And first up, a heartly welcome back to Robin Carmody, who has a new blog. No joke - while I know he's an acquired taste, I've always loved reading his unique take on children's telefantasy, pop music, and British politics. Hurrah for 2009 already!
Recently in Music Category
Is using The Flaming Lips's Do You Realize? sending out the right happy notes? Really?
2009: Bring back The Reynolds Girls!
Now I may have developed a tin ear for this sort of thing, but Out of Control sounds absolutely awful on a first listen. Even the Pet Shop Boys collaboration sounds tired and dull (it happens to be one of the best things on here, though). And Sébastien Tellier should probably get on the phone to his lawyers about Rolling Back The Rivers In Time, as the backing track is eerily similar to Divine.
(the album art seems to be trying to make Tangled Up look better in retrospect, as well)
Oh Xenomania, what has become of you?
I can taste the sweet smell Of success on your breath I know where it came from No need for chewing gum
I had meant to write about Kenickie last week, but I got distracted by the election. In the meantime, Kieron has put it better than I could. Damn him.
(did our glitter-encrusted book of goodbyes ever make it to the band? I think I destroyed my copy of what I wrote for it)
There's always the worry that you'll never have one of 'those' moments again. The rush and exhilaration of hearing a new song that sends a shiver down your spine; turning you into a devoted fan. A worry that the next band you fall in love with will be your last. After Kenickie, I cast my net overseas and stomped for Sleater-Kinney, before returning home to the past, rediscovering New Order via Temptation and the astonishment of hearing This Is What She's Like for the first time.
Then there was Johnny Boy, of course. A band that I could probably have wrangled an interview through my Static connections, but actively avoided because I would have turned into a gibbering loon if I got within ten feet of Lolly and Davo. Then I hitched my colours firmly to the Poptimist mast for a few years, reliving my Smash Hits days. But I was drifting a little.
There was only one thing I could do: I joined the International Tweexcore Underground.
I can't quite put my love of Los Campesinos! into words yet (I'm working on it for the end of the year, obviously). There's the titles - come on, how can you not adore a band that has a song called This is How You Spell, "HAHAHA, We Destroyed the Hopes and Dreams Of a Generation of Faux-Romantics"? Or the songs themselves, unquestionably British, indie, bouncy, all over the place, but on message all the time SUGAH! Ramshackle, full of doubt, guilt, vindictiveness, and the joys of having a good time. Just like Kenickie.
Hold On Now, Youngster has been a staple on my iPod shuffle all year round. You could have seen me bounce down the Banbury Road in the middle of April, or in the dying days of June, staying up all weekend fighting with InDesign, deadlines, and being permanently scarred at seeing pictures of our students playing strip poker. It was all for the very best of causes. When I saw that LC! were heading out on tour again (after missing them by one! ONE! day when we were in Madrid), I had to go.
My notes from last night of scribbled and hopeless. Except at one point I wrote that they're what Godspeed You Black Emperor would sound like if they had been born in Britain. I'm not sure how serious I was with that. Then, there was That Moment. You'll Need Those Fingers For Crossing. The words are too early, and wrong, but hey, isn't that Kenickie's Millionaire Sweeper, I hear you say? Oh yes. A grin on my face, a quick smile from Gareth out to the audience before launching into the song proper. Everybody bouncing down in the front; us in the middle doing a respectable amount of bouncing ourselves. Climbing up on the speaker stacks and singing from inside the crowd. How everybody sang along in a non-obnoxious manner, and how we all counted in My Year In Lists. Gareth sticking to his guns by calling We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed their new record.
Los Campesinos!, then. A band to fall in love with. A band to inspire a thousand fanzines soaked in glitter and PVA glue. A band that moves you to write over-the-top blog posts that you'll come back to in ten years and not be embarrassed, because they're that good. A band that has a huge chunk of Kenickie's Catholic guilt, eyeliner and park shenanigans deep in their DNA. A band that can say "We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed" whilst dreaming of being Tony Cascarino. Circa 1995.
Shred Yr Face. SHRED YR FACE!
Red stains all over the place...
Sad news on the day that Singles is released. Best of luck, Dorian...
I thought the glitter spray was wonderful.
(it'll be ten years next week, fact-fans. And now reduced to swapping second-hand clothes. Okay, fancy second-hand clothes and in front of TV cameras, but still!)
Hold On Now, Youngster was summer.
We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed is winter.
Well, that was pretty amazing.
"I have to stand up for this one."
I was worried that they wouldn't play Our Daughters Will Never Be Free (it's one of my favourite songs of the year), but I was taken aback by the furious delivery. And I didn't feel too old for once! Even if most of their songs seem to be about indie kids ageing and not dealing with it well. I think I may be on the younger side of things at the Saint Etienne concert this weekend too. I'm a bit worried about being the oldest at the Johnny Foreigner and Los Campesinoes! concerts, mind you...
We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed:
01 Ways to Make It Through the Wall
02 Miserabilia
03 We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed
04 Between an Erupting Earth and an Exploding Sky
05 You'll Need Those Fingers for Crossing
06 It's Never That Easy Though, Is It? (Song for the Other Kurt)
07 The End of the Asterisk
08 Documented Minor Emotional Breakdown #1
09 Heart Swells/Pacific Daylight Time
10 All Your Kayfabe Friends
Also, who do I have to kill to get them to come to Oxford?
Another Saint Etienne compilation! And obviously, I will be buying the special super-exciting edition!
A new “career” spanning compilation entitled “London Conversations” will be released in September by Universal. It will come in 2 editions: one you may not need cos it's a condensed greatest hits, the other a 2 disc set which will finally include Lover Plays TheBass! Plus two brand new singles – the first of which will be out in August.
Even better, it looks like their Eclipse label will be releasing some more CDs this year, including the long-delayed The Girls Are At It Again. Hurrah!
No politics! Instead, the happy subject of Joy Divison!
Is the UK whining about it year after year. Unless the Eastern bloc have somehow managed to hypnotise their phone-owning population into voting for their neighbours…
(I think we also got a preview via France of how Mr. Jarvis Cocker would perform in such a situation. But yay for trying, Sébastien!)
I have a feeling Je Ne Parle Pas Français is going to be one of my favourite songs of the year. There may be something wrong with me at a fundamental level.
(but really, it just affirms my theory that 'd'accord' is the greatest word in any language, ever. And I will fight anybody who says differently. Or run away and spread scurrilous rumours about them involving rubber hose and a reissue Sideswipe figure.)
But right now, it's the year that punk rock broke my heart. Or a year later. All my cynicism melts away in the face of the prospect of drowning in Dewey Decimals, the benefits of doing these things in flats, the jealousy of That Guy In The K Records t-shirt, and all the rest. It reminds me that I am the ridiculously twee person that would leave treasure maps on the pillow, film sub-Gondry epics using finger puppets and deck trees out in LED lights as the twilight sets in.
It's just somewhat unfortunate that I'm almost 30 and supposed to grow out of all that. But I don't think I'm going to anytime soon…because at this point, if I changed, would I still be me?
It's you. It's me. And It's DANCING!
Have you been into a Woolworths recently? Did you have the same odd feeling? That you could feel the shop aging around you? That once well-arranged aisles are now dilapidated and strewn with disorganised and out-of-season items (specifically the toy section, obviously)? The pick'n'mix section of the shop seems to be collapsing in on itself; a tiny little island of sweets holding out against the encroaching racks of Wii games and mobile phones. A desultory selection of contemporary CDs fighting for space alongside ancient compilations reduced to clear. Chad Valley disappearing in favour of simple, plain white packaging; efficient and soulless.
Let's go to town and switch the magazines.
I'm probably just getting old. But it feels like the chain is dying a slow lingering death.
Even though we're 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29!
It's a good thing that I checked Kieron's weblog, because he seems to have said most of the things that I was going to say about American Demo, damn him. Even the bloody Nick Cohen comment!
(essentially, my problem with Cohen's Left, from what little I know about it, is that while there are some on the Left who will always see America as the Great Evil, there's a big section of us who, while sympathetic and enthusiastic to the cause spreading of democracy, wonder how we've managed to end up with an America that tries to split hairs over whether controlled drowning is torture and turning a country into a playground for lackeys and the latest insanity from the University of Chicago Economics department. But hey. Another argument for another time.)
So, er, yes. I really like American Demo, as it manages to cut me to my core at various points. Especially Sixteen.
And Los Campesinos. Okay, I admit, I avoided them for a long time, for reasons that I can't really remember right now. But I bought the album a couple of weeks ago...it's quite fabulous, isn't it? At first, I thought it was an album that I would have loved if I was currently in the Sixth Form, but on the other hand, are Meanwhile Back In Communist Russia big names in 16-18 set right now? I am sceptical. So I'm coming around to the idea that they're the flipside to The Indelicates' cynicism, a glorious jangle of xkcd-like adventures, twenty-something reference points like ATP and K Records, and the feeling that I get when I hear Come Out 2Nite. Which is pretty awesome.
And this song will be four years old this year. YEAH! YEAH!
Really? I was beginning to think that he had in fact secreted the world's 'Get Out of Jail Free' card someone on his person somewhere back in 2004...
Also: iMac speakers are brilliant for holiday office work...
I repeat...This Is Not A Test.
Or: ace things you find buried on a hard drive at 1am...
But it's twenty-five years since this:
And nothing was the same again. Especially Factory's bank balance.
It's odd that, instead of turning to the trusty collection of Radiohead and the atom bomb of misery that is Spiritualized's Ladies And Gentlemen, We Are Floating In Space (it even came in a antidepressant pill packet for goodness sake!), I instead have found a record that I always meant to buy eight years ago, but never got around to actually picking it out of the HMV rack.
It's Jo And Danny's Lank Haired Girl To Bearded Boy was one of those records that floated around Radio 1 in 2000, awkwardly sitting on the daytime schedule along with Travis and Britney Spears. Listening to it now, all this time later, the thing that keeps coming back to me is Bran Van 3000. Which is bizarre, but it is almost 3am. It seems to have some of the Drinking In L.A. sound in places, and the vibe of the quieter moments of Discosis.
As I said, it is 3am. And I'm listening to Repentant Song on repeat.
Where even their roadies look like they've stepped out of a Wes Anderson film. Still, pretty good, and the inaugural performance of Oxford Comma in Oxford itself was worth waiting for. Mind you, it seems that the new Zodiac has an even stricter curfew on Saturdays than before; it was all wrapped up by around 9:30pm!
...but what on earth is Fabio going to do by himself?
Dreamhost seem to have got their act together again. So...if you sent mail in the past 24 hours, I probably didn't get it. Also, my Mac power supply has died; I currently don't have access to my main mailbox, so if you're waiting on a reply there, you might have to wait until Apple deliver a new one!
But! Tonight! Caucuses! You know I just love a good caucus. Yes, it is a lonely life, thank you very much. Reports are coming in of precincts in Nebraska and Washington breaking for Obama in rather huge numbers. Meanwhile, Huckabee takes the delegates from the GOP vote in Kansas. They really don't like McCain in the south, you know...
Also! I would like to start a fund. A fund to buy a staplegun so we can staple the camera to the ground in Torchwood. And break the zoom function that they've discovered. I do not need to get motion sickness during a conversation scene!
(and this is sadly more entertaining than all of Series 2 so far)
12/02/2008 BLACK KIDS / SONS & DAUGHTERS
23/02/2008 VAMPIRE WEEKEND
26/02/2008 YELLE
(plus Long Blondes in April and Broken Social Scene in May).
It's a busy few months already!
Firstly, I want one of these. Badly!
Secondly, Koko looks wonderful. But, er, the sound?
Thirdly: A very Power, Corruptions, and Lies stage set,
Fourthly: I hope Torquil got his pot, and the lucky fan got his (or her) t-shirt!
Funnily enough, like Simon Sweeping The Nation, I also watched Pop: What Is It Good For? recently (at about 1am this morning, as I couldn't sleep). Simon's right in that it was a very, very condensed and brief version of Words And Music (definitely an acquired taste, but it's one of my favourite books about music), and that the best bit was when Richard X turned the tables on Morley somewhat.
Firstly: I never really thought Richard X would look like that. I'm not quite sure what I was thinking, but erm, not that, certainly.
Secondly: it's actually something I've noticed about Paul Morley in the last couple of years. We know all about how he was intertwined with Factory Records, with Joy Division and the new world of New Order. We know about the Morley/Penman axis which ruled the early 80s. And we know about his current 'commentator for hire' phase, taking wonderful pot-shots at Robert Elms on I Love The 80s and generally winding John Harris up on Newsnight Review. But we almost never hear about the ZTT-era version of Morley.
I have a few ideas as to why (some personal, some surrounding how the idea of ZTT went a bit sour when they sued Frankie Goes To Hollywood/Holly Johnson), but it is curious how there's this big period that he doesn't talk about much, a period where he was co-running a record label that had one of the UK's biggest chart acts on its books. You would think, for a pop commentator, that would be an interesting period to document. So it was nice to hear a little about his time at ZTT and The Art of Noise.
But where was Cathy Dennis?
Okay. Does anybody want a ticket for Stars at the Koko on the 29th of this month? I appear to be seeing the Black Kids at the same time. And I'm torn. I thought the Stars concert was in February...I've seen them once before, but haven't seen Black Kids yet, so I think I should go for the younger band, despite how much I love Stars. Grrr.
(on the bright side, I've also book Long Blondes and Yelle tickets tonight!)
Joe Lean and Jing Jang Jong are the band that make Northern Uproar seem cool and inspiring, aren't they?
DECLARE INDEPENDENCE!
DECLARE INDEPENDENCE!
DECLARE INDEPENDENCE!
DECLARE INDEPENDENCE!
Those pitchforks. You can put them down. Honest.
Having said that, I've been trying to get my head around this song all year. Nash herself comes across as a hideous creation by a music industry eager to replicate Lily Allen's success in 2006, softening the hard 'street' edges by mixing in a dollop of stage school, a touch of Tori Amos kookiness, and strapping on Audrey Hepburn's accent at the start of My Fair Lady.
It doesn't work. For example, while LDN offsets the rather bleak picture of London by having Lily seeing the optimistic side of things until they're brutally disabused (although the denouement is only really clear if you watch the video), Foundations features a hateful couple that you'd rather set on fire than listen to Kate whine on about their troubles for another three minutes.
Your face is pasty 'cause you've gone and got so wasted, what a surprise. Don't want to look at your face 'cause it's makin' me sick. You've gone and got sick on my trainers, I only got these yesterday.
Never has You are the generation that bought more shoes and you get what you deserve made more sense. Especially since it's all delivered in an accent that makes you want to stick knitting needles into your eardrums to make the pain stop. The 'bitter / fitter' rhyme in itself makes me want to smash the radio in.
And yet.
The chorus. My fingertips are holding onto the cracks in our foundation / and I know that I should let go but I can't. There's something about this, something wonderful and tragic about desperately holding on, because what if this is all there is? Is this the best I can do? Is this the best any of us can do? And you kind of fall for her a bit here. Happily, that's resolved by the lingering hard t on the end of 'can't' which makes you head for the hammers again. But for that brief moment, it's a wonderful song.
Being a bit slack this year, it seems. Hopefully the pace will pick up next week...
And I just can't help believing though believing sees me cursed
My music journalist dalliance came to an end this year, but before it did, I received a tip from Simon Sweeping The Nation about an advert in The Word. Getting hold of a copy, I rifled through the magazine, and there, just below Kieron's quote, was a line taken from my review of Johnny Boy's album. Yeah! Yeah! There was no better way to end my short stint as a music hack.
It's now almost two years since the album came out, nearly four since You Are The Generation That Bought More Shoes And You Get What You Deserve was released. And it still sounds like Tomorrow; Phil Spector stretched out to Infinity and shackled to a anti-capitalist polemic; Karl Marx to the beat. Stars shooting off overhead as Lolly and Davo, our two heroes, make their hopeless final stand. Who are these guys?
Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!
It's still my favourite song of the decade. And one of my favourites of all time. The subtle pans in stereo as the fireworks shoot through your headphones, the romantic cynicism, the moments between the verses and chorus where the Wall of Sound is twisted and bounced beyond all recognition. This frequency's my universe indeed.
The album was never going to be able to live up to the promise of that one song, so what did the band do? Stick it on as the first track. That's balls-to-the-walls gutsiness. Shoot straight, you bastards! Following that, you're immediately thrown into Wall Street, a Bond soundtrack where Gordon Gekko is caught in a three-way with Saint Etienne and Godspeed You! Black Emperor. There's 15 Minutes which is (Love Is Like A) Heatwave chopped into pieces and served with Ecstasy, and then there's Livin' In The City, a celebration of the two industrial powerhouses of the North, Sheffield and Manchester, Factory and the British Electric Foundation. They may not reach the incredible heights of the beginning, but they get damn close.
They have a tendency to be a little too serious, though the Rockabilly/Hip-Hop melding of Bonnie Parker's 115th Dream never fails to raise a smile. And then, finally, as if there could be an end, the band returns to Spector, to Be My Baby, to Mean Streets, to Johnny Boy. His theme, his story, the only way it could end.We're your friends, Johnny, what's got into you? Blasted into the black, bodies littering the street as a taxi sounds in the distance.
The Poptimist within me wanted them emblazoned over the world, playing Top of The Pops with glitter falling from the ceiling as You Are The Generation... reaches Christmas #1, 15 Minutes soundtracking The Doctor as he rushes through to save the Universe, yeah! yeah!. But it was not to be. Yet every few months, I get a request from somebody on the Internet, somebody new who wants to find out more about the band. On those occasions, I feel like King Mob. So I still win. Learn To Be Invisible.
Is it my album of the year? Probably. But I now own three copies of it spread over two years (the original Swedish version, the Japanese digi-pak, and yes, the UK release), so I'm taking it out of the running this year. To give everybody else a chance.
Has anybody actually seen a copy of Paul Morley's new book? A Thursday release date is just odd, and the 2-3 week waiting time on Amazon is a little worrying (mind you, the same thing happened with the Death's Head collections from Marvel UK and they turned up eventually; on the other hand, Yesterday's Tomorrows did not).
And It. Still. Hasn't. Leaked. Neither has X if I hear right. They might just have cracked this whole promo-leaking affair…
EDIT: God bless the Internet.
Secondly: Where has Nutella been all my life? I SHOULD HAVE BEEN TOLD.
Reasons why Tangled Up hasn't leaked yet, despite it coming out on Friday in Ireland:
- Who knew that OiNK really was that important?
- Pirate groups still annoyed about the lame cover.
- Rachel Stevens has hijacked the shipment from the distributors and won't let them go until her and Lily Allen are allowed to compete in a fight to the death to decide who will be the next Doctor Who assistant.
- Xenomania has incrimating photographs on every journalist in the nation. I'm hearing something about Alexis Petridis, a bottle of vimto and a gerbil...
Moments of self-realisation: Waiting for the 1808 train to London at Bicester North, en route to see The National at Shepherd's Bush Empire.
My mind's not right
My mind's not right
Abel, come on, give me the keys, man
Everything has all gone down wrong
Abel, come on, give me the keys, man
Everything has all gone down wrong
NBC U wanted to explore higher pricing for hit shows such as "Heroes" by raising the price from Apple's standard $1.99 to $2.99 on an experimental basis. "We wanted to take one show, it didn't matter which one it was, and experiment and sell it for $2.99," he said. "We made that offer for months and they said no."
Apple wouldn't let us fleece the customers! Waaaah! Waaaah!
In lieu of more flexibility on pricing, NBC U sought a cut of Apple's hardware sales."Apple sold millions of dollars worth of hardware off the back of our content, and made a lot of money," Zucker said. "They did not want to share in what they were making off the hardware or allow us to adjust pricing."
And when we're done, JVC, Panasonic, LG, we're coming for you! We've heard about these 'VCR' machines! We want our share!
Zucker took on a wide range of questions from Auletta and the audience, including whether NBC U would be spun off from GE and what he thinks of the newly launched Fox Business Network.
Hi, I'm Jeff Zucker. I took NBC from ruling all in its path to turning into a laughing stock! And I can still screw up the Leno/O'Brien deal! Just watch me!
I am about to buy a French Euro pop album.
I need help.
I am saying to myself that I'm supporting iTunes Plus by getting it.
This is a flimsy excuse.
I expect to regret this in the morning.
It seems fairly pointless even trying to review The Royal We's concert in London on Tuesday. Usually concert reviews revolve around "hey, check this band out!"/"my God, they're rubbish. Avoid" or some sort of event (e.g. festivals, final concerts from major acts). But you can't go and see The Royal We unless you hurry up to Glasgow next week for their album release party, as they're about to split up. And they're not really big or important enough to be labelled as an event. Also, I must say that I didn't really enjoy myself too much.
(plus, they only played for twenty-five minutes, which, fair enough, it's not like they have acres of material to wade through, but seeing as how I'd made the trip especially for the concert, it made the night a little hollow)
Instead, I present an edited selection of my notes from the evening. Edited to make me seem like less of a loser who hangs out at concerts on their own (and as you'll see, it means the unedited version is even more morose).
Give me a piece of paper and I'l confess all my sins before the first band comes on.
Welcome to hipster central. I just want it to get started. I'm too awkward for the C86 revival. Too timid even for Sarah Records. The Field Mice would beat me up for lunch money while Action Painting look on.
The girls all look like they've stepped off the set of Billy Liar and the boys from a Wes Anderson film.
And All Stops And Starts. And Feedback Ahoy.
Did they really want to be here? Six of them cramming onto Madame Jojo's small stage. Sound system distorting the high end making my eye bleed. That's not right. The singer, Jihae Simmons is a cross between Bobin from Grange Hill and Robert Smith's hair mixed in with an American accent. Swoon. (note to reader who would like to try their luck: affect an American accent and I'm basically yours. Don't say I didn't warn you.)
Five, six songs? "This is our last song, and the last time we'll ever play in London". All done in 25 minutes. Back on the Underground. Piccadilly to Marylebone. Marylebone to Bicester North.
Hmm. That ends up being much more negative than I really meant. I mean, I'm still looking forward to getting the album in the next couple of weeks…
EDIT: My notes don't mention it, but seriously, how ace is How He Wrote Elastica Man? Very.
Though I think the best response to Sasha Frere-Jones's column is "The first example of ILM trolling in the mainstream media". That and "Didn't Simon Reynolds write this twenty years ago?"
The weekly listening chart for last week. My favourite bit is how the top ten is arranged in the actual track order of In Rainbows…
# 42 SEX PISTOLS GOD SAVE THE QUEEN
I'm sure EMI are pleased that the NME talked them into releasing the single…
But this isn't quite 1995 again. York, the promoter, doesn't see a demand for bands with "no artistic merit"; he mentions Echobelly and Sleeper.
Still no girls allowed, I see. Yay for misogyny!
With a shout-out to Carrboro, no less. And yes, it took me a few trips into Carrboro to work out exactly where Cat's Cradle was, as I didn't believe what the map was telling me…
As Simon rightfully points out, the best part of Radiohead's release strategy is that it's brought back a touch of mystique. Normally, we're assaulted by a barrage of interviews, selective tracks previewed on Pitchfork, followed by a leak of the album's contents, anywhere from a month to six months away from a physical CD release.
"Our new album is out in ten days."
Today, then, was the great leveller; the media experiencing for the first time as we did, getting our emails at six in the morning and downloading the 160k MP3 tracks from their webserver. And perhaps it shows once again how far the NME are behind the curve, fighting a pointless battle to try and relive 1977:
He added: It wasn't even the music necessarily, it was the thought that went into the Sex Pistols that was important. But buying the single will at least be the first step to realising that for anyone who doesn't know the band's history or legacy.
Is that really what they've come to? I understand that every ex-NME reader has to go through a process of dismissing the paper after they stop buying it (though I do recognise that the period that I bought it was far from a golden age), but really? We have to buy the record to understand their legacy? How punk.
Anyway, In Rainbows. It's still settling in, I have to say. It's sparse where Hail To The Thief is dense, warm where Kid A is cold. Zigs where it should zags. But still Radiohead. Even if they have added some laughter (sampled, obviously).
A full review, however, seems pointless. Go over to the site and download it for yourself.
Paul Morley talks about In Rainbows. By which, I mean, that Paul Morley talks about In Rainbows.. Meaning, Paul Morley talks about In Rainbows.
The new single from The Indelicates. How we used to live indeed...
I think it's quite apposite that John Harris's defence of record companies appeared alongside reports of the RIAA's victory over Jammie Thomas. It's rather hard to dredge up any sympathy for a group of companies that have inflicted a $220,000 fine on a person for sharing 24 songs (monetary value from iTunes: $23.76. It's also worth noting that she got away lightly - if it was determined that she was sharing the files 'wilfully', she could have been liable for a fine of $150,000 per song). Especially when, during the course of the trial, they attempted to deny the existence of the space-shifting precedent defined in RIAA vs. Diamond Multimedia.
And really? The Klaxons and Kasabian as art over the marketing department? Sure, they're not exactly Rihanna in sales-stakes, but neither are they Disco Inferno. Kasabian are exactly sort of Britpop-revival-by-numbers band that bumps up a record company's figures, aren't they?
I'm not going to deny that record companies can be very helpful to a band (I'm a Factory fanatic, after all). I just don't think the current giants are good examples of this tradition. When even Kelly Clarkson has trouble getting her album released, there's something wrong in the Big 5 (or is it 3 now? Sony-BMG-Universal, EMI, and…Warners, I guess?)
Anyway, make mine a 99!
The Odeon on Oxford Road, shortly before the end.
My first night at university was a disaster. The hall (St. Anselm's Hall, or 'Slems' to alumnus, in a further attempt to create an Oxbridge atmosphere) opened up the bar to welcome the new first years inside its doors. This sounds like a great idea, and for most, it probably was, but sadly, I meekly fell in with a bunch of people on my corridor who by the end of the night were openly calling me a 'trainspotter'.
This was not exactly what I had in mind.
Monday fared little better. After a day at the Computer Science building (now the Kilburn Building, of course; that afternoon, Tom Kilburn came in and spoke to us) in blessed anonymity, it was time to face the bar again. The girls of sister hall Ashburne came over to sample the delights of our bar. If the previous night was depressing, this was torture. Goodness knows what I was expecting; a group culled from memories of Angela Chase, Rory Gilmore and Joey Potter, probably. You see why I fared a touch better in America. By the end of the night, my feelings of inadequacy were total. I couldn't see myself lasting the week.
On Wednesday afternoon, even the safety of the CS department was taken from me. They held a 'wine and cheese' afternoon so everybody could settle in and get to know each other. But the cliques had already formed and I was left with nowhere else to go except the Arndale Centre and the Northern Quarter. Solace in my record collection.
But Wednesday wasn't finished with me yet.
I wasn't going to go to the St. Gabriel's Hall Bop (I did mention Oxbridge, didn't I?). My experience on Monday was enough to know that I would spend the night alone and hating myself, flushing red whenever I had the misfortune to accidentally glance at a girl. However, Greg persuaded me to go with him (this was before the famous "Ian Goes To A Young Conservatives Meeting' that swiftly ended that association).
It was awful. As expected, I sat alone for the the whole thing. Everybody else was having fun and dancing. I sat and brooded. About how I wished I could be like them, rather than antipathy, I might add.
Twenty minutes from the end, she sat down.
I can still remember how she just appeared in front of me, rubbing a can of Diet Coke across her forehead and saying how worn out she was.
Helen and I talked until the end of the Bop; about music, the courses we were talking, Maine Road, nothing and everything.
I went back to St. Anselm realising that she could have sat anywhere amongst the empty seats, but she didn't. She sat with me.
It was going to be okay.
Nothing happened, possibly because I was An Idiot, but it was enough; the nights spent talking about NME covertapes, the first of many copies of OK Computer, laughing at the hypnotist at the ball, chance meetings in the street, and all the rest. But I should have probably danced more.
Then, in due course, the Table formed; a chance meeting in the snooker room with The Stone Roses' Second Coming of all things, brute-forcing The Kevin Bacon Game, alt.blake-isms, Scream, Scream 2, Grosse Pointe Blank, the epic Titanic viewings, a £2.99 Best of New Order tape, the family tree of Richard O'Brien, drinking a pint of mild with Mark Radcliffe, seeing Kenickie bathed in glitter, and countless other weird and wonderful events. Here's to Oxford Street and The Mancunian Way. Aside from the muggers.
You can run over an iPod Shuffle, but you can't wash it.
There is possibly a time when these things become too small.
It had to start somewhere.
It's a wedding. Rob and Gail, let's say. Somewhere up past Watford. A mining town. They're getting married. Brian's brother has just got back from the Falklands. Best man fall. People are on the dance floor. Working man's club. Spread put on by Rob's mum and sisters. Enough to feed Ethopia for a month. Children running in and out into the car park outside.
The DJ looks through his record box as Boney M makes a rather unspectacular impression on those present. He comes across a single, takes it out of its sleeve, puts it on the turntable, and pulls the needle down slowly.
A fiddle. A piano.
Poor old Johnny Ray...
It had to start somewhere. There had to be a first time. There.
This is nostalgia for a period I never knew. I was three at the time. Though even then, I managed to wreck a tape of Soft Cell's Tainted Love by listening to it over and over again, and I spent a few nights during my early childhood at my dad's disco sets at American bases (not that I remember any of this. Nor me, two years old, switching off the entire disco at RAF Croughton one night). But Come On Eileen isn't part of that early childhood at all, because my mum hates the record.
Thus, my first real recollection of it isn't from a wedding, but a golden wedding anniversary. And yes, the dance floor filled immediately immediately. Even I danced, and back then that was something I did even less than now.
The song has its defenders and detractors. Die-hard Dexy's fans, dismayed at the band's 'betrayal' of the Young Soul Rebels aesthetic, hate it with a vengeance., hissing that Dexy's had so many other better, purer records.
These people are fools.
(though you should really check out those other records regardless)
There's a group of defenders that attempt to reclaim it from the weddings and birthdays, from the tacky DJ set, from the school disco, any from the dungarees and that fiddle. They seek solace in the lyrics, a paean to the fleeting memories of youth and fame, feeling that it's wasted on the drunkards who get up and stomp about to the middle section.
These people are also fools.
Their heart is in the right place, for it is that, but to deny the populist appeal of the record just seems crazy. It's a song about that fleeting moment, yet in a stroke of irony, it lives forever on that dance floor; it has ascended to the select pantheon of songs that never really go out of fashion, perhaps because it was never fashionable in the first place.
Here's to twenty-five years of Come On Eileen. Moving a million hearts in mono and stereo.
Back in 1982, the DJ smiles. The floor is filled with children, the bride, the groom, their parents, the extended family; there will be harder times ahead. Three million on the dole. Strikes. Scabs. Occupation of the North. The breaking of their backs. But for now, everything is just fine.
Better late than never. Peter Saville's mantra, after all.
It was ten years ago today that Be Here Now was released (that'll sound more apt in 2017, I imagine). Thursday 21th August, 1997. It was only available for three days that week, yet it sold 696,000 copies, the fastest-selling album in the UK even to this day. The music press fawned over it. The mainstream press fawned over it. It was the pop music event of the year.
And yet, barely a year later, it was the album most likely to be found in charity shops. It was a joke, a bloated, cocaine-fueled mess of a record; the point where Oasis lost it and the Britpop bubble finally burst, destroying countless indie record labels in its wake, including Creation Records itself.
Was it really that bad? Ten years on, it's time to have another listen to Be Here Now, to see if the last decade has wiped away some of its sins. But first...
I was an eight-year-old who read Smash Hits every week and could tell you anything you wanted to know about Stock, Aitken, and Waterman or Tiffany, yet in the early 1990s, I had become somebody who only listened to the chart because it was was on. Oasis were my way back in. Or perhaps that's not quite true. It might have been My So-Called Life.
Anyway, it was the Sixth Form. 1995 to 1997. The stereo in the corner, jealously guarded by the Upper Sixth. Of course, when we were the Upper Sixth, we did exactly the same thing. Boethius's wheel and all that. Rave tapes mixed with The Bluetones. We all listened to The Evening Session during the week, with a bit of Mark Radcliffe in the evening and Peel on the weekend. Guitar bands ruled all, with Oasis ruling the roost. It's only later, looking back, that I realise how much that I missed during that period because of that focus. Disco Inferno, Bis, and countless others, though my real love of the era turned out to be Kenickie. And thus I went back to find out what I'd been missing.
I would also like to point out that I always hated Shed Seven and Ocean Colour Scene. Even I had limits.
I went to Knebworth in 1996. It was called 'Our Woodstock' in silly circles. If Woodstock had the Bootleg Beatles and the aforementioned Ocean Colour Scene, of course. *shudder*. Still, the Manics, Prodigy, and Oasis's triumphant performances made it a night to remember. Perhaps not Woodstock, but maybe Spike Island.
Then it all fell apart. Liam's no-show at the MTV Unplugged concert, another disastrous American tour (which broke up in North Carolina of all places), Noel's interviews explaining how difficult he was finding it writing new songs, the arrests over cocaine possession; all in all, it's rather clear to see why Be Here Now ended up sounding like it did.
I can remember when D'You Know What I Mean was finally released to Radio 1. It was the day of our Leaver's Ball. As one of the two organisers of the night, I sold tickets to students while Jo Whilely played Angel Child and Kevin Greening played Stay Young. It sounded massive; a huge, Stone Roses-circa-Second Coming epic with backwards guitar and an apocalyptic vibe. The Evening Session got into trouble when Steve Lamacq didn't talk over the album tracks he was playing to stop home taping. As if we weren't going to buy it anyway.
The music press was eager to make up for its lukewarm reviews of (What's The Story) Morning Glory?, an eagerness that was partly down to Oasis's PR company twisting arms over interviews, access and advertising. Top marks all round then. A BBC documentary was filmed to go out on the day of release. It was a media circus, everybody trying to out-do each other in terms of praise.
A year later, even Noel Gallagher was slagging the album off.
That was then. This is now.
D'You Know What I Mean?
I still feel that this song is unfairly tarnished by what comes after. It's a sprawling mess, obviously, but it's the only point on the album where there's a reference to anything other the 60s (that reference being the drumloop stolen from NWA's 'Straight Outta Compton'). And there's a point as the song hits the chorus for the second time that sticks out as knowing self-deprecation; Liam sings "I met my maker / I made him cry". In the background, you can hear Noel saying "It must have been love". Which amuses.
Yes, it's seven minutes long. And they played every damn minute on Top of The Pops. It ends in a feedback loop that threatens to never end. And I still, after all this time, love it. But, like many Oasis albums to follow, the first track is no indication of what is to follow
My Big Mouth
YAH! Wall of GUITAR! MORE GUITAR! Has anybody seen Guigsy? He was supposed to be playing the bass, but, well, he appears to be missing. For most of the album, in fact.
There's nothing except for a constant wail of guitar, every available space on the mixing desk filled with one guitar part after another, a recurring problem with the record. The lyrics, with assassins and the NME, allude to Lennon (yes, I know, it's a surprise). But you can hardly hear them. It's a shock, actually. I haven't listened to it for so long, but it sounds like as if it's an episode of Doctor Who. An extra minute tacked on for another go around on the chorus, taking the song up to five minutes when it could have been over and done with in three.
Magic Pie
I have always hated this song. Even back then. I think about skipping forward, but that would be cheating. Today, we're doing things By The Book. All 71 minutes. No exceptions.
At least it sounds quieter than My Big Mouth. Ah. Forgot that the processed vocal was just the intro. And all of a sudden, we're back into the Big Sound.
"Can you see me I've got my magic pie"
Forget about cannonballs and halls; that there is the worst lyric ever penned by Noel Gallagher. Without question.
It's also a little worrying to see that the lyric runs out at 3:00, but there's still four minutes to go. And not even a Mellotron can make that prospect appealing.
Oh God, there's still two minutes and another run-through of the chorus. Surely somebody should have realised that the song needed to be cut to at least half of its length (and relegated to a b-side, thus allowing Stay Young to appear)? Or was it "Well, we've suffered, so the British public have to as well"?
Stand By Me
"This will be be Oasis's first American number one."
The words of Alan McGee, after ingesting a coke mountain the size of Brazil. It's the only the sane explanation for his talk of this song. Even Noel seems to have given up at the point, throwing in the gag lyric of "So what's the matter with you / Sing me something new" as the song itself turns out to be their third retread of "All The Young Dudes". And diminishing returns have firmly set in.
Again, it's just shy of six minutes when it should be four at the very most; not entirely hateful to the ears, but it just feels like a lumpen mess, with orchestration desperately trying to cover the holes.
I Hope I Think I Know
Actually, of everything here so far, this is probably the song that improves most with age. Sure, it's Oasis-by-numbers (1, 4, and 5, in case you were wondering), but it's not trying to be anything else. It's a throwaway track that Noel probably penned in twenty minutes, and is the shorted track on the album. Perhaps that's the key; it never stays long enough to become annoying.
The Girl In The Dirty Shirt
Ha. I respectfully decline to answer this question on the grounds that my answer may incriminate me.
And nothing happened, anyhow.
Fade In / Out
It probably tells you a lot about Be Here Now that the appearance of Captain Jack Sparrow isn't the most overblown thing about the album. But more on that later. Yes, this song really does have Johnny Depp playing slide guitar (because Noel can't; on Champagne Supernova, it was handled by Paul Weller).
There is little to this song (despite it being seven minutes long. Obviously), but it's often singled out as a favourite by many. I think part of the appeal is that it's one of the few tracks that has any sense of space. The guitar, vocals, and percussion have all been given room to breathe. Liam might be singing gibberish about a rollercoasters and fairs (to get somewhat Carmody about it - a reference to That'll Be The Day seems appropriate here), but it's pleasant gibberish that doesn't have fifty different guitar parts wailing in the background. Even the solo in the middle is fairly restrained.
Don't Go Away
Slllllide Away! Sllllllide Away! Really, when you're cannibalising your old album tracks, something has gone horribly wrong. But I do like the line "Damn my education I can't find the words to say", as it sums up Noel's dilemma; struggling desperately to find something new to say, failing and retreating back to safety in the land of Definitely Maybe. Old haunts. Old times. They can never sound like Manchester ever again.
Be Here Now
It's only five minutes long. That's what I'm telling myself. A sluggish, sub-pub rock song that's a bit like Arab Strap's "The First Big Weekend" with all the humour sucked out of it and given a backing by Status Quo. Ugh.
And the worst use of "Yeah yeah yeah!" ever. Such a shame.
All Around The World
Well then. Is this still the longest song to have reached the top of the UK charts?
You have to listen to this to really understand the insanity. The Cocaine Heart of Be Here Now. A conscious attempt to create a 1990s version of All You Need Is Love. Drafting in all of the orchestras in Britain to make it sound more epic, all the needles firmly in the red...key change after key change after key change...did I mention it's nine minutes long? And Noel has only written two verses as usual?
"It's gonna be OK!" "Please don't cry / Never say die!"
It's like the song has got completely out of control; no matter what they do, the band can't end it. In the end, they have to fade it out…
It's Getting Better (Man!)
But it's really not.
All Around The World (Reprise)
They couldn't kill it. Even fading it out didn't stop it. For the album's real final moment is this, a two-minute instrumental reprise. Because nine minutes wasn't enough. This time, though, there is a proper ending; footsteps across the studio floor as the band leave and the door shuts behind them. Job done.
What have I learnt in the past 71 minutes? Time doesn't change much. Ten years on, Be Here Now is full of tedium, with few flashes of their previous albums. Part of their early appeal was down to the simple commonalty of songs like Live Forever and Supersonic; singalong anthems that were more inclusive than the more clever aspects of Blur or Pulp. By the time the third album came around, that commonalty was gone, and we felt we were being invited to look on as they lived in their new exclusive world. We came in droves, but after the initial euphoria, we didn't like what we were seeing. Never again would they be as popular, as important. They were once a vanguard for an entire movement. After 1997, they were just a band.
Which was probably the best for all concerned...
And you, forgotten, your memories ravaged by all the consternations of two hemispheres, stranded in the Red Cellars of Pali-Kao, without music and without geography, no longer setting out for the hacienda where the roots think of the child and where the wine is finished off with fables from an old almanac. That’s all over. You’ll never see the hacienda. It doesn’t exist.
The hacienda must be built.
The only way to stop this is to go back in time and assassinate Travis before they cover Baby One More Time. It's for the good of the planet. For humanity.
If not, the future is this:
Kasabian — Too Much Too Young.
Imagine a boot stamping on a human face - for ever.
From one point of view, Tony Wilson was a failure. His music show So It Goes... was cancelled after two series, the biggest hit from Factory made a loss on every single copy sold, the Haçienda spent five years sitting almost empty, Factory itself dissolved messily in the 90s. He attempted, unsuccessfully, to start new labels, embarked on a digital music venture that went nowhere, and was a prime mover behind a campaign for further independence for the north of Britain, a campaign that was ultimately rejected by the populace.
A failure, then. But what a failure.
Factory Records was a record label that we may never see the likes of again. It was born of the DIY attitude of punk era, but Wilson was thinking much, much bigger. For him, it was an attack on the stranglehold that London held on the British music scene, a way of re-establishing his beloved Manchester, and a movement rather than a mere company. It wasn't like any label that had previously existed; royalty payments were extremely generous (approaching 50% for some acts), the acts themselves owned their master tapes, and anybody could walk away at any time. Now, it has to be said that the actual implementation of this plan often left a little to desired, as Factory had a tendency to be somewhat inept when it came to handling actual money, but there have been few record labels since that have come anywhere close to the Factory ideal, in either their values, their aesthetics, or that catalogue. Or their ability to use a spreadsheet.
In truth, Factory soon changed the cover of Blue Monday to a cheaper design over the original die-cut version, but the legend was set in stone. The biggest-selling 12" single of all time, losing them money on each copy. It was, arguably, one of the most important songs of the decade, bringing the Industrial Revolution to Pop. Punk meets Dance. Manchester meets New York. The ghost of Curtis finally laid to rest, and the beginning, properly, of music in the 1980s. Not bad for a song made so the band could leave early during their encores.
The Haçienda was a money pit, sucking money in vast quantities from both New Order and Factory, but it formed the bridge from the 1980s to the 1990s, bringing balearic beats from Ibiza, hosting Madonna's first live UK show, creating acid house, Madchester and the rave scene. And The Queue, of course. It was the place to be, and now is no place at all; demolished for a block of apartments.
I went to Manchester in 1997, a few months after the club had lost its Entertainments licence. Was it the gun culture of Manchester that brought it down? The reluctance of its audience to purchase alcohol when they were high on Ecstasy? That, finally, the money just ran out? It was probably all of these, and more besides, but it had served its purpose. It created the 90s. Still, I wish I could have gone there, just once.
Factory itself died in 1992; Wilson attempted to revive the name twice in Factory Too and F4, but these labels didn't last long. However, he started In The City, a music festival and industry conference, dabbled with digital downloads, but above all, his passion was Manchester. The city, despite its many problems, has turned into the vision that Tony Wilson had back