Off The Shelf I

Benjamin Woolley
2001

Great Lake Swimmers Lost Channels

Let's Get Lost...
Lost Channels
Great Lake Swimmers
Netwerk

Recording tunes in grain silos, venerable acoustic sweet spots and the wonderfully named Singer Castle on the equally evocatively titled Dark Island beside the St. Lawrence River isn’t just a dippy gimmick with this Canadian outfit.

Part of the Great Lake Swimmer album's immediacy and impact comes from their ability to choose and inhabit a space with only the most minimal technological intervention.

Filled with a spellbinding mix of country-tinged melancholy and a poetic economy that resists saccharin statements, or maudlin indulgence, the ghostly voice of lead Swimmer, Tony Dekker crosses vast oceans of loneliness and undercurrents of heartache to impressive effect.

Lost Channels has a more robust feel to it than their last album, Ongaria. The heavy down-strum of Pulling On A Line or the driving pop of She Comes To Me In Dream has a quirky staying power that really gets under the skin. The more populist mandolin-heavy lilt of opener, Palmistry, is surely a contender for an anthemic-style Losing My Religion for a new generation.

Amidst such up-tempo sunshine there's moments of an altogether darker splendour. Stealing Tomorrow’s gossamer-thin wisps of pedal-steel guitar or the cello-burnished lines on New Light underscore Dekker's poignant, compelling insights.

It's to be hoped that with the current appetite for consuming folk rock as the new rock 'n' roll, that more people are going to start picking up on the quiet beauty contained in each and every one of the Great Lake Swimmers' albums.

This review first appeared here.

Street Life CLXIII including Yellow Room Prelude VI

Dukes of Stratosphear 25 O' Clock

Mad Men, Man
Dukes of Stratosphear
25 O'Clock
Ape Records

Time flies when your having fun and in 1985 XTC were having plenty of it - recording this mini-album homage to pyschedelia in just two weeks flat.

Legend has it - and this being XTC there are plenty of legendary tales to take your pick from - that the origins behind the sessions came about when Andy Partridge's production job with Mary Margaret O'Hara fell through.

The resulting vacant fortnight gave the ever-hyperactive Partridge the opportunity to tick off a long held ambition to recreate the 1960s that he'd seen and heard in his head and get it all down on tape.

Adopting the collective personna of The Dukes of Stratosphear (a name that he'd considered for the band before finally settling for XTC) the band time-warped themselves across a series of brilliantly witty psych pastiches.

You'd need to trainspotter's notebook to chronicle all the musical references anthologised within, but a kaleidoscope of cameos would include The Beatles (What In The World and the exquisite Mole In The Ministry), The Electric Prunes (25 O'Clock), The Yardbirds (My Love Explodes), Pink Floyd and The Move (Bike Ride To The Moon).

Sometimes these kind of in-jokes are better on paper than they are in reality. Not in this case though. 25 O'Clock bristles with enthusiasm and energy, positively exuding good, and let's be honest here, wacky vibes.

Released on April Fool's Day 1985 under the Dukes' pseudonym, it actually outsold their last album proper, The Big Express. Indeed, its influence can clearly be heard on straighter albums such as Tears For Fears' 1989 work, The Seeds Of Love.

The band enjoyed their break from the day job of being XTC so much that they repeated the exercise successfully with Psonic Psunspot in 1987, which has also been just been reissued alongside this one, complete with a clutch of demo tracks which are just as entertaining as the final versions.

If, as they say, there's a thin line between being a genius and being mad. Andy Partridge, Colin Moulding and Dave Gregory are clearly experts at walking that particular tightrope.

This review first appeared here.

Words And Musc XI Great Lake Swimmers

Mucho toe-tapping in the yellow room thanks to the new album from the utterly fabbo-to-the-max, Great Lake Swimmers. I was totally entranced by their last album, Ongaria. This album has more of a pop feel to it but I love Tony Dekker's voice so much, that it matters not.

Dave Stewart & Barbara Gaskin Green and Blue

Dave & Barb phone home!
Green and Blue
Dave Stewart & Barbara Gaskin
Broken Records

Given that their last release, Spin, saw the light of day as long ago as 1991, it’s an understatement to say this new album has been keenly anticipated by Stewart and Gaskin's loyal and supremely patient followers.

Happily, Green and Blue has the duo sounding more confident and accomplished than ever before.

Vestigial traces of Stewart’s prog-centric past are scattered throughout the album. The soaring theme of the opener, Jupiter Rising, easily equals the anthemic bravado of National Health’s Tenemos Road. Similarly, the twinkling complexities of Jupiter's playout and other sections across Green and Blue, remind us that although Stewart largely abandoned long-form music in favour of shorter tracks, his love of detailed intricate composition remains intact.

Further evidence of this is found in the undulating exploration of London’s psycho-geography of Walnut Tree Walk. Complete with Stewart’s trademark fuzz organ sound and skipping solo, this wouldn’t sound out of place on a Hatfield’s record.

Gaskin’s warm voice is set off to perfection in the heavenly ballad, Let Me Sleep Tonight. Across decorous chords she sounds like she was born to bring this paean to love and insomnia into life.

Stewart’s brilliance as an arranger is showcased at every turn and non more so than on the 10 minute title track, or the two-part album closer, The Sweetwater Sea; a nine minute white-water musical excursion with Peter Blegvad as a surreal, declaiming tour guide.

The addition of Gavin Harrison’s drumming throughout the record brings an authoritative, dynamic emphasis and in this he’s helped by Andy Reynolds’ guitar work on rockers such as Rat Circus.

If there is a jarring moment on the album it’s the inclusion of a Beatles cover, Good Morning, Good Morning.

Given the top-notch material surrounding it, there’s a rowdy element that disrupts the prevailing mood of a calm and measured reflection which these sophisticated songs create.

Of course, Stewart has form when it comes to geeing up his audience - remember all those rousing in-concert renditions of I Do Like To Be Beside The Seaside? So, wrong-footing the punter in this way may be exactly what Stewart and Gaskin had in mind!

You can buy this album directly from Dave Stewart at Burning Shed.

Released alongside the new album is Hour Moon, a half hour CDR collection of out-takes and Stewart & Gaskin rarities. In for a penny...

I Want It All And I Want It Now And I Want It For Free

How come my corner shop won't give me a free can of beans?

I mean surely they could put adverts on the tins that would pay for it? Haven’t they heard of the new business models that are all the rage in the music and entertainment business - especially via the internet?

I mean, I’ll tell all my pals about how great his shop is, and how great the beans are. They’ll tell all their friends and very soon, my local corner shop will have lots of fans.

With every can of beans that gets distributed for free, the reputation of the shop will just grow and grow.

“But, how will the shopkeeper continue to feed his family and pay his bills and generally meet his commitments?” ask the unhip and terminally old-fashioned critics of this ‘new thinking.’

Well, that’s easy.

The great thing about this new business model is that after having the free beans, and being filled with a munificent sense of well-being at having been nourished for free, later on people will want to try the other beans that are on the shelf - the kind that you have to pay for.


You think?

And how about a variation on the theme? The ease with which new media enables folks to give music away. This is a true story and one which you'll be all to familiar with.

There’s a band I know who’ve just released a new album.

The music isn’t commercially mainstream. They aren’t particularly well known beyond a fairly small community of listeners. The album will hopefully break even and maybe turn a modest profit.

Except it won't because a fan of the band has uploaded the album onto his blog and is giving it away for free. It doesn't matter that the blogger didn't ask or get permission to do this.

The blogger, who loves the band so much he wants all the world to know how good the band is, has it online and “ripped @320. cover and booklet scans included.”

The band in question, who won’t see a cent from the couple of hundred downloads so far, aren’t fat cats with yachts, fancy cars, big houses and the like.

They aren't 'the man,' or part of some multi-national corporation, which may be some kind of ass-backwards 'robbing the rich to give to the poor' justification (although it isn't actually) to be ripping their material like this.

They're just working guys trying to make a living by composing and playing music who released an album they hope people will buy.

When challenged about this upload, the tart response goes along the lines of "fuck you and fuck them. I'm helping promote the band - you and they should be thanking me for everything I do! I bought this album fair and square. I can do what I like with it. Anyway, this one is shit. Their last one was much better."

And so on.

Music is reduced to an accessory or a commodity and the human beings who make it are just stacked up like so many cans of beans.

If this new business model is so cool and generally advantageous to one and all in the music business how come other professions and services aren’t queuing up to take part?

How come my dentist won’t do my dental work for free or next to nothing?

Why won’t my mate’s plumber come and sort out his central heating for free?

How come my corner shop won't give me a free can of beans?

The Confessions Of The Sputnik Kid XII

Part 2
Upon Entering Arblus
In which Chime's tune is about to be played...

XXIII
Each homecoming step brings her closer to
the cloying scent of blood that at first flecks the air
now slaps down slab hard.

There, in the spattered cockpit clearing, the flute player works.
Cursed and sacred, summoning ancient charnel house energies,
a sacrifice required to ready the point of departure,


XXIV
His presence is an assault on her senses.
Guttural uttering folds air into a terrible pressure.
Dread occult harmonics cram her ears with movement.

Vibration thunders across unmeasured distances as
the gossamer gauze between two worlds manifests.
Pushing her face against it, she slowly slips though and is gone.


Images by Martin Hoogeboom
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid I can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid II can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid III can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid IV can here seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid V can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid VI can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid VII can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid VIII can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid IX can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid X can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid XI can be seen here

Street Life CLXII

A Rift In Space & Time

What with one thing and another recently, I forgot to mention that the other day a letterbox-shaped rift in space and time opened up here in the yellow room.

I looked up from my desk, momentarily startled by the shimmering light and all the patented Jack Kirby energy-crackles surrounding it.

From out of that void and without any sound whatsoever, a magazine from the mid-70s dropped onto the floor of my office.

At least that what it looked like.

Closer inspection revealed it to be a supremely duff bit of design done a couple of months ago and without any trace of irony as far as can be gleaned.

Nik Bartsch's Ronin At The Sage, Gateshead

I arrived in Newcastle just a little bit before 10.00 a.m. The town was quiet with a nice after-the-rain atmosphere.



I was due to meet up with David Symes who was up from Tring visiting pals in Sunderland and scheduled to see Fascinating Aida. Waiting for David to hove into view gave me an opportunity to take a look at Emerson Chambers, one of my favourite buildings in Newcastle.

When I was a kid I used to wonder if Dr. Stephen Strange lived up in those spooky-looking Ditko-esque attics.


David and I enjoyed breakfast and several pots of tea in Blake's as we caught up on personal news, gossip and the state of nations. We headed down Dean Street on our way to the quayside, pausing at my favourite railway viaduct.

Closely followed by my favourite bridge-building interface...

My favourite sequence of steps...

and my favourite 8 windows....

OK, I lied about the last one.

On the way to the Sage there was a jazz group playing by the Millennium bridge . I recognised the flautist as Bob Giddings. I can't remember the last time I saw Bob. He and I used to do improvised music back in 1970s and if memory serves me right, Bob kipped on my bedsit floor in Kimberley Gardens, Jesmond, when he was studying architecture. We managed to say hello whilst the sax player took a chorus but then he had to go back to playing the flute.

Onward and upward to The Sage...


We were here to see a matinee concert by two ECM recording artists.

First up in the splendid Hall 2 were the Marcin Wasilewski Trio. Although concert companion David had their latest album, I'd not heard the group before. They performed a decent set of flowing music but ultimately it was a little too swet for my tastes, and somehow never quite caught fire.

Nik Bartsch's Ronin on the other positively smoked from the first note to the last. Their brand of deep grooves worked in a similar way to the interlocking guitar parts created by Fripp and Belew on Discipline. The momentum and constant forward movement in the repetitive lines give the music an overwhelming tension.

With tension of course, comes the release. In this context, the smallest gesture becomes transformed into something almost earth-shattering: the single strike of a drum, a suddenly sustained note on the contra-bass clarinet or a clarion-call piano chord.

This album...

was one of my top albums of 2008

After the gig had finished, David went off to his third gig of the day (Fascinating Aida at the Theatre Royal) and I bumped into Avram Taylor.

Avram and I first met sometime back in the 80s when we briefly played a bit of guitar and bass together. Avram wisely decided that his guitar playing needed a surer hand on the bass guitar than I was able to provide, and since then we have established a highly random means of keeping in touch with each other aka bumping into each other at unexpected yet curiously regular intervals.

Having established that Avram was going to be around for a little while, I arranged to see him after the interview with Nik. Little did we realise that even this seemingly perfect plan was going to be subjected the Gods of Chance who govern the times and tides of our fleeting and essentially ephemeral relationship.


I headed downstairs where Nik and the boys were signing albums.


From there, we went backstage for a meal and a chat.


Thinking we might only grab ten or fifteen minutes (hence my arrangement with Avram), we ended up chatting for over an hour. Needless to say by the time I emerged into the main hall, Avram had quite rightly moved off. A wonderful concert gave way to a wonderful evening view of the Tyne Bridge and the city.

Madeleine Peyroux Bare Bones

Strange Fruit No More...
Bare Bones
Madeleine Peyroux
UCJ

If they ever make a biopic about Madeliene Peyroux there'll be no shortage of key moments to for them to illustrate; busking around Europe as a teenager; 2004's Careless Love selling over a million; record company-hired private detectives trying to track her down after she goes AWOL.

It'll all make great Hollywood for sure. However, it's likely that the most important scene will be the making of this, her fourth album since 1996.

Despite occasionally tossing a tune of her own into an appealing though often undemanding best-selling blend of jazz and blues, for the bulk of her career she's been praised as an interpreter rather than a writer of songs.

Now collaborating with producer Larry Klein, Julian Coryell (son of jazz guitar legend Larry) and Steely Dan's Walter Becker amongst others, she's begun to delve deeper into her own experiences.

Damn The Circumstances and Love And Treachery capture the moment when anyone who's ever been in love, wakes up at 3 a.m. to be haunted or taunted by what's got them to that particular point in their life.

Klein's production tenderly embraces Peyroux's brooding muse, whilst pianist Jim Beard's understated eloquence is often the album's quiet star.

There was a time when if someone said that Ms.Peyroux had a great voice, the smart reply was ''yes, but it's a pity it belongs to Billie Holiday''. With Bare Bones she's finally finding her own. The really interesting part of the Madeleine Peyroux story starts here.

This review first appeared here

Sara Watkins Sara Watkins

Bright moments...
Sara Watkins
Nonesuch

As likely to be listening to Wilco as Willie Nelson, Sara Watkins' eclectic credentials as a member of Nickel Creek were never in doubt.

With that band having disappeared under the radar, she steps out with a confident stride with her debut solo release, preserving those broad tastes and good judgement when it comes to choosing a set.

As producer, Led Zeppelin's John Paul Jones ensures there's both fluency and muscularity across the board, consolidating the artistic relationship that began when they toured as part of the Mutual Admiration Society in 2004.

The tenderness of the self-penned My Friend could almost be another instalment of Nickel Creek's Doubting Thomas (from Why Should The Fire Die 2005) with Michael Witcher's sublime dobro articulating that sense of stoic grace in the face of pressure and doubt.

Songs by Tom Waits and relative newcomer David Gazra nestles alongside venerable writers such as Norman Blake and Jimmie Rodgers (the smoochy, pedal-steel kick back of his Any Old Time is a real gem here) underscores that Watkins is working with living, breathing music.

An assured debut that will undoubtedly extend her commercial reach even further, there's an understated approach with no hints of showy grandstanding or cheap-shot appeal. Watkins' time in the spotlight is a triumph with her agile playing and the kind of voice that gives your goosebumps the shivers.

On the moving album closer, her vocals hover above gently murmuring electric guitars, a shimmering, imploring presence. ''When my voice no longer soothes you / Where will we be?'' Prepare to have your jaw on the way to the floor with this one.

This review first appeared here

Street Life CLXI

The Confessions Of The Sputnik Kid XI

Part 2
Upon Entering Arblus
In which Chime has mixed feelings about what is to come...

XXI
Wintery fields, pale sun, folds of iced brown earth
Birds blown from one wave of wind to another.
Ahead, the encroaching darkness of a forest.
The loss of memory, absence of motive.
Apprehension weighs heavy like an anvil.
The smell of decay sweetly hammers home as she enters.



XXII
Deep inside the cathedral of trees
she feels a sense of arrival and belonging.
Before this moment there was only the journey
and its honey-pot of sticky apprehension and expectation.
Crossing the carpet of moist brown leaves she imagines herself
a queen on her way to a coronation.

Images by Martin Hoogeboom
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid I can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid II can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid III can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid IV can here seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid V can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid VI can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid VII can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid VIII can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid IX can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid X can be seen here

The Apprentice - By Their Cliches Shall Ye Know Them

There's another series of The Apprentice coming up soon. I'm not sure I can go through another series of incredibly dumb people being incredibly macho, thinking that shouting loudly makes bad decisions into good ones. As the headline says, by their cliches shall ye know them...

"Business is the new rock 'n' roll and I'm Elvis Presley"

"I knew I would be selected, not to sound big-headed... I've succeeded in the companies I've worked for because I work hard and I'm honest."

"I am not all talk... I can manage a team of people, total strangers even, because I am feisty and have attitude."

"I'm astute and shrewd and smart... maybe blunt at times."

"I'm a complete and utter twunt without any sense of my boundaries but just can't wait to get that job with the Shopping Channel when I crash and burn on The Apprentice."

"Business is about a simple formula. Make more than you spend. That's what I do, I keep business simple and it works. I'm good at it."

"I'm hard-headed and always succeed in whatever I do - apart from the bit at the end of the show where I will not have done enough enough basic research to tell me that Amstrad don't make computers any more."

"For me business is about hard-work, attention to detail, being willing to make mistakes and learning from these mistakes."


OK, a couple in there were made up quotes but really...

The Hellboys A Young Person's Guide To Hell

The Serious Business of Being Funny
A Young Person’s Guide To Hell
The Hellboys
Hellboys.com

Given that The Hellboys are the house band of the extended Guitar Craft family, it’s no surprise that Hellboy in chief, Tom Redmond, has a heavyweight address book.

Judging by the appearance of top-drawer players such as The California Guitar Trio, Tony Levin, Robert Fripp, and REM’s Bill Rieflin, it seems Redmond might also have a whole bunch of blackmail photographs to ensure their compliance in his Hellboys project.

Of course, this being a Hellboys album, it’s peppered with self-deprecating in-jokes about Guitar Craft and fandom (Mr.Boring), and the mysterious links between prostate trouble and the creative process (Rivers of Pee). There’s also a fabulous authentic thrash / death metal pastiche (We Used To Be) which would give Venom or Opeth a run for their money.

The savage rocking cover of Dylan’s Masters of War shows Redmond's punk credentials whilst the instrumental War is a solid-gone prog work out that comes across like the soundtrack to the apocalypse.

Aside from an ill-advised reggae-tinged pastiche (Save Me A Seat), for all the wise-acre sideswipes at one genre or another this album has a surprisingly persuasive, cohesive feel that takes it beyond a collection of phoned-in cameos and makes it sound like an actual band.

Perhaps best of all is the closing track, Angels, positing Robert Fripp’s soul-searching ambient explorations into a Country music setting. It shouldn’t work but it does. Much like The Hellboys themselves.

Quiver KTU

Straight as an arrow
Quiver
KTU
Westpark

Now down to a trio consisting of Trey Gunn on Warr guitar, Pat Mastelotto on drums and electronic all-sorts and Kimmo Pohjonnen on stomp-box enhanced accordion, the follow-up to their 2004 debut has a more considered approach than the experimental air of its predecessor.

By opting for greater clarity and control over the sometimes sprawling, chaotic vibe of 8 Armed Monkey, KTU have delivered an album that is surprisingly melodic, extremely accessible, and one which might win them friends beyond the relatively small circles in which they are liked and rightly respected.

Quiver is a study in meticulous construction with particular attention paid to the melodic content of its eleven tracks. Though clearly well short of being anything mainstream or FM-friendly, there’s an appealing, wistful lyricism to be heard in lilting Wasabi Fields and the traditional folk melodies hinted at in the title track, or cinematic slow-burn of Snow Reader.

Fans of KTU’s percussive style will enjoy the staccato savagery of Aorta and Miasma which both features some top Gunn playing, whilst the almost gothic construction of Kataklasm indulges in some old-school Prog-like pomp.

Yet the relative brevity of each piece (the longest being a little over five minutes long) means that their trademark fiery soloing is quick to arrive and make its point. This “lean and mean” MO in the studio contrasts sharply with their live exuberance but is no less engaging, and just as effective.

A Visit To Silesia

After a pleasant but busy morning, Declan and I headed over to Chez Jakko where we were treated some of his latest work in progress.

Different to anything he's done previously, Jakko's excitement at the way the project was turning out was tangible.

Then we hit the road and headed back towards Chez Dec in time for some nice sunset skies

Hardwick Sky IV

A Day In No Man's Land

It’s an earlier than usual start for me today: up at 5.15 a.m in order to be ready for a 5.45 a.m. taxi to the airport. The roads to the airport are all but deserted and by 6.20 a.m. I have passed through security and sit waiting for the Gate to be announced.

A quick scan of the place suggests that the familiar retinue of families and packs of excitable children are largely absent. Today it’s mostly groups of young to middle-aged men wanting to take to the skies. But not before drinking a few pints of beer.

One expectant traveller has a pint glass half-finished whilst his pal returning from the busy bar places a full one next to it for downing in the not too distant future.

The jet takes off on time at 7.00 a.m. and at a little after 8.20 I’m sitting in a café in Stansted Airport, laptop out and busy with a commission whose deadline cannot be put off any longer.
A couple of hours later I’ve gone through Liverpool Street station, into Euston and out to Hemel Hempstead to meet up with Porcupine Tree’s Steven Wilson.

Within a few moments of my arrival at the station, Steven whisks me off to his suburbia-embedded No Man’s Land Studios. For the next four or five hours We listen to archive King Crimson studio recordings.

Steven has been painstakingly thawing out the musical archaeology previously frozen in time, unheard since it was first laid down. Alongside the shapes and songs we know a parallel universe exists in which the voices of young 20-something year old men whose confidence, boredom, frustration and exuberance are snagged in the net of the microphone.

Elsewhere, metallic disembodied voices in the grinder of the Wessex Studios talkback system appear; previously unheard count-ins connect to pieces of music that have otherwise stood alone across the decades; instruments whose existence has escaped all documentation, having fallen foul of the mute button in the final mix, are now liberated from their shroud of magnetic tape. As they rise up from their bed of hiss they alter what we thought we knew about this music.

Hatcham Social You Dig The Tunnel, I'll Hide The Soil

The Kids Are Alright...
You Dig The Tunnel, I'll Hide The Soil
Hatcham Social
Fierce Panda

The London-based band have been around for a couple of years building up the buzz via a strong gig-ethic and intermittent single releases. Hyper-energetic throughout, Hatcham Social have that life-and-death passion of a life lived in three minutes flat.

All the agonies, ecstasies, heartbreaks and come-ons fly by as quick as you like, rolling and tumbling like there's no tomorrow. Their wittily titled debut album is produced by Tim Burgess of The Charlatans and as you'd expect, it shares something of their bullish swagger.

A dash of Orange Juice adds to the 80s flavour and there's also something of the early punching-above-their-weight U2 haunting the grooves here and there.

The careering chords of Murder In The Dark and Hypnotise Terrible Eyes collide into each other with a scratchy urgency. Taken together, they provide a powerfully dense centrepiece that shows off Toby Kidd's jangling rattle-bag of guitar and brother Finn's thumping the tubs with an almost malevolent force.

Whilst this kind of straight-forward thump might lack a degree of musical subtlety, such worries disappear in the face of a self-explanatory, rollercoaster-track like I Cannot Cure My Pure Evil. Truly 2 minutes and 52 seconds of indie-pop magic with all its glorious shortcomings and triumphs.

In fact the only time things go awry throughout the entire album is on a lumbering rummage that co-opts Lewis Carroll's Jabberwocky as its spoken-word lyric against an otherwise simmering backing track, suggesting that even the young 'uns occasionally run out of steam.

This review first appeared here

The Confessions Of The Sputnik Kid X

Part 2

Upon Entering Arblus
In which Chime sniffs the air and senses change...

XIX

Lumps of loam form imaginary land masses,
invented continents that slip into apocalyptic proximity
under her feet.

In her mind
she plays God-games with each alternating step;
one moment bringer of mercy, the next an angel of death.


XX
Her nose picks up the scent of the smoke
as Rapunzel-like strands cross the sky
like a lure to reel in the curious.

Her quickening pace flattens fields
in her haste to escape her unease,
her feeling of being watched.


Images by Martin Hoogeboom
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid I can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid II can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid III can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid IV can here seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid V can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid VI can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid VII can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid VIII can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid IX can be seen here

Street Life CLX

Street Life CLIX

Bob Downes Open Music Crossing Borders

Man With An Open Heart
Crossing Borders
Bob Downes Open Music
Reel Recordings

Always something of a maverick explorer, Bob Downes has occupied a mercurial position that has seen him move between various positions in the jazz spectrum, contemporary dance, the fringes of rock and classical music over the last 40 years.

Now seeing the light of day for the first time in the 30 years since these pristine archive tapes were first recorded, Crossing Borders refers specifically to his prolific travels in South America but it might also accurately describe Downes’ approach to music making in general.

Though the names of some of the featured players might suggest this to be something of a freeform date, what we get is tuneful and focussed music with only Downes solo bass flute / breath-as-rhythm exploration providing the album’s more experimental moments.

The 20 minute Jungle Chase has Downes’ flute (reminiscent of Yusef Lateef at his freewheeling best), providing a joyful travelogue with supple backing along the way from long-time collaborators bassist Barry Guy and Denis Smith on drums.

Downes’ boisterous Rollins-esque sax playing gets a chance to shine in the second part of this epic, as well as on the brooding and sensuous, Sad Senorita. Here John Stevens replaces Smith as drummer and Brian Godding comes up with impressionistic swathes of guitar.

However, its the addition of bassist Mark Meggido, who along with Barry Guy, allows the quintet to establish deep hypnotic grooves. Their soulful bowed bass solos prove to be one of the album’s real highlights.

Another would be trombonist Paul Rutherford, whose rich and lyrical playing on Basking In The Sun shows a gentler side to the more acerbic personality we’re used to hearing from this period.

A Different View

This is a view visitors to the blog don't often see courtesy of our lovely neighbours, Dave and Julie.

Note the lights burning in the yellow room, suggesting fevered activity. Or not.

Podcasts From The Yellow Room VI

Music featured in this episode

1. Si grand e la pieta

Jacob Heringman

from Black Cow

Jacob Heringman's website









2. All White
3. Slightly All The Time

Soft Machine
from Drop

read my review here

Buy from MoonJune Records






4. Floating World
5. Bundles
6. The Man Who Waved At Trains
7. Hazard Profile Part 1
Soft Machine

from Floating World Live

read my review here

Buy from Moonjune Records






8. Where Are You Going?
Gavin Harrison & 05Ric

from Drop

read my review here

Buy from Burning Shed




Thanks to
Barry Stock
Chris Taberham
Gavin Harrison
Moonjune Records
Jacob Heringman

Annie Lennox Collection

Doin' It For Herself...
Annie Lennox Collection
Annie Lennox
SonyBMG

Blessed with a peerless set of pipes and a fierce musical intelligence, together as the Eurythmics, Annie Lennox and Dave Stewart figured out how smart and savvy pop songs could retain their artistic integrity whilst simultaneously selling out stadiums around the globe.

With the release of her first solo album, Diva (1992), it looked as though she'd carry on where she and Stewart had left off.

Though Lennox's solo career may have notched up impressive sales and garnered Grammy's galore, based on what's presented on this release there's a sense that it never quite lived up to Diva's early promise.

Whilst no less than five songs from that album are highlighted here, the rest of the selection starkly shows that the law of diminishing returns had kicked in early on.

Her backwards-glancing homage, Medusa (1995), Bare (2003) and 2007's Songs of Mass Destruction only merit a couple of tracks apiece. Throw in her Love Song For A Vampire (from 1993's Bram Stoker's Dracula soundtrack) and the obligatory 'previously unreleased' tempters, and what you're left with something that manages to be less than the sum of its parts.

Though it should feel celebratory, it comes across as a slightly forlorn tribute, running a bit thin the further out it moves out from Diva's high bench-mark. This serves to remind us that though she's always undoubtedly been a performer of startling quality, her solo writing has been distinctly patchy.

Lennox is on record as saying that this album was a way of drawing a line on this part of her life which suggests that she is moving into the realm of being a post-career pop star.

Whilst the newly recorded extra tracks - a cover of Ash's Shining Light and Patterns Of My Life (written by Keane's Tom Chaplin) - may give punters a reason to by an otherwise less than essential collection, they add precious little to what we already know.

This review first appeared here.

Street Life CLVIII

The Confessions Of The Sputnik Kid IX

Part 2

Upon Entering Arblus
In which Chime takes in her surroundings...

XVII
A curl of smoke rises up
above the far off fields, a cautious finger
one moment beckoning, the next waving away all-comers

“Where there’s smoke there’s mystery” she concludes.

Trudging over furrows of the tilled earth,
her footsteps create cracks and small earthslides
in their wake.


XVIII

She knows she is in some dread dream-realm
that must be passed like some test. The open space
of her surroundings makes her strangely nervous.

Used to the warrens and tight-fitting poverty, with its crumbling arches
and doorways into darkness,
the unfettered light exposes
her to the point of transparency.

Images by Martin Hoogeboom
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid I can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid II can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid III can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid IV can here seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid V can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid VI can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid VII can be seen here
The Confessions of the Sputnik Kid VIII can be seen here

Tom Newman Faerie Symphony

A way with the faeries...
Faerie Symphony Tom Newman
Esoteric Recordings

Probably best known for his work as producer and engineer of Tubular Bells, Tom Newman spread his wings to fly from Virgin’s nest and landed up at Decca to release an album proto-New Age ambient music in 1977.

Recorded on Newman’s houseboat in London’s Little Venice, Tom gets some fine guest contributions from Jade Warrior’s Jon Field (amongst others), and might be expected, the spirit of Mike Oldfield’s folky muse is never far away.

Unlike Oldfield’s classic period with which he is associated, Newman's Faire Symphony, is a series of small tales well told rather than a long-form epic. This makes listening to the album a bit like looking at a scrapbook of sketches rather than a grandly presented masterpiece.

Taking inspiration from Celtic musical figures and mythology, the tone is both playful and contemplative with only one track, The Unseelie Court, bucking the trend with a riotous dash of sonic mayhem and some scorching guitar from Newman himself.

Although fragmentary in its nature, this release is a must for fans of Oldfield’s music who will relish the stirring themes given voice, and driven on by massed ranks of tin whistles, soaring guitar, mellotron flutes and lilting, hum-along tunes.

The Handyside Arcade Needless To Say

Rik Walton emailed to ask if I'd heard the show going out on Radio 4 - A Strong Song Tows Us - about Basil Bunting and the poetry scene in Newcastle. I hadn't but after getting the heads-up from Rik, I dialled up the show on the BBC iPlayer.

Presented by Lee Hall (writer of Billy Elliot fame and much else besides) it traced the story of Morden Tower, Tom Pickard and Basil Bunting. A good show that explores an important aspect of the region’s cultural history.

In an associated piece of googling I came across Morden Tower’s Flickr site which contains many photographs taken by David James.

I was idly wandering through the pictures, reliving the times I’d been to Morden Tower to see various poets and music events (and I think I even played there once myself - or certainly rehearsed there at least), when one photograph stopped me in my tracks and took my breath away. It was a picture taken in the Handyside Arcade needless to say.



This is the window of Ultima Thule - a bookshop specialising in alternative stuff such as occult, politics, poetry, art, and all that jazz. I used to hang out there on a Saturday afternoon coveting Tarot packs, sniffing the mysteries of the universe and it’s where I bought my first copy of Oz magazine.

As wonderful as seeing this is, I still struggle to remember the bookshop that opened opposite Ultima Thule. It was from that shop (called MacKenna's or McKenzies anyone?) that I bought foxed hardbacks containing pictures of stiff-lipped Victorians surrounded by ectoplasmic ghosts such as this

Arbouretum Song of the Pearl

Yesterday once more...
Songs of the Pearl Arbouretum
Thrill Jockey

It’s a curious thing to hear styles of music long-considered by the Hiperati to be passe or irrelevant, slowly inching their way back into credibility as they are smuggled in under the coats of a new generation of musicians.

The mainstream success of Fleet Foxes or the more cultish achievements of Howlin Rain last year proved there’s a considerable appetite for variations on the styles and themes that were getting their first time in the sun of 40 years ago.

Hailing from Baltimore, Arbouretem’s third album sounds as though it could easily have hailed from 1969 / 1970 period when folk and rock got heavier and started head-butting ideas off one another.

Thus a strong sense of deja vu shakes its hippie-length hair alongside earnestly down-strummed guitars, front man David Huemann’s smokey voice, and fuzzed-up lead lines over solid, stately sometimes plodding time signatures.

Wisely falling short of any overt rocking out, they preserve the air of wintry introspection permeating tunes such as the Tim Hardin-like title track, the brooding Down By The Fall Line and the occasionally spacey climes of Infinite Corridors.

These last two tunes feature a pair of finely deranged ice-edged guitar solos, employing dense folds of feedback, flirts with a piquant modernism.

However, the hymn-like cover of Dylan’s Tomorrow Is A Long Time, tells you where their heart really lies, suggesting that interest in times past is not just a passing fancy but more of an ongoing and passionate relationship.