So then, Flies On You, eh? Groovy stuff, no? You followed through from the ‘Dead Pop Stars’ cover and you listened to their ‘Nothing To Write Home About’ set, didn’t you? And then you dragged your jaw back from the floor, hit ‘repeat’ and grinned broadly, right? Right.
It’s thanks to Burning World that I came across Flies On You. Or more accurately the Scottish mate. Nothing better than having a Scottish mate to shine a wee spotlight on music that might have passed you by, right? Again, right. Everyone needs a wee Scottish pal.
Not that there is much Scottish about Flies On You. At least not that I know of. I don’t really know much to be honest and care even less. I understand they are from Leeds. Perhaps. There is something of the Gang of Four about them. Early Gang of Four that is. When they were making Fast Products. Spiky. There is something too of Scars in them. Certainly I can’t listen to the excellent ‘Frying Tonight’ without one part of my brain humming ‘Adult/Ery’.
Continuing on the Yorkshire tip, I really ought to have told you more about my wee obsession with York’s Mark Wynn before now. In the weeks before the festive holidays his ‘"James Dean makes me insecure, why does he have to be so shexy" the album’ was on almost endless rotation on my stereo. It drove me to pick up a whole collection of his self-released CDs and poetry booklets, all of which are shot through with the same self-deprecating humour and wickedly accurate and poignant observations of the world.
I’m even willing to just about forgive him about the John Lennon photo on his guitar. Just about. Just about.
Anyway, arsing around on YouTube looking at some clips of Mark playing I came across this short film about The Inkwell shop in York.
Looking at the website it strikes me I have stumbled across it in the past. The website I mean, not the actual shop. I haven’t actually been in York since I was six. Maybe I should give it a visit this year. The shop reminds me in many ways of the kind of thing The Duchess and I once talked about one day doing during the idle alcoholic afternoons of our youth. Ours wouldn’t have had any Beatles or Doors records though. Or books about Paul McCartney. We would have had ludicrous rules about what to stock and what not to stock. Business was never our strong suit...