Saturday, 29 October 2011

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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Wednesday, 26 October 2011

'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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Tuesday, 25 October 2011

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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Monday, 24 October 2011

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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Tuesday, 18 October 2011

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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Saturday, 15 October 2011

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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Tuesday, 11 October 2011

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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Tuesday, 4 October 2011

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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Sunday, 2 October 2011

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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