LINER NOTES: AS DOES THE SUN [2024]

 

        1.   She Knows – The Goon Sax
        2.   Slab – Wombo
        3.   David’s Dead – A. Savage
        4.   Canines – Lewsberg
        5.   Uncle Roy Orbison – Vehicle
        6.   Doubt – Stereolab
        7.   The Games You Play – Broadcast
        8.   You Look Certain (I’m Not So Sure) – Mount Kimbie
        9.   Lember Kuring – Yanti Bersaudara
      10.   Engine Number 9 – Wilson Pickett
      11.   I Want to Thank You – Otis Redding
      12.   Happy Survival – Ifeanyi Eddie Okwedy & His Maymores Dance Band
      13.   The Rain Falls Down – The Rising Storm
      14.   Tudo Comeca De Novo – Nelson Angelo E Joyce
      15.   This is the Way – The Chills
      16.   The Fix – Jon McKiel
      17.   Sin – Rick White and The Sadies
      18.   As Does the Sun – Look Blue Go Purple
      19.   Dart – Joel Gion
      20.   Dust – Parquet Courts
      21.   Memory Man – The Lovely Eggs
      22.   IDGAF – Sam Evian
      23.   Tell Me Myths – SHOLTO (featuring Elle Musa)
      24.   Look at You Now (You’re Crying) – Comet Gain
      25.   Palliative Care – Jeff Clarke
 
 
'Goon sack' is Australian slang for bag-in-box wine – specifically the bladder itself contained within the box that holds the liquid. The word 'sack' is self-explanatory, but 'goon' is an abbreviation of the word 'flagon', a vessel often associated with the storage of booze. The advantages of such a delivery system is its enhanced capacity, light weight, the reduced price, and a slower rate of oxidation. The disadvantage is the quality of the wine, or lack of.

The Goon Sax are from Brisbane, Australia. ‘Sax' is clearly a reference to ‘saxophone’, so what we’ve got going on here is a play on words. Such punnery is usually a bad sign, but The Goon Sax are actually rather good. Or were. They split up in 2022 after releasing three albums over a six year period, which isn't a bad innings by any means.

It should perhaps be said that lead-vocalist Louis Forster is the son of Robert Forster, co-founder of The Go-Betweens. He doesn't sing on 'She Knows', James Harrison does, whose father I know nothing about. I heard this song playing in the St Margarets Tavern at the tail end of 2023, and a year on I'm not remotely bored of it.
 
Made up of 25 tunes, this year's compilation comes in at around 1 hour and 20 minutes. Compare this to the playlist I compiled in 2023, which was 24 songs long and lasted 1 hour 43 minutes. Or the one in 2021 that amounted to just 23 songs but went on for 1 hour and 39 minutes. This is to say that many of the tracks on this year’s anthology are on the short side, which was not premeditated.

At 1 minute 48 seconds, 'Slab' by Wombo is a case in point. Spotify recommended it in March, along with a load of other stuff I’ve already added to previous playlists. Wombo are another three-piece, but from Louisville, Kentucky. Lead singer and bassist Sydney Chadwick reckons she’s a concrete slab and ‘don't align with nothing’. ‘Slab’ is taken from the EP of the same name, released in 2023.

A. (for Andrew) Savage is co-frontman of the indie-rock band Parquet Courts. He’s also recorded two solo albums: 2017’s Thawing Dawn and 2023’s Several Songs About Fire. Driving somewhere or other, Gideon Coe played ‘David's Dead’ on the radio (a BBC 6 session version, dated 7 Feb 2024) off of the latter (subsequently purchased on sale from Eel Pie Records in Twickenham). Savage has a wonderful way with words, and ‘David’s Dead’ is no exception: ‘... and I remember what you wore: a turquoise dress and tequila grin, a mirthful mess when you walked in the door.’

Lewsberg are from Rotterdam. I was introduced to them during the same Spotify session that introduced me to Wombo. My musical impression of Rotterdam is derived from a squat party I went to in the year 2000 where the order of the day was drum and bass and hard techno. Lewsberg are not that. Their sound, if their 2023 album Out and About is anything to go by, revolves around a Parquet Courts/Velvet Underground type of groove with words half-spoken over the top. ‘Canines’ even adds a violin.

Another Spotify suggestion, but this one came later, in July. Vehicle are from Leeds, and as much as I approve of the name it makes finding information on them rather difficult (try running an internet search for Vehicle band Leeds and see what you come up with). They have an Instagram account but that doesn’t give much away, other than that they’re snappy dressers. ‘Uncle Roy Orbison’ is the group’s second single and sounds a bit like The Stranglers with Steve Harley standing in on vocals.

In my liner notes for 2002’s Come on Let’s Go I claim that I own most of Stereolab’s albums. Although this is strictly true there’s an awful lot of their material I don’t have, if only because of the sheer weight of it. I keep meaning to buy the first Switched On compilation to add to volumes one and two (there are five in total) but have yet to do so. In the meantime I’ve downloaded ‘Doubt’ off of Stunning Debut Album, which is neither an album nor a debut; it's their second single.

'The Games You Play' by Broadcast is taken from Spell Blanket – Collected Demos 2006–2009, the third and penultimate posthumous release since Trish Keenan's untimely death in 2011 (not counting reissues or repackaged compilations). It is in fact a re-working of the instrumental track ‘DDL’, a kind of noise experiment that appeared on a ‘various artists’ compilation entitled All Tomorrow's Parties 1.0 and was later included on The Future Crayon, a collection of rarities and B-sides that Broadcast put together in 2006. Thereafter Trish Keenan added her vocal melody, possibly with the intention of including it on the album Broadcast were working on when she died. Given in its nature, there’s a lo-fidelity, unfinished quality to it that is quite pleasing. The vocal, though, is crystal clear.

‘You Look Certain (I’m Not So Sure)’ by Mount Kimbie, featuring Andrea Balency-Béarn, is another hangover from 2023, again heard in the St Margarets Tavern. [As with the London Apprentice in Isleworth, the Tavern is owned by Greene King, and they often play the same tunes.] Mount Kimbie are part of the post-dubstep scene, such as there is one, and have in the past collaborated with James Blake. I wouldn’t know if ‘You Look Certain’ is typical of this genre, but I suspect not. In some ways, taking into consideration Balency-Béarn’s vocal, it doesn't sound too dissimilar to what you could imagine Broadcast doing if they were still around. It's no coincidence that I’ve put these bands next to each other, or that Stereolab precede them.

I don’t watch much television. I have no idea what precipitated the decline, but it's been like this for a while. After travelling to Naples in March and Rome in April, my partner persuaded me to watch the Netflix mini-series Ripley, which is set mainly in Italy. I was captivated, by the performances, the dialogue, Steven Zaillian's direction, Robert Elswit’s black and white cinematography, the sparing use of music, the clothes, the stone pines, everything.

We would all do well to dress more like Dickie Greenleaf, Marge Sherwood and Tom Ripley. Instead, modern society has variously embraced: tattoos, fake tans, fake nails, fake eyelashes, multiple piercings, augmented lips, re-formatted eyebrows, a panoply of beards and moustaches, the occasional mullet, more tattoos, sportswear, trainers you can’t train in, ‘hoodies’, socks with sliders, shoes without socks, items of clothing designed to be worn indoors worn outdoors, an overly loose fit, an overly tight fit. Generally speaking, there is nothing you can put your finger on, no defining look. The unifying quality is that there is no unifying quality.

Ripley doesn’t impose on the viewer the era in which it is set – the early 1960s. To do so would be to invite pastiche and distract from the characterisation and the narrative. It would be equally diverting to disregard the period altogether, so we get a subtler version of it, and probably a more authentic one. It’s not just about what the characters wear but the whole mise-en-scene. The visual detail isn't beholden to any particular time or place, and the cinematic compositions might rather invite painterly comparisons to Caravaggio, Edward Hopper or de Chirico (as well as film noir).

But the clothes! There’s not much to them really, but if you want a description then you might reach for the adage ‘less is more’.

'Ripley'

In January I was summoned to Leeds for a company meeting and a sort of belated Christmas do, which meant staying the night in a hotel. The following day I had a couple of hours spare before my train back to London, and so took the opportunity to walk around town, Kirkgate Market, the Victoria Quarter and the Corn Exchange. I noticed how many more older buildings there were in Leeds compared to southern cities, in a variety of architectural styles, and that it was all the better for it.

The Belgrave Music Hall & Canteen is a bar on the northern edge of Leeds City Centre, specialising in pizza and live music. On my visit there the DJ played some interesting records, and one in particular caught my attention: ‘Lember Kuring’ by Yanti Bersaudara, an Indonesian group comprised of three sisters. The self-titled album it came from was released in 1971, re-issued in 2023, and is described on Discogs as belonging to a genre called Indo-Pop. To my ears it sounded soulful and slightly psychedelic.

I found ‘Engine Number 9’ by Wilson Pickett while trying to identify the samples used in ‘Fade to Black’ by LA Star, a rap tune dating back to 1990, and an old favourite of mine. She borrows two elements: the percussion that kicks in towards the end of ‘(Get Me Back On Time) Engine Number 9 (Part II)’ off of Wilson Pickett in Philadelphia, and the organ that features in both parts I and II as well as ‘Engine Number 9’, which is merely a shortened version of the same recording released as a single. The extended mix is better, but I felt the abridged iteration was more suited to this compilation.

The soul ballad ‘That's How Strong My Love Is’, written by Roosevelt Jamison, is covered by the Rolling Stones on their album Out of Our Heads. That same year (1965) it also turned up on The Great Otis Redding Sings Soul Ballads, a record that I do not possess. Jagger’s performance on ‘That's How Strong My Love Is’ is a strong one, but because I already know it, it’s not allowed on this playlist. Nor is Redding’s rendition; it also crops up on The Best Of Otis Redding (1972, ATCO Records), a record that I do possess. I’d somehow overlooked this fact, but it didn’t matter. On listening to The Great Otis Redding Sings Soul Ballads, it was another track, ‘I Want to Thank You’, that grabbed me. Highlights include Steve Cropper's guitar and the way Redding enunciates the line 'all of your sweet loving charm' at the end of the second and third verses.

Not for the first time, I tried tracking down the samples used by Billy Woods on the 2022 track 'Haarlem' (still no joy). In the process I somehow ended up listening to 'Happy Survival' by Childish Gambino, featuring Khruangbin, from his latest album Bando Stone and the New World. The tune is credited to both Khruangbin and a Nigerian musician by the name of Eddie Okwedy, who produced the song in its original form in the early 1970s. It is entirely appropriate that I found the song this way, given that the Billy Woods record from whence 'Haarlem’ comes from – Aethiopes – deals with slavery and colonialism, while 'Happy Survival' concerns the effects of the Nigerian Civil War, which was indirectly caused by the very same thing. 'Happy Survival' is an example of (Igbo) Highlife, a genre that originated in Ghana around the turn of the 20th century, combining traditional melodic and rhythmic structures with western instrumentation.

The Rising Storm was a garage rock band from Andover, Massachusetts, known for their 1967 album, Calm Before. A lot of bands of this ilk are recognised for individual songs rather than whole albums, which makes them something of an anomaly. An original pressing of Calm Before can fetch a four-figure sum, and it's hard to understand why. It is certainly a good record, but is it any better than those of their contemporaries: by The Sonics, The Seeds or The Left Banke? Is it just down to scarcity? In any case, it’s worth a listen, even if over half the tunes are covers. Written by The Rising Storm’s guitarist, Rich Weinberg, ‘The Rain Falls Down’ isn’t one of them.

Rome

In February, to support the release of his new book, In the Jingle Jangle Jungle: Keeping Time with the Brian Jonestown Massacre, online magazine The Quietus invited Joel Gion to detail the thirteen records that helped shape his life – his ‘baker’s dozen’. Some artists seem to look at this as an opportunity to impress the reader with their musical literacy, reeling off names you’ve never heard of, which is not to say that their choices are disingenuous. They are, after all, in the music business and we should expect them to know their stuff. But no such grandstanding where Joel Gion’s concerned, he shoots straight from the hip. Beggars Banquet by the Rolling Stones, Revolver by The Beatles, What’s Going On by Marvin Gaye, Scott 3 by Scott Walker. These are not wilfully obscure selections but works that are integral to the canon. He even throws in A Storm in Heaven by (The) Verve, describing Nick McCabe’s guitar as sounding like a ‘giant wave’.

There’s still room for paths less travelled, and I followed him down a few of them. The most intriguing was Nelson Angelo E Joyce by Nelson Angelo and Joyce Moreno, a one-off collaboration between two Brazilian singer-songwriters, released in 1972. It’s got a sort of folky bossa nova vibe to it, with another hint of psychedelia. The track you find here – ‘Tudo Comeca De Novo’ – is reminiscent of ‘Friends’ by Led Zeppelin, with added percussion, a softer vocal, and bells.

In 2023 I discovered the Dunedin Sound. It was The Clean that did it, and Spotify soon started suggesting other bands that were part of the same scene, like The Chills, whom I had heard of, and Look Blue Go Purple, whom I hadn’t. The Chills are probably the best known of all the Dunedin bands, as became evident from the press coverage that followed when founding member and principle songwriter Martin Phillipps died in the middle of the year. The way defined by him in ‘This is the Way’ is to, ‘Fill your head with alcohol, comic books and drugs.’ When I was listening to this in late spring I assumed he was pointing a negative finger at people who withdraw into themselves. Turns out that although Phillipps had been living clean for quite some while, it hadn’t always been that way, which was a contributing factor towards his relatively premature death. The lyrics, then, may well have been directed towards himself, and bring with them a sense of tragedy and loss.

I found out about Canadian singer-songwriter Jon McKiel after indulging the Spotify algorithm, prompted by the realisation that my compilation was short on minutes. Despite having never self-imposed the stipulation, I also wanted more tunes that were current, just because I think it’s a good way to anchor my playlists in time. ‘The Fix’, from McKiel’s latest album Hex, helps on both counts. ‘Sin’ by Rick White and the Sadies was discovered earlier, in June, but serves the same purpose. They’re also Canadian but have more of an alternative-country thing going on.

Look Blue Go Purple were one of the Dunedin scene’s later bands, and as a result less well known. This might also be attributable to the fact that they were an all-female group and thus not taken as seriously as some of their peers – or didn’t ask to be, or didn’t want to. It certainly wasn’t down to the music, which is great. They only released three EPs, all on Flying Nun Records – the Dunedin Sound’s primary means of communication – repackaged in 1991 as Compilation, and again in 2017 as Still Bewitched. ‘As Does the Sun’ is fairly typical of Look Blue Go Purple’s work, but maybe not so much of the Dunedin Sound. What sets it and them apart is Norma O'Malley’s flute, as if Jefferson Airplane had been reincarnated as a Sarah Records’ band.

Talking of which, after I finished reading These Things Happen: The Sarah Records Story by Jane Dufus – quite a hefty tome – I finally made a start on In the Jingle Jangle Jungle: Keeping Time with the Brian Jonestown Massacre. Aside from the amusing anecdotes, it describes in some style what it’s like to be young and skint but somehow having the time of your life, of not being in a position to have separate summer and winter wardrobes and how a particular item of vintage clothing can mean so much. Such was my appreciation, I thought I may as well check out some of Joel Gion’s own music. I went for Apple Bonkers, and it’s surprisingly good. ‘Dart’ is its best track, which is comparable to something off of Their Satanic Majesties Request, replete with Mellotron.

Readers of my liner notes might recall how the 2020 Tour de France highlights on ITV4 contributed to that year's compilation: specifically, ‘Broadway Jungle’ by The Maytals, which played over the end credits for Stage 13. (They might also recall the phrase 'Readers of my liner notes might recall' which I used in the corresponding liner notes: ‘Readers of my liner notes might recall that The Poets kicked off my 2005 anthology with “That’s the Way It’s Got to Be”.’) Whoever makes these thematic connections normally does a good job, as they did on this year’s Stage 9. Stage 9 incorporated no less than fourteen separate gravelled sections, much to the consternation of the cyclists challenging for the general classification. Chaos reigned. Entering one of the steeper, narrower sectors, many of the riders lost their momentum on the chalky surface and could be seen frantically pushing their bikes up hill. Where traction was sustained, dust kicked up all around them. Hence ‘Dust’ by the instantly recognisable Parquet Courts.

Musical artistes I have seen live two times or more: Stereolab, Tindersticks, Pavement, Pulp, Corduroy, Delta, Dylan Rabbit, The Fall, The Research, Field Music, Weird War, Chain & the Gang, Escape-ism, Comet Gain, Herman Dune, Holiday Ghosts, Sleaford Mods, Public Enemy, The Clientele. And, as of October 2024, The Lovely Eggs.

My partner and I went to see The Lovely Eggs at The Garage in July 2021, an event that was scheduled for April 2020 but pushed back, numerous times, because of Covid. That had been a lot of fun, so this year we decided to go and see them again. It is that sense of ‘fun’ which sometimes gets in the way of the music. What with the wacky online presence (see EGGS TV), amusing song titles and the duo’s good nature, you can sometimes forget just how good The Lovely Eggs really are.

Less than a week later I was off to Albarracin in Spain with my bouldering pals. We flew into Valencia on the morning of the 30th October, the day after a catastrophic flood that resulted in over 230 dead. We hadn’t known the extent of it when we left England, or even immediately after we landed. The devastation was revealed to us once we’d picked up our hired van and driven away from the airport and towards the centre of Valencia itself (which was pretty much unaffected). From there we began our steady ascent through the mountains towards Alabarracin. The Florist was in control of both the vehicle and the music, as he had been when he’d driven us to Fontainebleau in 2022. It didn't begin well, and after a few of us complained he put on some randomised playlist more in keeping with atmosphere engendered by our surroundings: long roads, rolling hills, wide open plains, that sort of thing. This was the point at which I became aware of Sam Evian.

‘Tell Me Myths’ by SHOLTO (all caps artist’s own) was something Huey Morgan played on the radio. Adding it to my playlist was impulsive, but I was still short on minutes and it’s another contemporary release. Hard to describe precisely what it is, but SHOLTO’s Bandcamp page alludes to a fondness for ‘jazz, soul, and ‘60s and ‘70s soundtracks’. Gilles Peterson would probably play it – probably has played it.

Bilbao

Back in February I was seconded to the London Metropolitan Archives in Clerkenwell for what ended up being about a month. Despite the hour long commute, I quite enjoyed it. After work on Fridays I would stop off for a quick pint in the Betsey Trotwood, a lovely pub and respected music venue. It was here that I returned on my way to see Comet Gain at The Lexington in July. Stephen McRobbie of The Pastels had the same idea, although he was with friends whereas I was alone, having found nobody to accompany me.

The week before I had spoken briefly with Comet Gain's Rachel Evans at The Garage (to see The Gories), who warned me that her band was under-rehearsed. (I think she vaguely recognised me from when I'd accosted her at the Make Up gig at The Dome in 2023). She needn't have worried. It was a great show and triggered a detailed investigation into Comet Gain's back catalogue, filling in the gaps. A good place to start, for anyone with similar inclinations, is Broken Record Prayers. A collection of singles, B-sides, Peel Session tracks and various oddities, it includes 'Look at You Now (You're Crying)', their contribution to Fields and Streams, a double-CD compilation released on Kill Rock Stars in 2002. The song starts off predictably enough but at the beginning of the second verse descends into a wall of noise and distortion. Against this backdrop, Rachel Evans holds steady, her intonation just right.

Jeff Clarke is yet another Canadian but resides in Berlin, or at least that's where he recorded the single ‘Palliative Care’. According to his record label, Jeff's recent output represents ‘a stripped-down, melancholic change of pace’ from his previous work with garage rock outfit Demon’s Claws. I infer from this that their brand of garage rock must be quite different from The Rising Storm’s. At any rate, Bretford Records’ description seems apt, and it's exactly the sort of note I like to end a compilation on. Unless, that is, I happen upon anything in Bilbao at the end of the month. 

[Edit: I didn't.]

[Listen to here.]

LINER NOTES: COME ON LET'S GO [2002]

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 scape enough together for a short weekend away in Amsterdam with the guy who fell 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 Roz Childs.

Trip to Amsterdam

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 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. 'Jo Jo’s Jacket', wherein Malkmus imagines himself as Yul Brynner, 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 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.

Trip to Plymouth

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'.

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 his new band, or maybe I was just upset about finding out about Make Up too late to see them 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.]