In a rash moment of Dave Eggers-esque self-effacing caveat-making/narcissistic self-analysis, I'm going to warn you that the following article/post contains:
- Unnecessary Uses Of Capital Letters;
- rambling, anecdotal digressions and only a tortuous line of argument;
- shameless whimsy (note references to Belle and Sebastian);
- more than a whiff of hypocrisy; and
- little to entertain or interest those without at least a passing interest in late nineties indie/pop music.
I apologise for all of the above. Now's your chance to follow one of the links out of here. I put it down to the fact that I woke up at 6am on a Saturday morning with a tummy full of excitable butterflies because the birds were singing and the sun was shining and decided to write what had been buzzing aimlessly around my head into permanent blog format. So here's what I was thinking ...
A while I ago, I posted a list of my favourite records, year by year, that were made during the years I've been alive. I was really quite stumped about the last few, especially 2002 (though not as badly as I was by 1981). I put this down to lazy listening habits. Increasingly, I think I know what I like, and I know that what I think I like is more likely to have been made thirty years ago than last week. But that is no excuse for overlooking new bands and new records.
There are a number of reasons why I think it's important to continue to buy music made now, even if the hit rate of bona fide classics is rather lower than during the 'golden years'. The first are less important and rather selfish. I am reluctant to rush out and buy a new record by my favourite artists on release day. I think this stems from when Suede's Head Music ('give me head/give me head/ give me head music instead') was released in 1999, in a blaze of Virgin Megastore banners and hype ...
Now I'd just about convinced myself, erroneously and on scant evidence I'll admit, that Coming Up was, whilst not up there with the first two records, nonetheless a Very Good Record. I liked By The Sea ('she can walk out any time'); I still think Trash ('maybe maybe it's our nowhere towns/our nothing places and our cellophane sounds') and The Chemistry Between Us ('Oh Class A Class B is that the only chemistry between us') are good. But I can't now share Stephen Thomas Erlewine's optimistic assessment that Coming Up is 'a remarkable consolidation and crystallization of Suede's talents', and I think it's almost spectacularly unfair on Mr Bernard Butler to say that it is 'all the evidence anyone needs that Brett Anderson was always the guiding force behind the band'.
Despite all this, I rushed out and bought my copy of Head Music on release day. And, despite having enjoyed Electricity when it came out (the last Suede single for which I was to purchase both CDs in the vain hope they'd include another My Insatiable One), it was something of a crushing disappointment. I realised all at once that not only did it lack all the swagger, grandeur, and mystery of the first two records (not to mention the tunes), but it was probably indicative of the fact that It Was Over and Had Been For Some Time. I suppose it was a bit like (cue zealous overstatement) finding out that your girlfriend has been seeing someone else behind your back for years. Not only is it horrible at the time, but it undoes all the happy memories from the preceding period because It Was Never True In The First Place.
So I'm wary of expecting anything from new records even by bands I love. That's what made Belle and Sebastian's Dear Catastrophe Waitress such a pleasant surprise (this time I'm tempted to agree with Mr Thomas Erlewine: it is arguably 'the richest musical offering yet from Belle & Sebastian', largely because 'the notion that the band has no leader has been discarded', though 'it doesn't quite have the timeless feel of If You're Feeling Sinister').
BUT (and I apologise for the incredibly convoluted way I've got to this), I still remember the frisson of excitement associated with release day, the sense of being involved in something happening now that's bigger than me - a little like election day, the sense of being swept along in a big community casting their vote. I suppose it's the same thing that makes people stump up the money to vote on Big Brother, Fame Academy et al.
Then, of course, there's also the possibility that the new record you're buying will be the Next Big Thing, a bona fide classic, your Favourite Album, the music you want on your wedding day or at your funeral. Something era-shaping, even life-defining. I mean, at some point, you'll buy your Favourite Album. Who is to say it won't be today, and it won't be by someone you'd never heard of before? It could be you (but, as it says on that link somewhere, 'it probably won't be'). I think William had a little of this thrill when he heard and bought Joanna Newsom's record. There is always a small belief in the Tell Your Mates Moment when you realise that they'll all end up owning a copy and it'll all be because of you - you've (not literally, of course) struck gold. And there's almost no chance of this happening with a thirty-year-old classic that's been trumpeted by Record Collector, Rolling Stone and Mojo as a definitive record, perhaps even selected by Stuart Macaroni on the critical list. You can't boast to your friends that you were the reason they bought Revolver or Blood on the Tracks.
So they're the selfish reasons to buy new music.
But there are also the ethical reasons. I'm sure I'm Not Alone in thinking that if you're spending a bit of money on music, you should do something to support the people who are out there now trying to scratch together the money to make what might turn out to be Great Music - or even just Good Music, but Good Music that you can see performed live. There's got to remain a financial link between the people listening to music and the people making it now - it's no good just topping up the coffers of Mick Jagger, David Bowie, Bob Dylan and the other royalty millionaires for their past glories (though they may deserve the fortunes they've amassed). I suppose this is why, despite some reservations about the way the music industry has gone about enforcing its rights, I am quite uncomfortable about the threat P2P poses to contemporary artists. If you can get something for nothing, then will people keep making that something? Put it differently: I accept that the business model for moving money from the public to the artists is going to change, and that this change will do some good (there will be less need for record companies, which means that it will be easier for a more diverse selection of artists to make their music available). But I think this may take a long time, and there may be a lot of artists who fall be the wayside as a result. Copyright may not strictly be a monopoly right (if I had written Yesterday at the same time as (but completely independent of) Paul McCartney, I would theoretically have held rights in it), but it provides exclusive rights to artists, and I still think that is a pretty good way of encouraging them to be creative. I'm yet to hear a credible alternative.
So I think we should try to find something in new music to like. To go back to where I started, I am too often guilty of sticking with what I know. My record collection probably looks quite conservative. But equally, we shouldn't convince ourselves we like something we don't. That way insincerity and the Coming Up syndrome lieth. I suppose that the trick is to avoid cynicism without putting aside our critical faculties, but that's a difficult balance to draw.
(Sadly, I had intended this post to be an introduction to my delight in finding that there are some records made in the past couple of years that I honestly think are fantastic, but I now realise that I'm about to nominate fourth, sixth, eightth and ninth records by well-established artists as my contribution towards fostering contemporary talent, and that this looks a little like hypocrisy. I think I'll have to press on regardless - I think they're really good, and deserve their praise, albeit that I should have found a debut or two to make a really credible conclusion.)
Previously, I nominated the following as records of the year for 2004:
2004 The Sun Brothers - The Sun Brothers, Stereolab - Margerine Eclipse, Franz Ferdinand - Franz Ferdinand
I still think that these are all great records, but they'd now have to scrap it out with the Kings of Convenience's Riot on an Empty Street (thank you Julian). I'm listening now - the beginning of Misread still hits the spot square on for me - and I love the lyric in the Simon and Garfunkelish opener:
So I lose some sales and my boss won't be happy
But there's only one thing on my mind
Searching boxes underneath the counter
On a chance that on a tape I'd find
A song for
Someone who needs somewhere
To long for
I think Stay Out of Trouble ('stay out of trouble/stay in touch/try not to think about me too much') and Know-How ('what is there to know/this is what it is') are also brilliant.
I mentioned previously that I think the Divine Comedy's Absent Friends is great, and this would have to be in contention too. I love Sticks and Stones ('sticks and stones may break my body/but words can tear me apart'), and Our Mutual Friend must be one of Neil Hannon's best ever songs ('she told me that she really liked me/and I said "cool, the feeling's mutual"').
The nicest surprise this year was Low's The Great Destroyer. I'd known for years that one day I'd find a space for Low, and after their gig at The Junction I realised that this would be the year. I thought they were mesmerising - I loved the new, more robust sound. They've always been about dynamics, and they have found that it is just as effective to go quiet when you've been loud as the other way round (On the Edge Of); and I think Alan Sparhawk has one of the best voices going (as well as probably the best name) - somehow reminiscent of Michael Stipe a few years back, but less precious. The band also looked great, too, which helps. I'm listening to Silver Rider now, which somehow makes me think of a John Barry Bond theme and Neil Young's Down By the River.
And while I'm at it, I've got up to date with the last Super Furries record, which is as good as Chris told me it was.
So this brings me to a revised favourite records list for the past couple of years. Sadly, in the context of championing the cause of new music, Franz Ferdinand have to miss out. Some great singles (Take Me Out, undeniably), but it's neither as cogent nor as moving (for my money) as either of the records it's nudged out by.
2003 Belle and Sebastian - Dear Catastrophe Waitress, Blur - Think Tank, Super Furry Animals - Phantom Power
2004 The Sun Brothers - The Sun Brothers, Kings of Convenience - Riot On An Empty Street, The Divine Comedy - Absent Friends
2005 Low - The Great Destroyer
I'm keeping The Sun Brothers not because I'm trying to demonstrate my loyalty but because it remains one of my very favourite records. I suppose it is no surprise that I think it's so good - perhaps I can understand the songs so well. Unto Thine Own Self is on the stereo now ('when you're young you never see/fluorescent lights and flickering screens/fag breaks under the fire escape/that won't happen to me'). And Every Good Day Dies is one of my all-time favourite songs ('cold winter's raining/on the dreams we were chasing/still the same as we ever were before/I wanted so much more').
So there you go. I managed to conclude with a bit of contemporary music and a message about buying records by unknown artists after all, though perhaps through an around-about sort of way.
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