GOOD RECORDS - MANHATTAN, NEW YORK CITY

So this place is on 7th and 1st or something, not far from Other Music, one of the remaining places for new releases on the island now that Mondo Kim's bit the dust.

It's alright you know this place. Very friendly, good size and layout, something boutiquey about it. Very attractive lady behind the counter who was more than happy for me to check out the stuff she was cleaning before it was priced. The only slight down side to this place is one synonymous with most of shops in and around this area - They are chock full of Hip-Hop. The Sound Gallery, A1 Records etc. They all feel the need to ram the crates with the 12" artifacts of a dead musical genre.

I mean yeah, some of what came out under that particular umbrella is up there and I could comfortably fill a few C90s with the highlights of the 'Rapness' but really? In 2011? Are people still listening to this in a non post-modern or ironic way? Next you'll be telling me that nobody has identified it as thinly veiled black homo-erotica. Not that there's anything wrong with that at all. I for one like nothing better than watching a buff and shirtless Hip-Hopster gyrating in front of a slowly pulsating large car whilst his trousers fall down.

So to conclude and move on to my thoughts about 'Good Records': Yes Hip-Hop is rubbish and it's a shame New York can't get over it BUT 12" of 'Love Me or Leave Me Alone' by Brand Nubian should be in everybody's record collection right next to '93 Til Infinity' by Souls of Mischief.

We established that half of the floor space is only worth a skim, so what about the rest of it? Nice selection of Jazz, Soul, Rock a modest but pretty impressive Avant section and a fuck load of rare-ass Reggae. The wall was home to some corkers on Black Jazz records and it's the only place I recall going that had three different Doug Carn records in stock.

Anyway, I liked it, it smelled nice and I bought something there. I can't remember what it was as I am still sorting through the 30 plus records that made it home with me from this particular trip.

To conclude. If I was still a resident of Manhattan this place would be a regular haunt, I got the feeling I could happily hang out there just listening to stuff, waiting to be inspired - Even if the hot girl behind the counter asked me if I had just come back from a skiing trip due to my awesome hat and jacket combination.

So go to 'Good Records', it's friendly and clean and unlike a lot of places I shop, the other punters did not smell of piss. Huh! Maybe I just made a connection? Despite their other short comings, people who listen to Hip-Hop do not smell of piss.

MOEBIUS AND BEERBOHM - DOUBLE CUT

I touched very briefly in my previous post on the state of affairs in Libya. A leader losing grip and a people tired of years of tyranny and oppression in search of a better life. It's such a shame that Muammar couldn't keep his shit together as I fear the world of international politics will be a much a much duller place without him. World politics has gone the same way as New York in recent years: Mondo Kim's has shut down and there's a Starbucks on every corner. Yes he is 'evil', I read a piece on the 1996 Abu Salim prison massacre and everybody is more than aware that despite attempts by our former government to gloss over the fact, he was entirely responsible for the Lockerbie bombing.

These hideous crimes against humanity aside let's look at the case for the defendant: He was, it turns out shockingly handsome as a young lieutenant coming up through the ranks. He takes his tent everywhere with him, he seems to operate exclusively with a female special forces guard, he dressed like michael jackson and got away with it. Muammar is a style animal, an ever changing thing of fashion wonder and excess, sunglasses and a crooked smile endlessly spouting utter lunacy not hears since the reign of Idi Amin.

He's a character (yes an evil character) but he's a character and there aren't many of those left. Take Germany's Angela Merkel for example - A fat and styleless Ann Robinson, her political sandbagging and denial of financial turmoil mere footnotes to the fact she dresses like a day release patient going to a Christening.

Why is it the bad guys dress so much better? It's not a new thing either. The staggeringly forward thinking yet timeless fashion of The Third Reich is well documented but what nobody seems to have cottoned onto just yet is the subtle and underplayed suave stylings of Iran's Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. I swear to God/Allah that Dior are dressing him on the quiet. His bearded look has been copied the world over as has his undone smart -casual chic. Again, such a crying shame he's a mass murderer who justifies his dictatorial actions through religion whilst laughing in the face of the West.

The first track on Double Cut is contender for best opener in the world ever, it's fantastic, slow and brooding, pulsing 80s synths, all very much of its time. So much so that it sounds like it could have been recorded with the help of Libya's very own bad man right around the time he was dressing like he'd stepped out of the video for Thriller on his way to blow some shit up.

'Hydrogen' pulses by in very much the same way a quirky Germanic signature on the ever growing face of electronica, slightly more clunky and repetitive.

Track 3, 'Narakose' is awesome because it sounds like I recorded it myself when I was a bit drunk, same instrumentation and lush studio but without the help of Muammar, Moebius and your other man.

Track 4 'Doppelschnitt' I don't remember because I started this review a few weeks back and didn't get chance to finish it off. In the meantime It would appear we are at war with Moebius and Beerbohm's third keyboard player and on another continent that latter day jewel of the Orient - Japan appears to have fallen into the sea.

Not much to say on that really, not yet. All of the observations about lost world class record collections and quieter aisles in Beatles sections across the US are misplaced, tasteless and way too early. I can't comprehend living with that still utterly shocking tragedy and here's to hoping I never have to.

I re-listened to 'Doppelschnitt', all 21 minutes 43 of it and it's further proof that this sly dog of the Africa's has a soundtrack with his name written all over it. I can see him rockin' the Toni Basil patented 'pop and lock' to this as American fighter pilots high from watching Top Gun one too many times crash and bail all around him.

If it wasn't so patently obvious that Iran's Mahmoud Ahmadinejad was a Strokes completist the search for his very own theme would start right here - Man, he must be well Jazzed that their new album is out.

NOAH HOWARD Vs GENE WILDER

I've been listening to a lot of 90's US indie over the past couple of weeks, more specifically Sebadoh and it's weird, In that time Egypt's own Dr Evil has stepped down and the ever stylish and entertaining king of Libya also appears to be on his way out. A butterfly flaps it's wings in London...

Who knew the true awesome power of Lou Barlow's lo-fi love-torn cries?

Work commute soundtrack aside I managed to indulge in a very interesting compare and contrast experiment last week.

I took it upon myself to answer that age-old question:

Who would win in a fight between Noah Howard's 'The Black Ark' and the soundtrack to Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory? Okay so in the end it turned into more of a Pepsi challenge than a no-holds barred Ultimate FightingTM cage-fight kind of fight but either way the results were interesting.

Ladies and gentlemen in the blue corner all the way from New Orleans, the dark destroyer, free-jazz heavy weight Noah Howard's 'Black Ark'! And in the red corner weighing in at approximately 120grams the soundtrack to Gene Wilder's magnum opus 'Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory'.

Obviously it would have been tough for me to judge this one myself, I have a lot of emotional baggage attached to both records which would make it impossible to be an impartial judge of the proceedings. This is why I have employed the help of Ren mystery kid and all round awesome midget person...

So. 'Black Ark' starts out okay. We like the drums. Then the skronking starts and our resident judge looks a little perturbed. He manages to sit through the first side without breaking into tears but about two minutes into 'Mount Fuji' the first track on side 2 he starts to panic. At first it sounds like he's trying to sing along but in no time at all his wailing is evident. I manage to settle him down sufficiently to sit through the rest of the album but as 'Queen Anne' comes to a close it's not looking like a good night in the ring for free-jazz.

As a side I bought this from The Sound Library in New York. The Sound Library has now closed.

'Willy Wonka' crackles to life and straight away I can tell he thinks this is in a different league. Is it the instrumentation, the candy-coated lyrics or Gene Wilders creepy but caring voice? All I know is he likes this. 'Pure Imagination' flows into 'The Candy Man', then 'Cheer Up Charlie' and straight into 'I Got a Golden Ticket'. Punch after punch it flows like a greatest hits album. In fact it's only the 'Oompa Loompa' songs and interludes that stop this from being a stone cold hit for the judge.

As it is every time they start he has a face of fear, a look of confusion and this is understandable. There was always something wrong about the Oompa Loompas. They were a bit 'rapey', Funny haired orange-faced fuck monsters, dressed like painter and decorators in an attempt to distract you from their true modus operandi - Oompa Loompa's don't want to put up your flock wallpaper, they want to set fire to you and eat you.

Despite this there is a clear winner and it's sadly it's not Noah Howard.

Admittedly unsurprising results correlated and published I can now go back to wondering about the true power of 90's American indie rock. Could Sebadoh really be used as a sonic weapon in the global war against oppression? Could we explore Mars if we were able to successfully harness the power used in the recording of 'Bubble and Scrape'? I just wish I hadn't played Yo La Tengo on the way to work as that may or may not have caused a catastrophic earthquake in New Zealand.

SIMPLE MINDS - REEL TO REEL CACOPHONY

Not sure why the song 'Changeling' came into my head while I was on nappy duty but it did. It got me thinking about the power of early 80's Simple Minds, the clinical majesty of their original unfettered vision and I felt compelled to commit my thoughts to pen and paper (virtual pen and paper).

The album 'Reel to Reel Cacophony' was one of the first I ever owned. I bought it on cassette whilst on a caravanning holiday with a former school friend in Bridlington. Given that by this point Scotland's finest had already released 'Once Upon a Time' starting with their second album might come across as ambitious. Given Jim Kerr's haircut on the back of the prior album 'Life in a Day' it could even be considered brave and or bold.

Unfortunately it was none of the above. It was however £3.49 from Woolworths, a whole pound cheaper than any of their later albums. This might seem paltry but back in the heady days of 1985 and aged 11 a crisp and green pound note was a fuck lot of money, a veritable kings ransom.

Anyway, I bought it, played it in the caravan and came away a bit non-plussed. This wasn't the Simple Minds of Top of the Pops, It certainly wasn't the band I had been hyping the fuck out of to my friend. At one point during playback I decided it must be faulty, but no. Over the following weeks I found myself revisiting the album drawing a similar conclusion each time - I should have ponied up the extra quid and bought 'Sparkle in the Rain'. I kept playing it though because at that stage in my music based habit, owning circa ten albums and about the same amount of pre-recorded cassettes every inch of music counted.

Eventually, thanks to the arrival of newer predominantly 'metal', specifically Kiss records I could afford to give up on it. In time I forgot about the album, or at least I thought I had.

I re-bought it for a couple of Euros in Germany a few years back and put it on to see how it faired. 'Reel to Reel Cacophony' came before the critically re-assessed period of the groups history, it's prior to 'I Travel' and 'Theme For Great Cities', no electronic anthems or obvious Hoxton floor fillers here. Anyway, needle goes on record and fuck me if I didn't remember almost every word, every single change and beat. I still have no idea what any of the songs are about but that 'Reel to Reel Cacophony's' content has spent the last 25 plus years sat in my head waiting to be called into action is no mean feat. And just when I think it's over, that I'm done with that mysterious album with it's plain blue textured sleeve it pops up again without warning.

Beyond being a reminder of days gone by, of a cramped caravanning holiday, a friend who turned out to be an utter dick and his mum who I think I wanted to fuck, this is a killer album. Well not killer, that's the wrong word. It is however solidly built, unusual, well balanced and totally under-rated.

WAX FACTOR RECORDS - BRIGHTON

As I write this I am listening to that 'new' lost Bruce Springsteen album that got released late last year, 'The Promise' or something. It's alright y'know. No, it's not in any danger of re-writing musical history and I don't really see this as any gritier or 'raw' than the rest of 'The Boss' resume but it is totally listenable.

The issue I always had with Bruce is as prevalent here as it is on the rest of his albums. The piano is too loud, the harmonica is too loud, the fucking saxophone is too loud and the guitar is at the back of the mix being filtered through a pedal that might as well be labeled 'Hush now'.

It's not that 'The Boss' cannot rock, it's that somebody in his camp will not allow The Boss to rock. Not sure if it's that ginger bird that looks a bit like Bonnie Rait or the fat guy with the Sax, could even be that bandana wearing scamp Little Stevie. Whomever it is they cock-block the man every time he tries to 'tie one on' and the outcome is the same, wet paper bag of a song rather than the flaming death-cock of destruction that it could be.

I saw 'The Boss' once when he played in Holland back in 2004. Met a girlfriend there, beautiful start to a predictably doomed relationship. I was going through something of a zero-tollerance 'three counts' phase and I walked rather than try to salvage something perfectly good.

This review isn't about Bruce, it's not about Dutch girls either. This review is about the mighty 'Wax Factor' records of Brighton. This is the second time I have shopped here. The first time a few years back was a total and utter wash-out. Partly due to the fact that it was the last of about six shops visited that day and partly due to the fact that I was unaware of the owners party trick of filing a lot of the good shit alphabetically underneath the racks. (3 copies of Amon Duul's 'Wolf City' for example).

But what made this visit exceptional was the literally over-flowing 'Electronic/New Age' section. Rather than bore you with a list of the purge I have taken a picture of the 'Brighton collection' above. Holy shit. Much 'Mutant Sounds' fodder, lots of synth washes and bleeps, clattering and clumsy late 70's early 80's keyboard wave business. All very exciting. I'm still working my way through the pile, the highlights of which I will attempt to do justice here.

So, about the shop: Standard books and records layout. There might have been CDs as well, I don't remember for certain as I was 'in the zone' for the majority of the duration. I say 'majority' because the very charming lady behind the counter managed to metaphorically slap me around the face and wake me from my vinyl based wankery everytime I caught her eye and for that I thank her, it's good to be reminded that there are more exciting pursuits out there. I should also thank her for the copy of Cluster's 'Grosses Wasser' that she kindly pulled up from the basement.

'Wax Factory' is rammed. I can only imagine how good it might have been a decade ago. That said it still managed to surprise me in 2011, which given the typical shop owners reliance on such misleading tools as 'Popsike' or the seemingly default 'Discogs' is no mean feat. A goregeous OHR first press of Tangerine Dream's 'Electronic Medidation' for less than thirty quid. Hells yes.

So to conclude, if ever you find yourself in Brighton, pebble beached home of the pier that got burnt down during the filming of The Who's 'Tommy', scene of the IRA's attempt on our former premiere's life, go to 'Wax Factory' before I get chance to return and there might still be some awesome records worth giving a new home.

Back to my unintentional opening briefly. I saw some kind of special on Bruce 'The Spring' Springsteen's Superbowl performance from a couple of years back and oddly enough found myself utterly touched by it. There's one part where he's talking about how the show went and he recalls how at one point post 'knee slide' he just looks up at the sky beyond the crowd, beyond the lights and the cheers and for a moment he connects with something else, a celestial silence more profound than his surroundings. Then fast as it happened it is over and he's back there in front of millions playing that song where the xylophone is too loud and the guitar sounds like it's the evenings designated driver.

JOHN BARRY RIP

Oh fucking hell.

First Peter Christopherson, then Trish Keenan and now John Barry. Jesus Christ.

What to say apart from 'thank you'. I'm sure the papers will concentrate on the boring stuff, the tiresome Bondy themes and the soundtrack to 'Dances With Wolves' and if it had been anybody else, yes they would be the details of a fair and glowing epitaph. As it is John Barry was responsible for some of the all time greatest musical pieces in the history of the galaxy: The music from 'The Persuaders', 'Midnight Cowboy', 'The Black Hole'. Hugely influential, beautifully listenable and one of the people instrumental in opening my ears and dragging me away from the often all too predictable world of punk rock.

Heart attack at 77. Shit.

As slight as it may be there is an upside: At least John wont have the hideous misfortune of having his death trumped by that of Norfolkian man-mountain Bernard 'Turkey-ham' Matthews.

SIGUE SIGUE SPUTNIK - FLAUNT IT

I am going to make a claim now. I am going to stab my flag in the moon:

'In the next few years 'Flaunt It' will be re-evaluated by the music press and by the time they are done with it the album will be heralded as one of the greatest records of the 80s'.

To those under the impression that SSS were merely misguided teen-friendly electro-pop the above probably sounds like the talk of an utter fuck-puddle. But let me try and qualify my opening statement by furnishing you with some perspective: B.A.D (Big Audio Dynamite), that comedy project that your man from The Clash started with Don Letts is already being re-assesed. Apparently they were something new, fresh and dangerous, they fused 'hip-hop' beats with punk guitar chops. It seems to have escaped peoples attention that they did this very badly and that despite their multi-cultural barrier breaking facade they were harder to listen to than a dog turd with a pair of white ipod headphones dangling from it.

Add to this the fact that the dreary and bland idiot-hop of De La Soul is already being hailed in a similar manner, is it really that improbable?

I should probably clarify the above mark so that it doesn't come across as a lazy snipe. There was nothing exceptional about De La Soul, they have a sound like a hairdryer set on low accompanied by a drum machine made out of marshmallows. They were so fucking boring that '3 Feet High and Rising' could have been prescribed as a cure for insomnia.

The same however cannot be said for this Sony TV-glasses assisted glimpse into the future of music. 'Flaunt It' is still as exciting today as it was when I had a BASF cassette copy playing on my Walkman as I sat sulking in the back of the car on the way to visit my Grandparents.

Musically it's Elvis meets Suicide. Jet-fueled hi-tech Blade Runner inspired party music sung by a guy with three foot hair and a fishnet stocking on his face. What is not to like? I mean we are talking about the band who (at this stage) refused to be photographed unless it was at night, the band whose opening gambit was to blow up a helicopter in the video for their first single as they posed with an arsenal of automatic weapons.

So why the cultural cold shoulder?

It's obvious, they were aimed at the Smash Hits and No1 magazine readership, I even recall individual band member posters complete with profiles coming with one particular title. They were set on world domination from the get go, none of this standing in the shadows and waiting to be discovered business... And that's why WIRE magazine feature endless pean's to Martin Rev and not Martin Degville. Sigue Sigue Sputnik had already sold out before the second this album hit the shelves: The space between songs is used to advertise hair gel and style magazines, Tony James wears an Atari t-shirt. Unlike the two quirky New York misfits who got bottled off every time they tried to play CBGBs, SSS placed themselves as a product.

And this is what modern music is missing. The kids of today have those fucking retards The Arctic Monkeys et-al singing about drinking cheap cider and fingering the girl from the chippy when what they need is tight leather pants, fur coats, film samples and guitar's shaped like laser guns. It is quite possible that you have the cure for the inner-city stab-a-thons right here: Turn the rude boys and wanna be gangsta's on to this business and they'll be comparing lip-gloss and collections of vintage Japanese electronica rather than leaving each other to bleed to death in train stations.

If that sounds too much like fun, you can take off the high-heels, scrape away the eyeliner, wash out the pink hair dye and you are still left with a very solid collection of listenable songs. 'Love Missile F1-11', '21th Century Boy', 'Sex Bomb Boogie', 'Atari Baby'. Yes there are fillers but nothing to swing the balance or to detract from my opening statement.

I'd love to see this remixed, made even more relevant to 2011. It wouldn't take much, just the eradication of a few 'Yello-isms' and the keyboard stabs that sound more at home on the soundtrack to Ferris Bueller's Day Off (That 'comedy' film where he fucks over his best friend), maybe more of an emphasis on the twin drumming and a wash of feedback. But given that's unlikely to happen I'll just have to stick to playing this a lot more than I should, especially when I have pretty much everything Alan Vega and Suicide did right next to it on the shelf.

Anyway, ladies and gentlemen here's to the fifth generation of rock and roll...

JEFFERSON AIRPLANE - SURREALISTIC PILLOW

I was baby sitting whilst my wife went to a hair appointment and needed to find some form of post bath entertainment for Mystery Kid. This came in the form of Jefferson Airplane's second album. At this point he has already absorbed a fair chunk of Neil Young and Lou Reed and this seemed like a logical progression. Admitted back to the speakers, can of Tetley's in one hand and baby-rocking implement in the other is not the best way to absorb 'Surrealistic Pillow' but times are tough.

Everybody knows this record, if there is a used record shop in the US that doesn't have a copy I am yet to find it. It sits comfortably in the majority of people's 'Hottest Album's Of All Time Ever' lists. It was a significant milestone in the development of yada, yada, yada.

This is, I think my third copy of this album, not because I have a habit of falling out with it and casting it aside but because it's been upgraded. I started with a battered first press from Limelight Records in Santa Cruz (Props yo!) and then bought another, cleaner copy somewhere else along the way. Now I was more than happy with that until the above Japanese press appeared in my local store. I had them both for a while but couldn't really justify my growing multiple copy problem and got rid of the US press.

Funny that, getting rid of the original in favor of a later Japanese pressing, not the first time though. Did the same with my 'Trans Europe Express' - it's amazing what a thick stock card sleeve and an Obi can do for my vinyl libido.

Anyway, 'Surrealistic Pillow' is a really good record that stops short of being 'Great' for two reasons: It's uneven and The United States of America did it better. Maybe I am being too harsh but the other-worldly psychedelia hinted at here by the likes of 'White Rabbit' is a theme that they not only improved upon but one that they smashed out of the park and into space.

Why is it uneven? Unwanted injections of blues and guitar-noodling, in fairness to them this was recorded in late 1966 so the whole 'Psychedelic' movement was in it's infancy. RCA probably felt an end to end whacked out mission statement was not going to shift units. It's not just me that doesn't like the deviation though. As if by magic every time the boogie woogie crept in my son would cry uncontrollably (Mental note - Play Status Quo to him to observe reactions to prolonged exposure)

I should probably play up the album's strengths though as despite the above I am very fond of it. Obviously 'White Rabbit' is on it, I could write an essay about that track alone, it's cultural impact, it's use as a soundtrack to celluloid and books alike. 'White Rabbit' is a giant blue whale of a song, it's stratospheric, an anthem to anybody and everyone who ever dabbled with LSD. It has 'Somebody To Love' on it and if you can get the image of Jim Carey doing karaoke to it in the 'Cable Guy' out of your head then it's a great song. 'She Has Funny Cars' is worth a punt as well but the album's savior, it's most solid representation of the records titular umbrella - 'Today'.

Holy shit in a handbag 'Today' is epic, understated but epic and Grace Slick doesn't even contribute beyond a backing vocal. This track is probably on every mix tape I did between 1993 and 1998, it's a perfect song.

Two things I did not know about 'Today': Marty Balin, the singer of the song, and the one who got punched out by a Hells Angel at Altamont actually wrote it for Tony Bennett to perform (This never happened). Secondly, that bearded fuckwit and Ice Cream namesake Jerry 'the teddybear' Garcia plays that awesome repeat guitar part. That would normally be enough to put me off, a reminder of turtles walking to a station and tie-dye t-shirts but no. It's a killer of a song despite of his efforts.

Anyway, 'Surrealistic Pillow', yeah still pretty groovy I suppose.

*Oh and I get bonus points for writing a review of a Jefferson Airplane record without mentioning Haight and or Ashbury.

PICADILLY RECORDS - MANCHESTER AND THE INCREDIBLE INTERNET

So this is a first.

My reason for this review isn't a recent visit to their physical premises but rather the use of their on-line shop. Yes they stock a lot of faceless dance music bollocks but what a great site.

This used to be a regular port of call back in the early 90's when I was at college in Sheffield. I've only visited their 'new' premises a couple of times but when they were off the high street round the corner from 'Stolen From Ivor' I'd stick my head round the door at every given opportunity. The product mix always had a strong leaning towards 'dance' but it appears they have made it their bread and butter in the past years. Makes perfect sense I suppose: Selling 1 Shonen Knife album Vs 23 copies of Whigfield's 'Saturday Night' (Or whatever the fuck people dance to in 2011). Pure economics - Even if you are going to hell for it.

Anyway, enough already, back to the positive hyperbole.

There were a couple of new bits and pieces I was after so I popped down to Soho in my lunch to hook myself up. Well despite being friendly enough London's 'finest' could not product the goods. Disappointed, I was walking home when I heard a voice in my head all booming and Godlike:

'Try Piccadilly Records... They have a website... Go out and kill people'.

So I did. I'd been on the site before briefly in 2006 but never bought anything, I was living in New York at the time and a colleague (a DJ) swore by the site and bought pretty much everything he played from them. Now that should give you some idea of how 'on it' the guys at Piccadilly must be - One store in Manchester Vs the whole of the Eastern seaboard.

Anyway, the site's easy enough to use and even if a virtual flick through the racks is never going to compare to emerging smelling of mould from some backstreet real record shop, they had everything I was looking for so mad props for that yo.

The best thing about the site is the 'Just in' column on the right of the screen. As stock comes in it's featured in a rolling bar of clickable Jpegs. Sounds a bit like I'm getting excited about nothing but it is updated at such speed that you feel like you've got he freshest bread of morning at your fingertips.

So to summarize: Well worth a visit.

Okay, so that's great but what was the point of that particular plug?

Well, it just struck a chord. Its interesting to see how some stores are weathering this musical storm pretty successfully through savvy evolution.

Plus I fancied a trip down memory lane. It is 1991, I am in Piccadilly, I am wearing a fish-tail parka with a hand painted Sub Pop logo on the sleeve and a lumberjack shirt. Although my hair is slightly confused my direction in music is quite clear, it either comes from Washington DC or Seattle or it doesn't exist. The world is a very exciting place. Jesus, I used to get goosebumps walking into that shop, it was so fucking exciting, each record an adventure waiting to happen, every carefully thought through purchase a token of legitimization for my formative years, a bit like collecting Pokemon in a Tad t-shirt I suppose.

Anyway, that shit is all gone, the hair, the coat, the shop, my copy of the first Action Swingers album. What hasn't crumbled like dust in the wind is Piccadilly Records, so hat's off to you... Even if you do charge too much for post and packaging.

PALACE BROTHERS - VIVA LAST BLUES

This was yanked at random from the racks earlier this morning. I've been giving a lot of time to all things Will Oldham of late, he's a tough cookie to keep up with and seems to shit out an album on an almost bi-monthly basis. To be honest this could be part of the appeal - Ooooh just think of all those spines staring out at you in date order. This is probably how James Last got so big, an obedient army of mindless completists just waiting for the latest moustachio sleeved album to hit the shelves.

I have no love for James Last and luckily that is where the similarities between him and the cuddliest man in music come to an end. I find something colossally wholesome about Will Oldham or Bonnie ' Prince' Billy - I don't like using that acronym as it sounds Scottish and consequently makes me think of Irn Bru and Big Issue sellers (Interestingly enough he does look like a Big Issue seller). I find listening to him is a bit like eating a couscous salad: I actually feel like it's doing you good as I eat it. Will Oldham is horses, rolling hills, he's a Powell and Pressburger film on Christmas Day. That's why I find myself playing it now, it's perfect Sunday morning music to sit my son in front of, his synapses firing ten to the dozen and taking in every off-kilter tone and wonderfully tuneless wail.

There's nothing controversial about WIll Oldham, nothing tasteless or difficult. The only thing remotely challenging about him is keeping up with that quick fire out-put. Yes he sings 'If I could fuck a mountain' in 'The Mountain Low' but he does so in such a nice beardy boy next door way that it's in impossible to take offense.

So, on to this 'Viva Last Blues'. It's more electric than much of his output - The opener on side 2 'Work Hard/Play Hard' comes as something of a shock, it's tempo and delivery a lot more ferocious than you might expect. There are other songs that share the former's mood but not it's perfect battered pitch and delivery. The rest of the album is as you might expect: The greatest voice in contemporary Americana accompanied sparingly with guitar and the occasional addition of rhythm.

I think a problem with Will Oldham might be that has such a prolific output and so much of it is totally listenable, completely enjoyable that it's hard to find exception in that body of work for better or worse. I have my favorites, the Tortoise collaboration comes to mind but there isn't much that's head and shoulders above. 'Viva Last Blues' is no exception.

'But it's Palace Brothers!'

Yes, but if you care to get out some paper and an HB1 and draw a graph plotting the boy Oldham's works casting aside any old skool indie allegiances any money this sits bang smack in the middle of that scatter graph along with 80% of his work.

This said it really isn't such a bad thing. It's good to have a constant in your life of some kind, somebody musically reliable and despite his turning up in the strangest of places - Jackass, a Kanye West video etc, someone who is for the most part at least thusfar, predictable.

I like it, and as he rocks back and forth on one of those bouncy chair things, so does the little man*.

NB* - Reading that back I feel it important to clarify that I am actually talking about my son and not my penis.

DISCHIVOLANTI - MILANO

So this is one of those places I passed when it was shut last time I was in Milan. I pressed my face against the glass in the hope it might some how meld with the liquid and allow me a kind of 'fish eye' view of the interior. This did not happen.

Anyway, last week I was sent there again for work to observe the well dressed people of what is generally regarded as Italy's fashion capital. It didn't take very long for me to pull this place up on a map and work it into my day's itinerary. Was it worth the detour? I would say so. I left with an 1976 Italian press of the frustratingly hard to find 'Tarot' album by the Cosmic Jokers. It wasn't cheap but now that that particular search is over I can rest a little and score it off my now imaginary bingo card (it was very real until I left my hard drive on a flight to Boston).

Dischivolanti is possibly the worst name for a record shop in the history of man. This is entirely because a.) I have no idea how to pronounce it or b.) what it means. I am guessing it's a head-nod to the yacht from that Bond film, that or this guy was massively impressed by that Mr Bungle album from the mid 90s. Either way he spelled it wrong.

So what of the inside of said shop? Yeah, it's not bad. I don't have much to compare it against as I've only ever been into a handful of other Italian record shops over the years, even spattering of records and CDs, few gems on the wall, unhealthy amount of what looked like static stock under the shelves. Regardless of that the owner was very friendly, I think - My Italian consists of about ten words done in a Joe Dolce 'Shaddup Your Face' style accent. Either way he smiled at me when I pointed toward the wall where the copy of 'Tarot' was sitting and seemed to understand when I said:

'Can I get that please?....Tarot...Tarrut,,,That one..,Cosmic...Yeah'

He even chipped a bit off the price which is always appreciated.

So how to rate this shop?

How to rate any of these stores that are brave enough to still be hanging in there? They should get medals. Medals but also points deducted for boring and tiresome stock. I really don't ever need to see another copy of that Christopher Cross album with the flamingos on the front.

Yeah, it was alright but Dischivolanti is not in danger of worrying the few hallowed stores that have been mentioned up to now in the 'Greatest Record Shops in the World' list but then that particular occasional feature is becoming more difficult to write on a daily basis. I mean shit, the last time I came out a new found record shop fully aroused could well be a couple of years back. Who to blame? The hoarders who refuse to die? The websites that artificially inflate the pricing structure? The landlords who would rather triple their rent and have Starbucks as a tenant?

Maybe I should try and flip this. Surely the lack of hunting grounds makes the sport all the more exciting? The competition that much fiercer... Yeah, that's it. Now I feel like one of those sailors on that island chasing down the last of the Dodo meat.

Probably tasted like chicken anyway.

TRISH KEENAN RIP

Not sure what to say really.

Trish Keenan, lynchpin of one of the few contemporary bands I gave two shits about has passed away. This is normally the part where I'd make a quip about something or other, her voice or her hair. I can't, Trish had magical hair. Dark brown flowing locks with a healthy 'wash day' sheen, occasionally a fringe (bangs) that framed her face perfectly. As for her voice, it was almost peerless in it's beautiful and unwavering melancholy... And now she is gone.

Few artists will ever come close to leaving behind a back catalogue as spotless (despite parts of Tender Buttons) and sadly brief as hers, I for one was hooked from the opening harpsichord bars of 'The Book Lovers'.

I met her once, Broadcast were playing with Stereolab in Wolverhampton in support of the 'Work and Non Work' comp that had just come out on Duophonic. I knew nothing of them before that night but came away mesmerized and with something of a new school boy crush. The conversation was briefer than the time I spoke to Nina Persson and went something along the lines of...

'I thought you were really good'

'Thanks'

But still, suddenly that seems to say it all.

Trish Keenan, I thought you were really good.

x

STONE ANGEL - STONE ANGEL

OR



Much has happened since my last entry, not least the naming of my son. I think I'd underestimated just how tough the entire naming process could be. In the UK there is a six week legal limit to give your baby some kind of title, I don't know what happens after that but needless to say we were down to the wire when we finally agreed on some kind of label for our bundle of joy. Yes we could have run our finger down the current and achingly dull 'Child Names Top 10' stopping at the first one that wasn't a name shared with one of my wife's ex-boyfriends but really? Doesn't exactly reek of creativity, care or thought does it?

Anyway, moving on to today's subject 'Stone Angel' by 'Stone Angel'. I bought this due to the fact it got nothing short of mad props in the book Galactic Ramble (Worth a look if you're in the market for a record based read). It's a private press from 1975 and regarded by many as an unsung classic of the Acid Folk genre.

'What so you spent three hundred quid on the original?'

'Nope, I put it on my Christmas list and was more than happy to receive the CD from my mum and dad.'

'Judas.'

'You wouldn't say that if you heard it through my new stereo. You'd be too busy with your hand down the front of your pants writhing in aural ecstasy.'

New found father-hood has got my brain working in an entirely new way, in no short time, amongst other things I've invented the 'Scream Helmet', 'The Milky Finger' and the under arm tampon for men. The first two are fairly self explanatory the third I will expand upon. I'm not sure if it's a side effect of becoming a dad or not but suddenly I'm sweating like a mother fucker. The smell isn't an issue as much as the almost incomprehensible amount of moisture emitted by my armpits. It's as if that particular pat of my body has decided I'm living in a sub-tropical climate, a jungle or the like.

And exactly what does that have to do with 'Stone Angel? Well as I sit here and write with the window wide open, despite the cool breeze and low temperature I am sweating, the armpits of my t-shirt moist and clammy

I have tried every deodorant and anti-perspirant out there even a special one for stinky women but no. I still arrive at work every day with tears of moisture running down the sides of my torso. Tired of this I took the matter in hand and wedged two large folds of kitchen towel underneath my arms before setting off on my commute and you know what? It actually worked. Yes my rummaging in my shirt and producing wads of flowery ultra-absorbent paper raised questions in the office but that's a small price to pay for a new level of dryness - Manpons - Underarm tampons for men.

This reminds me a lot of the music from 'The WIcker Man', the tempo and the Jew's harp, the aprons and worrisome moustaches, 'Stone Angel' has it all. But Is it any good? Well, we're on to track 3 and it's not offended me in any..... Oh wait. We are now nuts-deep in 'Hey Nonny Nonny' territory with the added 'bonus' of a Roy Wood of Wizard sounding guitar.

'Traveller's Tale' is up next and it's alright, but I have to be a honest it's a bit too much folk and not enough acid thusfar. I mean at the moment we are within 6 degrees of separation of 'The Wurzels' and that's not somewhere I feel particularly comfortable. I dunno, maybe I woke up without my 'Folk' head on but this just makes me want to drink cider and say 'Ooo Arr' a lot in a Naughty Fred West Country accent.

It's nice enough when the singing stops, the flute and the guitar is fresh, bright, meticulous even. Unfortunately the sum of the parts is just a bit... Is this what Tractor drivers listen to when they are hauling pig shit up and down back country roads at five miles an hour? I bet it is. I bet this was sold as mail-order only out of the back of Farmer's Weekly. You see it's conjuring all of the wrong images. I want to close my eyes and see something like the sleeve of 'The Hangman's Beautiful Daughter' instead I've got an image of Devon's favorite son of comedy Jethro sat in a hedge. I feel dirty. I feel like eating a 'plough man's lunch' and having sex with a pig.

Not sure there's any coming back from this. I think that term 'Acid Folk' is batted about too freely 'Stone Angel' is just plain old straw chewing, trousers held up with twine, mead drinking Folk, the kind they warn you about at school and to that young sire I say 'Hey Nonny NO!'

And before I forget I should make it official. I am now the proud pater of one Ren Josef Ramone Robbins. Future drummer with some awesome hardcore revivalist jazz-core band, that or the fastest man alive, I'm not fussy as long as he doesn't up in agriculture dancing round a maypole to this tripe.

Montgomery Chapel - Search Party

My new born based musical experimentation hasn't really reached the heights I had hoped it might. In fact beyond the occasional foray into the late 70's disco based inferno or dip into mid-period Neil Young our house has been as quiet as a mouse.

One thing that hasn't been as quiet as a mouse or in fact quiet in any way what so ever is my still nameless son. Some days he sounds like a lamb with it's neck trapped in a barbed wire fence, some days it's closer to an air raid siren. I've actually tried 'getting in to it'.

It was the middle of the night and the scream was in full effect.

'If this was a Merzbow record...Imagine it's an alto saxophone... Pretend it's Alvin Lucier' I thought.

Didn't work. In fact the entire internal dialogue was pointless as Japanese porn with it's annoyingly high-pitched moaning 'schoolgirls' and pixelated pubic areas.

Hard to believe I have a life-time of this as I honestly have no idea how I am not going to puncture my ear drums with a geometry compass or one of those things my wife uses to make sure that the insides of jacket potatoes cook through.

Anyway, one thing that did slip through the net was the CD reissue of Montgomery Chapel's 'The Search Party'. Apparently it's a bootleg and the Erebus record label is a new front for the guy that did all the UK prog bootlegs on Radioactive a few years ago. If it is we should lay siege to Amazon and rise up and stab them with the pointy edges of our broken CD cases because that's where I got it from. Forget the student riots over tuition fees,'potentially pirated Xian space folk' is the real issue here.

I don't condone musical piracy, that's the reason for the lack of MP3s on this site (that and a lack of basic understanding of how you might put MP3s on a blog) but if this hadn't been released (rather shadily) then I for one would never have heard it which would have been a massive shame because it's really rather good.

It's out of tune lo-fi West Coast psyche inspired genius for the most part. Yes there's some shit filling in the gaps of awesomeness but don't let that put you off checking this. There appears to be very little information out there about this band, which is good, it means I can make stuff up...

The lead singer was called Snowflake Jackson and she was a born-again ex- go-go dancer who stole money from the mob to make this record in an attempt to spread the message of our lord to a wider audience through this private pressing. She employed the help of three other members of her congregation none of whom had ever picked up instruments in their lives but instead relied on the guidance of Jesus Christ to show them how to make chords and blessed musical shapes.

Sadly this dream was short lived as a few days after the modest launch party the mob caught up with Snowflake and glued her to the tracks of the roller-coaster on Santa Cruz pier before running a car over her. They found her head in the candy-floss maker.

There really isn't much else aside of a sinister back story that could make this record, I mean CD any more exciting. The Xian angle is toned down to the point of depressing so it's in no danger of being a buzz killer. In fact the entire package from the cover to the tempo says 'pagan witch cult' way more than it does 'praise the lord' so don't let the the worry of accidentally being bathed in the light of our lord Jesus Christ when you listen to it put you off.

Well impressed with this, even if I did sound a lot like Violent J from ICP in that last paragraph.

'Fucking magnets, how do they work?'

Oh and lucky for me my vinyl based format snobbery is on a temporary hold because a copy of this goes for north of $1200.

MY NEWBORN BABY Vs FAUST IV

Less than a year ago I was leaning out my apartment window despite of the snow drinking red wine and playing Faust IV really, really loud. Did I honestly think than only a few months later my world would have changed so much? That's a negatory.

Let me start by dispelling a few myths about the birth process. Yes, I know this 'blog' is about vinyl records and that shiny new Dutch invention, the saviour of the music industry the CD but if you ever go there or already have the inside track this might be worth your time.

When a baby comes out it is purple, it has a point head (just like Jefferson Airplane said) and it's covered in goo. It looks at you silent and exhausted with black eyes with an expression that can only say 'what the fuck?'. This is a far cry from any Hollywood or soap based pregnancy, no smiling pink and healthy little man, instead you are faced with something that could well be an extra from a bad Sci-fi horror.

The bonding, the serotonin rush of unadulterated chemical love.... Again, not something that necessarily happens straight out the gate. In total honesty my first night as a parent was spent wondering why my wife was holding a plastic stunt baby and me trying to work out if there was any way to reverse the whole process.

Day 2 on the other hand, when I held him. Not something I can describe beyond saying I have never felt so alive or unconditionally in love. I don't know his name, (for now we call him MR X like the Ultravox song) but I do know that I am a proud father and more than that a guardian, the Secret Service agent willing to take a bullet for his very own little Richard Nixon.

Anyway, back to that night in German, my leaning out of he window trying to annoy the overly noisy club goers below by playing Faust IV...

A few people including Julian Cope formerly of turgid and foppish New Romantic's 'The Teardrop Explodes' have this in their 'Top Hot Kraut' lists, one guy in particular, a german music journalist from way back, I forget his name (tell stories much?) has this as his all time favorite album ever. Would love to know why? For me it sways between half decent but 'done better' to utterly unlistenable. In fact my soul reason for choosing it was to aggravate the lederhosen wearing idiots below: A kind of declaration of sonic warfare along the lines of the US military attempting to oust that Southern dictator by playing Twisted Sister really loud.

It's just not very good. It's obvious, outdated and done better.

'Would you care to expand on that?'

Not really I'm off to see if I can find a Ramones baby grow instead.

Fuck!

Erm, so my wife's waters just broke and she's in labour . Out of interest I was listening to some ridiculous late 70's French synth compilation that did not incidentally come out on vinyl.

The thing about french synth wave or dark wave is that it's a little bit fruitier or warmer than the stuff coming out of say German or Belgium at the same time. It's also clumsy in the respect that a lot of the lyrics just plain don't make sense..

Oh, no, here we go. This one is going to have to wait.

Holy fucking fuck.

ROYAL TRUX - SWEET SIXTEEN

And another?

I'll be honest, I'm killing time while my wife paces the room, gets down on all fours or sits on a pile of cushions five feet high. She's slowly going in to labour. The plus side is that the house is spotless, apparently they call it 'nesting': Whilst I haven't woken up at 4.00am to find her scrubbing the kitchen ceiling (supposedly this is not unusual) everything is neat, tidy and in its place ready.

Ooooh! There goes another one. They are still a good 15 minutes apart at the moment as we are still coming out of 'False Labour'. No I'm not referring to those cunts led by the Hamburglar's body double that we only just ousted from power (arumpatish!) Apparently It's some kind of bodily fake-out. Labour but not labour. Anyway, I'm rambling. To be honest I am doing anything I can to take my mind off what's coming. Not in a bad way, I'm not in denial, it's more of a self preservation kind of way. I honestly think that if I sat sober in a cold room and dwelled on what happens next for more than a few minutes I'd shit my pants. Excited? Fuck yes. Prepared? What as in do we have a stroller? Yes. Prepared mentally? Fuck no!

Anyway, another great album that didn't get a look in on vinyl 'Sweet Sixteen' by Royal Trux. The fact that this bad boy never made it onto everybody's format of choice is nothing short of a mystery. In fact as and when I get to heaven and meet The Baby Jesus it's first on my list of questions.

'Come my child, you have led a kind and gentle life, now I welcome you to heaven, do you have any questions?'

'Well, there is just the one....'

(Two actually if you count Lembit Opik's unfathomable and continued success with the ladies)

That to this day 'Sweet Sixteen' is the only Royal Trux LP not available on....LP. It's fucking retarded. I mean didn't they think to reissue it around the time of the Weird's War album or the first RTX (Jennifer post Trux) record?

It's absence remains a crying shame.

Sonically 'Sweet Sixteen' is Royal Trux's most ambitions record. There is so much going on at any one time that multiple listens will identify layers that you didn't thing were there the first time.

'Is that a marimba?'

It's still dirty and somehow lo-fi but it's an all together different ball game from 'Twin Infinitives' era Trux. It's the same blueprint, it's made with the same fucked beyond fucked post-Stones 'up all week in the same clothes' stylings but this time out two heroes are joined by what sounds like a cast of thousands... well okay, four or five maybe. This is the '70s rock' record, stadium filling pomposities coated in coke and triple live concept albums.

Oh, we're going for a walk to try and induce real Labour....

Holy shit it's cold out there - Weather man says minus 17 and snow on it's way.

Anyway, where was I? The story goes that the Trux made this record deliberately over-baring and in-accessible in an attempt to get out of their record contract, a kind of 'Metal Machine Music' fuck you. But if that really is the case, they failed massively because the likes of 'Morphic Resident' and 'Golden Rules' are the band at their best.

How are you supposed to prepare mentally for father-hood? Well there's a million books out there, a few decent films like 'Away we Go' and okay, I can only think of 'Away we Go'. I'm sure there are seminars, counciling sessions and the like but really what's that actually going to do other than take up 'transitional time'? The last 'me time' until I'm pensioned off to some retirement home to piss my pants and argue over the remote.

Ha! I'm going to read this back in a few months and feel bad. In the meantime I'm going to listen to the Royal motherfucking Trux.

SPAIN - SHE HAUNTS MY DREAMS

Right so first out the gate..

Without my disappointing change in policy this honest to God slice of amazingness would never have graced these pages. For whatever reason Spain never saw fit to release their second effort on vinyl. I used to lie awake and wonder why? Maybe they forgot, more plausibly it could be that the good folks at Restless Records told Spain that they had and Spain went to bed happy, content that they had succeeded in creating the greatest break up record of all time across all formats. Wow, I bet they were pretty bummed when they saw it come back from the pressing plant as a cassette and CD only...

Spain 'Hey did you guys here our new record?'

Everyone 'No, but we saw your CD was out...'

Yeah, that's fucked. Nearly as fucked as the conversation Neil and Jennifer must have had when Sweet Sixteen hit the shops.

Anyway, despite this 'She Haunts My Dreams' is out there in a pocket sized, take it to parties and wow your friends friendly format... Not that I would suggest playing this at a party for a second, not unless the guests were recovering from heartbreak, a death in the family and or on diamorphine.

I don't want to sound too much like I have Spain's balls in my mouth although yes, admittedly that is the way it's going. She Haunts My Dreams' is a one trick pony. A mono-tonal pean to lost love and heart break, nothing more and nothing less. But holy shit, it does it so well. Its beautiful. It's Sinatra's 'In the Wee Small Hours' for the 2000s. Yes the lyrics border on bad Grade School poetry in parts and there isn't a single unnecessary note or flourish but this stripped down restraint is part of the magic.

I first heard this back in 2000 and was introduced to it by a record shop colleague who had been rotating between this and whatever Pinback were doing at the time for a week or so. After a couple of listens I was hooked, to the extent that for a long time this was one of six or seven CDs that I owned.

What can I say, I've had sex to it, been dumped to it, drunk copious amounts of red wine to it and looked out the window on a winter morning hung over as fuck to it.

'She Haunts My Dreams'

Does what it says on the tin.

PHILIPS INTRODUCE THE COMPACT DISC!

NO, REALLY.

I've been toying with the best way of breaking this, mulling over, deleting half written entries -Half cocked explanations of my change in policy, whilst scratching my head. After a couple of months of living with this life-alering changer in policy I have decided that the best thing to do is just come out and say it.

I have resumed the purchase of Compact Discs.

I know, what the fuck? Right? Only six months ago that I suggested there might be a link between international terrorism and the CD. But there you go, I have fallen back in with that now nearly dead format of school girls and house wives.

Part of me feels like that guy at the back of the Dylan concert back in 1966 'Judith!', the other half, or just over half is pretty smug about it all. Why? Well have you seen how cheap CDs are nowadays? Ever since the MP3 meant that music could rain magically from the sky and directly into your computer nobody is buying them, nobody. That makes for a pretty healthy hunting ground in my new and digital remastered opinion.

It also takes the edge off the fact that two of my better sources for interesting vinyl have dried up, One due to geography and one at the hands of a caped Phantom of the Opera like character who has a gift for raping the bins and exiting stage left with anything even half decent before I'm even out of bed. This coupled with my distaste for vinyl re-issues goes some way to explaining away my turn-coat actions, It just makes sense. Not least because I can now listen to music I always imagined was out of reach. In retrospect it seems nothing short of perverse that I refused to budge from my single-minded vinyl only (and no reissues) approach in the first place. But then hey, what's life without opinions and discipline?

SO now to get on with enjoying this new-found technology, this compact, space and pocket friendly every-man alternative without sounding too much like Lord Haw Haw of course....

THE FLIRTATIONS - THE FLIRTATIONS

So lets turn this shit up yo.

The first time I heard 'Nothing But a Heartache' was at a very low budget Northern Soul night above a pub in the Derbyshire town of Chesterfield about fifteen years ago. I seem to remember the music being played on one of those 'Disco Van' two turn tables and a microphone all-in-ones perched atop a randomly flashing home made light-box. I might be wrong but the entire proceedings definitely had an early evening tenth birthday party feel, to the extent where if the beer had been served in plastic beakers with a side of crisps and fairy cake it wouldn't have been massively out of place.

The sound was terrible and the majority of the clientele as clueless as I was: Not a bowling shoe, vest or baby powder puddle in sight (not a bad thing). Even so I still managed to get shit from somebody who was more 'Northern Soul' than I was (not exactly difficult) for dancing to it 'all wrong'. My interpretation of the music had been very much 'Elvis '68 comeback' hips and flailing arms. Apparently this was not how it was done...

Anyway, the song came to an end I asked the guy with the confusingly heavy metal hair and collection of 7" carry cases what I'd been listening to. I promptly forgot the name but not the song and after a couple of bad karaoke iterations to friends in the know managed to track down a copy of the album it appears on.

I'd like to be able to review the entire album, say that each track on it lives up to the promise of the record's opener. That the masterful orchestration and genuine sound of almost punk like urgency that makes the title track so compelling resonates through out but I can't. Truth be told I have never managed to get past that first track. Not because I have heard the first few bars of whatever comes next and opted out but because I can't help but skip back to the start in order to relive the total, utter and complete fucking glory of 'Nothing But a Heartache'. In the unlikely event that you don't know what I am talking about 'Nothing But a Heartache' goes something like this...



No, I have no idea why they are on the set of a Black Sabbath photo shoot either but I am already searching Ebay for a bright orange fitted jump suit. It's only a matter of time before this song ends up as a bi-line, a sampled beat or backbone to some Beyonce bullshit musical poison in the same way The Four Season's 'Beggin' got re-appropriated by Madcon and then played out and to death so enjoy it while you can, before it' selling you some shoes you really don't need.

THE EAGLE HAD FUCKED OFF

Or rather I have fucked off from 'the eagle'.

So why the long pause?

Nervous breakdown? So shocked by the piss-poor re-mastering of Duran Duran’s self titled debut that you have been unable to face daylight since it’s release?

Well there was that, but the main reason for my taking the foot off the proverbial gas was that my ramblings were in danger of turning into a diatribe of my seething hatred for my surroundings and circumstance. Thankfully both have since changed for the better and I can now say from safe distance:

FUCK BAVARIA AND FUCK A CERTAIN SPORTS FOOTWEAR BRAND.

But rather than going into deep and personal detail about the trials and tribulations of the past 24 months and how re-locating to ‘that’ part of Germany was the worst decision of my formative years, I will breathe deep and move on safe in the knowledge that what didn’t kill me at least armed me with an enviable collection of interesting Brazilian and German records.

I can’t let ‘Ze Deutcher experience’ go completely though, it has after-all stained me, filled me with such disdain for certain people, systems and situations that my experience will no-doubt provide teeth-grinding reference points throughout my witterings. But for now at least consider it ‘parked’. Besides, this is supposed to be a blog about listening habits and not my all consuming desire to set fire to the place I used to work.

So moving on, I also felt it important to revisit and re-activate 32prm because I now have a different angle, an ace in the hole, a perspective that was not there before. NO, I didn’t become a Wings completist and shell out a grand for the picture disc of ‘Back To The Egg’…. I am going to be a dad. A Goddamn shit-sucking dad.

Each father before me has uttered the same weary and tired-eyed line ‘It changes everything y’know…’ So safe in the knowledge that my world really is about to be turned upside down for ever, lets see what it does to my listening habits…

Oh and as a footnote. It hasn't escaped me that it is 'that' day. RIP WTC Krew, my thoughts are with you as always.

SHUT DOWN

Executive decision made. Won't be updating 32rpm for the forseeable future. Am growing a huge beard and thinking of starting a Cult though if anybody is interested?

JAZZ SUNDAY

Today started with the best of intentions, early rise, go to the gym, make a start on my ever growing 'things to do list'. My first mistake was getting up late and starting the day by trying to clean my bike in the bathroom shower, my second was deciding to cook dinner while my bike dried.

The problem with cooking with wine is that it is physically impossible (if you have a mouth) to not drink said wine whilst cooking. Given that I was already one glass of red down by midday the chances of me ever seeing he treadmill or that thing from Empire Strikes Back that is supposed to improve upper body strength are zero.

So what to do? Well the kitchen is a mess, I have a glass of Italian red in front of me and I am now on my third 'Jazz' record of the day. That makes it 'Jazz Sunday'. I have never had a Jazz Sunday before but a good friend of mine swears by them, not every Sunday of course, the only things that should happen every Sunday are fairy cakes and 'Last of the Summer Wine'.

Anyway, onto my 'Jazz Sabbath'.

CELESTE BOURSIER-MOUGENOT AT THE BARBICAN, LONDON

So this is the thing I went to a couple of weeks ago at the Barbican. No idea who the guy with the girls name is but this was really well worth a look, even if we did have to wait in line for over an hour.

The basic idea is that he gets birds to unwittingly play human instruments by landing, shitting and or building nests on them. The effect as you can see was surprisingly coherant.

LAURA ALLAN - REFLECTIONS

Right. I've set myself a task: Review the Laura Allan album in the time it takes my ravioli to boil. Why? You might ask. Well it's challenges like this that keep us on our toes, give us the edge so that if ever we should need to do mind-battle with other-worldy creatures we are ready. My body might be that of a tired and approaching middle aged man but there is no reason (degenerative mental illness aside) that I shouldn't have the mind of a mother fucking ninja well into my 90's.

SCOTT WALKER - SCOTT

It made sense to continue my Easter listening with something in a similar vein, vocally led and easy on the ear. An afternoon spent reshuffling my records and realizing I don't currently have a copy of 'Fifth Dimension' pulled this out. I got very enthusiastic about this about a year or so ago when I re-discovered 'Such a Small Love' the second track on side 2. It's a very rare thing indeed - A perfect song. So what about the rest of the album. To be honest I don't think I have listened to this in it's entirety since college.

BRIDGET ST JOHN - ASK ME NO QUESTIONS

I might be wrong, but I think it all started with The Animal Collective. After much musical squirming to fit their particular peg into the 'Mainstream Alternative hole' they finally became music press darlings about five or six years back. With them they dragged much from the past, Vashti Bunyan, The Incredible String Band and to a lesser extent and through lazy press name checking rather than anything else, Bridget St John. I suppose a one sentence review of the above might read: 'Bit like a female Nick Drake' but then that would be selling BSJ, for that is how I intend on referring to her for the duration of this review.