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August 2011
August 26, 2011
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August 20, 2011
Old chaps
I feel I should point out that the phrases ‘indiepop guru’ and ‘tastemaker’ that appeared in my post yesterday were written in an entirely ironic manner. I hope they caused a few people to giggle, much as I did myself yesterday afternoon when the old chap I rode with over the Brendon Hills to Raleigh’s Cross told me from a distance he thought I was Andy Schleck. Sure, the Leopard jersey and white Oakley Jawbones are in homage to the new Raymond Poulidor but it has to be said that I give away a significant number of kilos. Not to mention power output... and years, of course.
The photo, incidentally, is me riding my new time trial machine in San Sebastian earlier this month. Sadly they wouldn't let me take part in the Classica as it didn't adhere to the UCI rules. That's my story anyway.
August 19, 2011
A Crisis In Waterstones
(Prince Edward Island)
I had a crisis in Waterstones the other day. Thankfully it wasn’t book related (I found the Flavia De Luce mystery I had been looking for, thank you very much) but rather caused by the music being piped into the store over the staff-controlled sound system. I know the choice of music is decided by staff because I overheard an early Saturday morning conversation between two colleagues a couple of months ago. I don’t recall the details but it was along the lines of young hipster wants to play ‘x’ whilst older (though not necessarily wiser) colleague suggests it may not go down so well with the ladies coming in for their Barbara Cartland fix. And I mean, just to show you how out of touch I am, do ladies even buy Barbara Cartland books anymore? I belong in a different age, I swear.
But what of my crisis? Well, the stereo was playing a mix of things, most of which passed over me almost unheard. In one song though I picked out some lyrics about Paul Auster and Augie March (the Saul Bellow character, not the Australian band) amidst a tune not unlike a raggedy old Elliot Smith number. I smiled out loud. It seemed so sweet to hear such lines in a book shop, after all. And that’s when I panicked. What *was* this song? Who was it by? And was it something I was allowed to like?
You see, whilst I long ago cast aside any particular interest in whether any particular book/author combination was ‘cool’ (witness my admission of picking up a Flavia De Luce mystery) I still find myself in crisis every time I hear something new that on first listen sounds vaguely appealing. Particularly when I hear it in a public space. I mean, let’s face it, if someone else is playing it in Waterstones, it can’t be exactly ‘unknown’, can it? And loving the unknown is such a crucial part of being an indiepop guru, after all.
I jest (in part) of course. But seriously, is it okay to like Fionn Regan? Should I not be rolling my eyes and despairing of how dreadfully obvious and ‘artful’ it is for a songwriter to sing lines about Paul Auster and Augie March? Shouldn’t I be saying something cruel about music made for university undergraduates with an over-inflated sense of their own intelligence? Or should I just be shrugging my shoulders, admitting to liking that song when I heard it that once and moving on?
What to move on to though? What about Stornoway? They’re not exactly ‘unknown’ are they? I mean, they have more weekly plays on LastFM than Fionn Regan, and everyone knows one of the main aims of being a taste-maker is to be the sole supplier of an artist’s play stats. Well, maybe you and one or two of your friends. Regardless of their popularity (and the fact that I’m at least a year late to the party) though, I have been enjoying listening to Stornoway these past few days. ‘Zorbing’ and especially ‘I Saw You Blink’ are splendid Pop songs. In addition, I see by some of their promo photographs that they adhere somewhat to the young Pale Fountains aesthetic and that facial hair growth is not overly dominant (I look forward to the day when Young Men once again discover the joys of regular shaving, I really do). These things matter.
There’s something of the early James to Stornoway as well, which I rather like. Has this been picked up in the press already? I expect so. I could do some research I suppose, though frankly I cannot be arsed. And anyway, I’d rather spend the time going back to play ‘Stutter’. Goodness, ‘Johnny Yen’ was a marvellous song, wasn’t it?
Now, if we are going by LastFM play counts, I think it’s safe to say that Prince Edward Island are perfectly suited for some raving words. In the last week top track ‘Like Bouncers We Stand’ has a grand total of five plays. Of which I’m sure four have been by me as I have played their forthcoming album at least that many times. PR says that “Prince Edward Island were formed in late 2005 after realising that sharing each-others Chemikal Underground Records was not going to be enough.” It’s pretty much all you need to know. That Chemikal Underground reference alone ought to be enough to have you reaching for your pocket money. For when you stop and think about it, what other labels have been so wonderfully consistent over the years? Having said that of course, the Prince Edward Island record is released on Crocfingers, but you get what I mean. Think all your favourite Delgados records snogging all your favourite Arab Strap records (album opener ‘I Nearly Don’t Love You, But Not Quite’ includes the line “You can’t stand me drunk, so I drink and sing Arab Strap”) with your favourite Magoo records smirking in the shadows and you’re close. All of which is in danger of falling into the trap of making contemporary music made by new groups sound like nothing more than a carefully executed collage of cool references; an excuse for boring old farts like me to nod sagely and drop aforementioned names. When really all we should be saying is that Prince Edward Island make noises that sounds like the whispering cool of early Autumn creeping into late August heat; like epic squall-singed top floors of city centre car parks; like sparkle eyes wrapped in parkas.
See, there’s nothing like a bit of exclusivity to bring out the purple prose. Nothing like the love of the unknown to cure a crisis.