dreams of owning goats, growing walking-stick kale, and building a masonry stove covered in fancy ceramic tiles. Possibly green ones.
Image: Lady Canning's Plantation at night by "Dan Sumption"
Music as Medicine [spotify]
The Mountain Goats — Half Dead
The Number 91 [spotify]
Sonic Youth — Teen Age Riot
Bruce Springsteen — Darkness On The Edge of Town
Chef Raekwon — Knuckleheadz
Roy Orbison — In Dreams
The Fall — Hotel Bloedel
Letta Mbulu — What's Wrong With Groovin'
Julie Driscoll, Brian Auger & The Trinity — Season Of The Witch
The Beach Boys — God Only Knows
The Number 91. From a bus route I used to take from Crouch End to the Aldwych. The journey in was always upbeat. The journey back usually more melancholic and wistful.
This playlist is culled from my most popular tracks on iTunes and lives on from when I used to work in London and take the number 91 bus to work (when it was too wet to cycle). It's in that well trodden crypto-fascist-hippy genre, in literature terms somewhere between Laurie Lee, Joseph Heller and Bret Easton Ellis. I'd like to think most people inhabit that spectrum of emotions somewhere in their day, oscillating between light and dark. It's interesting to me because of what it excludes as much as what it contains. I wanted to include Claro Intelecto recent stuff and Boo Williams' early work, but neither live on Spotify. Their music manages to be both simultaneously. Crystal Castles were too bleak for me today but I do love them for a descent into dark. And Katell Kleineg's last album At The Mermaid Parade has a few wonderful tracks that could have replaced the Beach Boys. Again, not on spotify but always in my head. Thank you.
About Playlist Club-er: James Boardwell (@jamesb)
I'm James Boardwell. I blog at Technogoggles and am a Director of Folksy.
Sunday Dad [Spotify] (bonus youtube playlist link)
When I was young the house was always filled with music on a Sunday. If Mum was in charge then it would be great female vocalists of the 50/60s such as Nina Simone and Diana Ross or just some classic Motown. More often than not it would be Dad's music playing as he did some DIY round the house or slept off his afternoon visit to 'Church' and the Sunday dinner. This playlist is about the Sunday music of my Dad. The photo shows the classic music centre used to spin the long players, you can just about make out the cover of Aladdin Sane and you can clearly make out my Dad's mullet and 'tache circa 1984.
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That’s that then. It was a good exercise, and I enjoyed most of it. I think there could have been some better questions, certainly there were some I didn’t feel too excited to answer. If you’d like to suggest any questions to answer, I’ll have a go.
I have a massive amount of thanks for my dad for letting me pick and choose from his music collection as a kid and for not trying to force anything upon me. That’s given me the freedom and licence to try out different things.
To conclude, here are a couple of playlists that can work as an incomplete archive of sorts: Spotify / YouTube.
If you’d like a physical compilation of all the tracks, drop me a line below and I will sort it out for you.
Say hello on last.fm, add me on Spotify and follow on twitter.
My main blog is over here.
Thanks for reading, this has been fun.
No Rain, Blind Melon (Blind Melon, Capitol; 1992)
In my previous job, my co-workers and I collaborated on a lot of things; mostly Spotify compilations.
The playlists started as just songs that we wanted to hear, liked or whatever and ended up being pretty stupid themed playlists taking in weather, food, clothing, colour, etc. A mix of forgotten gems, new pearls and awful dross, as is the nature. There was also plenty of Chief Kooffreh.
Blind Melon’s No Rain featured on every single one. It started out as a lovely slice of teenage nostalgia, of sitting in fields with crappy portable stereos drinking cheap warm booze. By the end, it was the unofficial anthem bonding together the workforce. A sing-a-long for the post-Generation X (apart from one, who was Generation X) working the nine-to-five but dreaming of freedoms outside. Finger-clicking, brushed drums, sickly sweet guitar and a pretty fey vocal took us out of the office and into parks with friends, beer and maybe a frisbee.
It became a running in-joke (not a particularly brilliant one) that a playlist wasn’t a playlist without it.
I’m sticking to that tradition.
LISTEN: Album recording.
WATCH: Commercial video.
Reward, The Teardop Explodes (Single, Mercury; 1981)
Of the few CDs we had in the house, there were a couple that I was particularly drawn to: Staring At The Sea (The Cure singles compilation, 1986) and a Punk & Disorderly compilation of New Wave.
I loved the cover of The Cure compilation because I liked the man’s face. Faces are very important for kids. The Punk & Disorderly compilation had that classic punk design, all torn paper, safety pins and bodged together typography. As a child, I didn’t know anything about design and just liked how messy it was. I listened to both endlessly, along with my Madness cassette and a couple of mixtapes my dad made me.
The P&D compilation was/is amazing, all sorts of acts were on it: Bow Wow Wow, Blondie, Subway Sect, Department S, Ian Dury & The Blockheads, Tenpole Tudor. A real mix of some brilliant punk/post-punk songs. All I knew is that they were great songs. My favourite track on the compilation was Reward by The Teardrop Explodes.
It is superb. All driving drums, parping trumpets, simple keyboard line and Julian Cope. Ah, Julian Cope. Such a way with words and melodies. Then, as now, the opening line “bless my cotton socks, I’m in the news” tickles me. My dad got annoyed with me playing the one song over and over and over again, so put Floored Genius (Best Of) onto a cassette for me. I was the coolest eight-year old around, striding around listening to The Teardrop Explodes on my walkman.
LISTEN: Single recording.
WATCH: Commercial video.
Down In It, Ning Inch Nails (Pretty Hate Machine, TVT/Island; 1989)
Do things. Always try to be good. Sometimes you can’t. Maybe you get too tired, maybe you’re not happy, maybe you just lose will-power. I was young and liked doing things, trying to be good. Sometimes failed.
Did things with someone I shouldn’t have. It was a naughty thing to do. It makes for good tales, really, but it’s not something I’m particularly proud of. I happened to be listening to this around that time. It’s associative, it soundtracked a period of not being the best person.
It’s still a great song, even if it is drenched in angst and youthful wrongs.
LISTEN: Album recording. [Soundcloud link]
WATCH: “Commercial video” / Live, Woodstock ‘94
Angel of Death, Slayer (Reign In Blood, American Recordings; 1986)
I’ve tried. I have. As mentioned yesterday, I’ve picked up instruments. I’ve put them down. In between, I tried to play them. It wasn’t successful. I have made some music, though. Mostly on synthesizer, as navel-gazing ambient drone music. It’s pretty bad.[1] I was also part of a pretty manly noise-jam trio that made ugly noise-jams. I’m quite proud of some of it.[2]
The thing that links the two outputs: there’s no songs, really. Just jams, free-form workouts and ideas being hashed out. I’ve never been comfortable writing lyrics in earnest. I think it’s the cheat’s way of writing poetry, and I don’t write poetry.
There’s plenty of music I wish I’d written — particularly the electro-acoustic pearl of C-Schulz & Hajsch, the incredible Pet Sounds, Rumours, or even just the simple concept of B Flat — but if it comes down to a song I wish I could play, it would always end up being a thrash song. It would always end up being Angel of Death.
As a boy growing up with an aggressive punk and metal streak, hearing Angel of Death was jaw-dropping. Genuinely, punch-in-the-stomach, slackjawed awe. It is fast, technical and hard as anything. The production is punchy where most ’80s thrash is thin on depth. There’s nothing I can say about Angel of Death that hasn’t been said a thousand times: the riffs, the scream, the solos, the drumming, the risqué lyrical content, the tempo-shifts & breakdowns — all perfect.
I’d love to be able to turn around to my twelve-year-old self and say: yes, I can play that. I’d blow my own mind. It’s better than gash ambient and jerk-off noise.
LISTEN: Album recording. / Live (Decade of Aggression)
WATCH: Live, 1986
[1] I dumped most of it on bandcamp just to purge it. Feel free to listen, and criticise. It’s all in mono (left) for some arsehole reason.
[2] There’s loads more, and this isn’t the best stuff. I need a twitter hashtag campaign to encourage uploading.
4’33”, John Cage (1952)
None. That’s simple. I’ll dallied with trying to play instruments off and on over the course of my life. The list of instruments I have picked up and put down include piano, clarinet, guitar, bass, organ, synthesizer, Jew’s harp. I keep coming back to keyboard-based instruments because I understand playing that more than I do guitars.
I can play 4’33” because anyone can, on any instrument. When I play, I lift the lid on my Yamaha electric organ and turn the power on. The next four and a half minutes are a unique composition of dirty contacts inside the organ, creaking stool, breathing and cars going by outside.
It’s pretty good. You should give it a go.
Have I The Right, The Honeycombs (Have I The Right, RGM Sound; 1964)
A real gem of the 1960s pop-scene, produced by Joe Meek. It came towards the end of maverick producer Joe Meek’s chart-topping reign (having scored hits with Telstar and Johnny Remember Me).
Meek pioneered production techniques that resulted in unique sound effects and recordings. His production methodology and recording style were the result of being tone deaf, his experience of working as a radio production engineer, and being a paranoid obsessive. Meek was so paranoid, he felt Phil Spector had stolen his sound for his own “Wall of Sound”.[1]
Towards the mid-sixties, the growing popularity of Merseybeat bands signalled a shift in the sound of the UK Top 40. Meek decided to beat them at their own game and record a song with the biggest beat. Have I The Right is that song.
It’s a pretty standard jangly Beat song, all drums, chiming chords and English accent in the verse. The chorus is what makes me laugh. Meek couldn’t get a huge beat sound no matter how he recorded the drums, or how he set the microphones up. He felt that to make the biggest beat, he would have to do it differently.
To achieve the sound he wanted, he hooked five microphones up to the wooden stairs of his studio and had The Honeycombs stamp their feet. He then hit a tambourine directly onto a microphone. The result is a multi-tracked stomp that hit the top of the charts and delivered one of the finest musical jokes of his era.
LISTEN: Single recording. [Spotify link]
WATCH: Live video, 1964.
[1] To the extent that when Phil Spector phoned Meek to praise him, he simply told him to fuck off and hung up.
Happy Trails, Jim O’Rourke (Bad Timing, Drag City; 1997)
Your exerience, and memory of an experience, is all about punctuation. Your funeral is the end of your statement, and a last chance to influence people’s memory of you. Jim O’Rourke understands punctuation more than most.
This song fulfils two parts of O’Rourke’s musical angles: drone and John Fahey. It opens with a simultaneous open stringed guitar strum and overdriven drone. Both are given equal weight, both share space and overlap.
The drone flares and retreats as the guitar is casually played. Nothing much happens for three and a half minutes. The drone disappears to be replaced with mid-period Fahey acoustic playing. Bottom-string notes resonate as chiming top strings are gently plucked. It’s sweet, charming, occasionally dissonant, warm.
A tune is gradually worked out, rhythm and momentum grows slowly. You can hear the strings on the neck as they’re played.
Then the punctuation. A brass section, drumming, lap-steel, synthesizer, buried melodies appear. It is joyful, incredulous and can’t fail to make you smile. It’s over as quickly as it began, a maudlin strum taking over for the final ninety seconds, with a gentle flute, trombone and synthesizer coda.
Ten minutes, and you’ll remember the burst of brass more than anything. That will make you smile. You’ll leave feeling sad, but you’ll remember feeling happy.
Far too few funerals allow the happiness, that punctuation of joy, to come through. Hopefully mine will.
LISTEN: Album recording. [Soundcloud link]
Give Him A Great Big Kiss, The Shangri-Las (Give Him A Great Big Kiss, Red Bird;1965)
“When I say I’m in love, you best believe I’m in love — L.U.V.”
One of the greatest opening lines to any song[1], and what better way to start a wedding reception?
Handclaps, tambourines, trombones, drums with background ooh and ahhs — there’s no flourishes. It’s a simple, perfect song. A song of swooning love with all the attitude that made The Shangri-Las the best girl group: finger-clicking cool, sexually aggressive and honey sweet.
It mixes brilliant, reverb-drenched melodies with the conversational asides they made popular on Leader Of The Pack.
What colour are his eyes? / I dunno, he’s always wearing shades.
Give Him A Great Big Kiss is one of The Shangri-Las’ few “successful love” songs[2]. It has all the swagger, verve and joy of freshly minted love. The kind of love that makes you skip, talk endlessly about the object of your desire, and kiss in public. The kind of blushing love that makes you insufferable to be around if you are displaying it. Apart from on your wedding day, when it is applauded with John Lewis appliances and book tokens.
I’d want to play this at my wedding so my wife would remember how awesome I am.
LISTEN: Album recording. [Spotify link]
WATCH: Live, 1965.
[1] So good Nation of Ullysses & New York Dolls both borrowed it.
[2] they wrote a lot of Teenage Tragedy songs (Leader Of The Pack, Give Us Your Blessings)
To Be Of Use, Smog (Red Apple Falls, Drag City; 1997)
This sort of repeats on the ground covered over here. I would have put Great Ghosts by Mount Eerie as my answer if I hadn’t already. I’m not one, it turns out, to try to “turn that frown upside down” by listening to music anthithetical to my mood. I match it. Not wallow, or indulge, but ‘allow’ my mood.
I was re-introduced to Smog by a good friend several years ago, and marvelled particularly at Red Apple Falls. I was going through a Jim O’Rourke phase at the time, so absorbed anything he was involved in. His production of Red Apple Falls is flawless. Every guitar string, every horn, every snare and every word that Bill Callahan sings sounds immaculate.
There’s much to love on the album, so many songs to really lose yourself in: the upbeat Ex-Con, steel guitar-led I Was A Stranger and The Morning Paper with its dawn horns. Every song is perfect.
To Be Of Use nestles right in the middle of the album and is one of the sparser, more melancholic songs. A mournful guitar with the occasional flourish of lap-steel leaves Bill Callahan’s voice to fill the rest of the space. Forthright but gentle. The song easily mixes sexual selflessness with great feelings of (non-sexual) impotence, fantasies bleed with simple realities. It is of being, and not being.
That’s why I listen to it when sad. I am good at many many things, all valuable, yet I cannot pin down the one perfect product to be. I do not have the “hard, simple, undeniable use” that Callahan pines for in the song.
I think, ultimately, everyone pines for that. That’s sad.
LISTEN: Album recording. [Soundcloud link]
WATCH Live, 2003.
Songs For David, Honey Shop Screamers (Going Out Dancing, Do The Dog; 2002)
Happiness is the simplest emotion, yet it’s the hardest one to get right. When I’m happy I like to listen to simple music that will keep it going, stuff that can’t spoil. Ska and pop-punk tends to work for me.
Honey Shop Screamers came out of the North West pop-punk and ska-punk scene of the late ’90s. They were a classic ska/2-tone band in the vein of The Selecter, The Beat or The Specials, playing organ-driven, brass-filled upbeat catchy songs. There’s no I and I patois, or false American accents. It’s the voice of semi-rural North West England. A total anomaly in the era of bands wanting to sound like Pennywise, NOFX, Less Than Jake or Snuff.
Songs For David features everything that is great about HSS — choruses that stick in your head for weeks, great synthesiser/organ playing, well arranged brass sections, group vocals and superb lyrics.
It captures the sound of small-town living, finding things to do to pass the time. Getting up to mischief with your best mates, breaking stuff, writing on walls and ending up in places with people you shouldn’t. Real simple pleasures that you can’t really do as a grown-up.
Honey Shop Screamers are also the start point for the equally excellent (but different) Victor FME, Vegetables, National School, and Hot Club De Paris.
LISTEN: Album recording. [Soundcloud link]
Luau, Drive Like Jehu (Yank Crime, Interscope; 1994)
Drive Like Jehu are another band that is the centre point of many other brilliant bands: Pitchfork, Hot Snakes, Rocket From The Crypt, Obits, The Sultans, The Night Marchers.
With Drive Like Jehu, Rick Froberg and John Reis (Speedo) laid down the template for post-hardcore/emo that sadly few have followed up. There are exceptions for the likes of Antioch Arrow, Swing Kids, Planes Mistaken for Stars, Das Oath, but it’s strained. Drive Like Jehu are technical but not too complex, full of riffs without being metal, mid-tempo without being ‘mosh’ heavy and carry a large amount of a tune in their shouting.
They’re the sweet-spot of emo. When emo was emotional hardcore, not crying about late developing pubic hair or being out of Coke Zero. Anger raging alongside introspection, self-analysis and personal politics.
I guess that is why if I’m forced to select a song for when I’m angry, I would reach for Drive Like Jehu. Whenever you’re angry, it’s not always outside causes. There’s a great deal of personal responsibility for it. You have to question why you’re angry, and what you’ve done to encourage that. I used to be angry a lot, but I’m more measured now.
I first heard Luau on a Lord Clothing skate video (VHS), the same place I first heard Texas Is The Reason. Lord skate videos were aggressive, really earnest and full of great songs.
Luau captures that brilliant point between control and anger, of containment and release. It’s all over the place. It starts with a guitar strum, drums and bass hold down a tight rhythm. Rick Froberg’s vocals and guitar cut in and it gets messy. Notes, riffs, drum fills fire off in all directions. It’s chaos, before a calm, brilliantly stripped down middle-section.
What more could you want?
LISTEN: Album recording. [Spotify link]
WATCH: Hot Snakes live cover, 2005.
Anyone Can Have A Good Time, Owls (Owls, Jade Tree; 2001)
Owls are one of the pearls along the Joan of Arc continuum. It was the first time that the core of Cap’n Jazz got together to record new material. Not as Cap’n Jazz, but a totally new band.
Owls is stripped of the “studio-as-instrument” concept that led 1997-2001 Joan of Arc, and is a more matured version of Cap’n Jazz’s youthful exhuberance. It’s tempered, clean and pure, clocking in at a perfect thirty-five minutes. It sounds totally different, but with echoes.
Anyone Can Have A Good Time distills all that is excellent on this album. There’s smart-alec wordplay, in-jokes and obscure cultural references. Words become an instrument in themselves, providing rhythms, unexpected notes, slipping in and out of the real instruments. Musically, it is full of glistening arpeggios, blunt bass, powerful drumming with delicate fills. Time signatures are well off the beaten track. Kinsella’s broken vocals manage to carry an unconventional/off-tune brilliantly. It walks the line between overwrought and smirking, pretentious and earnestness.
Language jokes abound on the album, but there are the occasional couplets that genuinely inspire emotions and shivers, especially on “Anyone Can…”. The outro features the Kinsella brothers sharing lyrics — “we fall into patterns quickly / we fall in patterns too quickly” — before a trademark Tim Kinsella howl of “unname everything, unname everyone” repeats until close. That’s lovely.
The album is just superb. There’s lot to take in over the thirty-five minutes. It demands repeated listens.
After nearly ten years of playing it, I’m still overawed by so much in it.
LISTEN: Album recording.
WATCH: Live, circa 2001. [Enjoy Tim’s unique style of dancing]
Sever, Karate (Unsolved, Southern; 2000)
This was going to be “Age of Aquarius/Let The Sunshine In (Medley)” by Fifth Dimension, but I actually heard it on the radio two days ago. It was as good as I thought that would be. Joyous.
In lieu of that brilliant slice of Christ-filled love, I offer Sever by Karate. Karate were an American band that fit somewhere in a Venn diagram between jazz, indie and late-’80s SST Records bands like fIREHOSE and Slovenly.
Sever is one of the more ‘indie rock’ songs on an otherwise jazzy guitar record. It’s a throwback to a time that never really was: the golden age of beret, polo necks and Gitane. It starts off with a swerving Yacht Rock guitar line underpinned by the tightest rhythm section, strutting with an effortlessly cool hipster vibe. Geoff Farina’s vocals fall somewhere between library assistant and beatnik loner. There are various breaks, jazz and blues, adding space between the rock sections and verses.
Written down, it’s awful. Recorded, it’s incredibly special.
The reason I’d like to hear this on a radio is that it immediately makes me feel more cocksure, it ups my gait to a determined stride and transplants me from wherever I am to an infinitely more happening scene. Man.
LISTEN: Album recording. / Live, 595. [Spotify links]
Legs, ZZ Top (Eliminator, Warner Bros; 1983)
I don’t really listen to the radio. It’s not because it generally lacks music that I like, but because I can’t stand radio DJs. Their jobs are 40% playing music, 60% wasting time with inane comments, phone-ins or booth sound-effects. Aggravating.
When I do come to listen to the radio, I end up going for a non-DJ station. “All music, no talk.” It’s the best possible way. There’s nobody talking over the intro or outro of songs. Key, as well, there is nobody telling you what the song is. It turns listening to the radio into a bit of a game, guessing the song, getting it first. Competitive listening is fun.
My partner and I tend to listen to The Arrow on digital when we’re doing Spring cleaning, or having a massive household chore-drive. It plays the songs that were on cassettes in your dad’s car: Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Eric Clapton, Free, Rolling Stones, Status Quo.
Doesn’t sound too appealing, but it is “all rock classics,” and that means smiling and singing along without prejudice. The song that I tend to hear, and absolutely bloody love, is Legs by ZZ Top. ZZ Top have always seemed like Americana interpreted by Japanese people: absolutely drenched in US symbolism, blues simulacra and metonyms.[1] They’re pretty incredible.
Legs is a great song. It’s arpeggiated synth-blues, with classic electric blues guitars on top and great melodies. Legs came out a year before Van Halen’s synth-metal landmark Jump and should be just as big in ironic, retro clubs and sincere record-collectors homes.
LISTEN: Album recording.
WATCH: Great video.
[1] They also make me think of Blues Hammer in Ghost World, too.
Blind, Korn (Blind, Immortal/Epic; 1994)
I’m in a rut here. I’ve not been happy with my answers to the last couple of questions, I’m not going to be happy with this one. I am blaming the question; it is not sufficient, or understanding.
Every song I’ve ever loved can be justified (in some way, through different means). I don’t love them all any more, but they still retain a special piece of my life in them. I will drop an ex-love on a mixtape for the knowing laugh of the listener. A song by Stone Temple Pilots, Cecil, Mad Caddies, Rachel Stamp or any number of shockingly bad detuned metal bands that soundtracked my growing hair in unusual places.
I am however, embarrassed by a hell of a lot of these songs. I can laugh about it now, but having taken Korn’s Blind seriously makes me cringe.
It’s a great song, it heralded a new era of metal (nü), and gave a whole generation of tit-biscuit metallers something annoying to shout in people’s faces (“are you ready?”). Jesus, though, it’s awful.
I stand by liking it when I was 11—13, that’s prime pubescent rage period, but it doesn’t half make my skin crawl that I did.
LISTEN: Album recording. / Possibly the worst version of anything, ever.
WATCH: Commercial video.
(You) [I] Can Not See (You) [Me] As (I) [You] Can, Joan of Arc (The Gap, Jade Tree; 2000)
I’m stumped. Thoroughly stumped. I couldn’t answer this when I started, and I can’t answer it now. Pretty sure I can’t. I don’t want to ascribe a set of lyrics that really “define who I am”. That’s very teenage, and I’ve long since passed those years.
I was trying to find a song that has the textures that represent the horribly contradictory things I am. I’m going to be semi-obvious, and go for Joan of Arc’s (You) [I] Can Not See (You) [Me] As (I) [You] Can. I can’t reconcile what I am with what I am seen as being. I’m not a cunt, but often thought to be one.
Simple enough strummed guitar. Wavering, off-key vocals fractured by turning microphone off and on. There’s a warm synthesiser underneath, a field recording of people in the background. It swells to a blissful vocal, synth and feedback drone at the end. There’s lots going on, but only the awkward stuff sticks.
How that is me, if I’m to explain myself: it’s pretty arsey, quite obtuse, it’s definitely seen as pretentious. In reality, it’s someone working through ideas, seeing if they work, having a bit of fun with them. There’s a good dose of titting about with grammatical syntax and wordplay. There’s also a surprising amount of warmth underneath.
There’s a distinct likelihood that a lot of people won’t like it, some will like it and not know why, and some will just get it and love it.
I can’t say this is 100% descriptive of me, but find me a song that does and I’ll buy you dinner.
LISTEN: Album recording / Live in Muenster, 2003
Goodbye Horses, Q Lazzarus (Married To The Mob OST, Reprise; 1988)
I struggled with this one and needed outside perspective. I didn’t really get any that was particularly helpful. Suggestions included The Wombles, Band Aid, The Smiths, Sugababes, The Wonderstuff and Coheed & Cambria. I don’t like any of them, which is no surprise.
The only useful answers were: “Anything that more than 100 people might like, or something that they play on the wireless.” or “Anything good with a decent tune.”
A pop song, then. I thought I’d demonstrated that with Madness, Springsteen and Wings.
Fine. Goodbye Horses by Q Lazzarus. You may not know the song, but you’ll recognise it from the Buffalo Bill “tucking” scene in Silence Of The Lambs.[1]
It’s a perfect fit for that: unsettling, odd, and just a little bit androgynous. The main synthesiser sounds a half-note out of tune. The drums seem recorded in a reverb chamber. The vocals are borderline drag-act.
Nothing much happens in it, it leaves a slightly empty, unfulfilled feeling at the end. It’s a haunting song and one that I can play on repeat.
LISTEN: Single version. [Soundcloud link]
WATCH: Buffalo Bill, dubbed in French
[1] It was originally on the Married To The Mob soundtrack, and has also featured on the GTA IV and Skate 3 in-game soundtracks.
Band On The Run, Paul McCartney & Wings (Band On The Run, Apple; 1973)
There’s no good reason that this song should fall into the “guilty pleasure” category. It’s a great song. It was a commercial and critical success at the time of its release, it has aged remarkably well.
Paul McCartney gets an undue amount of stick for his post-Beatles career. Mainly because he’s alive. He’s not the gentle soul of George Harrison. He’s not the politicised artist of John Lennon. He’s not even laughable enough to be Ringo. Unfortunately for Paul McCartney, he’s just the one who kept writing good songs, didn’t die, didn’t marry an avant garde Japanese artist or voice a tank engine.
John Lennon’s solo output is almost unlistenable, self-reflective, arrogant bullshit masquerading as art. George Harrison’s solo stuff is fine, but really went too far down the Hare Krishna route.
No matter. The words “Paul McCartney and Wings” just inspire dread, revulsion and possibly flashes of Alan Partridge when heard. I find that sad. “Oh, I hate Mull of Kintyre.” Despite widely held prejudices, everyone loves Live And Let Die. That is almost the best post-Beatles song, but it’s not.
Band On The Run is.
Band On The Run is so deceptively amazing as to confuse people into thinking it’s terrible. Most people think they know the song because they can belt out the title-chorus at the end. Think about how it starts, though. That’s odd. Intertwined, shimmering guitars, a lovely synthesizer, great simple bassline. Slightly nasal McCartney trademark melodies drop in. Wonderful.
Ninety seconds in, all the instruments become harder. The bass is more powerful. The rhythm guitar picks up more of a riff, lead guitar plays some pretty obtuse stuff and the synth is right up front. Darker melodies. Barely forty seconds later and there’s another brilliant section: a grand semi-orchestral break, a shift to upbeat acoustic song belting out Band On The Run.
There are three distinct, cleanly connected sections in the song. It’s a real journey, they all hang together perfectly. There’s no showing off, bleating about being avant-garde, but this is a masterful, odd song that should not be considered guilty.
LISTEN: Album recording. [Soundcloud link]
WATCH: Live, Seattle, 1976.
America, Razorlight (Razorlight, Mercury; 2006)
Without integrity and authenticity, music is nothing. You can make good songs by following a formula (hello, Stock, Aitken and Waterman), but if they haven’t got a soul behind them, they count for shit.
My background is in the “often” elitist scenes of indie and punk. They’re both awful. Scenes are, they breed standardisation and formula. There is a lot of authentic, sincere bands that get lost because more cynical bands write songs that aim for the record labels, and the charts.
If your band has a five-year plan, you’re probably a massive prick.
Razorlight are that band. Not happy with describing himself as “better than Dylan” and “the greatest songwriter of [his] generation” in a skin-crawling attempt to get press coverage (NME, happily, lap it up), Johnny Borrell also writes horrendous songs. Not just horrendous songs, but vile, cynical songs that aim directly at the naïve, emotionally-stunted freshman dancefloor. He affects the troubled artist that is so romantic to the white-tights and dolly shoe brigade.
After effectively hoodwinking a generation of clueless British indie-kids, Razorlight set their sights on the Big Market. America is their barely concealed plea to be taken in to the hearts of US corporate indie, joining The Killers, Kings of Leon, John Mayer and all the other soulless bastards on the cunt-carousel.
It’s not even a “good song.” It’s a mawkish, overly sentimental song with pathetic lyrics and ‘sombre’ guitar lines. Tortured artist shows himself again, having trouble sleeping and sad that there’s nothing on television he can relate to.
It’s a meaningless, awful song and it hurts to hear it.
LISTEN: Album recording. [Spotify link]
UPDATE: I’ve been informed that this song was written by the drummer. That makes it even worse.
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They’re what I think about when I get up, the birds. They don’t ask much of me, a few crumbs, a finger to sit on. It’s simpler than it’s ever been. I don’t know their names, I don’t want to. I just let them come and go, the birds.
He died, my husband. He didn’t leave me much, a sunken armchair and dirty bootprints in the kitchen. I did care for him, though. Every Friday evening after the Legion, he’d bring lamb chops home. He knew a man and that’s all I knew. I’d cook them and serve with mint sauce. Sundays I roasted a chicken. A turkey was too much for the two of us. Always a pint of brown over mild on the side. He never complained. I never complained. He died.
I don’t eat a lot these days. I buy too much bread. That’s why I come here. I bring what’s left over. I should only get half-loaves, but I keep getting a full-tin loaf. Habit I suppose. Won’t change it now. I don’t eat a lot these days. The birds like it, though, so it’s not wasted.
—
Photo: The Pigeon Lady by Feggy Art.
[CC Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.0 Generic]
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You will need:
1 tbsp Olive Oil
Like the best foods, this cake is full of memories for me. My lovely mum used to make her sultana cake almost every Wednesday when I was young. We'd smear on some real butter and chomp it down with a mug of hot tea. It's the perfect antidote to the sugary, American style cakes that seem to be fashionable right now.
A lot of sultana cake recipes call for soaking or adding ground almonds, but I prefer this one - it has a clean taste and can be made with store cupboard ingredients on days when it's too rainy to go to the shops.
I use imperial measurements for this one - but there's a good conversion guide here.
8 oz sultanas
4 oz butter
6 oz sugar
6 oz self raising flour
2 medium eggs
This mixture works for fairy cakes too - which are just lovely.
NB. The cake pictured only has 6oz of sultanas in, as @topfife is a fussy eater.
Posted by @blowupchurch
After discovering coconut flour in a supermarket recently, I've started using it in a few baking experiments. I know that many people aren't fans of coconut, but the flour shouldn't be confused with the desiccated variety. It's less sugary, so the delicious coconut flavour really comes through.
Makes 4 portionsFilling500g ripe purple plums, quartered, but not skinnedTopping100g coconut flour
— Posted by @downatheel
This recipe is worth growing red cabbage for alone. It's amazing hot with steak, jacket potatoes, fish cakes, anything. But can also be kept in the fridge and is good cold, as a side salad.
You will need: a knob of butter@mrsemilybarnes
This time of year I tend to do a lot of soups using the veg we grow in our garden, I freeze them and they last us through the winter. Today I've made a simple leek and potato soup from The Good Granny Cookbook.
You'll need: 450g/1lb potatoes, peeled and diced (though I tend to just scrub and dice them, it's a shame to loose the skins on homegrown tatties)@mrsemilybarnes
It is ideal as a starter to a full Thai meal, or mixed through rice noodles as a main.
It doesn't take long to prepare, but lasts a while on your tongue.
THE SALAD:
You will need:
Take all the ingredients — grate, cut, chop them and chuck them in a salad bowl of your choice (medium size)
THE DRESSING:
Most of the dressing ingredients can vary above or below the quantity, depending on how you like your mouth to feel.
Necessary goods:
Mix it all together in a jug, keep tasting it until you're happy.
When you are satisfied it that it contains all the key Oriental flavour groups (hot, sour, sweet, and salty), stir it through your salad.
Garnish with some coriander and serve it to excited faces.
Most people think this is an odd one but it's very similar to carrot cake so don't be put off. If you're growing your own this year it's perfect when you start to get bored of cooking courgettes for dinner!
Courgette Cake: 60g raisins (plump up in warm water)— by Emily Barnes
Ok, let's kick this off with something simple. This is the best biscuit recipe I have come across and if you bake you'll probably always have the ingredients in your cupboard. Not only is this seriously simple, it's also brilliantly versatile because you can add pretty much any flavour at Step 2 - chocolate chips, coconut, cinnamon, raisins, cocoa powder....
Ingredients for 24 biscuits 300g (12oz) plain flour|
Goodbye.
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