A menu of delight and despair

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I keep dropping and lifting the magical needle to hear the same '45 play over and over - 'it's all relative' - whilst at the same time knowing I am absolutely not a relativist. Does this make me a card-carrying hypocrite or merely reading the street-sign entitled 'confused'? I am rather unsure. Er, so, belated good tidings for Christmas and tentative greetings as we speed towards yet another New Year, and all that kind of m'larky. I guess I should offer up my sincere apologies for having very little to say just now. Sorry! I mean, I can't even provide you with a 'best of 2011' type of mix. Ooops. I might get to that by summer 2012, if my current workrate is anything to go by (but, I did post another mix over at 8tracks today, pop-pickers, and some of those songs were released this year!). But, unarguably, I will be a little more miserable during the next twelve months and thus, I am certain, have something more - something potentially interesting - to write about. As a dear friend reminds me, often, I am a fountain of absolute nothingness when not unhappy. Och, really, I can barely find the w... [edit]
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Standard Fare - 'Nuit avec une ami' (3.05)
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'You're a postcode lottery'. Oh no, that's another song. Anyway, buy this album as it is really good. It came out in March 2010, and all that, but I am just catching up.
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PS. The last post, written many days ago now, was eaten whole for DMCA reasons. Apologies for offending, er, Pearl Jam? :(

Ruffled feathers in a coldwave

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Fieldnotes #324
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Lost buttons and used chewing gum; spent matches and tarnished coppers. You search stolen pockets for what you thought was left behind from the night before it began. The loose change cascades into unemployment; stripped fortunes will melt pritt-sticked hearts. Across to the left, behind the till, a pretty girl with a turned down mouth and a fluffy coat waits patiently for a Latte that will take its time to arrive. Stubbed fingers drum in marching time, punching digit holes into an interesting Ikea-lite table. The boy's turtle-shell glasses continually slip down his nose and an index finger rescues the situation time over and again. Scarfs are worn inside, only the gloves are off (literally and metaphorically, as it transpires). You can tell this is a moment that isn't about to last; this is not a relaxed coffee catch-up of old friends or even ex-lovers. It is waiting to happen - and now. You stand to the side for your order, pretending not to witness what you are staring at; you just can't help it. And then she just says it, rather loudly as it turns out. He flinches, hunches and then jumps up in seconds; a pained expression masked in both longing and loathing. He makes to leave, a sugar dispenser hits the floor and smashes into a million pieces. Turning to catch his eyes, 'sorry' is all she can say even though she doesn't mean it. You can see the relief washing over her, like that first sip of coffee after a hard day's night.
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Afraid of Stairs - 'Tell him how you feel' (2.37)
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Step into the light, outside yourself. For a moment in time.
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Look through the round window

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She stares back like she means it; as he sees you, faking it weakly. Those hourglass waterfalls cascade down decorated window frames masking years of poor construction. Passing playmobil cars shuffle and dance, spinning out of time to erratic traffic lights on frozen city centre lakes. Reconstituted families move in bored silence through competing hordes to bargain bin promises within excluded galleries. In the wilderness, out on the steps, forgotten teens without coats or spatial awareness huddle together for meaningless gossip, infectious warmth and heavenly cigarettes. A still, mirrored reflection is caught with a shadow of her presenting utmost; as imagined and played on repeat in soundtrack form. We ache for the taste of Swedish regret in moments like these; passing through the day-to-day lives of others unknown as if we possessed a respectful right to observe, monitor and report. You point and click with tongues hanging out, notebooks at page one. We translate the action figures and reality scenary with error upon mistake upon misplaced empathy. We are they, you are us. It is that time of year: be kind, be true and wish for a hopeful Spring to arrive in tomorrow's, younger, arms. This embrace can never last like you really want it to for, as the song reminds us, "we're lost at sea".
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The Morning Paper - 'A newer taste' (4.26)
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It's getting clearer.
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Hiding in spotlights, not running in shadows

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It's that thing. If I lose you. Again, and so it goes. Stumbling in, falling out.... payday loans are 'Go' in this day and age. Grim, grin... and bear it? No ta. Just like me in this 'visual world'; those ghostly moments of rage, fear, sadness. Tears and the end of time; wheeched away on a Megabus to who knows where. Poundland? Iceland? Where the jumble sale mums go to meet the boil-in-the-bag dads, Brett. Time travel with you beats the odds. In annoyance and irritation of your behaviour, at my ineptness - not knowing what to say or do. You are not her. And she is not the sum of me. Checking the small print for a money back clause. But this is not Argos or even Cash Convertors. Chains broken, head kicked in to awaken from this annual coma. The caustic code isn't written yet as so little is unfamiliar here. Making the familiar strange. But getting stuck on the strange, whilst wearing high heels on a hill pointing downwards. It's an anger based on pain, of insomnia; finding the few, Freud words to ask for assistance. Help is a four letter word though a free prescription is another helpful contribution to this cause not yet lost. It spirals on. What year is this anyway? It's hard to tell if you flick the channels or scan the frequencies. The headlines I remember. It's the same every week. Sink or swim, buying fear, selling souls. You wake up again at 3am, havoc on your mind, and count a pretty blessing that the light is still vacant and out on a date in Germany circa 1972. Prince - the artist - keeps you company as he becomes a butterfly yet again; a slave no more to his poplife <3. Too. Much. Knowledge; information is a fire alarm that won't cease calling you out at inconvenient times, taking names. Snapping and digging and... true, a deep sleep is hard to come by these fallow days. The frightened sirens are set to stun and singing a lonely duet with the drunks rolling past screeching their merlot harmonies in a fake Gregory Italian accent. Bella. Bella. And all that. Or so you think with your ears blocked, your eyes glued shut. No matter how fast you blink reality still heads for the last subway home. And the rain - ah, the pitter patter of rain steering a boo-hoo path down his cracked, shoogily face - it pours over a legoland new town. The stop/go music it plays on repeat in spoken, reverential verse. Thank-you, she says. I accept your challenge of a warm embrace; this invitation South. Rewinding to take it all in - these last six months. Where did it go? Where will it go next? Something is up. Some leave, others stay. All the while Jackie waits on the other side of Poortoun for his lost and weeping children to come home. To roost.
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Life Without Buildings - 'New Town' (5.54)
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It's happening again. No where to go.
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Every landscape is full of ghosts

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Of course, Edward Shanks included the word 'English' in relation to his ghostly landscapes, but it would be foolish to think that such hauntings are the preserve of one nation. Anyway, enough of all that, more NPL indie-pop dancing tomorrow evening. Woot!
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Horse Shoes - 'I can't decide' (3.04)
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Visit / Purchase / Reading
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Give me a role and I’ll knock it out of the park

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Cameron Crowe: Kris Kristofferson once said, “I write a sad song when I’m happy, because generally when I’m sad, I’m too sad to write a good song.” Where do you stand on the subject?

Mark Kozelek: I’m the opposite. When I’m happy, the last thing that I want to do is shut myself away in a room and write. I generally write when I’m feeling down in an attempt to find some peace and contentment.

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Exactly this, really. Except 'contentment' is perhaps stretching it a little. It seems too permanent, somehow. Too safe. Peace of mind would be enough, sometimes? And I have always wondered about the song 'Alesund'. A sad song or a happy song? It suggests, obviously, a very distinct geography and kind of space; desiring remoteness in sterile airports, a plush hotel lobby, a city centre gig venue or two. A shared moment with an individual who stands out, picking the spotlight, acting as muse, inspiration for the night. You sing to her, and only her. It also captures, perfectly, the idea of being alone in a crowd, adoring someone close, from afar. Those 'cold bones' needing some warmth. But, once you are invited in, you merely turn your back and walk away into an evening light that doesn't judge you, or want you. The operation of agency, I guess. Like Zorg put it to Bob's horny wife - you deny yourself something you want in order to remind yourself you are alive, you have some control over urges, desires. It's, as ever, a bundle of contradictions and feelings. But these words matter, I think. Anyway, whatever, this is such a beautiful (if shortened) live version, recorded in Belgium, from the recent tour. All nylon strings and delicate arrangements. But, the image... I remember taking this picture with an old camera; one that was effectively stolen from me. That was a lifetime ago, however. It was a cold Halloween night in Glasgow, a particularly emotional one, and Mark had just left the stage, off to the left. His guitar just dropped to the floor, bathed in a blue light. You kinda want to say something to this hero but dare not. Just to shake those talented hands, say thanks for helping me change my life with a lyric from a song or two. 'It isn't real life' was a constant mantra. Well, it doesn't get much more 'real' than a Mark Kozelek song if you ask me. I hope he knows the impact he has on us all? I'm sure he does, Cameron will keep sending him those memos, cards and scripts. It'll be good to see these two working together again - I just hope he gets a line as stirring as 'Dude, fix your fucking face'.

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Mark Kozelek - 'Alesund' (live) (4.58)

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Read more from Mark's interview with the film director Cameron Crowe here. Also, Mark contributes vocals and bass to several tracks on the new Desertshore album (released on the Caldo Verde label on November 22nd).

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'May the lines sag heavy and deep tonight'

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Today I am old. I mean Old, Old. Really quite old indeed, actually. I guess half my life and a bit is now over. What a cheery thought that is. Hurrah! But I will dance the day away, anyway, playing this on repeat, repeat, repeat. It is really good! It is not my usual kind of listening, I admit - not enough limp handclaps, twee screeching or jingly-jangly guitars - but there you go. You like what you like; the groove, the beat, the swing. It makes me want to move. In that way. And, when you turn a certain age, it is an idea to try new things. Make yourself comfortable with discomfort, unease and the unfamiliar, I suppose. 'Make love in a hammock!' as Professor Taub once put it in class, as the other JC took notes. Or something like that. Anyway, enough... enough now; I will just get my indie-funk on, people. So hit the floor! Tequila at the ready. We are ready for take-off. Whooooosh! :)
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Twin Sister - 'All around and away we go' (4.22)
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Visit / Purchase / Weep
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We're just flesh and blood

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'But as far as I could make out it was a woman dressed in black...'
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Och Harriet: you just knew that all the indieschmindie boys and poplife girls of a certain age, at a certain time, couldn't help but fall in love with your blue and white sailor striped tops and frayed, up-turned, 501's; the straggled black Betty Blue hair and supple ruby red pouty lips; the scuffed DM's and pale blue eyes that burned... and then there was that voice, all fluttery, sighing and tenderly wrought. Oh my. Oh my... how we all wanted to fall at your perfect feet and adore you completely; be told stories in poetry and verse about the flippant boys who broke your fragile heart and the cardigan and dress you were sick on after that student party on Tyndall Avenue. This session, somehow, captured it all in a faint broken language and hissed 1980s tape machines. In our fertile imaginations, if nowhere else, we were standing beside you, holding nervous hands, urging you to soar. The highlight was, of course, album-opener 'Skin & Bones'; a song beautifully reminding us that we are all just flesh and blood. A timely reminder, today. And I'm sure Peel was smitten as well. How could he not have been?
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The Sundays - 'I won' (Peel Session) (4.31)
The Sundays - 'My finest hour' (Peel Session) (3.05)
The Sundays 'Skin & bones' (Peel Session) (4.27)
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The Sundays recorded this session for John Peel at Maida Vale 3 on February 28, 1989 and it was transmitted on March 6, 1989. #keepingitpeel.
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It's how you make the garden grow

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The driven narrative behind a paper curtain is revealed. And it's an illusion, not a memory; a painting, not a photograph. Your precious shard of lost time, fragmented to an uneven image and an e-bow sound. That eternal summer holiday kind of day, in a place familiar in its strangeness... the hours rarely outstaying a clocked welcome. A type of evening where tea-time came and went after the main BBC news; your mum shouting after you to head for home after next goal the winner. The arrogant sun beat down on our swollen hamstrings and all we had for weak shelter was that warm-to-the-fizz can of Dr. Pepper (aye, you collected the ring pulls, and a couple of quid, for a home-printed quality T-shirt). And, especially, do you remember the tall grasses we cut our staggered youth through; those guarding fence posts with erect, curly heads and unsteady, drunken feet? They nearly outgrew us, back then, but we steamrolled through them anyway, sweaty hands and diceman fingers dragging for the feeling of what had passed us by in missed chances. We ran and we ran, in forward motions, and circles, not daring to look behind us; those plaintive songs in our hearts and our heads, with thoughts of a stray kiss smacking our eager lips and capturing our souls. The anticipation, as ever, was never matched by the reality. Until now. A sting and a kick; this land is surely ours, boys.
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The Chameleons - 'One flesh' (4.29)
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Home is where the heart is, they say / And it means playing this on repeat, basically.
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You only ever liked the beginning of things

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It goes without saying that I'm someone who can't wait for Autumn and Winter to arrive. People who obsess about music are usually like that, I find. The harsh weather lets you (quite legitimately) stay in a lot more - in that anti-social way - and play many, many records over and over again. Late at night, red wine in hand, headphones on. However, now it has vanished for the months to come, I admit I am rather missing the warmth of the Glasgow sun that does occasionally appear, honest it does. But, anyway, the joiner came this morning to fix the bedroom window so that's a positive. The stalking elements will no longer squeeze their cruel way into this tombstone of an abode. A drip of rain here and a howl of wind there. The irony. Also, and this is just a quick thought: I think, in watching it all over again, rather slowly, I am beginning to finally understand the complex character that was once known as Mrs. Betty Draper a bit more. That's Mrs. Francis to the likes of you and me now, of course. Her moods, tempers, pouts, tantrums; especially when she didn't get her own way with Don. And then, in later years, with Henry, of course. It's all about dealing with alienation, loss and being alone, isn't it? Retaining control; trying to hold onto something - to someone - that had already left the party, building, street. Her Dad, in fact, is the one who is missing here. I might be wrong, I usually am, but I just wish Betty some happiness, or at least peace of mind - via making peace with that loss. This is a song for her which she might dance with Henry to (not Sally though, obviously).
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The Springfields - 'Are we gonna be alright?' (2.39)
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This band has nothing to do with Dusty, in case you were wondering. Her. Him. A soundtrack, of sorts. But she was always my favourite one. And Pete Campbell. The shit.
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Passion pop has your name and number

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For a cold October in Glasgow, you need to hear a record that sounds like the dizzy heights of a St. Tropez summer. And, you know, if the (Melbourne) band in question remind you of a grand day out, up North, where the wild catz roamed then, yes, it's so much the fucking better. Play loud! And bedroom dance! <3
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Summer Cats - 'In June' (2.11)
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Just a purrfect sound... meow. :) You can buy the long-player over here. It is one of the best albums I own. Fact.
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Tuning into the inheritance cycle

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An uncommercial break; a required (middle-aged 'shoutout') intervention. It's a method of listening via heart and soul, likesay. Eldest has a show on Subcity. He plays 'tunes'. Most of them are pretty fucking great, actually. Even to these old, cynical and rather deaf ears. And my soul weeps with pride and joy, especially, when I hear things, in mixes and beats, that I remember being on the old iTunes account; residing inside the darkened, warped remains of the 'old house' computer. Sigh. My Bloody Valentine. Nancy Wilson. Mogwai. The latest show includes the track below. I absolutely love it. You can listen to more Nocow over here. And do listen to the 'Earthly Matters' show; usually live every Thursday (1-2am), and sometimes on a Sunday afternoon. Always available on a looped playback, of course.
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Nocow - 'Round in circles' (2.44)
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The artist is in residence.
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Nothing's gonna change you now

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It was all about making the shoogily connections work; ensuring the linkages eased the transition from one platformed bridge to another. This was when that black and white coastal house was a 'family' home - do you even remember those days when you walk past it now with your own bairns? I am guessing you still walk past it... do you? This was back when before the garden was 'cleared' for an extension and the fertile soil, full of sweetpeas, tatties and non-gendered love, was, well, soiled with the spade of 'development'. But, och, just forget your modern-day skateparks and your cemented bike tracks and what-the-fuck-pay-for-it-nots. We DIY'd it, so we did. After school; when it was proper 'old' school. All bowl-haircuts, feet apace at quarter to three and pro-jock masculinist stances. Those insecurities and uncertainties ran deep, even then. And I always did stand back, you know, watching, waiting and wondering. In a sublime continuation of fear of failure and sibling admiration, I suppose. I was just scared for my knees, in the main, and probably ripping that uber-hip trackie-top. But time moved forwards and I left that shell-of-bricks at seventeen and a half and that was that, really. The home without heart contained me no more. Goodbye broken memories, hello post-Lacan therapy.
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Moose - 'Last night I fell again' (3.18)
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To buy.
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Just why that boy needs me

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Is it a cliche that most cliches appear to be true? Anyway, a photograph can tell a thousand stories. There you go: I said it. I like to imagine this captured scene - taken just earlier this morning by the entrance to this local eatery - represents the culmination of an interesting and fun night out. However, given this is the Merchant City, I suspect it ended badly; bruised knees, puffy cheeks and mascara tears, all cried out over a boy who wasn't even worth picking up the bill for, let alone that mournful taxi ride home. This is where, whatever the situation or outcome, bravado took a tumble and ego hit the pavement... in holy, stockinged feet, obviously.
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Heavenly - 'I'm not scared of you' (3.42)
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Le Jardin. Oui? Bonne. Ici.
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It's a right turn to the left, stranger

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As I turned a familiar corner, to the left, a blinding late-September sun made my eyes go funny - bouncing off, as it did, those broken, unemployed leaves - as this song built to a closing fury and rage in my worn-out ears and I got a vivid flashback to the time I was almost introduced to Emma Anderson from Lush. But that moment, those sounds, were a long time ago now and, the thing is, there is no going back. But today, in Glasgow, we had sun and warmth and a few remembered smiles... that's all worth scribbling about (especially if it involves a song and a memory).

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Film School - 'Sunny Day' (3.30)

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Visit / Purchase / Watch (simple concept videos are always the best - and cheapest)

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PS. Dear Film School, Please might you come over the water and play some shows in the UK? That would be truly wonderful. Thanks. Colin. :)

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I don't want control of you

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These days, I just don't know. I mean, what gives... did Summer leave the party early or something? If so with whom? I think she got lucky with Winter, judging by the weird mix of rain, shine, sun and storms we are experiencing around these parts. Sigh. And, the thought for the day is this: it has to be about looking forwards, not backwards, you know? Weather and otherwise. Which brings me to... so, term has started and as such things may get a wee bit quiet around here. You will know the drill by now, I'm sure. For the moment I still have gainful employment at the University. For how long though? Well, we still don't really know. More news in November, I suspect, and I will doubtless make further cryptic comments in due course. Or not so cryptic if I am 'redeployed' or presented with 'early leave'. Anyway, Saturday can't come quickly enough, I must say: marching for public sector justice in the morning and then an evening of listening to some of the best shambolic indie-pop noises that have ever come straight outa Glasgow. Hurrah! Oh, and if they play 'Speeding Motorcycle' I will, of course, think of YOU. :) I am also really excited about getting to hear the wonderful Conquering Animal Sound play live as 'Kammerspiel' (the debut album) is just magical and I suspect it will be my album of the year. Perhaps!
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The Pastels - 'Love it's getting better' (cover version) (4.05)
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Keep in time to the marching and the music, comrades.
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I can't let this happen to you

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You know, everytime I hear this wee delicate morsel, which is late at night usually - after a glass of wine or six to wash the day away - I secretly want to be amongst this swaggering den of talented people. They are a renegade gang, sharing a moment of wonder, and are blessed with a beautiful name attached to their silk button-holes, in more ways than one. The gathering you can hear clearly is, in my mind's eye at least, spontaneous and impromptu; and just to witness and partake, to feel a part of something this special, would be the icing on the cake. Just clapping hands, joining in, planting a cherry on top if the mood accepted it. My accent would be a problem, I suppose, not really being able to do 'posh', even in a pretend and kiddy-on way. Anyway, it's a fleeting musical snippet, for sure, but somehow all the more magical for it, I would say? And, it ends amusingly as well. A bit of comedy and light relief. Perhaps all truly great things should end, be full-stopped, with a knowing smile and a gutsy laugh? You can take your picks and examples without my help, friends. But, aye, I have a few in reserve, just in case.
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Her Name Is Calla - 'A sleeper' (demo) (1.58)
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You can find her, here.
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I would wash all the cinders from your eyes

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'And he won't come out alive', he cried. Wow. Sometimes, all you need to hear - especially on a Sunday - are Jonathan's fierce and brash guitars and, goodness me, those angelic, howling vocals he lays claim to via the gift of a blessing from the heavens. After just a few minutes of exposure, to the crashing, the shrieks and the silences, suddenly the world seems to be turned the right way up again. This is the meaning of bliss, my friends; one to be shared and adored.
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Shearwater - '74, 75' (session version) (3.24)
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Where they ponder, adrift on Islands. New material here.
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Not very clever after all

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As I was saying earlier, I don't seem to know much about anything just now. I mean, not everything is illuminated, as it turns out. I just didn't get this at all. I had to give up, in the end. Are you even supposed to 'enjoy' this? Sorry, likesay. Pass, even if it does make me look stupid (I mean even more stupid).
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The Garlands - 'Your words are still stuck in my head' (2.00)
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Where they can be found.
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It's not the winning, it's the taking part

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So, I don't seem to know an awful lot about anything very much these days, let alone what's fantastic about all this 'new music' that's being released, apparently... but, you know, I think I can still recognise a killer 'hook' when I hear it. And this song has just such a 'hook'. Why the scare quotes, I don't really know, because this is just fucking brilliant. Show Jonnie some love, people. And some money for his masterful debut. It was out in July, it seems, but I'm only catching up the now. Still, this is music that matters and needs supporting.
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Jonnie Common - 'Bed Bugs' (3.55)
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Visit (him, himself, like) / Order (via Red Deer Club).
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Who will save the day?

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Eric Michener will save the day! It will absolutely not be Adrian Simmons (the creep).
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Fishboy - 'Adrian Simmons' (2.56)
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Why not visit the band + buy their stuff?
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Could that be said about us?

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Have you ever felt this, I wonder? Thought about it for longer than you dared; to try and realise the point? That is, to say, you've listened to a song, over and over, and always wondered what it was about, what it meant. What emotions and experiences shaped the penning of those lyrics? What was going on in that person's life to inspire the words to flow in the way they did? Perhaps, and this is just a rather obvious hunch, in order to 'get' it, you need a similar moment or experience. A common reference point between listener and lyricist, perhaps, or a sharing of biographies, even at a false distance, just for a moment. Anyway, the thing is, I think I get this song now. I mean really get it. And for that I can only say thank-you, Philip. x
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The Mary Onettes - 'Puzzles' (live) (4.01)
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Like running down a one-way street. Go watch them play. Buy the album. The official video.
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You'll shed a skin and carve it up

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The Jezabels / Kid Canaveral / The John McIain Band @ King Tut's Wah Wah Hut, Glasgow, 06-09-11
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'Why it is always marriage, never sex?' Hayley Mary wonders out loud, rather amusingly, in response to a rather brazen nuptial offer from a (female) audience member. Her hair sways in time to her own wee giggle, she bites her lower lip and stares down at the stage, just entered. Within seconds, obviously, a number of (male) hecklers - not including this person, of course, or even this person, I assume - take this as a cue to make their intentions firmly, yet quite politely, known. She is not short of invitations for later in the evening, let's say. And it starts as it goes on; this is an assured, rhythmic, energetic performance of such poetic intensity and emotion that you wonder, really, how can this anthemic momentum be sustained for the whole set? Is it possible? And, in truth, the answer is given to us as a series of gifts to treasure; a chorus to die for, a bridge to break our hearts to, a lyric to sweep away the bullshit of day-to-day life. This performance just soared, perfectly so, and enraptured everyone contained within this sweating, heaving St Vincent St vault. The Weegie-based Aussie supporters, who were evidently out in strength to cheer on their far-from-home local heros, applauded and whooped every swaying motion, every intake of breath. The accents, the haircuts, the grins, revealed themselves in an essentialised way. A home from home. For those of us who had only an EP or so to go on, junior apprentices such as myself, we were won over too, willing these four musicians to climb the highest peaks, to uncover new gold (dreams). You can tell, close up, that The Jezabels have fine-tuned their (live) art and craft to such an extent that even the short break between initial exit and one-song encore doesn't break the charming hold and spell. Bewitched and bedazzled; aye. We are suitably persuaded, convinced that they 'mean' it. As the house lights come on, and the cameras switch off, I find myself only able to mutter the shamefully inarticulate 'wow'; it is without pretense or consideration, and I'm surprised I even managed to catch my tongue to push those three letters out. Intense, beautiful, mesmerising... and that's the music I'm talking about, in truth, as well as Hayley. Great things are ahead, for the Antipodean powers behind the throne; false prophets they are most certainly not.
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The Jezabels - 'Hurt me' (live, 26-11-09) (6.05)
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The place where they skulk. Playing live, here, on Friday 9th September. You can pre-order their debut album, 'Prisoner', now (out on September 16th).
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What have I learned?

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Well, just this evening, I discovered - via an informed source, shall we say - nothing at all about this guy that I can actually repeat here (but I just knew there was a reason the music made my blood run sleepy cold and his smile left me crying into warm, salty, slug trails) and I also learned, the hard way, that this over-hyped film is, in fact, very, very dull indeed. Sigh. So, instead of listening to him, I say this: listen to Darren! He is the bee's knees, for sure, and his charm, wit and adorable lyrics will win you over, I'm totally convinced. Ah, go on now. Give him a go.
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Darren Hanlon - 'Folk Insomnia' (4.12)
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Go download the latest album. And love it to bits. This is his home, and this is your heart. And yes, that is his guitar on the Captain's Rest stage just last Monday night. <3
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Hallam, don't look down

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'One Day', indeed. Gaze. Away. It's a perfect song for a melancholy Sunday moment (that is, movement?) such as this. Holding onto those starched, frozen covers, not letting go. Too anxious for sleep. More wine; let it flow. The music and words are just so beautiful, washing over you like it is 1991; for that time is happening all over again. Your wrinkles will vanish, those fringes remain intact. Stare. And stare some more at the Hush Puppies you thought long gone. For your approval is no longer required, this time around. Simply relish and adore, everyone. x
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Kordan - 'Closer' (4.21)
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An essential purchase. Visit here, watch there. With thanks to Amanda for the gracious discovery; a tip of the cap.
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I can handle anything

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Obsessed? Me? No, why, not at all. I mean, it's just a ghost. Boo.
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La Sera - 'Never come around' (2.00)
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Visit (her) here. <3
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Judd's paradox

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How to begin (the begin) again? Even after a temporary break, only a month you know, it feels like a rebirth needs to occur here. For that caffeinated kickstart, to stretch the creative boundaries, you need the right tools to do the job; 'moisten the grounds', as Zorg's sleazy employer reminds him, whilst staring at his... I suppose it is a tried and tested formula, for this place I think of as 'home', once again. It starts with a photograph - the image, in fact, is more important than you might care to think - then the words will flow, as they do and, well, the music fits into the dovetail that was made 'just so' for it. But, in truth, there is no order to it - not at all; I just like to pretend there is. So I feel some control, I suppose, a structure to the chaos. My mind is intact and functioning. No, really. It is. There is always the music when hopelessness runs deep: it cascades and shoots through these explored regions like blood, for the likes of you and me. And him. But, I'm afraid, I cannot even begin to explain in this unlikely forum how utterly schizophrenic a month August was for me, as well as those surrounding the life I have come to lead these last few years now; on the one hand it was a time of genuine horror, fear and heartache, and yet, from another perspective, it was also a time of beauty, closeness and love. It was all felt, often at the same time. But, it's about moving on, really, and trying to start again; new beginnings, of a kind. Indeed yes, a fresh agenda will need to find its place; a non-virtual reboot, an appreciation of the roots of life itself ('baraka', meaning a blessing). And so, with this somehow in mind, I am hoping September will be a month of steady nerves, comradeship and, of course, wonderful music. Time will tell, I guess. In the meantime, I do hope some of you might stick around, and bear with me as I return to what I might be, what I should become now, with another mask fallen and stripped away, with a Goffman smile to keep us all company. Adieu.

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Michael Storey - 'Another Country' (opening credits) (3.12)

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It seems you can't purchase the soundtrack anymore, if you ever could, but you can at least read the play (by Julian Mitchell) and then, well fuck yes, watch the film. You should really purchase a DVD copy though; it's my absolute favourite piece of cinema, like ever, although this one always gives it a close run. Sigh. Betty. :(

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Not in a dream, but in a song

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Take #7

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"What? Oh, right. Hi there. Shit. Is this thing actually on? Are you sure? What do you want anyway? Um, sorry, this is a recorded message. I guess you could tell that though, right? I mean, he's usually so much more articulate in real life, haha. Seriously, he's dazed and confused and looking in a broken mirror here 'trying' to spot white hairs, whilst also trying to stick to what I've written down for him on this pink post-it note - pink... it's yellow, you fucking idiot, not pink... are you colour blind as well as unable to read? - but he keeps fucking it up. Anyway, yes, the discordant malcontent (oh right, well fuck you, I liked that description of the bumptious, sociopathic prick - it is him to a 'T' and you know it) who tragically runs this sorry excuse of a self-hate shack isn't around just now but will be back after the summer sunshine beep-beeps, or when he gives up trying to finish that really fucking terrible novel by Will Self... she always thought he was a genius you know, pffffft - so, so wrong and no wonder he left that party, eventually - although, true, in Glasgow it might be raining rather than glorious summer sunshine. It is just now as I'm speaking this to him through the intricate neural networks. Raining, I mean, it's raining right now. Er, and I mean typing this, not speaking this of course. Confused? Aye, me too, and I have to live inside this bampot's head 24/7. Spare a thought a wee thought, eh? Och. Anyway, see you all soon I guess. Have a nice time. Er, are you getting away anywhere nice? Oh, Bexhill-On-Sea you say? Really? Um, lovely. I'm sure you'll catch syphilis or the plague or something... at least the flu, given it is August by now. So 'bye' then. Oh yes, leave a message if you want to, with your name and number and all that kind of thing but I very much doubt he'll get back to you. He's not much good at that kind of thing. Nothing personal, it's just that he doesn't really like telephones that much (bit of a phobia, he always assumes - empirically correctly as it happens - it's bad news or some credit card company chasing money from him, oh do you get that too... what a coincidence!) and he often doesn't play the messages when he gets back because when you press play, because this fucking machine is so old now, it sometimes gets the tape a bit stuc..."

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The Go-Betweens - 'Finding you' (live) (3.55)

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Here, there, everywhere. Sigh. Remembering Grant, as always... :(

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You always need to be where the party is

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Don't look down. Oh, you can never look down. Pass 'Go' if you can muster the chemical energy (every chance in hell comes his way, for sure). Crossing the floor now. In zig-zags, avoiding direct contact with stray limbs, just like the remote cleaner that sweeps up the debris after you, but can never hope to catch up in time to make the break. You are staring at a floating ceiling, looking for a Tour Eiffel foundation. It was always going to end this way: how could it be balanced, stabilised, by any other means necessary? It's a swift return, this distance between us taking another form now. A transparent and reductionist alienation, a journey leading into a departure. Alone. Together. Radiating. A dichotomy of sociological conditioning. More than a missing piece; all of the jigsaw is torn into a hundred slices, in a B&Q garden chipper and shredder. Murder, it was. But, really, on the down, down, down.... serious, where the fuck do you go, in your swollen head, dulled mind, lethargic soul, when all the people leave your smiling company to return to what they know as reality, the morning after, the day job? Do the teetering, shaking sub-woofers and blinking red and green lights block the harsh reality out? You stare ahead, eyelids fluttering, peepers dancing to the pounding of the technological movement, seeing nothing but your own sour, taken oblivion. Jeezo, our Jesse. What a scene, what a fucking tune. It seems you can't escape those demons... play loud, and on repeat.
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Honey Claws - 'Digital Animal' (3.47)
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Band / Source
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Music to hold hands to

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Math and Physics Club @ The Captain's Rest, Glasgow, 25-07-11 (with Very Truly Yours, Bubblegum Lemonade and The Hermit Crabs).
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"Why did the farmer start a punk rock band? He'd had enough of Hall 'n Oates..."
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As jokes go, you know those ones, that are told to fill awkward gaps and spaces when tuning up, the guitarist, Lisle, from Very Truly Yours did hit the spot. It made us all laugh - and laugh with him, not at him, thankfully. Anyway, wow! What an amazing balmy Monday evening spent in indiepop heaven at The Captain's Rest in Glasgow last night. Does it get any better than this? The evening was something of a Matinée Recordings shindig as three-quarters of the bands on the bill are currently signed to that label. Very twee, sweet and incredibly adorable - and that was just the audience. What was really impressive was the show of bodies, faces and enthusiastic clapping for opening act The Hermit Crabs. Led by Mel, they played a blinding set and were breaking in the new 'Highlands and Islands' rhythm section. Playing a selection of material, old and new, they are a band well worth checking out. I mean, people even danced! (this can be quite unusual for this particular venue, in my experience - or perhaps it is just the type of bands I go to see play here?). 'Correspondence Course' was especially good and Mel would return later for a spot with the headline act - but more of that later! Bubblegum Lemonade were next up and play a kind of scuzzy Pastels meets Mary Chain shagging the Velvets b-side type of music (and that is very high praise indeed!), and frontman Laz is just brilliant with his Byrdesque guitar 'licks', as well as with the audience; being both witty, self-deprecating and charming - often in the very same sentence... 'Yeah, in your face Artic Monkeys!', said as he ruminated on their as yet elusive search for global 'hits' and 'rock star' status. The wonderful 'Girlfriend Ghost' was dedicated to those who couldn't attend, and a slight chill was felt in the air, as much as you can feel such a thing downstairs in the Rest... and their cover of 'That Thing You Do', as ever, got a wild reception from a sweaty audience in the 'ken. Very Truly Yours, over from Chicago and en route to Indietracks, had the hard job of following on next and what a rousing set they played. Although missing a keyboard player, Billie!, they were tight, jangly, lovely and loud - a bit like Camera Obscura might be if they took better drugs and 'cut loose' once in a while. Indeed, Kristine's vocals are very Traceyanne although the former, true, is a bit more talkative, and not just to cover the silences enforced by tuning and re-tuning. Thanking us all, many times over, for coming out to see the show, it was all smiles and candy floss from Kristine and the band - and great, great songs. 'Across The Sea' was a bit of an obvious song to put on the setlist, given the circumstances, and it fitted the mood of the evening perfectly of course. And, as mentioned, Lisle's joke gave us the giggles. :) As for headline act, Math and Physics Club, what can you say - it was just such an honour to have them play in Glasgow, almost unbelievable in fact. I always thought I'd need a wee trip back to Seattle to catch a show from them as they never play in Europe. It was a fantastic set, covering material from the two albums as well as the early EPs, and the audience were dancing away and nodding heads to the 'catchy pop beats' they play so well. It was difficult not to grin like a complete idiot as songs like 'Jimmy Had A Polaroid' and 'Love Or Loneliness' were played so faultlessly (depsite the jetlag!) and it was quite funny when 'La La Lisa' was dedicated to a Lisa who had just left the room (weep!). A further highlight was the duet with Mel Hermit Crab, a very emotional version of 'Darling, Please Come Home'. There didn't seem to be many dry eyes in the room for that one, including my own. Sob. As the set went on the covers came out to play and we were given two choices (I seem to have forgotten them both! I think one was by the old Sarah band, Brighter? Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking on my part? Whatevs.). Anyway, no matter, as we demanded both, and then insisted on another original song for good measure...! :) Oh, there was a very funny moment worth telling... when offering the cover versions someone in the audience asked the band if they knew any songs by Belle and Sebastian... 'But we've just played an entire set of Belle of Sebastian songs!' came the knowing reply from Charles, followed up with 'Why not come to see us play in Manchester tomorrow and we'll play The Smiths!' from Ethan. LOL, so we did. Anyway, in terms of the songs, here you have what the band opened with and closed with in Glasgow last night. Do enjoy. What a brilliant time of it. Moar, please.
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Math and Physics Club - 'Weekends Away' (2.37)
Math and Physics Club - 'We're so DIY!' (2.24)
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With very special thanks to Colin ('Half My Heart Beats') for putting this show on. :)
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Go say hello at the Clubhouse! And, remember, Indietracks is this weekend coming! As for the photographs, what can I say, erm... I do like musician's feet (not in a weird way, promise!).
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If you hear the perfect note then share it

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The dark moors appeal tonight, surrounded in mist and regret, staking out their shadows and trophies for the hunted tribes whose pride and confidence has taken a terminal fall. And this soundtrack, my God, it resonates wildy inside your head, like a forced echo sustaining a rotating, forgotten landscape. The delicate ripples, in the form of one note then two, lap over your raw and bruised feet, soothing and healing, in time to an unfamiliar pattern you can't hope to forget or extinguish. It is all in that moment, a touch, the lingering. Deep inside this cave of sound a faint hum, with jagged claws, is tearing at your soul questioning everything you know, everyone who made this moment of reflection, of unquestioned 'self', possible. The echo continues and repeats, over and over and over. The delicate side comes forth more now, the haunted scraping against skin, against the heart. Sounds invade, and then fade, in a perfect sidestep on this journey. But how many notes does it take to seduce him over to the place where you are? How many for her, do you know? And what about the losing? It's a question, an equation, that defies any kind of traditional or technological source code and has no aide-memoire to act as compassionate companion in the search for that completeness. This time you need to figure it out on your own, the man you both inspire, and then aspire, to be. It's all about the rhythm of time, you see, and as for the exercised hands on the seen-better-days clock... well, they wait for no one, not even you. It marches on and claims continents, never mind countries.
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Richard Skelton - 'Shore' (7.04)
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You can buy Richard's work here, and say hello over at his Wordpress site. The effort that goes into making these divine artefacts needs to be seen to be appreciated, not just heard. With sincere thanks to F. for leading me to Skelton's work.
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