Author: unspunheroes

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Unspun Heroes, One Year On

This post feels a little self-indulgent. And I suppose it is. However, with little to celebrate these days in the UK, I’m taking this opportunity to give a little ‘whoop’ of delight and to write up the experience of having an idea and then making it happen. So, you’ll have to either indulge me or stop reading! 😊

It’s been a year. A whole 12 months. 366 days.

Wow.

I’ve had to take in a deep breath, as it still feels like yesterday when I had an initial idea and told Danny and Tom, suggesting we got together and did something, perhaps a listening party of some sort. It was a crap idea, though. But the name, Unspun Heroes, seemed great fun and really spoke to me! On the walk into my local town centre about two weeks later, that crap idea became this thing:

To find and highlight music deserving of wider attention. Where possible, to release this music on vinyl, in small batches of no more than 500. And to do that with love.

I wrote that in a Notes file on my phone that day. The mission hasn’t changed. Every single time I listen to something – or someone approaches me about a possible release – I use it as the guiding principle. Because it is the guiding principle. It means I give a shit about every aspect, whether writing a blog post or sourcing paper stock for inserts, to how someone experiences it when they open the parcel in their own home.

Talk, though, is easy, Taking action is quite a big step. Until you tell people what you’re doing. Then you have to get on with it. There is expectation (and probably quite a few people who expect you to fail, are literally waiting for it). There is accountability.

Most of all, though, there is trepidation. I’d never done anything like this before. My day job is as far away from music, or producing and selling physical products, as you can get. Although, music is something I love. I can’t imagine not enjoying it, not listening to new music and to music I’ve enjoyed for decades, music my parents listened to, music I discovered with my friends, music I bought and music gifted to me.

I’ve always loved finding new music – by which I mean, music I’ve not heard before. I’m not someone who harks back to their favourite music of their youth and only plays that (although I should point out if that’s you then I think that’s all good and I hope it brings you plenty of joy). I will, as my family and friends will confirm, listen to just about anything and probably enjoy it. So, the idea of listening to music that deserves wider attention means I have to step outside my usual playlists, to ask a wide and diverse range of people about what they like. To put my judgement to one side for at least 30 minutes.

Then I can write about it, for the blog.

Weekly… nah
I tried to write a blog each week. When there were others helping, in the early weeks, that was possible. But asking people to write stuff for free only works for so long. After a while writing a blog post each week started to feel like a chore, which went against the mission. The love wasn’t there. So, some weeks there is nothing; some weeks you get two or more posts.

The important thing is that the posts match up to the mission.

And because they do, I find it pays dividends. I can get a sense of what other people like, obviously; however, it allows me to start a conversation with musicians and bands. They already know I love what they’ve done and, if the album hasn’t ever been out on vinyl, it helps them consider if they’d be up for pressing some.

Then we have a chat or three. Which is lovely. Who doesn’t like chatting to musicians you admire about music you love? Without exception, every artist I’ve spoken to, even if they’ve said no (or the record company has said no) has been fabulous. The music industry – the part I’m dealing with – has been wonderful. As has ‘music Twitter’. I feel like I’ve made some long-lasting connections in this first year. And I’ve been introduced to so much music I might never have heard, it can feel like a full-time job listening to it all. But what a job!

How does a job like that pay?

Money, money, money…
Someone once said, the best way to lose money is to press vinyl. Quite possibly true.

The business model means I take on all the risk. It’s my money. All of it. Everyone involved gets paid by me. If I sell enough, I’ll make my money back and the rest is shared equally with the artist.

And it is just me.

I will admit that it’s scary. It’s probably not the right way to do it, either. I do think it focuses the mind, and helps with decisions about design and packaging. It helps determine where compromises will be made – which won’t be quality, that’s for sure. I want every release to bring the wow factor for the listening experience and the unpacking. All while trying to keep costs down for the buyer.

Honestly, I think I’ve sunk in somewhere around £10,000 (I could put the actual costs in, but that ballpark is close enough to give you a sense of how invested I’ve become). That includes branding and trademarks, upfront costs for albums that have been and are being manufactured, warehousing, etc. Yikes. However, if I sell them all, I’ll have paid that back and have enough set aside to pay for some extras on the next one.

And now I’m selling the records I’ve pressed, that amount will fall. It already has. Hopefully, I’ll sell them all and I can keep on bringing albums that deserve wider attention to the market and we can all win.

(A little reminder that you can shop at the Unspun Heroes’ Bandcamp store – or ask your local indie store to get you a copy.)

It takes how long?
Making things takes time. More time than you might think. Especially when it’s just one person managing the process. There have been months of discussions with artists, there is the lead time for pressing, design and print to consider, and posting things around the world to be signed (for example)… A lot of threads need to come together at the right time to make sure the distributor has the items ready to get to stores for a pre-agreed release date.

And stuff goes wrong. Print turns up and it’s wrong. Designs need updating and images can’t be found because the album came out twenty years ago. New liner notes need to be written and the first draft is late or doesn’t cut it, or we can’t find the right person to write them. Yet, with that love and some perseverance, somehow it all works out.

Then there is the wait while the wonderful team at the pressing plant pack up the records and ship them to me, and to the distributor.

Yes, there are test pressings, artwork proofs, lots of video calls and phone calls. Lots of the time, though, is just silence. And yet you have to be telling people what they can expect. There are press releases to organise, press packs to send out, photos to take or mock up. There is always something to do and then suddenly your family home is full of boxes and boxes: records, mailers, packing tape, obi strips, inserts, and boxes of boxes. So. Many. Boxes.

What this means is, I won’t be releasing ten albums a year (at least, not yet!) and will probably limit it to two releases across a 12-month period; one in the spring and one in the late summer or autumn. Build a foundation and work up from there.

(I have 36 34 rolls of branded packing tape, so I think I need to use that up before I even think about stopping.)

Again?
The first release has felt like a baptism of fire. I’ve probably made lots of mistakes, but it’s been a lot of fun. Most of the time. At the time of writing, sales figures haven’t been tallied, but the last two weeks feels like it has been successful – there are records leaving my house every week and I’ve had some wonderful reviews – from stores, from magazines and online sites, and from customers. I’ve loved sending them out, each one with a little bit of personalisation. And the branded tape (probably one of my favourite things).

All this shipping has been happening while I’ve been dealing with the second release, and setting up the third and fourth releases. There are two other possible further releases sat in the sidelines, too.

I have to realise that I’m selling records that people don’t necessarily know, so it’s a tough job but… but I’m doing this with love and I think that caring about the release – how it looks, how it sounds, what the unboxing experience is like, how it unfolds and feels in your hands. Not cutting corners and not pushing for profit alone.

I want to feel proud of the releases that Unspun Heroes puts out. And I do.

I’m even more proud of the second release that’s coming up. There are some aspects of it that haven’t been done before (because they cost more money). It has a signed variant. The insert is really special (which is saying something considering that the insert on the James Varda is almost a metre of print when you open it out). And the band that are involved are amazing. Lovely people who made brilliant music – and continue to make brilliant music – and have trusted me with their art.

More on that later.

Okay, let’s wrap this up
While there is only me, I’m not on my own. I’ve got my great friends singing my praises and supporting me. My family are incredibly supportive (despite the boxes). I’ve said that music Twitter has been amazing and those who moved over to other social media platforms continue to be a source of inspiration.

The indie labels are also brilliantly supportive. They’ve shared tips and ideas. I hope that, in some way, I have helped to inspire them (or will do at some point).

Indie stores, too. I’ve decided not to sell through certain large online retailers because my own experience of buying from them means I don’t think they share the same mission when it comes to Unspun Heroes. It may prove to be a terrible commercial decision, but I’ll take that risk.

The music press. Not everyone has taken a risk and written about the label or its first release. That’s hard to take, but I also see how much amazing music comes out each week and so I can live with that. I’m not looking to disappear any time soon, so as word spreads so I hope that I’ll get to know the journalists and magazine editors a little better. The music they share and the words they write are inspiring enough. Those who have written reviews have said things that literally brough a tear to my eye. (If you are a journalist or reviewer and had no idea about what I’m doing, drop me a hello and let’s chat.)

Customers. Until you have one there’s a fear that no one will buy. I’ve been buoyed by the number of deluxe editions that I’ve sold so far. 500 records probably doesn’t seem like many, but I can tell you that even when it’s 300 that’s a scary number of records to sell. I have faith in what I’m trying to do and that others will understand that and buy into it.

While it might be true that I’m my own first customer, I am doing this because I think other people will also want a copy of an album that they may never have heard of until I pointed them in its direction. I’ll learn soon enough when I get my distribution figures.

So, if you’ve been involved in some way over the past year – as a reader, a shouter-from-the-sidelines, a distributor of physical records or website links, selling in store, buying a copy of Chance And Time, or simply telling other people about Unspun Heroes whenever the opportunity arises, then I want to say a huge thank you.

>>THANK YOU<<

Here’s to the next release, and the release after that…

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Ten Songs, Assistant

Image of a man sat at a drum kit. Centred text reads: ASSISTANT. TEN SONGS.

I suppose, with so much new music constantly being released, being late to discover a band can happen. Though, the two decades since this album’s release might be starting to be unfashionably late to the party. However, when it comes to discovering hidden gems that deserve wider attention, as is the raison d’être of Unspun Heroes, time doesn’t really matter. It’s much more about that moment where you hear something and want to share it with the world. This was the case the first time I heard an album that came out in 2003.

Ten Songs by Assistant.

Almost exactly 21 years ago, a young band from Brighton put out their first album. And while the name may not win awards for inventiveness, they made music that would have broken through had it been recorded 10-15 years previously. In 2003, the world was listening to indie rock, with Muse, The White Stripes, Radiohead and their ilk, as well as the likes of Jay-Z and Outkast. It wasn’t listening to jangly indie pop that draws influences from Stereolab, Felt, and Galaxie 500. Certainly not en masse.

A real shame, for us and for Assistant.

Fast forward to 2024, however, and things are about to change (as you’ll see).

I heard of the band only a few months ago, via social media. I’d seen a Tweet about jangly pop and, because listening to lots of music is good to do, particularly when it’s new to you, I gave their debut LP a spin on Bandcamp. Now, I am a fan of the writer, John Wyndham, so the opening song has the right title for me. However, it was the second track, Freaks, that absolutely caught my ear. That catchy bass hook! The noisy guitar that comes to the front of the mix! The vocalist who doesn’t try too hard to ‘sing’ the song. It felt like I was in the best years of my youth rather than the later years of middle age. It’s right up my rue, as they say en France.

Yes, it’s jangly indie, but it has an edge to it that, to my mind, puts it in that sort of early nineties musical neighbourhood. There’s that DIY element to the songs, which gives them a real personality that polished production might rub away. No-one need ever know, is a straight up pop hit, despite its rather downcast lyrics. In fact, all the songs have that sort of pop feel to them, like a lot of songs by The Smiths always did. And while I don’t think there is any more of a comparison here, the songwriting definitely feels like it owes a tip of the hat to Stephen Morrissey, as well as Damon Albarn, and Crispin Hunt.

The album has many surprises hidden in plain sight. I’ve already mentioned the bass hooks that are given a lot of room to shine on every track, as they should be. But I wasn’t prepared for the boogie-woogie piano riff halfway through Bomber, for example, yet it feels like the song simply wouldn’t work without it. Because of that, this has quickly become one of my favourite tracks.

Across Ten Songs, you’re left with the feeling you’ve heard a band’s sound mature across an album rather than a career. As the album winds into its closing numbers, so the vibe becomes much more chilled. This definitely gives you an idea of where the band ultimately headed, especially with songs they recorded in 2020. You’ll get more introspective jangle pop on closing song, Reasoned,than edgy indie, although Get Away has that Hot Hot Heat vibe, and Losing My Mind soundslike it’s been made in some NYC-Manchester hybrid rather than a British seaside resort.

Brighton has always delivered musically. The scene in the city of Brighton and Hove is hot right now – my (current and ever-changing) picks are Porridge Radio, Opus Kink, KEG, DITZ and Dream Wife, but let’s not forget Blood Red Shoes, Electrelane, 14 Iced Bears… (Oh, the list is too long I’ll have to make a playlist.) Whatever. The point is, I think Assistant deserves a spot on that list.

Ten Songs is the perfect place to start.

The following has been written by Jonathan, the vocalist for Assistant. We met in a Brighton coffee shop to chat about life, music, the late 90s… and about how life can change when you let go of the things that might have once held you back.

Image of the band, Assistant. There are three members, from the left are two males and then one female member.

23 years ago, I appealed, via a Brighton forum on a distant version of the internet, for people “with no musical talent”. I had just moved to Brighton and wanted to form a band. I had written a song, so it seemed like a good idea. My Assistant bandmates, Pete and Anne-Sophie both replied and, for the last twenty-odd years, whenever life has allowed us, we’ve written songs together or with each other in mind – more recently taking it in turns to share the load, iron the songs out, record them, embellish and improve them. 

From time to time I write in Brighton, scrabbling at my guitar while my toddlers busy themselves around my feet. Over in Oxford, Pete writes songs daily, and for Pete they flow out steadily, a kind of diary-keeping. He keeps most for himself and will occasionally say ‘this is for Assistant’, and once he’s done that a few times the odd alchemy of making a collection of songs begins, with left-field ambushes from Anne-Sophie, who chips in with her own surprising, inscrutable demos.

As our songs come together, we begin to swap ideas for album titles, sleeve designs, concepts. Pete’s songs are pure of expression. My songs come less easily and are generally autobiography which is then clothed in a disguise of vagueness. I’m not always sure I know what I want my songs to be doing, so they often exist in many variations for months and even years, until I find a variant that I’m happy with. Pete is decisive and sure of touch. I am much less so, my clumsy fingers conjuring many flimsy takes, so Pete will often send me emails with subject lines like ‘new album?’, wondering if we’re done.

However, I like to sit on the songs for so long that I almost forget where they come from. I forget how to play them. And then I start to reassemble them, swapping stuff out, changing something here, there. Eventually, at some point, they are finished. But since we reformed properly, in 2020, we have tended towards doing almost nothing with our songs at this point. They go up on Bandcamp, very quietly, where they sit undiscovered. Once I sent an email to the host of my favourite radio show – Josh Meadows – who cheerfully played us four times. I learned absolutely nothing from this. Months passed.

Since 2020 we have made three albums this way; collated by post, assembled slowly. The songs have become increasingly personal and important to us. And I think of each of these Assistant albums (one is unreleased) as finished, whole, totally real. Our own art. But it’s not often I will mention them to anyone. A few friends know and are supportive – but they are not really fans of the music. So the songs just sit there. 

–

Perhaps we are an imaginary band? I like to think of us that way. I can see us low-down on the bill supporting Felt or The Servants in a London Polytechnic in 1987. Or we might have squeezed a song onto a compilation album alongside an early Electric Soft Parade demo or a Young Knives b-side. We played some really great gigs in Brighton and London in the early 2000s, in fact, but we were quite drunk and they’re harder to remember than I’d like.

At Christmas this year, I suddenly thought: “I’ll tell everyone about our band”. So I created a Twitter account and began sharing songs that we’d written alongside some little reviews of records I liked and videos from YouTube. This is where things started getting a bit weird. With remarkable speed, people began listening! Not only did they listen, but they told me they liked the songs, and even began referencing back my very favourite artists too. My imaginary band was flickering into life, and it made me very happy.

Pete and Anne-So were completely disbelieving. “Who are these people????” Anne-Sophie would say. “We are becoming a cult band”.

The cover art for Assistant’s ‘lockdown’ album, In The April Sun.

We are probably still way too small to be a cult band, but then… but then I am suddenly filled with a giddy conviction that we are indeed going to become a cult band. “We’re the new Blue Orchids”, I tell myself, as I click on our Bandcamp stats to see that, somehow, we got 30,40,60, even 100 plays that day. It is not much, really, but it is really really really exciting. I squint and try to imagine our audience.

The lesson, I suspect, is that lots of people out there really love pop music, and feel the same way about it as I do – they chase that delightful moment of discovery, that instance of recognition when you hear a song and think “oh, I get what they’re trying to do here”. As a few people tune in, I’m getting that mirrored back to me after years of celebrating the weird little songs that crept into my life. Music is so great – the rush which heralds the discovery of a great new song is a feeling almost completely unchanged from all the way back then – back when I was sat in my bedroom in 1994 staring at a wall of Blur posters. A new song to love is like receiving a kiss.

And I discover, too, that some people are just incredibly nice. They will be insanely generous with their time and energy, going out of their way to share the things you share, to recommend you, even get you played on the radio. People have gone out of their way, which I did not expect at all. This small thing which is happening to Assistant is so wildly great and totally unexpected, so tremendously nice. And in the meantime, all of a sudden, I am discovering wonderful bands left right and centre, and exchanging messages with them as if I too am in a band – a real one, not an imaginary one. It’s flipping great.

The work of art you make has so much more value than you think it does, especially if it is made with love. I think in retrospect it’s probably for the best that I am not (or was not) ambitious about having an audience, as it has allowed me to enjoy making art without needing to improve, or break out, or face the horror of criticism, either. But now I am telling people, and will do so until they tell me to stop.

If you make stuff, I really, really recommend telling people about your art, even if, like me, you have to do it through a veil of very British irony and embarrassment. You deserve the thrill of having your work noticed. I wish I had done it earlier.

UPDATE: Since this piece was written Assistant have signed a record deal and are releasing their two most recent LPs through Subjangle on the 21st April.

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Living And Growing, The Felt Tips

Face of a woman in profile, with dirt on her cheek. To the right are red roses blooming. Beneath the image are the words, The Felt Tips LIving and Growing.

Scotland has always had a solid music scene, even for bands that didn’t originate from there but who found a home within its creative community. I could name plenty of bands I love that started out as a ‘Scottish’ band. Yet, it’s the indie labels that put out those bands that I spent a lot of time with around the mid-Noughties. Labels like Winning Sperm Party, WeePOP! Records and Cloudberry Records, for example.

At that time, I was probably listening to a lot of Frightened Rabbit, Plaaydoh, The Just Joans, as well as starting to really enjoy listening to Belle and Sebastian (again). There was that crossover between jangly indie pop and the DIY indie scene that was soundtracking a lot of my listening. And that, dear reader, was how I came across a song about a teenage girl learning to give blowjobs in the local park.

Let me explain. It’s Lifeskills, a single from The Felt Tips, a band that, at that point, had only a couple of singles. They’d appeared on a playlist of a now-defunct blog and I loved the twee indie sound and the song’s brilliantly observed lyrical twists and turns. It was sweet and endearing until you leaned in and discovered what the song was actually all about.

I had to wait a few more years for the first album to drop, but when it did, I bought a copy on CD. It did not disappoint. It still doesn’t.

The Felt Tips were formed in 2005 when guitarist, Miguel Navarro relocated from Spain and answered an advert in a record store. That ad was put there by singer, Andrew Paterson who (despite having sought a guitarist) was apparently reluctant to form a band. Thankfully, he gave in and the rest, as they say, is history. It took three years for the band to find its feet and a full-time drummer and percussionist, and it’s from their 2008 sessions that Lifeskills was written and released as a single. The album, Living and Growing, came in 2010 thanks to a Creative Scotland grant and was released on Spanish label, Plastilina Records.

While on first listen, it’s jangly indie pop you’ll be hearing, it’s the lyrical content that points towards darker themes, even quite prescient songs such as Dear Morrissey which calls out the singer for his questionable soundbites well ahead of time. And yet, alongside the obvious Belle and Sebastian borrowings, this album owes a lot to The Smiths and that is acknowledged – sometimes you just have to separate the art and the artist, right?

Twee is part of an indie pop typology that has often got connotations of silliness. Living and Growing is most definitely not either of those things. It’s catchy, sure. It is definitely pop with its melodic guitar hooks. Ticks that box. But beyond the glittering guitars and vocal melodies, it deals with religious (and pop star) hypocrisy on Boyfriend Devoted, losing your virginity on Not Tonight, or burying a murder victim in Garden of Roses, as well as the themes alluded to previously – being gay, oral sex in the park.

A lot of the lyrics are really gritty. Silver Spoon, especially. The tale of someone who had it all and is subsequently paralysed and comes to realise just how people treat the disabled. Yet, it’s jangly pop you can dance to. When I hear the lyric, “Let me know with a blink of your eyes,” those comparisons to The Smiths come to mind again.

The Felt Tips made a second album three years later, but then they broke up in 2015. Living and Growing was never put out on vinyl and was already a limited edition CD. You can pick one up for a little over a tenner, which even though it’s only 30 minutes of music is still a bargain. Andrew Paterson has very recently released solo material under the moniker Pat’s Alternative Bus Tour. Miguel’s guitar work can be heard on a 2020 release by Detective Larsson, 21 (Dreamt of Freedom).

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Drink Ring Jesus, Stephen Simmons

There have been more than a few occasions where I’m had to admit I had things wrong, that I’d had preconceptions that had held me back. And many times I’ve been proven wrong in my assumptions. I’m happy to admit it. This is one of those times.

And, whoa, how happy I am to be proved wrong.

In my defence, I’m a person who will give any music its due. Sometimes, I have to be doing something else when I listen to an album I don’t know, to let it infuse itself into my brain like a melodic marinade. This is one such time. I’ve had this album playing while I’ve been doing other things. But each time I’m stopped in my tracks by it.

This could be called Americana, country-folk, or whatever label you care to drop on a style of music. However, like a lot of these labels, it falls short when it comes to Drink Ring Jesus by Stephen Simmons. Listening to this album is like a searing knife through flesh it cuts into a part of me that I can’t begin to describe. The eponymously named opening track literally brought tears to my eyes when I first heard it, and that hasn’t diminished through the several plays I’ve gone through since I first pressed play on Stephen’s Bandcamp page.

And it doesn’t relinquish its hold on you. Before you’re even able to get yourself together, Simmons pushes on. If there was a knife, you’d feel its twist as Time To Pay plays out. I couldn’t wait to get the feelings this record has created in me on to digital paper, such is the effect I’ve felt by this set of tracks, first released in 2006.

A single guitar, a voice and occasional harmonica. It’s stripped back in instrumentation, but it’s loaded with emotion. If I didn’t know better, I’d be worried for Simmons’ own life, but he is actually playing a character who, possibly, is sat on his front porch in rural Tennessee and pondering the decisions that got him here. Seeking solace from Jesus and The Devil and finding himself bereft and exhausted. As he sings on You Give Us:

“Sometimes I get so sick of this life
Sometimes I think I must be losing my mind
Sometimes I wonder why I even still try”

Somehow, Simmons has imparted these feelings of introspection into the recording. It’s like vapours pouring from a vial, it’s music you inhale until you embody it. I know it sounds unlikely – and I would have agreed with you had I not heard it myself. This is an album that you forced to invest in, it’s that compelling a listen. I defy you to not do be haunted by this.

Lyrically, it flits between sinister and uplifting. Sometimes, there are moments where the two worlds cross over. The opening lines of the chorus on Devil’s Work Is Never Done is one such time, but the melody Simmons conjures up drives it home as if the words were delivered by a nail gun:

“It looks so easy sounds so damn simple
You think these souls fall right outta the sky?
Jesus back off, this one’s mine”

I mean, come on!

This album could have fallen into clichés very easily. Somehow, Simmons avoids them even while the themes sit up front, riding shotgun. The words he chooses, the chords he plucks; these are the things that prevent this from being pastiche and ensure the album continues to have that emotional effect on you throughout. I can picture the tribute Elvis bawling as Simmons’ sings Cryin’ Elvis. Brought to life by his voice, held by the framework of composition and thoughtful fingerpicking on the guitar.

The album is littered with clever lines. It’s hard not to quote them endlessly. Lines like, “I sipped on a quart of sloth / Fell behind and got lost” which pops up in the second half of Dante’s Blues No.7. And there are plenty more to discover.

Even as the album slows and begins its descent towards its end, the quality continues to ascend. It brought to mind another recent album that floored me on first listen and continues to reward, Evensongs by Andrew Rumsey. It’s interesting to me that both have religious connotations, but wear them like a tattoo that can be glimpsed. You can pull up the sleeve and bear witness, but even if you prefer to ignore them it doesn’t diminish the experience these songs bring. You’re part of the congregation listening to Simmons’ blend of sermon and confessional, just by pressing play.

I’ll leave you with another lyric, this time from the final song, Long Way To Go.

“And I heard somebody say
You gotta walk that lonesome valley
On your own just to prove your worth”

Well, actually, you can have Stephen Simmons accompany you. And that’s as close to perfect as you’ll get on any day of the week.

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Chance and Time – The Deluxe Edition

This week’s blog is a little more self-indulgent, as we are ready to open up pre-orders via the Unspun Heroes Bandcamp. We have a new page up and running that details our releases and which will be used to let you know what’s coming up. Yes, we may only have one release right now, but news of a second (and more) will be coming very soon.

During conversations with James’s wife, we became aware of a notebook that contained a number of his early drafts of lyrics that became the final songs on Chance And Time. Written in his own hand, these are artefacts that no one had seen before.

Black handwriting of the lyrics from We Won't Dream, the final track on Chance And Time by James Varda.
Black ink handwriting, showing lyrics from Chance And Time by James Varda.

We thought, and still think, these are something quite special.

As production of the vinyl reissue was well underway when these lyrics came to light, it was too late to incorporate them into the final package. So a plan was hatched to offer high quality printed reproductions of the seven songs within James’s notebook. To do this, we had to elicit the help of a very talented man: Chris from Benson’s Bookbinding.

Chris is a dear friend and has been a huge supporter of Unspun Heroes from its humble beginnings. Together we worked out how to house the lyrics in a handmade outer sleeve alongside the album itself. And to ensure that it was still affordable (Chris can make things worth £1,000s, but we were working with a small budget).

What Chris has created is a yellow Colorplan sleeve. A tab slides to hold it closed, and this tab also has debossed black foil lettering to highlight James’s name and the album’s title. It’s shown opened out in the image below.

This thick card contains individual paper leaves with the lyrics printed on. With the cover shown at the top of the page, it makes 10 sheets. Even though there are only seven songs written out, the notebook contained alternative lyrics, crossings out and reworkings, as well as chord sequences and ideas. Essentially, you get to see how James created his songs, and how they changed over time.

They really are something quite special.

Image of the Colorplan sleeve opened out to show the album.
The Colorplan sleeve opened out to show the lyrics housed in a pocket behind the album. The word 'LYRICS' is debossed in black foil.

The photos above are from a prototype that Chris made so we could see how the whole package would come together. I’m very proud of what he has achieved. He’s a talented young man. (Chris also plays in The Jasmine Minks, Scotland’s premier jangly indiepop band, as his talents extend beyond binding books.)

These deluxe editions of Chance And Time are very limited. They are made to order and Chris will make only 50 of them. Once they are sold, no more will be produced. They are only available via our Bandcamp page – or in person if you find yourself in south London and want to get in touch.

If you’d like to pre-order your own copy you can do so.

If you’d prefer just to have a standard limited edition, hand-numbered version with an obi strip, you can pre-order one of those.

And if you’d prefer to support your local independent record store, we’re very happy for you to pre-order via them.

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Ettab (عتاب) – Ettab

Image of Ettab with her name above and the album name (Ettab in Arabic) below.

For international audiences, Ettab (occasionally written as Etab) seems relatively unknown. However, in the Arabic-speaking world, this Saudi singer is a huge star. A legend? Maybe best described as an icon, in fact. And rightly so.

Ettab was born in 1947 as Tarouf Abdulkhair Adam Muhammad al-Talal Hawsawi, in Riyadh, but was exiled for her activism and support for women’s rights in the music world, spending the majority of her time in Egypt until her death in 2007.

I suppose it’s not unfair to call this album pop music. Recorded in 1992, in Lebanon, by producer brothers, Mahmoud and Ahmed Moussa for their Re-Lax label, it serves as a great collection of songs for discovering an artist who delivered over 15 albums in her lifetime. Catchy melodies and string-laden music – alongside some amazing synth work – is set against Ettab’s exceptional voice, which is both rich and playful.

There is a distinct North African vibe, or chaabi (which is used to describe a genre of ‘folk’ music from that region), alongside the more specific Algerian/European fusion known as raï. This provides the music with the more modern elements of several Western musical styles alongside the obvious Arabian influences, especially noticeable on Track 4 Khalas Min Hobek.

It’s this mix that gives the album a timeless sound – and yet, it could also have been produced some thirty years previous to its actual release date, such are the visuals it creates in the listener’s mind, mostly on its opening two tracks, Min fina Ya Hal Tara and Ya El Koweit. However, for me, it’s the penultimate track, Ma Aâla El Aâchik, that captures what this album is all about. The album was reissued in 2023 by French label, Elmir Records, which is devoted to ensuring that the musical heritage of North Africa and the Middle East is conserved.

A vinyl pressing, of which only 500 copies were made, is still available via their Bandcamp page at the time of writing. Listen to Ettab’s album in the embedded player below, or via your preferred streaming service.

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Favorite Bell, Davia

Front cover of Davia's album, showing a young woman wearing a wide brimmed hat holding a bunch of roses. The words Davia and Favorite Bell are underneath in red italic script.

There’s no chance to get completely comfortable – read, bored – with Favorite Bell. It warrants your attention, as you’re rewarded richly for taking notice of the changes in speed, tone, and genre across the ten songs.

There’s a real tension between experimental folk and your more traditional indie sensibilities that Davia manages to hold so well that you’re never tipped into either. It’s easy, and perhaps lazy, to draw parallels with other quirky American female singers like Tori Amos or Regina Spektor, because while Davia fits into their space she’s also very much in her own world. This is voice and musicianship that is exactly what pop music needs – full of actual personality, delivered with a dollop of pizzazz. Favorite Bell is Davia’s debut album, recorded just before the world shut down for the global pandemic lockdown and finally released in early 2021, on digital only.

Davia’s playing and singing style keep you guessing. It’s dynamic. No, it’s dynamite. Whether playing violin, guitar, or performing soaring vocal acrobatics, she can do them all with aplomb. Her stories are what draw you in and hold you in a fantasy world she creates with her music, a place that you want to explore deeper and further. They captivate the listener. You couldn’t second guess where a song will go, you are along for the ride. Nowhere better are all these parts of Davia’s talents showcased than on tracks such as Pluto, Pluto, and Father.

On quieter tracks, such as Iscariot, you really get to hear what this young woman is capable of. The composition seems simple, yet her use of instrumentation and percussive effects, alongside her clever lyrical phrasing, lifts it way beyond your standard indie folk song. And that unique and quirky phrasing carries through to the album’s penultimate track Fig Tree. As an album, Favorite Bell feels timeless, despite being less than three years old at the time of writing. I’ve been listening to this album for quite some time and every time I stream it on her Bandcamp page (oh, to have it on vinyl!), I am never quite sure why it hasn’t (yet) got the wider attention it deserves. Let’s rectify that.

It’s an Unspun Hero for sure. Right now, we can only anticipate what’s next for Davia, but on this showing I think we’re in good hands.

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Chance And Time, James Varda

Image shows James Varda's guitar on the dining room table of his home. A b/w version of this image appears in the vinyl release insert.

This was the final album from James Varda, and it will be the first release from Unspun Heroes. It is scheduled for release on 15 March, 2024.

Front cover of Chance and Time vinyl album by James Varda. This shows an image of a boy's face. Along the left-hand side is an obi strip.
The front over of the Unspun Heroes release of Chance and Time by James Varda.

I write ‘was’ above, as James’s life and career came to a tragic end in 2015 when he succumbed to a rare cancer of the throat. On Chance and Time, James writes knowing this will be the last of his work to see the light of day, yet it is an astonishing album that is full of light and love. His website says it best, describing this album as one that “chronicled the experience of confronting illness and death. In doing so, he created a unique language and music of love and pain, family, landscape and loss.”

It’s fitting that a decade on, this album finally gets a well-deserved pressing on vinyl.

But who is James Varda?

Like all Unspun Heroes, this is music deserving of wider attention. It’s strange to me that such a talented musician and songwriter has remained below the radar since he was discovered at an open mic session at Clapham Folk Club by Roy Harper in the 1980s. James’s work may have many traits of the traditional English folk scene, yet he would undoubtedly now be classed as an indie folk artist; his flawless picking style settling him in the folk camp, but his versatility in terms of vocals and lyrics pushing him outside the folk realms into other genres.

His debut, Hunger, recorded in 1988 with top producer, John Leckie began what should have been a stellar rise to fame. However, while James appears at ease with writing and recording, he preferred to eschew the limelight and moved from London to rural Suffolk – and later to Norfolk. Yet, his songwriting became more refined, his tone even more delicate and reflective. Even after extensive radiotherapy, this was – and indeed, is – very much still the case on Chance and Time. In fact, as an album he reached his creative peak with this release, although we’ll never know if perhaps he was at a false summit and there was much, much more to come.

The album is hauntingly beautiful, even though it’s obvious that James’s life is evaporating, slowly. The emotional weight that James was carrying at the time is clearly present, and yet it only transfers itself to the listener as a comforting presence. And because of that, this is a record that rewards multiple listens – in fact, not only does it deserve to be played again and again, it offers up new glimpses on each and every listen. This is an album of two distinct halves: Side One, which brings you into James’s world at his most vulnerable and Side Two in which he shows you that, despite what he is going through, there is much to celebrate in this world in which we all live.

This is a special record, a one-of-a-kind collection of songs from a one-of-a-kind artist. And James was an artist. He colours in the world with a unique palette, and recolours it on the next play-through. It’s been an honour and delight to have been working with James’s friends and family to bring this out on vinyl. It’s a treasure we’re proud to have helped share with the world on the format it most deserves to be heard on.

Ultimately, he shows us what it means to love.

The album
The great work done in the original production and mastering – by Bugs and Matt Colton respectively – was the perfect starting point. The music was handed over to Guy Davie at Electric Mastering for tweaks before he expertly cut the lacquer from which the vinyl was pressed.

An English artist deserved an English pressing, and so we chose to use the wonderful folks at Press On Vinyl in Middlesbrough for the 300 discs that have been created for our first release. And they did a fantastic job, too. On multiple plays across a variety of setups, it’s a silent yet expansive listen – however, it’s the reviews that will let us know if we’ve hit the level of quality that Unspun Heroes has strived for. Fingers crossed.

Extensive new liner notes have been written by James’s friend, the award-winning author, Nick Triplow. There are also personal thoughts from James’s wife, his son, and his brother alongside these, which have been written especially for this release. These, along with the lyrics, have been printed double-sided on high quality paper stock to produce a fold-out insert that opens up to an impressive 90cm long artefact. The gatefold experience without attracting a stupidly high retail price.

Side one of the album insert, unfolded, showing the lyrics, contributors and thanks, and an image of James and Fliss taken while recording the album
The insert, unfolded, showing lyrics, contributors and thanks, and an image of James and Fliss taken while recording the album.
The reverse of the album insert, unfolded, showing the image of James’s guitar on his dining room table and the new liner notes written especially for this limited edition vinyl release.

As there will be with all Unspun Heroes releases, Chance and Time comes with a hand-numbered Obi strip. Again, this has been printed on high quality card.

Obi strip
Obi strip for the vinyl release. Each will be hand-numbered.

50 of these albums will be used to create a deluxe edition, complete with high quality prints of James’s handwritten lyrics for many of the songs on the album. These prints showcase his songwriting process and offer collectors something never seen beyond his close family and friends. These will be held within a handmade outer card sleeve, which has been debossed and foiled by an award-winning bookbinder in London.

This release has been a labour of love and will be available to pre-order from your local independent record store from January 12, 2024 via SRD. Direct sales will open up in late Feb, early March. It’s a tough time for independent music stores, and labels. With Unspun Heroes, I wanted to support the independent scene, which is why I chose to use a new UK pressing plant doing great things, and to not sell via dominant online stores named after South American rivers.

There are 300 copies only. Once they’re gone, they’re gone.

A massive thank you goes to Will at Needle Mythology. He knew James and has been a huge help, not only in getting access to this album, but by being a guide to the industry for this complete newbie. I also owe a huge debt of gratitude to Colin Sinclair, one of James’s best friends. We’ve spent many hours chatting and I’m thankful to him allowing me access to the larger archive of James’s work – much of which has never seen the light of day beyond a few demo cassettes and CDs.

Demo cassettes of James Varda’s music.
A 10-song demo CD of James Varda’s album, In the Valley. Many of the songs on this demo did not appear on the final release.

Finally, I’m truly honoured that James’s family allowed me, a stranger and outsider, to bring this beautiful music to life on vinyl for the first time. I extend a heartfelt thanks to them, and I hope I have done James’s vision justice. To stream the album, you can access a high quality version via Songbox until March 2024, or it’s on Spotify. A playlist is available on YouTube, embedded below.

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You Dig The Tunnel, I’ll Hide The Soil, Hatcham Social

New Cross in south-east London is synonymous with ground-breaking mid-noughties indie bands. One that slipped under many radars is named after a social club that existed in the area, although some may consider to be Peckham (but let’s not split hairs, they’re in the same-ish area). Back in the day, the New Cross area was known as Hatcham (which, incidentally, means a ‘clearing in the wood in Old English)… and so, we have Hatcham Social.

Their debut was released in 2009, and it’s this that we steer your ears towards. The brilliantly titled, You Dig The Tunnel, I’ll Hide The Soil, is a collection of 11 songs, each a catchy indie bounce – the album was produced by Tim Burgess of The Charlatans (UK), and it shows – with its twinkly synths and rhythmic guitar.

Fronted by one of the Kidd brothers, Toby, and driven by the sticks of former Klaxons drummer and other brother, Finn, they sound quite laid back yet sanguine. You can hear aspects of other bands of their era in the mix, but they are very much their own band. It could be pop, but it’s too noisy for that; it could be indie rock, but it’s got some smarts in the lyrics and the treble in the guitar sound shifts it out of that genre. They describe themselves as Art Pop, so I guess we’ll have to go with that.

There is a knowingness that lifts it above many of their contemporaries, particularly on songs such as Murder in the Dark, and I Cannot Cure My Pure Evil (which to my ears could be a cover of an obscure demo from The Cure). There are so many references you can pull from this band. Clearly, somewhere along the line they listened to The Smiths, for example, but chose not to emulate them in song structure or lyrically content, and so avoid being a pastiche of their influences. Aspects of Orange Juice and Talking Heads flicker in amongst the whoa-ohs of So So Happy Making, too. They’ve taken all the best bits of the best bits of indie pop and melded them into something new.

The album was released by Fierce Panda, a label known for bringing some of the best indie bands to the world, from Ash to Supergrass (okay, also Coldplay and Keane, but we all make mistakes). Artwork was created by Faris Badwan, lead vocalist of The Horrors. Yes, Hatcham Social are in good company. On release it was critically acclaimed, gaining solid reviews and a lot of support from the music media (except from The Guardian, whose reviewer was peeved there were no sing-along-a-chorus moments).

And yet… and yet, the band never really broke through in the way that other such as The XX, Florence and the Machine, Thao and the Get Down Stay Down, and other luminaries of the indie scene. It’s hard to say why, considering the calibre of the songs on this debut. However, at Unspun HQ still believe this album is very much worthy of wider attention, which makes Hatcham Social’s debut an Unspun Hero.

It was never released on vinyl in the UK – although a US release with a different track listing did come out on TBD Records who licensed it for UK release. It remains to be seen if Fierce Panda (or TBD Records) will consider doing a limited edition vinyl release, so perhaps someone else will? In 2022, Hatcham Social released a career-spanning retrospective on Fierce Panda called We Are The Weirdos. Still together, we can hope they’ll continue to release new music at some point in the near future. You can enjoy listening to their debut via their Bandcamp page, or on other streaming services of your choice.

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Danny Holien, Danny Holien

Image shows Danny Holien sitting on a red chair. His name is illustrated above him. The cover is blue.

The world of music is littered with great debut albums that never got a follow-up record, so we’ll never know whether there was any more amazing music to be played by a specific musician, or if this was everything they had distilled into something pure and captured on wax.

When it comes to Danny Holien’s eponymously-named debut, it really doesn’t matter. What is captured in these ten tracks is unadulterated singer-songwriter beauty.

Now, I’m not the biggest country music fan. It’s a personal thing. As a genre it’s generally not for me. Yet, there are some albums that people might think of as country music that step beyond the stereotypical boundaries, and this is one of them. I’d probably place it in the Acid Folk genre on tracks like Satsanga, and Country Blues on other tracks. It’s a real mix of styles, almost experimental at times.

Released in 1971 on Tumbleweed Records – a story that’s worth a detour, if you’re unaware of the label and its achievements – this is a set of songs that burrows deep into your psyche and won’t give up its hold on you. Not that you’d want it to.

The album shifts between bluesy rock and country-tinged songs set against a backdrop of gently picked acoustic guitar. A product of its time, yes, but timeless, too. It was produced by Bill Szymczyk, Tumbleweed Records co-owner, and producer of albums by Eagles, B.B. King, The J. Giels Band, Wishbone Ash and many, many more. He brought out the best in Danny on tracks such as Home, Labor Man, and Colorado, which is perhaps why he disappeared without a trace following the demise of the label on which this album was put out.

The opening track was featured on a Sing It High, Sing It Low, a compilation of Tumbleweed Records releases between 1971 and 1973, released by the wonderful Light In The Attic Records. Yet, so far, there has not been a release of the album itself. Which is a real shame.

The gatefold release is something special, too. It has a die-cut window on the front cover, which is also embossed, and comes with a 16-page booklet on textured paper. This is the kind of design touches that cost a fortune nowadays, let alone in the early seventies. Regardless of the expense lavished on packaging this album, it’s definitely overlooked and deserving of wider attention. It’s really due a reissue, if only it were possible to find out where Danny Holien is and who owns the rights. For now, we’ll have to make do with this Unspun Heroes playlist pulled from various people across YouTube.

In the meantime, we’ll keep on searching for Danny’s whereabouts.

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Matinee, Sharkboy

If MBV and Drugstore had a baby it would be called Sharkboy. Formed in Brighton in the early 90s, they released their albums on Nude Records, which was notable at the time for having brought Suede into people’s ears. Their debut, Matinee, was played so much in my car and on my personal stereo I had to buy a replacement cassette because the first one wore out and snapped. I only have the sleeve these days, so it was an absolute joy to discover that someone has been uploading obscure 90’s bands to YouTube.

And Sharkboy is one of them.

I say obscure, but many of the original Sharkboy went on to play in some well-known – some might even say famous – bands such as James, Placebo and Salsa Celtica; lead singer, and chief creative in the band, Avy, continues to release music under the Sharkboy moniker, mostly soundtracks to her award-winning short films. It was Avy’s vocals and laidback playing style that were the mainstay of the band’s sound: her guitar playing gave it that stoned shoegaze sound, but with a sharpness that lifted it above many of the other mid-nineties indie blandness that precipitated the BritPop era.

The thing that drew me to their music was the use of different instruments to those being used elsewhere in the guitar-based indie scene: trumpet, cello, and percussion. There is a Country-feel to some tracks, thanks to the liberal use of slide guitar, but the music is firmly rooted in indie. It’s hazy, blurry with multi-layered instrumentation, such as the opening to My Star, or the chorus on Crystaline. To my ears, they sounded anything but British.

Given the multi-layered atmospheric music of Sharkboy, it’s really no surprise that Avy crosses a multitude of artistic disciplines, from illustration to filmmaking, from music to fine art. Her willingness to experiment put Sharkboy’s music ahead of its time, so in 2023 that debut sounds as fresh now as it did then. It’s subtle, the way the songs on Matinee get absorbed, yet the osmotic quality they have means each song embeds inself into your consciousness; in early interviews, Avy gave off a ‘salty’ personality, so perhaps that is where this ability comes from? Regardless, it’s not as if you’ll be afraid of a repeat listen, so just let it happen.

And there is definitely a dark underbelly to Sharkboy’s songs, such as the verse on Forest Fire, or the entire three minutes of Sugar. However, like seedy parts of any city in the world, it enriches you the more time you spend with it. And you’ll definitely want to share the experience with your friends.

So, listen to the YouTube playlist and send the link on your mates. As with every Unspun Hero, they’ll thank you for it.

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Slush, OP8

When you think of supergroups, you’re probably thinking of musicians who have been around for a long time and have got together, finally, to write and release some music. Occasionally, though, a supergroup comes together before you even know they’re a supergroup and then writes and releases on album’s worth of amazing music before everything gets shelved because another side project takes off unexpectedly.

This is the story of OP8. One album – oh, but what an album – and then done.

Let’s rewind. Giant Sand is a band that is surely on most people’s musical radar, or so I’d like to think. (And if not, are you in for a delightful weekend of listening?!) The long-time rhythm section of Howe Gelb’s band were drummer, John Convertino, and multi-instrumentalist, Joey Burns. If those names ring a bell it’s because you’ll know them as Calexico, the alt-country veterans and all-round awesome band.

OP8 was a spin-off of Giant Sand, featuring Joey and John. The idea to add a collaborator for each record came from the founder of label 4AD, Ivo Watt-Russell. The first was vocalist, violinist and multi-instrumentalist, Lisa Germano, who was signed to 4AD and had released the excellent Geek the Girl in 1994. While it was later decided Watt-Russell’s idea, while amazing, was unfeasible – probably because Calexico’s career trajectory was near vertical at that point – one album did make it through the process and was released on CD. That album was Slush.

The first thing to note is that this is an album with its feet firmly in the alt-country scene. Yet, despite being over 25 years old it doesn’t feel dated, which perhaps goes to show how ahead of its time it sounded back in the late 90’s in what was then quite a fledgling genre.

Opening track, Sand, is a call and response vocal between Germano and Gelb, with feedback over an acoustic guitar and a variety of backing instruments from organ, accordion and percussion. It’s like alt-country noir.

The chilled vibe is carried through the album, with its reliance on laidback acoustic guitar and interesting bursts of percussion, occasional piano and violin. Vocal duties are shared, often shifting between the various members. If I Think I’m In Love might not have her vocals, but you really get to hear Germano’s influences in the use of strings and the piano refrain that bubbles up, bringing a jazz touch to the simple chords and arrangement.

Yet it is Germano’s breathy vocals that keep me coming back. She has an effortless way of imbuing a song with emotional intent that takes songs like It’s A Rainbow and Cracklin’ Water into deeper waters where it feels less safe and ordinary. Her smoky voice on The Devil Loves L.A. makes the discordant jazz touches less jarring angular chair and more velvet banquette.

Slush is a perhaps an album for a rainy day, or perhaps, given its name, for those days when the snows are melting but it’s still too cold to venture out. However, it’s not a warm blanket under which you can snuggle, but more of a stupor that I would suggest gives the supergroup its name. It’s an opiate, a way to bring a layer of harmonic gauze to your listening pleasure without diminishing the experience, and one that you miss when it ends.

For now, you’ll have to enjoy it via streaming, or if you’re lucky enough to own a copy, on CD.

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Blue Field, The Luxembourg Signal

I loved Twin Peaks when it came out, watching it religiously (alongside Northern Exposure – which could be a blog post in its own right) throughout my early twenties. Not only did the plot keep me enthralled, but the music did, too. That widescreen sound, full of synth and guitar layers that mirrored the writing, all designed to pull you in deep to try and make sense of what you were watching and listening to.

This is what I think of when I think of The Luxembourg Signal’s second album, Blue Field. Building from the remains of the band, Aberdeen (from California, not Scotland), The Luxembourg Signal not only continue with the place-name-as-band-name theme, but also the melodic and indie dream pop jangle with guitar fuzz overtones. There’s a lot going on. (It even has a song called Laura Palmer.) It’s all texture and mood on this album, melodic and expansive.

However, while they started with a more shoegaze sound their music has evolved with Blue Field, their second album, which was released in 2017. Opening track, There’s Nothing More Beautiful Than A Well-Made Machine sets the scene, although as the album goes on so do the nods to Ride and Slowdive deepen, particularly on tracks such as the aforementioned Laura Palmer, and short instrumental Slow Delayed Heart. This, though, is not a negative. In fact, that ‘shoegaze’ word is no longer (thankfully) seen as derogatory. This is atmospheric indie pop at its best. Think of artists like Cloth and Kathryn Joseph as much as those 90’s stalwarts.

The title track is something to savour, as this seven-piece band creates the sort of song that wouldn’t go amiss soundtracking your journey to a summer festival, or the early morning hours after you’ve broken up with your long-term partner. It’s one for many different occasions, which is surely nothing but a good sign. Bop around to it, or wallow: it’s still the kind of album that burrows into your ear and hooks itself into your consciousness. Partly this is the vocal talent of Beth Arzy, partly the angular guitar riffs and glistening arpeggios of Johnny Joyner and Kelly Davies.

There is that filmic quality, always present. It’s this that truly defines the album, and much of The Luxembourg Signal’s output before and since. The fact that their sound could be from 30 years ago or 30 years into the future says a lot. Futuristic Retro as a genre anyone? And while the tempo doesn’t shift much, you still get a sense of momentum building to a climax. By the time you get to the final song, What You’re Asking For, you might feel both cleansed and pure – and like you’ve watched an unsettling TV crime series and need the perfect cup of sweet tea to reset your nerves.  

A bit like watching Twin Peaks.

Of course, though, like each and every Unspun Hero, Blue Field deserves your attention. Listen to the album at The Luxembourg Signal’s Bandcamp page.

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Regency Cafe, Tom Blackwell

On a recent trip to Middlesbrough, on Unspun Heroes business, so I was played an album that is about to come out on vinyl. (Yes, an Unspun Hero can be something that is fresh and new and not-quite-released on a plastic disc.) I sat back with a cup of tea and a biscuit and listened. The background hum of the office I was in just faded away and I was sucked into the music so deeply I could have sworn I’d been dreaming.

I hadn’t. What I’d experienced was Tom Blackwell’s latest album. And what a stunning collection it is.

This is an album of musical minimalism that somehow appears to be fuller than expected. Guitar and harmonica, it’s easy to immediately think of Dylan. Yet, I think it’s fair to state that Tom is producing music that is on par with those early Zimmerman acoustic songs, but perhaps with more of a Donovan folksy feel, shot through with notes of Americana to give each of the songs their own unique flavour.

His biography has a line in it that sums Tom’s musicality so perfectly, it deserves repeating: “Blackwell sings his songs as if he is living them.”

Indeed.

And as a listener you feel as if you’re living them alongside him. Oh, these must be a delight to hear live (although, as they’re a one-take recording with just a microphone, captured at his home, I suppose you actually are). Remarkable tunes, each and every one of them.

They’re almost a decade old, which means Tom has sat with these gems inside and alongside him, and it’s this that creates such a depth not only to the songwriting but to the playing. He says they’re a collection of love songs to a café in Pimlico, London, where he used to find himself after walking for hours. He suggest listening to them late at night, which I think it probably right. With a whiskey sour, perhaps, and friends. I think you’ll find yourselves stunned into silence, perhaps the occasional murmur of appreciation leaking from mouths at the end of each track.

Buying a copy of this to play late at night in my own home was an easy decision. I’d made it the moment I came back to myself in that office in Middlesbrough. I urge you to give this a listen, and I think you’ll come to the same conclusion. There are only 200 copies of this available on vinyl – well, 199 at least – and I doubt they’ll hang around for long, except in your own record collection and in the memories of those who are lucky enough to have heard Tom Blackwell. Listen and buy via Tom’s Bandcamp.

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Milo Greene, Milo Greene

Impressionistic painting of a man, looking to the left.

I admit it. I love pop music.

Let’s just add some clarity to that statement, while you pick yourself up from the floor. Pop music is a lot of things. It’s melodic. It’s catchy in a way that makes you tap your feet or hum the tune. It’s usually, but not always, sub-four minutes. The Cure are as much a pop band to my ears as Taylor Swift. Pop is not throwaway, though. It’s not the musical equivalent of an airport paperback. That’s muzak. Or Coldplay.

So, now that’s settled, it’s time to talk about a particular pop band, although they may not describe themselves that way. Milo Greene.

They’re pop because they have those catchy tunes that you want to hum, like a lot of their debut album’s tracks, including Perfectly Aligned and Take a Step. The harmonies, the effortless way it burrows into your conscience and lodges there for days. The final track on this record, Autumn Tree, is as captivating as the first notes on opener, What’s the Matter.

Released in 2012, like a lot of great pop music, it sounds contemporary. Yet there’s also nostalgia wrapped up in these songs. It makes sense that the band is comprised of seasoned songwriters, showcasing their craft. It makes sense that they started wanting to write songs that would be used in TV series and films, which possibly comes from their LA roots.

Yet, despite their commerciality and obvious success in their home country, I think they’ve managed to steer clear of the schmaltz, which is likely down to the harmonised vocals alongside obvious musicianship rather than leaning on studio techniques. This means their sound tends more towards peers such as The New Pornographers than it does your average pop act. Just enough indie, perhaps?

There’s authenticity at play here, which when set against the plastic allure of LA is pause enough for thought. Yes, it’s manufactured like all good pop, but in clever ways. The band name came about as they decided to create a fictitious booking agent called Milo Greene so they could get shows early in their career. And inventing this persona, it obviously worked. They’ve since gone on to play Letterman, Bonnaroo and Lollapalooza.

So, yes, it’s pop music. But it’s not. Because like all good pop music it defies the ‘pop’ label as much as it defines it. Yes, they have almost 80 million plays of a track from this debut on Spotify, yet they’re relatively unknown outside their own country.

Give it a listen, you can’t tell me you’re not a fan of pop music, too.