....some academics began to murmur about the validity of...

I’ve just finished a Mark Radcliffe novel, ‘Northern Sky’, an undemanding yet reasonably enjoyable read all about the loves, aspirations and interactions of a group of musicians from a north of England folk club named after the plaintive Nick Drake song. As befits a first-rate broadcaster, Radcliffe scatters the text with wit, humour and sharp observations while his characters are rounded enough and possess sufficient depth to make one believe in them. It was a decent read but hasn’t changed my life. Radcliffe’s own band, The Family Mahone, make a cameo appearance towards the end of the novel when they have their backstage passes to a folk festival taken. Nice touch. I’m sure that Radcliffe has snuck in a few favourite song titles into the writing too: ‘Bizarre Love Triangle’ and ‘Comfortably Numb’ both snuggle cosily into the middle of sentences. As someone who attempted, as a wan undergraduate, to include every R.E.M. album title into an essay, I can appreciate that kind of caper.

"I will now sell five copies of the Beta Band's Three EPs."

Some would consider that a trip to London purely to slope from one record shop to another all day would constitute an appalling waste of time but I enjoyed a marvellous and relaxing hour or seven yesterday doing precisely that. Berwick Street is a splendid thoroughfare and contains, I would suggest, about eight independent record stores of the Nick Hornby Hi-Fidelity sort. Having met D in the clinical and corporate Virgin Megastore, we strolled down Oxford Street, took a left and spent quality time and money in these more ramshackle establishments before a light lunch and a jaunt to the fine Fopp Records which represents the more acceptable side of record shop chains. In Fopp I bought Sufjan Stevens' Greetings From Michigan which I'm playing and hugely appreciating as I write this, Dandruff by the eccentric Scottish poet and musician Ivor Cutler who died last month and whom I used to listen to avidly on the John Peel Show, and some kicking bass and drum, New Forms by Bristol's Roni Size, a Mercury Prizewinner, no less. The seven pounds I paid for the Stevens album was the most I spent on a single purchase all day.

The smaller shops produced the goods too. For two quid apiece in Mister CD I picked up Shakespeare Alabama, a lost eighties classic by all accounts, by Diesel Park West and Bubblegum by former Screaming Tree and favourite of D, Mark Lanegan. After lunch, I returned to Berwick Street on my own and bought, for a single pound each, Pig Lib by Stephen Malkmus, Monsoon by Preston School of Industry and Spoonface by Ben Christophers. I'm delighted with my spoils. I look forward to hearing them all over the next day or two although I am already familiar with the Malkmus and Size opuses.

There's a couple of pictures of Berwick Street above. Fans of derivative and uninspiring 90s guitar music might recognise the first one.

A Needless Lie in the Supermarket

To London tomorrow on the charabanc. I shall alight at ten at Victoria and have a few things planned. I’m very keen to go to a decent market and will head straight to Brick Lane to peruse the stalls. Later I shall be meeting D and we shall, no doubt, scamper through the streets like a pair of urchins, thieving silk handkerchiefs and pocket watches from wealthy gentlemen. Failing that, we might have a spot of lunch and visit some independent record shops. I’d quite like to go to the Tate Modern too. I have selected 20 CDs from my Amazon wishlist to look out for and while I certainly won’t be buying all of them, I am keen to add to my collection in one or two areas tomorrow. Like an omen, Phill Jupitus played a Young Marble Giants song on 6Music earlier; the melancholic – yet melodic - 1980s Welsh group’s cult classic Colossal Youth nestles on my list. Having played it to death on an old, old tape, I really want a CD copy of Mikey Dread’s African Anthem too. Finding those albums would be wonderful.

It seems that much of my socialising takes place in the confines of J. Sainsbury where I am often bumping into old school friends and figures from the past. Of course, all my school muckers are turning 40 this year and when I encountered J by the cheese and milk we discussed how 40 was now the new 20 or 30. Noticing my Creative Zen MP3 player, he remarked that our parents would never have been seen dead with such a gadget. ‘Let alone playing the Arctic Monkeys,’ I remarked merrily. I was lying. I was actually listening to a Sufjan Stevens album. It troubles me that such deceit comes so easy to my lips but, in my defence, I suppose I figured that J had never heard of the Michigan songsmith and I indubitably couldn’t be bothered to explain who he was.

Oh Heck

Gloucester 15 - Bristol 20

I suppose Peter Buxton was nominally captain so his decision making must take some of the blame for Gloucester’s capitulation yesterday. After a stirring first ninety seconds when the oval was passed majestically through too many hands to count, Allen and Simpson-Daniel looked like the stunning thoroughbreds they surely are, a four try bonus seemed attainable before half-time and the Shed was buzzing, I suppose the tactical reasoning seemed sound: let’s stick the ball up our collective jumpers for the last 78 and a half minutes and try and protect the seven point lead by fronting up to an experienced, gnarled and streetwise bunch of forwards. In hindsight, always dangerous I know, option one should have been to give quick ball to Allen and Simpson-Daniel, option two should have been to give quick ball to Allen and Simpson-Daniel and, if that wasn’t quite working, switching to option three, quick ball to Allen and Simpson-Daniel, might have proved a concept worth flirting with. I’m incredibly disappointed with the city club this morning.

The Secret Machines at Bristol Bierkeller, Friday 24th March

Friday’s Secret Machines concert was more fulfilling. Mixing sturm und drang with the slightest hint of durm und strang, the Texan wunderkinds created a maelstrom of precise, incredibly loud, art-rock. It was a belter. Prefuse 73 didn’t play. That was disappointing.

Our Little Secret

S and I shall be heading to the dark and wondrous Bristol Bierkeller this evening for a blinding double header. Prefuse 73’s enigmatic glitch-hop shall kick off the proceedings before the main event, Secret Machines, bring their epic and most beautiful sound to the West Country. The Guardian gives their new album five stars today and, apparently, ‘every moment shows how special this band are’. Without, in any way, wishing to tempt fate, this one should be a belter.

Cottoning/Recottoning

The Fall at Bristol Academy, Monday 20th March

S and I agreed that the heady days when we would look forward to Fall concerts like five-year-olds for Christmas are long gone. However, we insist on paying our dues at least once a year and recently have been rewarded with some belting performances from Smith and his marvellous combo. On Monday evening The Fall made art again. No prisoners were taken. A short set flew by, a matter-of-fact exposure of The Fall’s strengths: angular and riff-laden pieces, loud, powerful, controlled and underpinned by relentless and rigid riddims. There were no encores. The audience was left wanting more and I welcome and respect that refusal to play the system. I’m now too old in the tooth to shout ‘more’. The curve appears to be up for the group. Last year and the year before they played the smaller Bristol Bierkeller – which does actually suit their sound more – but the larger Academy and a decent sized crowd indicate a growing or returning following has cottoned or recottoned onto this band’s mighty might. This remains a cool group. This remains a cool group.

Attack

I've had a migraine today, the second this year. As I once had two migraine attacks in one day I can live with that rate of affliction. I didn't drink to excess at all last night but the couple of pints of Guinness I supped at The Fall gig may have affected my metabolism. As I'm unwell, I'll write a bit more about the concert later in the week but I'll publish one of the photos I took today.

Eastern European

The Coles didn’t enjoy the now traditional lack of comfort in the Guildhall cinema seats last Thursday but we did appreciate the good-natured and clever feature we had set out to view: Good Bye Lenin! The plot involves a middle-aged woman who has devoted herself to the communist party in East Germany. She falls into a coma but awakens after the Berlin Wall has been dismantled and Germany is reunified so her loving son goes to extremes to hide this from her lest she falls ill again from the shock. I found it all very touching. The period details added to the enjoyment while the history of both pre- and post-unification was captured intelligently. Above all, though, this was a film about how much a son loves his mother and was all the more delightful for that.

Pointless Musings

I have recently passed a milestone and am approaching another. My Creative Zen MP3 player contains 402 albums and 4897 tracks. It would take two and a half weeks to listen to everything on there back to back but I’m not going to try that as I like to sleep and go to the lavatory occasionally. I would suggest that my player remains the favourite object I own by some considerable distance – closely followed by my Pure digital radio methinks. When I took the girls to their swimming lesson this morning I sat poolside and indulged in a sort of Desert Island Discs style activity which proved enormously stimulating. You can search for albums really quickly on the machine but, if you wish, you can scroll all the way through the albums from start (‘#1 Record/Radio City’ by Big Star) to finish (‘Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars’ by David Bowie). At any one time, as you scroll, only six album titles are visible on the screen at once so I wondered which ‘screen of six’ I would take to a desert island or Stroud or Dax or wherever if those bare half dozen recordings were all I was allowed. The three contenders are listed below. The third option is a bit tongue-in-cheek but The Fall’s Peel Sessions are marvellous while the first two on that list are bona fide classics. I would say that Option One wins the day as it covers quite a few bases and covers them rather magnificently: a classic folk album, a classic jazz recording, some peerless seventies reggae, a subtle and delicate soundtrack, a post-punk loud and scary thing and Radiohead’s finest and most challenging hour. Option Two is tempting, mind. After a week or two on the island (or living in Stroud or Dax) I’d probably be crying out for One Hundred Years by The Cure or Horsechimes by Prefab Sprout.

Option One
Just Another Diamond Day by Vashti Bunyan
Kes Original Soundtrack by John Cameron
Kid A by Radiohead
Killing Joke by Killing Joke
Kind of Blue by Miles Davis
King Tubby Meets Rockers Uptown by Augustus Pablo

Option Two
Pornography by The Cure
Post by Bjork
Power, Corruption and Lies by New Order
Pretzel Logic by Steely Dan
Protest Songs by Prefab Sprout
Rabbit Songs by Hem

Option Three
The Campfire Headphase by Boards of Canada
The Colour of Spring by Talk Talk
The Complete Peel Sessions 1978-2004 (Disc 1) by The Fall
The Complete Peel Sessions 1978-2004 (Disc 2) by The Fall
The Complete Peel Sessions 1978-2004 (Disc 3) by The Fall
The Complete Peel Sessions 1978-2004 (Disc 4) by The Fall


Talking of The Fall, I’m off to see them tomorrow night at the Bristol Academy. As ever, I’m looking forward to the wonderful and frightening noise that awaits me.

I Love My Friends

I have grown to adore – yes, adore – Stephen Duffy’s 'I Love My Friends' and I sense it will become one of those recordings I am to become evangelical and a little boring about. Apologies in advance to all concerned. Soaring pop melodies, exquisitely poignant lyrics and more wit, wisdom and swaggering insouciance than you can shake a lilac tree at: this is an important recording. Lost cult classics can disappoint but ‘I Love My Friends’ is a majestic triumph. I’m eyeing the fellow’s back catalogue with a wolfish lick o’ the lips.

This morning I played a Fall song for all the wrong reasons.

Shoegazing

Last night I ventured with J to Cheltenham’s Bacon Theatre for a concert celebrating the sixtieth birthday of cult folkster (so ‘cult’ I’d never heard of him) Steve Ashley. A whole raft of folk’s top players appeared including several ‘Fairports’ and Robert Kirby who arranged all Nick Drake’s strings and conducted a small orchestra last night. Ragged Robin, Ashley’s old band plugged in their guitars for a while but nobody shouted ‘Judas’. Alas. It was pleasant but lacked the edge that the folk music I prefer demonstrates. I couldn’t listen to this kind of more traditional stuff for too long but one evening was fine. It was fascinating to chat to Peter Muir the owner of folk record label Market Square in the bar beforehand and during the interval. Here was a gent who really knew his stuff, not only about the folk scene, but about most music of import. I did enjoy his observation that Nick Drake was the first ever shoegazer. Which in a way, he was.

Wales 18 - Italy 18

I do enjoy my trips to the Millennium Stadium. Today’s clash between Wales and Italy was high on endeavour and skill and rather exciting. It was obvious that 95% of the crowd had pitched up expecting a Welsh victory and were shocked by the discipline and proficiency of the visitors who deserved a draw and, possibly, a victory after a relentless period of pressure in the second half that rocked the home side. The Gloucester signings both showed up well although Nieto limped off injured in the first half. Bortolami appears to be a stunning signing; his all round game was superb and I noted his inspirational leadership qualities from close range. He’ll be great for the city.

Again I was heartened by the support for the Welsh; I was surrounded by real fans with not a prawn sandwich to be spotted all afternoon. The atmosphere was startling.

I bought Stephen Duffy’s re-released classic I Love My Friends in a smashing little Cardiff record shop called Spillers. Having played it once I can tell its English whimsy and soaring melodies will hit all the right spots. I downloaded the soundtrack to City of God last night and played it there and back on the train today. This is a sublime collection of Brazilian music, funky, catchy, swinging and sultry. I recommend it.

Libraries Gave Us Power

Is it unusual to get a little bit over-excited by the opening of a new library? I must confess I have watched the new Longlevens library being constructed over the course of the last year and have steadily become more thrilled as a stunningly designed building has taken shape. It finally opened earlier this week and is an absolute joy. There has been significant investment in new stock so the choice is wonderful, there are hundreds of decent CDs and DVDs to browse through, the kids’ section is spacious and bright while a big screen (showing Star Wars when I was in) dominates one wall. I know this sounds overblown but this place is going to seriously improve the quality of my life. I am sure the masses would disagree but a life-affirming building like this is precisely, precisely what I want my taxes invested in. Heaven.

Tomorrow shall be an adventure. My son and I are travelling by locomotive to the city of Cardiff where we shalt alight and stroll to the Millennium Stadium where a brace of tickets will admit us to the Wales against Italy match. I reckon Italy will fancy their chances against a stuttering Welsh side. I’m keen, naturally, to see Gloucester’s new signings, Bortolami and Nieto, in action for the Azzurri. A boyish part of me is looking forward to the train journey as much as the football.

Scotch

Another new arrival today. Rory Lawson has joined the city from Edinburgh. The fellow is a scrum-half and I welcome him. He is the third choice Scotland number nine and it appears he has turned down Glasgow for us so he must fancy his chances of cementing a first team place for himself. I would like one or two more signings. Another monstrous prop would be dandy and an imposing number eight in the mould of Junior Paramore would be marvellous too. Behind the pack a class back three player (or two) would delight this supporter. Here’s wishing, eh?

I have been playing 'Animals' by Pink Floyd to death recently. I never thought that would happen and that if it did, I would admit to it. Stunning album though.

Guinness

I’m a touch hungover today. The Big Laugh Café provided us with merely adequate entertainment – I am ever convinced that I don’t really enjoy stand-up that much – but also with an opportunity to sample the Guildhall’s Guinness in four-pint pitchers. I’ve been a bit tender as a result. In Ireland the Guinness doesn’t tend to give one a hangover which begs an obvious question…

The bulk of yesterday was spent in Bath. John Hegley’s poetry show for children, ‘I am a Potato’ was fun, clever and knowing. My three enjoyed it. Before the show I saw Jonah Lomu strolling up Milsom Street with his female partner. They were contentedly clutching shopping bags. In a charity shop I purchased a Smiths singles compilation for a quid. For a band that used to dominate every waking hour when I was a youth I am surprised how rarely I yearn to listen to their songs any more. I guess they don’t mean so much now that I’m grown although a part of me confesses that I lost interest in the group when they became popular and uber-hip. When C and I were the only ones to know about them, eagerly awaiting early sessions on the John Peel show, they were sparkling and wondrous and ours. I’ll never forget strutting into the school sixth form common room with their debut album, released that day, under my arm and nobody, nobody having the slightest clue who The Smiths were. Heck, I felt smug.

The video to The Beatles’ Something is one I’d never seen before. Its monochrome charm and simplistic quaintness are gorgeous.

I’m sad that Terry Fanolua is leaving Gloucester at the end of the season and admit to experiencing the faintest moisture around the old peepers when I read the message to his fans on his website. Fanolua joined the city club as a lad really and will leave as a legend. Whatever his shortcomings as a player – and I have criticised his over-zealous desire to seek contact and avoid passing the ball – I have always relished his dedication and ability to give his all for the cause. His final match at Kingsholm will be an emotional occasion and the sentimentalist in me can’t wait. Part of me welcomes Ryan’s decision not to offer the Samoan an extra year though. It hints at a steely determination to create the right squad to challenge for honours. I would rather have a Jack Adams or an Anthony Allen in the ranks any time.