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.]

LINER NOTES: HOUNSLOW TO BRENTFORD, PART 1 [1997-98]

1.     Me and the Black and White Dream – The Orchids

2.     The Stars of Track and Field – Belle and Sebastian

3.     On the Way – The Pastels

4.     Miss Modular – Stereolab

5.     Spanish Harlem – Aretha Franklin

6.     Thin Line Between Love and Hate – The Persuaders

7.     Down Down Down – The Chiffons

8.     Give Away None of My Love – Otis Redding

9.     Slipped, Tripped and Fell in Love – Clarence Carter

10.   Funky Nassau Part 1 – The Beginning of the End

11.   I Want You – Bob Dylan

12.   See Emily Play – Pink Floyd

13.   Coz I Luv You – Slade

14.   There, There, My Dear – Dexys Midnight Runners

15.   A Wave Crashed on Rocks – Felt

16.   Songs for Children – Belle and Sebastian

17.   A Living Ken and Barbie – The Orchids
18.   Sensitive – The Field Mice
19.   Over – Portishead

20.   Sexy Boy – Air

21.   Revolution 909 – Daft Punk

22.   Body Movin’ (Album Version) – Beastie Boys

11 Penderel Road, Hounslow, my fifth residence in as many years, not too dissimilar in size, shape and general state to 23 Carrington Avenue, an untidy and slightly squalid abode. After a fruitless search for a two-bedroom flat, my Cornish friend and I have moved in with two undomesticated first-year students. It’s a regression of sorts, and I will spend too much of my time playing Super Mario Kart on the SNES (Super Nintendo Entertainment System) with our new acquaintances. Glenryck Pilchards in Tomato Sauce replaces Heinz Baked Beans with Pork Sausages as my go-to brunch, which is no bad thing.

The nearest pub is The Warren on Hanworth Road (now a Tesco Express), which is a bit grim. It’s worth making the longer walk to the Pickled Newt on Staines Road (also deceased) if only because they have a free jukebox stacked with half-decent tunes. The Chariot has closed but will re-open as Shannon’s, which as the name suggests will be an ‘Irish’ pub. The Noble Half is also suffering a period of transition. To compensate, and buoyed by our younger housemates’ enthusiasm, we drink more often in Isleworth (The Town Wharf), Twickenham (The Cabbage Patch, The George), and Richmond (The Prince's Head, The Bull & Bush).

Although I am still in touch with both the guy with the indie tapes and the chap who introduced me to Sarah Records, actual contact is sporadic. We don’t possess email addresses and nor do we own mobile phones: they exist but are perceived as an extravagance, a luxury item. I know someone who owns a pager, but for most of us the landline is our only means of communication. (Pager guy will actually prove to be a positive source of musical inspiration – but not yet.)

The tapes did not survive the migration to MiniDisc. Did they ever exist? I certainly recall listening to Stereolab within the context of a broader compilation – on the train down to Plymouth precisely – but my memory of what else was on that cassette is patchy.

Contemporary music was in a bad state. The Britpop scene had given way to a whole host of average-at-best guitar bands, including, but not limited to: Mansun, Marion, Placebo, Texas, Kula Shaker, Embrace, Hurricane #1, Heavy Stereo, Catatonia, Dodgy, 60 Ft. Dolls, Space, Symposium, The Seahorses, Theaudience, and many of the bands that featured at some time or another on Chris Evans’s despicable vanity project TFI Friday. Groups like the Stereophonics and Travis were the next big thing. All The Verve’s latest singles incorporated strings. The kids were going mad for the novelty dance act that was Fatboy Slim. OK Computer was being held up as a work of genius. Tony Blair had recently taken office.

Stereolab’s Dots and Loops and Illumination by The Pastels – both released in September 1997 – offered succour. So did Belle and Sebastian’s If You’re Feeling Sinister, released in November 1996, which the guy with the indie tapes recommended to me. Dots and Loops was Stereolab’s most successful album to date, both commercially (sitting at no. 19 in the album charts for a whole week!) and critically. As is the story of their life, The Pastels’ album passed by almost unnoticed. Yet Belle and Sebastian had managed a breakthrough of sorts. The sports student I was now living with was strangely taken with them, perhaps on account of their song 'The Stars of Track and Field', which concerned itself with the physical prowess of athletes. In July and October of the same year, Belle and Sebastian released two EPs: Lazy Line Painter Jane and 3.. 6.. 9 Seconds of Light. I acquired both, the latter being the source of the unlisted 'Songs for Children'.

I’d been contemplating soul music and 1960s girl groups: Otis Redding, The Ronettes, The Shangri-Las, stuff like that. My lady friend picked up on this and for Christmas presented me with That’s Soul Volume 2 – an Atlantic Soul compilation – and Sweet Talkin’ Guy by The Chiffons. I played these records a lot, and whatever tape I put together back then would be bound to reflect this. Tracks 5 through to 10 are the most likely to have appeared on such a compilation.

Star of Track & Field

On leaving Penderel Road I entered what I refer to as my nomadic phase. I spent much of this period at my lady friend’s house in Isle of Dogs. Besides that, I stayed for a week with my parents in Plymouth, slept on the couch from time to time at Bulstrode Avenue, and spent nights here and there at the new house of the Cornish friend who stacked it in Debenhams and guy who liked The Stars of Track and Field, which they shared with the fellow who owned the SNES. I also visited the former cohabitant from Brighton, who had moved back there after a rough time of it in Tottenham. It was here that I made an association with the Bob Dylan tune 'I Want You', either by way of the album Blonde on Blonde or a greatest hits compendium.

At some juncture I purchased a tatty copy of Relics by Pink Floyd, but I couldn’t swear when it was. It could have been before, during, or shortly after my residence at Penderel Road, but it was no earlier than 1997 and no later than 1999. I’m not much of a Pink Floyd fan but I am of Syd Barrett, and 'See Emily Play' and 'Arnold Layne' were missing from my collection.

I’m not a fan of Slade either but there’s something quite rousing about 'Coz I Luv You'. Oasis’s cover of 'Cum on Feel the Noize' a few years earlier had made it perfectly acceptable to like Slade, despite their preposterous appearance. Judging by the age of the clientele who drank in The Pickled Newt, this would have had no bearing on its inclusion on their jukebox. Actually, in 1971, before 'Coz I Luv You' was released, Slade looked vaguely presentable and were still relatively unknown. The tune went straight to number 1 and a lucrative career in glam rock beckoned.

It was the guy who introduced me to Sarah Records who introduced me to Dexys Midnight Runners. I’d heard of them, of course, but it hadn’t occurred to me that they were worth listening to – too many bad memories of 'Come On Eileen' being played down Ritzy’s nightclub. I think it was the album Too-Rye-Ay he initially pushed my way – he’d rant on about this amazing tune called 'Plan B'. I preferred 'Let’s Make this Precious', but he was right about Dexys being something special. Ultimately, it was their first album, Searching for the Young Soul Rebels, I listened to more, so in reconstructing the past I’ve opted for 'There, There, My Dear'.

Belle and Sebastian’s Stuart Murdoch has expressed publicly an admiration for the band Felt. If asked, I would expect he would say similarly nice things about Sarah Records’ bands The Orchids and The Field Mice. I bought two of The Orchids’ albums – Unholy Soul and Striving for the Lazy Perfection – second-hand, on vinyl, in relatively quick succession. It’s possible that I actually purchased Unholy Soul when I lived on Bulstrode Avenue. What’s more, indie tapes guy had it on cassette and we used to listen to it at Hanworth Road. As such, it is 'Striving for the Lazy Perfection' that aligns itself in my mind with Penderel Road, the song 'A Living Ken and Barbie' in particular. The Field Mice, meanwhile, released a career retrospective entitled Where'd You Learn to Kiss That Way? which is the opening line from 'So Said Kay'. I knew of 'Sensitive' from a Sarah Records mixtape the guy who introduced me to Sarah Records made for me and subsequently borrowed back, to never return. I knew a fair few of The Field Mice's songs by now, but it was handy having the bulk of them collected together on two CDs.

Regarding Felt, the chap who introduced me to Sarah Records loaned me the compilation Bubblegum Perfume and the LP The Pictorial Jackson Review. Over time, these records have merged in my mind and it took a lot of digging around to establish the name of the tune I wanted to include on this compendium. All I had in to go on was a rough memory of the line, 'I'm not your Jesus, so will you get off my cross.' It was enough, but very few Felt albums are available commercially and are rare and expensive bought secondhand, so I had to download 'A Wave Crashed on Rocks' off the internet.

I can't remember listening to Portishead's second album while living on Penderel Road, but I have a copy so I must have done. (It was a Christmas present, I know that much.) The last three tracks, however, are all evocative of the house my lady friend shared on the Isle of Dogs with a girl with whom she used to go to school. Daft Punk even reminds me of helping to paint their living room, which is appropriate because the album in question is called Homework. I had to rely on my lady friend for all of this – these were some of my poorest times – and I think she also paid for me to watch the Beastie Boys play at the Brixton Academy in June 1998, accompanied by our friend No Eyes, which is something that would have bowled over my 13 year old self.

[Listen to here.]

LINER NOTES: THE HEROES OF HANWORTH [1995-96]

1.     Main Title (Blow-Up) – Herbie Hancock

2.     Just When You’re Thinkin' Things Over – The Charlatans

3.     Anesthesia – Luna

4.     Breather – Chapterhouse

5.     Something and Nothing – The Wedding Present

6.     Stroll On – The Yardbirds

7.     Lamento – Antonio Carlos Jobim

8.     The Nile – A Guy Called Gerald

9.     Percolator – Stereolab

10.   The Game of Eyes – Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci

11.   Only Love Can Break Your Heart – Saint Etienne

12.   Sick and Tired – The Cardigans

13.   Do the Strand – Roxy Music

14.   The Joy Circuit – Gary Numan

15.   Moonlit Lungs – Sandy Dirt

16.   Underwear – Pulp

17.   Across the Universe (Wildlife Version) – The Beatles

18.   Tere Siva Duniya Mein – Nahid Akhtar

19.   Token Collecting – The Pastels

20.   So it Goes – The Verve

21.   Planet Telex – Radiohead

22.   Sugar Kane – Sonic Youth

23.   Twisterella – Ride
24.   Peaches – The Orchids

25.   F=GmM(moon)/R2 – Man or Astro-man?

26.   Rozmaryn – Hana A Petr Ulrychovi
27.   Be My Girl – James Taylor Quartet

28.   The Ipcress File – Roland Shaw and his Orchestra

29.   Alright Hear This – Beastie Boys

30.   Pinto’s New Car – Money Mark

There are many ways to while away the hours in Hounslow in the year 1995. Charity shops abound and are well stocked: Fred Perry tracksuit tops, brown leather jackets with collars courtesy of the 1970s, Gabicci polo shirts in man-made fabrics, all liable to attract the wrong sort of attention when out and about.

Let the lad who lent you The Sound of the Suburbs pay for a few games of snooker at Rileys off Bell Road, which you will invariably lose, and then head down to Inwood Park for a kick about with whoever else is around.

Wander around Hounslow with the guy with the tapes, who has bought himself a secondhand camera, posing for photographs with the chap who introduced you to Sarah Records, standing in front of mirrors.

Hang out in the Treaty Centre café drinking cheap tea with the chap who introduced you to Sarah Records and the lad who lent you The Sound of the Suburbs, or maybe even the pretty girl who lives across the road.

Stroll across to The Rifleman for a few pints and games of pool. Banter with the landlord, who suspects we might be local band The Bluetones, will often ensue.

The cohabitant from Brighton had bolted back to Brighton and the guy with the indie tapes offered to fill the vacuum. We employed the same tactic as the year before but batted a little straighter: we asked around for three bedroom houses or flats, and failing that for somewhere with four evenly sized rooms. We would then give tapes guy the option of moving in with us, should the property be to his satisfaction, which it more than likely would be.

And so it came to pass. We found a terraced house on Hanworth Road with a little more character than the last, in middle of Hounslow town centre, around the back of Argos, opposite The Rifleman, around the corner from the Noble Half, and only a few minutes’ walk from the bus station and thus The Chariot. The guy with the tapes took what was ostensibly the living room at the front of house, whereas I took the territory at the back beside the kitchen. The lad who lent me The Sound of the Suburbs was upstairs-front and the Cornish friend who swooned in Debenhams upstairs-back next to the bathroom. There was a pipe that travelled up through my room into that of my Cornish friend which we tapped to alert each other to our awakened states, a signal to open our windows and discuss exit strategies. The guy with the indie tapes was best avoided early in the day. Rarely hungover and with boundless energy, he could be very demanding of one's attention.

Marks & Spencer, Hounslow

The former cohabitant from Brighton arrived bearing records: Chop Suey Rock - Songs about the Orient Vol. 1, Decade of Instrumentals: 1959~1967, Rare Tunes Chapter One “From Latin… to Jazz Dance, Mission Impossible and The Money Spyder by the James Taylor Quartet, Stereolab's Refried Ectoplasm [Switched On Volume 2], and Intravenous Television Continuum by Man or Astro-man?. He also had a tape to give to me: the soundtrack to the film Blow-Up. 'Main Title' lasts a little more than a minute and a half. Short songs introduce playlists better than long ones do.

'Just When You’re Thinkin' Things Over' by The Charlatans rips off 'Torn and Frayed' by The Rolling Stones. I didn’t know this at the time but when I purchased Exile on Main Street some years later it was immediately apparent. 'Just When You’re Thinkin' Things Over' was released on the 7th August 1995, exactly one week prior to 'Country House' by Blur and 'Roll with It' by Oasis. The kids down at JFKs on Union Street, Plymouth, went mad for all of this, but 'Just When You’re Thinkin' Things Over' is a much better tune than either 'Country House' or 'Roll with It', in spite of its plagiarism.

Luna was the group Dean Wareham put together after dissolving Galaxie 500. Lunapark was played a lot during that first term at Hanworth Road. I say term but I was actually on a sabbatical. I’d semi-flunked my sophomore year, swapped American Studies for English but wasn’t due to recommence university until February. So I signed on and spent a lot of time in the room of the guy with tapes – the only room with a sofa and a television – drinking tea and sifting through his back-catalogue – hence 'Breather' by Chapterhouse and 'Something and Nothing' by The Wedding Present. I’d already been beguiled by Bizarro earlier in the year so it was no surprise when I fell for George Best, or that I then bought the Mini EP on its release in January.

The soundtrack to Blow-Up is mainly the work of Herbie Hancock but also includes a contribution by The Yardbirds: the hard, psychedelic rock of 'Stroll On'. Perhaps this dichotomy explains Britpop’s bizarre fascination with easy-listening jazz and orchestral pop, exemplified by acts like The Divine Comedy and My Life Story, and the canonisation of Burt Bacharach as some sort of musical saint. I didn’t have much time for The Divine Comedy or My Life Story but I didn’t mind a bit of easy listening. While the guy with the tapes bought second-hand Herb Alpert records and Bruton Music from charity shops, I reverted to my parents’ record collection to see what I could find, and found Wave by Antonio Carlos Jobim. It might seem odd to follow on from this with A Guy Called Gerald but it makes the transition from the ‘60s loungecore of Jobim to the avant-garde pop of Stereolab a smoother one.

At some point over the summer, an acquaintance of mine called me up to ask if I wanted to go and see Pulp at the Brixton Academy in December. I tried to be evasive but I suppose politeness got the better of me, because the next thing I knew she’d bought us both tickets. It wouldn't have cost more than ten pounds, but a pint back then was easily less than two and I was short on funds. With the vague hope that the acquaintance might offer my place to someone else with a little more disposable income, I agreed to accompany her on the condition that I could pay for it nearer the time. (In all probability, she would have invited the chap who introduced me to Sarah Records before approaching me, so I had no cause to feel guilty about any of this.) Different Class had yet to be released, although I'd seen Pulp perform 'Monday Morning' and 'Underwear' on The White Room in April, a live music programme on Channel 4 hosted by Mark Radcliffe, and was impressed – less so by the single that followed ('Common People'). When Different Class came out in October it failed to live up to my expectations. I didn't think it was bad, just not of the same high standard as His 'n' Hers. But I'm a man of my word so come December I paid up and off we went. This being 1995, I had no idea who was supporting; 'Plus Special Guests' according to the ticket. It turned out to be Stereolab, whom I rated by now more highly than Pulp. Their short set was worth the price of admission alone, especially ‘Percolator’ from their forthcoming album Emperor Tomato Ketchup.

Gorky's Zygotic Mynci’s 'Game of Eyes' off of the charming Bwyd Time, which the guy with the taps had purchased in the summer. This is not the sort of music that the chap who introduced me to Sarah Records much appreciated but was right up the street of the friend who lent me The Sound of the Suburbs. Saint Etienne was another product of Mr Tapes’ archives, but it was Mr. Sound of the Suburbs who provided The Cardigans.

What the hell was Romo? Whatever it was the guy with the indie tapes was into it and insisted that the former cohabitant from Brighton and I accompany him to Club Skinny in Camden to find out. Apart from that one night, I don’t recall hearing anything directly associated with this Melody Maker championed scene, but we did suddenly find ourselves listening to Telekon by Gary Numan, For Your Pleasure by Roxy Music and Hunky Dory by David Bowie, all delivered by the guy with the tapes.

27 Hanworth Road

In the autumn of 1995, Blur, Oasis and Pulp each released albums, their fourth, second and fifth respectively. Of these three records the only one that was played with any degree of regularity at 27 Hanworth Road, with wood-chip literally on every wall, was (despite my reservations) Pulp’s Different Class. Oasis’s (What's the Story) Morning Glory? – possibly the most overrated album of its time – was ubiquitous: heard on the radio, television, in bars, out of cars, in shops. Blur’s The Great Escape was the oddest of the three. Almost impenetrable, I didn’t know what to make of it. What's more, I didn’t like that Blur had suddenly embraced sportswear, nor the loutish persona the band seemed intent on cultivating (against Graham Coxon's better judgement, as it turned out).

It is often assumed that The Verve, Radiohead and Suede were actively part of the Britpop scene. They have in fact been affiliated in retrospect. All three groups were doing their own thing before the term was invented. When it was, they did not affect an about face, a change of musical direction or artistic reinvention of any kind. The accusation that any of them adapted their sound to exploit the fashion cannot be made. Only Radiohead somehow managed to shrug off the association, but whenever a magazine runs a retrospective piece on the Britpop movement, the mugs of Messrs Ashcroft, Yorke and Anderson will more often than not present themselves among the accompanying montage of images.

The opposite might be said of Stereolab and Saint Etienne, despite them understanding better the essence of Britpop – 1960s hairdos, the films of Michael Caine, vintage synthesizers, La Nouvelle Vague – than many of the more visible protagonists. As we have seen, Stereolab supported Pulp on their UK Christmas tour, while Saint Etienne were profiled alongside Suede, The Auteurs, Denim and Pulp in that April edition of Select magazine that prophesied Britpop’s coming. Stereolab covered the theme tune to Get Carter; Bob Stanley and Pete Wiggs had the right hair. Nonetheless, time appears to have freed both groups from Britpop’s shackles, probably to their advantage. As with Radiohead, they have amassed bodies of work that have been allowed to stand on their own merit.

Then there are groups that were willingly subsumed into the movement having previously been associated with entirely different genres: bands like The Charlatans, Lush, The Boo Radleys, maybe Ride. I’m guessing the reason why, at least in part, is because they integrated socially and were party to the empty decadence that came to typify the Britpop scene.

When I’d visited Mr. Tapes at his old house in May he’d impressed me with The Verve’s new single, 'This is Music'. Now he had their latest album, A Northern Soul, an expansive work anathema to the poppy urbanism that typified Britpop. Nick McCabe’s guitar work is more expressive, more measured and the overall sound more textured than was fashionable at the time, and the drum work is of a higher order entirely. The Verve had more in common with Radiohead, who also eschewed the cheap thrills of Britpop for something more ambitious. I’d contest that A Northern Soul has the edge over Radiohead’s The Bends, but both albums have dated far better than much of what fell under the umbrella of Britpop. I also liked the way the band presented themselves – shabbier and darker than their contemporaries – and Richard Ashcroft came across as genuinely eccentric; he claimed he could fly. In fact, so impressed was I that one of the first things I did after cashing my first giro was buy A Northern Soul on vinyl from HMV on Hounslow High Street. (The first thing I actually did was go for a pint in The Chariot with the chap who introduced me to Sarah Records.)

Ashcroft would ultimately succumb to the fascistic elements of Britpop just like the rest, for what was Britpop if not a syncretistic, quasi-fascist movement? Consider the evidence. Just as Italian fascism eschewed peace, Britpop repudiated both the ethos of independent music and the concept of ‘selling out’, rejecting the perceived nihilism of the contemporary indie scene and creative liberalism that had hitherto typified the genre. As with National Socialism, Britpop simultaneously looked backward to an idealised past – a cult of tradition, doffing its cap to the 1960s* – yet regarded itself as relevant and current. Self-appointed Britpop commander-in-chief Damon Albarn admitted as much when he professed that, 'The whole thing about pop music is that… you’re ripping off as many people as you possibly can, and the trick is just to listen to the right people.'

Fundamentally a populist movement, Britpop embraced youth, flirted with violence and promoted masculinity (the Gallagher brothers presenting themselves as a physical force to be reckoned with, Damon Albarn getting into football). It exploited a fear of difference by encouraging its followers to dress a certain way, shedding more obscure sartorial references – desert boots and blazers – and replacing them with items of clothing that appealed to the man on the street – trainers and anoraks. A looser fit was also appropriated. (Jarvis Cocker somehow managed to circumvent this issue, qualifying him as Britpop’s very own Hermann Göring.)

Just as Hitler and many of his cronies were wacked out on barbiturates and amphetamines, the taking of heroin, ecstasy and cocaine became de rigueur, supplanting what had previously been a minor association with drugs such as speed, acid and marijuana. The film Trainspotting – essentially an extended trailer for the Britpop movement – featured a drug addict as its protagonist. Those involved don’t like to admit it, but the use of heroin soared off the back of that film. Members of Elastica, Blur, Suede and Marion all confessed to taking the stuff, others to ingesting prodigious quantities of cocaine. This mindset perpetuates the idea that everybody can become a hero, just like Ewan McGregor/Renton.

Treaty Centre

The Beatles Anthology documentary series was first broadcast in November 1995. The television at 27 Hanworth Road wasn’t up to much, so tapes guy and I would walk around to the house where the Scottish bloke who resembled the control freak from the Volvo ad lived and watch it on their much bigger set. A period of heavy Beatles rotation followed: 'The White Album', 1967-1970 (aka 'The Blue Album'), and Rarities, wherefrom I obtained the World Wildlife version of 'Across the Universe'. Take 7, as it’s also known, begins with the sound of tweeting birds and incorporates the backing vocals of two teenage girls who were found loitering outside the Beatles’ studio on the day it was recorded. Apart from that it’s just a slightly speeded up rendition of the original, but without the strings.

As well as lending me his copy of Rarities (which on vinyl is itself quite rare), the Scottish bloke introduced me to the culinary delights of curry. He didn’t mean to – he just wanted something else to drink – but we ended up sharing a chicken madras and a few pints at the Khyber Pass after hours. My Cornish friend was taken aback when I suggested we make our own curry, but very willing, and it became a semi-regular thing, normally on a Saturday when the guy with the tapes was out of town and we felt relaxed enough to commandeer the kitchen. The chap who introduced me to Sarah Records soon got wind of our new ritual and would begin to call around late in the afternoon looking for a free feed – he even bought us a large curry pot from a charity shop to facilitate his extra portion. To get us in the mood we’d put on the Nahid Akhtar tape that the house had gifted the guy who collapsed in Debenhams for his 21st birthday. Nahid Akhtar was a Pakistani playback singer and the music on the tape derives from various Urdu and Punjabi film scores, 'Tere Siva Duniya Mein' being my favourite.

The chap who introduced me to Sarah Records had aborted college by this stage and his lifestyle had become peripatetic. I don’t know where he kept his records but he was able to lend me a couple of The Pastels’ albums after I took a shine to their latest, Mobile Safari, which was loaned to me by someone else entirely. This in turn led me to the Sandy Dirt EP, a collaboration between The Pastels and Al Larsen of Some Velvet Sidewalk, which I purchased from Rival Records in Plymouth over Christmas. Comprised of five tracks, the last is the most interesting, incorporating the line, 'and the mechanisms for transporting oxygen to the cells which require it, is the same for you and me.'

The guy with the indie tapes’ contribution to this playlist probably stands at something like 40%, which is comparable to the impact he had upon The Sounds of Baden Pearce. Sonic Youth was him, as was Ride, The Orchids and Man or Astro-man?. He didn’t own a record player, but the Hana A Petr Ulrychovi LP was his and so too was The Return Of James Bond In Diamonds Are Forever And Other Secret Agent Themes by Roland Shaw and his Orchestra, from which The Ipcress File theme was taken. But 'Pinto’s New Car' by Money Mark wasn’t from him. That was from the pretty girl who lived across the road, as was Radiohead, while my brother fixed me up with copies of Check Your Head and Ill Communication by the Beastie Boys, and swapped his spare copy of Paul's Boutique for my spare copy of One For All by Brand Nubian.

But this period cannot be adequately conveyed via one compilation alone. Rather than just being something heard at parties, or maybe through headphones, I began playing dance music at home. For this reason I felt the need to complete a sister compilation entitled The Hanworth of Heroes, which never existed at the time but does fairly encapsulate what we listened to:

1.    Saint Angel – Goldie

2.    The Reno – A Guy Called Gerald

3.    Energy Flash – Joey Beltram

4.    Shuffle – Dave Angel

5.    Turbulence – Sonic Solution

6.    X-Trak 1 – Percy X

7.    Purple Road – DJ Misjah & DJ Tim

8.    Mathematics – Barada

9.    Ecsta Deal – Emmanuel Top
10.  Dodeccaheedron – Aphex Twin

11.  Storm 3000 – Leftfield

12.  Break and Enter – The Prodigy

13.  Chemical Beats – Chemical Brothers

14.  Pearl’s Girl – Underworld

15. The Girl with the Sun in her Head – Orbital

The first seven tracks were provided by my brother. He copied the whole of Timeless by Goldie and Black Secret Technology by A Guy Called Gerald for me, and the others appeared on a mixtape he compiled under my direction – he played a number of tunes he thought I might like and I told him which ones I did. Tracks 8 and 9 came from a cassette entitled Journeys by DJ: 60 Minute non-stop dance mix by Justin Robertson that came free with Select Magazine, which I would often put on after a night down the pub. Aphex Twin was also from my brother, as was Leftfield, but I purchased Music for the Jilted Generation by The Prodigy myself. The Chemical Brothers and Underworld records were recorded off of the girl across the road, and my brother gave me the Orbital album In Sides for my birthday.

The bigger picture was this: the dance and indie scenes were converging. The Prodigy was perceived to be punk rock, at least in spirit. The Chemical Brothers invited Tim Burgess from The Charlatans to add vocals to the single 'Life is Sweet' and would ask Noel Gallagher to contribute to their next album. Everybody was into the Wu-Tang Clan all of a sudden. Big Beat, year of the trainer, Loaded magazine, football's coming home. And away with it went all notions of political correctness and integrity. Sarah Records folded in the summer of 1995 in an act that now seems symbolic.

____________
*In an essay entitled ‘Eternal Fascism’ the author Umberto Eco proposed 14 ‘qualities’ that could be said to typify it, including the cult of tradition, the rejection of Modernism, fear of difference and that everyone is educated to be a hero. While we’re at it, we might also like to consider an appeal to a frustrated middle class and selective populism.

[Listen to here.]