unpopular

Don't talk, just kiss

I’ve been a bit of a Saint Etienne tip recently, sparked somewhat by a desperate attempt to remember something of the ‘90s. I had not realised there were deluxe reissue versions of the their albums available though, and I admit I have now picked up Foxbase Alpha and So Tough to supplement the versions I already owned. Indeed I now seem to have three versions of Foxbase Alpha - one on vinyl, an American CD version and now this expanded deluxe set. I convince myself it is worth the expense to avoid the hassle of ripping old vinyl into digital form. Anyway, one of the tracks that appears on the deluxe version of So Tough (the initial release of which was, coincidentally one of the first CDs I ever bought) is the Etienne version of ‘I’m Too Sexy’ which appeared on the Fred EP back in ’92. Now I have had this on vinyl since it was released and have always adored all three tracks, but especially the tremendous take on ‘Don’t Talk Just Kiss’ by Flowered Up. I was sceptical of Flowered Up at the time you know, and it was this cut that changed my mind. It sounded magically unhinged at the time and remains so today.

Let your tongue fool around.

The original Fred EP was released to support the Terence Higgins Trust - may I suggest you continue to support them?

And Joey never could say no to candy bars

I posted a track from The Assassins’ 12” from 1989 on an old mix tape a while back and one or two folk have asked if I can give any more details. The simple truth is that no, I can’t, other than the fact it was released by Rough Trade, was produced by John Leckie and was very fine indeed.

A bit of interweb searching reveals another posting of the single back in 2008 here, but with apparently just as much knowledge of the group! It would also appear that at least one of the group ended up in The Mabuses who apparently had two albums on Rough Trade in 1991 and 1994. They also appear to have a Facebook page, so anyone who’s affiliated to that particular social network might be able to glean more info from there.

Of course if anyone should be able to share more details of The Assassins, please do so via these here comments. In the meantime, you can grab my vinyl rip of the 12” here.

Enjoy.

Moods for Moderns

I’ve been appallingly lax about posting anything about anything remotely contemporary in recent months, haven’t it? It perhaps seems as though I’ve been exclusively living out a life in a bubble of the early 1980s, like a season of 'Ashes to Ashes' made flesh. Perhaps. I did say ‘perhaps’...

The truth is that, ah, actually yes, the truth is that that is largely the truth indeed.

A few vaguely ‘modern’ things have flicked across my peripheral vision, however, not least of which would be the new 45s by The Pipettes and Tracey Thorn. I don’t suppose people call them ‘45s’ these days though, do they? Do they even call them ‘records’? Or ‘singles’? Is ‘tracks’ all they have been boiled down to? Who knows.

Well, whatever, the Pipettes single is delicious and you know, it’s not a stretch of the imagination to draw a line from it straight right back to Tracie’s Pop hits of ’83. Indeed, there is something gloriously, carelessly dayglo about this new Pipettes record; a delirious disco sensation swapping snogs on a dodgy dancefloor in a backwater town in the sticks. And naturally that’s a good thing, even if only from an abstract point of view. I mean, I wouldn’t want to actually be on the dancefloor of a dodgy disco out in the sticks, either in the past, present or future. Even if there were promises of snogs.

Tracey Thorn of course really does have roots back in that era of the early ‘80s, with her Marine Girls, first solo records and the fledgling Everything But The Girl. I always thrill to the sound of Tracey’s voice. It takes me back. It resonates so magically. So many memories, new, old and still to be formed. Remember that duet cover of the Stephin Merritt song she did with Jens Lekman? That might be one of my favourite Pop artefacts. Three of my most loved artists wrapped up in a single moment. Yum. And ooh, did ‘Oh, the Divorces!’ just reference Jens as well? Bless.

One presumes there is an album in the offing? See, it serves me right for not following the music press closely these days (or, erm, at all). I knew Tracey had to run to the Gare Du Nord to catch the Eurostar last Thursday but not that she had a new record out. Perhaps there is something quite telling about modern communications in that fact. Or perhaps it just shows I don’t really pay attention.

Well, whatever, I do know that I’ve been paying attention to a ‘new’ Jasmine Minks EP, out on Jim Shepherd's own Oatcake label. The EP features four tracks from 1992 and sounds as excellent as you would expect. You can snag yourselves a digital copy from iTunes, Amazon and other fine digital retailers, though I suggest you may want to drop by the Oatcake site and Paypal yourself a CD. All proceeds go to the MacMillan Cancer Support charity.

Also with a Scottish flavour is a new split 7” on Glasgow based Say Dirty Records. It features The Sexual Objects on one side and Peter Parker on the other. Both acts of course have impeccable connections to previous bands - Davey Henderson’s Sexual Objects to the likes of Nectarine Number 9, Win and Fire Engines, and Peter Parker to the always excellent Lungleg. The single is out next week, and if you can live with sullying your soul with a trip to myspace, you can check the label out here.

More contemporary stuff I should have mentioned a while back is in the form of the debut 45 by Amanda Applewood. And here I can get away with the quaint retro nostalgia tripping because it really IS available on a good ole 45rpm 7” vinyl single. I understand these are all the rage at the moment, actually. Wasn't there something about lots of dodgy old bands releasing limited edition singles last weekend? They thought they were celebrating Record Store Day but I know they were really acknowledging my birthday. Then again...

But yes, Amanda Applewood’s little seven inch slab of understated Pop magic came out last month on the Boy Least Likely Too’s fab Too Young To Die label. It reminds me of the sweet sensation of hearing The Lightning Seeds’ ‘Pure’ for the first time or of blissfully pirouetting in the spring rain to The Sundays in the minutes before, you know, the silly serious Rock snob whispered in my ear that I shouldn’t really like that kind of thing. Some people (the ones who have heard me suggest that certain ‘twee’ bands should have their ears torn off and be forced to listen to the MC5 non stop for a month) might think me a two-faced cynic for professing a liking for this whilst pouring scorn and acidic hatred on, oh, take your pick of any shady bunch of ‘indie’ chancers. But they’d be wrong. For you see Amanda Applewood knows that what was so magically cool about the oft-misinterpreted reference points of ‘80s popsters like Strawberry Switchblade or The Waitresses was the acknowledgement of sex. They didn’t tip their fringes and shyly stumble away from it. They nodded at it. They smiled seductively and, gosh, they danced the night away in celebration of it. Even if they weren’t getting any. Especially if they weren’t getting any of it.

So whilst I have no idea if Amanda Applewood is getting any or not, I do know at least that the record she has made winks in a knowingly naive, but ultimately salacious manner. And that’s more than enough for me.

Right, that’s quite enough of the modern world. Where’s my ‘Welcome To The Pleasuredome’ CD reissue?

Ashes to Ashes

I’ve just been reading the numerous tweets from people around the UK, particularly London, talking about how quiet it is without hordes of aircraft buzzing around overhead. I can’t say we particularly notice it here, but it does remind me of when a similar thing happened with road traffic during the so-called fuel crisis. We were still living in Exeter at the time, and the drop in traffic noise was very noticeable. It really was quite wonderful.

Oddly enough I’d been thinking about the aeronautic industries a few days ago, as we flew into Paris for a few days of r’n’r. It suddenly struck me what an enormous industry it is, and I started to wonder how on earth the inevitable dismantling of it will be handled. After all, current fuel sources are decidedly finite, and whilst one can see alternative energies appearing in the automotive industries, it somehow seems like a stretch of the imagination to consider a solar powered electric airliner... But perhaps the scientists will astound us.

I wonder if we will see scenes similar to those of the 1980s when the UK’s coal mining and  steel making industries were systematically dismantled? Will we see airport and airline staff in pitched battles with police? And what of the punters? Just how on earth will we manage the expectations of the public, when cheap (or at least easily affordable) air travel seems to be treated by some as a kind of inalienable human right?

Personally, I rather look forward to a time when cheap long distance travel by air is nothing but a distant memory. Perhaps it will lead to a genuine renaissance in rail travel? Wouldn’t it be pretty to think so...

Fly - ‘Flightpath’
July Skies - ‘See Britain by Train (Pevsner Version)’

face b

One of the things I would have liked to have seen when we were in Paris earlier this week is the exhibition of vinyl records and sleeves at the La Maison Rouge gallery. Sadly the gallery is closed on Mondays and Tuesdays, and those were the only two days we could have made it along. I’m happy, however, to have been invited to contribute to Daniela Franco’s parallel online exhibition face b. Each contributor is asked to choose ten vinyl records with a connecting theme. The Wire magazine folks, for example, chose ten records they bought only for the sleeves. I decided to choose ten on ten. In other words, ten records on 10” vinyl - probably my favourite format of all. You can find my choices here.

April In Paris

Rue Pavee... Paris April 2010, originally uploaded by unpop.

The Paris Match - The Style Council
Lonely Night In Paris - Julie London
April In Paris - Frank Sinatra
Sous Le Ciel De Paris - Juliette Gréco
Take Me To Paris - Port Friendly
Paris Be Mine - The Bicycles
Paris Rain In July - Chasing Dorotea
Crimes Of Paris - Elvis Costello & The Attractions
Afternoon In Paris - Sacha Distel
Evening in Paris - Lois
Love Goes Home To Paris In The Spring - The Magnetic Fields
Paris - Friendly Fires
We'll Always Have Paris - White Town
Paris In A Bottle - Spearmint

Take a walk on the Rue de Rivoli

nostalgia commerce

Thanks to iLike for pointing me towards this lovely bag by Gillian Kyle. Oddly enough Cremola Foam was mentioned in a text I got just the other day from my friend Gavin.

Oh, and it's my birthday soon... Just saying is all...

Mystery solved

1950s Various Unidentified UK 1940s-1970s (002), originally uploaded by doveson2008.

I came across this shot recently on a trawl through some marvellous old photos of various places in the UK from the 1950s to the 1970s. This image was in a set of unidentified places. As soon as I saw it I was pretty sure it was the cathedral yard in Exeter, and a visit to town this morning confirms it is indeed. Everything's a lot whiter and cleaner these days, but do you know, I think I rather prefer it in its somewhat grubbier form. Certainly that big wooden door looks much finer in green than it does in white, don't you think?

exeter cathedral green, originally uploaded by unpop.

I'm Falling

Bluebells in Dundonald Wood, 1984, originally uploaded by unpop.

In years to come they would say that it was a great one for bluebells. Up in the woods they seemed to blanket everything. Great swathes of them stretched away into the shadows, gleaming in the soft evening sun of a late Spring.

They were not his woods, but Marc remembered them well all the same. Through a gap in the fence from Helen’s back garden, with Gary and Elaine. An old gold Halford’s bicycle abandoned on the pavement. The Jam on the tape recorder and Eileen breaking everyone’s heart. She’d gone off with the rich kids from the big houses down in the town: the ones nestling between golf courses and the old estate. They filled you with a mixture of hate and jealousy. The houses, the kids, the things they said and the things they could do. The way they stole everything beautiful and precious.

In the year of the bluebells Marc remembered Eileen’s white bedroom furniture and feathered hair. In the woods that afternoon they had almost kissed. Almost kissed. Well imagine that.

In the year of the bluebells, when the Spring had come late, there were lots of almost kisses and nearly hands held. It had been cold forever and winter held firm all the way to Easter Sunday. Then, in one miraculous afternoon, the air suddenly warmed and everyone blinked in astonishment. Marc had been on The Screws with Chris and Robert when it happened, stealing bicycle race signs from telephone poles. It made for a struggle home with pockets stuffed with winter clothes, but the feeling of the sun on blinding white legs made it more than worthwhile. The fledgling southerly breeze helped too, blowing them home with the signs strapped to their backs like sails. Tail wind out and home? The old wizened club riders told them you could count your lifetime allocation of those days on the fingers of one hand, but it took that lifetime before any of the three would realise it was true.

Up in the woods the evening drooped silently onto Marc’s shoulders, Eileen’s almost kisses taunting him gently. Back in the houses there were more than kisses and more than almosts, just not for him. Not for now and not for ever. When he closed his eyes it sometimes seemed like he could touch the possibilities lingering in front of him, but when he opened them again they just laughed in his face then darted away in dances of wild abandon.

To the west the mountains of islands were just visible between the branches whilst in the east the crazy skinheads of the council estates guarded the war memorial. To the north the fading smoke from the Monsanto factory breathed its last and to the south, behind Marc’s back, the old radar station pointed its dish to the sky and pretended to look for aliens. A week ago he’d sat with Robert on this tree trunk and listened to him tell scrumpy-fuelled stories of universes and giants. Now all he heard were just whispers of times to come, memories of those almost kisses and the songs of bluebells stretching forever.

bedroom shelves 1984

bedroom shelves 1984, originally uploaded by unpop.

Talk about nostalgia... I've posted a bunch of images scanned from old negatives, including various ones of my old room(s) between 1983 and 1988. See the changes over the years! Several of the photos have some funky notes that help tell the stories of the years. This one has twelve (yes, count' em, twelve) of the little beggars. Every one a winner.

The Chameleons - 'Nostalgia' (Peel Session)