1. Five Years – David Bowie
2. Captain Easychord – Stereolab
3. Jo Jo's Jacket – Stephen Malkmus
4. Hard to Explain – The Strokes
5. Idioteque – Radiohead
6. Fell in Love with a Girl – The White
Stripes
7. Walking With Thee – Clinic
8. The Modern Age – The Strokes
9. Have You Seen Her Face – The Byrds
10. Late Night – Syd Barrett
11. Sunshine Superman – Donovan
12. It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue – The 13th Floor Elevators
13. Too Real – Black Rebel Motorcycle Club
14. Powder Blue – Elbow
15. Let it Run – Beachwood Sparks
16. Come on Let’s Go – Broadcast
17. Baby It’s the Best – Weird War
18. Dancing Days – Led Zeppelin
19. Can't You Hear Me Knocking – The Rolling Stones
20. I Forgot – The Moldy Peaches
21. Redfuchsiatamborine&gravel – David
Candy
August 2001, in the beer garden of The
Milford Arms. The Former Cohabitant from Brighton is regaling us with tales of his
recent adventures in the Orient. He tells of Dionysian revelry on Thai beaches,
of sharing rooms with rats and lizards and oversized insects, and the
expediency of travelling light. It sounds exciting and terrifying in equal
measure. The former cohabitant from Brighton is not the first of our friends to
engage in activities of this kind. No Eyes has done a bit of it, as has the
girl who used to live with my lady friend on the Isle of Dogs, and the brother
of the guy who used to own a pager is constantly at it. Now, in our
mid-twenties, there’s a sense that if any of the rest of us fancy travelling about the planet then we’d better get a move on.
Initially, I’m not very
receptive to the idea but am gradually persuaded by my lady friend - as is
the guy who passed out in Debenhams. The logistics
of the whole operation are a mystery to me, and it’s something to get my head
around. In the meantime I will need to rein in my spending. My lifestyle is by no
means extravagant but I earn a mediocre wage and will require enough money to
cover my airfare to wherever it is we end up going, living costs while away,
and a reasonable amount of cash to tide me over on my return. Right now this
doesn’t bear thinking about.
My disposable income broadly goes towards four
things: drinking in pubs, eating out, buying records, and holidays (I buy most of my
clothes from charity shops). I am not prepared to forgo a social
life for the next 12 months but am open to negotiation on the other points. I will
sacrifice visiting curry houses and the procurement of full-priced vinyl and satisfy myself with the occasional fry-up and buying secondhand records
of limited value. A third gite camp is regrettably out of the question,
although I will find the cash for a short weekend away in Amsterdam with they guy who feel over in Debenhams, my lady friend, the girl she lived with on the Isle of Dogs, the guy
who used to own a pager, and his partner, Roz Childs.
Come
on Let’s Go is different to the compilations that immediately precede it: The Ladies of Varades and The Boys of Summer. Consider the chronology.
My previous two compendiums were compiled with consecutive French holidays in
mind – they were to be symbolic of them – and consequently adhere to an
academic calendar. This means that Come on Let’s Go effectively begins in September 2001.
Furthermore, it attempts to collate fragments of music deemed unsuitable for
inclusion on the preceding playlist, for I hadn’t wanted to subject my fellow tourists to much indie music. As a result, there’s very little on Come on Let’s Go that was released in the
year it purports to celebrate; only Weird War and Clinic fulfil this criterion.
There had already been signs
that my enthusiasm for so-called indie music was undergoing something of a
revival. Perennial favourites Stereolab had pointed me in the direction of Broadcast, Make Up ensured I’d buy into whatever Weird War had to offer, and
the ongoing renaissance of the band Delta awakened me to alternative-country
bands like Beachwood Sparks and The Tyde. (One of my favourite musical memories
is seeing Delta – in support of Beachwood Sparks at the 100 Club – paying homage
to the then recently deceased George Harrison with a sublime rendition of
what’s probably my favourite Beatles’ tune, 'If
I Needed Someone'.) Finally, Radiohead were beginning to justify the praise lavished
upon them with the release, in a very short space of time, of Kid A (October 2000) and Amnesiac (June 2001). The two albums
resulted from the same recording sessions, in fact.
Many people are of the opinion that The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust
and the Spiders from Mars is David Bowie’s finest work. I purchased a copy,
for next to nothing, to find out. I had decided in advance that 'Five Years'
would feature on Come on Let’s Go after seeing footage of Bowie and his
band performing it on The Old Grey Whistle Test. I concluded that although Ziggy Stardust might be Bowie’s most
consistent work, it wasn’t his strongest. 'Five
Years' isn’t even my favourite song on the album – 'Moonage Daydream' is – but it does make for a good opening number, so I went with it.
Readers of my previous liner
notes will have observed a preponderance of tracks by ‘the groop’ Stereolab. I
think I was introduced to them by the guy who used to own many tapes, but I can’t be sure. I do know that my first Stereolab purchase was the
10” EP Ping Pong, bought in July 1994. I’m by
no means a completist when it comes to such things, but I own most of their
studio albums, as well as one EP, a mini-LP and a couple of compilations. Sound-Dust is Stereolab’s seventh album.
I purchased it on vinyl, one of only 1,800
copies pressed. Where I place a Stereolab tune on any playlist will depend on
the tempo of the tune I want to place. 'Captain
Easychord' is quite an upbeat number, a perfect antidote to the funereal
tenor of 'Five Years', and so it
becomes the second track of the compilation.
Pavement’s dissolution was
sudden, although their final album, Terror
Twilight, felt laboured at times. Stephen Malkmus didn’t hang about getting
himself back in the proverbial saddle. Just two years passed before he released Stephen Malkmus, the same amount of time
that separated the last three Pavement albums. It wasn’t a radical departure
from his former band’s sound, but Malkmus seemed reinvigorated. In 'Jo Jo's Jacket', Malkmus imagines himself as Yul Brynner: 'I'm not what you think I am. I'm the King of Siam. I've got a bald head, my name is Yul Brynner, and I am a famous movie star.' 'Jo
Jo’s Jacket' was the fourth single from aforementioned album, which seems excessive, even if it might be the best of the lot.
One cannot underestimate the
impact The Strokes debut album Is This It had on the musical landscape, capturing the hearts and
minds of indie kids everywhere. It wasn’t just about the tunes, let alone the
lyrical content, but also the band’s image. At the time, indie music was going through one
of its sartorially safe phases. The difference between
this and what The Strokes wore is rather subtle. Boot-cut jeans were eschewed in
favour of straight-legged slacks, stout Nike trainers were swapped for svelte Converse All
Stars, T-shirts became tight and open necked, shirts were bought second-hand
and sometimes worn with a tie, leather jackets were pure vintage, hair was all
over the place. Basically, they looked like Blondie. It was
almost a return to the early-to-mid 1990s and the way Britpop was before Oasis came along and made it all baggy. Bands like Travis,
Stereophonics and Coldplay must have been all at sea.
A year earlier and Radiohead
might have been too. Fortunately for them they’d already managed to
disassociate themselves from the dreariness of the post-Britpop scene and could
therefore coexist alongside whatever the latest thing might be. They deserved
to. 'Idioteque' is an example of indie
music transcending indie music and just being music – their best tune since 'Airbag' – and I put together a Best of Radiohead playlist off the back
of it.
The White Stripes released
their third album, White Blood Cells,
at almost precisely the same time as The Stokes did their first (summer, 2001). Hence, both
groups were seen as the vanguard of the post-punk revival. The White Stripes
were in actual fact as rooted in the blues as they were garage rock – it was
their image and pared down sound that associated them – but it was obvious that
both bands were offering an alternative to current trends.
I think I came by 'Walking With Thee' by Clinic after hearing it on the radio (this was pre-internet). Under normal circumstances I probably would have proceeded to buy
Clinic’s album, but I was saving my pennies. I bought 'Walking With Thee' as a 7” single, so
they got something out of me. It’s an abrasive little number and far more
interesting than most of the music made by their peers (The Coral, The Zutons,
etc.). The Strokes second contribution to my playlist, 'The Modern Age', was also purchased as a single, albeit on CD very cheaply.
When I plundered my dad’s record collection
for Stones records in 2001 I’d also grabbed a couple of Byrds’ albums: Mr. Tambourine Man
and Younger than Yesterday. Aside from the contemporary groups bothering
my turntable, I was slowly entering my second ‘60s phase, the first having
occurred in and around 1995 (comprising the Rolling Stones, Love, The Beatles,
Small Faces, the Blow-Up soundtrack). While I’d leant previously towards the
Mod-ish face of that decade I gravitated now towards its more psychedelic and
rockier elements: golden-age era Stones, Jefferson Aeroplane, Syd Barrett, Donovan,
The Monks, The 13th Floor Elevators. Despite David Crosby’s best
efforts, which would eventually see him kicked out of the band, The Byrds
probably fell somewhere in between (as did Love really). Ostensibly, Younger
than Yesterday takes it lead from The Beatles’ albums Rubber Soul
and Revolver. There are touches, though, that are very much The Byrds’
own: the Tijuana brass on 'So You Want to be a Rock ‘n’ Roll Star', the country
and western inflections of 'Time Between', Roger McGuinn’s atonal guitar
riffs throughout. I considered kicking off this compendium with 'So You Want
to Be a Rock ‘n’ Roll Star' but settled for the Chris Hillman penned 'Have You Seen Her Face', although I would like to
have included both.
Syd Barrett presented
another dilemma. I borrowed a copy of his debut solo album, The Madcap
Laughs, from Hounslow
Library, and my instinct was to represent it with the penultimate song, 'If It’s in You'. It’s a weirdly amusing ditty but Barrett’s strident vocal is indicative of his mental state. I’d recently
watched The Pink Floyd and Syd Barrett
Story, a BBC documentary, and read his biography, Lost in the Woods, and formed the opinion that Syd wasn’t quite as
‘mad’ as is often made out. 'If It’s in
You' suggests otherwise and so 'Late
Night' made the cut.
Presumably Barrett wasn’t in town when Donn Pennebaker was shooting Bob Dylan’s
peregrinations for the film Dont
[sic] Look Back, but can you imagine?
Instead, we get Donovan doing his best to impress with an acoustic performance of 'To Sing for You'. That’s no criticism or I wouldn’t have included 'Sunshine
Superman' here (although lyrically it's all over the place). Coincidentally, Dylan responds with a rendition of 'It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue' which is
the song that follows on this compilation, except this time it’s The 13th Floor Elevators doing the
honours. Tommy Hall’s signature electric jug is conspicuous by way of its
absence, but it’s no worse off for that.
'Too Real' (4 minutes and 55 seconds long) by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club calls to my mind maybe Spiritualized or Northern Soul era Verve, initiating a run of tunes that are fairly long, slow of pace and lugubrious in mood; I’ve built an anti climax as opposed to an anticlimax. I got quite into BRMC, as they were often known, and Peter Hayes in particular, who had good hair.
Before they were
semi-famous Elbow made pretty interesting music. I’d heard a particular song
of theirs at a party, which turned out to be 'Any Day Now'. This was before they’d released their debut album, Asleep in the Back. I assumed that what
I’d heard was their new single, 'Powder
Blue', and so bought that and quickly realised it wasn’t. It would be many
years later before I finally established the true identity of the song I heard
at that party, but either track would have done in the circumstance.
'Let
it Run' by Beachwood
Sparks lasts an epic 6 minutes 38
seconds, although its coda drags on for more than a minute and a half of that. By
the time it’s over, at a mere 3 minutes and 17 seconds, the punchy 'Come on Let’s Go' comes as something of a
relief. You’d think it might jar but the late Trish Keenan’s soft vocals connect
satisfyingly with the gentle harmonies of Beachwood Sparks. [The acquisition of Broadcast's second long player, The Noise Made by People, came off the back of finding their compilation Work and Non Work in the library. If minidiscs had been longer in duration, I'd have probably also included something from that: 'The Books Lovers', say, or 'Lights Out'.]
The first Weird War album is not their
best. I don’t think Ian Svenonius had fully defined his vision for the new band
– or maybe I was just upset about finding out about Make Up too late to see
them ever play live. According to the sleeve notes, 'By following the "Texas
Instruments Calculator" theory of minimal circuitry and isolated components,
Weird War has circumvented the transmission of responsible knowledge and the
provocation to enact revision amid the delusion of representation.' How this
relates to 'Baby It’s the Best' is
anyone’s guess, but I liked their style.
Led Zeppelin: file alongside Jimi Hendrix
and Pink Floyd. Acts of this ilk weren’t considered especially cool among the
lo-fi loving indie aficionados of the late ‘80/early ‘90s (Syd Barrett-era
Floyd excepted). Not that this would have bothered me much, it just meant I
didn’t come across them. The guy who used to own a pager, on the other hand,
had been exposed to Led Zeppelin from an early age and was aware there was much
more to them than 'Stairway to Heaven',
which is manna to the muso. It was Led
Zeppelin III that I feasted on initially, courtesy of Hounslow Library. Thereafter
I found a cheap copy of Houses of the Holy on vinyl, which to this day
is my favourite Led Zeppelin album. I still can’t stand 'Stairway to Heaven' though.
In the latter of half of 2001 – too late to make an impression on The Boys of Summer – I purchased copies of the Rolling Stones' Let It Bleed (a re-issue) and Sticky Fingers (an original copy). 'Gimme Shelter' originally featured here, but the song I really wanted to use was 'Can’t You Hear Me Knocking' off of Sticky Fingers. At over seven minutes long there wasn't room and so 'Gimme Shelter' got the nod. Since freeing myself from the temporal constraints imposed by MiniDisc, I've reverted to my original preference.
Opting for 'Gimme Shelter' left me with just under three minutes to play with, which was enough to accommodate any number of tracks from the eponymous debut album by anti-folk band The Moldy Peaches. The Moldy Peaches were
associated with The Strokes and The White Stripes. It was all about the timing; their sound wasn’t remotely similar to either. My lady friend bought me their
album for my birthday. If I’m honest, I wasn’t overly impressed, but 'I Forgot' holds a certain charm.
My mild disappointment with the Weird War
album was ameliorated by the discovery of the record Play Power by Svenonius’s alter-ego David Candy. 'The best art
attracts the best people, so I like to go see Supremacist artists like Kazimir
Malevich or Vladimir Mayakovsky,' proclaims David Candy over the flamenco
guitar of 'Redfuchsiatamborine&gravel'. Again, this track didn’t fit on my original compilation, but it was listened to more
often than many of the tracks that did, so I’ve retrospectively tacked it
on at the end. [I later discovered that the guy who played the guitar on this track - Matt Hulse - also directed the video for Broadcast's 'Come On Let's Go', which is an amazing coincidence.]
Trip to Brighton
There turned out to be many more curries – as
well as afternoons spent drinking in the Portobello Star, evenings at the Dive Bar and the 100 Club, the occasional gig (The Darkness,
Delta, The Dylan Rabbit, Arthur Lee), long weekends in Brighton and Plymouth and Nottinghamshire, camping trips, and excursions to
various football grounds in support of Plymouth Argyle’s successful push for
promotion into the Second Division. How I ever afforded my five months of travelling must
be a testament to a healthier economy, a stronger pound and a more reasonable
cost of living. I can barely conceive of it now but am glad I took the
opportunity when it presented itself.
[Listen to here.]
