The Library

Monday 29 December 2014

eops 2014 Music List

My New Years Resolution this year was simple; ‘Say YES more.’

 It’s been an amazing year for the use of those three letters. I said yes to:
  1. A regular DJ night at The Miller (Second Friday of every month playing SOUL/FUNK/DISCO).
  2. Having a baby. Finally and most momentously, I became a Father! This has been a game changer. 
 Pic: © Amy Murrell
 
The final part of that diptych is why this review didn’t make it out in time for Xmas and was written almost entirely left-handed at 4am. No regrets, 2014 was a good year; I knew Grange Hill were talking shit – just say YES! This years list got me thinking about the difference between artists making their debut and those returning under the weight of expectation. The debut is the culmination of years of forethought while the second album is often a more pressurised affair written on the hoof or worse still given far too much time to ferment. I’m looking at you Stone Roses. That said let’s jump straight in with some #HaikuReview

Dig the new breed …


East India Youth were my ‘one to watch’ tip for last year and I have been delighted to see ‘Total Strife Forever’ go on to become a huge success.

East India Youth!
Five syllables already?
Mercury Prize nom.

Ross Tones has been building up a phenomenal back catalogue over the last couple of years including the remarkable Snow Ghosts project. 2014 however saw the Throwing Snow album finally drift into view; ‘Mosaic’ is a must hear.

Mosaics in sound.
Smashed it like a cracked mirror.
Snowballs target brain.

A less lauded electronic gem is the Matom album ‘Love Mistakes’. Forged by dance-floor specialists Matt Edwards (Radioslave) and Thomas Gandey (Cagedbaby) this album allows them to explore the outer reaches of deep house.

Matt and Tom's album
Jazzy house down the K-hole
Worth finding this gem

That rather rambling preamble has soothed my conscious slightly in what has been a difficult selection process.

eops Best of 2014


10 Lone – Reality Testing

The reverberations of the underground often take a long time to filter through to the mainstream, the most exciting work in any genre happens on a small scale. These embryonic ideas are so easily lost that we rely heavily on tastemaker labels that support the scene in the early days. 30 years ago the remarkable R&S label were helping nurture rave and techno from an anonymous flat in Belgium. They helped the likes of Aphex Twin, Joey Beltram and CJ Bolland to bring techno to the masses and R&S have never stopped looking for the next wave. Recently the label has championed the live sounds of Egyptian Hip Hop and Lone (whilst still remaining true to their roots with the brutal techno of Blawan). The Lone LP consolidates everything the label has stood for over three decades. 'Reality testing' pulls together the strands of techno, ambient, drum & bass and trip hop and weaves a plush cloak of electronica.



9 Caribou – Our Love

Dan Snaith is one of those ‘newcomers’ with 32 releases already under his belt. It is fair to say that most people only really became aware of his immense talent after 2010s breakthrough Caribou LP ‘Swim’. The key to this success lay in a deep understanding of both song writing and dance music aesthetics, that allowed him to create a show stopping live set to promote a heart-stopping album. Sensibly Mr Snaith didn’t succumb to the clamour for ‘more of the same double quick’, instead he took his time to refresh the batteries and allow for his Caribou project to rediscover its muse. In the intervening years a number of side projects (including the remarkable Daphni LP ‘Jiaolong’) bought him the breathing space required to come back triumphant. ‘Our Love’ is a warm, colourful, chill out room made homely with scatter cushions of soft synth pads and oddly familiar melodic motifs. I often look for a darker edge to music but in this case it’s a relief to find an album that makes you feel secure, comfortable and happy.



8 FKA Twigs – LP1

Young Turks is another remarkable label that has a habit of breaking the golden rule of Ghostbusting by constantly crossing the streams. Over the last couple of years they have brought us SBTRKT, Sampha, Koreless and now FKA Twigs. As I may have mentioned before I am not a bumper or a grinder but when the legacy of great soul music shines through the baby oil I am happy to slide inside the overheated crib. FKA Twigs were marketed with the ‘new face of R&B’ tag but I don’t think that’s really where this LP is coming from. Tahliah Barnett grew up in Gloucestershire listening to Siouxsie & the Banshees, she wasn't hot housed in a gospel church by way of the Mickey Mouse Club with Xtina. This album is a minimal framework barely supporting the lilting confessionals contained in the lyrics. It’s so sparse and arty it doesn’t so much bling as shimmer a bit. The entire LP is sung in a register so high that it would make Janet Kaye blush (sadly for me this makes a hearty sing a long almost impossible), but it really works. This is a fresh innovative debut and we should think less about which box to put it in and let it carve out it's own niche. It is certainly sharp enough.



7 Theo Parrish – American Intelligence

When asked about the secret of making great jazz records Miles Davis famously said “It’s not about the notes you play, it’s about the notes you don’t play.” This is as true for house music as it is for jazz. As America binges on the tasteless junk food of EDM ('Electronic Dance Music' for those of you who weren't aware of how 'the machine' has finally sold electronic music back to the states), one of the giants of Detroit house returns with another spacious LP. It's a timely reminder to these day-glo Johnny-come-lately types of where the music came from and how vital and soulful it once was. The true spirit of house is about stripping away the unnecessary rather than adding evermore flamboyant decorations to the Christmas tree of excess. Theo Parrish edits the legacy of black music so respectfully that this supposedly electronic affair swims with life and vibrancy. From the initial skittish repetition of 'Footwork' to the sprawling acid miasma of ‘Helmut Lampshade', American Intelligence lives up to it's name. This is no cold techno artefact, it's a heartfelt testimony warmed by valves, physical formats and a real live human soul.



6 The Bug – Angels and Devils

With the exception of the heaviest end of heavy metal, artists that trade on power often find the graduation from singles to albums a difficult transition. Finding the staying power to 'shock and awe' their audience a second time is often a step too far. This is especially true in the world of dance music. How many hardcore techno artists cut a serious album that amounts to more than a selection of individual tracks? Fewer still managed more than one. The problem being that the shock of the new has to retain it's ability to shock whilst the elongated medium of the LP means the listener must remain engaged despite not being off their box in a sweaty club. You 'listen' to an album, that's why it still the pinnacle of musical expression - the cracks will show if it's not up to par. The Bug are neither metal nor techno and despite their dub roots they don't really fit into the world of offbeat skanking either. Their first LP London Zoo annihilated all before it kicking the rosey ass of it's dubstep, grime and bashment contemporaries with a frankly ludicrous show of power. The question is 'how do you follow that?' Those ravers who felt the brunt of the bass led assault through tunes like 'Skeng' 'Poison dart' and 'Gun disease' called for more of the same but simply repeating the same tricks would surely be doomed to backfire. For Kevin Martin to grow he needed to show depth in his songwriting whilst still throwing a meaty bone to the hardcore. The answer is beautifully rendered in 'Angels and Devils', one record steeped in a thick skunk-drenched fog of reflection and the other directing a deliberate but controlled rage at the listener. I think the balance to this LP is just about perfect, the audio vandal has proved he can build and destroy.



5 D’Angelo – Black Messiah

Upping the ante set by Isaac Hayes with his 'Black Moses' album, D'Angelo has 'rushed out' this (decade in the making) release in response to Ferguson. There's something powerful going on here, fifty years on from the civil rights movement and very little seems to have changed. This includes music’s unerring ability to focus minds and offer solace in the face of adversity. Black Messiah like it's biblical predecessor aims to empower the listener through music, the title is intended to implore every listener to bring about their own salvation rather than flatter the ego of its creator. ‘Black Messiah’ is a poignant and powerful piece of work. There’s a closeness to the sound and every track weaves together a close knit atmosphere as claustrophobic as it is liberating. It may not really lay claim to pushing the boundaries of R&B music further (there is nothing ‘new’ here) but it can stake a claim to be a future soul classic. Indeed 'classic' would be the watchword here as D'Angelo channels 'If I was your girlfriend'/'Dorothy Parker’ era Prince and baboon eating dog era Sly Stone perfectly. Even the production harks back to look forward; an all analogue recording committed to hundreds of tape reels that had to be painstakingly stitched together by hand without the benefit of cut n paste - no shortcuts were taken in this 12 year labour of love and it shows. If you have been wondering who stole the soul during the shiny bump & grind era you will be pleased to know it was D'Angelo and at last, in the face of adversity, he has decided to put it back.



4 Liars – Mess

Very few artists have the balls to switch styles with every LP (Bowie being the master, Radiohead deserving huge props for obfuscating the path to REM like ubiquity by dropping ‘Kid A’ onto a deeply confused marketplace after ‘OK Computer’), but Liars have the courage of their convictions. Their discography is willfully fickle and manages to take numerous left turns without ever doubling back on itself. Their early work was characterised by searing punk-funk and white-hot mix downs that could melt your headphones into earwax. As they grew in stature albums like ‘Sisterworld’ saw them add control and sophistication to their runaway train of ideas but it seems they couldn't wait to derail themselves. ‘WIXIW’ saw them ditch the guitars entirely and jump headfirst into blackest ever black electronica. It was a brave and artistically satisfying take on indie synth pop. What is marvelous about ‘Mess’ is that it evolves seamlessly from the pumping euro of ‘Brats’ (which closed out ‘WIXIW’) into a post Ibiza new-wave LP. Mess is big, brash and dribbling with the cumulative effects of the designer drugs era.



3 The War on Drugs – Lost in the dream

Despite falling head over heals in love with former ‘Warren Drugs’ cohort Kurt Vile, I initially took against this thick slice of Americana. My eventual acceptance is testament to the type of slow burn song writing that grows like a weed between the cracks in your prejudice against the legacy of Springsteen, Tom Petty and all the other ‘America with a capital A’ archetypes. Maybe you are one of the millions that accept these artists willingly into your life but many people find the blue-collar rock and rollers too detached from their European surroundings. I've often found myself claiming Springsteen 'Isn't as bad as you think, you have to look at his legacy in the round...' etc. In future I won't bother, I'll just play them The War On Drugs repeatedly for a couple of days until the legacy seeps through the pores and the cynicism wanes. It's plainly a great record.



Future Islands – Singles

Fame can be a fickle master; you dream about it, work for it, if you are both lucky and talented you might actually achieve it and when you do it might not necessarily feel like the thing you set out for. Future Islands have dutifully done the rounds honing their sound gig by gig, these ‘newcomers’ actually already have 4 albums behind them. I consider myself lucky to have (and I don't want to sound all hipster about this) heard them before THAT YouTube clip. The David Letterman appearance had the bizarre effect of catapulting this fairly odd electro pop band from South Carolina via Baltimore into 3 million homes overnight. It’s sad then that when people talk about Future Islands its the awkward but sincere ‘Dad dancing’ that grabs the attention, there's barely a peep about their excellent and original music. I hope this fame doesn't lumber them with a terrible dancing albatross because 'Singles', when separated from the furor, is a synth-pop gem. At Field Day this year there was a tangible buzz of excitement in the air when they performed and the show proved to be hair-raisingly compelling. So please, next time you think of that growling Marlon Brando look-a-like doing an impression of a speed skater on goofballs make sure you look past the spectacle and actually take time to listen. 



Sleaford Mods – Divide and Exit

Every now and then a record captures the zeitgeist of what it is to be alive at a certain point in our culture (and I'm not talking about the vapid coffee table funk of Daft Punk and Todd Terje). I mean the type of pithy existential translation brought to us by artists working at (or indeed long term unemployed at), the coalface of society. The type of star crossed expressionism that allows one human experience to be accurately conveyed to a multitude of people, clearing the air and defining the times. It's the sort of condensed humanity that in 1980 allowed John Cooper Clarke to scribe 'Keith Joseph smiles and a baby dies, in a box on Beasley street'. You can find it in the work of The Smiths, the darker lyrics of Madness, the multicultural graffiti of The Specials in 'Ghost town' and even briefly in 'A certain romance' as captured by Alex Turner before the Arctic Monkeys were sluiced out of the arse-hole of the music industry by gout inducing success. Sleaford Mods are the latest 'overnight success' to grow for years unnoticed like a mushroom in the dark recesses of the UK's sink estates before being plucked from obscurity because the time was ripe. ‘Divide and Exit’ is probably the least musical of all the albums on this list but for all the bare boned practicality provided by beat-maker Andrew Fearn it is also the most urgent, engaging and vital thing I've heard in years. Punk is not dead, it's got a copy of garage band and a twitter account. Sleaford Mods are easily the least pretentious band I’ve ever seen. Fearn doesn’t even pretend to do anything other than hit ‘play’ on his computer and attend to social media. Jason Williamson the foul-mouthed lyricist is equally down to earth. 

Instead of boorishly bragging to his poverty stricken fans about drinking Crystal in a diamond studded tracksuit like Jay-Z and his fantasist contemporaries, Williamson politely tweets thanks to his supporters for helping him to afford some new patio doors this summer. That's the real hip-hop right there. His vicious social commentary is thrown over skeletal backbeats that make up for their unedited simplicity by retaining a sense of inspirational urgency. His acerbic wit is filthy and laugh out loud funny, but don't confuse the Mods with the mic-checking comedians of Goldie Looking Chain and their ilk - here the punch lines are used to pry open subjects before gouging out the flesh of the matter and swallowing it whole. This is both serious and seriously funny invective.

There are no American accents either; this is pure UK spit being flobbed in your face. Sleaford Mods use their local dialect to raise one jampandy to the sky and salute. Pithy narratives describe the indignity of being a ‘Jobseeker’, the pointlessness of a ‘McFlurry’, or the pent up rage of finding yourself working for a right cunt. Oh yeah, 'Divide and Exit' swears like a fucking sailor, get used to it you titrifle. That's how people talk. It provides a momentary glimpse at the life you hope you'll never know, I advise you to stare at it till your eyes water. In a blink it will be gone but Jason Williamson’s poetry will always remain true.



*UPDATE*


Great start to the new year as The Sleaford Mods approve! 
I was very pleased to see this tweet - I think this means the score is now officially: 
NME 0 - eops 1 


Single of the year

Just listen to that bassline. I could mooch about all day to that. I played it on repeat for about a week in the summer. Also cool girls being cool video.

Re-issue of the year

A lovely and luxurious package backed up with lost tracks and studio sessions. What a record.

Compilation of the year

Because DISCO.

Gig of the year

It was simply gushing with love. Read my review. Beware gush.
http://www.the-monitors.com/2014/09/09/sounds-love-kate-bush-hammersmith-apollo/

And some slight returns …


The Horrors returned with a toothless offering ‘Luminous’, after reinventing gothic indie with ‘Primary Colours’ and ‘Skying’ it was a crying shame for them to return to B-Movie status.

Black hearted Horrors?
Gothic rock? Over polished.
Glow in the dark synths.

After the joy that was the first SBTRKT album the follow up seemed thin gruel indeed. My favourite review site The Quietus mauled it seemingly on the grounds that people employed in the creative industries don’t have the right to express their feelings. Bit harsh I thought.

Toothless post dubstep?
Savaged by The Quietus,
Not THAT bad really.

And last of the stragglers is Metronomy who had the unenviable task of following up the pop perfection of ‘The English Riviera’. Many people expressed disappointment with ‘Love Letters’ but I think it suffered by association and would have delighted the first time listener.

What do we want eh?
More of the same or not?
Cake twice then, dig in.

Any other business


YES


Tuesday 16 December 2014

Sounds of Love (and other stories...)

2014 Roundup

A little bit of house keeping before I write the inevitable best of the year list. Below are three articles I wrote for various publications over the year but never got around to putting up here. They cover the gig of the year Kate Bush, Record Shop day and Stylus Stories (again!).

The Sounds of Love - Kate Bush 

Live at the Hammersmith Apollo 2014

This piece was done for http://www.the-monitors.com/ after a request for a review.


I’ve seen a few comeback gigs: The Specials (albeit sans Jerry Dammers), Eric Burdon and War, The Zombies, Brian Wilson, Television and Arthur Lee & Love to name but a few. It’s fair to say the results have been mixed. Some have been triumphant like Morrissey’s return to Manchester in 2004, some have frankly been heartbreaking; Arthur Lee was note perfect singing his Love classics but fell apart pitifully when attempting to add new songs to his repertoire. It was as if the weight of his early genius had crushed any hope of ever moving on. As he fluffed his lines, the look on his face suggested that he knew it, which was perhaps the saddest thing I’ve ever seen on a stage.
Sometimes the comeback trail only serves to remind you that in the midst of nostalgia you can’t actually go back, or indeed move forward. The stakes then, were ludicrously high for Kate Bush but even in this esteemed company I really can’t find a decent comparison.
Despite the opportunity to play any stadium in the world, Kate elected to ditch the notion of touring and instead took up a residency at the rather more intimate surroundings of the Hammersmith Apollo. For many fans this London-centric approach felt like a snub of sorts but the truth is there’s no way a show like this could tour in the traditional way. The cast featured well over a dozen musicians, dancers and puppeteers. The West End-style theatrics saw stage sets that would make Spinal Tap balk at the scale of her ambition.
Helicopters flew overhead in surround sound, the North Sea was viscerally recreated on stage and the climactic end to the hypnotizing second half drew us Icarus-like into ‘A Sky of Honey’. By the end of ‘Aerial’ (having already delivered the moon on a stick) the production team began literally tearing up trees before sending them crashing into the midst of the band. No really, it was nothing short of spectacular.
By now of course you probably know all this. You have probably heard that she dared not perform any of the seismic hits garnered from her first three LPs (let’s be honest, there aren’t many artists who could come back after 35 years and get away with side-stepping their best known work in favour of two hours of dramatic, but awkwardly surreal B-sides and get away with it). Every music hack and blogger with a restricted view has already spilled those beans so there’s little point in recanting the gushing praise for the work itself – so what is there left to talk about?
Well, what struck me was the atmosphere; the live experience is really about people. It’s about sharing a moment with strangers and feeling the relief of knowing you are not alone, that others see the beauty in what you see, and in that instant humanity is laid bare.
In my experience only Brian Wilson came close to matching the love on display here. Unlike Kate Bush however, Wilson cut a forlorn figure on stage. He was greeted with heartfelt sympathy and warmth by his legion followers, all of whom were well aware of the long hard psychological road he had walked to reach the point of return. His immense talent shared the stage equally with his evident confusion and fear of rejection. Propped up by his band, he still brought us the joy of his creation but we also left feeling sorry for ‘a broken man too tough to cry’.
In contrast, age may have brought Kate’s voice down a tone or two but she had lost none of her power. Adroit, confident and charismatic, she waltzed on stage with grace and aplomb. The palpable sense of love that greeted her was nothing short of joyous. The question that occurred to me is what made this emotional outpouring possible?
This was far from a greatest hits collection and contrary to what you might have been led to believe, neither was it a jolly West End musical. There was nothing easy about this show. A smattering of Top 40 singles was lost in a sea of experimental songs about death, loss and succumbing to happiness. The crowd was reverend to the point of submission and yet so charged by the event that I lost count of the number of standing ovations. What was it about Kate Bush that allowed this devotional trust to build in the hearts of many attendees who had plainly stopped participating in music some time ago? They weren’t day-tripping – they evidently had an unsullied attraction to this woman’s work and many wept openly at the waves of emotion rendered by her performance.
On reflection I think Kate Bush is the free spirit many of us want to be. A perfectionist with a deft human touch, a strong woman uncowed by external pressures to be something more saleable or easier to understand. She ploughs her own path, fiercely protective of her art and savvy enough to keep control of it. She is also divisive, you either get it or you don’t. This was her show on her terms.
Contrary to the myth promoted by the media that Kate Bush is some sort of mad Gelfling living in a pixie world singing ‘WOW’ on repeat, her actual stage presence was earthy and real. She has a sailor’s mouth and the crowd revelled in her description of her ‘fucking shit-hot’ band. She remains humble enough to encourage the audience to sing one of the cast members ‘Happy Birthday’ in the finale of her show. Not many superstars of old would be anywhere near that generous and giving to their minions. People recognised that generosity and responded in the manner it deserves.
The audience was as one, delighted to welcome back an old friend, energised by a sense of belonging and happy to be taken wherever Kate Bush wanted to go, with no questions asked. Perhaps the most telling part of the evening was right at the end when she stripped everything back, did away with props and sang unaccompanied on the piano – there she channelled pure emotion to a sell-out crowd with consummate ease. Hammersmith Apollo was bristling with love that night and I don’t think anyone attending will ever forget it.
Just one thing Kate, don’t leave it so long next time.
---

Record Shop Day - That difficult second album

This piece was done for http://www.the-monitors.com/ after I became irritable at the bellyaching of certain music 'fans' regarding an attempt to revives actual Record Shops.
I love record shops almost as much as I love the records they sell. I worked in a record shop on and off for 15 years and often find myself daydreaming about returning to those golden days of relative financial impoverishment just to wallow in the plastic once again. There is no better feeling than turning someone on to an LP that can, on occasion, quite literally change someone’s outlook on life.
That said, when I talk to people about their memories of record shops (for that is all most people have), the most common complaint is that they felt like unwelcoming hipster strongholds where customers were often made to feel like their selection was somehow inadequate. To my mind this is a misleading impression; opinions are vital in this line of work, but the real buzz of having an opinion about music is sharing the love not shutting other viewpoints down.
Record Store Day has been spectacularly successful at revitalising the vinyl business. For the first time in years record shops are opening rather than closing down and Record Store Day has, for many retailers, become more profitable even than the run up to Christmas. The event has moved from satisfying a few hardcore vinyl addicts into tempting a whole new generation of customers into buying a deck and starting a collection. However, like any successful annual event it needs to evolve and adapt to its new status.
There are a number of genuine problems associated with the vinyl ‘boom’, but there are also a number of complaints that smack to me of those condescending hipsters who made many feel unwelcome in the music emporiums of old. A snobbishness is bubbling up; too many ‘major’ releases are deemed ‘bad’ for Record Store Day, but surely this is inevitable with an ever-increasing roster of limited editions. Of course the odd ‘Ghostbusters glow in the dark picture disc’ will come along but trying to vet releases on the grounds of good taste is essentially fascism.
I find it curious that many of the loudest voices in the run up to the event this year were keen to respond to the seven year itch by chopping off its head. How quickly we forget the near extinction that faced the vinyl industry less than a decade ago.
If the people don’t go out and buy the major label releases then I guarantee you that they will stop pressing the ‘shit’ that the cool kids sneer at. It’s also worth noting at this stage that the golden age of vinyl was driven by mass appeal, not niche interests. I have a very long list of complaints against major labels concerning the way they treat their artists and their lack of all-year-round support for retail but as long as the release is sold in a ‘shop’ then Record Store Day IS working. The calls for an ‘indie only’ event just shows a dearth of understanding in how the industry works. Many indie labels are funded at least partly by majors and stopped being truly indie decades ago.
flashback record store day rsd
It’s true that some indie labels are finding it hard to keep their release schedules up because the few vinyl pressing plants that survived the lean years are being booked up well in advance of record store day (often by major labels). This is a by-product of success, and whilst challenging for the labels it does not warrant the lynch mob that appear to be passing out pitch forks and flaming torches to any blogger with time on their hands. After all, it happens every year, a little forward planning may remedy the problem. It is also worth noting the title ‘Record STORE Day’, not ‘Indie Label Day’.
So much for the big bad wolf, on to the next bone of contention – touts. Those eBay bastards and their uncanny ability to get up earlier and queue for longer than the ‘real’ fans. I know, it is annoying but if you are going to trade on supplying rare, limited editions, what do you expect to happen? You want it because it’s rare, that is why it costs more and that is why touts like to make the effort and snaffle up the goods to resell. Last year I missed the Bowie 7-inch and got fleeced for £20 buying it on Discogs, but maybe if I had shown more willing, got up earlier and been more determined… well you get the idea. The simple solution to this is that shops reward their best customers with a guaranteed place in the queue, but of course if they did that then the complaint would be about favouritism.
This links nicely to the complaint that Record Store Day encourages those ‘once a year customers’. I honestly don’t see what the problem is there. A sale made in a shop that wouldn’t normally have been made is an extra sale and that is what Record Store Day is all about. Indeed, the fact that regular Joes are being tempted back into shops says it all. In the run up to Record Store Day the media is awash with talk of vinyl, and that’s the sort of PR that none of the few hundred surviving record shops could ever hope to afford. If the industry is to continue to develop then it will be by attracting new casual customers and not by circling the wagons to protect an ever-decreasing sales base.
Now I am not naïve enough to suppose all is rosy in the garden. The access to pressing plants is a problem. The financial outlay for smaller shops is also deeply problematic but let’s not allow snobbish thinking to kill the golden goose. Like any annual event Record Store Day needs careful nurturing and year on year reform but these are not insurmountable problems. Personally I would like to see less reissues and more new products but people buy those Ghostbuster reissues and that is their choice. The guy in the queue ahead of me was utterly stoked with his. I’m not about to tell him he is wrong for liking what he likes, I imagine he would hate most of my purchases.
Let’s remind ourselves of what the purpose of record store day is; to support the physical shops that remain. It might not be right for every shop but nothing is. All I know is that the queue at Flashback (see pic above) was long and good-natured, the shop made money and the punters got something special for their efforts. A bus ride away in Soho a shop-based street festival has grown into a life-affirming annual event, and across the country most record shops do very well off the back of Record Store Day. Sometimes you need to allow a little leniency for that difficult second LP if it is ever to be followed up by a brilliant third.
---

Stylus Stories (Part 3)

This 'Stylus Stories' blog was written for http://www.trebuchet-magazine.com/ It is the third and final time I will 'big it up. Thank you for your patience. 

I’ve never really been good with photographs; to me cameras are untrustworthy witnesses to the past.

The number of photos that capture a moment perfectly is dwarfed by the amount that render you as some pitiful grotesque crawling out of a Hall of Mirrors. This is why I rarely take photographs. Fortunately for me I have a ‘phonographic memory’; every time I play a record my mind instantly recalls where I was when I first heard it, who I was with, what we were doing and perhaps most evocatively, how I felt at the time.

For many years I thought I was the only person who felt like this, but it appears I am not alone.
Stylus Stories is a high-concept get-together for music lovers who have a penchant for the plastic. The idea is simple, dig out your favourite vinyl mnemonics and share the stories associated with them. As the poster states – ‘we have the stylus; you bring the story’. The evening itself is run like an eccentric game show hosted by a quartet of sharp-suited music lovers: Victor Vinyl, Dansette Dave, Tommy Turntable and Stylus Steve. These DJs in DJs keep things on track with a mixture of gentle encouragement, good humour and (if required) the dreaded klaxon of quiet.

For such a seemingly niche idea my first evening with Stylus Stories was a surprisingly inclusive affair with speakers spanning six decades of popular music. It’s hard to say what was more surprising: the youthful enthusiasm of the younger vinyl lovers or the cultural wisdom of the septuagenarian skiffle fan who reminded all present that rebellion is nothing new.

What quickly became apparent is that the vinyl record has a unique hold over the collector – it shares your space, you end up hauling around when you move house – it becomes part of the furniture. This tactile association endears and as the “It’s a beautiful day” fan explained in her story; you can’t roll a joint on an MP3.

Many of the stories spoke of time. Time spent, times passed and times that would never come again. This is nostalgia on a grand scale, but the intimacy provided by the untrained speakers, acts as a counterbalance to the sort of rose tinted platitudes that characterise those interminable list shows on TV. Of course you must be aware that public speaking isn’t for everyone and these are not professional entertainers – naturally enough the quality varies but anthropological curiousity ensures an empathetic crowd.

Once you have told your tale you are invited to sit in a luxurious armchair and listen to the track. In truth the sitting down bit is tricky – perhaps the one part of the formula that needs work – five minutes listening to a song while a roomful of strangers stare at you is, to say the least, disconcerting.
Ultimately Stylus Stories is worth a little embarrassment, it is modern folklore, providing an insight into the human condition and a soundtrack to match. Ask yourself what would you play and what’s your story?