Play For Today – current playlist 27 October 2016

 

Naturally some crossover with last week’s since my attention span isn’t all that horribly tragic…

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1. Kristin Hersh – Wyatt At The Coyote Palace (Omnibus Books, 2016) Review here!

2. ThrOes – This Viper Womb (Aesthetic Death, 2016)

2. Black Angel Drifter – Black Angel Drifter (Bastard Recordings, 2016)

3. Daniel Johnston – The What of Whom (Stress Records, 1982)

3. Rachel Mason – Das Ram (Cleopatra Records/Practical Records, 2016) Review here!

4. Debz– Extended Play  EP (Choice Records, 2016) Review here!

5. Suzanne Vega – Lover, Beloved; Songs from an Evening with Carson McCullers (Amenuensis Productions, 2016)

7. Eno – Another Green World (Island, 1975)

8. Jandek – Chair Beside a Window (Corwood Industries, 1982)

9. Public Enemy – Yo! Bum Rush The Show (Def Jam, 1987)

10.Kate Carr – I Had Myself A Nuclear Spring (Rivertones, 2016)

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11.Rachel Mason – Gayley Manor Songs (self-release, 2015)

12. Lugubrum, Face Lion Face Oignon (Aphelion Productions, 2011)

13. Charley Patton – The Complete Recordings, 1929 – 1934 (JSP Records, 2008)

14. Esmé Patterson – We Were Wild (Xtra Mile Recordings, 2016)

15. Opeth – Sorceress (Nuclear Blast, 2016)

16. Neil Young – Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere (Reprise, 1969)

17. The Mothers of Invention – Absolutely Free (Verve, 1967)

18. Miles Davis – Miles In The Sky (Columbia, 1968)

19. Suicidal Tendencies – Suicidal Tendencies (Frontier, 1983)

20. Absentia Lunae – In Vmbrarvm Imperii Gloria (Serpens Caput Productions, 2006)

ablu

Album Review – Kristin Hersh – Wyatt at the Coyote Palace

 

Kristin Hersh – Wyatt at the Coyote Palace

(Omnibus Press 2CD + hardback book)

portrait by Peter Mellekas
portrait by Peter Mellekas

I’ve been listening to/reading Kristin Hersh’s new album/book Wyatt At The Coyote Palace (out on the 28th of October from Omnibus Books) for a couple of weeks now, and it just keeps getting better. I can’t remember hearing a more wearily grown-up line than ‘Back when everything was gonna be alright’, and Wyatt… , a double album of mainly acoustic (though not necessarily gentle) songs, is full of complicated adult feelings and the kind of powerfully resonant phrases (musical and lyrical) that have always filled Hersh’s work.

The beautifully-produced hardback book + CD format too, is familiar from some of Hersh’s earlier work, and it’s hard to think of another artist who works so well with the realities of the music industry as it is in 2016. Her work with the non-profit CASH (Coalition of Artists and Stakeholders) and determination to work independently from the mainstream music industry, in collaboration with her fans, as well as her acknowledgement that there is (or should be) something special about the album as a physical object means that albums like this, or Throwing Muses’ Purgatory/Paradise are pleasing works of art as well as collections of songs.

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Wyatt At The Coyote Palace is a true solo album; where the artist not only writes and sings all the songs, but even plays all of the instruments (including guitar, cello, horns, upright bass and piano and even some instruments she built herself) as well as using found sounds recorded during her many travels. Like her solo work from ‘94’s Hips and Makers onwards, the album feels not only personal, but intimate; an encounter with another human being’s interior monologue; warm, ironic, tender, obsessive, at times desolate. The subjects of the songs – even when partly elucidated by the sometimes-related anecdotes that make up the book – remain enigmatic, but all the more emotionally charged for being allusive rather than explicit. Which is not to say that the language Hersh uses is at all obscure or flowery; quite the opposite in fact, its compact and sometimes bluntly straightforward quality (‘I’m still fucking fried post-ablutions and plane drain’) makes the words, and the feelings behind them resonate and linger in ways that the blatantly cathartic platitudes of angry or angst-ridden rock rarely do. Readers of Kristin Hersh’s brilliant 2010 memoir, Rat Girl will find that the awkward punk rock teenager who belonged nowhere and everywhere is touchingly still there, much as she was, only buried inside the wiser, more philosophical (“if we watched all moments as carefully as we watch car crashes, we’d never fuck anything up.”)  and well-travelled mother of four.

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Where sonically, the tone of the album is warm, richly textured and organic, it is emotionally extremely variable (troubled, tired, happy, resigned), but the book by contrast has a humorous, wise and self-aware tone. A dialogue between Hersh and an unnamed interlocutor, it consists of a series of ironically light-hearted anecdotes about the singer’s many brushes with near-death and disaster, interspersed with the song lyrics. The stories are in many cases intimately related to the songs – often seeming to be the incidents that inspired them – but rather than the stories ‘explaining’ the lyrics, often it feels like the songs reveal the emotional depths that the stories, in their wry delivery, often imply, rather than describe. There are also (if one listens to the album first) some revelatory moments in the text which give life to apparent non-sequiturs in the lyrics (‘street puke’s not your fault!’ being one particularly striking example.) The title, as I should probably have mentioned earlier, relates to Hersh’s son Wyatt’s relationship with the surroundings of the recording studio during the time the album was being recorded, adding another layer of intimacy to the enclosed world of the album.

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It won’t surprise fans of Hersh’s solo career to find that Wyatt at the Coyote Palace only occasionally sounds like Throwing Muses; mainly in its more dynamic, straightforward moments, as when ‘In Stitches’ switches gear from its opening tense-but-tranquil verse to the forcefully strummed and catchy (but still quite tense) verse/chorus, or the rock-flavoured prowl of single ‘Soma Gone Slapstick’. Mostly, the listener is alone with Kristin Hersh, which is as always a wonderful and fascinating place to be. Wyatt At the Coyote Palace, with its themes of  communication and miscommunication, growing up and not growing up, catastrophe, near catastrophe and the essential mundanity of both,  is autobiographical, but it’s autobiography as collage, as poetry even; the oft-made comparison with Sylvia Plath has never felt more apt. As Philip Larkin noted about Plath, whose writing he admired almost unwillingly, ‘it’s hard to see how she was ever labelled confessional’ – and like Plath’s poetry, Hersh’s songs convey an emotional charge (not least because of the strength of her expressive voice), but from oblique and fragmented narratives. As music, though, it isn’t fragmented; although many of the tunes are growers rather than immediate in their appeal, the beautifully warm and rich sound makes it an addictive listen which repays close listening. In fact, Wyatt… is an immersive experience; the use of photographs and illustrations in the book and – especially through headphones – the closeness of the music and the use of found sounds and half-heard conversation – feels like life. And when a great artist invites you into their life it would be rude not to meet her half way.

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Weekly update: the charm of the EP

 

This Friday’s weekly musings have a specific subject: the ‘Extended Play’ (EP):

Just when the album as a physical format seemed to be dying out, the (somewhat overstated) vinyl renaissance came along, reiterating the obvious; that songs are great, but sometimes a collection of songs, sequenced in a certain way, is even better. But what of the EP? Of all the available ways of collecting recorded music (apart, of course, from the cassette single/“cassingle”) the EP has always had the least secure place in the pantheon of formats. Actually pre-dating the LP (for practical/technical reasons; it was easier to fit a few songs on a piece of shellac or vinyl with the cutting equipment available), once the long-player became available it inevitably eclipsed the EP in ‘value for money’ terms. That said, early album reviewers often complained about the amount of lesser quality music that padded out LPs – but the ‘extended play’ was nevertheless sidelined, although most major artists continued to release them sporadically.

The virtues of the EP remain obvious though; at their best they are essentially albums without filler (and at a lower price); and indeed throughout the early 90s many indie bands (especially in the shoegaze scene) produced their best, most representative work on EPs. But all this is because a couple of things I’ve heard this week reminded me of the virtues of the format because they exemplify them perfectly:

Dia – Tiny Ocean (Manimal Records)

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Tiny Ocean is the debut release by Dia (composer/singer Danielle Birrittella) and it’s a beautifully complete, mature and rich piece of work, based somewhere in the realms of shoegaze, cinematic, baroque pop and folkish singer-songwriterdom, but not quite belonging to any of those genres. Quick summary –

Opening song ‘Covered In Light’ is like a gorgeously extended lush swoon, Danielle’s angelic vocals floating on a velvety cushion of ethereal synth and strings. By contrast ‘Synchronized Swimming’, though no less melodious, is tuneful, percussive and achingly wistful, the musical texture more organic and less unearthly. It’s an outstanding, lovely piece of work and perhaps the most affecting of the songs on the EP. ‘Tiny Ocean’ drifts in on a warm haze of strings and flows peacefully but mournfully, a soothingly downbeat track with a beautifully subtle melody. The waltz-time, ukulele-led ‘Gambling Girl’ strips the sound back before building into full-blown baroque pop with an outstanding vocal performance, while ‘St Paul’ is a short but very sweet folk-tinged lament and the EP (which is very nearly an album) ends on a high with the insistent beat and languorous melody of ‘Big Man’ leaving a warm, tingling silence in its wake.

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Tiny Ocean’s perfection is reinforced both by its rich, seamless sound, courtesy of some well-known producers (Joey Waronker, Tim Carr and Frankie Siragusa) and also Danielle Birrittella’s talent for knowing when a mood/tempo change is required. Dia differs in this respect from much dreampop (which it resembles to an extent); its sweetness – at least in EP form – is never overpowering or boring. The richness of sound is necessary with all the layers involved – indeed, it’s impossible to imagine Dia’s music in a rough, demo state, although it’s probably just as lovely – but in the end the sound, wonderful though it is, wouldn’t mean much without the excellent songs to justify it.

Dia Website

Dia on Facebook

Dia on Instagram

A contrast in almost every way is …

Debz – Extended Play (Choice Records)

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The self-explanatorily titled debut EP by New York’s Debz is brash, trashy, smart, new wave-influenced snotty lo-fi punk-meets-synth pop and its seven short songs are a peculiar but very potent and refreshing mixture of swagger and vulnerability, dismissive scorn and detached heartbreak.

The more aggressive songs like ‘Plastic Wrap’,‘A Real Romance’ and ‘Lobster Eggs and Maggots’ are minimalist grungy punk rock with great primitive drumming, tons of attitude and Debz’ imperious, slightly robotic singing voice. It’s not just posturing punkiness though; the strident, bleak and alienated “Did I Die” is one of several songs that cut deeper than my introduction might suggest.  In fact, there’s a surprising range of mood in the (relatively) more gentle songs, like the self-referential pop culture collage of “Barbizon” and the surprisingly tender and desolate “Love, Love, Love, Love. Love”. The uncomfortable but addictive mix of ebullience and bleakness carries through to the final, very short primitive synth-led track, “Big Time Baby”.

They may be at different ends of the stylistic spectrum, but in its own gaudy, dayglo way, Extended Play is every bit as much a work of art as Tiny Ocean is; abrasive and appealing, it’s a perfectly formed EP and, better still, it’s available on 7” vinyl, which I will be purchasing shortly.

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Debz’ website

Debz’ twitter

and that’s all for now!

 

Play For Today – current playlist

 

It’s been a while, so without further ado or elucidation, here’s some of what’s on the turntable (and equivalents) at present:

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Kristin Hersh by Billy O’Connell

1. Kristin Hersh – Wyatt At The Coyote Palace (Omnibus Books, 2016)

2. Jingo de Lunch – Perpetuum Mobile (We Bite Records, 1987)

3. Rachel Mason – Das Ram (Cleopatra Records/Practical Records, 2016)

4. Naia Izumi – Natural Disaster EP (self-release, 2016)

5. Hobbs’ Angel of Death – Heaven Bled (Hell’s Headbangers/High Roller Records, 2016)

6. Suzanne Vega – Lover, Beloved; Songs from an Evening with Carson McCullers (Amenuensis Productions, 2016)

suzanne-vega-billboard_6507. Bessie Smith – The Complete Recordings, Vol 1 (Columbia/Legacy)

8. Ghosts of Sailors At Sea – Red Sky Morning (Faded Maps, 2016

9. Dorje – Centred & One EP (Invisible Hands Music, 2016)

10.Drudkh/Grift – Betrayed By The Sun (Nordvis/Season of Mist, 2016)

11.The Mothers of Invention – Burnt Weenie Sandwich (Reprise Records, 1971)

12. Gentlemans Pistols – Hustler’s Row (Nuclear Blast, 2015)

13. Kaada/Patton – Bacteria Cult (Ipecac, 2016)

14. Maki Asakawa – Masi Asakawa (Honest Jon’s, 2016)

15. Nightsatan – Nightsatan and the Loops of Doom (Svart records, 2014)

16. Pilot – From the Album of the Same Name (EMI, 1974)

17. Haar/Ur Draugr – split (ATMF, 2016)

18. Wardruna – Runaljod – Ragnarok (By Norse Music, 2016)

19. Scott Walker – Scott 3 (Phillips, 1969)

20. The Stupid Daikini – Everything is Fine (self-release, 2015)

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Album Review: Rachel Mason – Das Ram

 Rachel Mason

‘Das Ram’

Matthew Spiegelman

Cleopatra Records (LP) / Practical Records (cassette)

Release date: 18 November 2016

Rachel Mason has done so much work in so many fields (performance art/non-performance art/filmmaking/music/etc/etc – check out her website for a cross-section) that it’s easy to immerse oneself in her work. In music alone she has amassed a vast and varied discography within just a few years.

Where her earlier albums like the couldn’t-be-more-my-cup-of-tea work of towering genius Gayley Manor Songs (2015) were simple, home-made, stark, and direct and the conceptual The Lives of Hamilton Fish (also a film) was sprawling and dramatic, Das Ram is a full-blown modern pop-rock album, full of catchy songs with a flamboyant, very New York flavour, reminiscent at times of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Talking Heads or even (at its most pop) Lady Gaga.

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photo by Chris Carlone

Opening track ‘Roses’ launches the album with a dramatic, lilting and atmospheric intro before kicking into gear with new wave-ish guitars and a rock/dance beat. It’s catchy and full of pop hooks, but Mason’s excellent vocal perfectly delivers the troubled, even mournful lyric (‘I sometimes think that life is evil/it’s just something that fills me with dread’) that uses the rose as a symbol not only of beauty and romance, but also of the pain and transience of life. As a lyric, it’s perfectly judged; as densely layered as poetry, while as simple and direct as the best pop music. ‘Heart Explodes’ by contrast feels less spontaneous, carrying on with the metaphysical preoccupations in a more theatrical, almost Kate Bush-like way, Mason’s expressive voice(s) bringing the song to a chorus that is a peculiar crescendo made from conventional romantic language, genuine wonder, exultation and distress.

Mason’s voice is again at its most powerful on the less-straightforwardly-satisfying ‘Sandstorm’ on which she winds together enigmatic images of miscommunication (‘I believe in lies about the world’) with escalating intensity  over a prowling skeletal electronic funk that wouldn’t be out of place on a Grace Jones record, building tension but never quite releasing it. For a sense of release, the strutting electro-pop/funk cabaret fantasy of single ‘Tigers In The Dark’ follows; a kind of Talking Heads/Franz Ferdinand/Lady Gaga hybrid that, unlike her earlier folk/acoustic work feels 100% the work of a performance artist; the song is great, but the delivery, the theatricality is everything. As with Bowie (among others), the artificiality expresses the soul of the performer/character far more than something more apparently earnest would.

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By comparison, the pulsating electro-pop of ‘Marry Me’ feels more like a vehicle for its complicated, beautifully detailed lyric and less an embodiment of it, although the contrast between the long, passing-of-time-obsessed verses and the simple, plaintive chorus (‘marry me/carry me over the hearth where a lost soul can hide’) grows more poignant as the song wends towards its end. A highlight of the album, it makes up in naked vulnerability what it loses to ‘Tigers…’ in glitzy disco-ness. ‘Queen Bee’ is one of the more penetrable lyrics on the album, using the image of the queen bee as a straightforward metaphor for loneliness, alienation and dependency (‘those friends were never real friends’) and the music captures the lyric in its stolid, regimented plod, with some very effective buzzing textures to reinforce the central image and some folk-inflected singing from Mason.

For a few dissonant seconds, ‘Cancer’ seems set to be the album’s darkest track, but then it unexpectedly breaks into a kind of rockabilly trot, albeit one spattered with peculiar squelches, squeaks and sound effects. Although not as grim as expected, it’s not the easiest-on-the-ear song on the album, sounding at times like two or three songs being played at once, and its chant-like vocal and slightly atonal chorus make it one of the more nerve-jangling songs in her catalogue.

Das Ram ends on a relatively more harmonious, if abrupt note with the angular funk verse/sweeping chorus of ‘Heaven’, which has a kind of early 80s, Ippu-do feel, before ending suddenly after the somewhat expected hedonistic refrain of ‘you and I are getting high.’

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photo by Kerwin Williamson

Taken as a whole, Das Ram, is a bold, exciting and accessible album, utterly different from the acoustic/folk rock textures of Mason’s earlier works like Hamilton Fish…, Turtles or indeed the raw, homemade quality of Gayley Manor Songs.  In fact it’s not like any Rachel Mason album I’ve heard (though I haven’t heard them all). Only a handful of artists have convincingly made a gesamstkunstwerk in the idiom of popular music without falling into the trap of overblown pretension – and most of those have spread from the music world outwards. With the confident, powerful Das Ram, Rachel Mason has become one of an even more select group – an artist who has learned to express herself with equal authority in whatever medium she chooses – and who seems to have fun doing it.

Weekly Wafflings

 

For a variety of reasons, it’s been far longer than intended since I last posted anything here. So this is now the first of my weekly updates, which will mostly, I hope, be posted every Friday.

It’s been a funny summer; a house move, a lot of nice weather interspersed with a lot of rain, and (ongoing) the most unsettling national/international situation I can remember living through, which has involved are-evaluation of what I believe in politically and so forth – but I have a bigger summer review type thing in the pipeline at some point, so this is just a quick note until I have something more substantial to post. Onwards!

Current listening

I’ve heard a lot of good music recently, both old & new; in regular rotation have been: Egor Galcest_kodama_coverrushin’s beautiful Once and Domenicano, Frank Zappa & the Mothers of Invention’s Burnt Weenie Sandwich  and Uncle Meat, The Beau Brummels (who are never quite as good as I want them to be – ie not as good as The Lovin’ Spoonful) but have some really good songs, Kenny Drew & Niels-Henning Ørsted Pedersen’s Duo, Bessie Smith, a really interesting album called Stations by i am rhino and ruin  which I’ll write about in more detail at some point, the wonderful Annette Hanshaw, John Baizley, Nate Hall & Mike Scheidt’s Songs of Townes Van Zandt, Louis Prima & Keely Smith, Maki Asakawa, Myriam Gendron’s Not So Deep As A Well, Japanese Breakfast, Alcest’s Kodama, Nick Jonah Davis’ House of Dragons, The Pastels, everything I could find by the brilliant Stupid Daikini, the new Wardruna album, Yurei’s Night Vision, Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds’ Skeleton Tree, Madder Mortem’s Red In Tooth And Claw (which reminds me in some ways of the amazing Jingo de Lunch album Perpetuum Mobile) and Rachel Mason’s forthcoming and very addictive Das Ram, among other things, which brings me to…

Albums of the Year

kristin-hersh-wyatt-at-the-coyote-palace-book-coverI haven’t started making an actual list yet, but it’s that time of year when some albums have firmly earned their place in the AOTY list and others are looking likely. It would be nice if Prophets of Rage released an album, but oh well. I’ve no idea how long the list will be, but I can say at this point that it will certainly include Bowie’s Blackstar, Iggy Pop/Tarwater/Alva Noto’s Leaves of Grass (not really an album but I’ll make an exception), Darkher’s Realms, Emma Ruth Rundle’s Marked For Death and Kristin Hersh’s amazing new book/double album Wyatt at the Coyote Palace.

*coincidence of the week!*

there are currently two lovely & sad (though otherwise not alike) songs called ‘Guadalupe’ regularly visiting my ears; one by the aforementioned Kristin Hersh and the other by Esmé Patterson.

Current Reading

I read Gail Carriger’s The Custard Protocol books way too fast and then spent the summer reading other things, notably Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood which was just as gripping and vivid and horrible as I remembered and Michael Moorcock’s two Corum trilogies (now on the last volume) which have been surprisingly comforting, not just because they are old favourites, but because of the rational but not backwards-looking philosophy that underlies Moorcock’s writing, even when the books are at their most corumtypically ‘heroic fantasy’/swords and sorcery in their stories and action:

“Do you know that you dream of these gods – that you are stronger than they – that when you are fearful, why then you bring fearsome gods upon yourselves? Is this not evident to you?”

“Everything may exist for a short while – even justice.  But the true state of the universe is anarchy. It is the mortal’s tragedy that he can never accept this.”

Other forms of entertainment

Grim times call for light entertainment (sometimes anyway); and I have watched and enjoyed an inordinate amount of Columbo and M*A*S*H in recent weeks/months; which suggests that war and murder are more soothing than one might expect. Less ephemerally, I have been looking at lots of art, mainly online inevitably, and am especially liking Awol Erizku at present for his re-framing & questioning of art history. So here’s his lovely Girl With A Bamboo Earring:

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Until next week…

Ride On A Golden Wave: Uriah Heep’s …Very ‘Eavy …Very ‘Umble

Very ‘Eavy …Very ‘Umble (Vertigo/Mercury, 1970; Bronze shortly thereafter)

This year (2016), BMG begins an extensive reissue campaign of releases by one of the original Spinal Tap-influencing ‘rock dinosaur’ bands, the mighty Uriah Heep. Along with an anthology, the first of these releases is, logically enough, the band’s 1970 debut – one of my favourite albums of all time – …Very ‘Eavy …Very ‘Umble. This album is probably not cool. Judging by the mostly negative reviews it got in 1970 (‘If this group makes it I’ll commit suicide’ and ‘it’s too loud, too repetitive, too predictable’ are representative quotes) it never was cool, but 46 years later it can stand proudly alongside any of the hard rock, blues rock, progressive rock or rock-rock albums of its era.

And it was an era of rock; bear in mind that that particular year also spawned Deep Purple In Rock, Black Sabbath AND Paranoid, Led Zeppelin III and many more and, while the mighty Heep are perceived to be a relatively underground cousin of Deep Purple & co, they too ponced around the US in Lear jets and limos in a way that few new rock bands do nowadays. Judged on those 1970 albums alone, the band were clearly up there with the best. Slightly less heavy (but who wasn’t?) than Black Sabbath, more jazzy and poetic than Deep Purple, more riff-centric and bluesy than (1970-era) Led Zeppelin,  …Very ‘Eavy… is monolithic but nimble, straightforward but, except in its most bludgeoning moments, not at all simplistic.

Unlike most decades, the 60s is often felt, culturally, to have a clear and decisive ending; from the perspective of nowadays, the Stones at Altamont and the Manson Family in Death Valley ended the peace & love/flower power era that was already shaken by the revolutionary events and protests of 1968. But the pre-Uriah Heep story, that of a band called Spice, (essentially Heep sans organist Ken Hensley), talent-spotted while playing in ‘The Blues Loft’ in High Wycombe, could not be more redolent of the hippy era. To me, the best work of Uriah Heep always has a hazy aroma late 60s underground optimism and …Very ‘Eavy …Very ‘Umble is a kind of time capsule of a world almost as distant and quaint now as the Victorian Age. This was a time when – as the great Charles Shaar Murray wrote (in a Cream magazine T-Rex article in 1972, just as the world moved into another cultural phase) – “Any gentle freak who believed that Nostradamus and King Arthur were alive and well in a UFO hovering somewhere over Glastonbury Tor, or who read Tolkien and Moorcock over his brown rice and apple juice, just had to own the Tyrannosaurus Rex albums...” It was these kind of freaks, one assumes, who in their less gentle moments, wanted to rock out to Spice. In High Wycombe. Incidentally, it may be this very hippy-hangover aura that prevented Uriah Heep from being as influential on the metal scene as their contemporaries, Black Sabbath (whose musical background in blues rock was very similar). Indeed, I can personally testify that the whole flared-trousers-and-moustaches vibe of the Heep (as well as the slightly bland rock they were putting out at the time) was enough to prevent some 80s metal kids from checking out their older work.

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Anyway; Spice became a pretty well known band on the progressive rock circuit in the dying years of the 60s. In fact, their music as preserved on the first few LPs is very much ‘progressive’ in the late 60s blues rock sense (in which sense Led Zeppelin were also progressive), but not in the sense that ‘prog’ came to mean as the 70s wore on. Mick Box, founder, guitarist and, to this day the real heart of Uriah Heep, began as a jazz player and it was perhaps this more than anything, that coloured the heavy blues rock that Spice played; parallel to the British Blues boom but not really part of it, the band used elements of the blues, but they were never constrained by its structures.

The Band

Mick Box: guitar

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(highly underrated as player, composer & all-round riffmeister)

 

 

 

 

 

David Byron: vocals

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(a versatile, very English-sounding rock voice, equally at home with swaggering, earthy blues-rock vocalising and delicate fantasy

 

 

 

 

 

Ken Hensley: organ, guitar, vocals etc.

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(Without Hensley Uriah Heep would have been far more like a standard late 60s blues-rock band)

 

 

 

 

 

Paul Newton: bass, vocals

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(in the classic 70s tradition the bass is loud, clear & occasionally funky on this album; co-wrote lots of the songs.)

 

 

 

 

 

Alex Napier – drums (on half of the album)

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(great, agile and subtle drummer, not as thunderous as some contemporaries, but for my money up there with the best; retired after leaving the band I believe)

 

 

 

 

 

Nigel “Ollie” Olsson: also drums, plays on a few songs

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(another great drummer; went on to play with Elton John after his stint in the Heep)

 

 

 

 

 

THE ALBUM

1. Gypsy (Mick Box/David Byron)
The perfect opening track; after the busy little intro the simple, bludgeoning guitar/organ riff provides an excellent backing for David Byron’s authoritative vocal, establishing the Heep as a band of (for the time extremely) heavy sound and somewhat whimsical, romantic preoccupations; hippies in fact. Excellent organ and guitar soloing and harmony backing vocals by pretty much everyone make this a superb manifesto for the band’s approach. 70s heavy rock par excellence

2. Walking In Your Shadow (Paul Newton/David Byron)

An excellent funky drum intro which should be (has been?) sampled leads into a dynamic blues-rock song with another perfect vocal by David Byron. The song is a relatively understated version of the kind of pleased-with-itself blues rock swagger that Whitesnake were to excel in later in the decade, and it has an excellent Mick Box solo too.

3. Come Away Melinda (Hellerman/Minkoff)

A delicate and drama-filled version of the much-covered melancholy anti-war folk/protest song. Byron’s clear enunciation and expressive voice make the most of the (possibly slightly twee and pretentious) post-apocalyptic lyrics. Lovely mellotron-flute intro and lovely acoustic guitar; the key word is ‘lovely’. The great vocal is made even better by imaginative use of stereo.

4. Lucy Blues (Mick Box/David Byron)

A somewhat quizzical and sad blues-rock song, Lucy Blues is, despite occasional claims at the time that they were Led Zep clones,  the closest Uriah Heep comes to Led Zeppelin on this album; not all that close. And with all respect to the iconic Robert Plant, David Byron managed the same kind of expressiveness without the melodramatic whimpering and screaming. As the original sleevenote remarks; ‘hardly unpredictable but rather pleasant’. Nice piano work adds to the barroom blues feel, far less epic than the usual Heep sound. Byron’s English accent gives the song a strange and unique flavour, as it tends to do on all of the more blues-based material – one of the features that makes early Uriah Heep so distinctive. Meanwhile, Ken Hensley proves himself master of the classic blues Hammond organ solo too.

5. Dreammare (Paul Newton)

Side two commences with one of the heavier songs on the album. Dreammare has an ominous organ intro, a strangely funky, reverby riff and a suitably feverish quality, enhanced by the speaker-to-speaker shimmer on the vocals. A nicely bad-tempered, squalling guitar solo too. This is perhaps the only song where the claims of sheer noisy unpleasantness could be deemed fair enough; for non-rock fans anyway.

6. Real Turned On (Mick Box/David Byron/Paul Newton)

Proto-Whitesnake swagger again (but even more so), Real Turned On is a cocky mid-tempo blues-rock tune with an angular riff, several good solos, tons of slide guitar by Ken Hensley and a good naturedly sleazy David Byron trying to lure a young woman with wine and so forth. Unreconstructed 60s freewheeling sexual (and arguably, but arguably not, sexist) revolution rock, it ends, oddly, with screeds of apocalyptic feedback.

7. I’ll Keep On Trying (Mick Box/David Byron)

Archetypically 70s flared-jeans hard rock, with organs, screaming guitar and an impassioned David Byron vocal. The tune skips between sinister-toned, portentious organ and wailing vocals and nimble-fingered fiddlyness during which every band member gets to show off, before settling into a heavy blues riff. There are tranquil interludes and dramatic, siren-like guitar and even a Zappa-esque wah-wah solo. If you don’t like this, you probably don’t like Uriah Heep; fair enough.

8. Wake Up (Set Your Sights) (Mick Box/David Byron)

The final track on the album is also the most ‘progressive’, jazzy one, which manages to encapsulate all of the facets of early Heepdom in six minutes. The intro has David Byron intoning ‘aaahhh’s over a bass and organ scales before a dramatic, grandiose verse about justice prevailing, before the music becomes a kind of hoppity, percussive jazz with some excellent bass playing and very understated guitars. As the song builds (with some enjoyably silly vocalising; ‘justice, justice, just-iiiice‘ etc) it breaks not into rock but another jazzy verse/chorus and then a lovely soft pastoral interlude before fading out. Byron’s vocal is highly theatrical and generally one of the best he ever recorded and it’s just an excellent, dynamic end to a superb album that people don’t like as much as I do; their loss.

daheepAs if all this wasn’t enough, the album is housed in one of the great rock sleeves of the era: a fallen warrior (David Byron in fact) covered in cobwebs, the darkness surrounding him only broken by the (superbly-fonted) logo and title. The gatefold features a photo of the band onstage.

heepin

The album was released in the US in a different and slightly inferior form (missing Lucy Blues, and featuring instead the great Bird of Prey from the band’s second album, Salisbury). The US album is simply called Uriah Heep and its cover – a kind of dragon/wyrm thing – is not one of the great rock sleeves of the era.

usheep

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Although …Very ‘Eavy …Very ‘Umble is one of those rare perfectly formed albums that can only be marred by adding bonus tracks to, it is also one of those albums I have to own on multiple formats, and the 1996 CD release adds bonus tracks, thus:

Gypsy (single edit)
What is says; a shorter version, omitting the organ intro & so forth. Pretty great, though unnecessary

Come Away Melinda
An early version recorded by Spice before they changed their name to Uriah Heep. Interesting, not hugely different from the album version really, but  Byron’s vocal has less feeling and it’s generally not quite as good.

Born in a Trunk
A rocking Spice tune, this features the kind of dynamics that early Heep excelled in, plus another strangely English David Byron vocal and some great funky drum breaks.

BMG’s latest version is in all regards superior to the 1996 version: wisely retaining the whole of the original album (but with beautifully remastered sound) as disc one of two, it adds an entire (and to be fair, slightly inferior) version of the album on disc two. These are unreleased (earlier or alternate takes) of most of the songs, plus the US mix of Bird of Prey and a nice Spice track called Magic Lantern.

Although the earlier versions are, naturally, mostly not quite as good as the finished ones, they are nearly there and, while Spice without Hensley can never equal Uriah Heep, that late 60s atmosphere, an indefinable (and you would think incompatible) mixture of unpretentious ‘let’s just get up and play’ attitude and love of airy, fantastical romance is present in its most concentrated form.

Difficult, But Fascinating: The Gail Carriger interview

Preamble to the Preamble…

2Imprudence

Following the success of steampunk icon Gail Carriger’s recent novella, Poison or Protect the new novel in her Custard Protocol series, Imprudence is out now and Gail was kind enough to answer some questions for me. If you are already a fan, you may wish to skip all the waffle and go straight to the Q&A below. If you want to know why I wanted to interview her in the first place, read on.

The preamble proper; whys & wherefores…

Up until the 1990s, I would always have said I liked vampires, werewolves and ghost stories. But although my love of horror, science fiction and fantasy has never diminished, the post-Anne Rice* world, with its endless teen soap opera-style angst-ridden ‘nice’ vampires and increasingly formulaic genre conventions left me cold and I tended more and more to re-read favourite authors from the past (or, in the case of HP Lovecraft, read the works of his associates) rather than pick up anything new. That was until I first read Gail Carriger’s debut novel Soulless a few years ago. Sadly, I don’t remember where I first heard about it (online, I assume), but from a quick read of the first few pages, I was hooked, and welcomed vampires, werewolves and ghosts back into my life.

*No slight  whatsoever intended towards Anne Rice herself, or her excellent novels; as well as an incredible storyteller, she revolutionised the horror genre at a time when all of its other revolutions seemed to be towards a more one-dimensional, graphically violent approach. Not that I mind that in itself.

PrintSoulless wasn’t Dawson’s Creek with vampires; the supernatural characters were, as with most modern/post-modern fiction, given a similar complexity to their human counterparts, but Carriger goes further, weaving the supernatural/natural worlds together in an ingenious yet extremely logical and historically-informed way. Part of what makes this so successful is that she placed her characters in a parallel version of the Victorian era, creating a society where vampires and werewolves, without sacrificing their predatory nature, exist alongside their mortal contemporaries as yet more finely nuanced layers in the already-complicated social hierarchy of Victorian Britain. If the Victorian era represents the height of the British preoccupation with social class and proper manners, these become even more crucial in Carriger’s world, where the correct way to interact with social superiors/inferiors includes people, possibly on both sides, whose politeness is the only thing preventing them from drinking your blood/eating you.

The author’s masterstroke (Or ‘mistressstroke’? Should be right but has inappropriate connotations and too many ‘s’s, so masterstroke it is) was placing into this brilliantly realised world, one of her greatest creations to date, Alexia Tarabotti; intelligent, wilful, tough, of fairly-good-but-slightly-shaky social standing (aristocratic, but a spinster, and more interested in science than fashion) and born without a soul, the contrast between Alexia’s dramatic, fantastical and romantic adventures and her own prosaic, practical-yet-impulsive nature makes Soulless (and its sequels) as lightheartedly funny as they are action-packed and dark.

With The Parasol Protectorate series and the ‘young adult’ Finishing School series complete and her latest series The Custard Protocol well underway (volume two, Imprudence is published this summer, on July 19th) as well as a stream of short stories and novellas, Gail is intimidatingly busy (not to say prolific), but nevertheless gave up some of her valuable time to answer a few questions.

PoisonOrProtect_promo

Far more information can be found on her excellent website, and she is also especially fun to follow/engage with on Facebook and Twitter. But enough ado…

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lovely portrait of Gail by Vanessa Applegate

 The Interview…

With your website, blog and personal appearances, your fans have quite a lot of access to various facets of your personality, but to what extent is the public Gail Carriger something you create versus (or as well as) being ‘the real you’, if that’s a question you can answer?

 There’s not a lot of difference between the two, it’s more a matter of what I focus on talking about publicly. Because I am so open and all over the internet, I tend to keep my relationships, close friendships, and family out of it. After all, they didn’t ask for that kind of exposure. I don’t talk about politics, and I rarely talk about the nitty-gritty of writing or offer writing advice, there are others out there who do this more eloquently than I ever could. I also don’t talk much about the mundane of everyday life: my policy is that if I don’t want to read about it, why would anyone else?

 As the last question suggests, your fiction is part of a wider world/lifestyle that your readers get involved into varying degrees, but do you have interests that you wouldn’t consider incorporating into your fiction?

I don’t think so. It would be hard to keep the things I love out of my writing for all time. There are things that haven’t come up yet, but I wouldn’t rule them out.

GailCarrigerSteampunk_JDanielSawyer Gail in Steampunk regalia, by J. Daniel Sawyer

You (fairly) recently announced you will be self-publishing alongside publishing the usual way, should fans expect a big (or any) difference between the two?

Well my self published stuff will be confined to novellas and short stories under 40000 words. So that’s a big difference. I suppose it might feel a little more unfettered. I’m not limiting myself to anything typical about any genre that I’ve worked in before. I figure all bets are off. I’m taking on anything I feel like from full on romance, to light BDSM, to LBGT relationships front and center, to class relations, to darker themes with less comedy. It’s still all me though, that oddball bend toward silliness that people expect will likely never go away.

Victorian writers like Dickens and Trollope often wrote their novels in monthly installments, which seems a very high-pressure way of writing but lends itself to a great deal of detail and fast-moving action, does that kind of writing have any appeal for you?

 Yes, but I don’t think I could do it given my current travel schedule and traditional publishing commitments. I always fancied writing Alessandro as a serial. Another big problem is all the contract workers. That kind of process needs a dedicated available team of developmental editors, and copy editors, and proofers, and formaters. Not to mention a killer outline for all the installments up front. (Because you can’t go back and fix and error at the beginning if already published.)

A related question, writers in the Victorian era often became associated with particular illustrators (like Dickens and ‘Phiz’) but at some point the idea of illustrations in grown up (I would say ‘adult’, but the connotations!) fiction went out of fashion, do you think the cover artists for your books have shaped readers’ ideas of your characters in the same way that those Victorian illustrators did for the writers of that era?

 Perhaps a little. Cover art is important, but more to encourage people to pick up the book than to give them a visual clue into the author’s imagination. Most of the time we aren’t even consulted, so it’s entirely marketing. (Not true for me, luckily.) I doubt that cover art has as much impact on imagination as illustrations did.

In some ways the ‘virtualisation’ (ugly made up word!) of books/growth of digital formats (and online retailers) means that fewer readers pay the full cover price for a book, but conversely means that some people will pay more for small/special editions (like the Subterranean edition of Soulless that I still need to buy). As someone who grew up in the papery book era (I’m a couple of years older than you and assuming – perhaps wrongly – that you were not a technologically precocious child who only read books via a Commodore 64 from floppy discs) what are your thoughts on all this for the present and future of literature – good, bad, or just different?

I’m one for different. I like the changes going on right now. And I am lucky enough to have options because people want to read my stuff. A whole cornucopia is open to me which, twenty years ago, wouldn’t have been possible. I can write novels for my publishing house, write short works with side characters and self publish those, and I can arrange side deals with boutique publishers, like Subterranean, for high end limited editions. I don’t like it when my work is pirated or stolen, but every new technology has a price of admission and there is not going back now.

Your books have so far mostly been in series’, but at what point in the writing/planning process do you know that a novel will be part of a larger structure?


Depends on the novel. I didn’t know Soulless would be a series until contract negotiations and I didn’t know how long that series until half way through the third book. I’m not sure how long the Custard Protocol will be but I’m writing it as couplets so each two stand alone but also tie in to the others (likely 4 or 6 total). The Finishing School, on the other hand, was always going to be four books, and I had the arc planned from the beginning.

All the novellas are entirely stand alone, although they seed to each other and my full length works, because I can’t help dropping cookies and scattering favorite characters through everything I write. Depending on how well they sell (read: worth my time to produce) the novellas are loosely gathered into three collections all of them steampunk comedies of manners.

The Delightfully Deadly novellas are espionage romances spun off my Finishing School series, and could go up to 7 stories. Poison or Protect is already written and in production, and the other 6 just in note form. I’m using my Supernatural Society novellas to tell LBGT romances. I have 2 planned, one written, and some possible shorts. And the Claw & Courtship novellas all feature werewolves. I have 2 mapped out with a possible third and a short story. Basically, I’m using the novellas to write whatever I want when I feel like writing it, so I am leaving my options wide open.
 

Your novels would (or, thinking about novel-to-movie adaptations could) make good movies, would that be something you would welcome?

I think it would be very exciting, but I’m also realistic about the chances that anything would ever happen. The Parasol Protectorate books have been optioned for television, but that is all so far.

 What are you most excited about right now?

 Going hybrid and bring out the first novella, editing the second one, and writing the third. I’m super absorbed by cover art, fonts, and everything that goes along with the packaging of a book. I’ve never done it before and it’s really fascinating. Difficult,but fascinating.

 Do you have any plans to come to the UK in the foreseeable future?

 Nope. Like a vampire I only go where invited and I haven’t been asked in a while. I’d love to come back, I always enjoy visiting but I usually need some kind of event to draw me over. If I could afford it, I’d come every few years, I miss it there.

GailCarrigerBlack

another great Vanessa Applegate photograph

Need more Carriger in your life? There’s a wealth of excellent information on all things Gail on her wiki and her fun vintage fashion (and related stuff) blog is here

Symphonies of Sadness, Dirges of Disgust, Noxious Noise: Musical Masochism

 

Any kind of masochism is (to non-masochists/collaborators) peculiar and difficult to understand; no less so when it is related to music; but I’m going to try to understand it anyway.

I have isolated three main areas which can be loosely classified under the ‘masochistic’ heading, but there may well be more:

1. Self-consciously unpleasant music which is “enjoyed” (or just enjoyed; a subtle but perhaps important difference) for its intentionally unpleasant/disturbing/unsettling or harsh sound

2. Music which is humorously/ironically enjoyed for its perceived awfulness*

3. Non-unpleasant music which is listened to specifically for its upsetting/depressing or negative emotional effect

Uniting all of these is the fact that they are not everyday listening (for me anyway), but in are special music which retains its potency by being indulged in only occasionally and when prepared for the physical (tinnitus) or mental (lachrymose) consequences.

*aka ‘guilty pleasures’ of course; but that is a whole other discussion; if guilt is an appropriate emotion for listening to music it would have to be something a bit less innocuous than I have in mind. ‘Embarrassing pleasures’ would be a more accurate and even more dodgy-sounding description

1. UNPLEASANT NOISES
The first category is very distinct from the other two; not only is the unpleasantness aural (and intentionally unpleasant), it is precisely the nastiness that appeals to the listener. Why that should be is mysterious; I have used the word ‘masochism’ in the title here, but only because everyone knows what it means and because I can’t think of a better term; but neither ‘sexual masochism disorder’, BDSM or so-called non-sexual masochism (“self-defeating personality disorder”) really functions in the same way as listening to, say The Rita (noise artist Sam McKinlay) or Gnaw Their Tongues.

russolo

Noise as (anti)music goes back at least as far as the Dada and Futurist movements of the early 20th century (on the left is Luigi Russolo with one of his Futurist instruments), but on the whole (I think) it’s true that the noise that was created, though fascinating to hear, was more about the process of composing and rule-breaking than listening for pleasure. The same may be true of a lot of experimental noise since then, with classic albums such as Yoko Ono’s Yoko Ono/Plastic Ono Band and Lou Reed’s Metal Machine Music probably being far more frequently owned than enjoyed. Various musique concréte and other avant garde pieces have the same kind of status, being performed perhaps more for historical/academic (albeit interesting) reasons rather than for the purpose of actual entertainment (which is not of course to say that people aren’t entertained by it).

merzbow

Noise: So what of semi-musical or non-musical noise like Merzbow or just plain ugly music? It’s hard to say where the appeal lies, but with pure noise it seems to be at least partly visceral. It has an immediate, emotional impact; it has nothing to do with traditional musical qualities such as melody, catchiness or even memorable-ness, since it’s possible to listen to the abstract noise of (for example) theritaThousands of Dead Gods (2006) by The Rita many times without ever getting used to it. This makes the noise endlessly surprising, alienating or boring, depending on one’s mood. The sense of noise as abstract is reinforced by its context-lessness; typically the artwork for a Merzbow album is as enigmatic and unrevealing as the album within, and occasionally every bit as flatly un-evocative (not a criticism!) as the Merzbow sound itself. Cultural identifiers in pure noise are also minimalist in the extreme; the race, nationality or gender of noise artists tends to be known only insofar as the artist wishes it to be so.

At the same time, a quality that pure noise shares with more traditional music is that it can noticeably affect the mood of the listener, especially when played at a loud volume. Listening to pure noise can be much like watching ‘white noise’ on a TV screen; the endless movement may be random, but the mind will look for patterns and if it doesn’t find them, create them itself; pure noise often feels detailed in a way that very little actual music does. And it is enjoyable (the word covers a wide range of responses here) or unenjoyable (simpler) for as long as it engages the listener.

Ugly Music: What I shall call ugly music is sometimes easier to pin down; it is music, which means it follows certain structural rules which noise ignores, and the listener enjoys it for its ugliness or not at all. It is notable too that artists who aim for ugliness usually attempt the Wagnerian ideal of the gesamtkunstwerk or ‘total work of art’ where everything from the sound to the lyrics to the artwork contributes to the overall effect.

Ugly music probably began in the 60s with some of The Mothers of Invention’s more indigestible experiments (like Absolutely Free, which is perhaps more difficult than truly ugly), Captain Beefheart or the 17 minute churn of the Velvet Underground’s ‘Sister Ray’, but it came into its own in the artistically serious 1970s (see below) and, in a more populist and relatively lighthearted way with the advent of death metal in the 80s, specifically with albums like Reek of Putrefaction (1988) by Carcass. This classic album is ugly not only in the details of the music and presentation, but in the murky muddiness of its sound; a chance element caused by the cheapness of the recording, which makes some of the album sound like two or three different bands immersed in a swamp, simultaneously playing three different songs, When allied with the rasped vocals of Jeff Walker and the ridiculously deep ones of Bill Steer, this churning noise makes for a disorientating but strangely addictive listening experience, which has something to do with the humour of its extremity (lyrical and musical) as well as the pure heaviness.

carcsBack in the 80s, this kind of music had an outsider/snob appeal even within the metal genre. 80s metal (on the whole) strove for clarity and precision; Carcass (emerging from an anarcho-crust/punk background) pushed the boundaries of musical extremity and taste (using the notorious collages of medical photos for their artwork, rather than relatively cuddly horror mascots like Iron Maiden’s Eddie) beyond what the standard fan of Iron Maiden, W.A.S.P., Metallica or even Slayer might find acceptable. To say that death metal is relatively lighthearted is slightly misleading – Carcass’ early music was informed by a radical vegetarian disgust with all things meat-based in quite a serious way – but as a subgenre of a popular youth-focussed music it lacks the gravitas of the kind of music which made the late 70s a darker place to have ears.

By contrast with death metal, the sheer ugliness of early industrial music exemplified by the work of Throbbing Gristle, seems designed not so much to shock or alienate with its extremity, so much as to shock and alienate with its familiarity, kind of a negative mirror image of the almost subliminal ambient music being pioneered around the same time in Eno’s Music For Airports.

By reflecting the greyness of the decaying industrial (edging into post-industrial) landscape and society that produced it, the corporate packaging and document-like title made TG’s debut album The Second Annual Report (1977) a masterpiece of grinding mundane-ness. In its way their music is throbzevery bit as evocative of the 1970s as glam or disco, but the way it embodies its era, its brutalist architecture and grey/brown/beige ambience, combats any possible sense of nostalgia. Although it’s easy to say why it’s interesting, liking Throbbing Gristle (as many have done and continue to do) is much harder to explain. The appeal of TG; in effect the appeal of being made to feel uneasy or disgusted, is an odd way to be entertained. On the surface you could say the same about the horror genre in cinema and literature, but Throbbing Gristle’s effect is utterly different from straightforward horror-as-entertainment, feeling (to me anyway) more analogous to the JG Ballard of The Atrocity Exhibition or Crash than to Stephen King, perhaps because like Ballard, TG’s work had more to do with documenting than it did with entertaining. Although there was undoubtedly an element of confrontation in TGs music (especially in a live setting), as with pure noise, confrontation oppaisn’t the focal point that it becomes in the power electronics of groups like Whitehouse and Sutcliffe Jügend who (to some extent) followed on from the early British industrial scene. There is also a more straightforwardly ‘horror noise’ sub-subgenre including bands like Abruptum and the aforementioned Gnaw Their Tongues, whose aim seems to be to engender (with, it must be said, varying degrees of success) extreme anxiety in the listener; significantly different from the almost abstract quality of pure (if harsh) noise artists like Merzbow, easier to understand, but also easier to dismiss as sensationalism.

One of the cumulative effects of abrasive-sounding music has always been to spawn more accessible versions of abrasive-sounding music, in short, to make tunes out of it: noise rock, hardcore punk, death metal, grindcore, grunge, black metal, industrial pop music, techno, trance, drone, shoegaze; all bring a taste of ugliness to the masses in their own way and all are enjoyed, just like traditional pop/rock/soul/country/reggae etc etc etc, by people who like the tunes and like the songs. So they have little part to play in this particular discussion.

2. SO BAD IT’S POSSIBLE TO PRETEND IT’S GOOD

confidAcross all of the arts there are ‘so bad it’s good’ works that appeal on the ironic level of kitsch. These are completely subjective and therefore a bit of a minefield; at what point does listening to something that you personally think is so awful that it’s funny become just listening to it; and is there any difference anyway? Did my teenage self and friends have a different experience listening to an old Shakin’ Stevens tape ‘for a laugh’ than “Shaky”’s actual fans did or do? Well, yes, presumably; they probably don’t laugh as much. Still; it’s all ‘listening with pleasure’ and not only is it subjective, but it’s all about timing. The awfulness of music is as much about the zeitgeist as the popularity of music is; hard to imagine now, but there was a time in the late 80s when listening to Abba (or The Carpenters for that matter) could be enjoyed as revelling in tacky 70s awfulness; but since the early 90s they have been revered by the once-embarrassed media as a great band after all.

Since the 90s in fact, revelling in irony has become so commonplace and mainstream as not to be ironic anymore; at one time including an artist like Tom Jones in the lineup of a major indie rock festival was kind of a hipster joke that the audience was expected to be in on. Since then the line between alternative and mainstream has become blurred, not because mainstream music has become more adventurous, but because ‘alternative’ music became popular and thus blander and more geared towards commercial success and because the mainstream media discovered people they had actually heard of at these oft-derided hippy festivals. The amusingly mainstream guest act at (for example) Glastonbury or T in the Park has almost imperceptibly become the headlining act; no accident, since these artists are usually household names which therefore guarantee ticket sales in a way that even a medium-big indie rock band isn’t.

Nowadays, to have the same kind of kitsch shock value as including Tom Jones in an indie festival once had, you would have to put someone like Gary Glitter or Rolf Harris (an original ironic festival guest, strange to remember) on the stage, doubling the irony and making the whole experience extremely uncomfortable for all concerned. Despite the weird Ballardian/Coum Transmissions echo this experience this might present, it’s probably best not to.

3. NOW THAT’S WHAT I CALL MISERABLE MUSIC
caravThis category takes it for granted that unhappiness is a form of unpleasantness that is most often avoided; which may not be strictly true – or obviously isn’t, given the endless popularity of tragedies, murder mysteries etc. Still, it’s a basic human truth (I hope) that most people would rather be happy than sad. Most of the time that is; historically, music was most often written for occasions; sad music was required for a funeral, just as weddings demanded happy music. Tudor and baroque music often had mythological, narrative or literary inspiration which dictated the mood of the works. For a court composer to make a cheerful-sounding funeral dirge or a comic opera from a tragic mythological story would be perverse at best and bad workmanship at worst.

In modern popular music there are many kinds of sad songs, but from a personal point of view (narrowing it down to music I actually like) there are two;
songs which express the unhappiness of the performer
songs (which may or may not be sad in themselves) which make the listener (me) feel unhappy.

Both of these kinds of songs may actually be very pleasant in an aural sense, so only the latter are strictly relevant here. But – outside of the funereal situation mentioned above – why would someone intentionally listen to music that makes them sad?

There are probably as many reasons as there are people, but two big ones: to make you feel better or to make you feel worse.

A lot of interesting research has been carried out on the restorative power of sad music, so I wont say too much about that. The blues (and early country music too) is a classic example – intended not just as an outlet for the woes of the artist her or himself, but as a sharing of universal wretchedness that brings the relief of empathy/recognition – and it does seem to have a regenerative quality (a kind of earthly parallel to the redemptive power of gospel music) that makes it essentially uplifting in all but the most desolate examples.

Music to make you feel worse is more problematic, but wanting to hear sad music that deepens your depression is a fairly common phenomenon, especially among adolescents. The logic of the blues is that something that reflects your mood or encapsulates your own troubles is a kind of comfort, but it’s also true that brooding on one’s unhappiness can deepen that mood; that one can indulge in misery. Why? Because people are strange and self-pity answers some deep-seated psychological need? Perhaps it is a real kind of masochism after all…

A short, personal masochistic playlist

UNPLEASANT (these examples are all undeniably ‘not nice’, but are oddly exhilarating too)
1. Throbbing Gristle – D.o.A.

doa

 

 2. Painkiller – Guts of a Virgin

guts

 

 3. Merzbow – Pulse Demon

Merzbow-pulsedemon

 

4. Mastery – Valis

mastery

 

5. Hijōkaidan – Duo

duo

 

 MUSIC IT HURTS ME (TO VARYING DEGREES) TO LIKE
1. Celine Dion – My Heart Will Go On

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2. Samantha Fox – Touch Me

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3. Yngwie J Malmsteen’s Rising Force – Now Is The Time

ynglynn

 

4. Focus – Hocus Pocus

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5. Sigue Sigue Sputnik – Dress for Excess

Sigue-Sigue-Sputnik-Dress-For-Excess-40777

 

MISERABLE MUSIC FOR WALLOWING IN
1. The Smiths – I Know It’s Over

smiths3b

 

2. Cranes – Tomorrow’s Tears

cranes02

 

 

3. Daniel Johnston – I Remember Painfully (plus most of Yip/Jump Music)

danny

 

4. Adam Cohen – Beautiful

adco

 

5. Red House Painters – Katy Song

Red_House_Painters_1993_promo_photo

 

Draining; that’s probably enough misery for now…

Not JUST a genius: the Eternal Fire of Jimi Hendrix

 

Towards the end of his all-too-short life, the great Jimi Hendrix ‘enjoyed’ two parallel careers; as the innovative, genre-defying guitar god of Electric Ladyland and Band of Gypsies – and, somewhat less prestigiously, as the obviously talented but non-extrovert guitarist on a range of cash-in albums. Once the last of his late recordings had been released as the excellent The Cry of Love and interesting but so-so (by his standards) Rainbow Bridge in 1971, the vital genius-laden music began to dry up and the exploitative, commercially-led search for undiscovered Hendrix recordings began in earnest. In true ‘reissue, repackage, repackage’ style, this series of albums began when tapes came to light from an impromptu recording session with his old friend Curtis Knight in 1967 and went on posthumously as record companies sought out every note he had ever played both in his pre ‘Experience’ days and in off-duty moments.

The albums are many and varied, but some are definitely worth a listen; these are not the best but are ideal for those who find ‘classic’ Hendrix a bit too innovative and perhaps self-indulgent:

The Eternal Fire of Jimi Hendrix (Hallmark Records, 1970)

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This album, consisting of tracks recorded with Curtis Knight in 1967 comes with a long, extremely disingenuous sleevenote which begins , “This is the cream of Jimi Hendrix, when he was in his prime.” Indisputably, he was ‘in his prime’ in 1967, but although it certainly sounds like he is having fun, this collection of loose covers and Curtis Knight originals is not ‘the cream of’ Hendrix as that is usually recognised. What is great about the album is that it showcases Hendrix’s not-always heralded skill as rhythm guitarist and puts him into more of a soulful, r’n’b-ish context than on his classic albums. Highlights are Knight’s ‘How Would You Feel’ and an informal blast through The Beatles’ ‘Day Tripper’, plus some very nice wah-wah on the instrumental ‘Hush Now’. definitely not transcendental or visionary, but demonstrating just how great Hendrix would have been as the guitar player in a garage band.

Birth of Success (Music for Pleasure, 1970)

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A very cool ersatz psychedelic sleeve houses more Curtis Knight material, this time mainly live recordings and several leagues of magnitude rougher than on The Eternal Fire… but sadly, without any sleevenotes as justification. Again the songs (such as ‘Satisfaction’ and ‘Sugar Pie Honey Bunch’) show, despite the muddy sound, what a great non-frontman Hendrix could be. The best thing here though is arguably the one studio recording; a very twee psych-bubblegum-pop song called ‘UFO’ probably recorded in 1967 by ‘The Jimi Hendrix Sound’, a band formed a couple of years earlier, which included Hendrix, Curtis Knight (on drums) and Ed Chalpin. It’s absolutely a novelty song of the kind parodied by the Coen brothers with Inside Llewyn Davis’ ‘Please Mr Kennedy’. ‘UFO’ comes complete with a ‘Laughing Gnome’-like speeded up alien voice in the choruses;‘Voodoo Child’ it isn’t.

Tribute to Jimi Hendrix: The Purple Fox Sings and Plays (Stereo Gold Award, 1971)

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As the title suggests, this is not a Hendrix record at all, but in fact an inept, amusing, but very likeable cash-in which shows that, although his abilities cannot be easily imitated, the basic sound of the Jimi Hendrix Experience can. The covers here are perfunctory in the extreme (like the guitarist – presumably Mr Fox – doesn’t play solos, mostly), but the very peculiar original pastiches like ‘Acid Test’, ‘Patch of Grass’ and especially ‘Gittin’ Busted’ with its police sirens and incoherent mumblings are pleasingly funky and highly entertaining although not exactly the greatest tribute ever paid to a major artist.

All very silly, but it’s a sad reflection on the current state of the music business (or just popular culture) that the high-profile deaths of musical icons this year will probably not result in cheap cash-in albums of recordings we were never supposed to hear or slapdash pastiches by psuedonymous session musicians who can only imitate the most obvious, cliched aspects of their art. We’ll just have to remember them at their best I suppose.