Sat in a twitchy-traveler-filled departure lounge with a bit of new Banco in me ears. There’s a dodgy-looking bloke across the way doing some very odd things with a floppy stuffed toy. Agitated…Given the way he’s frisking it, nay, fisting it, I’m assuming he’s either stashing or has stashed something valuable in it’s nether regions.
Wandering through my ever-swelling mp3 stash plucking out some travel tunes got me thinking about what makes an album a stayer in the personal musical favourites elite list. Those long-players that we “lay in awe on your bedroom floor” to during our youth rarely stand the test of time as recordings we now regularly cast our lugs at. Certainly warrant keeping around for a nostalgic trip temporarily southwards, but they’re not the drug-like needs they used to be. With age-related taste changes and the fact that most songs and LPs have a finite number of plays in them, personally, I find there are only a select few that have stood the test of fickle sonic time. Good job there’s an infinite supply of new sounds out there, eh? (Not that we tend to have/create the time to seek out new musicians and bands like we use to; I remember the days of scouring the reviews, salivating through the isles of the many record shops, and setting aside whole afternoons specifically for listening to new records and nowt else. Plus, natch, with the invention of the shuffle toy allowing your to mix and match an infinite selection of tunes from an almost infinite collection, who even regularly listens to full albums these days?)
In the interest of my own mental cataloging, and in no particular order (other than what my subconscious feeds into my finders), here’s what’s currently mincing around at the top of my most resonant musical compilations:
Blonde Redhead’s “Misery is a Butterfly”. While this is a relatively recent offering from these three melancholics, it’s proving to be an album of slow-burning attraction. There’s real craft and pain in them there tracks and is testament to a band growing in an interesting direction and improving as they go. Key elements include the lack of any real weak moments and the understated production. The late, great John Peel introduced me to Blonde Redhead a few years back (“In Particular” er, in particular) – a small nod back to the time when he did that on a weekly basis many moon ago, and the last time he would do so for me given how rarely I listed in in recent times.
Sugar’s “Beaster”. I’ve been listening to Bob Mould’s emoting and screaming strings for a long time. While never a huge Husker Du fan, they had their moments. Mould’s solo career proved a far richer musical vein for me though. Sugar came along as what was obviously a Bob-Mould-with-a-couple-of-mates-on-drums-and-bass and churned out a first album of fantastic pop songs in “Copper Blue”. It’s its darker, angrier sister, “Beaster” that’s stayed with me longer and deeper, however. Apparently recorded at exactly the same time as “Copper Blue”, but a very different beast (yes). Washes you with raw energy. Affronts your brain and demands that you crank up the volume notches. Chews at your leg pits with unwashed fangs.
The Cure “Faith”. The Cure really did become rubbish. And continued to be rubbish for quite a while. Are they still rubbish? I dunno, I’ve stopped listening. I stuck with them for some of the rubbish times, clearly confused and in denial (both them and me). They’d tease us though, wouldn’t they? and take a step back every now and then to make you think that there was some integrity lurking beneath the cat dander. However, looking (listening) back now, I think we was conned, innit. While I’ve still a soft spot for ‘Pornography” (don’t we all?), “Faith” is the one album that still holds a lot of appeal. It’s dated, certainly, and reeks of post-adolescent whinge, but of it’s kind (bleak, funeral, gothic, dated, post-adolescent whinge), there’re few finer. The genius is that there’s so little to the instrumentation; the less-is-more trick works wonders. (I should go back and listen to this again, actually, to see if I do actually bloody agree with myself now…)
The Clash’s “The Clash”. Just the perfect punk record, really. It’s fast, quick, loud, hastily-recorded, badly-performed, political at times, ridiculous at others, and sounds fantastic. “London Calling” remains excellent, in the most part, “Sandinista” was pretty woeful, and I lost interest after that really. (What were all the Elvis haircuts and flack jackets about for starters?) That first LP is something I still listen to repeatedly today when in the mood. It’s still alive (unlike the Pistols “Bollocks” which, as iconic as it was, sounds dull to me nowadays).
Shpongle’s “Are You Shpongled…?”. Simon Posford hasn’t put a musical foot wrong in my opinion. The two Hallucinogen albums are energised, trancy, electro nuggets and the best of their ilk. Posford’s Younger Brother compilation’s captivating. And all three Shpongle offerings are fantabulous. There’re hours and hours of uninspired, unintelligent, unintelligible dance/techno/electronic/ whateveryouwanttotermit music around, and Shpongle shows just what can be done at the other, high end. This stuff is edible and cerebrally lush. Each track is like an entrancing journey. The layering, rhythms, and orchestration are the work of musical genius. Feed me this man’s head.
Orbital’s “The Brown Album”. Orbital and The Orb introduced my younger git self to the more beepy styles of sound (made it much easier to remember band names when they were virtually the same too, of course) and the infinite journey into sampling. While Dr. Patterson has wandered in and out of listenability, Orbital produced a fine and solid body of work during their lifespan. Sure, they wavered here and there (“Mission Impossible” anyone?), but they remain a stalwart of my musical life. Orbital gigs have been some of the high peaks of my live music life too, despite the fact that they were basically two, balding, chubby blokes pressing buttons infront of large video screens. Their second, self-titled, but renamed-by-the-kids album isn’t perfect and does sound a bit “young” here n’ there, but it likely remains my fave. Ingredients include the anthemic, the dark, the catchy, and the downright strange sides of the brothers Hartnol. This is as good a collection of electronic noises as you’d want to bounce to. That “Input – Translation” thing at the end does yer nut in, mind.
Beck’s “Mutations”. Pretty much every Beck album has its moments, but there are stronger, weaker, and downright naff in among those moments. (And the less said about the Oh No My Girlfriend’s Gone And Left Me I’m Sad album, probably the better.) Same with the overall albums n’all. While it fades near the end, “Mutations” has a cohesion to it and is just so well crafted that it pays repeated visits. The one other album I would always recommend is “Stereopathetic Soul Manure”, by the wayward. While barely tolerable at times, it’s such a oddler journey into Mr. Hansen’s monged mind that it’s at least worth a run through. I share his obsession with ambiently-recorded snippets and strange background grunts, of course.
The Smiths’ “Hatful of Hollow”. I have some reservation including this partly because these days I would have a hard time sitting through the whole thing in one session, partly because the likes of “Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now” have been so overplayed, and partly because, let us face it in the back bedroom with a torch shaped like a giant bunch of daffodils, Mr. Morrissey can be a bit of a pratt at times. Having said that, “Hatful of Hollow” consists of classic Smiths, recorded in a nicely raw way. The brilliance of Johnny Marr twangs through pretty much throughout as both song scribe and guitar magician. In short, the album’s a reminder of why they were the indie darlings they were way back when.
Fugazi’s “The Argument”. Quite a journey Fugazi went on from their what the journos call “hardcore” roots. Their final (is it?) album sees them matured, still with a lot to say, and occasionally full throttle. A nice evolution, all told, and when they actually started to sing, surprisingly musical.
The Pixies’ “Trompe Le Monde”. I quite distinctly remember hearing this for the first time. The first four or five tracks race in to twat your lug’oles, and sprint off like sonic muggers. “Not messing around, are they?” was my comment at the time. It’s probably not a common opinion among Pixies fans (the purists will bore your molars out by raving about Surfa Rosa etc., no doubt), but “Trompe” is the complete album for me. Great songs and fascinating to dissect and listen in on the details. It has the proportions of Kim Deal and Blank Frank mixed just so.
Mahler’s 2nd: The Resurrection. OK, so not strictly an album, but if there’s a stronger musical painting depicting death and rebirth, bring the fooker on. I rarely get goosebumps at a live classical performance, but seeing the London Philharmonic perform that section when the crucifixion nails are hammered in did the trick. Pure musical power, this.
Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet. While were at it then…The whole ballet score is long. Long. But if you’ve the staying power, what a ride it can be. The genius is not only the ‘pop’ nature of some of those themes, but the reintroduction to them in different guises. All morphed and abused, but easily recognised. Classical monging, see? And who doesn’t like the dread-inducing Soviet majesty of that bit that used to appear in the Levis ads?
I could go on, but that’s what at the front of the brain for now. There are more recently heard albums that have potential to become true long players. Sort of despite myself, I’m increasingly drawn into the Artic Monkeys “Whatever You Say I Am That’s What I’m Not” – for a change, there is a basis for the hype. “You’re not from New York City, you’re from Rotherham”. Quite. Supergrass’ “Road to Rouen” is a keeper; and the one Hi Posi album us westerners are allowed to hear (thanks Nicknoz) has some stonking imagination and innovation stirred in.
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