This blog is tiny, and I guess I got lucky at the start of the life of whatever this is when one or two posts started to get passed around and retweeted… I even managed to garner a few comments on posts (albeit about 50% negative), and traffic was uniformly high, certainly higher than anything I could have expected from miserably scribbling away.  And then this happened on the site where most networking occurred.

Facebook is a business (even more so now it’s gone Public) and businesses need money, but in its voracious desire to hoover up every cent from everyone and by treating piddly little sites like this with the same approach as they do General Motors, Coca-Cola etc, they’ve strangled all sense of community.  Because every view is now so precious to everyone, bands and artists are now so focused on pleading with their fans to comment, like share and retweet every snippet of info, they’re not noticing so much when people do say something about them.  Especially when things can’t be soundbitten down into a meaningless arbitrary score (“This record was the soundtrack to my losing my love and my subsequent descent into drinking and drugs, so I rate this 8/10!” – and this record exists but I’m buggered if I’m going to tell you which one it is), it does sometimes feel now that everything’s getting a bit insular and territorial now, and that does nobody any good.  Word Of Mouth is just as important for blogs such as this as it is for the people that blogs such as this write happily and freely in favour of – it means that there is an outlet of positivity that they haven’t had to pay or beg their fans for, and this symbiosis also requires participation, otherwise that $10 per day to get one’s musings out there starts to look worryingly inevitable…

So why continue, if it makes me so angry and despondent at times?  Because sometimes it’s as good an outlet for my pettier, nastier side as it is for my enthusiasm and joy.  And as I don’t spend time here writing about what I think are bad records (because I don’t buy bad records as a rule, it’s kind of a waste of money to do so), I need a slightly different target to vent my spleen .  And when I hear that someone has bought something, or even just taken the time to have a bit of a listen, based on something that’s been written here, I can’t explain just how good that feels.  On the rare occasion that a conversation is begun that sends its participants off to a record store on the basis of something that someone said, it’s brilliant.  When artists take the time to pass something on or even get in touch, it’s a fantastic feeling and I am so utterly grateful for every single time that I see something of mine appearing on Facebook or Twitter or on other people’s sites and messageboards.  Hopefully I can keep bungling away here until the pendulum swings back towards a relationship that’s much closer to “us” than “them”.

From “Dynamite Steps”

The Twilight Singers – The Blackbird and The Fox

Dynamite Steps has proved to be the most challenging Twilight Singers album for me to get into longterm, but it’s also proved to be the most rewarding.  This was the first song I heard from this record and it remains my favourite, feeling as quintesentially “Twilight Singeresque” as it’s possible to determine by their output so far.  Hopefully it won’t be too much longer before Greg Dulli picks up where he left off with this project after he’s finished with the current (and continuing, if Tweets from guitarist Dave Rosser the other day are anything to go by) Afghan Whigs reunion.

From “Full Tension Beaters”

Tokyo Ska Paradise Orchestra – Guts For Saxophone

I have no idea what agitator Tastsuyuki Hiyamuta opens this track with (“All the ladies”?), but no matter – this is one of the coolest tracks on a record with one of the coolest front covers.  And to describe it with such high regard when it sits on the same album as a scorching cover of Lalo Schifrin’s theme to Enter The Dragon is saying something.  Starts gently swinging, soon gets into “themetune from Ren & Stimpy” territory, goes wonderfully mad.  If only digging further back into this band’s history wasn’t so expensive…

From “Zen Arcade”

Hüsker Dü – Never Talking To You Again

I bought Hüsker Dü’s early 2×7″ Amusement/Statues thingy for Record Store Day this year (not in the initial haul, but the online plundering the week after – and I now have the Lanegan/Moby 7″ too, so I’m a happy bunny at last), and it was with some slight chuckling that much on those early single/demo tracks sounded better-produced than their major-label stuff, but I digress.  Zen Arcade might be a tad self-indulgent at time, but it’s a classic nonetheless, and it’s so well-regarded because of songs like this – poisonous, honest and beautiful.

From “Set Phazer To Stun”

The Time And Space Machine – More Cowbell

Indeed.

From “Songs Of Molly Drake”

Willis – Love Isn’t A Right

Shortly after the album of Molly Drake’s songs appeared, this 4-song EP of covers of choice cuts from that record surfaced.  Probably my favourite song of Molly’s, it’s interpreted here as a slightly torchy, Jazzy, Parisian affair that accentuates Mrs Drake’s dissatisfied middle-class housewife cautionary tale.  It’s well worth checking out both original and this version.

From “Tower Of Love”

Jim Noir – Eany Meanie

Included because the football season’s just finished and I find myself with no millionaires to get angry/euphoric about for a few months.  Sounding like Cream here, Jim Noir’s childlike sunshine-psychedelia is another of those songs that lull the listener into thinking that Summer’s finally arrived, even when it quite patently hasn’t here.  Jim has a new album out, and it’s probably time that I looked into it.

From “Milkwhite Sheets”

Isobel Campbell – Willow’s Song

I made the mistake of watching the remake of The Wicker Man again this week.  Dreadful, misogynistic film that should have been buried under the M5 instead of the wonderful original.  Cage deserved every single bee.  Anyhoo, from the soundtrack to the Proper version comes this saucy song (to be fair, they were all saucy), covered beautifully and even more Scottishly than Magnet’s rendition by Ms Campbell, demonstrating a far greater understanding of the film than anyone involved with the “step away from the bicycle” remake ever did.  Perfect for calming the ire caused by even thinking about that, and for stoking another one.  Ahem.

From “Hater”

Hater – Mona Bone Jakon

This is a record that I have yet to wax lyrical upon, and it probably won’t be long before I finally get around to it.  Another gem from a fertile Seattle scene not averse to supergrouping, this is perhaps my favourite Sub Pop album.  This opening track is a cover of the 1970 Cat Stevens song about his Gentleman, performed with no small amount of psychedelic threat here.

From “The Duckworth Lewis Method”

The Duckworth Lewis Method – Sweet Spot

The Ashes are almost upon us again, and what better way to prepare than by digging this album out again?  There is a new DLW record out shortly (with cover artwork that will be instantly familiar to anyone growing up in the 1970s as I did), until then here’s the guys being slightly saucy (this is all unintentional, I promise!) ditty which has that sort of sleazy high-registered fuzz as a goofy Queens Of The Stone Age having a bit of a laugh.  Or perhaps that’s just me.

From “Pale Green Ghosts”

John Grant – I Hate This Town

This week, John had his computer nicked off the stage at a gig in Brighton by a twat.  Hopefully it’ll turn up and happy endings will abound all over the place, but until then here’s my current favourite off his Pale Green Ghosts album that I tried to review a while back but failed miserably in my attempts to do so.  I love this song because it’s sad and funny and unfortunately it’s something that resonates so terribly with me.  One day I’ll be outta here, until then I now have this slice of beautiful empathy.

BTW, Spotify no longer shades out tracks that can’t be shared so I can’t tell if all/any of these will appear below until I publish.  Hope you enjoy and further seek out the ones you can hear here (erm), hope you decide to track down the ones you can’t.

This coming together of Mark Lanegan and Duke Garwood has been something that has been bubbling away for some time now, and the thought of what they might come up with together has been an intriguing one – Duke has opened up more than a few shows for Mark so there’s an obvious kinship at work there.  But how would this translate musically?  Rather well as it turns out.

It’s probably not unfair to say that one is never 100% sure what’s going to happen with Duke Garwood.  The live shows of his that I’ve seen as support to Lanegan have been interesting, spooky affairs while on record he’s been a bit eclectic.  So it’s nice to hear him exploring both his “straightforward” (for want of a better term) side while indulging his more experimental chops, secure in the knowledge that Mark is more than capable of making any tune fall into line and behave itself for him to sing over.

Bookended by two delicate instrumentals, Black Pudding is a largely bluesy affair with a few surprises along the way.  The main thing that struck me during the first playthrough is that Mark tends to sing here in a register slightly higher and less weighted than he’s been doing recently, giving a more youthful fragility to his performance – particularly during a War Memorial that could have come straight from The Winding Sheet, with the following Mescalito carrying the same laid-back swing as the back half of his Whiskey For The Holy Ghost.  It’s not revisitation for the sake of it however, as the overall feeling here is just doing what feels right in the moment.  And for us older fans, it’s a couple of more than welcome snapshots.

Duke’s more experimental leanings are explored during Black Pudding’s final third, and Mark is happy to follow.  Thank You‘s drone has the feel of a lakeside Jimmy Page about it assisted by a vocal phrasing that suggests that Led Zeppelin at their most mystical was exactly what was planned here,  Shade Of The Sun‘s mellotron has the gentle sadness of a Morricone-scored funeral and Record Store Day single Cold Molly has Garwood reworking his Dreamboatsafari mojo to conjure something sultry, funky and slightly odd.  But if you listen to each song closely, bare bones as they are already, there’s plenty sat just under the surface to suggest that things are slightly more askew than you first realised – it’s these little idiosyncrasies that make this album continually interesting by each element (even the weirder ones) complementing each other perfectly, and thankfully not so much that it descends anywhere near two grown men indulging each other to the point of noodling.

Black Pudding’s title certainly throws up some strange imagery, but the notion of blood as sustenance does fit well with these ballads, as does the lace adorning the record’s sleeve (although this does hint at more animal-based cuisine as anyone who is familiar with the other meaning of Nottinghamshire Lace may connect).  It’s one of those records where I was genuinely unsure as to what might actually appear, and what has turned up is two friends having a great time together sharing the same wavelength.  It may not push the boundaries of either man’s oeuvre that much for the most part and where they do wander down unfamiliar pathways it feels as if it’s more to just see what’s down there out of curiosity’s sake, but the point of Black Pudding seems far from a desire to be different.  The point is to just do something that feels ‘right’ to these two, and it’s good that they’ve seen fit to share their endeavours with the rest of us.

And quite frankly that’s the best intro I could come up with to set the scene for something that exists in its own little universe, obeying its own rules and wandering off in whatever direction it feels like, as they continue in marvellous form with this one from The Focus Group.

Popping out of the top of the twirly music box this month Julian House, head honcho of The Focus Group, Ghost Box co-owner and designer extraordinaire.  From the very outside, Elektrik Karousel is a delight – the usual strong Ghost Box colours replaced by a stark black and white composition, with the inner sleeve forming a very odd board game  featuring the album’s track listing.  And then there’s the heavy disc itself, with Side 2′s pattern in particular creating a rather hypnotic effect as it spins.

Wheeee!

On to the music itself, and it (to me, a relative newcomer to this sort of thing) continues in TFG’s vein of whimsical musical collages of 1960s and 70s-sounding compositions sat within and around what can only be described as “other things”.  The title track whirls round the head (phones are essential here) while a jazz track swings away in the middle of it; tigt gruffil plays like a series of library musical pieces playing in unison on a stuck loop with metallic swishes appearing at intervals, Kinky Korner Klub comes across as a gentle psych happening that pulses and confuses with its slight blurs, clock chimes and indistinguishable human noises singing along; while Bachu sounds like the most frightening intro to Alan Rothwell’s “Picture Box” ever recorded.  And that’s in the first quarter of this record.

On helping out duties herein are Broadcast, whose Berberian Sound Studio soundtrack is among my current favourite records and who previously collaborated so brilliantly with The Focus Group in 2009 (their …Investigate Witch Cults Of The Radio Age is well worth checking out), I’m not entirely sure where and when they pop up as there’s always so much going on, but I suspect Heavy Blessing’s baroque harpsichord and jazz drumming may be evidence of their participation here.  Speaking of harpsichords, another one features in my favourite track Frumious Numinous along with more frenetic drumming, overdriven and cut-up jazz flute and lots and lots of noise which does sound like several different things all being played at once, but fitting rather well.

I think you get the general idea of this.  It’s very strange indeed.  But it’s strange with the most playful heart, and that’s what’s so enchanting about the experimental venture – the effect as a whole is that of accidentally rocking up at a very relaxed underground party sometime in the late 1960s where everyone’s pushing their ideas forward all at once in the most pleasant manner, even if you can’t tell what on Earth they’re on about.  As if I needed to say so, it may not be to everyone’s tastes (then again, what is?), and there are less ‘challenging’ inroads to the Parish – Pye Corner Audio’s Sleep Games is a wonderful record for example.  It’s a fun and occasionally stunningly beautiful collection of found items put together in ways that the mice of the Marvellous Mechanical Mouse Organ couldn’t possible hope to comprehend, but the end result is something that is both strangely compelling and relaxing once the listener stops trying to work out what’s going on and lets the thing float happily through.

I could be wrong, and I can’t be bothered checking, but I think this might be the first Sunday Whatever on here for over six months.  It may be because Sundays are a pain in the backside at the best of times (and I now work six days most weeks, thankyou Austerity Measures making us work longer for less, and us having to be grateful about it), or maybe I’m not quite as excited as I used to be about stuff as I was three years ago.  The reasons for me wanting to do this haven’t changed though, so I’d better just shut up and plough on; temporary physical/psychological disabilities and crap traffic be buggered.  I need to be getting back into the swing of these again.

From “You Have Already Gone To The Other World”

A Hawk And A Hacksaw: Witch’s Theme

Possibly not that near the top of the box that is Nigel Farage’s in-car CD collection, this Eastern European-derived slice of fun folky lunacy is frenetic, infectious and should be more than able to get most parties started.  Except Nigel’s.  I’m here all week, don’t forget to tip your waitress etc

From “The Hustler”

Jeff Klein – Nearly Motionless

I’ve probably included this on one of these lists before, and if I have then it’s with a very good reason (as is the reason for me listening to it once more).  As a song of a sense of loss, it’s peerless in its gently powerful empathy and even manages to make the whole affair feel uplifting.  If you’ve never heard The Hustler, track it down immediately.

From “American Twilight”

Crime And The City Solution – Goddess

I must admit to be still working my way into this astonishing comeback record from Simon Bonney’s resurrected band, but given that it’s taken a fair amount of time to surface between its 1991 (!) predecessor and this, a couple of extra months soaking it in could perhaps be forgiven.  Last year, Wovenhand’s latest The Laughing Stalk album displayed more than a touch of CatCS/Birthday Party influence, so it’s probably no huge surprise that David Eugene Edwards is found among the assembled cast here, giving this new version of the band something of his own musical spirit.

From “Hi Scores”

Boards Of Canada – Hi Scores

Like many people this month, I have been listening to a lot of Boards Of Canada.  The Shananigans Klaxxons were sounding shortly after Record Store Day when a mysterious disc appeared.  A few days later a second one was found, and the treasure hunt started in earnest with mysterious broadcasts turning up all over the place, forming part of a code.  It fell a bit flat when the last part of this code seemingly entailed someone going “oh, the code is this…” just as it got really intriguing, but hey ho – a new album will be amongst us soon, and PR types the world over have been taught a lesson in How To Make Hype Interesting Again.  This is one of my favourite older tracks and one of the more straightforward ones too, ideal for new listeners.

From “Sakura”

Susumu Yokoto – Genshi

Absolutely no idea how this one came to be in my possession, to be honest.  I suspect refreshments.  Anyhoo, there’s nothing wrong with a bit of artistic Japanese Minimalist Disco, and this is rather lovely in its construction and execution.  A great track for getting started in the morning, or getting stopped at night, it has a unique talent of being able to be both driving and relaxing.

From “…Investigate Witch Cults Of The Radio Age”

Broadcast And The Focus Group – The Be Colony

I was supposed to have done something on the new Focus Group record this weekend, but events have overtaken me and it’ll have to wait a day or two.  This track is one of the calmer moments on this record, choosing a gently odd Barrettesque Floyd approach over The Focus Group’s usual psychedelic approach of sonic collage, and the sadly missed Trish Keenan’s voice is an absolute dream.

From “0898″ 10″

BEAK> – 0898

Previously found on last year’s Audioscope charity compilation Music For A Good Home Two and now on a Record Store Day 10″ backed with a cover of Pink Floyd’s Welcome To The Machine, 0898 covers strangely similar ground to the above track, but with a colder, dystopian post-punk edge that disquiets rather than relaxes.  In hindsight, I should probably have put them the other way round, but it’s done now.

From “Apart” single

Slip-Ons – Apart

Former Doughboys member (and whose solo Second Choice record is another favourite here in 6dft Towers) Brock Pytel rocks up with yet another slice of sadness-tinged punky sunshine as though it was 1987 all over again.  Just as with the heady thrill of someone passing me a cassette of Whatever back whenever it was with a smile and the words “you’ll like this”, I can’t wait to hear what happens next with this lot.

From “World Music”

Goat – Goatman

Appearing on many end of year lists, Goat’s World Music deserves all the accolades it received, mostly for it being so deliciously, gloriously mad.  I thought that this was one of the saner tracks on offer, but I obviously forgot about the intro.

From “Coming Out Of The Fog”

Arbouretum – The Long Night

Last week’s release of the new Wolf People album reminded me that I had this record.  Which sounds a bit unfair, but it contains music so ubiquitous after the first listen that I’d forgotten it was only released here in January and not a decade or so ago.  Despite this being one of their shorter efforts, it fits in all of Arbouretum’s usual patient trademarks of unhurried riffs, mannered vocals and extended instrumental breaks, giving the impression of a song much longer than it actually is.

There is also a definite yearning for all things Nostalgic, which I guess is part and parcel of what happens during times of financial uncertainty.  Yet in amongst the interminable ‘comedy’ reworkings of the Keep Calm And Carry On posters is this record that revels in reminiscence as a way of pushing things forward, as something that celebrates the humanity of everything whether it’s pushing the boundaries of scientific or personal endeavour, or merely joining in with the fun as someone files a report whilst drunk.  Much as I’m doing right now.

Any record that opens with a four-minute precis of the various samples that will be appearing all over the rest of the album is probably as good an indication as any that Inform-Educate-Entertain may not be your usual fayre, but in an age where attention spans are getting shorter, the opening track comes across as rather a good idea for the music-lover-in-a-hurry, or perhaps someone who likes a good read of the ingredients before properly tucking in – what’s for certain is that by the time the Greenwich Pips have chimed in to close this piece, there’s so much information piped into the listener’s brain that there’s no way that anyone will want to then walk off without finding where all this stuff has come from, or indeed how it is that J. Willgoose Esq.’s banjo fits in so well and so often.

Once the scene is set, Spitfire (from last year’s poignant The War Room EP) shows just how PSB’s approach to making music is more than just careful soundbiting.  The extensive lifting of speech and sounds from The First Of The Few is coupled perfectly to a track that swoops and soars along with the titular aircraft, mixing warm electronics with a motorik beat and a joyous guitar.  Likewise with Signal 30, where these same elements are mixed in a more urgent, panicky post-punk fashion that reminds me of Magazine to back excerpts from an old US information film about the hazards of dangerous driving.  This latter track is how I’ve been trying to describe Willgoose & Wrigglesworth (the latter a man who includes a brand of Ginger Beer in his Thanks List)’s vision to friends of late, as it really does sound and feel like Ministry’s Jesus Built My Hotrod, but assembled in a secret 1940s location by serious but affably eccentric men in white coats.

The songs are driven by the broadcasts that inspired them, lifted from a whole range of eclectic sources such as Night Mail‘s locomotive (sorry) beat recreating the GPO’s 1936 film of the same name eulogising the mail distribution railway network, Roygbiv‘s colourful, Once-In-A-Lifetime paean to modern television (and who would have thought that I’d be the happy owner of two completely different songs from two different sets of artists with that same title?), a hip and funky Thomas Dolby-esque fashion broadcast with cut-glass accents and mentions of corduroy and pleats that confuses me as to which generation The Now Generation is actually referring to, and my personal favourite, Lit Up that features naval Lieutenant-Commander (ret.) Thomas Woodroofe’s somewhat “refreshed” radio broadcast from on board the HMS Nelson in 1937 – a man whose commentary of the following year’s FA Cup Final is also legendary*.  The collection’s genuine strangeness comes at the end, with Late Night Final‘s use of dialogue from frankly bizarre post-war austerity suicide pact 1948 “comedy” from the Central Office Of Information (watch it for yourself) that contains all the dissatisfaction and pain of the short, but none of the cheer of its ending.  It’s certainly a strange way to play out this record but the food for thought, as well as a rarely-heard voice that it wasn’t always great back then, that is provided by this track does fit well with the ideas put forward by Inform-Educate-Entertain’s title.

This would all come across as all rather silly and quirky if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s such a bloody good album.  The music is a great blend of guitar, percussion and synth (and, yes, banjo) that reminds me of Baltic Fleet‘s rich and uplifting indie-electronica, and the use of old broadcast media is utilised thoughtfully as an extra instrument rather than as a gimmick.  I did buy this as a bit of a curio, but it’s a lot more than just that as it manages to do all of the three things that are promised, and in the perfect combination.  I can’t recommend this one highly enough.

 

*In which he famously said, 29 minutes into 30 minutes of added-on time in a thus-far 0-0 draw “if there’s a goal scored now, I’ll eat my hat.”

There was, and he did.

Anyway.  The reason for that mad preamble is that this record is something that I am in no small way struggling to describe.  I could cheat and read the reviews of others who do know what they’re talking about, or I could plough on regardless and see what happens.  Could be fun.

In all honesty, I struggled to musically describe Wolf People’s last album Steeple properly as well, but that didn’t stop me taking it to heart and tying into something a bit more esoteric by evoking the busty rustic shenanigans of Britain’s Hammer Studios in full cod-historical flow, which seemed to be everywhere when I was growing up either in cinemas or on TV before vanishing completely.  Thankfully, this trend looks set to be reversed in spectacular fashion this year.  But I digress.

Fain follows on from Steeple in glorious fashion, doing all the things that are supposed to happen when following-up great records: the essence of the band’s style remains intact, with them using this solid core to expand outwards and upwards.  Their folksy and uniquely English approach to psych-rock is immediately evident right from the off with Empty Vessels, their elusive origins seemingly formed from rummaging through boxes of small-batch, homespun and little-known 1970s albums (presumably many of which featured ancient churchyards on their covers).  Their desire to expand is best-evident in the highlight All Returns which features big guitars and a joyous choral backing to a song short on words but as strong a mission statement as anything else here with the line “All returns to balance as before”.

As before, everything is driven from all corners – the twin folk/rock drive comes from the two guitars and Jack Sharp’s mellow tones, with bass and drums providing a busy and groove-laden backing so that the whole once more feels like a curiously and infectiously accessible jaunt around English Rock’s pastoral appendices.  Never letting up across Fain’s eight tracks (another nod to albums of yore), it’s hard to pick out an absolute favourite, although Side Two contains some choice cuts in the laid-back and portentous Hesperus with a second half that reminds me of Arbouretum in full flow, the gentle Thief that ticks all the “romantically nefarious” folk boxes by mentioning both Newgate and Tyburn in the lyrics, and the somewhat mad closer NRR that relates a very strange tale indeed over the top of the album’s heaviest outburst.

As the record’s cover suggests, Fain is a collection of old and odd things gathered together and organised into a pleasing whole.  It’s a huge improvement over an already-impressive canon, it’s introduced me to even more new music (thanks to the backing vocals that come from Nicola and Rachel of Stick In The Wheel and Olivia Chaney, who also provides piano), and it’s got me watching Twins Of Evil again.  One of my favourite records of the year thus far.

But Jeff Hanneman died yesterday, and now it all feels that the shine’s been taken off it because I feel somewhat sad for the passing of someone I never met, which is always a strange thing to get one’s head around.  Now’s a good time to be doing this though, as I have to admit that I hadn’t realised just how deeply this record has resonated with me over the years before last night.

The first I knew of this record was when leafing through one of the “proper” music papers as a callow youth trying to both appear hip by reading the thing in the first place and desperately try to find something in there that begged me to follow it.  I had dabbled a bit in Heavy Metal although I managed to bypass the Iron Maiden stage that seemed to be almost mandatory at the time, but I was too wrapped up in Echo and the Bunnymen, awkwardly soaking up early Hip Hop and trying gamely (and failing – as I still do) to embrace The Fall to really notice.  And this review catches my eye.  It wasn’t a particularly positive review (Thrash was still a bit of an unknown quantity in the UK at that point, and anything that wasn’t earnest and/or jangly was viewed with suspicion by the Fourth Estate), but it caught my eye nevertheless.  It spoke of a label refusing to sell it, of indie distributor The Cartel being wary of distributing it (looking back, The Cartel did a fair bit of this at the time, doing much of the PMRC’s job for them in their quest to be a bit right-on) and of course the promise of controversial lyrics and ludicrous speed.  Ooh, and it was on Def Jam – which was a big deal at the time.  That was the thing I’d been trawling for, despite the reviewer’s best attempts at convincing me otherwise.

It’s a strangely short album, in that it does sound as if it started out as a much longer album and then got faster until they ended up with this sub-half hour masterpiece.  And as it approaches its 30th anniversary, it’s as mad and brilliant as ever.  Even before it goes on the turntable, that front cover artwork by Larry Carroll is simply stunning, a piece that still creeps me out to this day – not so much for the general tone of it, but from almost every face on there, all staring directly out at the viewer and all looking somewhat out of time (can’t quite describe it, but they all look rather ‘modern’) in their mediæval-feel surroundings.  This is of course at odds with the back cover, featuring the band grappling with three very small cans of Stella Artois which looks a bit silly, although in fairness drummer Dave Lombardo’s expression suggests that three was not the number that they started with and it does come across as a decent attempt of diffusing the controversy within by depicting the band as goofy humans like the rest of us.

Reign In Blood’s main strengths lie at either end of the record.  Which isn’t to say that the stuff in this middle isn’t top quality (although Epidemic, the cursed Track 8, doesn’t quite have the oomph of the rest of the record.  Then again, it does contain the line “Death machine, infest my corpse to be” which always tickled me), but when drunken conversations go all High Fidelity and the inevitable “What’s the best opener/closer to a record”, both my answers can be found on this disc.  Angel Of Death is still as vital and energising as it was back then, everything coming out crystal clear (this remains one of the finest-sounding metal records, thanks in no small part to Andy Wallace who later popped up to do Nirvana’s drum sound on Nevermind, causing Kurt Cobain to mention in a Kerrang interview that “we have Slayer’s souls now”) and allowing every member of the band to shine, with Jeff Hanneman and Kerry King’s guitars occupying a channel each, Dave Lombardo’s insanely-metronomic drumming charging right through the middle, and Tom Araya’s voice enunciating every syllable with aggressive clarity.  Which brings us to The Controversy.  To me, I never understood what the fuss was about: it’s certainly a graphic song and the single use of “I” putting the song in the perspective of the perpetrator (Josef Mengele) gives it a dramatic tension if someone goes looking for it.  But it’s a song designed to repulse rather than rejoice, and it does that incredibly well thanks to a narrative that defies the then-usual metal conventions of being a bit cartoonish in favour of something more real and interesting.  And Raining Blood at the other end is simply incredible, its dramatic 3-beat introduction almost completely engulfed and overpowered by the storm it came from, the Paradise Lost of the central structure, and the lunacy of the closing section.  Perfection.

Quite possibly the strangest gift I took from this record though is the way that it shaped the way that I approached almost every other record since.  Buoyed by the excitement from this purchase, I sought out heavier, faster and (for want of a better term) more lyrically extreme music.  And every time I found some, I found it all, well, a bit silly.  For me, this was the utter epitome of what I wanted from a purely visceral record, and so – like Slayer did themselves with subsequent records, starting with the “ooh, they slowed down, how dare they” beauty of South Of Heaven – I spent time looking for (and finding) things that had the same excitement, but expressed differently.  I found artistic joy from the Avant-garde stylings of Celtic Frost and Coroner.  I discovered the progressive musings of Voivod and Blind Illusion (the former then put me in the way of Pink Floyd, and the latter, thanks to the bassist and one of the guitarists, sent me off into all manner of mad directions).  I even found the beginnings of my socio-political conscience via bands like Nuclear Assault and Sacred Reich (a wonderful, affable band with possibly the dumbest monicker ever) and then onto punk and hardcore.  There were plenty of other bands that I enjoyed for the sheer thrill of it all who were a bit like what went on during Reign In Blood (the equally-controversial Vio-Lence being a fave), but it wasn’t quite the same.  Slayer’s Magnum Opus is something that I have always had playing at one time or another in the car, which I don’t do that out of nostalgic desire because it still sounds so bloody good today.  So yeah, it’s tempered by some sorrow at the moment, but this will pass and that sorrow will soon become an extra layer of gratitude for being that spark in my adolescence that lit everything up.

It’s one of those films that has very slowly and carefully created a legend around itself, largely by being utterly baffling until a Director’s Cut appeared several years later to explain it without need for a voiceover and a terrible happy ending.  But even when we had to rely on Harrison Ford sardonically spelling the plot out, Blade Runner had that unique something to keep the audience spellbound, which was that there was simply nothing like it.  And now, even though the images have been (ha!) replicated ad infinitum, there’s still almost nothing that sounds like it.

That this is a newly-remastered version of the 1994 release of Vangelis’ soundtrack is somewhat fitting for a film that has seen more than its fair share of revisions and updates.  This lovely 180g of translucent red vinyl contains almost an hour of some of the most beautiful synthesised music I can ever recall listening to.  In a film where almost every scene, every line and every image is iconic, the music that holds it all up is staggering, from the very first rush of that swell in the opening theme when the flame towers flare up to the utterly dystopian end credits that sound like the beginning of a whole new film, the score’s long cues are perfect in translating the rainy neon purgatory of Ridley Scott’s downbeat vision of a future that’s not really that far away any more.

Suitably for a noirish thriller (and something that – here’s something that’ll irk the purists – works very well with the voiceover of the original), some of the tracks have a typical ’50s gumshoe Film Noir feel hidden within it’s exotic electronica: Wait For Me and Blade Runner Blues in particular having an almost traditional feel to them; and the memorable saxophone of Dick Morrissey in the Love Theme has all the bitter, lonely (welcome to love in 2019!) yet tender hallmarks of a bygone era.

Of course, when I say that there’s almost nothing that sounds like it, it’s almost impossible not to hear its influence in almost everything that followed by picking bits here and there, but the whole remains unique to this film largely thanks to background chatter that seems to exist separately from, but inextricably linked to, the melodies played over the top.  The static drone sitting at the back of the aforementioned …Blues provides a strange foundation, as does the curious bleeping found lurking through the gentle Memories Of Green‘s deliberately artificial-sounding piano.  Imagined sounds of a future city can be found all the way through Blade Runner’s soundtrack, coming through loud and clear in this version to the extent that you cannot help but feel part of the film’s environment as it plays, and something that comes to the fore when Roy Batty delivers his strange, joyful and wonderful Tears In Rain speech.

My favourite piece on record is also my favourite piece in the film, as it perfectly captures the alienation felt throughout.  Perennial Light Entertainment star Demis Roussos adds an unearthly vocal to Tales Of The Future, while electronic bells chime behind huge washes of weird sounds that combine to pretty much terrify the listener.  It is one of many parts of the soundtrack that gripped me when I first saw the movie, and continues to thrill all these years later.

Like another favourite film of mine, The Wicker Man, much of the charm of Blade Runner stems from the conjunction of the Fates – if it was made at any other time, at any other place, by any other people and without the strife and adversities that everyone was up against before, during and indeed after release, then it would have been a completely different (and possibly lesser) experience.  Also – again, like The Wicker Man – much of the beauty, atmosphere, drama and corruption of the intangible environment of Blade Runner has the music to thank for it.  It’s timeless because it never really had a “time” to begin with other than the one it created for itself.

Cor.

Yes, I bought some records.  It would have been frankly rude not to have done so.  I just wish I could have spent a bit longer rummaging in the B racks, but that’s the joy of hindsight in the face of some of the best marketing for a band’s return that I can think of.  Anyway, instead of 20 seconds of Numbers Station-related guerilla hype, I bought a bunch of other stuff – and lest we forget, Record Store Day isn’t just for Christmas as much/most of the below stuff is still available to pick up instore without having to pay through the nose to flippers, and online from this weekend if it looks like it might rain.

First one out of the bag is a taster for next month’s Black Pudding album from Duke Garwood and Mark Lanegan in the form of a 10″ of various versions of Cold Molly.  Lazy as it sounds to say this, the unadorned a-side sounds just like I’d expect a Duke/Mark collaboration to sound – odd, funky and a bit mad on one side of the duo, and odd, funky and a bit mad on the other if I’m honest, as Duke revels in his “now then, what shall I do next?” multi-instrumentalist role, while Lanegan ploughs a laidback groove through it as if nothing weird was going on.  The b-side features two mixes of the same song: the first a sleazy Soulsavers mix that in turn lounges and struts, mostly powered by the end of a bass that bass guitarists aren’t usually allowed to play in the company of others.  This is followed by another incredibly different version courtesy of Roman Remains (a new project of Liela and Toby of The Duke Spirit), heading off in a clipped electronic direction plus additional backing vocals from Liela which accentuate Mark’s powerful contribution.  I know the album’s all over YouTube, but I’m hanging on to hear it in a less compressed version, and on the strength of this it’s going to be a long three-week wait.

The next thing out is actually a whole group of things – Death Waltz’s Spencer Hickman is UK co-ordinator of Record Store Day and his choices as participant this year as well as organiser are a great selection of what makes Record Store Day fun – three 7″s of classic TV themes and two 12″s of lesser-known (to these ears anyway) soundtrackery that now has me hunting for the visuals that go with them.  Of the 7″s, my favourite one is the Star Trek/Lost In Space combo – not least because the former has more bongos in it and the latter is far jauntier than I remember from my youth, but it comes on a frankly jaw-dropping sparkly vinyl.  The other two are similarly well-presented (Twilight Zone/Outer Limits is a clear/black split, and Alfred Hitchcock Presents/The Munsters is a black/white hybrid, although the a-side is completely black in a sort of “KitKat with no wafer” effect, but hey), and all come with lovely artprints courtesy of We Buy Your Kids featuring combined images of the shows.

Star Trek / Lost In Space Detail

The 12″s are where it gets a bit more serious.  Firstly there is the sinister Yellow from Antoni Maiovvi, the Giallo alter-ego of Anton Maiof, from the short film of the same name and containing all those sharp synthy frequencies that have that panic-inducing knack, plus a whole set of foreboding low-end pieces that have cinema viewers checking every corner of the screen to see just where the nasties are going to jump out of.  In short, perfect for setting the nerves on edge, and also for getting me to want to see the film.  Then we have Steve Moore’s Horror Business, whose approach has a more Carpenter/Howarth approach, although the gentler passages wouldn’t feel out of place in, say, Michael Mann’s Manhunter, albeit (and thankfully) without the occasional “Strong As I Am” MOR outburst and “hang on, isn’t this Comfortably Numb?” moments of Mann’s Miami Vice Of The Lambs film (which I utterly love BTW – a Death Waltz Manhunter issue would be awesome).  There is a strange gentleness about this one, which given the cheerfully manic nature of Jeremy Wheeler’s accompanying artwork, makes me somewhat intrigued by the prospect of watching the DVD of this documentary currently winging its way from wherever I ordered it from.

The current jewel in the crown (because I am a contrary sod and may change my mind) is my last purchase of the day.  Upstairs At United sees 6dft faves Smoke Fairies accompanied by various Blitzen Trapper types cutting an EP in double-quick time, then taking a year and a half to release it.  Recorded and mixed live, this has the feel of an intimate gig tempered with the thrill of putting out something new, unique and a bit special.  Old hands now at this RSD malarkey, Jessica and Katherine do what everyone above has done with this release which is do something to capture the special bits of the day in regard to doing something a bit different and desirable without being all snobby about it.  All the songs on here are undeniably Smoke Fairies in sound and structure and add to their impressive repertoire with a seemingly effortless grace.  The Water Waits especially is worth mentioning as one of my favourite songs of their canon, and the gentle Wake You Up is further proof that there is nothing quite like them in full, beguiling flight.  Plus, if the ever fancied doing any more Mark Lanegan cover versions (and please do so!), then the bluesy Phone Line would make a gorgeous blueprint for a reimagining of Leviathan.

Oops, almost forgot – there was also The Secret 7″, which this year featured 3 versions of Iko Iko by the medium of a live Grateful Dead, Dr. John (the latter part of this one resembling the themetune of hoary ’70s sitcom/innuendofest Are You Being Served? for no apparent reason) and The Dixie Cups.  And very nice it is too.

So, yes.  I’m more than happy with what I came away with this year, and am already planning next year’s jaunt (get up earlier, wear a hat, bring wine disguised in Thermos) as well as eyeing up various “what we’ve got left” store lists to see what else I can snap up.l  Whatever passes for Normal Service around here will now resume.

Ah yes. Record Store Day. A day when people worldwide gather outside those curious little shops that many walk past on other days of the year whilst listening to stuff on our phones, without thinking that those little shops are where that stuff comes from.

Record Store Day started back in 2007 and has gone from strength to strength every year since, supported by artist, industry and customer alike. At the most simple level, it’s a day where people come to buy things that can’t be bought anywhere else and in very limited numbers, but it’s a whole lot more than that. It exists to change consumer habits; to get people into shops with the promise of buying something they want, only to see them not only leave with something else that they never even knew they wanted, but to get them back the next week or the next month for even more. Just like we used to.

Round that corner, then the next one, and then it’s just down on the left. Van not in queue.

Arriving at (or, to be more accurate, somewhere near) Piccadilly Records in Manchester at 7am, the queue for the shop’s 8 o’clock opening had already gone around two corners. Even to a nation as used to (nay, that positively revels in) queueing, this would result in buggering off back to bed, but after doing the same thing as everyone else did when they finally found the end of the line (mouthing vague obscenities with a smile before chatting away to everyone else there), the time flew by. Just as well really, as it was 11:30 when I finally crossed the threshold of the store!
Kept in the loop by friendly store staff running the line with news of non-arrivals and ongoing sellouts (accompanied by many “oh, bugger”s from people crossing things off their lists like the weirdest game of outdoor bingo, and refreshments were provided by the lovely people of the Tim Peaks Diner, with tea & coffee dispensed in paper cups featuring artwork from Pete Fowler.

Did I get everything I wanted? Nope, one thing I was after sold out almost as soon as the doors opened a street and a half away, another went with the front door tantalisingly in sight. Did I mind? Heavens, no – I bought something else instead that wasn’t part of the exclusives but caught my eye in the shop, which is a much better way of illustrating the point of Record Store Day than the news at lunchtime that 1400 exclusive items from the day had already hit eBay, listed by people who have bought stuff with no intention of playing it.

I’ll run through the records later on, but this post is more about the day itself, especially in the light of a couple of strange “why bother?” comments received early in the morning. Thanks to the staff of Piccadilly Records for their enthusiasm and love of what they do, everyone in the queue for being such a fun bunch to be stood around with, the local police who had no idea what was going on and who pulled up in a van asking “what’s going on here?” as if we were participating in the most polite riot imaginable, and thanks especially to the weather for not raining.

As an addendum (and more for my own benefit than anything else, and it’s not really my intention to turn this bit into the whinge I suspect it may turn out to be), this was a bit of a struggle for me.  I am prone to fits of anxiety and agoraphobia every now and then (not really linked to my depression and no idea where this all came from), and it happened again this week.  It was a huge act of will to get me out there at the weekend and I glad I forced myself to do so, as I had a great time.  What saddens me then is that if I had succumbed to my little silliness, I may have eventually got hold of much of the things I would have missed out on, but I would have had to pay through the nose to people who have snaffled as much as they can to park on auction sites with no intention of playing any of the records that they hoovered up.  It’s the way of the world and all that, and everyone needs to make that extra little bit of cash etc, but it’s still a bit sad to see dozens of things for sale at very high prices, and a Twitter feed full of people who couldn’t attend through reasons of health or geography losing out.  Hopefully the latter will find what they want next Saturday when unsold stock goes online from the stores, and those with unsold stuff on ebay might decide to have a listen to what they paid for and cannot sell, and maybe quite like what they’re listening to.  Maybe fewer releases in larger quantities next year?