So, does her boyfriend even know about you?

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Indulge me, please folks, but I really do love the fact someone found this tiny wee corner of the interweb by typing 'Anna Bulbrook boyfriend' into a popular search engine. You made my day, whoever you are, and it sure makes a change from the peeps that type in 'What should I do before my first kiss?' and end up here. Oh, the sweet and bitter irony. Anyway, for the record: 1) I have no insights regarding Anna's relationship/domestic situation right now but I hope she is very happy whatever it might be, and, 2) I think the very best idea is to just make sure you are first kissing someone who really deserves it. And remember to keep breathing, that's quite important as well, obviously. And, for a first kiss, absolutely no tongues, ok? Some things just need to develop in the fullness of time, you know. That's one of them.
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The Airborne Toxic Event - 'Sometime around midnight' (live on Jimmy Kimmel) (4.22)
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NB: link removed and replaced due to DCMA notice received on 02-05-11.
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This strings-enhanced TV show performance of their cracking 'anthem for doomed romance' song is a splendid affair... the late-night drunken paranoia just speaks to you, no? Witness it here, and watch. You can also visit the band here and order their new album. It's just out. The photo of Anna was taken during soundcheck @ King Tuts, Glasgow (30-01-09). For a few more of the band, you can peek here.
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Why are you looking so miserable now?

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Yeah. This is not such an incredible revelation. It's not exactly bordering on the profound or anything like that. But, likesay, I have always wondered if as much thought goes into the songs that are chosen to close albums with as much as those deep, vexed thoughts that are clearly given over to selecting what songs open long-players with, especially on a debut LP offering. You Dig? I would like to hope, and I imagine it is the case, that some serious debating goes on as to the exact order of what 'track' goes where, amongst not just the musicians intimately involved with the recording, oh no, but also those interested parties surrounding the first team, such as management, record labels, PR and so on. The closing song that sticks with me, in this regard, is entitled 'It's all mine' by World Party. Karl Wallinger just seems to completely 'let go', as the song builds to its natural conclusion; shifting from, literally, a whisper to a scream and then back to a fade-out whisper. And silence. His voice, you can absolutely hear this, is edging closer to the drowning abyss from about the first chorus... 'It's all mine, it's all mine, it's all mine... it's all my own fault.' It's an utterly mesmerising vocal delivery, in my opinion, and, yes, I would have written another fucking PhD to have witnessed him recording it live in the studio. Lots of blood, sweat and tears, I imagine, and not all of it his own I am sure. Wine as well, I think, lots and lots of red wine... drunk, spilled, pleasured. You can just picture Karl's mouth, his whole head and face actually, contorting, rasping and spitting to get those words out "just right". How many takes, I wonder? How many takes? On a perfect album, such as 'Private Revolution' (Chrysalis Records, 1986) clearly is, I just don't think any other song would have finished it off nearly as beautifully. Not to be too dramatic about it, of course, but I think it's the best full stop [.] I have ever heard in my entire musical life. What is your own full stop, if you have one? And why? Can I ask that? You?
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World Party - 'It's all mine' (5.35)
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A rather flash HQ, of sorts, is located here. This is something from the same long-player to watch. And you should, of course, buy this album. Yes.
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But they can't take away the stars

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Eyes down, half asleep, fringe swept; celebrate your sheen and self and just bastard-well GAZE. Yes, whether you like it or not, there is always a certain era or moment (a movement?) that will try to define you and refuse to let go: tentacles gripped hard around those chords, pedals and headphones that speak to you of noises you possess. This will happen at gunpoint, usually. And also when the red wine flows. You return to those soundtracks seeking a solace and comfort lacking in what you hear around you today, last night, a month ago; a longing that is familiar in memory and practice. For even if you hide the CDs at the back of the cheap Ikea storage 'unit', in a vague attempt to play something else for a change, you will still unearth the Hut, 4AD or Creation treasures when the detective work starts. If you were lucky - and, um, are quite old - you'll no doubt remember that Ride used to take to the stage with 'Fyt' floating (yes, floating) through the PA system. They insisted. And it just worked brilliantly, in that developing, layered, building-to-reach-a-plateau kinda way. It was a 'must' for Side A, Track 1 of many a compilation tape. Often, such a start would require a less-than-novel shift into various players within that London ('Syndrome' on Oxford St) scene that celebrated itself. Ride, of course, and Moose as well. Guitars a howling, lyrics a mumbled, and grim punters posed as statues for the dancing never even started, not once. The Wallasey Boo folks, up North, were a bit different to the posh Thames Valley lot, and they changed focus after that first album, but nothing can take away from the raw effects terror of 'Ichabod and I'. And yes, I was tempted by the cheap and nasty lures of 'Outdoor miner', as a cover to finish on, but sometimes asexual silly pop is exactly what you want, the fucking most.
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This Mortal Coil - 'Fyt' (4.24)
Ride - 'Chelsea girl' (2.58)
The Boo Radleys - 'Walking 5th carnival' (4.35)
Moose - 'Jack' (3.43)
Lush - 'Chirpy chirpy cheep cheep' (cover) (2.39)
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One of the very few essential albums, really. We can't be friends, unless...
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When you're the one that I've kept closest

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I hate to confess this, really, even in the relatively safe and warm confines of The Flying Duck, but I suppose it's useful to state that the brief fling that was Northern Picture Library... well, it has been my least favourite offering from Bobby Wratten (so far, anyway). And I don't really know why. It just seemed forced and unenjoyable, for the musicians involved I mean. What with stage fright, depression, addictions... not very surprising, I suppose. Also the music itself - what happened? - it seemed disconnected and aloof even, and the songs incomplete, in parts. Too ambient, missing meaning, feelings, guitars... But, saying that, I do like the song featured below. It takes a while to get going but then has some direction to it. 'Least favourite'. Ha. What a great expression that is. A bit like hearing the immortal phrase, 'I love you, mostly...'. Anyway, I guess I'm saying these words as I'm wondering out loud what Bobby is going to do next. You'll know, I'm sure, this was the last long-playing release from Trembling Blue Stars. Sigh. It's a perfect album and I guess it's good to go out on a high with some amazing pop songs. But... what next? It's just about the waiting, really. Isn't it Aggi? Meantime, yes, I'll just go and watch some old Pastels songs on YouTube and play that xx album to death. After all the hype, you know, it really is a great record. Not boring at all.

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Northern Picture Library - 'Catholic Easter Colours' (7.09)

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Just trying to be topical, in a calendar year kind of way. This is at least one version of certain events. To be purchased, here. It's worth hearing, honest.

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You will know me better than I even know myself

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The odd thoughts we can have at the strangest of times. Earlier today, walking across campus, and without a prompt from the music of chance (aka Ipod shuffle), this one audio-memo came back to whisper in my ear: what would this song sound like with lyrics attached? What would the words even speak of? A tragic lover caught in a relentless downtown New York crossfire? A hopeful adventurer looking for an escape route amongst the snowy peaks of Iceland? A surreal haunting within an old creaky, spider-filled house in rural France? And, even more specifically, what kind of magical words would be best placed at those wee magical 'lifts' at 59 seconds and at 2 minutes and 37 seconds? Is 'lifts' even a technical term? How could words make those acoustic moments even better? Could they? Well, as we all know, some songs are just better off without words. I think, quite possibly, this is one of them. Anyway, you tend to create your own ryhmes, meanings, beats and constructions, to fill the gaps and spaces, if you really have to. And, fade out; to a repeat.
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Ashbourne's Strongest Man - 'Different people hear different things' (4.05)
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My very favourite label, after Sarah. Please buy their lovely records. Please.
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PS. Just when I thought the stupid, huffy, pedantic signs going up in the kitchen at work could not even even moar tetchy...
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The dancers inherit the party

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It's quite reassuring, I find, how familiar, remembered moments can come back to tap you on the shoulder via disturbed sleep patterns and half-awake dreams. And not just the awful regrets you try to bury away or the times that you know, deep down, you fucked it all up. A couple of nights ago I was transported back to a former University life, when I was on the other side of the counter. A humble padawan. Before venturing off into the anthropological field, I took heed of the wisdom of one of my supervisors, Judith Okely. It was a rather more considered wisdom than what was offered to the graduate students of Alfred Kroeber ('take a pencil and a notebook'). Amongst the many points of guidance, she begged me to use all the senses - to try and not be so dependent on my eyes - and to keep my mouth shut and ears open for at least a wee while. Smell and touch, she demanded, were just as important whilst engaged on fieldwork duties. She was absolutely right, of course, and I find, in a very real way, this is a 'code' (if we can call it that) not just for anthropological study. It is, actually, a way of life. Our eyes can sometimes fool us, play tricks, we all know this. Needless to say I am a terrible practitioner of such a multi-sensory (as well as disciplinary) approach to the social world but I am learning. Touch, especially, is something I'd miss more than any words could describe. Like when saying goodbye to a close friend or when comforting your child, those moments of holding on, and then letting go. Anyway, with such dull words out of the way here are some songs to give over to your various senses. Dancing is very much encouraged though, true, The Sugargliders cover version of the classic Sea Urchins song might induce a few tears, and more. It is a beautiful version though. And it lets me point to Stephen's residence, in a fairly natural way.
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(We Are) Performance - 'Vandals' (4.04)
Clor - 'Outlines' (4.33)
All Natural Lemon and Lime Flavors - 'When things come falling' (3.43)
Club 8 - 'Close to me' (2.27)
The Sugargliders - 'Please rain fall' (cover) (2.18)
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Worth your adoration, completely. Make an Order. Speaking of University life, I do hope you are watching, and falling over yourself in appreciation of, this new series? So near the not actually very surreal bone it hurts. The VC is clearly based on.... (insert high profile name of your own caddish and libelous choice).
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You sent the moment back to be redone

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You, perhaps? Well, you might know how it is? Just like that early-90's poorly edited script from Lynne, featuring impossibly cast actors? You get a strange text from an old friend, one you haven't seen in a very long time. It's a Round-Robin 'please sponsor me on this impossible feat I'm about to undertake' kind of thing. The cause, for sure, is noble and just. Then you get another text asking to meet up for a coffee. Tinderbox is the venue, as ever. And then, when you do meet up, taking some rather scarce time out (at this time of year it is precious, at least) and it's all just rather, weep, fake plastic trees and their parting shot - hit me sideways and then full frontal - is that they tell you, in a pretty direct way, that you look 'empty'. Sigh. Yeah. So. I think is goodbye, then? Or should I reconsider the expression, and, indeed, the reality. Was the put-down just a self-check warning? Am I, actually, 'empty'? I mean, pffffffft, filled in or not, the point is that even Tom Vek's long-mythologised return to pop-music-making couldn't cheer me up right now. Oh? What's that you say? Come closer and listen? A few seconds, here.

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Tom Vek - 'A little word in your ear' (live @ KCRW) (3.48)

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So, yes, after a wee while, everything's now gone green, and all systems are fucking Thunderbirds go. Hurrah!

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Unless it's got that "thing"

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'A poetic licence costs fucking lives!', he screamed at the ducks by the Green who were just ruffling feathers whilst minding their own business. And, fucking hell, that's not something you'd ever hear in a bar South of where Peter Morris first made his rightful claim. Anyway, red (marking) pen in hand, this is just another one-dimensional and/or cardboard cut-out "thing"; a stand-alone example of a song, you know the kind, one of those four-minute stories where some pretentious and cryptic words have been threatening to spill for a wee while now but those words, and - I implore you - how typical is this?, specifically related to another divinely tense and shrill version of the song; one that you wisely gave away in the name of something far more important than your self-respect and clubcard points. Not the version that follows below, where the oh-so-important shimmerings begin at 22 seconds instead of 18. Oh no. But another version. One that was, some years back, played live at a famous hotel on distant shores, on the Parramatta Road to be exact. Over ten thousand miles away, that is, and yet you could hear it perfectly sitting by the shore near Ferryden, Montrose harbour, as the moon fell into the broken crab pots that had been served a P45. You will mind the time, a graffiti-enhanced train toot-tooted at youse all as you downed the Beetie jar mix in a one-fell-scoop. And you, you were so far from home, in every kind of existential and self-hating kind of way. Bauman could only lead you by the finger-tips to the shores of acceptance - 'collateral damage' he is now calling it in his latest postcard to the adoring masses - and yet despite those injuries you called to me, once. Please now. Just rest those haunting, spoken, sweet sung sounds. Just let them go. Away. Avoid the dropbox, speak to staff inside. And there is still something about this other version, this deadened, locked-in-a-booth with a broken mirror and a pint of red wine for struggle and forced company: yes, this "take", this "mix"... well, it brings you back to the forgotten shoogily table near the unattractive end of the Byker Wall, where friends once sat and over cigarettes and cheap gin ('in teacups') discussed politics, music, sex and laughter. The important things mattered back then. And you joked to me about how those were not your favourite numbers. The 8 by 8 by 8 kind. It was another equation altogether, with an unrevealed Guardian crossword type of impossible answer. My calculator simply fizzed and burned. It was an answer that came to involve a fair dose of soured, cold tea and very little Dutch sympathy. The door on courage was firmly closed. The song left the building with him instead of her. Or was it her instead of him? Anyway, that's exactly how it happened, officer. But, please, where do I sign the release form as I'm not quite ready to leave 'the visual world' just yet. No.

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Life Without Buildings - 'Love Trinity' (7" studio version) (4.17)

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And they are out of town by now. Just like me. And you. Such a brief stay. And ruined by cunting Belle and Sebastian fans, if you believe the online (and local) rumours and gossip. It would be useful if you possessed this record. Yes, this one. Or at least be able to say 'I was there' with an honest, beating heart. But the fast blood clots like cream. And you faint, again. Gone.

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This post, though not particularly worthy, is dedicated to my very good friend, Jim, whose own best friend recently passed away. Take good care, JC. Believe in the music and the memories. x

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It's too late for you, it's too late for me

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'No Dancing' featuring The Scottish Enlightenment / Miaoux Miaoux / Male Pattern Band, live @ The Admiral Bar, Glasgow, 09-04-11.

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Fuck. Too late. Again. Fuck. These gigs that are over by 10pm. You'd think I'd know the score by now. So, alas, I missed Male Pattern Band and thus can't comment (apologies to the band, and to you) but I did manage to hurriedly tap my size ten feet to Miaoux Miaoux (AKA Julian Corrie) and stare at my weathered shoes and nod my Morrissey-sized head to The Scottish Enlightenment. Truth be told, if I hadn't had my (pretty fancy for a total amateur) camera with me, or been so stupidly self-conscious, I would have danced my fucking arse off to Miaoux Miaoux (even though it was a 'No Dancing' night, officially, this music is very, very appropriate shaking your tailfeather stuff, I tell you). And where to begin? Well, comparisons have ranged from Mogwai (eh?) to Four Tet (bit more like it) but, funnily enough for me, I hear a slightly more pop-dancy and less indie bass-centric Tom Vek. But perhaps this is my long-standing frustration at the fact it has been, what, FIVE years now since 'We Have Sound' (Universal/Island) blew everyone away and, still, there is no follow-up. Sigh. Anyway, the Miaoux Miaoux set is astoundingly good, powered by whispery vocals, subtle guitar work and a table full of intricate bleep-bleep boxes and flashing-light gadgets that look as if they could probably assist a future NASA launch. Julian clearly has more than just one pair of hands to make it all look so annoyingly easy. A difficult act to follow. But someone had to. The Scottish Enlightenment, by comparison, slow things down. An awfy lot. And this is no bad thing and, further, it actually goes to show that this is a very interesting pairing, even though, on the face of it, the bands seem miles apart from one another in terms of approach, reach, sounds et al. The bulk of the Enlightenment set is taken from the wonderful long-player 'St . Thomas' (Armellodie Records), for many folks around and beyond the Central Belt one of the albums of last year. As ever, I am struggling to find better words than 'brooding', 'melancholy' or 'contemplative' to describe the types of glorious noise this band make. This is, doubtless, due to a serious lack of imagination on my part. The pace is slow whilst the lilting (or is that wafting?) vocals, from David Moyes, raises both spirits and hopes. 'Earth Angel / With Sticks in Crypts' sets the mood and tone perfectly whilst the closing few minutes of 'The First Will be Last', in its looped and repetitious way, sends you into a kind of hypnotic, swaying trance (not so great if you are trying to take pictures of shoes, faces or the neck of a guitar). 'Necromancer', a song so convincing and persuasive it needs a health-warning attached, is a highlight and one to hum on the way home. And home it is, just after 10pm, avoiding the lassies in short skirts, too much make-up and screeching like banshees, as well as the 'pumped-up' boys in short sleeves, who, as ever, just want to fight (or fuck) anything with a pulse and drink as much as they can through any available orifice. And then there is the Polis, desperately, trying to contain it all with a withering, emasculated look that is already admitting complete defeat. Glasgow on a Saturday night. You can't alcopop beat it, so they say.
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Miaoux Miaoux - 'Montefiore' (live mix) (5.10)
The Scottish Enlightenment - 'Necromancer' (5.14)
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Miaoux Miaoux is here and The Scottish Enlightenment are here. You should buy their records and go see them play. You can find Male Pattern Band, in true pirate fashion, where X marks the spot. With thanks, again, to Callum at KMR.
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A late walk home down London Road

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It's just that time of year, I'm afraid, where marking essays, book reviews, portfolios and dissertations takes over my (working and not-working) life. Yesterday, for example, as the sun made a very rare appearance in Glasgow, I was a long-term resident in a friendly cafe for five hours wondering whether or not that really good paper was actually plagiarised or not (Google assured me it was not). So, I'm afraid, I literally have nothing of any interest to say except things like 'Actually, I think that one is 58% rather than 62%', 'Why has everyone written their dissertation on student drinking habits this year rather than football hooliganism?' and 'I need to mark this down, with a penalty applied, as you submitted your work two weeks late and being "busy at work", especially without a medical note, doesn't really cut the mustard'. And such related musings. All to myself. Sigh. Anyway, this is a wee Sunday compilation, as is becoming a certain habit around these digitalised parts, and I hope you like it, or at least bits of it. If nothing else it starts - and ends - in a fairly uplifting and depressing kind of way. Equally so, as it is all about balance, I reckon. And why change the habit of a lifetime?
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The Field Mice - 'This is not here' (live) (5.42)
The Rosaries - 'Leaving' (4.04)
Jeniferever - 'Lives apart' (6.53)
The Wedding Present - 'Bewitched' (KEXP session) (6.15)
Steve Adey - 'I see a darkness' (cover) (4.41)
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Worth visiting, buying and watching. Cannae wait. This is also unmissable, but only in a retrospective and/or time-travel type of way. Weep.
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Tragedy queen, well you set the scene

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Me (aged 40): So what did you think of that song then? Did you like it?
Him (aged 11): He sounds a bit sad and depressed.
Me: Why do you say that?
Him: Perhaps he just realises he can't sing very well?
Me: That's a bit unfair!
Him: But it is true. 
Me: ...
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So who were Gentle Despite? Well, they were mainly Simon Westwood and Paul Gorton. At least one of them could sing a little bit. They came from Leeds. The song below was the third track on their second, and what would be final release entitled 'Torment to me' (Sarah 45). It came out in 1991. The last three minutes of this song... where to even begin? It just shows me the way home, you know. The path is lit up by the shimmering guitars, the tiptoeing bass, and, I'm convinced of this, the restrained xylophone or glockenspeils or vibraphone etc. I mean, even more than that spectacular Peel Session recording by The Field Mice (which will be the subject of a future essay from myself, soon), it represents, in a perfect form, everything I love and adore about this kind of music. You are sent to another time, where you can just close your eyes and be at (relative) peace with yourself and others. The voices, yes, they do stop sometimes. I guess, overall, this music is my version of those click-clacky Executive Toys that sit on oversized desks in large office blocks. You know, the ones that are supposed to prevent stress from taking over and, rather ambitiously, preventing heart attacks. Anyway, shutting the fuck up for a moment, if you decide to chance a listen, I recommend headphones, to catch the creeping nuances and devious interplay - those tiny wee subtle bits that fall inbetween the hops, jumps and cracks of an ageing piece of vinyl. For that is, indeed, what it is made of. Another time, another place, our Sarah.
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Gentle Despite - 'Shadow of a girl' (6.35)
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PS. Unusually, for me, the image above has nothing to do with the words or the music. It's the holidays right now and I was just out with D and R (and their visiting Granny) the other day and noticed the pin-on-thingie in this gift shop. It just made me laugh. Out loud. And I even smiled.
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It's over in Little Portugal, on Dundas Street West

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So, yeah, I'm thinking for dinner I'd probably order the Nachos, or perhaps Jenny's Tofu Scramble if it's closer to a weekend breakfast time when I make it over. A $4 Mocha sounds good, to finish things off nicely. I wonder if the jukebox is as awesome as they say it is? And what might be coming next, Katie, once that fucking millstone of a contract is finally null and void? How are things shaping up with Vanessa anyway? Sigh. All these questions. I'm just your curious fan-boy on the other side of the water, and I'm sorry for all the out-loud wonderings, like. I just miss the possibility of new music, mostly. And looking up at you, stage left, through the lens of a camera. And I miss the talking too, obviously, telling folks how you might change even a small part of their black and white world, with your lyrics, look and attitude.

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Mermaids - 'Say you're alive' (live) (3.57)

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The place to be, in Toronto. Is the RPM Club still on the go? Watch over here.

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The walls close in and I need some noise

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Live review: Dum Dum Girls @ Stereo, Glasgow, 03-04-11 (with support from Top Dollar and Mazes)

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'Their tights are way better than their music' some (predictably male) cunt once said about Dum Dum Girls. Well, true, the tights (it's a uniform, get it?) are pretty amazing, but no one was saying they trumped the music in Stereo the other night. And, fucking hell, these sounds, pummeling you in the chops from the word go. It is relentless, brilliant and you just can't take your eyes off front woman Kristin Gundred ('Dee Dee'). Her gnarling, spitting, contorted face as she throws out another lyrical put-down, demanding not to be forgotten... she eyes you with a look befitting a sweet and tender 8th grade serial killer. It's also a music that has instant hooks and a foot-tapping warmness to it: a fascinating blend of Spectorish 60's girl group harmonies and 80's feedback/buzzsaw pop guitars. Think of, perhaps, The Crystals or The Ronettes getting it on with the VU and the Mary Chain. Or Spaceman 3 playing the part of Siouxsie's (or Patti's) backing band. But, in a more complex truth, they are just themselves and they carry the sound and the look of a band on the rise, much like support band Mazes who also delivered a confident set, coming over like a transnational, and a lot more coherent and together, Dinosaur Jr. The Dum Dum Girls set was mainly taken from last year's full-length album 'I will be' (Sub Pop, 2010) as well as tracks from the early EP 'Yours alone' (Captured Tracks, 2009) and the new EP release 'He gets me high' (Sub Pop, 2011). A couple of new songs ('Lavender haze' and 'Teardrops') got an enthusiastic reception, especially from the tweenie-punk Glasgow hipster fan-grrrrls dancing down the front, and the one-song encore, 'There is a light that never goes out' needs no introduction here. As a cover it plays out well, though truthfully it's better on the new EP than handled live (the subtle aspects of the song, and the sheer beauty of it, gets a little lost with the effects pedals and the haste to finish the set). Dum Dum Girls play Leeds tonight and London tomorrow, so why not go see them harmonise, in a sun-soaked, blissed out, buzzsaw kind of way. Their only way is up, Baby.

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Dum Dum Girls - 'Hey Sis' (2.15)

Dum Dum Girls - 'Bhang Bhang, I'm a burnout' (2.34)

Dum Dum Girls - 'He gets me high' (3.00)

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Go visit the Girls and go buy all their records. You might want to watch this or this.

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With thanks to Callum at KMR Promotions.

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A Freudian slip is when you say one thing but mean your mother

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Oh to be quite so traditional on a day like today. Yes, indeed, I count myself as quite lucky in that not only do I have some really nice photographs of my mum but we also have quite a good relationship, to this day, even with all the ups and downs that our lives have taken over the years. Some things can and do endure, thankfully. In terms of snaps, I think this is the one I like most of all: captured as a bright young thing, just starting out with my dad. Cigarette in hand, trailer door open. A wide, non-rehearsed, smile. Happy Mother's Day, to you. And to you: this mix is dedicated with a deep love and an eternal gratitude. x
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Blueboy - 'Popkiss' (4.18)
The Neville Brothers - 'Sons and daughters' (reprise) (4.09)
Loki - 'Words we never said' (4.53)
The Organ - 'Memorize the city' (Simon Bookish remix) (3.48)
Pernice Brothers - 'Up the down escalator' (The Chameleons cover) (3.59)
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Support Mister Loki. Him of Glasgow. Buy. Am off to see Dum Dum Girls this evening. Here.
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