LINER NOTES: I NEVER HAPPENED [2025]

      1.   Mrs Ladyships and the Cleanerhouse Boys – The Smashing Times

      2.   SuperHwy – Big Supermarket

      3.   Get Found Out – Publicity Department

      4.   Map Like a Leaf – Autocamper

      5.   Ivanhoe’s Twopence – The Fall

      6.   Roman Litter – Felt

      7.   Blue Shadows – Lower Plenty

      8.   Cupid Come – My Bloody Valentine

      9.   Dreamhorse – Workhorse

    10.   Doggerland – Vehicle

    11.   Mariella – Khruangbin featuring Leon Bridges

    12.   Comet 4 – The Soundcarriers

    13.   Listen Here – Eddie Harris

    14.   The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll (Live, Montreal Forum) – Bob Dylan

    15.   On Parade – Electrelane

    16.   Explosions – Devo

    17.   Teen Beat – Automatic

    18.   Year of the Books – The Green Child

    19.   Colour Television – Stereolab

    20.   Spike Island – Pulp

    21.   Baader Meinhof (Das Capital version) – Luke Haines

    22.   I Never Happened – Comet Gain

    23.   Trees – Pictureframes
 

December 2024. The Clientele have not long ago played a double set at the Village Underground, a wonderful music venue in Shoreditch that I've never previously been to. Within days of the event they then announce a gig at the Moth Club – another great venue – in Hackney, as The Butterfly Collectors, which was what the group called themselves before becoming The Clientele. They are to play material from their retrospective anthology It's Art Dad, with a few tracks from Suburban Light thrown in, and shall be accompanied by their original drummer, Daniel Evans. It’s on a Tuesday but to hell with it, I’m there, although my partner, who accompanied me to the Village Underground, will give it a miss.

London’s train network is undependable at the best of times – I reckon about one in three services are disrupted to some extent. Accordingly, when I travel across town I err on the side of caution, which on this occasion meant I arrived in Hackney with plenty of time to spare. I went for a drink at The Cock Tavern, which was part of the plan anyway, but didn’t get on with the beer nor the crowds. With nearly an hour left to kill, I decided to dodge the showers and take refuge in the JD Wetherspoon across the road: Baxter’s Court.

Whatever you might think about JD Wetherspoon and its extravagantly coiffured founder and chairman Tim Martin, a pint there is about half the price it is anywhere else. For a lot of people that's the difference between going out and not being able to afford to. Moreover, their pubs tend to be well run. What they aren't is pretty. Although quite tidy, Wetherspoon's pubs are generally stuck in a 1990s time warp. I say generally because sometimes they occupy grander buildings that were once something else, such as a bank, an old cinema or post office. Baxter's Court is none of these things, it’s purpose built, and so you have wall-to-wall carpet, low ceilings, overly bright lights, fruit machines, and too many bar-high tables and chairs. (The best pubs in the 1990s were the ones that hadn't undergone any significant change since the 1970s, which is as true now as it was back then. See also cafes and motorway service stations.) So I didn’t stay long, dodged more showers on my way to the Moth Club, and readied myself for the support act.

I am guilty of not always paying supporting acts the respect they often deserve. Had the Cock Tavern been less busy and less keen on serving up obscure IPA, or if Baxter’s Court was more like Hamilton Hall in Liverpool Street, I may have missed The Smashing Times, which would have been a shame. ‘Mrs Ladyships and the Cleanerhouse Boys’ was the third of sixteen tracks they managed to squeeze in before the headline act, and the first off of the album of the same name.

Big Supermarket are/were from Melbourne in Australia, and released their only record, 1800, on the Hobbies Galore label in 2018, limited to just 300 copies, re-issued on green vinyl the following year on Tough Love Records, again limited to 300 copies, of which I now own one. That seems to be that. You can’t find a copy anywhere, not even on Discogs. Bizarre to think it was on Spotify that I discovered this band, because Spotify’s algorithms, be it by accident or design, aren’t usually so imaginative. I’m guessing it had to do with The Clean and the other antipodean groups that I’ve been listening to over the last couple of years.

Publicity Department are equally obscure, the solo project of someone by the name of Sean Brook, who’s also in a band called Brunch. You can't buy any records or CDs, but there are cassettes. In some instances there’s no physical artefact at all, and yet it’s all available on Spotify. Quality music readily available from the most high profile audio streaming provider in the market and yet almost impossible to own on any tangible format. It's all there on Bandcamp, and I do use Bandcamp, but I'd rather buy a record, or at least a compact disc.

Autocamper are selling actual records. I know this because Monorail Music said so on their social media. Autocamper are from Manchester and appear to take inspiration from the sort of ‘indie pop’ you used to get a lot of in the ‘80s and early ‘90s. Kind of like The Umbrellas, so perhaps it's making a comeback.

Satisfied that I'd now heard everything by The Fall up to and including the 1994 album Middle Class Revolt (see It's Raining Today) I decided to listen more closely to what they'd recorded since. Aside from compilation that would result – The Wonderful and Frightening World of The Fall, Volume 4 –  I was determined to add a track to this playlist, and ended going for 'Ivanhoe's Two Pence' from the 1998 CD single 'Masquerade'. Considering the alternatives, my choice may confound die-hard Fall fans. Steve Pringle describes it as ‘languid’, which is not meant as a criticism. It’s certainly one of Smith’s more laid-back vocal performances, complimenting the sampled film dialogue chuntering away in the background.

For my 50th birthday, The Wilkinsons presented me with a copy of Street-Level Superstar: A Year With Lawrence by Will Hodgkinson. It would be fair to describe Lawrence as something of an eccentric, and this eccentricity can often carry over into his music. Take 'Roman Litter' as an example: the breathy ‘heys’ after every third line of the verse, or the way he stretches out ‘all right’ at the end of the chorus. These are not usual inflections, and yet they’re what makes the song interesting. (Incidentally, in June I found myself standing very near to Lawrence at an Escape-ism gig downstairs at The Dome in Tufnell Park, which makes me think his reputation as a recluse may have been overstated.)

The Lower Plenty are another Australian band from Melbourne. ‘Blue Shadows’ is taken from their album No Poets, released in 2023, and reminds me of the Irish indie-pop group Catchers, who were active in the 1990s, so perhaps this type of stuff already has made a comeback?

I'm not convinced half the people who own Loveless by My Bloody Valentine ever listen to it, or if they even like it all that much. 'Sometimes' is fairly easy going but the rest of it is a wash of dissonant noise. Which is not say it’s a bad record, just that it requires a bit of effort. The group's first album, Isn't Anything, is more forgiving, at least by comparison. 'Cupid Come' reminds me of a more abrasive version of 'City Girl', a song Kevin Shields wrote for the film Lost in Translation, which I love.

More Australian music, this time from Adelaide. Workhorse are fronted by Harriet Fraser-Barbour, who cites Julee Cruise, Chris Isaak and Mazzy Star as influences, which are not bad influences to have. On 'Dreamhorse' I'm hearing The Handsome Family, so we’ve got that alternative country thing going on too.

Vehicle look to be in the same boat as Publicity Department. I wrote last year about how hard it was finding out anything about Vehicle, on account of their name, but there doesn't seem to be any physical product whatsoever. They even have an album out, entitled Widespread Vehicle, but it’s only available on Spotify or as a download from Bandcamp. I utilised both facilities, and in April I went to see them at the Sebright Arms just south of Hackney, but what I really want is an object I can actually hold. The gig was rather shambolic (technical issues, not the band's fault). They didn't play 'Doggerland' either, although they did finish with 'Uncle Roy Orbison'. I suspect the reason 'Doggerland' didn’t feature is because of its arrangement and Spector-ish production. That's the same reason you find it placed here, approaching the halfway mark, following on from the alternative country of Workhorse and before the laidback tones of ‘Mariella’ by Khruangbin.

I heard ‘Mariella’ down The London Apprentice, drinking with my Cornish friend during Sunday Service earlier in the year, and we then listened to it when I visited him in at his flat in Plymouth a few months later. I’m also fairly certain that The Florist played it in his van on the drive to Alabarracin in 2024. I’m not sure where The Soundcarriers came from. I’ve been aware of them for a while, maybe because they’re often compared to bands like Stereolab and Broadcast. ‘Comet 4’ suited the mood, and I needed something that could work alongside jazz.

As mentioned, 2025 was the year I turned 50. What a diabolical thing to get your head around. Not that I feel particularly old, but I’m starting to look it. To celebrate being closer to death than birth – although this was more than possibly true the day I hit 40, even 30 – I headed down to Brighton and put the word out to anyone who might wish to join me and my partner there (which turned out to be my Cornish friend, the former cohabitant from Brighton, No Eyes and, albeit briefly, Teleport Man). We had a few pints at the Heart in Hand, ate at Cote, drank some more at the White Rabbit and The Prince Albert, my coterie of friends leaving gradually as the evening progressed. My partner and I then finished off with a nightcap on the balcony of the Artist Residence overlooking Regency Square, the seafront just beyond.

The next morning my partner turned on the radio, which happened to be tuned to Jazz FM. That was fine by me, and so I drank my morning coffee to the sound of ‘Listen Here’ by the tenor saxophonist Eddie Harris, while watching a dense fog roll in off of the English Channel.

Harris was known for playing an electric Varitone saxophone, developed by a company called Selmer. The Varitone – essentially an electronic amplifier – allows the user to manipulate the sound in a number of ways. The function that Eddie Harris liked was the ‘octamatic’ setting, which adds a pitch one octave lower to that emitted by the instrument itself. The effect is a full-bodied, humming bass sound. From what I can gather, jazz purists weren't keen on any of this and Harris's reputation suffered as a result, although he is more well regarded nowadays.

Antica Stuzzicheria

Bologna, to watch football with a couple of old friends. On the first night of three we find a nice little Osteria called Antica Stuzzicheria run by a chap named Antonio, who's quite a character. We return there on the second night as well as the third, whereupon he as on The Rolling Thunder Revue: The 1975 Live Recordings by Bob Dylan. It suited the environment, which was traditionally decorated and dimly lit yet lively and welcoming. Dylan's voice can grate at times, but not here, he really belts it out.

Because ‘The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll’ is recorded live, I was unsure of where it should go on my playlist. As I often do (but not always) I found myself implementing Stanley Kubrick’s theory of non-submersible units. Whereas Kubrick typically split his films into six to eight narrative components, I usually go for four or five, depending on the length of the compilation. With regards to this one, the delineation between the first and second quarter isn’t so distinct – more of a gradual wind down, starting with the Lower Plenty and culminating with Khruangbin. As the year progressed, I’d amassed a number of more upbeat tracks that I realised would have to be grouped together in what would become the third segment. The question then was how to bridge over from the mellower tunes that comprise the second quarter to the upbeat ones that were to form the third. ‘Listen Here’ begins this process and ‘The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll’ finishes it; while neither track has a particularly high tempo, they’re both more urgent than The Soundcarriers' tune that precedes them, but less so than what comes next.

In truth, I’m not sure if the transition works. ‘On Parade’ by Electrelane is all high energy, comparable to ‘Sisters’ by Cate le Bon, maybe with a bit of Kleenex/Liliput thrown in. The segue into Devo’s ‘Explosions’ isn’t perfect but works better. In any case, we’re now firmly into the playlists’ third non-submersible unit.

‘Explosions’ is from Devo’s fifth album, 1982’s Oh, No! It's Devo, which I wasn’t overly familiar with. That all changed in February, around the same time as that trip to Plymouth I alluded to, after I put together a Devo playlist to listen to on the journey. Which is apt because it was a girl from Plymouth who implored me to listen to Devo in the first instance, even if it did take me several years to heed her advice.

I saw Automatic play at 2022’s Wide Awake festival and liked them. I don’t think their second album, Excess, could have been out yet, because I only remember having listened to their first – Signal. Excess is an improvement on Signal. Their third album, Is it Now?, was released earlier in the year, but I’m still catching up with Excess, from which 'Teenbeat' is taken.

The Green Child are yet another band from Melbourne, Australia. Boomkat product review: ‘Originally the recording project of Raven Mahon (member of Grass Widow, Rocky) and Mikey Young (Total Control, Eddy Current Suppression Ring, Shutdown 66), The Green Child now boasts Shaun Gionis (Boomgates) on drums and Alex Macfarlane (who runs the label Hobbies Galore) on guitar and synth.’ You can begin to see how Spotify goes about its business. At 5 minutes and 58 seconds, and falling apart towards the end, this is the compilation’s climax, rounding off the third non-submersible unit.

Different Stereolab records evoke different times and different places. Mars Audiac Quintet reminds me of the summer of 1994, specifically the walk from my parents’ old house into Plymouth city centre. Emperor Tomato Ketchup recalls Hounslow, as does Refried Ectoplasm. Dots and Loops, the dive I lived in off Hanworth Road in 1996-7, Cobra and Phases Group Play Voltage in the Milky Night and Aluminum Tunes, the poky flat my partner and I rented in Brentford. Will their most recent album, Instant Holograms on Metal Film, ever prompt me to think about St. Margarets and the apartment I’ve resided in for the last 20 years? I doubt it. My circumstances don’t fluctuate as much as they once did, and nothing’s really gone on this year to distinguish it from the last. Not even turning 50.

What may end being more firmly entrenched is the memory of seeing Stereolab playing at the Electric Brixton. Prior to the event I had a couple of drinks in the Trinity Arms and The Prince Albert – pubs I’d not been to before. I had been to the Electric Brixton, but only in its previous incarnation as the Brixton Fridge (to see The Fall in 1994) and it looked nothing then like it does now. Unfortunately, Stereolab didn’t see fit to play ‘Colour Television’ but they did ‘Household Names’, which they hadn't done on any of the previous five occasions I saw them.

Another Britpop affiliated band with a new record out were Pulp. Pulp have fared better than many of their contemporaries, and it’s hard to imagine any of them producing an album that sounds so much like themselves without crossing over into pastiche or parody. If we overlook Jarvis's waning powers as a vocalist (which is understandable, given his age) 'Spike Island' could have been recorded 25 years ago. This is not to say that it sounds dated, just that Pulp's music hasn't dated much, if at all.

Pinakothek der Moderne

Munich isn’t as ‘German’ as I thought it would be. I’ve been to Berlin, Cologne and Hamburg, and I was expecting Munich to feel more ‘German’ than any of them. Sure, there’s plenty of lederhosen and Bavarian iconography knocking about, but it feels like an international place, probably on account of the city’s prestigious universities and research centres, the art galleries and museums. Munich is also home to the Olympiastadion, which Luke Haines once stood outside of to promote his side-project, Baader Meinhof. What you find here isn’t the iteration of the title track off of the self-titled album but an orchestral reworking that appeared on Das Capital – The Songwriting Genius of Luke Haines and The Auteurs in 2003, seven years after the original.

Comet Gain had a new record out: Letters to Ordinary Outsiders. It’s a grower, but the songs themselves are tied together by way of a series of spoken-word vignettes and sampled dialogue and don’t lend themselves to being put on miscellaneous compilations. No bother, because in the Comet Gain binge that followed I came across ‘I Never Happened’: 'a Rock and Roll Hymn to all the failed aspirations and the nobody feelings as we scream helplessly into the void in the busy streets where we disappear [sic].'

That was supposed to be the final track, but then a band called Pictureframes released an EP entitled Event on the Downs. Again, there’s no physical product, just a platform on Bandcamp. ‘Trees’ sounds a bit like the mellower end of Yo La Tengo, but what really interested me was the instrumental coda that kicks in after about three minutes, reminiscent of Peter Green-era Fleetwood Mac – maybe ‘Dragonfly’. Let’s hope they, and Vehicle and Publicity Department, can get the support they need to press some actual records.

[Listen to here.]

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: DIFFERENT NOW [2019]

1.     Tell Me – Veronica Falls

2.     If I Needed Someone – The Beatles

3.     Wot  (12" Version) – Captain Sensible

4.     Just Step S’ways – The Fall

5.     Big – Fontaines D.C.

6.     Big Burt – Sleaford Mods

7.     Why Won’t they Talk to Me – Tame Impala

8.     The Same Mistake – Dolly Mixture

9.     I Had to Say This – The Clientele

10.   You Don’t Love Me – Cate le Bon

11.   Time Moves Slow – BADBADNOTGOOD (featuring Sam Herring)

12.   Deep Six Textbook – Let’s Eat Grandma

13.   Alphabet’s Gotta Be Changed – Escape-ism

14.   Primitive London 1 – Basil Kirchin

15.   Equinox – John Coltrane

16.   Colossus – Idles

17.   Misperception – Soft Walls

18.   Our Girl – Our Girl

19.   Different Now – Chastity Belt

20.   Quiet Ferocity – The Jungle Giants

21.   Victor Jara, Finally Found! – Comet Gain

22.   I Work in Retail – The Magic Wizard
23.   Kicking Leaves – The Pastels

When the Scottish footballer Joe Jordan moved to AC Milan from Manchester United in 1981, he was surprised to find that his new work colleagues spent time in museums, galleries, restaurants, cafes. You can probably imagine the sort of thing Joe might have been more used to in Manchester, where footballers would routinely round off an afternoon’s game with an evening out on the lash. This was back when the word ‘student’ was employed as a term of abuse. Such inverted snobbery wasn’t aimed exclusively towards those in higher education and was emblematic of a wider issue. A social conservatism held sway and anyone who stood outside of the mainstream was vulnerable to ridicule, even if you actually didn’t but looked like maybe you did.

It’s different now. A trip to the Tate Modern is a family event. Students are harder to spot and people aren’t so bothered by them anyway. Men wear clothes that could have got your head kicked in back in my day. They may even moisturise. Yet the UK doesn’t feel any more European than it used to (or, rather, didn’t). There are certainly more continental Europeans living in Britain than there were 20-odd years ago, but the reception they receive is mixed. Opinion polls have ascertained that of the 28 member states of the European Union we feel the least kinship with it. There’s still something within the British psyche that’s profoundly suspicious of the idea of culture and of intellect, and thus of Mainland Europe.

Working at The National Archives was supposed to be a temporary measure until such time I found better paid work elsewhere. But I liked working at The National Archives and I also wanted to see how 'Brexit' panned out before making my next move. The girl who used to operate the Bookeye® 4 (an industrial-sized book scanner) got wind of my Liner Notes and recommended a group by the name of Veronica Falls, who to my ears are reminiscent of the some of the bands that were signed to Sarah Records (which I never mean as anything other than a compliment). 'Follow Me' is the first tune off their second album, 2013's Waiting for Something to Happen.

Actually, for a while I wasn't working at The National Archives, I was at Royal Holloway in Egham, digitising a collection of early 20th Century pamphlets and tracts gathered together under the name The War on Poverty (the content of which seemed as relevant now as when it was written). No sooner had I started, I saw advertised a better paid position, working for a different subcontractor, back at The National Archives. I applied for the job and was offered it, but felt bad about the whole thing and asked my prospective employer if I could serve four weeks' notice rather than the contractually obliged two. This would allow enough time to handover to whoever was going to continue the assignment I was working on and also accommodate the five days’ holiday in Croatia I had coming up.

And so it was agreed. On returning from Split I set about training my replacement, who brought with him a portable speaker and access to Spotify. There was no way of telling what music my bearded, cap-wearing millennial friend was into, but he kicked off with The Beatles. A bit of Led Zeppelin, then more Beatles. He really liked The Beatles. My generation was brought up on the Fab Four, yet only certain albums hold any specific connotation. Their early material reminds me of the family home, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band and Abbey Road recalls my halls of residence, while 1967–1970 (widely known as ‘The Blue Album’) and The Beatles (widely known as ‘The White Album’) bring back memories of living in Hounslow during my third year at university. I’ve almost certainly listened to Abbey Road and Revolver in equal measure but I do not associate these records with any singular period or place. These were two of the Beatles’ albums enjoyed in Egham, and it is for this reason that I feel justified in including a tune that I’m already familiar with – 'If I Needed Someone' – on this compilation. Besides, it complements the song that precedes it.

Whenever I travel somewhere I try and listen out for new sounds so as to establish an aural connection with the place. It rarely happens but in Split it did. Where it happened specifically was in Caffe Bar La Bodega, the type of drinking establishment mainland Europe does very well – all bricolage and dim lighting. When I went there with my partner they were playing poppy, new wave stuff from the early 1980s. The song that left an impression, on the both of us, was 'Wot!' by Captain Sensible. We didn’t know who it was but guessed correctly from the chorus, which goes, ‘He said Captain, I said Wot!’.

Caffe Bar La Bodega

The Fall: the group that keeps on giving. I’ve never bothered with the album Hex Enduction Hour because I already possess most of its tracks in some form or other on various compendiums. Ex-Fall drummer Paul Hanley has written a book about the making of this record, considered to be one of their best. This news was brought to me by way of Brix & The Extricated’s Facebook page, accompanied by a YouTube link to the track 'Just Step S’ways'. I was quite astonished and instantly added it to this playlist. [Edit: I have since acquired both Hex Enduction Hour and Paul's book. The jury's out as to whether Hex is indeed The Fall's best work, but I reckon Have a Bleedin Guess: The Story of Hex Enduction Hour may well be the best thing written about them.]

When its put to me that I might like something, like a band or a film, I’m wary. I think a lot of people usually are, out of fear that they won’t, and what then? In early July we visited No Eyes and Teleport Man at their semi-rural Sussex home, whereupon Teleport Man played me Fontaines D.C.’s debut album, Dogrel. Despite the late hour and the amount of alcohol consumed, I really took to it. Within a week I was watching their videos on YouTube; within two I’d bought the album. 'Big' was the song that had me sold – all 1 minute 46 seconds of it.

I’d buy all my music on vinyl if I could afford it, but CDs are less than half the price of LPs these days. As a consequence I only invest in my preferred format when I’m confident of the quality of the album I’m buying. In February I purchased Eton Alive by Sleaford Mods on vinyl. Musically it’s a smoother, slightly slicker record than their previous works, which is no bad thing. By the time you’ve read this, chances are I’ll have seen them play live again at the Hammersmith Apollo.

In May my partner and I journeyed to Brighton to meet the former cohabitant, and before doing so stopped off in The Quadrant for a quick drink. I recognised what was playing but couldn’t put my finger on it. Then 'Feels Like We Only Go Backwards' came on and soon after that 'Elephant', and I realised it was Tame Impala. The former is more indicative of their sound, while the latter is an anomaly. I know this because I’ve since bought Lonerism, from where 'Why Won’t They Talk to Me?' is taken from.

On establishing that the Captain referenced in 'Wot!' was indeed Captain Sensible I also discovered that the backing vocals were supplied by an all-girl group named Dolly Mixture. Categorised as new wave, they sound more like an indie band, before indie music had been invented. Unfortunately, their records are very difficult to get hold of. They only (self) released one (double) album: 1984’s Demonstration Tapes. Bob Stanley re-released it on his Mint Royal imprint in 1995, and in 2010 the band themselves repackaged the record to include singles, demos and live recordings under the name Everything and More, although I doubt either of these releases are much easier to find. The track I’ve included here – 'The Same Mistake' – didn’t feature on the original album, wasn’t a single, doesn’t sound like it’s recorded live, so could be a demo. 

Speaking of Bob, inspiration for the next song came via a compilation entitled Tim Burgess & Bob Stanley Present TIM PEAKS - Songs For A Late-Night Diner. After reading through the track listing on the Ace Records’ website, I noticed it incorporated a tune I’d already decided would appear on my compendium. Furthermore, the third side of this double album starts off with 'Flowers' by Galaxie 500, which I’d included on Take a Ride in 2013. I sampled some of other tracks and liked 'I Had to Say' This by The Clientele. It’s a very pretty tune, especially to begin with, but with a discomforting undercurrent: a background drone, stuttering drums, a sense of moving backwards.

Sport, by its very nature, is competitive. Artistic endeavour isn’t, so why the need for awards and prizes? The Mercury Prize looks down its nose at the Brit Awards. The Ivor Novello Awards looks down on them both, yet all three are engaged in the same bogus racket. Gold and Platinum discs are all right because they’re based purely on sales, which is unequivocal. But who are these arbiters of taste who get to decide what the best records of the year are, and why do they even bother?

Three of the acts included on this playlist were also nominated for the 2019 Mercury Prize: Idles, Fontaines D.C. and Cate le Bon. (I don’t care that Sleaford Mods weren’t put forward, and I hope they don’t either, but it seems odd given the comprehensively positive reviews Eton Alive received.) Cate le Bon’s album Reward certainly deserves recognition, which is the best I can say for the whole charade. I encountered it playing in Eel Pie Records as 'Magnificent Gestures' kicked in, which is a strange song. 'You Don't Love Me' followed, which I preferred.

'Time Moves Slow' is by instrumental jazz-improv group BADBADNOTGOOD (all caps artist’s own). I heard it playing in The St. Margaret’s Tavern on a Sunday evening while reading Homage to Catalonia by George Orwell over a pint. I wouldn’t describe 'Time Moves Slow' as jazz and it’s certainly not an instrumental – Sam Herring of synth-pop band Future Islands provides vocals. It’s more accurately soul music, possibly of the Memphis variety, like something William Bell or Bill Withers would do. I am also reminded of Stuart Staples from Tindersticks.

'Deep Six Textbook' was another provision from the girl who used to operate the Bookeye® 4. There's a trip-hop vibe to this strangely moving song, which is incredible considering that Let's Eat Grandma – two teenage girls from Norwich – were something like 15 when they wrote it. Apparently it's about playing truant, but to my ears it sounds like heartbreak. Not to disparage them but their other songs don’t.

I wonder whether Ian Svenonius is done with Chain & the Gang? They’ve not released a record since Experimental Music in 2017 and haven’t toured since 2018. Meanwhile, Ian Svenonius has been busy promoting the ‘found-sound-dream-drama’ he calls Escape-ism. When I saw them play at The Islington in 2017 it was just Ian with a microphone, guitar and drum machine. In 2018 he brought along his muse/partner/photographer Alexandra Cabral, on keys, to the Moth Club in Hackney. They toured again in 2019 in support of the same album – The Lost Record – playing at the same venue, so regretfully I passed. 'Alphabet’s Gotta be Changed' is a strange tune, even by Ian’s standards, and I’ve deployed it as a kind of bizarre intermission, to arrest the descending mood that was fast encroaching.

I chanced upon 'Primitive London 1' Basil Kirchin while listening to Vic Pratt (of Dylan Rabbit fame) and William Fowler discussing their jointly written book The Bodies Beneath on BBC Sounds. Made in 1965, Primitive London is actually a documentary, directed by Arnold Miller and produced by Stanley Long (the producer and director of low-budget sexploitation movies). Iain Sinclair posits that the film can be seen as, ‘nothing more than a location-hunting expedition for Blow-Up.’ I’ve not seen it, but it is clear that Sinclair thinks there’s more to it than that: something stranger, darker, more revealing. The music itself could be described as lounge-music, in the best possible sense. Brian Eno, among others, has acknowledged Kirchin’s influence.

Toshiba KT-4127

My first personal cassette player was the size of 500 page novel. I can’t remember the make but I loved the thing. I was about eleven years’ old when it was given to me and used it mainly on car journeys. When I moved on to secondary school I quickly decided that something more portable was in order and opted for the smaller Toshiba KT-4127. This lasted until I was about sixteen, whereafter I acquired an actual Sony Walkman that was slim enough to fit inside my blazer pocket.

But all personal cassette players were walkmen regardless of who made them, just as all vacuum cleaners are Hoovers. Sony were right, though, to call it that because music played through headphones is best listened to when walking, as opposed to in a car or on a train or even running. When you walk to music, rather than cutting you off from your environment it connects you to it. I guess it has to do with movement and being more or less in time with the beat.

Walworth doesn’t have a train station of its own. The nearest tube stop is Kennington on the Northern Line, while Elephant and Castle is the closest rail link. Neither are very convenient if you are travelling in from St Margarets in West London, as I was in early August. I could have gone as far as Waterloo, changed onto the Northern Line and gone south to Kennington, but figured I might as well disembark at Vauxhall and walk from there – about one and half miles.

The journey presented the opportunity to test this compendium, which at this point was a work in progress consisting of approximately 12 tracks. Somewhere around Oval, 'Equinox' by John Coltrane came on and continued to play as I turned down St John Ruskin Street, complimenting the post-war modernism of Aberfeldy House. Still on St John Ruskin Street, 'Equinox' ended. I became impatient and skipped to 'Colossus' by Idles, a tune I’d only recently added to my playlist. The jump from jazz to the opening rimshots that introduce 'Colossus' worked very well and I at once resolved to alter the running order.

I'm not sure how I came by either track, which means it was probably the work of the internet – YouTube making suggestions on the basis of what I'd been listening to or looking for. 'Equinox' was recorded in 1964, and it’s easier going than much of Coltrane’s later work. By contrast, 'Colossus' is a tense, harrowing experience, very different to the Idles’ song that The Florist played to me in Fontainebleau with lines about Mary Berry liking reggae and having a degree.

Dan Reeves is the Soft Walls. I’d not heard anything out of him since 2014. Then in August, online music and pop culture magazine The Quietus reviewed his latest offering, Not as Bad as it Seems, with a link to the lead-off track, 'Misperception', which I very quickly appended to this playlist. Although downloadable, the album itself was only made available on cassette, which is indicative of Soft Walls’ delightfully lo-fi sound, but hardly convenient. I may look back on tapes with a degree of nostalgia but they were in truth cumbersome and temperamental devices with a tendency to literally unravel. That said, the format did install a sort of discipline, in that you were unable to skip tracks at the press of a button and so were more inclined to listen to a tape in its entirety.

'Our Girl' by Our Girl is taken from the 2018 album Stranger Today. There is evidence here of the ‘loud-quiet’ dynamic commonly found in indie music during the late ‘80s and early ‘90s – groups like The Breeders, The Pixies, Madder Rose. It would be interesting to know if such influences are directly felt or have been filtered down through other artists that maybe I’m not aware of. (It might not be typical of the group’s broader sound in any case.)

'Different Now' by Chastity Belt is the song Bob Stanley and Tim Burgess chose for their compilation that I’d already decided would feature on mine. I encountered it in Palermo when pausing for an afternoon beer in Chimica 40 Drinks & Records, a wonderful bar-come-record shop on the corner of a cobbled square in the district of La Kalsa. It is a subtly uplifting tune with neat harmonies that befitted the moment: the stillness and the warmth of Piazza Cattolica, and the fact that we were the only people drinking there.

'Different Now' dates back to 2017, as does 'Quiet Ferocity' by Brisbane act The Jungle Giants. They sound a bit like Hot Chip or LCD Soundsystem – alternative dance, electropop, or whatever you want to call it. The tune itself doesn’t really get going until 3 minutes and 45 seconds in, but the groove that ensues is quite something. I like putting stuff like this towards the end of my playlists, as a buffer against waning concentration spans.

As we all know, Brexit was supposed to be done and dusted by 29 March 2019. As that date approached it became clear the UK needed more time. On the 20th March, then Prime Minister Theresa May requested an extension until 30 June 2019, was rebuffed and offered 12 April 2019 instead (or 22 May 2019 should a withdrawal agreement be worked out in advance). Neither deadline was met and so Theresa May again asked if the UK could work towards 30 June 2019. The EU still said no and gave the UK until 31 October 2019 to sort its mess out. Frustrated, May jacked it in and Boris Johnson was elected in her place. Johnson, who is a reprobate, was determined that the UK would meet this revised target date and not defer for a third time. Fortunately, something called the European Union (Withdrawal) (No. 2) Act 2019 (or the ‘Benn Act’) was passed in September preventing this from happening in the event that a withdrawal agreement hadn’t been ratified in the intervening period, which it wasn’t. As such, Johnson was obliged to request a further extension, giving the UK until 31 January 2020 to get its house in order, pending the result of a general election on 12 December 2019.

None of this has escaped the attention of Comet Gain. Their excellent album Fireraisers, Forever! opens with 'We Are All Fucking Morons', a punk tirade pointing a finger at those who fomented this situation, as well as the rest of us who stood by and watched: ‘Bystanders of disaster, liberal spectators, box-set inhalers.’ The track I’ve added to my compilation – 'Victor Jara, Finally Found!' – does not concern Brexit, but it's clearly political. Victor Jara was a Chilean singer-songwriter, poet, teacher, and a communist, who ended up being tortured and executed in the aftermath of the Chilean coup d'état of 1973, by General Pinochet's mob.

The Magic Wizard's gripe is more quotidian. He works in retail, ‘with Martine and Michelle,' which, 'isn’t very nice.’ The Magic Wizard is in fact Dan Laidler, formerly of the group Tiger whose 1996 album We Are Puppets offset the monotony of Britpop very nicely. Mr Laidler has posted 'I Work in Retail' on YouTube. I found this out on Twitter, contacted him to ask where I could get hold of a copy, and he simply emailed me one. What a guy.

Park Hill Estate

In April, my bouldering chums and I travelled to Sheffield to climb up rocks in the Peak District. I was taken with the city and so returned with my partner in late October. On both occasions I found myself contemplating the band Pulp and their relationship with the place. I wondered if Jarvis Cocker ever drank in The Brothers Arms, The Rutland Arms, The Fat Cat and The Shakespeare, or whether those pubs were different then and he steered well clear. And what did he think about what’s being done to Park Hill Estate? I considered resurrecting an old Pulp tune for inclusion on my compilation but decided against it. Too many connotations already exist: Plymouth in the summer, Hounslow in winter, National Express coaches in between. But I did find myself listening to Pulp in the wake of these trips and to reading interviews to see if I could gain any insight into how Sheffield informed their music. In the process, I came across an anecdote regarding the The Pastels.

The Pastels is another band that reminds me of Hounslow, principally the period in 1995-96 when I resided in a terraced house around the back of the High Street, listening to Mobile Safari, Truckload of Trouble and Up for a Bit with The Pastels. Illumination followed in 1997 – still in Hounslow, occupying a semi-detached dump off of Hanworth Road. By the time they’d released their fifth studio album, Slow Summits, I’d moved to St. Margarets, but 2013 was a shaky year for me financially and I didn’t buy many records.

So yeah, I’ve discovered 'Kicking Leaves', it’s autumn, and I’m in the throes of a Pastels’ revival.

[Listen to here.]