FEATURE: The Digital Mixtape: Lonely Hearts Club Band: Alternative Valentine’s Day Songs

FEATURE:

 

 

The Digital Mixtape

PHOTO CREDIT: cottonbro studio/Pexels

  

Lonely Hearts Club Band: Alternative Valentine’s Day Songs

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ALTHOUGH I am not…

PHOTO CREDIT: Helena Lopes/Pexels

someone who celebrates Valentine’s Day or feel it has any worth (perhaps partly because I am single), I still do think of 14th February as a day to celebrate the traditional love song and more alternative takes. One of the most common type of song, there have been many variations and evolutions through the decades. Modern-day artists expanding songs of love and taking them in new directions. Rather than a compilation a selection of classic love songs – that can veer into syrupy and slightly cheesy -, this is a mixtape of ‘alternative’ love songs. Not necessarily all cynical or anti-romance, instead, they are ones that are not discussed in the same conversation as the all-time classics. Ahead of Valentines Day, this is a spotlighting of the less traditional and sometimes less romantically-inclined ‘love song’. Whether you embrace 14th February or tend to treat it as a normal day, it is hard to get away from Valentine’s Day. Because of that, I thought I would get into the spirit…in a less-than-traditional route anyhow! This is a Valentine’s Day mixtape that mixes bleeding and broken hearts…

 PHOTO CREDIT: ATC Comm Photo

WITH the sexy and sensual.

FEATURE: The Digital Mixtape: When I’m Sixty-Five: The Beatles’ Hits and Deep Cuts

FEATURE:

 

 

The Digital Mixtape

 

When I’m Sixty-Five: The Beatles’ Hits and Deep Cuts

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THIS year is a very special one…

when it comes to The Beatles. As the legendary band formed in 1960, I wanted to mark sixty-five years since their formation. Although they did not release their debut album Please Please Me until 1963, the band formed years previously. It is amazing but not a surprise that they are still being talked about all these years later. John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr changed culture and the music world! Their legacy is almost impossible to put into words. Before I get to a playlist featuring a lot of their best-known songs and some deeper cuts, here is some background about the band’s formation and earliest years:

The Beatles were an English four-piece rock band, formed in Liverpool in 1960.

The members of the band were John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr, with John and Ringo playing the guitar, Paul on bass guitar and Ringo on the drums.

In March 1956, John Lennon, aged 16, and a few of his friends from school played in a skiffle band called the Quarrymen. After meeting John in the July of that year, Paul McCartney joined the band as a rhythm guitarist and invited his friend George Harrison to watch the band perform. George then auditioned to be in the band, but John thought that he was too young, however, after several months of persistence, he performed lead guitar in a performance as was enlisted as their lead guitarist.

By January 1959, John’s friends from school had left, and he began studying at Liverpool College of Art. The three guitarists, John, Paul and George, were playing under the name Johnny and the Moondogs, and playing rock and roll whenever they could find a drummer.

Stuart Sutcliffe, an art college friend of John and band member, suggested that the band name should be Beatals, as a tribute to Buddy Holly and the Crickets. They used this name until May of 1959, where they went to the Silver Beetles, the Silver Beatles and then in August, shortened to simply The Beatles.

The Early 1960s

In August 1960, their unofficial manager Allan Williams had booked a residency for the band in Hamburg, but without a full-time drummer, they had to audition for a new band member. They auditioned and hired Pete Best in the same month. Six days after hiring Pete, they left for Hamburg for a 3 and a half month residency. The Beatles played in Hamburg in several different locations, but mainly in the red-light district.

Stuart Sutcliffe decided to leave the band early, in 1961, making Paul the bassist, and they were signed into another contract in Hamburg until June 1962. After their second residency, they became increasingly popular in Liverpool with the Merseybeat movement, but they were growing tired of playing the same clubs night after night.

During one of their performances at The Cavern Club, they met Brian Epstein – a local store owner and music columnist. He became their manager in 1962, after courting them for a couple of months. Brian eventually released the band from contractual obligations in Hamburg a month early in exchange for a recording session.

In April, the band was met with horrific news: Sutcliffe had died suddenly from a brain haemorrhage.

Three months later, Brian negotiated a deal with George Martin, the owner of EMI’s Parlophone label. Their first recording session with George Martin took place on 6th June 1962, at EMI’s Abbey Road Studios. Martin immediately complained about Best’s drumming ability, and suggested a session drummer in his place. The band was already considering dismissing Best, and therefore hired Ringo Starr in August 1962. Starr left his band, Rory Storm and the Hurricanes, to join them”.

To celebrate sixty-five years of The Beatles, I have compiled an ultimatum mixtape. From their debut single, Love Me Do (1962), through to their last-released track, Now and Then (2023), this is a salute to the greatest band of all time! This year also marks fifty-five years since they split. In their decade of existence, there is no denying the fact that The Beatles transformed the world and left an impression no other artist can match. Sixty-five years after they formed, they are still very much being discussed and dissected. Documentaries and books very much keep them relevant and adored. Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr proud of the band’s legacy and occasionally performing together. Even though they split in 1970, The Beatles will influence and find new fans…

CENTURIES from now.

FEATURE: Spotlight: jasmine.4.t

FEATURE:

 

 

Spotlight

 

jasmine.4.t

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BACK in July…

as this article explained, “Manchester-based trans-singer-songwriter jasmine.4.t, also known as Jasmine Cruickshank, has inked a deal with Saddest Factory Records”. I wanted to spend time with this amazing and distinct artist. I am going to come to some interviews with her from last year. One that was published a few weeks ago. Before that, Rolling Stone UK included jasmine.4.t in their Ones to Watch 2025 feature (The Guardian also marked her as one to watch too). This is an exciting talent who will be on the scene for years:

The story of how Manchester-based artist jasmine.4.t signed to Phoebe Bridgers’ Saddest Factory label  reads like a dream, with Bridgers’ boygenius bandmate Lucy Dacus playing her the demos to debut album You Are the Morning in her car, and Bridgers being stunned. The finished album – recorded in LA with all of boygenius – is a striking statement of community and resilience from a special new voice, and, as she told us last year, “about love and community and joy in the face of all the shit”. (WR)”.

There are some great interviews with jasmine.4.t. Not only does she discuss her then-forthcoming album, You Are the Morning (released on 17th January); she also talks about coming out as trans and life as a role model in a country (the U.K.) where the trans community are not embraced as they should be. I am going to end with a review for You Are the Morning.

I am going to move to a couple of review. Let’s start out with a very recent chat with The Forty-Five. Talking about You Are the Morning; resilience, community and music as catharsis, it is a revealing and illuminating interview with an artist who has been tipped for big things this year:

As the first UK artist to sign to Phoebe Bridgers’ Saddest Factory label, Manchester-based jasmine.4.t is already keeping top tier company; with her imminent debut album – this month’s raw and resilient ‘You Are The Morning’ – produced not only by Phoebs but the whole of boygenius, the singer has essentially earned herself the golden ticket in the indie lottery. Documenting the years following her transition with a deft and fragile touch that’s diaristic yet generous and empathetic, however, it’s easy to see why the trio have taken Jasmine to their hearts: these are songs that show their open wounds but find solace in community and chosen family, a lesson for us all to live by.

Having recorded in LA with Phoebe, Lucy Dacus and Julien Baker, Jasmine talks us through the turbulent process of reaching her debut and her hopes for inspiring and showing up for the next generation of trans people.

Is writing how you’ve always processed life?

When I was in the closet, I found it so hard to write. Being true to yourself and being connected to your emotions is so important, so when you’re pretending to be a different gender and trying to bottle up everything it’s obviously just impossible. My first EP was written from 2014 onwards and was all pre-transition stuff about the relationship that was to become my [ex-]marriage and some of the troubling behaviours that were already showing in that. There’s a song on my debut EP that we renamed ‘Shoes’ and then re-recorded a version of it as ‘New Shoes’ for this record. It was a lot.

Did you want to reclaim something by reworking that track?

When Lucy suggested re-recording it, I was immediately like, ‘No, it’ll be way too painful’. But it’s a song about starting a family and wanting to do that in spite of exhaustion and being broken, so singing it in this environment with my trans-femme bandmates who came to LA from Manchester with me, I thought it could be about chosen family. When we started recording it I was finding it so painful and I couldn’t stop crying for long enough to record a full vocal take. There’s one take where I got most of the way through that we used, and at the end of it you can hear Julien and Lucy and Phoebe all coming in to hold me and comfort me.

In the album, amongst the fear and the pain there’s a real highlighting of the positive and beautiful parts of being trans too – was that a balance you were aware of maintaining?

I feel a lot of responsibility now that I have landed on my feet in this way with my life and my career; I want to be a visible trans role model in music and also to show that things get better, because they do. That’s what ‘You Are The Morning’ means – it’s about the resilience of trans people, the incredible solidarity we have and how, if we all pull together, I think we’ll be a huge part of history and bringing about a brighter future. As trans people, we’ve gone through so much that we’re kind of like antennas to all the horrible shit going on and we want to do as much as we can to change things. We’re on the frontline and that’s fucking cool to see.

PHOTO CREDIT: Matt Grubb

Sonically, the record is just as raw and, as you’ve mentioned, has the unpolished, human bits left in. How did you approach that?

We didn’t have much time! We had 14 days to record the whole album. But on top of that, I just like music that’s very honest. I’m a big fan of Elliott Smith and Iron and Wine, and Phoebe is as well, so I think we both just wanted to make something raw and something that was real and emotionally connected to ourselves. The sounds are very different to how it would have ended up if I’d have just been doing it myself; I have no idea how Julien makes those guitar sounds. We just wanted to tell an honest story because we knew it would resonate with so many people.

You’ve toured with Lucy before and spoken about becoming proper friends. Does that mean that doing the record with boygenius felt normal or was there still a bit of ‘Oh shit!’ to it all?!

I mean, I wasn’t NOT like that! There were definitely moments where I’d be like, ‘What the fuck is my life?!’ They’re just so fucking funny – as individuals but especially as a group they’re just hilarious. They’re so loudly themselves and I love them all so much. There were definitely moments when I was driving them all to the studio when I’d be like… fuck. Primarily they’re my friends but also they are Gods to me.

Does it feel like the music industry in general is starting to feel like a more inclusive place?

We need more trans role models and I think it does come at a cost – we’re a long way from trans people being able to have a nice, comfortable experience in the music industry; touring especially is fucking terrifying. Venues need to have a safe place for artists to get changed and have to ourselves; I’ve had to get changed in a toilet so many times, which feels very unsafe. And also not tokenising us – it’s so common to be the one queer artist and if it’s a trans woman, she’ll probably not be having a great night. But I think it’s amazing how much more representation we’re getting. It’s not there but it’s definitely a step in the right direction”.

PHOTO CREDIT: Matt Grubb

There are two more interviews that I will include. The first of the two is from Rolling Stone UK. jasmine.4.t reflected on her debut L.P. and how she builds a trans-led community. An album that tells stories of triumph and resilience. If this artist is not in your life then do make sure you correct that straight away:

They were in the car together one day and Lucy played the track,” Jasmine remembers Dacus telling her. “I got a text from Lucy saying, ‘Oh my god Phoebe’s heard the tracks and she’s gonna sign you!’” In lightning-fast time, Bridgers then gushed over her love of the songs on a Zoom call and Jasmine.4.t became the first British artist signed to Saddest Factory.

Her debut album You Are the Morning, recorded in Los Angeles with boygenius, is a candid and beautiful indie rock record about life as a trans woman, and the communities forged against systemic hate and oppression. Lead single ‘Skin on Skin’ tells the story of Jasmine’s first trans love, and she performs live with a band made up entirely of trans women.

“I’m surrounded by so many creative people, and every single queer person in my circle is creative,” she says. “Everyone is so in love with each other’s art.”

What was happening in your life when you wrote the songs that end up on the album?

My first EP came out pre-transition, and then I got really sick during COVID and transitioned while having long COVID. I left an abusive marriage and was homeless for a period after I wasn’t accepted by my family. From there, I found this incredibly community up here in Manchester. My first show up here was a fundraiser for my friend’s top surgery, and I was going to DIY release my demos, but then it all happened…

What did writing songs do for you in this period?

It’s always been therapeutic for me. If people want me to sing in front of them then I will! Since transitioning and experiencing life as a trans woman, and [because of] how much the world sucks for trans women, it made me a lot more driven to put myself out there and represent us and be vocal about how shit things are for us in terms of systemic transphobia and street violence. I have a song about that on the record. 

Tell us about recording in Los Angeles with boygenius…

Everyone had such a shared goal in mind, and we were like bouncing ideas off each other and such an exciting and creative and respectful way. It was so fun and how I want to live my life forever, in this wonderful, creative space with these incredibly, incredibly talented musicians. The record ended up very different to how I would have done it, but I love it so much for what it is. I love the record, I listened to it in my car! It’s embarrassing!

What’s the overarching story of the album?

It’s about a new beginning. I don’t mean just my transition, but it’s wishing for a peaceful future for trans women. The record’s called You Are the Morning, and the title track is about queer friendships. It’s about love and community and joy in the face of all the shit.

Is visibility the most important part of what you want to represent as an artist?

Given how many talented trans women there are, there are so few that are publicly known and visible as artists. I take that quite seriously in terms of visibility, but also trying to trying to affect change using my platform. I think visibility without protection is a trap and it puts people in danger – if people are like, ‘Oh, look at this horrible trans woman’. We don’t have political action to try and protect us and to try and fight for our rights, because they’re going to be fighting against our rights. I’m fighting for trans visibility and antifascist action”.

Although it is a very long and detailed interview, I am not including everything from The Line of Best Fit. jasmine.4.t’s words about her debut album and its creation. She also discusses the trans community that healed her to working with boygenius in L.A. It is a terrific interview. This is someone with a big future in music that is going to inspire and give strength to so many people:

It’s in this warm and blossoming world that much of jasmine.4.t’s debut album You Are The Morning exists, bathed in a glow of candy-coloured joy and catharsis. The brainchild of Bristol-born and Manchester-based trans artist Jasmine Cruickshank, it’s an album that looks for meaning first and foremost in love – love for her friends, love for her personal journey, and for an intimacy that had once felt so far out of reach.

When the other reality of being a trans woman in our increasingly radicalised society does intrude, it creeps in softly, makes its sober point, and fades into the wallpaper of You Are The Morning’s house of rosy devotion. That’s not to say that the stakes are low. In centering her own hangups – and her tender heartbreaks, too – Cruickshank counterweighs her multilayered reveries with a dose of kitchen sink realism (one is literally called “Kitchen”) that keeps them from drifting into the ether like castles in the air.

Look for jasmine.4.t on streaming platforms and you’ll find just a handful of songs predating You Are The Morning – mostly from her 2019 EP Worn Through – but there’s a lot more out there under various guises, including whole albums that we’ll likely never hear, recorded on the cheap and sold in Bristol coffee shops on self-burned CD-Rs. Few things are ever entirely lost, though; she was bemused by meeting someone recently who had a copy of an album of Daniel Johnston covers she recorded at 16. She’s twice that age now, and finally at peace with who she’d always yearned to be.

The first time Cruickshank tried to come out as trans, she was an academic teen about to leave Bristol to take up a bachelor’s degree in maths at Oxford University. “It… didn’t go very well,” she says. “Oxford fucking sucks and is super transphobic as well. I really hated it there.” Forced to squirm reluctantly back into the closet to survive, her mental and physical health collapsed from the stress. A severe case of myalgic encephalomyelitis, also known as chronic fatigue syndrome or ME, followed and she was left with no choice but to quit and go home, where she lived in the basement of her parents’ house while working as temp staff for the NHS. 

In 2016, she co-founded a punk, folk and indie label, the still-going-strong Breakfast Records, with friends Josh Jarman and Dan Anthony of west country Americana band Langkamer, through which she released Worn Through and other music with early bands Human Bones and The Gnarwhals. She got married, too, to someone she’d met while at Oxford, but the key in her chest still sat there, burning silently away. When the pandemic hit in 2020, she was knocked flat, ending up practically bedbound with long Covid (a close relative of ME) for almost half a year. It was there, during the long hours of unhappily staring at the ceiling, that she made the decision to try and transition again.

“It went just as badly as it did the first time,” she says with a hollow laugh, shaking her head of blue and bright pink hair. “My marriage fell apart. Then I tried to move back in with parents and that went terribly. I was very traumatised by the whole experience and had really bad PTSD symptoms.”

Shellshocked and broken, she left Bristol for Manchester, where kind friends offered sofas and long talks over steaming cups of tea. It’s to those friends, and the wider trans and queer communities of Manchester and beyond, that You Are The Morning is dedicated. Even before she played her first show as jasmine.4.t, “at a fundraiser for an incredible trans guy’s top surgery,” Cruickshank had around 30 songs written and demoed, capturing all the new sensations, superheated feelings, and heart-pounding crushes of the early months of her transition.

PHOTO CREDIT: Matt Grubb

An essential part of any new moon party is to set your intentions for the coming month(s), and intentions are something that Cruickshank says she takes quite seriously. As someone who has long been involved in grassroots activism and advocacy, particularly with Trans Mutual Aid Manchester, there was a worry that people in her community might feel like she was leaving them behind as her star began to rise. “I don’t ever want to not be paying my dues to my community at home,” she explains. “So my intentions were very much about making sure that this record was made in a way that could benefit the wider trans and queer community that has supported me up to this point. And I feel like we’ve stayed true to that.”

As well as working out ways in which the record release and merch sales could support Trans Mutual Aid Manchester, You Are The Morning features the Trans Chorus of LA – the first of its kind in America – who joined the Sound City sessions for the album’s closing choral piece. Arranged by Phoenix Rousiamanis, whose composing credits include the London Philharmonic Orchestra and trans opera Songs of Descent(“mind-blowing, literally phenomenal”), it begins in the closing minute of the terrific single “Elephant”, continues through the interlude “Transition”, and concludes with the spine-tingling affirmation of “Woman”, the first song written and released as jasmine.4.t.

“We were recording in Studio B, which is what we call the Punisher studio [after Bridgers’ second album], but it wasn’t available on the day that the Chorus was coming in,” she explains. “So we recorded them in Studio A instead, which is this massive, iconic live room that Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours and Nirvana’s Nevermind were recorded in. Thirty trans people in that historic room together? That had never happened before, clearly. Fucking hell. What a thing to be a part of. I feel so grateful to them. To hear that space filled with solely trans voices was a really incredible moment, and I think we all felt that. I have a video where I’m filming them and then pan around to Lucy Dacus next to me, and she’s just welling up.”

In fulfilling her own potential, Cruickshank says she’s often surprised by the depth of feeling her music seems to have stirred up. “I’ve been so overwhelmed with messages and comments from trans women and other queer people expressing gratitude and I’m a bit like, ‘Why are you grateful? I’m the one who’s reaping here,’” she says. “I didn’t expect that, because I’m just starting out here, but it’s so wonderful to know that my being a visible trans woman in the music industry has meant a lot to a lot of people already. It’s wonderful to wake up to all this wholesome shit in my Instagram notifications. I do get a lot of hate as well, but it’s massively outweighed by the amount of love.”

PHOTO CREDIT: Matt Grubb

According to statistics gathered by Trans Day of Remembrance organisers, the past 10 years have seen more than 3800 trans people worldwide reported dead, with violence and suicide the two most common causes. That’s more than one trans person every day, and the increasingly fascist-leaning anti-trans rhetoric of the political class isn’t exactly inspiring confidence in brighter days ahead. It’s no wonder that other trans women and queer people are latching onto the jasmine.4.t vision of radical softness and unbending solidarity. Of being our own lights – and each other’s – in the face of loud injustice.

When the noise of negativity gets too much for Cruickshank to bear, she’s grateful for her chosen family like Han and another close friend Yulia, who will step in during the periodic pile-ons she endures to block, report, and delete if needed, to protect her from the worst. With the album coming out shortly, her excitement is mixed with some nervousness too. “I want it to go well but I’m still a bit on edge about the hatefulness that might come my way,” she says.

“However many lovely messages you get, the evil ones do stick in your head. Especially with what’s happening in America right now, it’s a fucking high stakes situation being a trans woman. So I need to be brave. It’s so important to not back down and to be visible and be fighting for trans rights and every other fucking thing that we need to be fighting for right now. It’s a long list.” 

As well as producing, playing, and singing backing vocals, each member of boygenius gets their own star turn on the album, with “Guy Fawkes Tesco Dissociation” being Phoebe Bridgers’ moment, and it’s perfect for her breathy, deadpan warmth. Julien Baker blesses “Tall Girl” with her soft soprano, while Lucy Dacus adds some extra oomph to the moving and brilliant “New Shoes”, which Cruickshank originally recorded pre-transition for Worn Through.

It was actually Dacus who coaxed her into revisiting the song and bringing it into the benevolent world of You Are The Morning. The only hesitation was that she had originally written the song about her ex-spouse, early on in their relationship. “Recording it again after the divorce, with my chosen family singing ‘Let’s make a family,’ was both devastating and incredibly affirming of this new and joyful road that I’m on,” she says, her voice cracking slightly with emotion. She shakes her head. “Yeah, it was a lot.”

If you follow any trans advocacy accounts on social media, you might be familiar with a quote by non-binary trans writer Kai Cheng Thom that goes “Those who have survived the unthinkable are also those who know how to create a better world – because it’s ended for us before," and I think part of the blueprint for that world lies in You Are The Morning. Through confidently expressing her unbroken self, insecurities and all, Cruickshank is remade once again into a source of light and strength for us all.

“There has been turmoil, but it’s been beautiful too,” she says, summing up. “I feel like I’ve landed on my feet and it’s really getting emotional now. I wrote these songs at the worst possible time, when everything had gone to shit and no one was accepting me for who I was, so it’s been amazing to see other trans women getting hope from my journey and from this incredibly lucky life that I’m now living.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” she adds, grimacing. “It fucking sucks being a trans woman in the fascist state of the UK, but I have my incredible chosen family around me and I’m so, so happy”.

I am going to end with this review from last year. Even though there is not a lot of online material from jasmine.4.t online – I am writing this on 11th January -, what we do have available is sensational. Personal songs with kitchen sink realism, there is also this aroma of perfume and, as The Line of Best Fit wrote, “candy-coloured joy and catharsis”:

It’s not even out until January, but I’m calling it already: this thing of beauty will be one of 2025’s finest. Based in Manchester, Jasmine Cruickshank, who writes and records as Jasmine.4.t , makes music that disarms through its intimacy and hopeful, wistful intensity.

Produced by Boygenius, it shares sonic DNA with early Perfume Genius, Boygenius’ own Lucy Dacus, and Elliott Smith. It’s bedroom pop, but even more fully-formed. Her lyrics tackle looking for love when all seems lost, celebrating her trans identity, and moving forward in a new location.

Where ‘Elephant ‘ is zesty dream pop, ‘Roan’ and ‘Skin On Skin’ ache with desire. ‘Tall Girl’ flirts with a breezy, grungy country style, and the brilliantly titled ‘Guy Fawkes Tesco Dissociation ‘ is a mantra to existential despair in the frozen food aisles. We’ve all been there. The title track, underpinned by swooning strings and delicate finger picking, tackles the dizzying heights of new love.

Her soft, lovely vocals are sure to bring comfort and reassurance to the cold new year. These are vignettes that feel profound, finding beauty in unexpected places . All hail a unique new talent, enveloping us in the warm embrace of her songs”.

I am new to the music of jasmine.4.t but I am already intrigued and invested. An artist that you will be hearing a lot from through 2025, do go and follow her and listen to You Are the Morning. One of the most important debut albums of this year. We have in our midst…

A stunning artist with a long future ahead.

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Follow jasmine.4.t

FEATURE: These Prints of Our Feet, Lead Right Up to the Sea: The Balearic and Dance Influences on Kate Bush’s Aerial

FEATURE:

 

 

These Prints of Our Feet, Lead Right Up to the Sea

IN THIS PHOTO: Kate Bush in 2005/PHOTO CREDIT: Trevor Leighton


The Balearic and Dance Influences on Kate Bush’s Aerial

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I am not sure how many…

IN THIS PHOTO: Kate Bush in 2005/PHOTO CREDIT: Trevor Leighton

Kate Bush fans picked up a copy of Disco Pogo, where Graeme Thomson brilliantly wrote about Kate Bush’s Aerial. I want to source from that. Thomson is the author of the brilliant biography, Under the Ivy: The Life and Music of Kate Bush. He reached some points that I never thought about before. When we consider Kate Bush, of course she is this innovator. The sounds she pioneered and the incredible music she leaves us with this rich and strong legacy. What will the future hold in terms of her career and new albums? 2005’s Aerial is rightly heralded as this masterpiece. Of course, we look at the album and can hear this domestic bliss. Bush, as a fairly recent mother (her son Albert was born in 1998), and maternal responsibility. The details of the day. The joys of being a mother are in there, so too are reflections on her own mother. Her childhood. Domestic chores sitting alongside fantasy. What many people overlook is the rapture and energy heard through the latter stages of the second disc, A Sky of Honey. A song-cycle charting a summer day, it is the ‘night’ and breaking dawn that offers new sides to Kate Bush. Her tracks have been remixed by Dance acts and her music has been sampled. However, when we listening to songs on A Sky of Honey such as Aerial and Nocturn, they do reveal something under-discussed. How there is this strange but beautiful Balearic quality. Tracks and sounds that could feature at Café del Mar. This Ibiza landmark is not one that people would associate with Kate Bush! However, even though she is unlikely to have visited herself, the sort of ecstasy and beats you hear in the final phases of A Sky of Honey connects you to that place. The kind of sounds one might hear emanating from that space as the sun sets in the distance. It is interesting, so I wanted to dig deeper.

In his feature for Disco Pogo, Graeme Thomson notes how it would be a stretch to call Aerial a danceable album. One that is primed for the clubs. There are so many styles and different textures to be experienced. However, there is an ambience to be discovered. Kate Bush clearly has a connection with or at least an appreciation for Hip-Hop. Huge fans like Big Boi are in her life. Bush definitely has listened to Hip-Hop a bit. There are even Trip-Hop beats on Joanni. That song appears on the first disc of Aerial, A Sea of Honey. One might summon images of Portishead or Massive Attack. Think about the overall sound of 1993’s The Red Shoes. Perhaps a little over-produced and not natural-sounding, Aerial does sound more immersive, expansive, fresh and natural. Because of that, when you hear the beats on Joanni, the amazing musicianship and production allows the song to connect harder. The Massive Attack associations grow stronger listening to Somewhere in Between. It is surprising that Bush has never been asked to do a guest vocal for a group like Massive Attack. You could hear her providing an epic vocal for one of their songs (similar to Liz Fraser and Tracey Thorn and their collaborations with the group). If many define Kate Bush’s sounds as piano-heavy or connected to the Fairlight CMI, it is clear that each album has its own skin and sound. The blend of Trip-Hop, Dance and Balearic colours. Thomson also notes how Aerial’s climax provides this arresting and phenomenal sensation. The final twenty-five minutes or so of Aerial see Bush take us down to the beach by the sea. Perhaps the distance sound of Balearic club music from a bar. She “understands the key tenets of dance music, the upward arc, the competing tensions of build and release”. In her mid-forties, the listener finds Kate Bush “blissed-out, ecstatic, rapturous, climbing to the top of the world”.

Following calmer waters and observations of nature and the wonder of seeing the light rise and a new day blossoming, one might feel the darkness and the following dawn would appear sleepy or more reserved. However, Bush takes us from an English garden to somewhere warmer and perhaps a little more exotic. In 1996, Bush demoed Aerial’s sole single, King of the Mountain. A year later she wrote An Architect’s Dream and Sunset. Albert born in 1998. Early motherhood shaped the way she would write and the perspective she would take. Domesticity and the simple pleasures of new life and responsibility weighing heavy. Bush understood that her son came first. She wrote in short bursts but it was the realisation of the songs and the recording that would take a very long time – a frustratingly long time. Bush was leasing a relatively normal and private life and she was very grateful for that. It meant that she could focus on motherhood but also channel that new inspiration and pleasure through an album. Aerial is perhaps her most uplifting and joyful album. That is especially true when we experience the building rapture through A Sky of Honey. The blending of the natural world of home and a beach and water somewhere far away. Maybe Ibiza. Kate Bush was planning on writing a song with Peter Gabriel called Ibiza many years ago. Perhaps that place has always been on her mind. I love the images and energy of Aerial’s title track: “All of the birds are laughing/All of the birds are laughing/Come on let's all join in/Come on let's all join in/I feel I wanna be up on the roof/I wanna be up, up on the roof/Up high, high on the roof/I feel I gotta be up on the roof/I feel I need to be up on the roof/Up, up high on the roof/High, high on the roof/In the sun”. For Aerial, things started out with the core team of Kate Bush, her husband Dan McIntosh, Del Palmer (her engineer and former partner sadly died last year) and bass player John Giblin (who died in 2023). Towards the end of 2000, other musicians were parachuted in. A lot of secrecy around the album, so it was this gradual unveiling and creation.

Musicians would be invited to play on various songs and if things didn’t work out then there was no harm. The sessions were pretty informal. A lot of chat, pizza, tea and playing with Bush’s young son. Aerial’s second album was threaded through with birdsong. Kate Bush spoke to John Wilson in 2005 and said how she liked “these things that are different languages from words”. How birds are especially fascinating. The fact that they can mark the dawn with this beautiful chorus – “They seem to be very strongly connected with light”. A Sky of Honey does not specifically keep us in a single place in the same way as The Ninth Wave does on Hounds of Love (1985). That sees a heroine adrift in the water. The songs do move us to different places in the form of dreams, imaginations and the shift of perspective from in the water to above Earth. However, A Sky of Honey has this more itinerant feel. If we start out in a garden or modest paradise at the start, by the time we get to songs like Sunset (the fifth track on A Sky of Honey), there is, as Graeme Thomson notes, this “Balearic flamenco”. Nocturn starts out an ambient and chilled-out song. “We long for something more” Bush sings. Tiring of the city, there is this desire for a different sky. Maybe a beach or a wide open space. The busyness of the city and its clutter. Bush’s voice swells and swoops. The dreamers are waking and there is this sense of rebirth or revitalisation. Nocturn is this amazingly captivating song! It is almost Trance-like. I know artists like Björk are influenced by Kate Bush. I listen to a Björk song such as Big Time Sensuality and connect it to Kate Bush. Nocturn. Maybe not as giddy and high-octane, there are similarities. Was Bush inspired by the Icelandic icon? The lyrics are so compelling: “Could be in a dream/Our clothes are on the beach/These prints of our feet/Lead right up to the sea”.

Kate Bush has always been interested in Hip-Hop and its innovative spirit. Likening it to contemporary poetry, Bush herself has long been interested in new technology, rhythms and unusual sounds. D.J. and producer Ranj Kaler remixed Nocturn in 2021 to emphasise its Balearic and Café del Mar connections. Tony Wadsworth, the then-CEO of EMI, and David Munns were summoned to Bush’s Theale home to listen to the completed Aerial. Wadsworth was especially blown away by how Bush, in her forties, was still ahead of everyone else. Doing something genuinely new. How she was duetting with birds! When Bush brought Aerial’s second disc to life for Before the Dawn in 2014, everything was under her control. The power and beauty of the songs being brought to life. Thomson noted how, when see performed Nocturn and Aerial, “a new tension informed the music”. Bells, birds and this rich visual tapestry. The Flamenco climax of Sunset heightened and defined by Mino Cinélu’s percussion. Graeme Thomson wrote how Aerial’s A Sky of Honey didn’t so much as chart a single day as a whole lifetime. It packs so much in! It is the Balearic tones and moods that shake and snake their way through the soil and bones of tracks like Nocturn and Aerial. This euphoria and Café del Mar-inflected fire and bliss. I never really considered it before though, when passing back through A Sky of Honey, you feel and hear this building tension and joy! Whether Kate Bush had Café del Mar in her mind when writing some of the tracks on A Sky of Honey or not, her music definitely…

TAKES you there!

FEATURE: Bonnie and Clyde in the Spotlight: Are There Plans Around Kate Bush’s Hounds of Love for 2025?

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Bonnie and Clyde in the Spotlight

IN THIS PHOTO: Kate Bush in an outtake from the Hounds of Love album cover shoot in 1985/PHOTO CREDIT: John Carder Bush


Are There Plans Around Kate Bush’s Hounds of Love for 2025?

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I was going to hang off…

IN THIS PHOTO: Kate Bush in 1985

writing about Kate Bush’s Hounds of Love for a bit. The album was released on 16th September, 1985. I will write about its title track, as that was released as a single on 17th February, 1986. I want to mark its thirty-ninth anniversary. The fortieth anniversary of Hounds of Love happens in September. It will be massive. Of course, I am going to write about it a lot closer to the time. There are so many angles to approach. Unlike many major artists, Kate Bush does not reissue her albums when they celebrate big anniversaries. Expanded editions, unheard songs or extras. Giving them a new lease of life and uncovering gems that were not released on the original. However, Hounds of Love has been reissued a few times. It has been remastered and the special editions have been nominated for GRAMMYs. The Boxes of Lost at Sea edition and The Baskerville Edition. Bush and her son Albert have been nominated. If Bush wins then she will get her first GRAMMY. It is amazing that a career as long and successful as her has seen this absence. Plenty of awards in the U.K. but not really in the U.S. I am interested how people approach Hounds of Love ahead of its fortieth anniversary. I guess we will know what is planned around August. Maybe Bush will speak about the album. I have speculated as to how her 1985 masterpiece could expand for the screen. I have pitched a film, The Ninth Wave, that visualises the second side to the album. Maybe a reissue of the album that has extras. Maybe Under the Ivy, the B-side for Running Up That Hill (A Deal with God). Will there be podcasts, documentaries or tributes to the album? Is Bush going to conduct an interview around that album?

When I woke up yesterday (11th January), I was checking out the Kate Bush News Instagram feed. There was this excitable post that seems really intriguing. There will definitely be something out around the fortieth anniversary of Hounds of Love in September. However, Kate Bush News seem to suggest something is already brewing:

2025 is the 40th anniversary of...dammit...these dogs just won't settle down...okay...bear with us...something is happening this year...well, at least she's still smiling....stay tuned in the months to come...we have a lot to unpack. Aaargh...now they're eating the purple tulle...where's the other dragon earring?.....ooof...break time!! Lets just exhaust them, take them for another walk...we'll try again in 20 minutes....no, Kate, it'll be fine...we're almost there....no, really...who are we kidding, this'll never work.....”.

People have speculated whether there will yet another reissue of Hounds of Love. I suppose we have had a few versions or attempts to get the album into the hands of new listeners. Might Bush actually open the archives and give us some demos or unreleased tracks?! there will be an exclusive interview with Kate Bush? Unfortunately, it is unlikely there will be a documentary or film around The Ninth Wave. Or the album itself. Perhaps BBC Radio 4 might commission something. It is all up in the air at the moment. Kate Bush News clearly have something planned or they have access to news. I don’t think they are using Hounds of Love to suggest Bush is releasing new music soon. It would seem inconsequential or weird. Their post must be related to Hounds of Love. Something special is happening.

I do think we will get an announcement later in the year that Kate Bush is releasing her long-awaited eleventh studio album. I would be surprised if we went through 2025 without new music. However, there is this massive album that has a big anniversary approaching. I want to do something to mark it too. However, Kate Bush News are excited! They want to tell us what is coming but have to be secretive at the moment! However, what can it be?! We will have to wait, though I am not sure whether they would have early access to a reissue of the album with demos, unreleased tracks or anything like that. I cannot see Bush wanting anything from the archives out into the world. She has done a lot of reissuing and retrospection so would she go down that path? Even so, she loves Hounds of Love so you cannot rule it out. I look at the iconic cover – shot by her brother John, featuring her dogs, Bonnie and Clyde – and I know fans would pay anything to get some gems. More around this iconic album. Perhaps there is a bigger project happening. A live event. I have thought that it would be good to see the entirety of Hounds of Love performed. She did perform most of the album for Before the Dawn in 2014. Maybe anniversary live dates. Bush has not dismissed the option of more live work in the future. A live show where people are chatting about Hounds of Love and there is are special guests coming together. This year is going to be an exciting one regarding all things Kate Bush, I can feel! Fans are already getting excited about what might come. In the coming months we will get clarity regarding this cryptic post. I for one cannot wait to see…

WHAT emerges.

FEATURE: Good Morning Good Morning: Reacting to Changes in the BBC Radio 6 Music Schedule

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Good Morning Good Morning

IN THIS PHOTO: Lauren Laverne/PHOTO CREDIT: BBC

 

Reacting to Changes in the BBC Radio 6 Music Schedule

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A big change is happening…

IN THIS PHOTO: Lauren Laverne with Nick Grimshaw/PHOTO CREDIT: BBC

on one of the nation’s best-loved radio stations: BBC Radio 6 Music. Since it first came to air in 2002, this station has always been the home of the best music. Maybe it was a bit Rock/Alternative-learning in the early years. In recent years, the station has evolved in terms of its musical spectrum. I find it is particularly fantastic when it comes to spotlighting the most original and interesting new artists. They do themed days. Yesterday (10th January) it was an all-‘90s day. Celebrating music from the decade. They have a great blend of presenters, many who have been there for years. It shows that the broadcasters love being at the station. We get used to the schedule being a certain way and it can be a shock or strange if things change. Until fairly recently, the breakfast show was presented by Lauren Laverne. She was then followed by Mary Anne Hobbs at 10:30. It is a dynamic partnership and bedrock of the morning schedule. It was a huge blow when Laverne was diagnosed with cancer last year. She understandably had to step back. Various presenters have covered for her. Most regularly and recently Nick Grimshaw. An experienced broadcaster and podcaster, he had some big shoes to fill but has done a fantastic job. Naturally slotting into the schedule, he has been rewarded by being named the new breakfast show host. Lauren Laverne is taking over the 10:30 slot. Mary Anne Hobbs is taking a sabbatical and will be back with a new show in the spring. It is an amazing that Lauren Laverne is back. No more early wake-up alarms. A new slot that she will add her stamp on, her breakfast show listeners will follow her. Nick Grimshaw will do fantastically on breakfast. It will be interesting to see what Mary Anne Hobbs does.

PHOTO CREDIT: BBC

The Guardian reacted to the news of a line-up shift and switch at BBC Radio 6 Music. Welcoming in a new face but also this exciting slot for Lauren Laverne. A big and happy return for one of its longest-standing and most adored voices. I cannot wait to hear the two of them side by side in the schedule:

BBC presenter Lauren Laverne has announced that she will be stepping down as host of Radio 6 Music’s breakfast show. After six years of helming the morning show, she will be returning to her previous mid-morning slot.

She has not been presenting the show since August when she announced that she was undergoing treatment for a cancer diagnosis.

“As listeners will know, I had a really tough 2024 and worried at times that I wouldn’t be able to return to the station I love so much,” said Laverne. “It has been a huge honour – and so much fun – to host the breakfast show for six wonderful years, but it is time to pass the baton on, and to set my alarm a little later.”

“During my recovery I learned all over again about the power of music, the people you surround yourself with and the emotional support and joy radio can provide. I’m so grateful to be able to get back to doing what I love and sharing those things with our brilliant listeners every day.”

Laverne’s new weekday show will feature her regular features Desert Island Disco and People’s Playlist, as well as live sessions. Mary Anne Hobbs will be taking a sabbatical and will return to 6 Music later in the spring with a new show.

The new host of the 6 Music breakfast show will be Nick Grimshaw, who has been presenting in Laverne’s absence. “I’ve had the greatest four months covering for Lauren,” said Grimshaw. “6 Music is a precious place, a station I love. I’m honestly honoured to be asked to work there and can’t wait to continue supplying the best new music from the world’s most interesting artists.”

The changes will take place in February, with Nemone hosting the breakfast show from 13 January. Laverne’s return to 6 Music follows her receiving the all clear after treatment, having announced in November that she would be “back to work” soon”.

After a scary moment last year when Lauren Laverne revealed her cancer diagnosis and we did not know whether you she would be back on the station, I can understand why she has stepped down from breakfast. After a gruelling past few months or so, she does need to readjust. This new morning slot will be perfect for her. Even though she has to say goodbye to her production team, she also knows that this is a big opportunity. Getting the all-clear from cancer – though she is obviously still not quite 100% yet -, Laverne will be welcomed back with open arms! This is what she said in an Instagram post from Thursday:

Popped up on air @bbc6music with this handsome Dan today to announce that @nicholasgrimshaw will be the new 6Music breakfast show host, I will be moving to mid mornings and the wonderful @maryannehobbs_ will start a new show later this spring. These transitions are always more emotional than you’d imagine they might be, and for me that is very much about the incredible team in pic 2 - who made it such a joy to host the breakfast show every day for the past six years. It’s been a time of momentous change for me personally and we all went through a pandemic, during which we were on air for 4h every weekday. I can honestly say that no matter what life was throwing at us, it was truly a pleasure to go to work every single day. I always looked forward to seeing these faces, sharing brilliant music and hearing what our listeners had to say, and I will miss our team so much. I hope we made your mornings brighter and set you up for the day and I know Nick will continue doing that. As for mid mornings, I can’t wait to get started. Thank you for all the kind messages of encouragement and support today, and for listening to our station. We’re all so lucky and proud to be part of it”.

 IN THIS PHOTO: Mary Anne Hobbs/PHOTO CREDIT: Darren Skene

Although it has been a changing and often bleak time for Lauren Laverne, she has come out of the other end. After briefly returning to BBC Radio 6 Music to speak with Nick Grimshaw on Thursday (8th January), we got the news that Grimshaw is taking over the breakfast show and Laverne will follow him. Mary Anne Hobbs will be away for a while but will return with a new show. A hugely important radio station has undergone changes through the years. Some of them have been welcomed but a few of them have not. This line-up change has been met with largely positive reception. Nick Grimshaw has been greeted fondly by listeners and has been doing a fantastic job! Everyone is relieved and happy Lauren Laverne is back and will present the show previously hosted by Mary Anne Hobbs. Though she joked she would not miss the very early wake-ups, it is for the better. After her cancer diagnosis and treatment, she at least will be able to have a more normal sleep pattern. I am going to be really interested seeing how the shoes unfold and sound. Nick Grimshaw bringing his own dynamic to breakfast. How Lauren Laverne takes to a timeslot that she used to host. It will not be a shock for her but nor will it be a repeat of what she did before. A new chapter for BBC Radio 6 Music, whether you are a new convert or have been a listener for years, this is a positive step. A new voice on the station and perhaps a more suitable timeslot for one of its very best. Details are scares regarding Mary Anne Hobbs’s new show, though you know it is going to be amazing! I am looking forward to hearing Nick Grimshaw and Lauren Laverne stand alongside one another. A slightly new schedule that seems beneficial to all affected, BBC Radio 6 Music has seems to be going from…

STRENGTH to strength.

FEATURE: Mrs. Bartolozzi and the Moments of Pleasure: Kate Bush and the Work-Life Balance

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Mrs. Bartolozzi and the Moments of Pleasure

IN THIS PHOTO: Kate Bush in 1980

 

Kate Bush and the Work-Life Balance

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I have sort of touched…

IN THIS PHOTO: Kate Bush in a promotional image for 2011’s 50 Words for Snow/PHOTO CREDIT: John Carder Bush

on this in other features. Kate Bush and that allusive work-life balance. Bush’s albums are characterised by long hours in the studio and barely any time free. Many might feel that she is all work and there was never any time for stepping away from the studio. I want to look at this in a bit more detail. Productivity has never been an issue with Kate Bush. She writes very quickly but the recording takes a long time. The words are two-dimensional and, although Bush does revise words and puts thought into it, the process of finalising lyrics is not as rigorous and layered as the sound and production. For 2011’s 50 Words for Snow, Bush completed two long pieces within a couple of days. Including Lake Tahoe. It was the power of water and the relationship she had with that. Water a common theme in Bush’s work. Where the hours start to climb is when you consider Bush realising her images in the studio. So vivid and cinematic is her music that it calls for a production sound that does justice to that. There is a definite shift from her perfectionist tendency – though she claims not to be a perfectionist – and a looser way of working. Especially on albums like The Dreaming and Hounds of Love, Kate Bush was making sure every song was as good as it could be. This often meant multiple takes or a lot of time in the studio. A couple of mistakes were left in 2011’s 50 Words for Snow. A wrong chord at the start of Among Angels was left in. Near the end of an eleven-minute take for Lake Tahoe, Bush’s fingers slipped from the (piano) keys and there was this moment of silence. As Graeme Thomson notes in his book, Under the Ivy: The Life and Music of Kate Bush, this was because of embracing the mood and feel of the track. Making it sound more natural or fitting of the lyrics perhaps.

There were contrasts between Kate Bush in the 2010s and the 1980s. The latter period would have been about craft and precision. Not as free-forming or relaxed. Not that this was a bad thing. She worked at several studios for 1982’s The Dreaming. Hounds of Love, released in 1985, was quite a tough recording period. Not unhappy but just ambitious. Tracks like The Big Sky problematic and hard to crack. When producing Never for Ever (1980), there would be multiple musicians brought in and work would go through to the small hours. As a relatively new producer, Bush was throwing herself into things. When it came to an album such as 50 Words for Snow, it was more about office hours. A Monday-Friday routine and computer time in the evenings. Bush was and is a mother so her priorities shifted. She did not have to jump on the first ideas that came along. Her working method and headspace was different. However, I still think about that earlier period when she was working insane hours. If later albums have seen Bush’s free time dedicated to her son, Albert, and time with family watching films and relaxing, I think about how much Bush allowed herself to unwind in the 1980s and that recording era. She did spend a lot of 1983 gardening; being with her boyfriend (Del Palmer) and family. Going to films and putting work aside. Bush has been moving away from Pop music. Perhaps it was the constraints of the genre and the demands of commercial allure that means now Bush is not so beholden to chart positions and radio play. Her music has evolved and moved to the boundaries. Not that she puts less effort in. However, it is clear that there is a better work-life balance. Thinking about 1980-1989 (when she released The Sensual World). Kate Bush has said how she does not consider herself to be interesting. Maybe leading a boring life. Like many of her Pop contemporaries, Bush’s free time was not spent at parties or courting the spotlight.

When Tracey Thorn wrote for The Spectator in 2014 are shared her thoughts on Kate Bush’s residency, Before the Dawn: “Kate Bush may have been semi-absent from our lives all these years, but it looks to me like she has been fully present in her own. And though we all fret about our work/life balance, in truth, it takes a lot of life to make work this good”. In retrospect, Bush might look at everything she has done and see it as essential and unavoidable. I wonder if there are any regrets over some of the albums in terms of how much time she put into the work. How her life could have turned out if there had been more of a balance. It was not as though Bush was in the studio constantly and only had time for sleep. She lived a normal life, though it is clear that from 1980 and even through to 1993, there was this real commitment to her work. Sometimes at the expense of her spare time and health. I have mentioned how Bush gardened or spent time with family. She had this small social circle and was busy travelling for work to have too many holidays abroad. As explained, 2011’s 50 Words for Snow was a shift in terms of how she approached songwriting and recording. A young son affecting how much time she spent working. Maybe the same with 2005’s Aerial. There needed to be a reset after 1993’s The Red Shoes; how hard Bush was pushing herself. However, consider the legacy of her work and how her albums are being discussed decades later. Maybe Kate Bush regrets some lost time and things she could have done differently. However, I am curious about the 1980s particularly. Whether her schedule and workload impacted her life in a positive or negative manner.

IN THIS PHOTO: Kate Bush whilst filming The Line, the Cross and the Curve in 1993/PHOTO CREDIT: Guido Harari

In a positive sense, the albums sound phenomenal and Bush established herself as a remarkable producer and singular talent. Also, this music is influencing people all these years later. On the negative side, could we blame the record label, the demands of the industry or a certain drive in Kate Bush to make her music that much more extraordinary and distinct? Bush’s life now is amazing and she has a loving family. I do wonder about her in the 1980s and whether she was allowed enough time to rest and break away. When her mother died in 1992, she was recording an album and maybe could not grieve properly. In terms of seeing the world more, spending more time on other projects or just enjoying the simple things in life, there is this sense a lot was missed and passed over. I do think there is a lot in that, under EMI, there were expectations. Maybe Kate Bush proving herself and knowing how much work she had to put in to achieve an album sufficiently different and better to the last. When she set up Fish People and was not beholden to the usual demands of a label, things definitely changed. Also, I guess you could apply Bush’s work-life balance to that of modern artists. Between touring, promoting and working, artists’ mental health and wellbeing suffers. Something else Tracey Thorn said. This time in 2015 when speaking to Jude Rogers for The Guardian: “Kate Bush seems to me like someone who has hit upon a work-life balance that works brilliantly for her. She’s had a family life where she clearly adores her child, and she’s carried on making music – she’s never stopped as far as I know. OK, she didn’t play live for 35 years, but big deal! There is a tendency to think of women artists as being a bit weird and witchy, unpredictable and mysterious. It’s daft”. It made me think about media perception and their attitudes towards women.

Whether part of Bush’s efforts and studio time was because of the way a lot of the media treated her early in her career. Maybe feeling watched and tabloid-fodder if she went out more. To plays, on holiday or parties. Getting to that position where Kate Bush had a family and this wonderful life and could also make music. But on her own terms. One cannot feel too hard about the 1980s and 1990s. It all led to where she is now. I do have this sadness or anxiety. Worrying about Kate Bush and whether her work-life balance was dictated as much by the media, label or her, as a woman, thinking she had to prove herself or do more than her male counterparts to be respected. Bush might say that she has no regrets and that is the sort of effort that she had to put in. That there were small sacrifices. I can respect that. I am really glad of how things have worked out. “Just being alive/It can really hurt/And these moments given/Are a gift from time/Just let us try/To give these moments back/To those we love/To those who will survive”. Those lyrics from 1989’s The Sensual World seemed to be about Bush dealing with loss and things slipping away. “I think about us lying/Lying on a beach somewhere”. That need for a normal life, time away from pressures - or merely a fantasy. At the end of a hectic decade, Bush revealing some torment or sadness. However, we cannot speculate. What happened behind closed doors. How much time Bush was free to socialise or merely detach from the studio and work. Whilst it took a long time to finally happen, it is clear that, for Kate Bush, a work-life balance was…

A hard balance to strike.

FEATURE: The Digital Mixtape: Winter Warmers and Chilled Vibes

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The Digital Mixtape

PHOTO CREDIT: Stephen Leonardi/Pexels

 

Winter Warmers and Chilled Vibes

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IT is the time of year…

PHOTO CREDIT: Thought Catalog/Pexels

when we are leaving behind Christmas and the start of the year. It is cold and wet and people want the weather to warm up. In addition, there is quite a lot of stress around. Frustrated by the weather or finances or setting personal goals, January is not the nicest month. Although there are warmer and more relaxed days ahead, it is a point of the year when people are struggling to get into the mood. Because of that, I have put together a playlist that blends winter warmers and chilled vibes. Songs that warm the blood and some relaxing chill-out tunes that help with the stress. A warming and stress-easing concoction that hopefully will help lift the mood, it is designed to lift January blues and any stresses of the new year. If you are in need of some remedy, then I hope the mixtape here puts you in a…

 PHOTO CREDIT: Riccardo/Pexels

BETTER frame of mind.

FEATURE: Emerald and Gold: Kate Bush in the Motherland

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Emerald and Gold

 

Kate Bush in the Motherland

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I have written about…

IN THIS PHOTO: Kate Bush in 1985/PHOTO CREDIT: Guido Harari

Kate Bush and her connection to Ireland. Her late mother Hannah was Irish and they had family there. In terms of musical and personal influence, Ireland was key right through her career. It became more obvious in her music on albums like The Dreaming (1982), Hounds of Love (1985) and The Sensual World (1989). When she was in her mid-twenties and early-thirties, Bush drawing more from her ancestral home. People naturally assume Bush is this quintessential English artist. Though England has been key to her and made its way too into the music, we can’t overlook the importance of Ireland. Rather than return to the same topics I covered before, I wanted to explore something different. It is clear that certain albums demanded Bush worked rigorously at various studios. That was especially true of The Dreaming. This was a time when Bush was producing solo and really wanted to throw everything into the album. I see 1981 as an especially frantic and packed year in terms of hours logged in the studio. Not only ensuring her performances and that of her musicians were up to scratch, Bush was considering how her production would sound. Adding layers and new sounds to the mix. Maybe finding it hard to reign things in, one of the biggest advantages was that Bush had a connection to Ireland. Having visited as a child and been there a fair few times, she knew it offered this sense of comfort and peace. Also, in terms of the musicians she could work with there, it would change things. Although there are Irish sounds on Night of the Swallow (Liam O'Flynn – penny whistle and uilleann pipes; Seán Keane – fiddle; Dónal Lunny – bouzouki), it wasn’t until Hounds of Love where Bush found time to get to Ireland. I will come to the Irish sessions and the artists she worked with there. However, Bush also managed to spend some time unwinding. The first time she had been able to visit and spend quality time in Ireland since she was a girl.

People do not realise how important Ireland was in terms of Hounds of Love. The inspiration it provided and how vital it was for Bush to get her head clear and find some perspective. A good majority of the lyrics for Hounds of Love were completed in Ireland. Bush would use Ireland again for 1989’s The Sensual World. The title track is a classic example. Based around James Joyce’s Ulysess and the soliloquy from Molly Bloom, the motherland was never far from her heart. For Hounds of Love, she embraced the natural sounds and geography of the country to open her mind and colour her songs. Jig of Life boasts John Shehan’s fiddles; Liam O’Flynn’s uilleann pipes and Donal Lunny’s bodhrán beats. I love reading any article connecting Bush to Ireland. I will drop in one example soon. The whistle parts from Sheehan on And Dream of Sheep is especially affecting. Although Bush had family in Ireland and it was very much a second home, there was resistance and reluctance from some at Windmill Lane Studios. Situated in Dublin, it was a space that would see laid down some of Hounds of Love’s finest moments. Maybe national wariness, the thought of an English pop star coming over was met with some frostiness. However, soon enough, Bush was welcomed with open arms and was taken to heart! Bush felt that familiar connection. Like she was meant to be there. An inspired decision to record in Ireland. The calmer setting and the stunning landscape meant Bush’s creative mind was freed in a way that it was not in London. She nodded to Ireland for The Sensual World. Touches to be found on The Red Shoes.

Not to suggest Hounds of Love is a relaxed and sunny album. Like The Dreaming, there are moments of fear and tension. If The Dreaming’s seemed more to be claustrophobia and anxiety from the point of characters’ perspectives – expect Get Out of My House, which seemed to be personal -, Hounds of Love seemed more personal to Bush. Some of her fears coming to the surface. However, there is never a sense of the music weighing on top of you. Of it being a hard listen. It is powerful and beautiful. After returning from Ireland, most of 1984 was dedicated to overdubs and technology. As Tom Doyle writes in his book, Running Up That Hill: 50 Visions of Kate Bush, Bush’s working methods were cemented and centred around technology. Perhaps that experience in Ireland and the free and often ecstatic spirit was a holiday. It was back to business when she came back to East Wickham Farm. This amazing programme from last year, Give Kate Bush Back to the Irish, explores her songs and how Ireland is evident commonly and effectively. I want to bring in a bit of a 2014 article from the Irish Independent. It writes how Bush is proud of her Irish roots:

A quiet and stable family life is important to Kate. Bush is married to guitarist Danny McIntosh, whom she met in 1992 while recording her seventh album, The Red Shoes. She told me that her mother was a massive source of inspiration to her, especially when she collaborated with legendary Irish traditional musician Dónal Lunny on a version of 'Mná na hÉireann'.

"Although she'd already passed away, I really felt that she was there helping me get it right," Bush said. "I loved singing it and I hope I did an okay job, because I never spoke or sung in Irish before."

"I'm incredibly proud of being half-Irish. I really wanted to get that Irish blood in me to come through, so I worked very hard on it."

Dónal Lunny confirms that Kate poured her heart and soul into the recording sessions. "She never told me that about her late Mother, but it clearly meant an awful lot to her," Lunny says.

"It was a joy to be in the studio with her. Kate is a very vivacious, happy and positive person. She is great fun to be around. I'm absolutely delighted that she is back playing concerts."

Bush performed on The Late Late Show in 1978. When she was briefly interviewed by Uncle Gaybo, a very shy Kate refused to reveal her mother's maiden name, claiming that her family would prefer anonymity as they were receiving a lot of unwelcome attention in the UK due to her increasing fame.

Despite her heritage and numerous collaborations with traditional musicians, this remains her only performance on Irish soil”.

The Sensual World also saw Bush record once more at Windmill Lane Studios, with Bill Whelan conducting the sessions there (he also conducted the Irish sessions for Hounds of Love). With Davy Spillane, John Shehan and Dónal Lunny  adding their magic to The Sensual World, Never Be Mine and The Fog, Bush knew how powerful it was reconnecting with these musicians. A chance also to give her heart to Ireland. Obviously, these wonderful musicians were a big reason why Bush travelled over there. She could also find great connection with the land and people. The friendliness and generosity of them. Though she got this in England, there was something different in Ireland! The views around her so much more evocative than back in England. I often felt most of Hounds of Love was written at East Wickham Farm. Though it was actually Ireland. I didn’t know there was this uncredited part of her most popular album! How crucial Ireland was. Not only for the studio and players. It is clear that the country dug into her soul and unlocked her best work. She was able to write and create in a new way. The same with The Sensual World, though not quite as extensively. I think Bush had a natural curiosity about Ireland because of her mother. Hannah Bush was born in 1918 in County Waterford. At such a terrible time, in a quite rural setting, it must have been strange for her. Born Hannah Daly, she grew up at a farm outside Dungarvan and was from a deeply musical family. Kate Bush taken to Ireland as a child by her family. Seeds planted and this history being written. I am going to end things there. This emerald island producing gold! A wonderful nation filled with wonderful people. We need to discuss Ireland more when we look at albums like Hounds of Love and The Sensual World. This verdant, incredible and spiritual motherland…

STANDS for comfort.

FEATURE: Banquet: Bloc Party’s Silent Alarm at Twenty

FEATURE:

 

 

Banquet

  

Bloc Party’s Silent Alarm at Twenty

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PRODUCED by…

Bloc Party and Paul Epworth, one of the finest debut albums of the 2000s (the first decade of the twenty-first century) turns twenty on 2nd February. Silent Alarm is the amazing introduction of the London band. Recorded in Copenhagen and London, the album reached number three in the U.K. Many know the album for singles such as Banquet and Helicopter, though Silent Alarm is packed full of classics. I am going to end with a couple of reviews for Silent Alarm. There are a couple of features that I want to start out with. In 2018, Vibe Music wrote why Bloc Party’s debut album is the most important of its generation:

Culturally, the world was in a weird position. We had only seen a small percentage of how big a dickhead Kanye West would become. Simon Cowell was at the peak of his stranglehold over the world with his assembly line of reality TV wannabes. And the country had somehow gone mad when ‘crazy frog’ sold by the bucket load. In terms of the indie rock scene, however, everything was rosy. The glut of drab, lifeless weepy rock bands that got big in the wake of Britpop were slowly fading thanks to the likes of the Strokes, Franz Ferdinand and the Libertines, with the likes of Kasabian and Arctic Monkeys ready to take up the mantle. But amidst all of these great acts, Bloc Party arrived to drop an album that would stand as a snapshot of its era. Audibly and aesthetically, Silent Alarm is as identifiably a part of its era as Franz Ferdinand’s and Arctic Monkeys classic albums. The spiky guitars, yelping vocals and tight rhythms can be found in a myriad of bands around at the time. But while it’s revered by critics and Bloc Party’s diehard fans, Silent Alarm isn’t as revered or lionised as its contemporaries. Which is a shame, because this album is probably the only album of its time that is just as important and relevant today as it was when it was first released.

While all those bands I mentioned wrote great songs that still get a reaction whenever you hear them on a night out, they’re not songs that tick with you and make you think. It took Pete and Carl wanting to kill each other that caused them to write songs as complex as ‘Music When the Lights Go Out’. Franz Ferdinand aimed to dominate dancefloors and Kasabian the terraces, while Alex Turner hadn’t fully matured as a songwriter yet. Bloc Party’s frontman and lyricist Kele Okereke, however, was writing about a wider palette of themes and topics. How many other bands of the time can you think of that could score a hit song like ‘Helicopter’, with lyrics focusing on Bush’s foreign policy? Or, in ‘Price of Gasoline’, the general public’s ignorance of the hypocrisies of the Iraq war? Okereke aimed to make music that made the listener think as much as dance.

In our current era of pleasant and happy-to-be-here bands afraid to express an opinion less they offend anyone, it’s inspiring to hear a band speak with conviction on issues that they’re genuinely angry and passionate about. In fact, looking at the mess that the world finds itself in today, it would be interesting to see what an up-and-coming Bloc Party could create if they were getting started today. And in an era defined by the #MeToo and #BlackLivesMatter movements, Bloc Party stood apart from the very white ‘boys club’ of indie rock music. With a drummer of Chinese origin, and a singer both black and gay, they score high on the minority bingo. The Bloc Party of 2005 were as progressive then as they would be today.

This abrasive and upfront attitude is reflected as much in the music as it is in the lyrics. If there’s one word that can describe the sound of Silent Alarm, it’s tense. This is an album that sounds like it’s about to split apart at the seams at any minute. No guitarist at the time could sound as sharp as a knife like Russell Lissack did. Matt Tong and Gordon Moakes’ tight rhythms held the songs together whilst propelling them forward with an uncontrollable urgency, while Okereke’s vocals scream and howl like he’s trying to reach through the speakers, grab you by the shoulders and start ranting and raving in your face.

But Silent Alarm works as much on a personal level as it does on an intellectual. Much of the album focuses on themes and subjects you wouldn’t find in many indie bands catalogues. Songs about depression, loneliness, mental illness and addiction don’t exactly make for great singalongs. But Silent Alarm is one of the most deeply layered and thoughtful album of its time. Contextually, the album and band it can be compared to most is Joy Division and Ian Curits’ lyrics. Think about it; ‘She’s Hearing Voices’ is a spiritual successor to ‘She’s Lost Control’, Okereke’s unsettling words about how “she just can’t sleep” and “she’s falling down the stairs, she’s tearing out her hair” mirroring Ian Curtis remarking on how “She’s Lost Control again”. The lyrics of ‘Like Eating Glass’ centre on loneliness and feeling cut off from everyone, the subject of the song comparing his isolation to something torturous: “Like drinking poison, like eating glass”. It’s not hard to compare this to Curtis’ feelings of anxiety and self-doubt in ‘Isolation’.

Throughout Silent Alarm, Okereke touches on feelings of loneliness and panic in a way that none of his contemporaries could, with listeners able to relate to and take comfort in songs that reflect their difficult situations, and while it’s arguable that Bloc Party would write individual songs that reflect on these issues better later on (‘I Still Remember’ and ‘Flux’ being perfect examples), Silent Alarm is their only album in which these songs coalesce with the bands other themes and ideas to create a cohesive whole. It’s an album that affects your heart as much as your head, and stands as a piece of art that can challenge your ideas about the world and yourself.

In the end, the tragedy of Bloc Party is that for a band that felt so special when they first arrived, they eventually fell into the same clichés as many other bands have before; diminishing returns, members exiting, a frontman more concerned with his solo career. For how much they stood out at the time, Bloc Party’s career followed the likes of Franz Ferdinand and the Strokes: brilliant, game changing first album; second album that sold more but wasn’t as good; third album that’s just plain crap; and subsequent music that’s good but nothing special. Following Silent Alarm, A Weekend in the City was good, but couldn’t match its predecessor. When I first heard third album Intimacy I thought it was one of the worst albums I’d ever heard, and was the point where the band completely lost their momentum. Four had one perfect song in ‘V.A.L.I.S’ but nothing else was memorable, and by the time of their latest album, HYMNS, there were only two original band members left, and they sounded like they’d completely stopped giving a shit. Okereke’s solo work had begun influencing the direction of the band, and his lyrics suffered due to it. Seriously, how did a guy who once wrote a line as simultaneously bizarre and intimate as “you told me you wanted to eat up my sadness, well jump on, enjoy, you can gorge away”, end up writing something as cringe worthy as “tell your bitch to get off my shit, smoking on that home-grown”?

While there following work has done a lot to dent Bloc Party’s reputation, particularly Intimacy (honestly – fuck that album), the power of Silent Alarm remains as potent as it did the first time the world heard it. While their sound and aesthetic has influenced bands like Foals and The Maccabees, none of them have come close to creating something as profound as Silent Alarm: not even Bloc Party themselves. And while the world seems as chaotic and confusing as it was in 2005, it’s inspiring to know that there’s an album that can force you to confront the problems within the world, and can make you reflect on the feelings and insecurities in your own life”.

In 2015, Interns looked at Silent Alarm ten years on from its release. I think that it is still one of the most important debut albums of the past twenty years. Ahead of its twentieth anniversary, I think it is important to explore this incredible album. One that continues to receive so much love and attention to this day. It is a stunningly confident debut from a band who are still going today:

In the ten years since Bloc Party released their iconic debut album Silent Alarm, there’s been much discussion about how indie bands fit into the music scene. Guitar music has been declared dead and then reborn a number of times, but the truth is most of the bands that occupied that spectrum of music in 2005 have since died or faded. Bloc Party’s fourth album, released in 2012, failed to excite like their past releases and their lead singer Kele Okereke has turned predominantly to electronic music.

In 2005, twee was popular. It was cool to be British, it was cool to play a high-slung guitar and it was cool to have ironic, lengthy song titles. Franz Ferdinand, Kaiser Chiefs, Elbow and Maximo Park thrived while the Arctic Monkeys were arriving as the coolest nerds on the planet. Of course now, Alex Turner is a high-quiffed rock god and the Arctic Monkeys have shed nearly any signs of indie tweeness that they ever had in favour of a confident, stadium-ready sound. In comparison, Franz Ferdinand, Kaiser Chiefs and Maximo Park have fallen far from their perch at the top of the Alternative rock pyramid of 2005.

At this point it’s uncertain whether we will ever hear a new Bloc Party album again. Kele has just released his sophomore record Doubt and also ruled out any possibility of a Silent Alarm anniversary tour. But 10 years ago, Silent Alarm had Bloc Party pegged as the greatest indie-rock band around at that time. Pitchfork and NME both agreed (a rare conclusion) that Silent Alarm was brilliant with the latter awarding it the title of the best album of 2005. For context’s sake, Franz Ferdinand, Arcade Fire, The White Stripes and Kaiser Chiefs also featured on that list.

The indie band was flourishing. Myspace was a thing and the song you chose to play on your myspace page was just as important as a perfectly-angled profile picture. You couldn’t just choose a pop song, you had to select a song by an artist that people would think you were cool for having known or thank you for introducing them. Bloc Party fit that brief perfectly. Silent Alarm was explicitly melodic enough to please people on the surface and deep enough for music snobs to pick apart delightedly.

Let’s not sell Silent Alarm short, however. It wasn’t just an album for people’s mySpace page. It was much more than that. It was an album that stood out in a year when the music industry was flooded with indie-rock albums. It was a confident debut that was aware of what it had to do in order to impress. It was emotional, daring, expansive and colourful. As far as Okereke was concerned, every song had to sound like a single. Every song had to hit you as hard on the first listen as on the twentieth. As Pitchfork pointed out at the time, Bloc Party’s biggest strength and weakness was that they “are like one of those people who are so well-groomed that it's hard to remember exactly what they look like.”

At the time I could measure how great a guitar-band’s melody was by how many people sung along to it when they track started. Still today if Silent Alarm is played for a room of people they will at least murmur the riffs of Banquet and Helicopter. The riffs were just as important as vocal hooks were and acted as a temptation to draw you into the songs within the first few seconds. Listen to the first few chords of This Modern Love and your heart immediately jumps into your throat.

When the album came out NME said that it was “time for anti-heroes”. Nowadays it’s almost more likeable to be a 'freak' than to be cool, as Lady Gaga has worked so hard to champion, but back then it was very almost unheard of for a band to be so different and yet be so cool. Oasis were cool because they were abrasive rockstars. The Libertines were appealing because they were anarchic. Coldplay fit in because they were creating stadium-rock that attached them to no type of person and as a consequence made them appealing to every type of person. NME writes, “Bloc Party are to be believed in because they are a band for the whites, the blacks, the straights, the hip-hop kids, the freaks, the geeks, the emo kids, the punk-funkers, the queers and, yes, the fashionistas.”

Silent Alarm dealt with themes of sleep deprivation, consumption and love. It’s never derogatory nor does it ever brag about bad behaviour. You won’t hear anything that would require them to shout it through a megaphone, instead they’re beautifully subtle. Okereke is gay but love was dealt with as love. None of the lyrics ever confine issues to a certain type of person. Rather the songs are about the universally differing emotions of human-beings. Those that don’t suit just one type of person. As such Silent Alarm was an album for all those people that NME listed and more. Albums that manage to do that transcend genres. You didn’t need to be a fan of indie rock to appreciate Silent Alarm. This is still a quality that drawers us to albums today. As an example, Caribou’s Our Love and Sharon Van Etten’s Are We There from last year also succeeded because they dealt with love and life in a way that was both personal and universal.

It should be kept in mind that Okereke was a gay, black man operating in an indie rock world mostly dominated by white men who made their appreciation of good-looking women almost suspiciously explicit. Not that Silent Alarm needs that kind of sentiment attached to it because it’s lyrical content was so far above being petty.

Some of the above makes out that Bloc Party weren’t incredibly cool. That’s not my intention. Bloc Party were cool. They operated in a time when hype bands had to be cool. They were well-dressed, guitar-thrashing Brits who sung about sex. But they did so in their own way. There were never stories of the band stumbling out of clubs with Kate Moss nor did they try to dress with the same rock swagger or cite The Smiths as a lifelong reference when it was in vogue to do so. Okereke admitted to Uncut that he’s only been a Smiths fan for a short time. Most people are in the same boat, but rarely do they admit it. Apparently everyone owns an original copy of The Smiths on vinyl. The point is, Bloc Party were cool on their own terms. Okereke even told Pitchfork in 2006, “I feel that's important that I have some place to go that isn't on the cover of a magazine. I signed up to make music. That's it.”

The final point to make about Bloc Party is that Silent Alarm feels fresh. Every band was referencing bands from the past. The Strokes harked loosely back to The Ramones, then every band referenced The Strokes for ten years. Kaiser Chiefs drew influences from The Beatles and The Clash. Franz Ferdinand cited ‘80s artists Orange Juice and Josef K. Silent Alarm never felt as if the band were looking back for inspiration. There was definitely signs of inspiration from the current British indie-rock scene of the time, but if there were any influences they were modern. In the same interview with Pitchfork, Okereke said, “There's too much rock that relies a fetishism or nostalgia for the old ways. That's a real enemy to music. It needs to be constantly looking forward”.

Let’s finish off with a couple of reviews for Silent Alarm. Pitchfork noted how Bloc Party built on the success of earlier singles and E.P.s, drawing from the darker end of the Indie Pop spectrum of the 1980s. They celebrated the “record's charismatic sophistication and outstanding songwriting that emphasizes substance-over-style”. It is an interesting review from an American publication. Getting to grips with an exciting and ambitious British group who did make a dent in America in 2005. However, the biggest reception was from the U.K. and Europe:

Lead single "Banquet" is wonderfully tight and energetic-- the same kind of spiffy half-dancing rock as Franz Ferdinand's "Take Me Out" or Duran Duran's "Planet Earth". That's easy to pull off when you've got a drummer this good, and a bassist that locks in with him so neatly, whether it's for rock charge or disco hustle. That, in fact, has been Bloc Party's main selling point, apart from the whole Remarkably Competent thing: When the rhythm section stretches its limbs, they leap a good distance away from the straight-ahead eighth-note riffing of the others in this game. Filter in their timely post-punk moves, Bunnymen gestures, and pop ambitions, and you start to feel like this is what it might have been like to listen to the Police or XTC in the early 80s; the sound of a straight-up rock band just a shade more sophisticated, and a little more interested in rhythm, than most of their peers.

And of course the opener, "Like Eating Glass", is even grander and snappier than "Banquet", as if to promise from the start that these guys take your purchase seriously. The songwriting is simple in style (forward rhythm, tidy hooks, guitars) but smart in detail-- all stops and starts, bridges and breakdowns, firework flourishes and tasteful studio tweaks. Even more striking are the precision and sheer good taste of the performances: It's not so easy to show off within the confines of songs this focused, but these guys seem to manage just fine.

So you get all the usual scrubbed-up gifts: the slower song, the slower song that turns into a faster one, the one with the studio effects, the one with the handclaps. A lot of this material is surprisingly scripted, as if someone spent whole nights in the practice space trying to get a two-bar guitar transition to work Just So. Okerere has a voice that's weirdly similar to the singer from the long-forgotten Adorable, with whom Bloc Party share a hell of a lot more than an appreciation for the Bunnymen: It's a vaguely-strangled back-of-throat thing that lets him moan and shout with refreshing gusto when the band gets going. (Typically ambitious topics of moaning: other people, culture war, girls and society and stuff.) The voice weakens a bit when he needs to croon, but crooning isn't really the point here. Bloc Party can be pretty, even sappy, but they're never looking to be atmospheric; they can rock, but they're never looking to whip up dark drama. This album charges happily down the center-- it shakes its hips now and then, and it whispers here and there, but it always seems to come back to tight and bouncy.

People will love this record. And so, inevitably, the people who don't love it will start complaining. And when they complain, they'll point out that this is just a regular-old rock album, full of all the current stylish rock-album tricks. And they'll be absolutely right; at worst, Bloc Party are like one of those people who are so well-groomed that it's hard to remember exactly what they look like. But really, a complaint like that misses something: Being a good ol' unchallenging rock band is this outfit's whole point-- and their biggest strength”.

I am going to finish off with a review from NME. They awarded Silent Alarm 9 out of 10 when they sat down with it. For anyone – like I say in all album anniversary features – who has not heard Silent Alarm or knows much about Bloc Party, do go and seek out this incredible work:

Recorded with Paul Epworth far away from their birthing pool in London’s New Cross (they originally came to NME’s attention on Angular Records’ legendary unsigned band compilation ‘ The New Cross’) in “polite, civilised and pretty” Copenhagen last year, ‘Silent Alarm’is no‘Franz Ferdinand’. In fact, listen to it with the words ‘popular’ and ‘arty’ in mind and its spirit is closer to the Manic Street Preachers’ ‘The Holy Bible’.

The themes of sex, boredom and consumption should be familiar to students of that haunting album. Just check the railing against America on the Bush -baiting ‘Helicopter’ (sample lyric: “Just like his dad, just like his dad (same mistakes)/Some things will never be different”). Or the military march-meets- Berlin Love Parade stomp of‘Price Of Gas’, the price of course being not 91.4p a litre but the corpses of thousands of innocent Iraqis (“I can tell you how this ends/We’re gonna win this – WAR WAR WAR WAR WAR WAR WAR!”).

Beyond politics, Kele and Gordon’s lyrics also take in sex (“I still feel you and the taste of cigarettes” – ‘Blue Light’), boredom and consumption (“The fear and the yearning/The fear and the consumption” –‘Positive Tension’) and loneliness/depression/paranoia in 21st-century Britain (the first lyric on the LP is “It’s so cold in this house”, for fuck’s sake).

But where they manage – yet again – to sneak out of a pigeonhole is that street preaching, manically or otherwise, is not for them. They’ve shied away from the sloganeering as they’ve got further into the public spotlight. Their official website has featured quotes from Bertrand Russell, nods to JG Ballard, and articles titled “What They Want Pop Stars To Be” and “Intellectualising Fleetwood Mac”. The album takes its name from a New Scientist article about an earthquake detection system in Japan, but the relevance to the band is obvious. ‘Silent Alarm’is an early-warning system, a wake-up call for seismic events to come, but not one that’s wielding a megaphone on a street corner.

Bloc Party are pretty slippery customers. Give them a ‘new Franz’ or ‘new Manics’ tag and ‘Silent Alarm’ will wriggle free in seconds. It’s an LP as committed to pigeonholes as Pete Doherty is to turning up on time for gigs. Within seconds of the listener discerning that ‘Silent Alarm’ is a fine punk-funk album (hear ‘ Helicopter’, the mouth-dryingly intense‘Pioneers’, the breakneck rumble of‘She’s Hearing Voices’), Bloc Party will pull out the sombre, least punk or funky thing possible (their‘Street Spirit’, ‘So Here We Are’, or the echoey, unsettling‘Compliments’). As quickly as I could declare them the finest emo band Britain’s ever produced, they’ll weasel out of it. The proof is unquestionable (the LP’s emotion and post-hardcore riffs backbone, and that in researching this review we found not one but two pictures of Kele wearing a backpack) but the xylophone-tastic, ‘Bitter Sweet Symphony’-style epic ‘This Modern Love’ is so beyond emo it’s untrue. Which shows that Bloc Party are the Kriss Kross, Prince and Kate Bush -worshipping disposable pop kids that they have always claimed to be and not some maudlin post-punk muso types, as some have branded them.

With The Libertines on ice, London needs to get moving again and Bloc Party are the band for the job. Not only can they match the Libs for musical urgency and passion, but Bloc Party are managing to speak to people like Pete’n’Carl did too. They find “rock star behaviour completely abhorrent” (they’ll turn down that invite to Kate Moss’ next birthday party) and in that respect they’re the complete opposite of The Libertines. But in terms of the honesty and vulnerability shown here, and the fact that they’re unafraid to put themselves on the line, they are the true heirs to the Libs’ legacy.

They connect because their concerns are universal. Everyone knows someone like the woman suffering at the centre of ‘She’s Hearing Voices’ – “She’s hearing voices call her/She’s hearing voices warn her/She just can’t sleep in her bed/She just can’t sleep.” Not being able to sleep (a clinical sign of depression, or maybe it’s just plain old heartbreak) appears elsewhere on this record; “I can’t eat, I can’t sleep/I can’t sleep, I can’t dream”, Kele sings on‘Like Eating Glass’. In the same song, there’s the latchkey kids we were or we knew in “The children sent home from school/Will not stop crying”.

The xylophone-powered anthem ‘This Modern Love’ was made for being 15 years old, lying on your bed staring at the ceiling (“You told me you wanted to eat up my sadness/Well jump on, enjoy, you can gorge away”).

And there’s the wonderful ‘Pioneers’ which manages to combine the ridiculous hopelessness and optimism of, well, life itself. “If it can be broke then it can be fixed”, Kele gasps, like he’s defusing a bomb. “If it can be fused then it can be split” – he is defusing a bomb! And the chorus continues the theme with “We promised the world we’d tame it/What were we hoping for?”

Bloc Party aren’t just hoping, they’re trying. Maybe it’s over-long at 13 tracks but that’s just us being picky. ‘Silent Alarm’ is the unpigeonholeable soundtrack to 21st-century life as a cast-off. In a world of posers, fakers and bandwagon-jumpers, Bloc Party are unquestionably ‘4 real’. They never shy away from showing their truest feelings, even if those are of vulnerability or weakness. It’s this honesty which has spoken to people and will speak to a hell of a lot more when ‘Silent Alarm’ rings out beyond the desks of music journalists.

Bloc Party are to be believed in because they are a band for the whites, the blacks, the straights, the hip-hop kids, the freaks, the geeks, the emo kids, the punk-funkers, the queers and, yes, the fashionistas. Not because they are all these things (though they are a lot of them), nor because they’re all things to all men (in fact they’re the complete opposite). Back in 2002, Pete’n’Carl said it was‘Time For Heroes’. Well now it’s the anti-heroes’ time”.

On 2nd February, it will be twenty years since Bloc Party unleashed Silent Alarm. In terms of its legacy, Silent Alarm was shortlisted for the 2005 Mercury Music Prize. It lost out to Antony and the Johnsons' I Am a Bird Now. Silent Alarm was also nominated for the 2005 Shortlist Music Prize, but it was beaten by Sufjan Stevens' Illinois. It was also  named Album of the Year for 2005 by NME, where it finished ahead of Arcade Fire's Funeral. Two decades after it came out, the mighty Silent Alarm still sounds…

FRESH and alive.

FEATURE: It Could Sing You to Sleep: Why Kate Bush Valuing the Authenticity and Warmth of Physical Music Is Important in the Modern Age

FEATURE:

 

 

It Could Sing You to Sleep

IMAGE CREDIT: Mark Wallis

Why Kate Bush Valuing the Authenticity and Warmth of Physical Music Is Important in the Modern Age

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ALTHOUGH the image above…

IN THIS PHOTO: A Before the Dawn official press photo/PHOTO CREDIT: Gavin Bush

is not actual DVD artwork, it is a fan-made design of a hypothetical DVD for Kate Bush’s Before the Dawn residency. She did put cameras in the Eventim Apollo to film her performance. Some seats were moved on 16th and 17th September (2014) to film the show. There was this desire to release the residency in DVD form. However, Bush was not happy with the film and it will remain forever unreleased. Not a slight on the team who filmed it and the quality of their work. However, maybe the overall effect was quite washed-out and you did not get the same atmosphere and immediacy that one got from the residency. Bush might not have liked how she looked. Maybe like a spectator filming the show rather than it being this immersive and dazzling production, respect to Kate Bush for withholding the DVD! Releasing something she is not happy with would go against her ethos and values. What is interesting is that Bush considered it being filmed to start. The idea of keeping the experience secret and for those who paid to be there. However, for prosperity or as a record of what went down, that would make sense. It is amazing that, in the modern age, there exists a residency/live show with almost no visual record. A few people did film and take photos – against Bush’s advice and warning – but, for the most part, only those who saw Before the Dawn know what it was like. It is this wonderful bonding secret. Though, for those who never got to see her, we will forever wonder what it was like being there. It got me thinking beyond that residency and Bush’s values as an artist.

IN THIS PHOTO: A Before the Dawn official press photo of Albert McIntosh during Hello Earth/PHOTO CREDIT: Gavin Bush

It is clear, from the way she has reissued her albums and made sure the sound quality is as good as it can be, how she wants people to listen physically – and not just stream albums. She also reissued the albums again and designed these new vinyl editions. Bespoke and wonderful, this is an artist who goes out of her way to ensure that the listener has the best experience. From seeing the vinyl to putting the needle down, Bush is involved with each step. Briefly going back to Before the Dawn. I think she was pioneering in terms of wanting phones to be kept away. Asking people not to film the show or take photos, for the most part, people obliged. There were those few who disregarded the advice. This being Kate Bush’s tribe, most respected her wishes and were present in 2014. Did many artists prior to 2014 do that?! In years since, everyone from Jack White to Alicia Keys to Bob Dylan have asked audiences to comply. Putting their phones in pouches that they can collect after the gig. It is a divisive subject. Many feeling this is policy is not fair and they might need their phone in an emergency. This idea of it being strict. However, if an artist wants their audience to be involved in the show, then it is fair enough! I have written about it before and still wonder if Kate Bush was among the first to ask for a phone-free audience. What her request proved is how top of her priority list is for people to connect with her work. In physical terms, mastering the sound and being involved in that process. The physical aspect of an album. Hard as it is to fight against the streaming tide, Kate Bush is standing firm!

When it came to Before the Dawn, she wanted the sort of live experience she had when she was young. When she performed in 1979 for The Tour of Life. There were no phones (as they had not been invented) and everyone was focused on the stage. The more technology advances, the more it replaces human contact and interaction. Bush sees similar dangers in the digital world. Music becoming a commodity and something ephemeral. People skipping tracks or jumping through an album. How digital music can disappear or be manipulated. When it comes to her albums, she both wants as many people as possible to listen on physical formats. She also values the experience of listening to an album in full. When she writes and produces her albums, that is how she wants people to experience them: in an unbroken state. I am going to expand on this for another feature. However, it is timely to discuss Bush’s dedication to physical music and something traditional yet relevant today. How vinyl and formats like cassette and C.D. are rising and coming back. It is about preservation and legacy. Making sure that people pass her albums through the generations. That her music is presented in its finest form. That it has this warmth and tactile feel. That it has this rich quality. You can see this consideration and architecture across her whole career. The videos and photoshoots. Making sure everything is as striking, original and appealing as possible. If another album does appear in the future, you know Bush will make every effort to make the listening experience as wonderful as possible! Maybe she will expand the physical format options and release it on cassette.

I am going to wrap up in a second. I am sort of glad there is not a Before the Dawn DVD. It means all the hard work Bush and her team put into the set design, lighting, costumes and every detail of the performance was for those who were there. A theatrical experience. It would lose clarity, colour and depth if it was transferred to DVD. Even if it was HD and on Blu-ray. Same with her albums. I always prefer listening to them on physical formats. Streaming is okay, though Bush encourages people to buy albums and hear them as she intended. I do admire how she has these values. Some might say her reissuing albums is a cash-in. Something to exploit a new wave of fans coming on board. In fact, it is Bush knowing people are discovering her music fresh and she wants to make sure they buy her albums. So they can be kept and played for years. So the songs she recorded years ago are as affecting and real. Maybe one day she will upgrade her music videos to HD and they will come out on DVD. Before the Dawn never will. That is a good thing. In a music world where social media and the digital rules, anything Bush does going forward always will prioritise the physical. Making sure her music, videos or anything else is presented in her own vision. Always thinking about the fans, it is another reason she is so loved. If you are new to Kate Bush and maybe have streamed some of her music, I would urge you to invest in an album or two. Take that step and get that ultimate pleasure: hearing that beautiful music radiate with warmth and richness. Words Bush definitely has in mind when remastering and working on the sound. Against the dominance of streaming, physical formats are fighting and resonating with people who want to connect with music. To feel the music. That is the beginning of…

A new dawn.

FEATURE: This Woman’s Worth: The Far-Reaching Influence of Kate Bush…from Music to Hollywood

FEATURE:

 

 

This Woman’s Worth

IN THIS PHOTO: Kate Bush on 25th November, 1980 from the Delius (Song of Summer) performance on the Russel Harty Show in England/PHOTO CREDIT: John Carder Bush

 

The Far-Reaching Influence of Kate Bush…from Music to Hollywood

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I am going to start off…

IN THIS PHOTO: Kate Bush during 2014’s Before the Dawn residency/PHOTO CREDIT: Gavin Bush/Rex 

with a little slice of 1985’s Hounds of Love. Some testimony from those who worked with Kate Bush on this album. I am using this feature to return to 2014’s Before the Dawn and the famous faces who were at that opening night, in addition to the artists who also name-check Bush. A galaxy of stars who have each been moved and affected by Kate Bush. However, I was thinking about a passage from Graeme Thomson’s Under the Ivy: The Life and Music of Kate Bush. Youth (Martin Glover) played bass on the album. He noted how her music had this Druidic quality. How there was this mystical magic that ran through it. He said how the music they were making had this Bardic element. That it was part of an old English tradition. How it was not overt, “it was hidden”. Making this classic album with the use of cutting-edge technology. Thinking about how Bush was creating and how good her producing was. A song like Jig of Life. She wanted layers of percussion so handed it to Charlie Morgan an array of Irish instruments. (the lambeg, the bodhran etc.), and asked him to fill all twenty-four tracks with beating and booming. So unconventional and a curveball, there was this layer and world of drums! No other producer would think like that. The home studio she built was designed so there was no glass partition between the live room and the control room. A microphone was used for two-way communication. This was to make her feel less self-conscious. Bush admitted that she would have to psyche herself up and get a little drunk. Whether that was a euphemism or not, Youth observed how there was weed at the sessions. Bush using exotics to get into a mindset. It was this wonderful environment. Songs being added to or having things taken away. Bush knowing the right balance and always open to changing things up. It is no surprising that she has endured as an artist and producer. Someone who definitely made an impact on musicians who worked with her.

I am going to end with Before the Dawn and expand on an idea I posited before. However, think about the run-up to that residency. Bush barely uttered a word and did not do the usual media cycle. There were no huge social media campaigns. Instead, she asked whether people coming to see her could not film it and just be in the moment. The fact that she wanted people to experience the show without being distracted. I might expand on this for another feature. One of the first artists to try to ban phones at gigs. How influential that decision was. However, it is clear that the first night in August 2014 showed what love there was for Kate Bush. Fans travelling from around the world. Few other major artists have such a varied and eclectic roll-call of celebrity fans. Those who she in her own way has touched. David Gilmour, Grace Jones, Marc Almond and Björk in alternance. Rather than it being a fashionable thing, they all were fans of her music so wanted to see something spectacular and pay their respects. Elton John, Paul McCartney and Johnny Depp saw her. Anna Calvi and Gemma Arteton. Daniel Craig and Kylie Minogue queuing up to see her. Some nights on Before the Dawn Bush would hang around the V.I.P. area and chats. Other nights she would go home. Thinking about all of those names and when they first encountered Kate Bush. How they take aspects of her music and career and use it in their own work. That is really fascinating. Although we got some words from celebrities during the 2014 BBC documentary about Kate Bush, there has not been a wider visual or audio examination. Where people from music, Hollywood and beyond talk about Kate Bush, what she means to them and why she is so influential. Maybe Bush would not allow such a project, though it would define and unpick exactly why she is so beloved and important.

In 2025, we have a moment to look around and see why Kate Bush is so important. This woman’s worth. As she has done all the reissues and retrospection and there is this moment before she announces a new album (possibly), we can stand and consider Bush’s reach and influence. Bush, certainly after 2014, confirmed as a national treasure. Even if there is a generation who either do not know Kate Bush or only know her for Running Up That Hill (A Deal with God), it is clear that those of a certain age – those over thirty/thirty-five I would say – hold so much admiration for her. She has reached new people. It may not be only for the music. Bush’s bravery, independence and kindness. How she is formidably original and pioneering. There is that issue about the new wave of affection being tied to one time and place. 2022 and Stranger Things; Running Up That Hill (A Deal with God) and its chart success. I hope that the discourse around Kate Bush widens and there is more investigation of all of the albums. New eyes and fans might define her with one song because she is largely inactive and the catalogue is curated. People who have known her work for longer and were there in Hammersmith to see her in 2014 know the multiple sides of this icon. The earthquake and tidal wave of love that followed her 2022 success showed how many fields her music touches. Reserved only to a select elite of artists, Bush permeates the worlds of music, T.V., literature, theatre, radio, sport, fashion and, as Graeme Thomson writes, queer discourse. This will only expand and broaden as she enters this new phase of her career. Now sixty-six, Bush might now be preparing a new album. One of the most humbling aspects of Before the Dawn was seeing her extended musical family all together. Alongside Kylie Minogue was Alison Goldfrapp, Sophie Ellis-Bextor, Florence Welch, Alison Moyet, Ellie Goulding and Bat for Lashes. Making me wonder whether, one day, we will get a tribute album where some of these artists and more tackle a Kate Bush song each (or there are tantalising duets and collaborations!).

The Running Up That Hill documentary found artists like St. Vincent and Tori Amos singing the praises of an artist who left her mark. Artists including Solange Knowles and The Last Dinner Party have covered her music in recent years. It is not a case of artists in their forties, fifties and sixties flocking to see Kate Bush. There is this new breed of younger artists who are also genuinely respectful of Kate Bush and appreciate her genius. Billie Eilish no doubt has been affected by Kate Bush and responds to something primal. You can hear Bush’s influence in Eilish’s work. The same with Olivia Rodrigo. Lana Del Rey, Fiona Apple, ANOHNI, Lorde, Joanna Newsom, and Janelle Monáe. I don’t think it solely because of viral moments or T.V. show exposure that accounts for a younger generation of artists joining an army of Kate Bush fans. What could account for this dedicated love from such a wide and unconnected group of artists? People beyond music too? Maybe it is how Kate Bush rarely did what was expected. Not guided and moulded by a record label, it is her independence and tenacity that no doubt motivated and inspired legions of well-known fans. For the like of me and you too. Her career has, by and large, been controlled by her. Now, at a time when there is overexposure and so much required of artists to promote their work, Bush remains relatively grounded and quiet. She has the sort of life and career that so many people. The reception she got for the Before the Dawn shows proves that she is one of the finest live performers ever. Such imaginative stage design and a superb production, the mix of music, the visual and cinematic can explain why she drew fans from music, film and the stage alike. It is going to be compelling looking ahead a few years and the new wave of artists and those in the arts naming Kate Bush as an influence. It all adds value and stock to this incredible artist.

One of my great regrets is that I did not get to see Kate Bush during Before the Dawn. There has been no definitive decision as to whether she will perform live again or not. If she did come back to the stage perhaps for the final time, what would a show consist of? Parts of a new album combined with elements of earlier albums like Never for Ever, The Dreaming or even The Sensual World? I doubt Kate Bush will want to repeat herself in terms of songs performed. There would have to be a whole new concept and world created. Would she go back to the Eventim Apollo, or would it be another London venue? You can never rule out another residency from Kate Bush, though I would imagine she would do a small run of dates and not twenty-two. As much as anything, we would see another opening night as anticipated as the one in August 2014. With it, another wave of big names who have been influenced by Kate Bush. Whereas Before the Dawn has audience members including Big Boi and Lauren Laverne, a whole new generation of artists, writers and creatives would flock to London to see Kate Bush. It would be amazing! Rather than it being idol stargazing, it would show those who admire her work. How diverse her influence remains. The post-Stranger Things effect. I might write another feature calling for a Kate Bush tribute album as I am surprised it hasn’t happened. In case she has vetoed and blocked the possibility. If we might not see another documentary made about her, we are going to hear from those across a wide spectrum of disciplines wax lyrical about Kate Bush. All adding to the value and legacy of…

A music great.

FEATURE: Kate Bush: The Tour of Life: Pin-Ups

FEATURE:

 

 

Kate Bush: The Tour of Life

PHOTO CREDIT: John Carder Bush

 

Pin-Ups

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I have written…

IN THIS PHOTO: David Bowie in 1973/PHOTO CREDIT: Mick Rock

about some of the artists Kate Bush has been inspired by. In terms of artists who songs she has covered. Those that she had a close association. How she idolised the likes of Elton John and David Bowie. I am going back to David Bowie in a bit. The title of this feature actually is the title of a David Bowie album from 1973. It was Bowie covering songs by artists he admired. It was not that well received. However, it was one of his earlier albums and an interesting project. That year, 1973, seems relevant when talking about Kate Bush. A year when she say the final gig of David Bowie’s final Ziggy Stardust gig. She was also discovering music from popular culture, her brother and family. Actually, let’s go back a year to 1972. A year where there were quite a few uplifting piano ballads in the charts – Simon and Garfunkel and John Lennon among the contributors -, this would have inspired the thirteen/fourteen-year-old Bush. Someone who was writing her own songs and developing aspirations of her own, I want to muse and consider the posters she might have had on her wall. Perhaps vinyl records of various artists. What she was taking from the music she loved. How this affected her and made her a stronger songwriter. It is clear that 1972 and 1973 were formative years. Compared to the end of the decade when there seemed to be a downer mood and a lot of political anger in music, the beginning of the 1970s did seem slightly more optimistic. Bush was still at school but she had already written quite a few songs and demoed many of them in 1973. By 1972, it is safe to say that her tastes extended beyond her brothers’ collections. What they were introducing their little sister to.

Let think about some ‘pin ups’. I would say David Bowie was on her wall. Maybe Bush had a copy of Aladdin Sane. Not much is written about the records she bought. Living in Welling, Kent, it would have been a bus ride to get to her local record store. Someone turning her lyrics into demos (rough but still beautiful), Bush was carefully curating a trove of musical influences. Not many female artists in the mix. Even though she no doubt would have been affected by Carole King’s Tapestry in 1971 and Joni Mitchell’s Blue the same year, she might also have latched onto Mitchell’s For the Roses of 1972. Even if she would say in interviews from 1978 that she was not really inspired by fellow female artists, you can hear shades of them in those early songs from Bush. Maybe not such a fan of Carole King, I do think there is a connection between Tapestry and some songs on The Kick Inside. If Bush’s style was less confessional and her piano playing more inventive, songs such as I Feel the Earth Move and Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow? are not a million miles away from what Bush was singing. The KT Bush Band’s brief reign revealed a few influences from Bush in terms of songs she covered. Artists like Steely Dan and The Beatles represented. As I have written about previously, she would have had Steely Dan in her mind by 1977. Maybe not in her world in 1973 (the year they released Countdown to Ecstasy). In 1972, The Beatles had only been apart for two years, so I am not sure whether Bush would have had any Beatles’ music or posters in her collection. If Bush was not as drawn to female songwriters of the early-1970s as she was bands, that is not to say their music made no impression. It was an exciting and variegated time for music.

Heavy Metal and Glam sitting alongside one another. Together with a love of Elton John, Bush would also have found a lot to love about bands like Deep Purple and Slade. The differences between them but also a similarity. How individual they were. Glam particularly would have appealed to a side of Kate Bush. The theatricality and fashion. The campiness and beauty. A mystique and strangeness that was not conformative and boring. T.Rex and David Bowie’s music surely important, though the aesthetics and looks that Marc Bolan and David Bowie projected would have struck her heart in addition to her creative mind. Again, in terms of wall posters and records, was there space for T.Rex? I can feel their presence in some of her earlier work. I think Bush was not a fan of the Americanisation of music. British artists adopting U.S. affectations and accents. Bowie’s intonations and delivery. Roxy Music were particularly influential. Bush finding a bond with Bryan Ferry. Resonating deep inside, I guess she would have picked up a copy of For Your Pleasure (1973). Songs such as Do the Strand wowing her. 1974’s Country Life would have stirred something inside her too. It was not only the sounds of the 1970s that were connecting with Kate Bush. Artists from her parents’ generation like Billie Holiday and Elvis Presley were in her record collection. I would love to have been a fly on the wall at East Wickham Farm in Kate Bush’s bedroom and rifle through the records! I guess it would have been an assortment of singles and albums. Maybe making a trip to town to stock up. However, her brothers would have bought quite a bit of music and shared if with their sister.

As Rob Jovanovic writes in his book, Kate Bush: The Biography, Bush would have had a bedroom to herself. In an affluent middle-class household, there would not have been the room sharing and crammed conditions many families faced. Next to her room was a den. In it were comfortable sofas, cushions and a prized record player. Like a nook where she could escape and have a proper environment to experience this eye-opening and mind-expanding music. I know there would have been some room for posters. Maybe vinyl propped up. Bush struck by the artwork on the covers. She would have invited friends over for sleepovers and borrowed more and more from her brothers. Putting the needle down on all kind of different albums and having her mind nourished and motivated. All of these experiences formative when we consider Kate Bush as an artist and how that would shape her sound and musical personality. Bush said in an interview how Billie Holiday was an influence. How she loved her voice and it stirred something inside her. So haunted, powerful and beautiful, you can feel that when you listen to some early Kate Bush tracks. Maybe The Man with the Child in His Eyes can be traced back to Holiday. Perhaps too Symphony in Blue from Lionheart? People might have their own thoughts on that. Bush was also seeking out progressive artists like David Bowie and Steely Dan. Bush identified more with male artists. Perhaps the singer-songwriter genre was not as interesting to her. Attracted more to bands like Thin Lizzy and Boomtown Rats. As I have said before, Bush worked mainly with male musicians and personnel. It was the way things were. However, it is clear she has had an impact on so many female artists. Bush definitely had David Bowie on her wall, but from which era? I would say Ziggy Stardust and that era (1972-1973).

I will expand on this more when writing about why Elton John was especially important in terms of the piano and how Bush was attracted to that. She did say how she had a crush on John. Maybe another poster that was on her wall. She has name-checked Madman Across the Water as a favourite album. Someone whose piano playing was at the forefront, it was different to all the guitar bands that were fashionable through the 1970s. Bush wrote to Elton John quoting Bernie Taupin and hand-delivered it to the BBC hoping he would get it – though he probably never did. The two did collaborate together in 2011 and are friends. I am not sure whether Bush’s demos she was producing around 1973 were directly inspired by the artists on her walls. Not lyrically at least. Many of her very earliest songs were quite heavy and dark. It is clear that her musical heroes and loves were definitely playing their part. Adorning her walls and her record player, I have always felt it was a missed opportunity Bush did not for her own Pin Ups album and cover songs by artists like Roxy Music and Elton John. Those she did cover an Elton John song, Rocket Man, in 1991, hearing her approach another of his song would be fascinating. It is interesting that perhaps her two biggest music idols did not get on. Elton John and David Bowie somewhat at odds. Bowie feeling that Elton John’s Rocket Man was a low-grade and pale version of Starman or Space Oddity. Bowie acknowledged that other people could write about space, but he must have felt John was taking from him. Even so, Bush had room for both artists. Radio Luxembourg was important. If pirate radio had been all but killed by commercial stations like BBC Radio 1 by 1967, Radio Luxembourg was different. When she was in the bath, a then-thirteen-year-old Kate Bush heard Starman for the first time. That was in 1972. Those years of 1972 and 1973 so crucial when we consider the sounds and artists that influenced Bush.

When writing a foreword for a David Bowie MOJO special, Bush recalled her fascination. This insect-thin man who dressed so differently. Theatrical and bizarre, was that a dress he was wearing? If artists of the early-1970s were not noted for their fashion sense, you can feel Bush being lured by artists whose style was as standout as their music. Bryan Ferry. Elton John. David Bowie. Bush, in that MOJO foreword, said how Bowie’s poster/picture was on her wall alongside a sacred space reserved for Elton John. Two rivals who found harmony at East Wickham Farm. Such a shame that she never collaborated with Bowie. This is something I recently wrote about and mourned. I am not sure how much of this bedroom obsession reflected in live music and gig-going. She definitely saw Bowie’s final performance as Ziggy Stardust, but what of other artists?! Maybe given the fact she was so young meant she was not going to as many gigs as someone older. Having to think of school and be responsible. However, what is clear is that music she discovered and also borrowed from her brothers made its way into her head, heart, wall and onto the record player. From Billie Holiday to Roxy Music, in their own special way, these were pin ups for her. I do think about Kate Bush’s family home and how music affected her. The posters on her walls and the records she cherished. How it would be this source of passion but also sanctuary. Life-changing and enormously vital to her songwriter, it has been interesting exploring these…

IMPORTANT pin ups.

FEATURE: Aftermath: Tricky’s Maxinquaye at Thirty

FEATURE:

 

 

Aftermath

 

Tricky’s Maxinquaye at Thirty

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ON 20th February…

one of the most important and acclaimed albums of the 1990s turns thirty. Tricky’s debut studio album, Maxinquaye, turns thirty. Angered and stifled by the lack of exposure and opportunity he found working with Massive Attack, he soon met Martina Topley-Bird. They hit it off quickly and had a common goal. She was signed with 4th & B'way. Tricky recorded Maxinquaye the following year, with Topley-Bird acting as the album’s primary vocalist. There are guest spots from artists such as Alison Goldfrapp. Reaching three in the U.K., Tricky’s debut album was a massive success. In years since it is seen as one of the most groundbreaking Trip-Hop albums ever. Even if Tricky does not like that term, alongside Massive Attack’s Blue Lines, Maxinquaye is seen as one of the pivotal and defining albums of the year. Ahead of its thirtieth anniversary, I will bring in some feature and reviews. Before getting to reviews of the original, it is worth noting the fact Maxinquaye has been reissued, where some of the tracks were reworked by Tricky. Speaking with NME, Tricky revealed why he wanted to reapproach the album:

The Bristol-born artist (real name Adrian Thaws) is known for co-founding Massive Attack, who spear-headed the ‘trip-hop’ scene along with Portishead and Tricky himself. He released his debut solo album ‘Maxinquaye’ in 1995, which featured Tricky on production and singing with his then-partner, Martina Topley Bird. NME declared ‘Maxinquaye’ as Album of the Year over Oasis’ ‘What’s The Story (Morning Glory)’ and Radiohead’s ‘The Bends’. It was also nominated for the Mercury Prize, but lost out to Portishead’s ‘Dummy.

Reflecting on the legacy of ‘Maxinquaye’, Tricky said: “I do appreciate it, but I can also see the damage done to my mind as well.”

The musician reportedly struggled with the fame that came with ‘Maxinquaye’; with Thaws moving to New York to protect his anonymity. After living in LA, Paris, and Berlin, he is now residing in Toulouse.

The reissue, which Tricky called a “reincarnation”, features five tracks rewritten entirely by Tricky (‘Aftermath’, ‘Strugglin’, ‘Pumpkin’, ‘Hell Is Round The Corner’ and ‘Ponderosa’). ‘Maxinquaye (Reincarnated)’ also features eight previously unreleased remixes, including one by Leftfield.

Tricky said he wanted to rewrite the songs, as he believed the original sounded “dated”, and was inspired to update the album with his musical evolution and current feelings on certain tracks.

“I wanted to take them somewhere else,” he explained. “I’ve had so much love over the years that I have to put some effort into it, the people deserve that. I’m very grateful for the support I’ve had all these years.”

The album is named after Tricky’s mother, Maxine Quaye. She suffered from epilepsy and was placed in a psych ward when Tricky was just 12 months old; her grandmother took Tricky into her care.

Shortly after Tricky decided to call the reissue a reincarnation, he reportedly received a call from a cousin in Tipperary, saying he knew of a box containing the only known photograph of him and his mother together. That box was found with their great-grandmother, who lived with family in Colorado. That photo is now the cover of ‘Maxinquaye (Reincarnated)’. “The timing was just ridiculous,” said Thaws. “It was meant to be.”

The box also contained a letter written by Quaye in the psych ward, which Tricky had never seen before.

“It’s very depressing,” he said. “My mum was saying: ‘Thank you for looking after Adrian, Gran. I know it must be difficult for you because he’s young’. I’ve never heard what my mum was going through, so that really fucked me up.”

Maxine Quaye killed herself when Tricky was just four. His album is a significant reflection on the impact of her loss.

He also spoke about the recent death of his daughter, Mazy of 404, which the reissue addresses. Tricky and Topley-Bird had Mazy (also Mina), who was born a month after the release of ‘Maxinquaye’. In 2019, she took her own life in a psychiatric hospital.

“Since Mazy died, my mind is fucked and I’ve had to stop smoking weed for a bit, I started getting paranoid,” he said. “I was speaking to Martina; she said, ‘When ‘Maxinquaye’ came out, that’s when you started getting paranoid’.”

The updated lyrics on ‘Aftermath’ reference the months after Mazy died: “I see it through the town/There was a friend of mine/Feel it all the time/I might lose my mind.”

Tricky also recently lost his childhood hero, Terry Hall of The Specials (they previously collaborated on 1996 album ‘Nearly God’). “Terry dying, I felt like I had a part of my youth torn away from me,” said Tricky. A month before his death, Hall had emailed Tricky a picture of the pair from 1995, New Year’s Day.

The Specials, he recalled, were “the first band I heard who were like me.”

“They gave me hope,” he continued. “If these guys can do it, I can. The Specials were talking about council flats, going out on a Saturday night, doing the same stuff me and my mates were doing, singing about society. Without The Specials, I wouldn’t be doing music.”

Tricky, who does not normally attend funerals (“I’m not brave enough to deal with them”), attended Hall’s last year: “I felt I had to go, I don’t know what it was.”

“I cried at a baby at his funeral,” he confessed. “I was alright until they showed all his pictures from life, and then I was just blubbering. I can’t listen to The Specials anymore. But it’s the same thing with Mazy, I still can’t look at her picture. When I’m going through my phone and Mazy comes up, I’m like… whoa. I can’t deal with it. Hopefully that’ll change.”

During the recording of ‘Maxinquaye’, Tricky suffered a severe asthma attack, and Hall drove him to the hospital: “He shit himself. His face turned grey, he thought I was gonna die. Luckily, we got to the hospital.”

The artist also opened up about the legacy of trip-hop, which he labelled “fucking stupid” and “lame”.

“It became really hipster and corny, all this trip-hop stuff,” said Tricky, who has historically rejected the term. While noting the recent 90s revivalism in music, he did not believe trip-hop could make a similar resurgence as genres of the time like jungle. “I don’t think it can have a resurgence because there weren’t enough artists claiming it,” he said. “But there’s a resurgence in different ways – Billie Eilish, some of her stuff sounds like me. So that’s a resurgence, because she’s had huge, huge success”.

‘Maxinquaye’ and its biggest hit, ‘Hell Is Around The Corner’, is known for sharing the same sample with Portishead’s ‘Glory Box’ – Isaac Hayes’ ‘Ike’s Rap II’. Looking back on it today, Tricky told NME that this was purely coincidence.

“We’re in the car with two women, one is driving me back to my apartment,” he said. “I’m playing [‘Hell Is Around The Corner’] and she told me, ‘Geoff [Barrow] sampled that!’ Which is crazy: it’s the same sample, same speed, but they’re two different songs, so it didn’t bother me.”

Tricky’s former engineer Mark Saunders (who worked on ‘Maxinquaye’) alleged that Tricky and Barrow had a fight about the alleged sample at the 1995 Mercury Awards. However, Tricky has denied the fight ever happened. “Geoff’s a lovely guy! He’s a real positive guy, even though he’s been thinking the world’s gonna end for the last 20 years,” he joked.

“He ain’t the sort of guy to say, ‘Fuck you, you used the same sample.’ There’s no up and down with Geoff, he’s the same guy as years ago; he’s humble.”

Tricky also claimed that Saunders, who published a blog in 2021 detailing the process of ‘Maxinquaye’, did not accurately portray how the album was made.

“On my baby’s grave, that guy exaggerates what happened,” he said. “He said once that he would play stuff when I was outside the studio, like the guitar, and I would come back and not notice it. Come on, that’s ridiculous.”

Tricky added that Saunders was a “good dude, but a strange guy”.

Prior to coming to a couple of reviews, I want to highlight two anniversary features. Both published to mark Maxinquaye’s twenty-fifth anniversary. These 2020 features are illuminating. I want to start by quoting from Albumism and their recollections and writing about a classic. Even if Tricky has reapproached it, one cannot deny the power and influence of the 1995 release:

In the mid 1980s, aspiring emcee Adrian “Tricky” Thaws joined the now-legendary Bristol sound system collective The Wild Bunch, who would later morph into Massive Attack. Tricky’s association with the group would serve as his career launching pad, as they featured his signature raspy vocals and haunting lyrics on the title track of their landmark 1991 debut album Blue Lines, as well as two songs—“Karmacoma” and “Eurochild”—from their acclaimed 1994 follow-up LP Protection. No longer content with his relegated role as a secondary contributor residing on the periphery of his peers’ spotlight, Tricky ultimately abandoned his collaborative work with Massive Attack to devote his creative restlessness and passions toward crafting his debut solo album.

Titled as an homage to Tricky’s late mother Maxine Quaye, Tricky’s inaugural long player Maxinquaye more than delivered upon the promise that had been manifest in his previous supporting roles, and heralded the proper arrival of a wickedly talented voice and musical visionary. A gritty, intoxicating, and inventive head-rush of an album, the Mercury Prize-nominated Maxinquaye confirmed that Tricky’s musical imagination was more vivid than the vast majority of artists working at the time.

While the album is primarily indebted to hip-hop, it succeeds in merging multiple styles including ambient, dub, reggae, and rock, making it damn near impossible to pigeonhole, and thankfully so. The twelve songs are dominated by atmospheric, chilled-out fare that sounds like the most beautifully dark and twisted lullabies you’ll ever dream of hearing. And a few propulsive, beat-driven compositions are incorporated throughout to ensure a more balanced, monotony-free listening experience, overall.

What ultimately makes Maxinquaye so unforgettable is that it is an album of marked contrasts that play off of each other to extraordinary effect. The most striking example of this is the intriguing juxtaposition of featured vocalist Martina Topley-Bird’s freshly alluring voice with Tricky’s substantially less polished, unabashedly raw wordplay. In theory, the combination of such antithetical vocal styles shouldn’t engender such an enchanting sound. But it most certainly does here.

Presumably well aware of the vocal gold he had to work with in recording the album, Tricky actually defers much of the spotlight to Topley-Bird, whose not-so-secret weapon of a voice features on the majority of the songs and very nearly steals the show, single-handedly. And though she contributes to just one song (“Pumpkin,”), Alison Goldfrapp also thoroughly dominates the proceeding with her vocal charms, which would figure prominently in helping to secure worldwide plaudits for her five-and-a-half years later with the release of Goldfrapp’s debut LP Felt Mountain (2000).

In addition to its seemingly incongruous vocal pairings, Maxinquaye’s duality is further manifested in its sonic inspirations. It sounds very much like a futuristic record, and remarkably so, considering that it borrows so heavily from the classic soul and hip-hop that predates it. Samples abound throughout the album, most notably on “Brand New You’re Retro” (Michael Jackson’s “Bad”), “Aftermath” (Marvin Gaye’s “That’s the Way Love Is”), “Feed Me” (KRS-One’s “Sound of Da Police”), and “Hell is Around the Corner” (Isaac Hayes’ “Ike’s Rap II,” which was also lifted by Portishead on their “Glory Box” single released just weeks prior to Maxinquaye’s arrival).

The key to making this dichotomy between old and new work so effectively is Tricky’s commitment to constructing these songs as distinctively original compositions, as opposed to the lazily recycled rehashes of already-proven songs that producers of lesser ambition often lean on. “Black Steel,” a cover of Public Enemy’s classic prison-break anthem “Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos,” is the prime example of Tricky’s originality. Aside from staying true to Chuck D’s lyrics (sung by Topley-Bird here), the song’s mix of propulsive drums and guitars sounds nothing like PE’s version, further affirming the album’s pure ingenuity.

Tricky has recorded a dozen albums since Maxinquaye, and with each subsequent recording, he has gradually abandoned the more subdued approach of his debut, in favor of more rugged, harder-hitting sounds. So Maxinquaye represents a bit of an anomaly—and a brilliant one—when considering his catalog as a whole. It’s a fantastic record that requires repeated, focused listens (headphones highly recommended) to fully understand and appreciate its genius”.

I hope there is new light shone on Maxinquaye on 20th February when it turns thirty. It is a phenomenal album that influenced so many other artists. The Quietus published a feature in 2020. David Bennun interviewed Tricky through the years and wrote about how his experiences with the album have changed since it was released:

Maxinquaye is around an hour long and the first three-quarters of that is left-field bubblegum gold. It opens with a cover version, of sorts: ‘Overcome’, in which Tricky remakes his own Massive Attack number, ‘Karmacoma’, as a thick, unquiet fever dream – and an almost cubist vision of a moment in time that encompasses within the same frame a couple walking through quiet suburbs as the Gulf War rages three thousand miles away. It’s one of two numbers not first heard on Maxinquaye, the other being ‘Black Steel’, the ingenious rock version of Public Enemy’s ‘Black Steel In The Hour Of Chaos’. I’ve met a fair few people who know the song only from here, and for whom the original, when they seek it out, is as startling as the Maxinquaye take was then. Between them comes ‘Ponderosa’, dragging its clanking chains like Marley’s ghost. (Jacob, not Bob. There was an awful lot of Bobness bobbing about just then, but Tricky had stranger fish to fry; retrieved via submersible from the depths where weird things swim.)

I notice only now how much ‘Ponderosa’ echoes Tom Waits. Returning to Maxinquaye with ears tempered by time, and with the shock of its newness having long since receded, its sources are easier to spot. Which makes it no less remarkable. Twenty-five years ago, it was possible to believe you’d never heard anything like it before; when of course, what you’d never heard before was this particular adaptation. Which is the beauty and joy of the new – not that it’s without precedent, but that it feels that way.

‘Hell Is Round The Corner’, for instance, didn’t just revolve upon an Isaac Hayes loop, but upon the same loop (from ‘Ike’s Rap II’) Portishead had already used on the exquisite ‘Glory Box’. It’s a measure of each act’s invention that each track seemed fresh and entire of itself. Everybody concerned may have tried to distance themselves from the notion of a Bristol scene – "I was supposed to have invented trip hop, and I will fucking deny having anything to do with it," said Tricky, with understandable venom – but there was certainly a Bristol sound, and we know now it constituted British indie-pop’s last grand sub-cultural flourish before Britpop’s dead hand fell upon it.

"If I was in a band," one usually electronics-averse colleague said of Maxinquaye, "and I heard this, I’d probably think, why am I even bothering?" ‘Pumpkin’ was likely the point at which all those soon-to-be trip-hoppers, who must have thus far listened with a combination of awe and despair, thought to themselves, "Hang on, we could have a go at this." Five tracks in, it’s the first thing on there that sounds straightforward enough to be attainable. A steady beat, a climbing tune, a torchy vocal… and Tricky growling allusive filth beneath it, but that’s the bit they usually decided they could do without. Inevitably, if you had to choose between it and the entire catalogue of things that resemble it, you wouldn’t need to blink, let alone think about it.

It probably didn’t happen that way, though, because the soon-to-be trip-hoppers had a head start with ‘Aftermath’, which thirteen months previously had been Tricky’s first release, causing a multitude of ears to prick up and jaws to drop. That shuffling beat, that slumberous, claustrophobic atmosphere, Martina’s voice flitting through it, deadpan and spectral. Only a year after Jacques Derrida proposed the idea of hauntology, Tricky and Martina created an exemplary musical manifestation of it. As debut singles go, it’s up there with the greatest of them – ‘Virginia Plain’, ‘Anarchy In The U.K.’, name your own favourite – as both a statement of intent and a gobsmacking thing. Something that one moment wasn’t there and the next moment was, and made life feel different because of it. "Just when I thought I could not be stopped," murmurs Tricky at the end of the longer album version, revealing another apt and, in hindsight, unsurprising source – ‘Ghosts’, by Japan.

‘Abbaon Fat Tracks is pure sleaze’; the sly, whirring ‘Brand New You’re Retro’, a semi-parodic and wholly brilliant rap throwdown. ‘Suffocated Love’, which lives up to its title, is yet another blueprint much consulted and never bettered. Because, how could it be? The only way you’d have the imagination to improve on it was to be the person who thought of it, and that person never tried. Then there’s ‘You Don’t’, which stands alongside ‘The Rhythm Divine’ and ‘History Repeating’ as a magnificent, melodramatic Shirley Bassey electro track, despite Shirley Bassey not appearing on it; Icelandic singer Ragga fills in neatly.

Again, I’m struck by how songs which then seemed to spill their contents over their brims now seem so spare and tidy. I’d say there’s not an ounce of fat on Maxinquaye, and it would be true but for the final two tracks, ‘Strugglin” and ‘Feed Me’, which aren’t bad by any measure. They’re the most avant-garde and overtly "difficult" things on the album, and in being so they emphasise just what corking pop tunes are the ten tracks which precede them.

Maxinquaye was an album of its time largely because it made its time what it was. For better or for worse. Out of its time, it belongs to a category beyond that of mere genre. It’s one of those albums whose radicalism is matched by its brilliant immediacy, an inescapable barrage of pleasure bombs whose revolutionary impact is succeeded by an undimmed afterlife. Revolver, Highway 61 Revisited, Supa Dupa Fly, Technique, Maxinquaye. Argue the toss about their relative greatness if you care to; still, you understand the type. You don’t get a lot of those lately, not because nobody is capable of producing them, but because our pop culture is seldom cohesive enough to recognise them. Sic transit gloria Tricky, and all his kind”.

Before wrapping up, there are a couple of reviews I want to bring in. AllMusic had their say about a classic album. One that is not only seen as one of the best albums of 1995 but one of the greatest of all time. An album we will be speaking about for decades:

Tricky's debut, Maxinquaye, is an album of stunning sustained vision and imagination, a record that sounds like it has no precedent as it boldly predicts a new future. Of course, neither sentiment is true. Much of the music on Maxinquaye has its roots in the trip-hop pioneered by Massive Attack, which once featured Tricky, and after the success of this record, trip-hop became fashionable, turning into safe, comfortable music to be played at upscale dinner parties thrown by hip twenty and thirtysomethings. Both of these sentiments are true, yet Maxinquaye still manages to retain its power; years later, it can still sound haunting, disturbing, and surprising after countless spins. It's an album that exists outside of time and outside of trends, a record whose clanking rhythms, tape haze, murmured vocals, shards of noise, reversed gender roles, alt-rock asides, and soul samplings create a ghostly netherworld fused with seductive menace and paranoia. It also shimmers with mystery, coming not just from Tricky -- whose voice isn't even heard until the second song on the record -- but with vocalist, Martina Topley-Bird, whose smoky singing lures listeners into the unrelenting darkness of the record. Once they're there, Maxinquaye offers untold treasures. There is the sheer pleasure of coasting by on the sound of the record, how it makes greater use of noise and experimental music than anything since the Bomb Squad and Public Enemy. Then, there's the tip of the hat to PE with a surreal cover of "Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos," sung by Topley-Bird and never sounding like a postmodernist in-joke. Other references and samples register subconsciously -- while Isaac Hayes' "Ike's Rap II" flows through "Hell Is Around the Corner" and the Smashing Pumpkins are even referenced in the title of "Pumpkin," Shakespear's Sister and the Chantels slip by, while Michael Jackson's "Bad" thrillingly bleeds into "Expressway to Your Heart" on "Brand New You're Retro." Lyrics flow in and out of consciousness, with lingering, whispered promises suddenly undercut by veiled threats and bursts of violence. Then, there's how music that initially may seem like mood pieces slowly reveal their ingenious structure and arrangement and register as full-blown songs, or how the alternately languid and chaotic rhythms finally compliment each other, turning this into a bracing sonic adventure that gains richness and resonance with each listen. After all, there's so much going on here -- within the production, the songs, the words -- it remains fascinating even after all of its many paths have been explored (which certainly can't be said of the trip-hop that followed, including records by Tricky). And that air of mystery that can be impenetrable upon the first listen certainly is something that keeps Maxinquaye tantalizing after it's become familiar, particularly because, like all good mysteries, there's no getting to the bottom of it, no matter how hard you try”.

Let’s finish up with a review from Pitchfork. They made some interesting observations about Tricky’s amazing and seismic debut. I think I first heard the album in the 2000s but it has stayed with me ever since. It is one of the most affecting albums I have ever heard:

Topley-Bird also brought the lion’s share of vocal melody to Maxinquaye, spinning off improvised tunes like velveteen rabbits from a hat. Rather than suggesting that Topley-Bird listen to his tracks in advance and reflect on what she would sing, Tricky would apparently hand his teenage foil a set of lyrics and send her off to the kitchen to improvise a take. It was, Topley-Bird said, “totally instinctive.” “There was no time to drum up an alter ego,” she told The Guardian. Yet the melodies she came up with are otherworldly and sublime, from the hairs-on-the-back-of-the-neck revolt of “Strugglin’” to the disinterested disgust she lays on “Abbaon Fat Tracks.”

These various themes—happy accidents and wide tastes, casual melodic power and genre ambivalence—collided on “Black Steel,” a strutting, guitared-up half-cover of Public Enemy’s “Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos” that dented the UK charts. The track started with a scratchily recorded drum loop from “Rukkumani Rukkumani,” taken from Indian film composer A. R. Rahman’s Roja soundtrack, which Tricky had received from the mother of his former girlfriend and to which someone—possibly Saunders—added a backward guitar riff. When it came time for Topley-Bird to record her vocals, Tricky couldn’t be bothered to write them out in full, so Topley-Bird ended up using just the song’s first verse, to which she improvised one of her most powerful melodies, twisting and swooping like a bird escaping from its cage. Techno-rock act FTV, who Tricky had met at a gig, added snarling guitar and Sex Pistols-style drums to create a supremely unlikely—and yet entirely fitting—Bollywood/rock/techno/hip-hop take on the Public Enemy classic.

Maxinquaye was an immediate sensation in the UK, selling 100,000 copies in its first months of release. It even made an impact in the U.S.—something almost unknown for a hip-hop-leaning act from the UK at the time—and Tricky teamed up with Gravediggaz for The Hell EP, cementing a stylistic union with RZA. For an album so rooted in Bristol, Maxinquaye’s reach remains surprisingly universal: Tricky might have claimed that Beyoncé had never heard of him when she invited him to guest at her 2011 Glastonbury headline slot, but without the critical and commercial success of his debut, that bizarre cameo surely would never have happened. Such public recognition came at a price. Alongside the output of Portishead and Massive Attack, Maxinquaye would come to be seen as a leading work of the trip-hop movement, a stylistic tag that Tricky hated. “I don’t really know what trip-hop is, I think it’s bollocks to be honest,” Tricky told Dummy in 2013. “People call Morcheeba trip-hop don’t they? Well I’ve never listened to them.”

You can understand his distrust of the label. Tricky’s music is far darker and more abstruse than the soft-soap hip-hop beats of Morcheeba or Sneaker Pimps; it is far more claustrophobic than Massive Attack’s celebrated trio of ’90s albums; and there is little to no connection between the scorched velvet of Tricky and Topley-Bird’s vocal pairing and the operatic intensity of Portishead’s Beth Gibbons. Tricky had poured his whole life into Maxinquaye and had no desire to see his music watered down by weakling imitators armed with a sampler and a couple of library-music albums.

Even if his debut were trip-hop, Tricky would spend the next few years recording an increasingly bleak collection of records intended to “kill all that Maxinquaye bullshit,” resulting in the noxious paranoia of Nearly God and the vibe-suffocating desolation of Pre-Millenium Tension. With the ratcheting nerves of Tricky’s subsequent albums—2020’s Fall to Pieces was his 14th—Tricky’s star has faded somewhat, and he has bounced label to label and collaborator to collaborator. For almost 30 years, listeners have been waiting for Tricky to return to the monumentally anomalous charms of Maxinquaye, a record regularly cited among the best albums of the ’90s.

They will wait in vain. To revisit such singular territory is unthinkable, like wishing lightning would strike twice with a slightly updated color scheme. Even if Tricky wanted to return to the sound of Maxinquaye, he almost certainly couldn’t. Maxinquaye was based on musical instinct—on not knowing what was right, and caring even less. But chance encounters happen only once, and innocence lasts only so long. In recording Maxinquaye, Tricky inevitably started to absorb the conventions of musical production, slowly strangling the goose even as it laid the golden egg. Fall to Pieces is a great album, agonizing in its wounded depths; but, the odd anarchistic touch aside, it is a fairly orthodox record, one that appears to know all about eight-bar sections, consonant harmonies, and the other musical conventions to which Tricky was once so gloriously indifferent.

Like fashioning a house of cards in a strong wind, Maxinquaye held its destruction in its own creation and its failure in its success: a borderline unclassifiable work that was Tricky in both name and nature. If we can no more remake Maxinquaye than land another first man on the Moon, it remains a magnificent singularity, a full-on solar eclipse of an album that blotted out all precedent to seek refuge in the shadows”.

On 20th February, it will be thirty years since Tricky released his masterpiece debut, Maxinquaye. I wonder if he will share his thoughts on the album. As he has re-released it and reworked some songs, maybe he feels a bit of distance with his 1995 original. However, he cannot deny the album has impacted so many people. A defining Trip-Hop work, thirty years on, we are still talking about…

A work of genius.

FEATURE: The Digital Mixtape: Big Boi at Fifty

FEATURE:

 

 

The Digital Mixtape

 

Big Boi at Fifty

_________

ONE of music’s…

IN THIS PHOTO: Big Boi with André 3000 (Outkast)

biggest artists turns fifty very shortly. Because of that, I wanted to celebrate that with a playlist featuring some of his biggest songs and some deeper cuts. That artist is Big Boi. Antwan André Patton is one of half of Outkast. A successful solo artist in his own right, the Georgia-born artist turns fifty on 1st February. Before coming to a mixtape with some Outkast tracks and Big Boi solo cuts, I wanted to get to some biography about him. For that, AllMusic are on hand:

Outside his partnership with André 3000 as OutKast, and apart from his central role in the Dungeon Family collective, rapper and producer Big Boi has built a lengthy parallel discography on his own. Known for his cool demeanor and witty, high-velocity wordplay, Big Boi effectively debuted as a solo artist with the first half of OutKast's Grammy-winning blockbuster Speakerboxxx/The Love Below (2003). Sir Lucious Left Foot...The Son of Chico Dusty (2010), his first true solo album, hit the Top Ten of the Billboard 200 with a push from the Grammy-nominated single with "Shutterbugg." Big Boi's additional solo albums, namely Vicious Lies and Dangerous Rumors (2012) and Boomiverse (2017), along with the collaborations Big Grams (with Phantogram; 2015) and The Big Sleepover (with Sleepy Brown; 2021), have been balanced with extensive time clocked as a producer and featured artist. Killer Mike and Janelle Monáe are among the artists whose careers he has boosted in those and other capacities.

After OutKast broke through in 1993 with the Top 40 hit "Player's Ball," Big Boi -- born Antwan André Patton in Savannah, Georgia -- made select solo featured appearances for the next ten years. "Dirty South" (by fellow Dungeon Family members Goodie Mob), "All N My Grill" (Missy Elliott), "In da Wind" (Trick Daddy), and "A.D.I.D.A.S." (Killer Mike) were charting singles. For the fifth OutKast full-length, Big Boi and André 3000 opted to record separate sets bundled as Speakerboxxx/The Love Below. The Billboard 200-topping release won the 2003 Grammy Awards for Best Rap Album and Album of the Year. Over the next three years, Big Boi branched out with his Purple Ribbon label, which released the Purple Ribbon All-Stars compilations Got That Purp and Got Purp? Vol. II. The sequel contained early appearances from Janelle Monáe and the Top 40 hit "Kryptonite (I'm on It)," a posse cut featuring Big Boi and Killer Mike. Big Boi additionally guested during this time on Brooke Valentine's Top 40 entry "Girlfight" and Fantasia's charting "Hood Boy." OutKast's lengthy hiatus began after the subsequent Idlewild project in 2006.

Big Boi prepared his first proper solo album, and over 2008 and 2009 offered some stray singles. "Royal Flush," on which he linked with André 3000 and Raekwon, was nominated for a Grammy in the category of Best Rap Performance by a Duo or Group. In 2010, he was on Janelle Monáe's "Tightrope" and issued another solo single, "Shutterbugg," before Sir Lucious Left Foot...The Son of Chico Dusty arrived that July. The loose and rollicking set entered the Billboard 200, R&B/hip-hop, and rap charts at number three. "Shutterbugg" bagged another Grammy nomination in the rap field, and "Tightrope" was up for Best Urban/Alternative Performance. In December 2012, the follow-up Vicious Lies and Dangerous Rumors hit number 34 on the Billboard 200 with a guest list that extended far beyond the rap realm to involve the likes of Little DragonWavves, and Phantogram. Big Boi continued to work with the latter act as Big Grams, whose self-titled EP peaked in the Top Ten of the rap and alternative charts in 2015. He offered his third official solo LP, BOOMIVERSE, in June 2017. The production was handled primarily by longtime partners Organized Noize, along with assists from the likes of "Shutterbugg" collaborator Scott StorchDr. Luke, and Cirkut.

Between albums, Big Boi picked up a Grammy nomination for Best Rap Song with Danger Mouse's "Chase Me," a track that also involved Killer Mike and El-P (aka Run the Jewels). Coinciding with his appearance in February 2019 alongside Maroon 5 at the Super Bowl half-time show in Atlanta, Big Boi issued the single "Doin' It," featuring Sleepy Brown. Additional collaborations with Brown followed, such as "Intentions," which also featured CeeLo Green, and 2020's "Can't Sleep."The Big Sleepover, Big Boi and Sleepy Brown's long-promised collaborative album, was planned for 2021, preceded by another single, "The Big Sleep Is Over”.

A tremendous artist who turns fifty on 1st February, I wanted to recognise the brilliance of Big Boi. Below are examples of his work. From the earliest days of Outkast through to his most recent solo project, this is one of music’s greats. Ahead of his fiftieth birthday, this is a musical salute to…

>

THE amazing Big Boi.

FEATURE: History of Touches: Björk’s Vulnicura at Ten

FEATURE:

 

 

History of Touches

 

Björk’s Vulnicura at Ten

_________

THIS feature…

is all about Björk’s eighth studio album. One of her very best. On 20th January, it will be ten years since the release of Vulnicura. Björk explained the album represents her feelings before and after her breakup with American contemporary artist Matthew Barney and the healing process. I am going to end with a few of the reviews for an album heralded as one of the most honest and best from the Icelandic icon. One that I hope is written about as it turns ten very soon. The companion album, Vulnicura Strings, was released on 6th November, 2015. I am not going to drop in the whole feature. However, in April 2015, Sound on Sound took us inside the recording of Björk’s Vulnicura. Before moving onto some of the many impassioned reviews, it is worth discovering a bit more about how this incredible and revealing album started and came to life. More of an insight into Björk’s creative process and some of the technology used for the recording:

Much of the writing and recording of Vulnicura took place at Björk’s New York home, where she has the ultimate 21st Century studio. The total music–tech content consists of an Avid Pro Tools HD Native Thunderbolt system, Genelec 1032 monitors (“I like them a lot, they sound very creamy. But they can be deceptive, because everything sounds good in them. So you have to be a little careful.”), an M–Audio controller, a Telefunken ELAM 251 microphone and Neve 1081 mic preamp.

Björk takes a hands–on role in directing her string players, as here at Syrland Studios during the making of Vulnicura. For Chris Elms’ first string session at Sundlaugin Studio in Reykjavik, a 15–piece string section was miked very close. “Melody and emotion come first. I will then slowly work on the lyrics. I wrote most of the melodies walking outside, hiking I do that a lot. The melodies whirl in my head, and build up momentum, and then I slowly figure out what kind of shape, structure and mood they need. With this album being what I have called my most ‘psychological’ album, the lyrics were important and strings would support the kind of emotions I had to express.”

Once Björk is clear on the melodies, lyrics, shape and mood of a piece, she will record, edit and comp the vocals in Pro Tools, and in the case of Vulnicura, “work on the string arrangements. I mostly work from my vocal melodies, and I then have the freedom of the computer to arrange.”

She has never really played traditional instruments very much, “which is why I was so excited about the laptop in 1999. I learned to use Sibelius in that year, and most of Vespertine was done on Sibelius — all the music boxes, harps, glockenspiels, and so on. It was the same with ‘Ambergris March’ [from Drawing Restraint 9, a soundtrack album she made in 2005 with Matthew Barney]. With the string arrangements I did on Post [1995], Homogenic and Vespertine, I gradually learned to arrange, but with Vulnicura also to transcribe and conduct when needed. I also started using Pro Tools in 1999 and kinda got hooked. I like that it isn’t on a 4/4 grid, and I can be more focused on the narration, look at the music from a film perspective, rather than as a ‘house’ club thing. But to be honest, by now you can do all things in all programs, so it is mostly about what you feel comfortable with. At the end of the day, it is about the emotion. As a singer I have also always liked the challenge of not being too hooked on gear. This maybe comes from singing through bass amps in punk bands as a teenager. If you want a certain timbre, make it with your throat!

Further string sessions took place at Syrland Studios, with a larger ensemble. For an even more intimate sound, all their instruments were miked with clip–on DPA omnis. “I don’t use samplers much. I will usually gather soundbanks for each album and will then play them in on keyboards. This applies for simpler beats in songs like ‘Venus As A Boy’ [from Debut] and ‘Cosmogony’ [from Biophilia], and so on. I play my string arrangements on the keyboard or in Sibelius, but more and more I am using Melodyne to do complex arrangements with my voice. I will then copy those arrangements over to the strings.”

Enter Arca

For the first two thirds of 2013, Björk worked alone with her musical material, both in New York and in Reykjavik. Given the heavy subject matter, it was a daunting task. But, she explains on her web site, “then a magic thing happened to me: as I lost one thing something else entered. Alejandro contacted me late Summer 2013 and was interested in working with me. It was perfect timing. To make beats to the songs would have taken me three years (like on Vespertine) but this enchanted Arca would visit me repeatedly and only a few months later we had a whole album!”

In our interview, Björk elaborates: “When Alejandro first came to Iceland, in October 2013, I had seven songs ready, with vocals and with Sibelius string arrangements. Because of the subject matter the structures were pretty formed. We then sat together, and he in an almost clairvoyant way programmed the beats. In the beginning I sat next to him, and would sometimes tap the basic shape of the beats on the table. Then after he had come to Iceland several times we got to know each other, and we started writing together. We co–wrote half of ‘Family’, and ‘Notget’ was very 50/50.”

Bobby Krlic aka the Haxan Cloak. Chris Elms at London’s Strongroom Studios .Alejandro Ghersi, aka Arca, is regarded as one of the rising stars of the electronic music world. The Venezuelan, who lives in East London, has enjoyed a tremendously successful two years, programming beats for four songs on Kanye West’s Yeezus (2013) and co–producing the whole of FKA Twigs’ EP2 (2013) and part of her debut album LP1 (2014). Last November he released his first solo album, Xen, on Mute.

“When Björk played me the record’s songs in demo form, the strings and vocal were fully formed; the lyrics were finished and a few of the songs themselves were finished right down to their final structure. I cried like a baby first time I heard ‘Family’ and ‘Black Lake’ in their demo stages! After that we just began to unite in finding ways of solving design problems emotionally, so to speak, regarding the production. We began to do this kind of graceful dance. There was a lot of silent understanding about things, a lot of respect. Every song was different, but the tone of the actual work was childlike and fun, with us dancing and laughing to the beats. There was something really beautiful about working on a record on such a heavy subject matter with such a delicate lightness and playfulness”.

I am going to round things up soon. Before that, there are a few reviews that I want to highlight. The first is from Pitchfork. Heralding Björk’s powerful singing and the fact that she ventures into the common break-up album territory but does it in a unique, powerful and personal way, it still has the power to move a decade later:

Vulnicura is loosely arranged around the chronology of a relationship: the period before the breakup, the dazed moments after, the slow recovery. It’s a sense of time that’s both hyper-specific—in the liner notes, Björk places each song up until the two-thirds mark in an exact point on the timeline, from nine months before to 11 months after—and loose, with half-moments that span entire dramatic arcs. "History of Touches", for example, is a near-forensic exhumation of the precise time of relationship death. The song begins and ends upon the narrator waking her soon-to-be-ex-lover, and Arca’s programming develops in slow motion as Björk’s vocal and lyric circle back upon the scale and warp the timeline: "The history of touches, every single archive compressed into a second." There’s some "Cocoon" in there, in the post-coital setting and smitten sigh, but there’s also the unmistakable sense that everything Björk describes is expiring as she speaks it. It’s luxuriant and bleary and sad, something like sleepwalking infatuated through an autopsy. Skip to several months after in the record's progression, album centerpiece "Black Lake", a masterwork of balancing elements: Björk’s requiem strings leading to Arca’s tectonic-plate percussion and vocal patches, cuttingly crafted (in unmistakably Björk fashion) lines like "I am bored of your apocalyptic obsessions" giving way to lines far more unadorned and unanswerable: "Did I love you too much?"

What keeps these questions from sounding maudlin are those flashes of rueful wit (elsewhere, on "Family": "Is there a place where I can pay respects for the death of my family?") and Björk’s vocal delivery; she’s at least twice expressed her admiration, at the pure musical level, of fado singer Amália Rodrigues, and you can hear it in how she leans into syllables, indulging feelings then dissecting them. Rarely does Vulnicura sound anything but seamless; her palette blends in drum-and-bass loops, flatline effects, groaning cellos, pitch-warped echoes by Antony Hegarty. The more Björk has grown as an arranger, the less dated her albums sound; closer "Quicksand" initially scans like it’s approaching over-timely Rudimental territory, but it’s a little late in the album for that, and this is soon subsumed into a string reverie that’s unmistakably hers.

In Björk’s discography, Vulnicura most resembles Vespertine, another unyieldingly cerebral work about vulnerability and being turned by love to besotted viscera, and also an unmistakably female album. Vulnicura doubles down on these elements, from the choir arrangements to the yonic wound imagery of the cover, like Björk’s attempt at a grand unified photoshoot of female pain, to Vulnicura’s echoes from the first track ("Moments of clarity are so rare—I better document this") of the long tradition of women artists thinking and rethinking their own life stories, in public, until they coalesce into art. Fittingly, when Björk dispenses with the breakup framework (and timestamps) two-thirds of the way through the album, Vulnicura becomes about more. "Mouth Mantra" is part glitchy nightmare of grotesque imagery ("my mouth was sewn up… I was not heard") and part reassertion of her artistic identity: "this tunnel has enabled thousands of sounds."

It isn’t just her. "I want to support young girls who are in their 20s now and tell them you’re not just imagining things," she told Pitchfork, and on "Quicksand" Vulnicura shifts finally from personal documentation of one person’s rough year to words for those who’ve stayed for it all: "Every time you give up, you take away our future and my continuity—and my daughter’s, and her daughters, and her daughters," Björk sings on the track, just before it cuts off mid-string cadenza. It’s possible to hear this as resignation, but it’s also possible to hear it as a note of hope, that there is a future after coming out of such an emotional wringer, if not quite one that’s reassuring. The ambiguity feels honest”.

I am going to move to a review from NME. Named as one of the best albums of 2015 – Rough Trade and ABC News put it at number one -, it reached number one in Iceland and eleven in the U.K. I would rank Vulnicura among the best Björk albums. It is a stunning listen! For anyone who has never heard it, go and seek it out now:

Björk’s last album, 2011’s ‘Biophilia’, was a multimedia project examining the connections between nature, sound and technology – or “the universe”, as she succinctly put it. It became known as an “app” album and it wasn’t a gimmick. It made a powerful (and fun) statement about how the 49-year-old’s home country, Iceland, could be run after the financial crisis, instantly making almost everyone else operating in the field of popular music seem a bit thick.

‘Vulnicura’, her eighth full-length, appears to forgo the grand gesture by concentrating on the personal within a very established format – the breakup album. But as Björk herself said on Facebook when the record was rush-released on 20th January (a consequence of it leaking the weekend previous), “First I was worried it would be too self-indulgent, but then I felt it might make it even more universal.”

Opener ‘Stonemilker’ is set, according to the liner notes, nine months before her breakup from American artist Matthew Barney – father of her second child. On it, Björk sings, “I better document this”. Perhaps what’s most shocking about ‘Vulnicura’ is not that it’s a traditional, straightforward set of songs (that’s just Björk not repeating herself), but how true a document of real life it is. There’s less allegory and metaphor in the lyrics than usual, resulting in Barney getting a very direct kicking. Communicating with him is like “milking a stone” she sings on ‘Stonemilker’; by ‘Black Lake’ – set two months after the breakup – she’s bored of his “apocalyptic obsessions” and accusing him abandoning their family.

So raw is the lyrical narrative (it ends ambiguously with three undated tracks that offer no real resolution, but some optimism), it almost distracts from how clever and detailed the musical backdrop is. Masterful string arrangements by Björk (‘Lionsong’, ‘Family’) express matters of the heart with the same candour as the words, while Venezuelan producer Arca’s fractured, difficult beats (‘Lionsong’, ‘Notget’) – often in uncommon time signatures – reflect the disruption to Björk’s real-life rhythm. It’s not an easy listen, but a brave, beautiful and affecting album – an attempt to find order in chaos that, as she wishes for it, offers a “crutch” to the heartbroken”.

The final review is from The Line of Best Fit. Gathering widespread acclaim, Björk would follow Vulnicura with 2017’s Utopia. Her most recent album, Fossora, was released in 2022. This amazing artist has barely put a foot wrong in a career that is more than three decades old. Not many artists can claim that kind of consistency!

The above quote is excerpted from a larger note about the album, its concepts, its production and its early release (originally scheduled for March, it was pushed ahead nearly two months after being leaked a mere week after its announcement). It's not the singular point of Vulnicura—an album about breaking up, falling apart, lashing out, pulling together and moving on—but that message is ever present at its core: There is a way out. It's jaded, it's bitter, it's ugly, it's painful—but it ends.

Vulnicura is Björk's ninth studio album—assuming you include her 2000 Dancer in the Dark soundtrack Selmasongs (which you, of course, do) and not her 1977 self-titled child album (which you, of course, don't)—and features production from Arca and engineering from The Haxan Cloak, alongside Björk herself. The album is essentially broken into chapters: the bitter end, the breakup and the first steps forward. Its very name, Vulnicura, melds the Latin vulnero and cura: the wound and the cure—and captures everything between the two.

Though Björk describes Vulnicura as a "heartbreak album" centered on her breakup with artist Matthew Barney, it is not, in the strictest terms, an album about solely about a breakup. Rather, it fixates itself on an entire cycle of heartbreak—its inception and its inevitable aftermath: despondence where there once was love and hope where there was once despondence. For despondence has its way of breeding hope—creating the claustrophobic tunnel through which a light inevitably shines at the end of.

Interestingly enough, Björk contrasts Arca's knack for speedy beat-making on Vulnicura with the three years it took her to produce 2001's Vespertine. Yet, on the Björk Genre-Transcendence Scale®, Vulnicura finds its sound and style nestled most snugly next to that very album. And—speaking from a more biased place—it's also her greatest work since. Though it's built around a thematic concept, Vulnicura is not caught in the lofty conceptual trappings (be they for worse or for better) of the three albums she's released over the last 10 years: Biophilia, Medulla and, to a lesser extent, Volta.

Vulnicura is as dark and ominous as one might come to expect from a Björk album (especially one boasting involvement from Arca and The Haxan Cloak), yet it's filled with these delicate, shining moments within its darkened overtones. There's the guttural conclusion to "Notget," in which Björk exasperatedly offers one last repetition of the song's mantra: "Love will keep us safe from death." Or how Björk and her featured vocalist/"Goddess of Love" Antony Hegarty collude their intricately layered vocal tracks among the dense string arrangements and caustic beats of what the singer calls her "worship-of-love" song "Atom Dance."

Yet where "Notget" and "Atom Dance" showcase the aftermath, displaying disparity laced with a mere tint of hope, at the other end of the spectrum lies the angry and omnivorous "Black Lake" (which Billboard amusingly called a "10-Minute Diss Track" with a snide likening to Big Sean & E-40's "I Don't Fuck With You"). Here, across ten minutes of brooding tension and sparse intermissions, Björk lets the bad blood boil, unleashing all five stages of grief in near unison. She recounts the good, the bad, the worse and the efforts made to make it work, before lashing out "You have nothing to give / your heart is hollow."

Björk has said that she wanted to put this all out there at once, formatted as a chronicle of sorts. She has succeeded and then some. Vulnicura is stark and powerful in a way that Björk has merely danced around for years. Here, in these songs, she has shed all of her skin: the lavish costumes, the genre-defying ambiguity, the punk rock empowerment, the unwavering emotional fortitude and the entirety of all assumed personalities that one might instinctively assign an icon. Here, on Vulnicura, she is simply Björk: a rattled human being caught within an emotional vortex, letting off the sort of violent chemical reflexes we are all prone to. Vulnicura is humanity at its most volatilely sublime”.

Vulnicura Strings provided a more uncompromising and intimate take on the original album. It was a fascinating project. Vulnicura Live, also released in 2015, features fourteen songs with The Heritage Orchestra that were captured during her Vulnicura tour. Turning ten on 20th January, Vulnicura is a phenomenal album from Björk. Demonstrating why she is one of the most distinct, versatile and consistent artists ever. It the work from a master that…

EVERYONE needs to hear.

FEATURE: Aerial Vision: Saluting the Production on A Sky of Honey

FEATURE:

 

 

Aerial Vision

IN THIS PHOTO: Kate Bush in 2005/PHOTO CREDIT: Trevor Leighton

 

Saluting the Production on A Sky of Honey

_________

THERE is denying…

how generous a record Aerial is. Kate Bush’s eighth studio album was released in 2005. Her first album in twelve years, maybe there was this sense that a double album would sort of help to justify that amount of time away. Give the fans value after such a patient wait. Even though there has been a longer gap since her latest studio album, 2011’s 50 Words for Snow, and now, we are not expecting anything as full and long as Aerial! However, Kate Bush’s only double album is a masterpiece. Like Hounds of Love, it has two distinct halves. The first a selection of songs without a particular thread or throughline. Maybe Hounds of Love’s first half is about love, wonder and discovery. Aerial’s perhaps about family and the home. One can put Hounds of Love’s second side, The Ninth Wave, against Aerial’s second disc, A Sky of Honey. In terms of which is the best. I think I have done in the past! However, rather than do that here, I want to single out A Sky of Honey. I listened to it again recently. I don’t think I appreciated before how amazing the production is on it. The whole of Aerial. Bush’s manipulation of sound and use of natural sounds working together. The blend of instruments and choice of players. It is this banquet that blows the senses! I keep writing how people do not appreciate Bush as a producer. One need only listen to A Sky of Honey to realise she is one of the best producers ever. All the details and strands through that suite. My favourite might be when Bush sings with/mimics a bird (a blackbird?) on Aerial Tal! I am building from a feature about the suite I published in 2023.

I don’t think enough has been written about A Sky of Honey. In terms of its scope and brilliance. How it puts together these beautiful nine songs that are all very different. We are taken through the course of a summer’s day. We experience the joys of the dawn and down to the sunset before seeing the light rise again. I love Kate Bush’s production through her career, though I think it is possibly at its peak here. Perhaps the joys of motherhood (her son Albert was born in 1998) made her look more the joys of a new day. Being in the garden and having nature all around her. Although she always had admiration for birds, there is this new context in Aerial and through A Sky of Honey. There is much more than that. My highlights of A Sky of Honey is Prologue, Bertie (Albert, who replaced Rolf Harris’s vocals for the 2018 reissue of Aerial) on The Painter’s Link and the ecstatic Aerial. It takes multiple listens before you can properly absorb all the colours and shades in Bush’s palette. It is this arresting visual feast that compels you to close your eyes and imagine yourself in the songs. Even if The Guardian found some parts of A Sky of Honey cloying, they did salute Bush’s genius:

Disc two, subtitled 'A Sky of Honey', is a suite of nine tracks which, among other things, charts the passage of light from afternoon ('Prologue') to evening ('An Architect's Dream', 'The Painter's Link') and through the night until dawn. Things get a little hairier here.

The theme of birdsong is soon wearing, and the extended metaphor of painting is laboured. But it's all worth it for the double-whammy to the solar plexus dealt by 'Nocturn' and the final, title track. In 'Nocturn', the air is pushed out of your lungs as you cower helplessly before the crescendo. 'Aerial', meanwhile, is a totally unexpected ecstatic disco meltdown that could teach both Madonna and Alison Goldfrapp lessons in dancefloor abandon. It leaves you elated, if not a little exhausted. After the damp squib that was The Red Shoes, it's clear Bush is still a force to be reckoned with”.

I am going to come to another feature soon. I imagine Kate Bush creating A Sky of Honey and starting with the concept. Maybe thinking about birdsong and using that as a foundation. The way she builds out and thought about telling a story of this summer’s day. Following the light rise, fall and come back. The production sounds is clear but not polished. There is this perfect mix which means all the instruments and vocals are perfectly placed. The way everything is crisp and clear. A step on from 1993’s The Red Shoes. A Sky of Honey sounds natural and almost analogue, though there is also this clarity and sheen that brings everything to life. It would be tempting, as producer, to throw so many sounds into the mix to maximise impact. Although there is a lot of instruments and sounds through A Sky of Honey, there is enough space in the songs. Bush knowing the perfect blend and balance. The way that she seamlessly mixes various instruments and sounds to get this incredible unity. The soundscapes she produces is intricate and also widescreen. Personal and universal. Contrasts and extremes that not everyone could perfectly match! I will ask whether A Sky of Honey is due some more investigation or visual representation. First, Secret Meeting shared their thoughts about A Sky of Honey:

Act two, A Sky of Honey, is a standalone concept album that is meant to be listened to in its 42-minute entirety. At the time of release, following retailer ‘feedback’, EMI convinced Kate to break the track into nine separate songs, which is how they appeared on the physical release. However, she withheld Aerial from all streaming sites for five years until agreement was reached that A Sky of Honey was made available as the singular listening experience that was originally intended.

A Sky of Honey is quite possibly the greatest sequence of music ever put together and is as masterful a concept as Kate’s 1986 Hounds of Love feature, The Ninth Wave. Here though, the production is much slicker, the musicality more relaxed, and the overall work evokes a lush and beautiful landscape seldom achieved in non-visual art forms. A Sky of Honey is a joyful and organic collection of music that broods with all the romanticism of spending time at a jubilant celebration with a soulmate. It’s a dreamy meditation on the passing of a beautiful 24-hour period. Never has a 42-minute sequence of music stimulated the senses so brilliantly as to induce a mindful state, captivating attention to the passing only of the unfolding beauty of the record.  It is simply impossible to focus upon anything else while this staggeringly beautiful passage of music outs.

A Sky of Honey was also the most outstanding act of Kate’s 2014 Hammersmith Apollo residencies – the centrepiece of the greatest show that I have ever witnessed. Never has a flow of music worked so well as the accompaniment to a performance art piece as put on by Kate et al on those 22 nights in September 2014.

A Sky of Honey is a conceptual masterpiece. It builds into a euphoric and deeply rewarding crescendo where ‘all the birds are laughing’ and whereby everyone is encouraged ‘come on lets join in.’ It cements Aerial as perhaps the greatest work of the world’s most astounding and important female artist, whose musical legacy remains unsurpassed by all but a tiny elite of similarly vital visionaries”.

I have written before how I think there should be some sort of visual representation of A Sky of Honey. Even though Kate Bush brought it to the stage in 2014, most people did not see it or ever will. I have written about how it would be good to get a film of The Ninth Wave. Maybe not a film, there is more that can be done with A Sky of Honey. Whether it is a playback or album stream. Not that many podcast episodes about it (or any). Dissecting the songs and discussing the amazing production. Whether a series of animations or something else, it would be great to see A Sky of Honey visualised. I would urge people to listen to A Sky of Honey as a whole. An Endless Sky of Honey. It is a remarkable listening experience! Maybe it features Kate Bush’s best production. It is almost hard to put into words why it is so engaging and moving. Every time you play A Sky of Honey, new details emerge. Sounds you might not have heard the previous time around. Bush has this ability to give her songs such nuance. A Sky of Honey never seems too long or unfocused. Every track has its place. Credit too to Del Palmer for his engineering brilliance. However, it is Bush’s production vision and instinct that makes A Sky of Honey one of the best things she ever put her name to. You are brought into this bright, beautiful and beguiling sonic world. One with warm and slinky beats. Birdsong and air. Something darker and more twisted at times. The renaissance guitar and importance of the piano. The exquisite string work from the London Metropolitan Orchestra. Despite the fact Rolf Harris appeared on the 2005 original, he cannot damage the reputation of A Sky of Honey. Bertie’s vocals sound more commanding and natural that Harris’s efforts. I would love for A Sky of Honey to find new lease. Maybe a short film or people talking about it on a podcast. I wanted to show my affection and admiration for…

AN immaculate suite of songs.

FEATURE: We Paint the Penguins Pink: Kate Bush’s Production Doubts and Her Role as a Visual Auteur

FEATURE:

 

 

We Paint the Penguins Pink

IN THIS PHOTO: Kate Bush in 1982/PHOTO CREDIT: Pierre Terrasson

 

Kate Bush’s Production Doubts and Her Role as a Visual Auteur

_________

I am…

combining a couple of subjects relating to Kate Bush but also circling back to a topic that I recently covered, in addition to leaving the door open to expand more on the subject of Kate Bush’s videos. I don’t think I can quite cover it in this feature. I am struck to write about her production doubts and her growing role as a music video visionary. How they sort of coincided. I am returning to Tom Doyle’s Running Up That Hill: 50 Visions of Kate Bush. There is a section that takes us back to 1982’s The Dreaming. There is a nice little detail I was not aware of that is a slight tangent to start on. How one of the songs, Leave It Open, left some fans guessing. As to what Kate Bush sings at the end of the song. It was a bit of a competition. Bush set the challenge. She went with a commonly held theory that it “we paint the penguins pink”. She had to reveal that the actual words were “we let the weirdness in”. She signed off one of her fan newsletters with those words, thus letting fans know of the exact wording. It is relevant to discussing The Dreaming. There was this dynamic. EMI not sure Kate Bush was ready to helm her own album. Even though she co-produced 1980’s Never for Ever and it went to number one, there was not this great confidence in her production skills. Bush was adamant that she was going to produce her fourth studio album. Another step towards the autonomy that she wanted from the start of her career. The start of recording was quite fraught. In the close and overcast summer of 1981, Bush was holed in the studio. Riots were breaking out up and down the country, fuelled by the controversial stop-and-search policy from the Metropolitan Police. Bush acknowledged the un-summer-like weather and wrote to her fans hoping that everyone was okay. Recognising how things were changing, that was very much the case with regards her career.

I have tackled this subject before but will come at it from a different angle. How doubts around Bush’s production prowess happened at a time when she was broadening her scope and vision. Her videos becoming more cinematic. Her music going deeper. If EMI wanted something fairly commercial that would sell and keep her in the critics’ good books, Bush was thinking of taking her work somewhere else. Rather than it being a kick against expectations and what people wanted, instead this was someone who was working in a less rigid way than before. This meant various studios were used. Her sound more layered and complex. It was not only record label people asking if Bush should be producing her work. Even people she had worked with for years were doubting her and trying to put caution in her mind. It meant that Bush was doubting herself. Something that would be realised and at its apex for 1985’s Hounds of Love, that combination of Bush’s role as a producer and making her music more visual. Like very short films and less like ordinary and simple Pop songs. It is understandable there was some reservation and hesitation from the label and those close to Kate Bush. However, for all the care and hope she was not being set up for a fall, Bush did push ahead. She let the weirdness in! Even if there were doubts in Bush’s mind, she committed a lot of money to making The Dreaming an album that stood out from anything else she did previously. Investing thousands of pounds buying her own Fairlight CMI, she was also in awe of David Byrne and Brian Eno’s 1981 album, My Life in the Bush of Ghosts. I’d like to think that the fact the album had the word ‘Bush’ in it spoke to her in a personal way! That album, featured ‘found sounds’ vocals including a talk show host, a preacher and a radio D.J. You can feel the influence run through The Dreaming. How different vocal sounds and characters are woven through the songs. Bush, as a producer, approach sound and dynamics in a new way.

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Bush had also learned a lot working with Peter Gabriel on his third solo studio album from 1980. Taking notes about the studio and technology. It was a strange new way of working. Without anyone producing alongside her, everything was on Kate Bush. At all times, there must have been niggles and doubts. How those words from people were bouncing around her head. When you think about Kate Bush, do we really talk about her role as a producer?! It is something I want to keep exploring and highlight. Although Bush did have some reservations and perhaps there was some retroactive ‘vindication’ from those who felt she was maybe out of her depth – The Dreaming came two years after her previous albums, the singles did not place high and the album sales much lower than for The Kick Inside -, she was opening her horizons and was not far from her acclaimed masterpiece, Hounds of Love. It must have been a challenging time for Bush producing alone. That thing about bouncing ideas off of someone else. Though Del Palmer (who was her boyfriend at the time and played on the album) was alongside her, she was very much in control. What is notable is how Bush as producer was very much thinking in this more ambitious, detail-focused way. Thinking of how to add to a song without overloading things. One example was a happy accident. Bush arriving home one day and pressing ‘play’ on her answer phone. It had broken so that only the end of messages were being played, so what we got was a lot of ‘byes’ and variations. Bush used these at the end of All the Love. It is haunting and moving at the same time. I wanted to keep the focus on The Dreaming. I will explore other albums in future pieces. Perhaps the doubts about her experience as a producer spurred her on. Bush was paying a lot of her own money so it is understandable that she wanted control. Bush was working between multiple studios. At one time, used all three studios at Abbey Road to get the effects she was looking for. The results were incredible. I keep tussling about my top-three Kate Bush albums. The Kick Inside is always first and Hounds of Love in the top three maybe. I sort of think Never for Ever should be up there too, but the more I hear The Dreaming, the more it blows me away! Think of songs like Get Out of My House and listen to the production. How idiosyncratic and effecting the song is.

If the singles from The Dreaming did not fare well, Bush was getting more invested in directing. She had assisted with video direction to this point, though it would not be long until she directed her videos. Hounds of Love’s title track was the first video she directed solo. She was very involved with the look and feel of the visuals for The Dreaming’s videos. Paul Henry directed the video for The Dreaming. Bush and her dancers performing on a floor covered over with builders’ sand. There were polystyrene rocks and a sun and moon made of carboard. Bush in a silver-white jumpsuit. The scale and visual arrest of the videos matching Bush’s details and production. How much she put into the songs. It called for videos that were more widescreen and akin to short films. Even if The Dreaming’s video was a day’s shoot, it is affecting. Some of the shots have not dated well, though the use of long shots and not the usual quick cuts and close-up that you get from Pop videos was forward-thinking and bold. Something that was a mixed blessing. The fact the single did not do well can’t really be attributed to the video. However, some affects used were quite futuristic. Bush and dancers pulling on a rope that was actually a green laser. Bush also summoning birds to fly with her hands. It was quite a smooth shoot. The was a bit more rigorous and problematic. Bush favouring long shots and not keen on close-ups. She was told to reign it in for the next video. That was for There Goes a Tenner. The Dreaming’s video had a grubby look so, to nod to that for the next video, Bush put dirt on her face. Like it was a continuation of that video. Perhaps weaving stories together to try and form a bigger whole. The budget had increased so the video could be more ambitious. One of the biggest regrets is that the videos were not seen that widely as the singles were not big hits. However, what was clear is there was this connection between the videos and album production. Bush wanted to be more involved and was thinking big. Bush also had a vision of what her album covers had to look. This idea of her as a visual auteur quite deserved. Bush was also directing whilst on the set of There Goes a Tenner. Passing instructions around that often clashed with Paul Henry’s vision.

One reason why she stopped working with director Keith MacMillan (Keef) was that he could be quite awkward to work with. I also think Bush wanted to widen her field and go in a different direction. Not that Paul Henry was difficult to work with. Though it is telling that the next video for The Dreaming, Suspended in Gaffa, used all of Paul Henry’s crew expect him! This takes me back to initial doubts. Those thinking Bush maybe should not produce. Considering the look of her videos and how the album was successful and sounds amazing, were these justified?! There would have been some cause for more caution when Bush made it clear she would continue to produce alone. Nobody could predict Hounds of Love and its genius! One thing that stands out is that detail coming in. How her music was getting more complex. More technology at her fingers meant she was moving away from the sounds of The Kick Inside and Lionheart (both released in 1978). I am going to return to The Dreaming for another feature soon. One that talks about the promotion  Bush undertook for that. However, after that, I am going to look at her career more generally and look at her early career and also return to Hounds of Love. The Dreaming was Kate Bush trying to assert more control. Silence those doubting her. There is no denying the influence of The Dreaming, even though it is not discussed much. In 2012, when writing about The Dreaming on its thirtieth anniversary, The Quietus highlighted the brilliance and impact of her 1982 album:

By the ‘Hounds Of Love’ promo she was directing herself. Another area the "shyest megalomaniac" wrestled control of. ‘The Ninth Wave’ was another tribute to her imaginative powers, the song suite being the sexy, acceptable face of prog rock. She even had a hit in America. Although she had to change the name from ‘A Deal With God’ to ‘Running Up That Hill’.

But it was The Dreaming that lay the groundwork. It ignited US critical interest in her (including the hard-assed Robert Christgau and the burgeoning college radio scene finally gave Bush an outlet there. Hounds Of Love, remains the acme of this singular talent’s achievements. It uses ethnic instrumentation while sounding nothing like the world music that would be popularized through the 80s. It is a record largely constructed with cutting edge technology that eschews the showroom dummy bleeps associated with synth-pop. At the time, she talked of using technology to apply "the future to nostalgia", an interesting reverse of Bowie’s nostalgic Berlin soundtrack for a future that never came. Like Low, The Dreaming is Bush’s own "new music night and day" a brave volte face from a mainstream artist. It remains a startlingly modern record too, the organic hybridization, the use of digital and analogue techniques, its use of modern wizadry to access atavistic states (oddly, Rob Young’s fine portrait of the singer in Electric Eden only mentions this album in passing).

For such an extreme album, its influence has been far-reaching. ABC, then in their Lexicon Of Love prime, named it as one of their favourites, as did Bjork whose similar use of electronics to convey the pantheistic seems directly descended from The Dreaming. Even The Cure’s Disintegration duplicates the track arrangement on the sleeve and the request that ‘this album was mixed to be played loud’. ‘Leave It Open’‘s vari-speed vocals even prefigure the art-damaged munchkins of The Knife vocal arsenal. Field Music/The Week That Was arrayed themselves with sonics that seem heavily indebted to Bush’s work here. Graphic novelist Neil Gaiman even had a character sing lyrics from the title track in his The Sandman series. John Balance of post-industrialists Coil confessed that the album’s songs were all ideas that he later tried to write. But Bush got there first. And The Dreaming remains a testament to the exhilarating joy of "letting the weirdness in”.

I am fascinated by that pre-The Dreaming period. When Bush was being asked whether she should produce alone. How that then led her to different studios and there was this expansion of her sound. Her incredible vision as a producer resulted in a masterpiece. Alongside this, Bush was becoming more visually involved. Wanting to direct her own videos. Whether trying to prove a point to herself, others or this was a natural development, it laid the foundation for Hounds of Love. The Dreaming should not be seen as a lesser Hounds of Love. Although the album was expensive to make and was not a huge commercial success, it is one of her richest and most important albums. Even if Kate Bush let the weirdness in, it proved to be…

THE right decision.

FEATURE: Here’s Where the Story Begins: The Sundays’ Reading, Writing and Arithmetic at Thirty-Five

FEATURE:

 

 

Here’s Where the Story Begins


The Sundays’ Reading, Writing and Arithmetic at Thirty-Five

_________

IN 2020…

I celebrated thirty years of The Sundays’ debut album Reading, Writing and Arithmetic. I am returning to it for its thirty-fifth anniversary. I am going to bring in some features and reviews for this classic album. Even though it was released in the U.S. in April 1990, it came out on 15th January here. The ‘Reading’ in the title is not reading…as in reading a book. It is the town in Berkshire. The Sundays’ hometown. Standout tracks like Here's Where the Story Ends and Can’t Be Sure have endured to this day. The band’s third and final album, Static & Silence, was released in 1997. However, their debut is still the standout. Before getting to a feature, I want to begin with a review from the BBC:

Nearly 20 years ago, with Madchester at the height of its popular appeal, a band about as far removed from The Happy Mondays as it was possible to be briefly rivalled Bez, Shaun and friends as the new darlings of the independent music scene. With the release of their debut album Reading, Writing And Arithmetic, The Sundays received a flurry of euphoric reviews comparing the London quartet to The Smiths, and it's fair to say that David Gavurin builds his songs around the same peculiarly British melancholy yet achingly pretty guitar jangle immortalised by Johnny Marr.

But the most distinctive ingredient about the Sundays was always Harriet Wheeler's voice, which positions the group as a kind of missing link between the ethereal soundscapes of the Cocteau Twins and the more chart-friendly indie-pop of The Cranberries. Like Liz Fraser and Dolores O'Riordan, Wheeler's vocals transfer effortlessly from a fragile whisper to a passionate shriek, taking often simple melodies and leading them on a merry dance across her whole impressive range.

The two best known tracks on Reading, Writing And Arithmetic are the singles Can't Be Sure and Here's Where The Story Ends, and two decades later these remain the best examples of The Sundays' appeal with their instant, breezy hooks and delicate, shuffling rhythms. The rest of the album is a little less immediate, but gradually tracks like Hideous Towns and I Kicked A Boy work their way insidiously inside your head, with Wheeler's angelic, almost hypnotic voice leading the charm offensive.

The Sundays never again recaptured the heights of their debut record, fading slowly into obscurity as the world they inhabited gave way to the brash, confident swagger of Britpop. While Reading, Writing And Arithmetic is perhaps a little too fey and lightweight to warrant true classic status, it is nevertheless a sweet, beguiling piece of work that is utterly of its time, yet still fresh and enjoyable today”.

Just prior to getting to a feature from 2010, I want to start with this feature from Classic Pop published in 2022. Even though they had the genius guitar twang of The Smiths and the ethereal splendour of the Cocteau Twins, the Berkshire band were definitely not one who played the Pop game:

The Sundays were pretty rubbish at being pop stars. No glitzy aspirational image, barely did interviews, low-key videos, and a less-than-showy live show… Only thing is: The Sundays made near-celestial pop music. In a career that never reached its promise, they released only three albums: this, their 1990 debut; 1992’s Blind and Static & Silence five years later. After that, The Sundays simply stopped.

Of course, whether The Sundays were ‘pop’ very much depends on one’s definition. The Sundays weren’t even that popular: only one Top 20 single, Summertime, from their swansong album and they were barely recognisable as stars, other than to those who adored them. But they were very ‘pop’ in that alternative/indie way, and one of the most melodically beautiful bands of their era.

When they emerged in 1988-89, indie pop and UK pop in general – was undergoing something of a spin around. Guardians of the student galaxy, The Smiths, had recently split. On the rise were a much more hedonistic indie bunch in the shape of nascent ‘Madchester’ bands Happy Mondays and The Stone Roses.

Mainstream pop was sweating to the sounds of early house and the Hi-NRG puppets of Stock Aitken Waterman, and even Paul Weller had gone all Italiano sophisticate (white jeans, anyone?). Dance culture was very much back in.

By contrast, The Sundays sounded like something still lurking in the darker days of 1984 and anti-Maggie resentment/escapism. As writer/broadcaster Stuart Maconie notes in his 2013 book, The People’s Songs: The Story Of Modern Britain In 50 Records: “Indie offered a different narrative to the one that is generally seen as the story of the 1980s: vintage clothes, old records, bedsits, Penguin Modern Classics, black and white movies, instead of the Champagne, Filofaxes and outsize mobile phones of Thatcher’s children.” Spot on.

Although a four-piece, The Sundays were essentially the work of a partnership, both professional and personal.

David Gavurin met Harriet Wheeler at Bristol University and soon became intertwined. He was reading Romantic Languages; she, English Literature. So, if The Sundays were an archetypal ‘student band’ that’s because they were, indeed, archetypal students.

The Sundays’ rise was remarkably rapid. The foursome formed in 1988 and just a month after their first gig they’d debuted at Camden indie sanctuary The Falcon to sky-high praise.

Melody Maker’s reviewer Chris Roberts described the band as “the best thing I’ve ever heard”, and comparisons to the Cocteau Twins, Smiths and Sugarcubes were duly made. Before you could shout “black cardigans!”, a label bidding war for The Sundays was raging.

The thing is, The Sundays didn’t really have enough songs for an album at this point. In one of their extremely rare public utterances, a Melody Maker interview to promote the release of Reading, Writing And Arithmetic… in January 1990, they explained how they were almost devoid of ambition beyond the noise they made.

Gavurin concurred that although they liked playing live, writing songs was, in reality, their only goal. “If we hadn’t been so bloody lucky enough with getting all those reviews right at the start, I could imagine a situation where we wouldn’t have stuck at this for bloody ages.”

“Bloody ages?” They were just 18 months old as a band. Wheeler notably said there was “never a time I wanted to be incredibly famous or in a pop group” although she did confess to pretending to be Michael Jackson as a girl: “which took quite a leap of faith.”

After that London debut (the band had moved to the capital), The Sundays were destined for an indie big-hitter: 4AD, home of the Cocteau Twins, or Rough Trade, previous home of The Smiths. Naturally. 4AD were in pole-position until owner Ivo Watts-Russell foolishly asked Gavurin and Wheeler to think carefully about which label to sign with. They bluntly answered: Rough Trade.

In Neil Taylor’s 2010 book, An Intimate History Of Rough Trade, Gavurin argued – possibly joked – that The Sundays chose to sign to Rough Trade because “it was near our flat.” When the band first met RT’s co-directors Geoff Travis and Jeannette Lee, who had only joined the company in 1987, immediate impressions were positive.

Lee had previously been a member of John Lydon’s Public Image Ltd, was married to Gareth Sager of The Pop Group, and had a solid knowledge of Rough Trade’s post-punk modus operandi. In the book, Gavurin is quoted as saying: “What appealed to us about the two of them was that they seemed incredibly straightforward… For us, Rough Trade was this immensely cool and significant label, yet there was no arrogance about them. They basically came over as a couple of unassuming music fans.”

“The Sundays were very particular about making decisions,” Jeannette Lee tells Classic Pop. “They wanted to talk in great detail about everything before they decided who to sign for – what the singles would be, the artwork… Maybe what Ivo Watts-Russell asked them was 4AD’s downfall. After that, I made a mental note never to use that tactic when trying to sign a band!”

Perhaps tellingly, The Sundays chose previous Smiths sleeve designer Jo Slee and decided their own touring schedule. Debut single Can’t Be Sure, backed with I Kicked A Boy, was released in January 1989 and – as was in “the indie rules” of the day – the BBC’s John Peel was an early champion. The single only peaked at No.45 in the UK chart, but that was a pretty good result for a label such as Rough Trade.

Still, The Sundays were happy at the record label. “The culture seemed to be one of openness and co-operation,” continued Gavurin in Taylor’s book, “and we got on well with everyone there. We used to walk down Caledonia Road, and it became a sort of home-from-home.”

Lee remembers it as simply fun.

“They knew what they were doing was good. But they were very careful not to seem smug or overly confident. They’re both self-deprecating and you can hear that in the words. They’re both the funniest people, and we had such a laugh making that record. Obviously, they are a couple but they’re a very good working couple as well. A very solid double act.”

Rumours that the album took a year to record are wide of the mark, though. “Oh, no, that would never have been the plan,” adds Jeannette Lee. “They were particular, they are slow. But only because they wanted to be very certain about what they put out. Some people just record and fling something out and see what happens. Not The Sundays. They are perfectionists.”

In a 2014 email interview with American Way, Gavurin and Wheeler explained of Reading, Writing And Arithmetic, “As writers, the odd thing is that you’re as likely to think back to the place where the songs were actually composed as to any location or situation that inspired their creation. So in the case of Can’t Be Sure and Here’s Where The Story Ends in particular, these songs transport us to the minuscule boiler room attached to the equally cramped rented flat we were living in before our careers took off.

“At the time, despite the industrial noise of the hot-water system and the frequent burglaries, this felt like the perfect writing environment, and virtually all of what ended up on our first album originated there. Not very poetic, but there you have it!”

The album sold well but, regrettably, trouble was ahead. Rough Trade’s financial strife with their distribution arm meant The Sundays, who had only just appointed a manager, soon had to leave to realise even the ambition of another record. “We had long-term hopes with them, obviously,” says Lee.

“We were very close and had talked a lot about the second album. But between that first record being released and the second, that’s when all Rough Trade’s distribution problems occurred. I just remember one day David saying, ‘Let’s not talk about the second album at the moment because there’s a problem we need to look at’.

“I realised we were going to lose them. No hard feelings at all, they had no choice really, but it was heartbreaking.”

The Sundays moved to Parlophone, and followed up with Blind (1992). And, after a long hiatus due to children, Static & Silence (1997). But then they simply stopped making records. They do still write, but said to American Way: “First, let’s see if the music we’re currently writing ever sees the light of day.”

Settled down with 20-something children, and with a reliable heating system, maybe they’ve now just run out of things to write about.

A shame, maybe, but it’s worth revisiting Gavurin’s interview words from 1990: “Non-events are almost sneered at,” he mused. “You don’t see big movies about non-events…”.

In 2010, to mark its twentieth anniversary, Iain Moffat was writing for The Quietus. It is revealing and illuminating reading his words about this seismic debut. I don’t think its influence can be overstated. As Moffat writes, Reading, Writing and Arithmetic was the first classic of the 1990s:

The first great album of this decade is something that looks likely to be up for debate for some time yet, but there was a time when things were rather more clear-cut; specifically, thirty years ago. Of course, to really appreciate the impact of the Sundays, it’s instructive to look back ever so slightly earlier, to a time that, for a significant sector of the music press readership, was something of an annus horribilis some time before that phrase had really developed much cultural currency, namely 1988. This, you’ll recall, was when the still-going journeyman phase of Johnny Marr’s career really began in earnest, when the notion of things as post-Housemartins referred to their dissolution rather than their figurehead status, and when the indie charts were overrun by – wah! – house music and – double wah! – Kylie Minogue. Yes, we know, but it was a far more purist age. Anyway, imagine the collective sigh of relief when Camden started regularly playing host to a band who could actually be the Smiths and the Cocteaus IN THE SAME SONG. Come to think of it, that’d be quite the sight to behold even now…

Needless to say, the obligatory A&R bunfight ensued, followed by a solitary single that went on to top by a whisker the most top-end-classic-heavy (at least since punk) of John Peel’s Festive 50s and then a for-the-time substantial hiatus that led to this being arguably the most salivatingly-anticipated album of its era. Little wonder it was so adored back then, but what’s perhaps surprising is the potency it retains even stripped of all that context. This, it must be said, is down most of all to one salient point: nothing at all wrong with the rhythm section, of course (in fact, drummer Patch Hannan would go on to appear on one of the decade’s most underrated albums, theaudience’s splendid debut), but the Sundays’ charm has survived chiefly because they were helmed by two thoroughly stellar talents.

Harriet Wheeler’s voice is a genuine one-off, giddy and effortlessly gymnastic without ever losing sight of the humanistic warmth at its core – the crystalline prettiness she brings to ‘You’re Not The Only One I Know’ lends it a gorgeous quality brilliantly at odds with the mundane minutiae of the lyrics, while her hurtling from punchy gurgles to stage-whispery confiding makes ‘Skin & Bones’ a terrifically arresting opening. Conversely, David Gavurin is one of the great overlooked guitarists of the entire canon; he might display shameless debts to more familiar figures at times (the aforementioned Marr on ‘A Certain Someone’, James Honeyman-Scott on ‘I Kicked A Boy’), but there’s a passion and a very real sense of release to his excursions in spangle’n’jangle that make for listening that’s much more bewitching that any mere xeroxing could be.

What’s also especially striking – and, given the title, wholly appropriate – is just how strong a reflection of student-age life this is, which, on reflection, is a rarer gift than might initially be assumed (consider, if you will, how much easier it is to rattle off lists of artists whose oeuvres correlate with adolescent experiences or properly grown-up concerns). At times, this can be remarkably specific – the excellent ‘I Won’ is perhaps the only song to ever build itself around flatshare politics – but it also captures the sensation of a life spent in preparation for a rather daunting sense of possibility. ‘Hideous Towns’ best expresses the intimidation this entails ("never went to Rome / I took the first bus home" etc), but it rears its head repeatedly, Wheeler at one point taking solace in the thought that "there’s no harm in voicing your doubts" and, on ‘Can’t Be Sure’, reflecting with perhaps an overly optimistic confidence that absolute conviction in what lies ahead is bound to emerge. Eventually.

On top of this, there’s a fearless smartness in abundance here that it’s all too frequently been reasonable to contend has been the great casualty of indie’s exodus from the ghetto. The Sundays were never as prone to flourishes as, say, Wild Beasts, but there’s a similar enthusiasm for language, punning on the militaristic aspect of the phrase "Salvation Army", opting for more poetic turns of phrase when lesser artists would have unthinkingly travelled a far more prosaic path ("it’s that little souvenir of a terrible year that makes my eyes feel sore," for instance, is a lovely touch), and coming out with throwaway jewels and joltingly organic observations at regular intervals – it’s difficult to think of anyone else, even back then, whose finest hour in ‘My Finest Hour’ would be simply "finding a pound in the underground", and even listening now lines like "fit the flowers in the bottle of fake cologne" leap out as inspired and uniquely evocative.

Admittedly, these are heights that would never be repeated; a second single apparently couldn’t be plucked from this because the band had no more songs that they could’ve put on the B-side (an issue reminiscent, in a curious parallel, of a certain New York band, also on Rough Trade, who could be said to have kick-started the decade that followed), second album Blind didn’t feature on anybody’s best-of-’92 lists, and the marked improvements of Static & Silence (containing their Newman and Baddiel theme a full four years after the fact) got somewhat swallowed up as the indie implosion began gathering pace, and, while a formal split’s never taken place, there’s been no activity to speak of since. Moreover, this sets down a blueprint that would be followed with spectacularly diminishing returns by the Cranberries, which we’re sure they’d rather not dwell on”.

Tomorrow, it will be thirty-five years since The Sundays released one of the most important debut albums of the 1990s. Its legacy and influence being felt to this very day. I listened to the album not long after it came out and have loved it ever since. Even if The Sundays burned brightly briefly, with Reading, Writing And Arithmetic, they most certainly…

LEFT their mark.

FEATURE: How Soon Is Now? The Smiths’ Meat Is Murder at Forty

FEATURE:

 

 

How Soon Is Now?

 

The Smiths’ Meat Is Murder at Forty

_________

I am looking ahead…

to 11th February and the fortieth anniversary of perhaps the most underrated or under-discussed album from The Smiths. Their second studio album, Meat Is Murder, was released in 1985. It was a tremendous year for music. Standing alongside the best albums of the year is this classic. It contains a few of The Smiths’ best songs. The Headmaster Ritual and Barbarism Begins at Home. How Soon Is Now? was included on the U.S. L.P. release. Arguably the very finest Smiths song! Compared to 1986’s The Queen Is Dead, there was not as much attention and focus on Meat Is Murder. Look online now and there is still comparatively little written about it. Granted, it is not as strong as The Queen Is Dead or Strangeways, Here We Come, but it is a remarkable album that warrants discussion. I am going to get to some features about The Smiths’ second studio album. First, this review from The Guardian highlights the strengths of Meat Is Murder:

With their second proper album Meat Is Murder, the Smiths begin to branch out and diversify, while refining the jangling guitar pop of their debut. In other words, it catches the group at a crossroads, unsure quite how to proceed. Taking the epic, layered "How Soon Is Now?" as a starting point (the single, which is darker and more dance-oriented than the remainder of the album, was haphazardly inserted into the middle of the album for its American release), the group crafts more sweeping, mid-tempo numbers, whether it's the melancholy "That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore" or the failed, self-absorbed protest of the title track. While the production is more detailed than before, the Smiths are at their best when they stick to their strengths -- "The Headmaster Ritual" and "I Want the One I Can't Have" are fine elaborations of the formula they laid out on the debut, while "Rusholme Ruffians" is an infectious stab at rockabilly. However, the rest of Meat Is Murder is muddled, repeating lyrical and musical ideas of before without significantly expanding them or offering enough hooks or melodies to make it the equal of The Smiths or Hatful of Hollow”.

Although quite a personal take, Katharine Viner wrote about Meat Is Murder in 2011. Writing for The Guardian, their writers selected their favourite albums. There are some compelling arguments as to why Meat Is Murder is significant and holds a lot of treasures. An album that makes you stop and think. A snapshot of a particular time in British history:

It starts as if in the middle of something – you're already part of this. Meat Is Murder is local and British from the first line – "Belligerent ghouls run Manchester schools" – and expresses fury at a kind of school life that has been forgotten. When the album was released, corporal punishment was still legal – it wasn't banned until 1986 – and everyone had a particularly sadistic teacher like Morrissey's "spineless swines". Mine was Miss Grant, who had a flat bat on which she had chalked two faces, one happy and one down-in-the-mouth – if the smiling face was showing, the bat would be hitting someone that day. The brilliantly titled Barbarism Begins at Home, during which Morrissey yelps as if in pain, is also about children being hit – "a crack on the head is what you get for asking". There's a lot of violence in the Smiths.

Rusholme Ruffians, with Johnny Marr's rockabilly riff, is about Manchester too and makes the city (home of much of the history of British feminism, socialism, vegetarianism and the Guardian) sound exciting, a place where things happen. Who wouldn't want to be ruffian from Rusholme? I was from the other side of the Pennines, but pilgrimages to the city (because of the Smiths) gave me style (old men's coats from Affleck's Palace, the second-hand clothes and records emporium that opened in 1982), rare Smiths 12ins (What Difference Does It Make? with Morrissey on the front instead of Terence Stamp), photos in front of Salford Lads Club, chance meetings with Morrissey's ex-girlfriend (artist Linder Sterling, working in Deansgate Waterstone's), and, just a little bit, a sense of possibility.

It's a record full of yearning("I want the one I can't have, and it's driving me mad"), the humiliating obviousness of when you want something ("It's written all over my face"), low expectations ("Please keep me in mind"), the melodrama of youth("This is the final stand of all I am"), and romance ("My faith in love is still devout").

It's also funny. "I'd like to drop my trousers to the Queen," sings Morrissey on Nowhere Fast. "Every sensible child will know what this means. The poor and the needy are selfish and greedy on her terms." It's hard to hear the song without wondering if Morrissey is already, on only his second album, parodying himself: "If the day came when I felt a natural emotion, I'd get such a shock I'd probably jump in the ocean."

I love the way What She Said, one of the best Smiths songs, is told from a female perspective – it's rare for male songwriters to write about women with empathy rather than desire – and how it taps into a certain kind of teenage girl's fantasies: "What she read, all heady books, she'd sit and prophesise … It took a tattooed boy from Birkenhead to really open her eyes." And the tune! Morrissey beats a path to your head, but it's Marr who carries the words to your heart.

And then, right at the end, the title track: a great political song, and the best ever written about animal rights. (Even famous vegetarian Paul McCartney, who has written tracks about the British in Northern Ireland, revolutionary politics and 9/11, has never written a song about vegetarianism. He once told me he'd always found it curiously hard to commit one to paper, even though he'd tried, and that he greatly admired the Smiths' effort.) Meat Is Murder's sinister opening, full of strange noises that conjure up an abattoir, moves into a terrible, beautiful melody. "The carcass you carve with a smile, it is murder … And the turkey you festively slice, it is murder." The song made me stop eating meat, and I haven't eaten it since”.

In 2015, a thirtieth anniversary feature was published by The Quietus. It is a really detailed and in-depth piece that reveals depths and layers of the album I had not considered. If you have not heard Meat Is Murder before then please do go and play it:

The things that gave The Smiths the capacity to change lives were the same set of factors that ensure their records remain arresting and remarkable all these years later. Morrissey’s lyrics spoke about real lives with an honesty and a clarity that rock and pop often shied away from: here was someone writing about heartbreak and isolation not as mythic subjects that somehow glorified the sufferer, but as the all-too-real consequences of the everyday. You didn’t get the sense, as one sometimes does from songwriters, that they were trying to make it sound like they were doing all this to provide escapist or aspirational entertainment – the characters Morrissey wrote about were you, or the folks around you, or the people you thought you might one day be. They looked like a band, they had that indefinable star quality, and there was the strangeness of Marr’s music and the ambiguity around Morrissey’s in-song personas that meant you were never thinking they were just the same as you – but they were a lot nearer to being people you might know than the rest of the pop world of the mid-1980s. So as great as the music was, and as unique and untouchable as parts of it undoubtedly were, these records felt like they could have sprung from you, your mates, your wider social circle. As Thom Yorke put it, introducing Radiohead’s cover version of the opening track from Meat Is Murder during a 2007 webcast, "this is about when we were younger – but we didn’t write it." And in Marr’s capable hands, each lyric was arrowed into your head and your heart with the most appropriate and individual accompaniment, music reinforcing the lyric’s emotions and making the songs impossible to not have some kind of personal reaction to and relationship with. These songs became your friends.

The decision the band had come to about production by the time they made Meat Is Murder was important, too. Their first album had had to be completely re-recorded and nobody seems to have been overjoyed with the results. They stuck with producer John Porter right up to the final track made before the Meat Is Murder sessions began, and given how tremendously that song turned out, you do wonder whether the relationship was ended just when it had started to find its feet. Porter’s input to ‘How Soon Is Now’ proved critical: he encouraged Marr to locate the arrangement that worked and the final mix, which he oversaw, still ranks as one of the finest moments of 1980s music – hell, it’ll probably be in many people’s all-time Top 20. Yet the band decided to go it alone, and produce their second album themselves, with help from an engineer (Stephen Street). It could’ve gone wrong in a number of different ways, but what Marr and Morrissey may have lacked in studio experience they more than made up for in musical knowledge, self-belief, and a certainty in what they were doing and how it ought to sound. A brief hand, here, for Joyce and Rourke: according to the credits on every Smiths record they weren’t involved in writing the music, and their part in the court case that dominated proceedings after the band broke up will have soured many fans to them and cost them sympathy and empathy. But even Morrissey, as he despairs of what he considers their treachery in his book, acknowledges their particular and singular excellence: and on Meat Is Murder they came into their own giving these songs power and poise, perfectly preparing and solidifying the bedrock on which the songs were to be built.

‘How Soon Is Now’ was, infamously, rejected as a single by Rough Trade; in his autobiography, Morrissey tells of being brought down from cloud nine to terra firma when label boss Geoff Travis conspicuously failed to be as knocked-out by the track as the band were. That initial decision to relegate the song to b-side status was soon reversed – the track, included on the ‘William, It Was Really Nothing’ 12" and on the brilliant Hatful Of Hollow singles/b-sides/outtakes collection in 1984, was voted Number One in that year’s Festive 50, compiled by John Peel from listeners’ lists of their favourite three songs of the preceding 12 months, and Rough Trade bowed to the inevitable by making it a January a-side ahead of February’s release of Meat Is Murder. That it became the de-facto lead-in single to an album it doesn’t appear on and wasn’t made during sessions for is intriguing. But the objection that has been reported as the label’s major one to releasing it at the time it was new – that its sound would have been a surprise to the band’s extant fan base – still holds water. Nothing in their discography matches it, and if you were just presented with the records and had no contextual data available, placing that song into a sequence that shows a logical progression – of writing, performance or production – would probably prove impossible: certainly, if you had no other information to go on, you would probably place it after Meat Is Murder rather than before in the band’s chronology. Nevertheless, some of its sonic elements are echoed in the album made shortly afterwards, most notably the use of harmonics and sustained tones in Marr’s guitar parts. To these ears, those bits of ‘How Soon Is Now’ have always sounded like or evoked birds – the slide-guitar parts as avian calls while the sonic imagery seems to suggest flight. But maybe that’s just me.

Perhaps oddly, considering the album title and the way it helped usher in an age where vegetarianism and animal rights moved from the fringes to the mainstream of western society (seriously: you couldn’t get a veggie burger or a meat-free lasagne in a British cafe in 1984, and if you asked for a meal without meat you’d often have been laughed at), there’s no other song on the record that broaches those subjects. If there is a predominant lyrical concern, it’s violence and abuse – of teachers against pupils in ‘The Headmaster Ritual’, of parents against children in ‘Barbarism Begins At Home’. Yet in a way these ideas are all of a piece, the words chosen with deliberation and precision: "barbarism", "murder" – these evils have become banal or mundane, and by using words to describe them which remind the listener of the horror the writer wishes to highlight, we’re forced to confront an atrocity we take for granted because of its ubiquity and reassess our responses to it. In truth, therefore, the album’s key unifying theme is not vegetarianism, or bullying, but social conditioning and double standards. It’s a record that reminds you that you have to draw your own lines, because the places where others have tended to draw them for us are built on a foundation of hypocrisies.

Humour is never far away, even though this lot are supposed to be the masters of misery. In this one strange way (sorry), The Smiths are a bit like NWA: there’s quite a few laughs in the records, but significant parts of the audience seem predisposed not to find them. Morrissey is a hugely funny writer, as anyone who’s enjoyed his uproarious autobiography would have noticed without fail – yet too often his lyrics are taken at face value. This is nonsensical: we don’t presume him to be stumbling and inarticulate because the characters in his songs may be, yet many of us seem to assume that when he writes a couplet like "I want to drop my trousers to the world/I am a man of means – of slender means" that he’s bemoaning his lot rather than sending himself up for supposedly doing just that. There is also humour in the music. You can read Marr’s fascination with the "wrong" chords – such as how, in ‘The Headmaster Ritual’, he deliberately goes to a chord you’re not expecting next – or his apparent need to find new hoops for rock to jump through as devices intended not just to provoke and sustain attention but to raise a smile. What’s so consistently great about Meat Is Murder is that on more or less every track, it manages to do all of this, all at once.

‘Barbarism Begins At Home’, occasionally described as an attempt at funk, is fairly obviously not The Smiths putting in an application for a support tour with Level 42. Rather, between the lyric and Rourke’s bass line – a pastiche of the slap-and-pop style, more Kajagoogoo than Brothers Johnson – it is surely designed to evoke that atmosphere in an unhappy home where even the soundtrack is selected by others, where the individual and the different is crushed beneath the tyranny of supposed consensus. It’s difficult now to recall the era with quite the precision that may be required, and even harder to explain to anyone who’s come of age in our present epoch of digital superfluity – but music that the likes of The Smiths made was still very much considered to be the preserve of the outsider. They were among the most popular artists not connected to the major-label system, but their music was tolerated within the mainstream and never as big in commercial terms as their reputation today might make you think was the case. None of their singles got higher than Number 10 during the band’s lifetime: daytime radio play was limited, and even the evening-show plays they got became, eventually, a bit more begrudging, as they gained in popularity and DJs keen to champion new music perhaps felt the band were too big to need their help any more. Yet they were always more John Peel than Gary Davis, and so to hear this band – the heroes of the night – playing something that sounded like a slightly menacing, deeply unsettling take on the music daytime radio loved… well, you knew this couldn’t be an attempt at selling out – it was all about subverting.

The other clever musical joke comes in the form of ‘What She Said’, which Peel trailed on his show as The Smiths essaying heavy metal. It isn’t, quite, though you can sort of understand why he suggested it. Instead, what Marr did was to take the kind of double-time, triplet-based riff you’d occasionally find rock bands using for closing codas of songs, and constructed the entire piece out of it. The biggest wonder of all is that Morrissey managed to write and sing a song that could sit on top of it – it’s the lyrical equivalent of a winning ride on a bucking bronco. It’s ridiculous and brilliant at the same time – you’re laughing at how over-the-top it is while shaking your head in amazement at its daring. Marr even manages to finish the song in the "wrong" place – holding back the last crunching powerchord that would resolve the riff in a formally correct way (partially because the next chord in the sequence would send it all back to the top – for its duration, the riff seems to keep tumbling over itself, always ending back at the beginning in the musical equivalent of an Escher spiral staircase). It’s a short song and it’s showy, and it may be a bit too clever for its own good – but in its own way it’s a perfect encapsulation of what this band were about, and as fine if extreme an example of what they were capable of as can be imagined.

It’s also one of three songs on the album where Morrissey relies on ad libs apparently derived from folk song styles and traditions which take the place of hooks or choruses. It’s a curious habit and one he didn’t pursue for long. ‘Shakespeare’s Sister’, the non-LP single released just after Meat Is Murder and recorded around the same time, has a section in the middle where he gets close to it, but – unless a short blurt in ‘There Is A Light That Never Goes Out’ counts – the technique seems to be limited to this particular period. It happens in ‘The Headmaster Ritual’, where the hook is a wordless series of vocal sounds; in ‘Rusholme Ruffians’, as a kind of distant echoed response to the narrator’s rhetorical question about what would happen if "I jumped from the top of the parachutes"; and in ‘What She Said’, where it ends several of the stanzas. Why he chose to do this, and to do it such a lot but for such a brief period, isn’t clear, though it’s tempting to see it as both an attempt – possibly subconscious, though from someone so deeply committed to an ongoing investigation of what being British might mean, that seems unlikely – to imbue the Smiths’ material with something that tied it stylistically to a deep and ancient tradition of British songcraft, and at the same time as a nod to Pentangle, a key influence on Marr.

The curious approach to marketing the album reached a bewildering peak in the summer of ’85 when what one can consider the third single in the campaign was released. After ‘How Soon Is Now’ and ‘Shakespeare’s Sister’, the decision to release ‘That Joke Isn’t Funny Anymore’ bordered on the obtuse. Other bands had done OK without having singles taken from albums, some of them even on Rough Trade (The Fall spring most readily to mind), so it wasn’t as if releasing a string of non-LP singles would have been unprecedented. The song had to be edited for release as a single – the false ending on the album became the real ending of the 45, lest any radio DJ be taken unawares and start to talk in the gap – and, with the definite exception of the title track and the possible exception of the beautiful, rain-spattered ‘Well I Wonder’, it’s easily the least immediate song on the record. That said, it remains a quintessential Smiths song, a bruised and beautiful thing aching with melancholy and simmering with the sense of explosive power held in reserve. A better bet, surely, would have been the other track on the album which distilled the essence of the band into a single song – ‘I Want The One I Can’t Have’ teeters similarly close to self-parody but is far more immediate, its up-tempo brashness probably better suited to the demands of mid-’80s daytime radio and more likely to tempt the curious uncommitted into a purchase.

The lesson is clear. This wasn’t a record that improves by being broken down into singles, parcelled up into hit-worthy packages, taken apart to be put back together later. In truth, any of these songs could have been singles, but perhaps it would have been better if none of them ever were. Gallagher is right: it is the band’s best album. The Queen Is Dead tends to take the plaudits, and Morrissey reckons the fourth and final studio LP, Strangeways, Here We Come, found the group firing on every cylinder and is, to his mind, their finest achievement. But the life-changing Meat Is Murder is the one”.

Although Meat Is Murder has more contrasting reviews compared to their eponymous 1983 debut and The Queen Is Dead, it is still an important part of their cannon. As it is forty on 11th February, it is worth shining a light on The Smiths’ magnificent second studio album. This site sourced a critical review from Rolling Stone:

Lead singer and wordsmith Stephen Morrissey (who goes by his surname professionally) is a man on a mission, a forlorn and brooding crusader with an arsenal of personal axes to grind. Drawing on British literary and cinematic tradition (he cites influences ranging from Thomas Hardy and Oscar Wilde to Saturday Night and Sunday Morning), Morrissey speaks out for protection of the innocent, railing against human cruelty in all its guises. Three of the songs on Meat Is Murder deal with saving our children — from the educational system (“The Headmaster Ritual”), from brutalizing homes (“Barbarism Begins at Home”), from one another (“Rusholme Ruffians”). The title track, “Meat Is Murder,” with its simulated bovine cries and buzz-saw guitars, takes vegetarianism to new heights of hysterical caniphobia.

A man of deadly serious sensitivity, Morrissey recognizes emotional as well as physical brutality, assailing the cynicism that laughs at loneliness (“That Joke Isn’t Funny Anymore”). Despite feeling trapped in an unfeeling world, Morrissey can still declare, “My faith in love is still devout,” with a sincerity so deadpan as to be completely believable.

Though he waves the standard for romance and sexual liberation, Morrissey has a curiously puritanical concept of love. He’s conscious of thwarted passion and inappropriate response, yet remains oddly distant from his own self-absorption. The simple pleasures of others make him uncomfortable as if these activities were the cause of his own grand existential suffering. Morrissey’s uptight romanticism wears the black mantle of a new Inquisition.

In contrast to Morrissey’s censorious lyrical attitudes is the expansive musical vision of guitarist and tunesmith Johnny Marr. When these two are brought into alignment, the results transcend and transform Morrissey’s concerns. The brightest example is the shimmering twelve-inch “How Soon Is Now?” (included as a bonus on U.S. copies of Meat Is Murder). Marr’s version of the Bo Diddley beat and his somber, reptilian guitars propel Morrissey’s heartfelt plea — “I am human, and I need to be loved, just like everybody else does” — into the realm of universal compassion and post-cool poetry. At this point, his needs seem real, his concerns nonjudgmental, and his otherwise pious persona truly sympathetic”.

On 11th February, we mark forty years of Meat Is Murder. The second album from The Smiths saw the band diversify. It was the band’s only album to reach number one in the U.K. In 2003, Meat Is Murder was ranked number 295 on Rolling Stone magazine's list of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time. The album was also included in the book 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die in 2005. I was keen to spend some time with Meat Is Murder ahead of its fortieth anniversary. It still holds power and relevance to this day. It is…

AN underrated gem of an album.