What I’ve been listening to on the train this week

Oh look, look, look - IT’S FRIDAY (well, at least it is when I’m writing this on the 17:58 from Liverpool Street to Colchester).

Since my post about music listening as a commuter last week I’ve been thinking it might be quite nice to wheel out the old “What I’ve been listening to this week” pieces. But, seeing as my music listening tends to be done hurtling down a railway line these days I’ll change the title to “What I’ve been listening to on the train this week”. Clever, huh? I don’t work in corporate communications for nothing. Well, actually I haven’t been paid yet, so that’s completely up for debate.

So, aye, here goes the first of my weekly columns about train music listening. Can I just say now, there’s no Stone Roses in this. Firstly, because I haven’t listened to them this week (or this decade). But I have listened to a lot of people go on and on and on about how it’s going to be the best thing ever. Forever. And ever. But it’s not . Because Ian Brown can’t sing; Reni looks a little like the unhinged middle-aged dad he is; John Squire is (quite rightly) a bit embarrassed by his own acquiescence with the whole thing; Mani was in a better band; and, anyway, it’s all about the love (not the money and certainly not the music).

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Sunset Rubdown
Inspired by a post on the DiS forums, I’ve been tuning into the Sunset Rubdown’s back catalogue all week. Shut up I’m Dreaming was the record I thought Spencer Krug could never top, but then along came Dragonslayer, plastered in medieval rollicks, impenetrable metaphors and massive ball-dropping crescendos, and shoved a big fat sky-crashing rocket into my lugholes. Awesome. Plus I spoke to him a few years back and he was a cantankerous grouchy sod. Which makes him infinitely better in my head. I fucking hate compliant interviewees.



Tunnels
What an immense find. The offshoot of Jackie O’Motherfucker, Tunnels is austere narcoleptic electronica that sounds as if it’s been brewed in the belly of some East Berlin laboratory in the early 70s. Harsh, brooding, pounding; it’s got all the anatomy of archetypal Kraut-tronica, but meshed within are stinking undertones of punk anarchy that kinda goes something like: grr....chk….grr…chk…chk…grr….grrr…crunch

Tunnels - Deux by sweatingtapes

David Byrne
The sound of 70 other people snoring and farting at six in the morning does unseemly things to the equilibrium of a man’s mind. David Byrne’s solo LP was my only sanctuary in the beat up bellows of a London hostel a few weeks back. In such a predicament Byrne’s sweet whispering melodies are the only thing that get you through unscathed. They tell you everything’s going to be okay; this isn’t going to scar you; you’ll be fine; just go to a green, grassy distant land and think pleasant, soothing things. Which is what I did.



Loney, Dear
Normally I don’t care for the whimsical bullcrap that’s all too readily churned out from Scandinavia and salivated over by oh-so twee shitbags, but having been cornered by Loney Dear’s latest LP Hall Music for the purposes of a review I have to admit it’s a record that’s slowly creeping up on me. Which sounds a bit pervy. Maybe it is. Either way, it's definitely not a record for those who hate camomile pop with a teaspoon of fey, but it’s got a bit of stick - sort of like one of those weird, gloopy stretch hand things you used to fling at a window that were fun until they were coated in pocket fluff and turned out absolutely useless and a bit manky. Not that Loney, Dear are, mind. They're just alright.




Dirty Projectors and Bjork
Collaborations are usually R.U.B.B.I.S.H. Surely I can’t be the only one who thinks this? I’m fairly sure there’s probably been a few okayish ones of late that I can’t remember while I’m sitting on this train, yet most of them have been hideous catastrophes (and the jury’s still out on that overbloated bastard of a love-in by Kanye and the Jizza). But, but, but.... Dirty Projetors and Bjork just sound right together, like they were meant to be forever and ever and ever - even if they’re crooning out some conceptual nonsense from the perspective of whales and mother ocean. Or something.

What I've been listening to this week...

Yes, I know it’s Saturday and this is supposed to be a Sunday thing, but, hey, it’s a ‘blog’ so the rules I make up, I can just as easily break up, right? Anyway, it’s been a busy ol’ week and the start of next week is equally as hectic with gigs and work, so it’s probably best to get this out of the way today rather than completely forget about it tomorrow.

Last night I thought my eardrums were about to implode, so brutal was the rumbling bass at the Lucky Me soiree. It was a good night; really interesting to see how club culture has progressed (and volumised) since I was a young 'un. Today, I’m just happy to be able to hear music never mind write about it. Still, I’ll give it my best shot in the hour or so I have spare this morning before we go off to shoot a child (with a camera, not a gun).

Explosions in the Sky (EITS)

The new EITS record, as anyone who’s read my swooning tweets will affirm, is an album I’m basking in at the present. I’m a little surprised by how much I’m enjoying these instrumental blowings; previously I’ve been non-plussed by EITS’s slow-building endeavours. But Take Care, Take Care, Take Care seems to hone their sound into a tightly knitted 46 minutes of growling post-rock. Album swansong, Let Me Back In, is a particular pleasure.



Deerhunter

This Monday I finally get round to seeing Bradford Cox in live action. I'm a bit excited. Annoyingly, Su has already had the pleasure; although this was back in Atlanta where he letched over her every move while she was shooting . It’s a bit weird thinking of Cox as a sexually charged man, really. Kinda creepy. Anyway, in preparation for Monday night's Glasgow jaunt, I’ve been re-listening to Deerhunter's most recent release, the excellent Halcyon Digest. This cut, He Would Have Laughed – a song written in tribute to Jay Retread – is the zenith on a record of mountainous highs. Monday can’t come soon enough.



Deerhoof

In my bid to keep fit and deter the mood altering effects of a highly stressful day job, I’ve been running the 2.5 mile journey home (almost) every working day. Bizarrely, the maniacal sound of Deerhoof is a perfect soundtrack for this new found penchant for pavement pounding. I’m fairly certain it’s something to do with their dedication to ebb-flow rhythms. The band’s acerbic lunges are harmonised by slow-creeping woozes, meaning my lungs are given some much needed respite while negotiating the ridiculous amounts of hills found in inner-city Edinburgh. Seriously, someone needs to flatten this place out.



Over the Wall

Nick [Mitchell – Raith supporting Radar Editor] made a very good point during last night's Over the Wall (OTW) show: they’re a band that’s impossible to dislike. I’ve always been intrigued by the working of OTW, there’s definitely more of an artsy edge to the duo’s work than their cabaret-styled on-stage demeanours suggest. Also, they’ve produced a zippy little track called ‘Thurso’, which as well as being their most recognisable number, is also the name of my hometown. I’ve never really fathomed the connection, but I’m sure the ‘look how far we’ve come’ musing resonates with many an ex-pat northerner.



J Masics

I never could get into the new Kurt Vile LP that everyone’s licking their lips over. But, in an odd throw up of the books (or records, I suppose), I’m all over J Masics’s Several Shades Of Why. It’s very simple stuff, built around an acoustic guitar and Masics’ rich baritone, but these tortured reveries hit me harder than any of the stops Vile pulls out. Definitely more a Sunday morning soundrack than a pre-club curtain-raiser, though.

What I was listening to... 15 years (or so) ago

Well, seeing as I missed the deadline for ‘What I listened to last week’, I think I’ll try and make up for it with a ‘What I was listening to 15 years (or so) ago’. Before even checking out some of my musical predilections as a floppy haired youth, I already know my ‘adult’ music tastebuds will shiver at the thought of having to endure some of the bands I used to listen to regularly. So, this blog will attempt to focus on the stuff that isn’t absolutely appalling but had a pretty big impact on my musical likings today. Let the cringing commence.

The Stone Roses
My god I was obsessed with this band when I was a kid. Ian Brown was the coolest man alive; Mani was the best bass player, like, ever; John Squire was the WITHOUT DOUBT the most amazing guitar player in the universe; and noone pummeled skins like Reni. Phew, how wrong was I? Listening back, I’m not sure what I was thinking. Firstly, Ian Brown, apart from transpiring to be a bit of a cock, is beyond awful – to think I used to defend THAT voice. As for the music, well it’s flat, lifeless and just very, very stale. No amount of Jackson Pollock painting can hide that. But, hey, at least I was right about one thing. That boy Reni – some drummer.



Pearl Jam
Right, admitting this makes me a little disgusted with myself. Eddie Vedder’s pious, godlier-than-thou attitude these days makes my stomach gargle. But, Vitalogy was one of the first CDs I ever owned and on hearing it again it’s actually pretty good. Sure, it’s wallowingly self-indulgent but it still feels pretty raw and immediate to me; I specifically like the build that runs throughout this track. Time has not exactly been good for my relationship with Eddie Vedder, but maybe , at my age, it’s best to put these grudges behind me.



Suede
Even now, I still love Suede. It’s impossible not to. I’m not sure Su entirely gets it, but Bret Anderson was a beautiful man. Oddly, although it’s only been 20ish years, Stay Together is decidedly vintage in sound. Actually, I never realized just how daydreamy it came across. It’s definitely not something I associated with Suede at the time. To me they were the polar opposite of the braggard Britpop schtick floating about; they were dark, moody, sensitive. But, now, it seems there was a definite hint of ambition in those moonlit laments. Not that that puts me off them, of course - Dog Man Star is still a codeine-cut classic.



The Bluetones
My best mate’s boyfriend rips me for this every single time I see him. To be honest, I’m not sure what the deal is with the lack of Bluetones love. They were alright for their time. Aye, Mark Morris was a bit of an effete, cardigan-adorner in those girl-shagging, Chris Evans wanking, Loaded days, but that was part of the charm, wasn’t it? Anyway, in retrospect, The Bluetones were really a bit blah. Nothing to hate, nothing to love. Merely fodder for a generation of kids who actually bought Theaudience records. Talking of which, fuck I hate Sophie Ellis Baxtor.



The Prodigy
To a 15-year-old living in the north of Scotland Music For a Jilted Generation sounded like the apocalypse. I remember hearing this track on an old Vox giveaway tape and immediately being hooked. At the time I had to order the record from my local record shop and ended up checking every week to see if it had arrived (the internet seemed an awfully long way away then). When it finally did, I think my mother just about combusted with what was coming out of my room. It felt a bit rebellious; still does. So, why, oh why, did they follow it up with the abomination that was Firestarter?



Supergrass
I actually reviewed Supergrass about three years ago for Drowned In Sound, with my best mate in tow. We both came away thinking it was ‘alright’ (pardon the pun) but it was about time Supergrass called it a day, especially as Gaz’s once bulbous thatch was thinning faster than a supermodel in a sweatshop. But, at the time, Supergrass were a buoyant alternative to the stoically faced Mancunian bands doing the rounds; they had more hooks than a deep sea trawler and produced videos that clicked with the MTV masses. Today, it’s not something I’d immediately clutch out for were my CD collection to fall into obvlivion, but there’s still a shot of youthful adrenaline coursing through their early work that’s impossible to shake off.



Super Furry Animals
The fact they’re still producing the goods, makes me feel pretty good inside. I actually got into Super Furries quite late. Intrigued by the infectious Herman Loves Pauline, Revolver was my first SFA purchase, which was quickly followed up by psychedelic wash that was Guerrilla. Even now I’m surprised by how thickly textured and progressive the tracks sound. It’s probably a little too over the top to compare them, generationally, to the Beach Boys, but much of SFA’s 90s work certainly had a ring of Brain Wilson to it.

What I was listening to last week...

Let’s face it, I neglect this blog. Mostly because I’m too busy writing for other people, but also because I don’t think anyone’s all that interested in my daily musings. After all, it goes something like this: Get up, take bus to work, communicate with others, walk back from work, cook dinner, write, read, sleep.

See, not that entertaining really. But, much of my daily drag revolves around a soundtrack of music. Either music I’m writing about or music I’m just listening to purely for the fun of it. So to give this blog a sense of reason amidst the transposed scrawls from other publications and, also, to recap on some of the tuneage I’ve been listening to in the space of seven days (which at times feelsl like an avalanche), I’m going to attempt to write regularly about the records and songs I’ve made my way through over the last week, good or bad.

A weekly post can’t be that hard can it? Well, some of my blogging buddies may disagree. Regular blogging takes dedication and time, which I don’t always have a lot of. It also takes a certain degree of arrogance to believe that anyone will actually give a damn about the words you write – a singular trait I don’t always exude.

But, hey, let’s see how this goes. It could blow hard, or it could blow good. So starting today, this is my weekly round-up of the sounds I’ve been listening to. Perhaps we could call it a sound-up? Maybe not…


Nicolas Jaar – Space Is Only Noise



Sure Pitchfork is a game changer for most bands and, mostly, the writing is a step above your typical glad-rag penmanship, but their ratings are not always entirely logical. I’m thinking about that abominable James Blake LP right now, but there have been others who’ve had their decimal points notched up without justification. So when they bestowed a more than remarkable 8.4 on Nicolas Jarr’s Space Is Only Noise LP I took this glowing accolade with a touch of sodium chloride. Yet, they were right: it’s a warped, electronically-jazzed sprawl of synthesised bleeps and crystallised flat-beats. And this laser-gun swathing title track is a perfect pathway into the record’s glacial, lonely enclosure

Profisee – I See



Last week Nike Oruh (aka Profisee) welcomed me and Su into his house to kickstart a photostory on the release of his new EP Logan’s Run (due for release 28 March). Not only were Nike and his family wonderfully engaging hosts, but his approach to music creation and the industry itself was as refreshing as a blast of holy water to the retinas. Production-wise, Profisee’s music’s streets ahead of local indie acts and his lyrical execution marks him well above the middle-runners of the UK’s beats scene. But what struck me most, both in his music and meeting him in person, was his absolute belief in the music he makes. There was no self-doubt, no compliment-seeking. This is his music. And this is what he loves.

Yuck – Georgia



Despite the name, Yuck are a band more hotly tipped than a chilli-chopping chef clutching his member in a urinal. Yet, having just reviewed their debut longplayer for Drowned In Sound, I’m struggling to figure out what all the fuss is about. Post-grunge-lite guitars and stodgy songwriting do not a good band make. Yes, they sound a lot like Dinosaur Jr and, even more so, Teenage Fanclub, but this is a band riding a wave that’s barely caught surf in 20 years. This track, Georgia, at least shows signs of modern life, but in all honesty this a record to avoid.

Mondegreen - Making Cookies

Making Cookies by mondegreen

I’ve been putting together this month’s Drowned in Scotland feature and, as usual, picked a Scottish band to ‘introduce’ to the masses. I remembered speaking to Chemikal Underground’s Stewart Henderson last year about a band Mondegreen and thought I’d finally get round to checking them out. Pretty glad I did. Part Pavement, part Field Music, the Glasgow trio create a guttural clatter that convulses like an epileptic at a strobe-lighting convention. Their EP, Headless, is an insanely breathless affair and this track’s a prime example of their musical goodness. If it piques your lugholes, you can pick it up here on their bandcamp site for free: http://mondegreen.bandcamp.com/

So there you have it, that was my first 'What I was listening to last week' feature. The plan is to put another one together next week, but probably best not to hold me to that.