Now, a few moons ago my good friend Euan (who writes this lovely little blog) did at one point document his shuffle journey to and from
work. I don’t think he’s still doing it, which is a shame as it was a good
insight into what’s on his stereo. So, I thought I’d appropriate his idea (sorry) and occasionally start to lay down what randomly infiltrates my lugholes
on my way to work.
The rules here are simple: write a couple of sentences about
the track that appears on my shuffle before said ditty disappears back into the
gaping 7,000+ song void that is my iPod. Also, I can only write about the
tracks from the moment the train leaves the sattions and arrives at my
destination. So, it could be a long, long article depending on Network Rail’s
competency.
Now before I start - as something of a pre-emptive disclaimer for some of what's about to appear here - I have to declar that I’ve been working as a
music journo for about seven years and there is definitely a lot of shite that
I’ve barely bothered to listen to still lurking in the dark, dank depths of my iPod. So, some of this
tunesmithery is not there of my own accord. Although some of it is – for which
I make no apologies. Well, maybe a few.
Let the shuffle begin...
A bulbous, bouncing
bass and ski-slope tumbling drums slosh together around my eardrums, while a
persistent synth-line worms and wiggles across this jungle canvas. Doesn’t even
miss the vocals. An ebullient, and rather hopeful start
My, my, mt, isn’t this an awkward, cranky, dirty, melancholic,
lo-fi thrum? It’s like the personal score for a wind-up ballerina from the
wrong side of a New York crackhouse. Eerie, is probably the word.
Hmm… this takes me back. Primal Scream’s blues-rock-schtick
might have tickled my 15 year-old self, but this Hammond-heavy, funk-gunk wig
out has a tame, laboured feel to it. Given the amount of pharmaceuticals Bobby
G and co packed in their personage at the time, it’s a toothless, edgeless
bore.
Woah. I forgot about this. What. A. Track. A buzzing,
tectonic roll of synths and strings, it washes out on an ice-cool motorwaying
aesthetic that nods it's head to the effortless minimalism of Pantha Du Prince.
An airy, feathering fug of 80s keyboards and echoic vocal
simplicity that’s dichotomous enough to shiver spines and move feet. This is
Maus at his genius best.
Blam. Blam. Brrrrrp. Brrrrrp. This is as demented, childish
and jaw-droppingly ferocious as you’d expect. The only lyrics I can make out
behind the din of the train seem to be “eclectic melodies, popping out our
hairy bits.” I hope, hope, hope I’ve heard that right.
It’s taken me a while to “get” this Chromatics record, but
“get” it I now do. Yet if this this brooding, elongated, spacious epic had been
my introduction I’m not sure I would have bothered trying. Dull as fuck.
Otis Redding - A Home in Your Heart
This is gorgeous. Old-school, hip-jiving soul resplendent
with parping brass, shotgun percussing and a golden guitar line, topped of by
the gravelly pipes of Otis. Amazing.
I forget just how “indie” R.E.M were in the beginning. This
breezy, jangle-pop number is not Stipe et al their finest, but it’s a touchstone
for the jaunty, non-aggravational direction the band took in the 90s.
Just what you need on a sunny morning on the way to
Chelmsford. A melting, slow-burning affair led by languid guitar chimes and
bleary-eyed vocals. Reminds me of why I took such a shine to Real Estate in the
first place (that second album really wasn’t up to scractch though).
Train arrives in Chelmsford at 8:50am
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