I’m not either of these things – certainly not under the present government – yet where football is concerned I am unable to shake off the
fealty that I am supposed to hold for the territory in which I happened to have
been born. I cannot bring myself to join in with the songs that often go along with
it – demanding that a mystical deity save a marginally less mystical head of
state; insisting that we, as a people, will never be enslaved; not surrendering
to the IRA – but will rejoice when England score. I can't help it.
I have rarely been compensated for my unwavering support but there have
been moments, mostly in world cups. The European Championships have reaped
fewer rewards. Only Euro ’96 offered anything like the exhilaration of reaching
quarter finals of Mexico ’86 and the semi-finals of Italia ‘90, or even the second
round of the 1998 tournament where England were unlucky to lose against
Argentina (on penalties).
Then Euro 2020 happened.
Lockdown again
but without the agreeable weather, the novelty of it or the social distancing; only
in the heart of the West End is the situation manifestly apparent. Unlike in November
– the lockdown that wasn’t much of a lockdown – I was put back on furlough.
When the conditions allowed, I would go for long walks and longer bicycle rides,
sit on Richmond Green drinking coffee, and visit my Cornish friend in Isleworth
to listen to BBC Radio 6. This was how I came across 'I Can’t Sleep' by
The La’s, played on 28 February by Amy Lamé. If she hadn’t told us otherwise, we
might have mistaken it for a genuine slice of 1960s Merseybeat.
I also continued to trade records on eBay and Discogs. A mint
copy of Revelation by The Brian Jonestown Massacre showed up, and so I
bought it. Two of its tracks have already appeared on two of my compilations: 'Vad
Hände Med Dem?' in 2015 and 'Nightbird' in 2016-17. We can now add 'What
You Isn’t' in 2021.
This was in March. Before that, in January, I purchased Dragnet by
The Fall. The reason I did not already have this record is because I assumed it to
be in the same vein as the group's first – Live at the Witch Trials – which I’m
not keen on. I was wrong. Dragnet is up there with The Fall’s best work,
and it could be said that the lo-fi production, courtesy Grant Showbiz, was ahead
of its time.
The equally lo-fi The Gories came later in May after ‘sceneinbetween’
(Sam Knee) posted something about them on Instagram. Again, if you didn’t know
better you could be forgiven for assuming that what you were hearing was authentic 1960s garage-rock. 'Sovereignty Flight' was in fact released in 1989 on
the album House Rockin. Back to January, and I took a punt on Hunger
for a Way Out by Sweeping Promises after Monorail advertised its third pressing
on Twitter. With a similarly raw feel, you can imagine these two bands playing
on the same bill. I guess this is reason enough for having a presence on social
media.
In December 2020, I sold my copy of Duty Now For The Future by Devo for
£12. In April I paid £12.99 for the group’s third album, Freedom of Choice,
which is the better record (albeit not as good as Q: Are We Not Men? A: We
Are Devo! or New Traditionalists). In 2021 Devo was nominated for
inclusion in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame but didn’t make the cut. I’m not
sure these things really matter.
Pubs shut, my partner and I resurrected our Friday night sessions listening
to music and having a little drink. These simulacrums of an evening down the
local boozer took place on our landing, sat at a table, using her iPad set to shuffle. That became our routine, but in February she played a
couple of tunes she’d come across on YouTube. First up was something off of We're
Gonna Miss You: An Aussie Tribute to Roky Erickson & The 13th Floor
Elevators. I don’t even know what song it was, so you won’t find it here.
Up next was 'The Crack' by Goat Girl, who we’d seen play at the High
Tide music festival in Twickenham, 2019. They were good live but I hadn’t liked
them enough to buy any of their records. The Crack asked that I
reconsider.
Finally, 'Scratchcard Lanyard' by Dry Cleaning. I’d heard their first
single, 'Magic of Meghan', during the first lockdown and had been in two
minds about it. No such hesitation the second time around. 'Scratchcard
Lanyard' is one of those tunes I’ve tried not to play excessively, lest I
grow tired of it. As it is, I can recite most of Florence Shaw’s fragmented
lyrics, which is unusual as I don’t have a great memory for verse: 'It's a
Tokyo bouncy ball, it's an Oslo bouncy ball, it's a Rio de Janeiro bouncy ball.
Filter. I love these mighty oaks, don't you?' And listening back to it now,
I should have persisted with 'Magic of Meghan'.
Covent Garden
Not to be confused with either the Australian jazz combo of the same name
or American indie-rock group Umbrellas, The Umbrellas are from San Francisco
and sound not unlike the British groups that fell under the umbrella – pun
intended – of C86 and the associated scene. They look the part too. I’m not
entirely happy with the transition between this song and the last, but I
couldn't find a better combination, so we live with it.
'Heartlow' by Jane Weaver received much airplay during lockdown. I also
heard it on the radio while driving from Plymouth to Dorchester in August, part
of a six-day tour of the West Country to see friends and family, primates and
tanks. The segue into 'Je Suis Venu Te Dire Que Je M'en Vais' is sudden
and effective. I chanced upon this song in May, playing in Oliver Bonas in
Kingston upon Thames. I didn’t realise then it was Serge Gainsbourg, although it figured. 'I
came to tell you that I'm going away,' sings Serge softly (in French) and about
half way through the girl he’s telling this to starts weeping. It might be the
best track on this compilation, and if that’s true then we must also give
credit to the (mostly British) musicians that helped make it so: guitarist Alan
Parker, bass player and founding member of Manfred Mann Dave Richmond, Australian
percussionist Chris Karan, composer and keyboard player Alan Hawkshaw.
The previous December, the chap who introduced me to Sarah Records recommended 'No
Cigarettes' by Withered Hand. I almost tacked it on to the end of that
year’s playlist but thought better of it – too much time had passed. As
you might expect from someone calling themselves Withered Hand – real name Dan
Wilson – No Cigarettes is a sad sounding song, but not without humour.
Sleaford Mods for a third year in a row: 'I Don't Rate You' from the
album Spare Ribs. Released in January, I had to wait until February before
I could listen to it. My de facto brother-in-law, who bought it for me, had it
sent to his own address instead of mine. It was worth the wait. On a related
note, I finally got around to seeing Bunch of Kunst after it was made
available on some viewing platform, which was also worth the
wait.
A gloomy Friday evening spent listening to BBC Radio 6 with my Cornish
friend. Tom Ravenscroft played something catchy but we weren’t sure what because
the live feed on the screen wasn’t in sync. Retrospective analysis determined
it was a track called 'Copyshop' by a Dutch artiste named Applescal. Pitchfork describes his work as springy tech house, but ambient techno might
also do. I downloaded it from Bandcamp the following day.
There are two versions of the LP Hard Hands by Ray Barretto: an
album released in 1968 and a compilation issued twenty years later. I purchased
the latter in 2019 from Collector’s Record Centre in Kingston (now called Shak’s
Stax of Wax) and ended up playing it a fair bit during lockdown. 'Abidjan'
appears on both records, and it’s certainly the outstanding track on the edition
I own. Ray Barreto was an exponent of boogaloo, a genre I’d flirted with around
the turn of the century when I picked up a compilation entitled Broasted Or
Fried: Latin Breakbeats, Basslines & Boogaloo, and I’d been meaning to
check him out ever since I’d identified his track 'Ritmo Sabroso' which
features in the film Mean Streets.
I was right to exercise caution. England were poor against Scotland and
middling against the Czech Republic (I know because I was there). Then, as the weather again deteriorated,
England’s form improved. They deserved their 2-0 victory over Germany, playing
a more fluid game that was easier on the eye. In the quarter-finals, Ukraine
were torn apart. Denmark proved to be formidable opponents and it wasn’t a
game I much enjoyed. For once, it was the result that mattered, and England
reached their first major tournament final in 45 years.
The best team won. England's performance was good but Italy's was
comfortably better. Where Italy took one or two touches and kept the ball
moving, England dithered, passing sideways and back. They had the chance to
rectify this at half-time but didn’t, casting aspersions upon Gareth’s
Southgate’s, apparently limited, tactical acumen. Why after scoring in the
second minute did England seem incapable of hitting the Italians on the break?
Why did Southgate wait until the 70th minute to make a substitution, and until the 99th to bring on Jack Grealish? Why did
he not have his penalty takers in order? England had one shot on target – Luke
Shaw’s goal – in the whole game, and only six in total. Italy managed 20, six
of which were bang on.
If England had won on penalties, as opposed to nicking it in extra time,
I’m not sure how I would have felt. Just as I’m not too bothered when England
lose and deserve to, neither am I when they win and they don’t. So I didn’t
feel too bad about it, but I might have had we fallen at the penultimate
hurdle, against Denmark.
In September I
travelled down to Brighton to meet up with the former cohabitant, who had moved
back there after a two-year stint in Somerset. We arranged to meet in The Heart and Hand, one of my favourite Brighton pubs. It hadn’t changed much – same posters,
same plump cat, same jukebox featuring ‘Version 1’ of 'It's all Over Now Baby
Blue' by The Byrds (see The World'll be OK).
My train was delayed. Engineering works compounded by signal failures – par
for the course. I had intended to do a sweep of the record shops in North Laine
but only had time to visit Resident Music on Kensington Gardens. Fortuitous, because
they were playing something interesting: 'Music De Carnaval' by an Egyptian
chap by the name of Magdy El Hossainy, from a double-album compilation
entitled Habibi Funk 015: An Eclectic Selection of Music from the Arab World,
Part 2. I knew this because there was a sign that said ‘now playing’ with
the record displayed beside it. Had there not been I would have been none the
wiser and 'Music De Carnaval' wouldn’t have ended up on this playlist.
Gilles Peterson has an annoying habit of talking intermittently over the
music he’s playing. He’s not the only DJ who does this, but his manner is
particularly irritating. Just when you think he’s done, off he goes again, providing
too much information. Still, he plays some decent stuff, and did so on 23
October. A tribute to Alan Hawkshaw, no less, who had recently passed away.
Aside from his work with Serge Gainsbourg, Hawkshaw was a prolific session
player, as well as a composer in his own right. You may have heard him without
having heard of him, and what you may have heard will depend on what you’re
into. For instance, if you like hip hop (or went clubbing at Blow
Up in the mid-to-late ‘90s) then you will probably be familiar with 'Champ'
by his band The Mohawks – or at least the bit of it that’s been sampled so extensively.
If television is more your thing you’ll probably recognise 'Chicken Man',
which was used as the theme tune for Grange Hill. Likewise the music for
Channel 4 News and Countdown. Alan Hawkshaw also worked with The Shadows for a
while, starting with their 1967 LP From Hank, Bruce, Brian and John, and
he even toured with them. This is how he came to be involved with Brian
Bennett’s 1969 solo album, Change of Direction, the title track of which
Peterson played in homage to Hawkshaw’s talent.
I can’t remember how I discovered 'Ellis Island' by Julie Driscoll,
Brian Auger & The Trinity but it might have been after listening to their
cover of 'Light My Fire', which kicks off a compendium entitled Version
Excursion, another record I revisited during lockdown. It could equally
have been the video to 'Black Cat', which routinely does the rounds on
social media. At any rate, I gave the album Streetnoise a listen, where
the aforementioned cover of 'Light My Fire' derives from, and found 'Ellis
Island'. Julie Driscoll takes a back seat on this one – it’s all about
Auger’s keys.
The Heart and Hand
Yet beneath the surface there’s probably as much racial antipathy to be found
at a rugby or cricket match or a round of golf. It's just that the people who
gather to watch sports like these tend to be better off, and so they’re not in
the business of finding scapegoats or venting spleen; they’ve too much to lose. Maybe
that's what separates patriotism from nationalism. Might the patriot
merely be a well off nationalist, and therefore less vociferous – has no
need to be vociferous? It’s doubtful they will even think of themselves as
racist, but as long as they think of themselves as exceptional then they kind
of are.
In July I went
to see The Lovely Eggs at The Garage, a gig that was meant to have taken
place in April 2020 but had been pushed back several times because of Covid. Live
music isn’t just about the actual performance but the event as a whole: the
physical location – Highbury in this instance – the pubs visited beforehand – The
Lamb, The Hen & Chickens Theatre Bar – and the venue itself. As is
customary, prior to The Lovely Eggs taking the stage, and after the support
act, records were played – The Modern Lovers, Sleaford Mods, Neu!. The track by
Neu! was 'Hallogallo', a tune I'd previously thought about including on
one of my compilations. The reason I hadn’t is because it goes on a bit, but
it sounded so good within this context that I resolved to make room for it now.
There’s a section of the A303 – a sort of proxy motorway for anyone
travelling from the South East to the West Country – that doubles up as the Amesbury Bypass. As you
approach the turn-off into Amesbury proper, the road downgrades gradually to
reveal Salisbury Plain. It was along this segment of road that I heard 'Yoga
Town' by Superstate. Superstate is actually the name of a graphic novel and
the ‘soundtrack’ Graham Coxon’s put together to accompany it. 'Superstate is
a story of escape in a society where war rages between the forces of negativity
and positivity, encouragement and discouragement. Where only the struggle from
oppressions, chaos and brutality leads to the fragile road to freedom… to a
planet called heaven.' I just liked the song.
The Wedding Present should think about re-releasing Watusi on
vinyl. I wasn’t into them when it came out in 1994 so missed out. 'Yeah Yeah
Yeah Yeah Yeah' was the album’s lead single and utilises the A-B-A-B rhyming
scheme with an enjambment at the end of the fourth line preceding the chorus: planned/and...
coconut/but... get/yet... my heart says YEAH! There’s also a natty
interchange in the chorus between D and Bm.
Eel Pie Records don’t have a ‘now playing’ sign in their shop, or if they
do they rarely use it. Fortunately, when I went there in July I wasn’t in a
rush to meet anybody and so asked them what was on. 'Agitprop Alterna' by
Peel Dream Magazine. They reckoned it sounded like Stereolab, I thought more Yo
La Tengo. You decide.
When I went to see The Lovely Eggs I’d already determined that this
anthology would finish with 'New Dawn', just as it rounds off I Am
Moron. The song terminates abruptly, as if the needle of the record player
has become stuck, which doesn’t lend itself to placing it anywhere else.
[Listen to here.]
