LINER NOTES: THE GOLDEN AGE OF HIP HOP, VOL. 1 [1988-89]

1.     Strong Island – J.V.C.F.O.R.C.E.

2.     Freedom of Speech ’88 – Just-Ice

3.     See More – Kool Rock Brothers

4.     Strictly Business – EPMD

5.     Beats to the Rhyme – Run-DMC

6.     Something Fresh to Swing To – Levi 167

7.     Bullet From a Gun – Derek B

8.     Talkin' All That Jazz – Stetsasonic

9.     It Takes Two – Rob Base and DJ EZ Rock

10.   Terminator X to the Edge of Panic – Public Enemy
11.   Follow the Leader – Eric B & Rakim

12.   Give it a Rest – She Rockers

13.   D.C. Jail – DJ Daddy

14.   Free – MC Duke

15.   Northside – Demon Boyz

16.   Style Wars – Hijack

17.   Express Yourself (Extended Mix) – N.W.A.

18.   Bring Forth the Guillotine (Darkside Mix) – Silver Bullet

19.   Eye Know – De La Soul

20.   What U Waitin’ 4 (Jungle Fever Mix) – Jungle Brothers

21.   We Rock the Mic Right (12" Mix) – Redhead Kingpin and the FBI

22.   You Played Yourself – Ice-T

23.   The Formula – The D.O.C.

24.   Underwater Rimes – Digital Underground

25.   I Come Off (Southern Comfort Mix) – Young MC

My early forays into musical archiving consisted almost exclusively of hip hop, in particular ‘golden age’ hip hop running from the late 1980s through to the early ‘90s. This span was a prolific and innovative period for the genre but not so successful commercially. Although some acts undoubtedly prospered – Run-DMC, LL Cool J, Public Enemy, Beastie Boys, De La Soul – hip hop was generally a minority interest. My fandom had been initially based on the fact that a lot of this stuff was actually fairly popular among my peer group, but prevailed merrily once the cool kids dropped hip hop for house, leaving me perplexed that a liking for a particular kind of music could be repudiated on an apparent whim. (Later, some of these same lads, who maintained a lesser interest in parallel, would end up borrowing from my collection, as opposed to the other way around, which had previously been the case.)

Mix-tapes have since been superseded by the digital playlists, and my old compilations need re-compiling, for posterity and to collate lost fragments. The original cassettes went missing a long time ago. I’m no hoarder but nor do I ruthlessly dispose of things as poignant as mix-tapes, so I’ve no idea where they went. (It’s possible that I still have them somewhere, buried deep beneath less interesting detritus.) Because of this, I’ve had to work from memory, but I've done my best to arrange the songs in the order I came across them. The Golden Age of Hip Hop – Volume 1 covers a period beginning in early 1988 that runs through to late 1989, whereupon I discovered Jeff Young’s 'National Fresh' on BBC Radio 1 and began to put some effort into making my compilations.

Licensed to Ill by the Beastie Boys was the first rap album I possessed, but there was never a question of me nailing colours to any mast; I didn’t identify it as being part of a scene. I recall liking 'The Show' by Doug E Fresh & the Get Fresh Crew, released in August 1985, and Run-DMC’s mash up of 'Walk This Way', but both were perceived as novelties, by myself and probably the general British public. As was '(Nothing Serious) Just Buggin'' by Whistle and 'Wipeout' by The Fat Boys – rap tunes enjoyed by people who didn’t really like rap music. This might apply to Salt-n-Pepa. ('I Need Love' by LL Cool J had the capacity to be taken seriously, but not by me.) The point being that hip hop wasn’t respected in the same way other musical forms were. It was nothing more than a passing fad, and often derided (see Morris Minor and the Majors).

Public Enemy changed all this. Their first album, Yo! Bum Rush the Show, passed me by, but their second, It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back changed my life, awakening me to the genre’s wider, more serious potential. One of the cool back-row boys recorded it for me onto a TDK 90 that I would later pad out with tracks recorded off the radio. In the meantime, I began scouring the local record shops for complementary material.

Plymouth's 'Graffiti Hall of Fame'.

Whenever I hear the opening bars to 'Unhooked' by Freda Payne I automatically expect 'Strong Island' by J.V.C.F.O.R.C.E to kick in. I came to know this tune by way of a Street Sounds compilation prosaically entitled Hip Hop 20, purchased from a small record shop in Plymouth’s old Drake Circus. This tape also included 'It Takes Two' by Rob Base and DJ EZ Rock, which will be well known to anyone around at the time and many more who weren’t. The kid who lived across the road from me then invested in Hip Hop 22 (didn’t either of us fancy Hip Hop 21?), from whence 'Strictly Business' by EPMD, 'Freedom of Speech ’88' by Just-Ice and 'See More' by the Kool Rock Brothers came from. The former is a bona fide hip hop classic built around Eric Clapton’s cover of 'I Shot the Sheriff' by Bob Marley. Just-Ice had connections with KRS-One, as well as an aggressive delivery – ahead of the curve in that respect – and a moderately successful musical career. The Kool Rock Brothers are more obscure and don’t seem to have released much else beyond the track I’ve included on the first volume of my anthology.

I was mesmerised by the graffiti clad covers of these compilations, for it wasn’t just the music that appealed but the clothes and the accompanying subculture. This was early 1988, during my third year at secondary school. It was quite normal to try your hand at a bit of graffiti on paper, and a few of us even gave it a go on actual walls (at the dilapidated former zoo around the back of Plymouth Argyle’s football ground where the council dumped wood-chippings, compost and suchlike, which was I suppose still technically illegal). Trainers were coveted, especially Fila and Troop, although most of us wore Adidas, Nike or Reebok. Silky tracksuit tops were worn, or hooded sweatshirts. Again, Nike and Adidas were standard issue, and later Champion, Stussy and Russell Athletic (aside from a myriad of obscurely labelled clobber bought from places like JC Conway on Cornwall Street). In winter, Capri ski jackets, for school children only ever wear coats in the most inclement of conditions.

As with sport, such enthusiasms can cut across classroom hierarchies, making you less vulnerable to being picked on. I was probably immune to this anyway due to the fact that I liked football and was prone to a bit of mischief (although everyone gets beset upon on at school at some point or other). For myself and the disparate crowd of inbetweeners I hung out with, a typical lunchtime might include: water-fights in D-Block toilets; collecting jars and bottles from around the place, taking them down to Stonehouse Creek and throwing stones at them; depositing empty deodorant cans on the fire lit weekly around the back of the school canteen and waiting for them to explode, which they did; heading down to the rarely used weight-lifting room in E-Block, lining barbells up against the wall, spinning the weights on their axis, knocking down said barbells to create a hellish racket, and then running for our life; chucking fruit through open windows, preferably two or three storeys up.

The water fights in D-Block toilets were a particularly common occurrence. About six or seven of us would enter tentatively, probably because one of our number actually needed to utilise the antiquated facilities (our school – Devonport High School for Boys – was a former military hospital built in 1797 and moved into after World War II). Generally, whoever it was that needed to would be allowed to relieve himself before battle commenced. Rough paper towels would then be cupped under a tap, filled with water, tied off to form a sort of grenade, and then thrown at one another. Someone might pick up the permanently plumbed-in hose and twirl it around their head to release the water that trickled steadily along its serpentine length. If someone happened to be sitting in one of the cubicles then our missiles would instead be lobbed over the top onto the unsuspecting, helpless student.

I look back upon such waggery with both fondness and approval. Despite its benefits, formal education is not the natural state of things. A child (because adolescents are still pretty much children) is not designed to keep still and concentrate for hours at a time; attention deficit hyperactivity disorder is a reasonable condition. The best teachers were those that recognised this and said things along the lines of, 'I know you’d rather be doing something else, but we’ve got to get through this,' as opposed to censuring the apathetic individual as some sort of miscreant and an affront to authority.

Yet I never viewed my liking of hip hop as an act of defiance or rebellion, even though it obviously was from the point of view of many of those who were making it. I saw it as an art form, and an ingenious one at that. Take Public Enemy's 'Terminator X to the Edge of Panic': a strange, minimal fusion of staccato horn samples, sparse beats and ambient noise; a collage of sounds that seems increasingly abstract the more you listen to it. Nothing in the charts sounding anywhere near as sophisticated or as odd.

Run-DMC’s Tougher than Leather, released in May 1988, was the first rap album I actually owned, as opposed to being taped off of someone else. The general consensus among the cool/hard kids in my class (it’s hard to know exactly how they wanted to be perceived) was that Run-DMC were passed it, that it was all about Public Enemy and NWA. Chuck D of Public Enemy begged to differ and rated Run-DMC’s fourth album very highly. I wasn’t so impressionable that I'd take everybody else’s word for it, and the guy I caught the school bus with – one my closest friends – was as impressed with the record as I was.

'Something Fresh to Swing To' by Levi 167 was made available on Street Sounds' Hip Hop 20 in 1988 but released as a single a year earlier. Levi 167 had been a member of the short-lived Scott La Rock and the Celebrity Three along with KRS-One, and his career as a solo artist appears to have been equally brief. Unlike that of Eric B & Rakim, who Chuck D, no less, credits with changing hip hop. 'Follow the Leader' was certainly ahead of its time.

Tracks 11 to 15 were taken from the same Music of Life compilation, entitled Hard as Hell Volume 2. Music of Life was a British record label run by DJ, producer and remixer Simon Harris and provided an outlet for British rap which it probably wouldn’t have otherwise had. For me, Hijack’s 'Style Wars' was the stand-out track. It sounded weirder than other tunes included on the compilation, but musically they weren’t doing anything that PE hadn’t done already. Style Wars even mines the same sample as 'Public Enemy No. 1' – Fred Wesley and The J.B.'s' 'Blow Your Head'.

Acid House, rave, the second summer of love. It escaped us, we were too young – 13 going on 14. Nor do I recall anyone being into The Stone Roses or Happy Mondays. The tunes doing the rounds were things like 'Beat Dis' by Bomb the Bass, 'Good Life' by Inner City, 'Keep on Movin'' by Soul II Soul, 'Pump up the Jam' by Technotronic – early signs that hip hop was on the way out, to be displaced by various forms of dance music.

But not just yet. The guy I caught the school bus with returned the favour and bought the album 3 Feet High and Rising. De La Soul, alongside the Jungle Brothers, represented an emerging strain of rap that would assert itself towards the end of 1989 and into 1990, paving the way for groups like A Tribe Called Quest and a whole sub-genre of hip hop offhandedly referred to as jazz rap. This was the sort of hip hop almost anybody could get on with.

It was about now that I discovered National Fresh. I assume one of the cool/hard kids let me in on it, although it was unclear as to whether anybody else in my class – or even school – was tuning in as religiously as I was about to. I knew of Silver Bullet because he’d managed to make the Top 40, and because '20 Seconds to Comply' contained a sample from RoboCop, and I loved the film RoboCop. I didn’t like 'Bring Forth the Guillotine' at first but the Darkside Mix that Jeff Young played was a big improvement. So too was the Jungle Fever Mix of 'What U Waitin’ 4' by the Jungle Brothers, although I didn’t know this because I hadn’t heard the original.

Redhead Kingpin and the FBI were part of that 'new jack swing' scene, where hip hop and R&B coalesced. It wasn't my thing, but the 12" remix of 'We Rock the Mic Right' errs towards the side of hip hop. Ice-T's song 'New Jack Hustler', written for the film New Jack City, has nothing to do with this sub-genre, although they probably share an etymology. 'You Played Yourself' is from Ice T's third studio album, entitled The Iceberg/Freedom of Speech... Just Watch What You Say! and is indicative of the man's style.

The D.O.C. was an original member of Dallas act the Fila Fresh Crew. This credential brought him recognition and he was soon penning tracks for N.W.A. before going it alone and releasing No One Can Do It Better in the summer of 1989. (Although not initially released as a single, the album track 'Portrait of a Masterpiece' was later remixed by the London-based house DJ CJ Mackintosh, acquiring the status of 'hip-house’ classic in the process.)

What on earth were Digital Underground all about? Ostensibly they were a substantial collective. However, Shock G, the group’s de facto leader, would adopt a miscellany of personas, Humpty Hump being the most readily identifiable (due to the comedy Groucho nose-and-glasses set and his nasal delivery). 'Underwater Rimes' features another Shock G alter-ego, the underutilised MC Blowfish. The group were mired in a different sort of funk to Public Enemy – P-funk, which means anything associated with George Clinton and his twin acts, Parliament and Funkadelic, although Public Enemy certainly borrowed from this genre too.

Young MC’s original version of 'I Come Off' was nothing special but CJ Mackintosh and Dave Dorrell’s Southern Comfort Remix was, utilising the bass-line from 'Hercules' by Aaron Neville. Despite the house music connection, this is pure hip hop, anticipating the trend for jazz rap that was just around the corner. 

[Listen to here or here.]

STADIA: JUVENTUS STADIUM AND STADIO OLIMPICO GRANDE TORINO, TURIN

Built in 1990 specifically for the World Cup, the Stadio delle Alpi, although an impressive structure in and of itself, made for a bad football stadium. The usual thing: poor sight-lines, a running track, remote location, no atmosphere. Juventus and Torino persisted in playing there until 2006, by which point Juventus were averaging crowds of about 25,000 across all competitions – Torino marginally less – in a ground with room enough for 69,000, compared to the approximate 47,000 thousand they’d been drawing in at the Stadio Comunale in 1998 (although it should be noted that attendances began to decline throughout all of Italy over the same period).

Actually, the delle Alpi’s number was up as early as 2002 when Juventus purchased the property off the city council for €25 million with a view to knocking it down and constructing something more modest in its place – the same year a Coppa Italia encounter between Juventus and Sampdoria attracted a mere 237 supporters. Plans for a new 41,000-seater stadium were finally unveiled in November 2008, with the project scheduled to commence the following year. In the meantime, both Juventus and Torino were able to return to the Stadio Comunale – now known as Stadio Olimpico – after it had been substantially renovated ahead of the 2006 Winter Olympics. By September 2011 the Juventus Stadium was complete.

Stadio delle Alpi was pre-fabricated, meaning it was manufactured off-site and then pieced together on location. It follows that such a structure is easier to take down, and that much of its material is recoverable. Accordingly, in developing the new stadium a ‘sustainable construction policy’ was adopted that is reckoned to have recouped around €2.3 million in costs: the redundant terracing, for example, was reduced to aggregate and used to shore up the new ground’s foundations; something like 6,000 tons of various metals were recycled. Numerous energy-saving strategies were also incorporated into the design – solar energy, district heating, the trapping of rainwater, and so on. Consider too that by scaling downwards Juventus were able to sell land to the retail outlet Conad for around €20.25 million. Not only did this nearly cover the cost of the site itself, but the Area 12 Shopping Centre that Conad subsequently constructed, in partnership with French Hypermarket chain E. Leclerc, provided the sort of amenities that were beyond the football club’s reach: shops, bars, restaurants, as well as 2,000 parking spaces.

All in all, then, the new stadium appears to represent a neat piece of business. It looks like a neat piece of business. Comprised of a continuous, curved rectangular bowl, its simplicity is almost the most striking thing about it; only the row of the executive boxes squeezed between the two tiers of the west side and the ‘premium club’ seats directly in front break the monotony. But look up and you’ll notice two inverted V-shaped pylons at either end of the ground pulling on steel tensioning-cables attached to the trusses that support the roof. This is surely a nod to the old Stadio delle Alpi, whose roof was upheld in a similar fashion. Even the canopy itself bears some similarity, divided into sections with translucent gaps in-between letting in light.

The lower tier is about twice as deep as the upper ring of seating and is as tight to the pitch as the available space will allow. Seats are mostly white but fade to black towards the rear, with three yellow stars behind each goal denoting over 30 scudetti won. The 56 concrete monoliths that anchored the cables that supported the delle Alpi’s roof have been left in situ, as has the landscaped mound that encircled them – formed to diminish the ground’s profile against the backdrop of the Alps. As such the lower tier is indiscernible from without. The visible, upper stratum has been swathed in a skirt of grey panelling, save for a ring horizontal green, white and red panels around the stadium’s rim. Although in the main cosmetic, this façade gives protection against the elements for spectators congregating around the concourse that surrounds the top tier, which is uncluttered and with plenty of room to move about in.

Some have argued that the ground’s capacity should have been higher. Project manager and chief architect Gino Zavanella has pointed out that Juventus are currently averaging crowds of between 38,000 and 39,000, so it's about right. In any case, the club stipulated that they’d sooner sell out than have 10,000-odd seats left empty. More bothersome is the charge that, against minor opposition, the Juventus Stadium can be an uninspiring place, that the hardcore fans save themselves for bigger games and at other times the home support can be fairly sedate.

The Stadio Olimpico was built for the 1933’s Littoriali del Sport – an event set up by the National Fascist Party to celebrate itself – and the International University Games to be held that same year. The prospect of hosting the 1934 FIFA World Cup may also have been a factor, although work on the stadium had already begun when the tournament was awarded to Italy, after much deliberation, in October 1932.

Although still rotten, Mussolini was a very different egg to Hitler and allowed Italian architects to build pretty much however they liked (out of indifference rather than benevolence). In 1927, Umberto Costanzini wrapped Bologna’s Stadio Littoriale, as it was then called, in a red-bricked neoclassical façade. Just three years later and Pier Luigi Nervi was experimenting with raw, reinforced concrete at the Stadio Giovanni Berta – named after a Florentine fascist – in a manner that all but anticipated Brutalism. Thus, it’s not so remarkable that Raffaello Fagnoni’s stadium in Turin ended up having something of the International Style about it, or even that it originally bore Mussolini’s name: Stadio Municipale Benito Mussolini.

The ground’s frontage comprised of a wall painted terracotta red with a concertinaed grill of concrete and glass running along the top of it. Above that, slender stanchions with two-story high tessellated glass screens in between. Finally, the overarching underside of the upper tier, finished in a smooth layer of raw cement – the height of modernity. Inside, the stadium consisted of two tiers with the obligatory parterre providing access via a series of bridged stairways. As was usual for the period, only one side of the ground was covered. Although not as striking as the roof Nervi erected in Florence, the elliptical nature of the Stadio Municipale made for an attractive canopy, even if it didn’t offer much in the way of protection.

Juventus moved in first, in 1933, while Torino continued to play at Stadio Filadelfia until 1963, whereupon they joined Juventus at what had by now been rechristened Stadio Comunale, for obvious reasons. The stadium saw much success: Juventus were crowned champions 16 times, Torino six. By the time both clubs left to play at the Stadio delle Alpi, the parterre had been removed to accommodate a moat and the terracing was dangerously decrepit.

Stadio Comunale

If the Stadio Comunale hadn’t been listed as a building of interest by the 'Superintendency for Environmental and Architectural Heritage' its transformation into the Stadio Olimpico could have taken a very different turn. The temptation might have been to strip the whole thing back to its foundations, build on top of it and then re-face the exterior in a more contemporaneous manner. Instead, the architectural practices tasked with refurbishing the stadium – Giovanni Cenna Architetto and Arteco – were obliged to retain the ground’s integrity while increasing its capacity and covering it completely.

The new roof was assembled upon concrete pillars positioned equidistantly around the perimeter of the second tier. These same pillars also supported a newly added third tier, albeit just five rows deep, completely separate from the existing structure and indiscernible when viewed from outside (excepting the glass-fronted corridor that runs along the back of the executive boxes that occupy the Tribuna Granata). The steel beams the roof rests upon were fixed to the stadium itself by way of slender steel masts – painted white – that reach diagonally downward and attach themselves unobtrusively to the building’s supporting stanchions. Seats were installed throughout, the moat filled in and the parterre reinstated.

Such enhancements, geared primarily towards the Winter Olympics, were probably enough to satisfy the demands of Torino. However, when Juventus qualified for the Champions League in 2008 the capacity of 25,500 was deemed inadequate and work began on extending the lower tier by another four rows to accommodate another 1,350 seats. In 2009 the parterre was removed to make room for three more rows adding an additional 444 places. Further modifications in 2012 – after Juventus had moved out – freed up a bit of extra space here and there, raising the capacity to just over 28,000, which is where it currently stands.

In April 2016, the Stadio Olimpico was renamed the Stadio Olimpico Grande Torino in honour of the team that perished in the 1949 Superga air disaster. In July 2017, Juventus's ground was rebranded as the Allianz Stadium in a deal with its sponsors set to run until July 2023. One club takes inspiration from the past, the other looks to the future.

Yet both grounds serve same purpose; the difference between them is found in the architectural detail. The Stadio Olimpico is distinct both as a building and as a stadium, while the Juventus Stadium is amorphous and easily mistaken for something else. Where the former's glass-and-concrete external wall leave an impression, the grassy banks and grey panels that surround the latter barely register. The Stadio Olimpico was devised to be seen, whereas the Juventus Stadium attempts to blend in – only those pylons give it away. Whether this makes the Olimpico more aesthetically pleasing is moot, for it is a distinction most football watchers won't care to make. But just as the Hammersmith Apollo, built in the early 1930s, is a far more arresting structure than the O2 Arena, so it also makes for a better live music venue. The Juventus Stadium presents as a cinema, the Stadio Olimpico as an amphitheatre. At Juventus the arrangement is one of intimacy and of concentration. When the performance begins, you remain in your place. Conversely, the open environment at Torino encourages movement and a greater appreciation of the setting. The staff won’t mind if you’d like to stand up, move seats, or maybe just hang out around the back of that top tier and watch the game from there.

How much of this has to do with architecture and how much to do with a differing approach towards health and safety is unclear. But there’s a lot to be said for grounds – and of buildings in general – that are adapted to perform a function, as opposed to those designed to satisfy a specific remit. The old is not beholden to the present, and by making concessions to allow for it throws up all sorts of idiosyncrasies that an architect would never conceive of. Which is not to say that the Juventus Stadium is a bad stadium, just that the Stadio Olimpico Grande Torino is a more interesting and convivial one.

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.]