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.
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.
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.
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 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
There have been a number of tribute albums to David Bowie over the years, especially since his untimely death in 2016. That very same year, an album came out by a band who had, to my mind, created one of the best covers of a Bowie track some six years previously. The band was Genuflex, the track was Soul Love, originally released on The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars.
Video of Soul Love, a cover of the David Bowie track.
Of course, one member of Genuflex was already known to me: Finn Vine.
In the previous decade he’d been the singer and creative catalyst in White Rose Movement, a post-punk electronic band who were constantly fêted by the music media as the ‘next big thing’ yet never managed to reach their obvious potential. While their debut, Kick, was an excellent and coherent album, they crashed and burned in 2008 with their second album incomplete and unreleased.
Perhaps it was the post-punk element that held them back? If so, it’s the (almost complete) erasure of this side of their musical style from Genuflex’s only album to date, the eponymous subject of this post. Instead, they lean heavily on the synths, while employing Vine’s vocals to great effect. It’s really only on track three, Santantango, that you get a glimpse of what came before. Now the sound owes as much to Anthony and the Johnsons as it does to that mid-noughties guitar-based electronica White Rose Movement helped to define.
The band takes its name from the act of dropping to ones knees to pray, to genuflect. While that may be so, this isn’t a new church, rather the realisation of an artist’s true intentions and committed to tape.
One of the pieces of the band’s output that really stands out was a remix of their single, The Last Gods, from the late (great) Mark Stewart of Pop Group who sadly passed away earlier this year. This remains, perhaps, the only example, of where Genuflex could have headed had they kept going. The vocals are soaring heavenwards, the music the wings. It’s astonishing – and not just because of Stewart’s work.
Genuflex was as grandiose as Vine’s previous bands, yet remains one that flies below the radar. Undeservedly, I would like to think.
If the links above have tingled your spidey sense, then you’ll be delighted to listen to their one and only album. Yet another example of one of the music world’s Unspun Heroes.
Kingston upon Hull, famous for having its own communications company and being almost completely destroyed in the blitz –only for Thatcher to do her best to better that 40 years later. Politics, aside, it’s an area of the UK that’s definitely had its detractors, yet in 2017 it was (rightly) made the UK City of Culture.
Almost a decade before, culture was alive and well in this part of Yorkshire, doing just as well as the neighbouring cities of Leeds, Sheffield and Bradford in terms of quality art and music. Perhaps better. Better because of Fonda 500.
You’ll likely know their songs, as they’ve graced plenty of TV shows such as Skins and Teachers, and the Colin Farrell film, Intermission. They’ve got a cult following, that’s for sure. Je M’Apelle Stereo is their sixth album, but the one that brought them to wider attention for those wanting something fresher and weirder from their art rock bands.
Fonda 500 deliver in spades on this album.
They really should be global superstars, yet it’s their Britishness and idiosyncratic way of making music that compels them to retain a cult status. Although once signed to Truck Records, this album they went out on their own label, bringing their mix of Beach Boys-esque vocal harmonies, catchy indie rock à laWe Are Scientists (although I can also detect a slab of Monster Magnet-ism in there, and some Super Furries), and their use of weird and novelty instruments (including beatboxing and 8-bit Casio sounds) to the 14 songs, each feeling slightly different to the one that came before.
The big song here is Jenny #1, yet there are many, many more gems to be unearthed, including The Sounds Sound Warmer When The Sound Is Shared, Silver Sounds, Electronique Bee 101 and Super Dots & Lights, which all show the range and experimentation the band brings to every critically-acclaimed recording. They’re also an energetic live band, which you can always catch even if they’ve not been releasing music.
They’re as exciting as a spacehopper on your birthday in the 70s, the release of a new Argos catalogue in the 80s, or cheese on toast for breakfast (and just as bonkers). Yet, somehow, they still make great indie pop songs. And they’d sound great released on vinyl, which is a format this album has never been put out on.
Imagine: you’re at the height of your fame, despite being a new band (although you yourself have been in several bands over the years), and you’re described as the focal point of a ‘movement’ that only really exists in the minds of the media. You want to do something out of the ordinary, musically, but it would be career suicide (again, in the minds of the media. Mostly).
What do you do?
You start a side project.
Here at Unspun Heroes, we know a thing or two about a side project. This is, after all, one of them. But we’re not (hopefully) at the height of our fame and we’re not going to do anything that breaks our initial vision.
For Pearl Jam’s founding guitarist, Stone Gossard, an outlet for his considerable musical talents came via jamming with his friends. And so, Brad was formed. Named after the man who owned the rights to the band’s original name, Shame – which subsequently became the album title – they released a very un-grunge record.
It’s experimental, off-beat, different, constantly shifting its musical references, shuffling them like a blackjack croupier on the Vegas strip. Yet, it’s so very Stone in sound and intent.
Kerrang placed it in their list of 100 albums you need to hear before you die, five years after its release, but in 1993 it barely troubled the charts on either side of the Atlantic.
30 years on, it’s held up (rightly) as one of the best albums of that year. I’d suggest it’s better than the output of Pearl Jam’s difficult third album, but that’s my opinion and it may well differ from yours. I know, it’s hard to comprehend that people can like different things and still like the same things as well.
Four years ago, Shawn Smith, the singer of Brad (and Satchel, plus others) passed away. The album he was working on with the other members of Brad was released earlier this year, in tribute. Yet, the first Brad album showcases Smith’s unusual style and Gossard’s abilities to reach past the niche he was placed in by the rock media. The original pressing commands high numbers on the resale market. Now it’s 30 years old, not only it is worth a second, third… hundredth listen, it’s surely worth a reissue. They came close on subsequent releases, but Shame was the album that defined them. Rather than shame, though, it’s pride that shines through.
As the eighties came to an end, and the heavier punk rock days of the NYC indie scene gave way to psychedelic indie pop, so Lida Husik arrived. Originally from Washington D.C., she settled in New York and signed to seminal label, Shimmy Disc (home to artists such as Ween, Galaxie 500 and Daniel Johnston). They released three of her albums, of which Bozo was the first.
Introspective and almost like a collection of demos, Lida played virtually every instrument on Bozo’s 12 songs – a huge feat considering she is completely self-taught. Imagine if The Velvet Underground had sprung up a couple of decades later and you’ll get a sense of the sound, but there is more to this than a pastiche of that well-known NYC sound.
Described as an album with songs that are ‘programmed to sink slowly into the listener’s subconscious, like a magic potion’, it’s feels like it could have been created as an aural depiction of a drug haze, or the US-version of shoegaze; it reminds me of the morning after wandering around the countryside while on ‘shrooms. Impressionistic, experimental.
It’s claimed that Lida’s first two album were recorded while on massive doses of hallucinogens, which might explain things. No doubt, also influenced by The Teardrop Explodes’ use of swirling organs and liberal use of LSD from a decade before. It’s this that makes it both of its time and timeless.
This is not a dark album; its naïve construction and hazy delivery ensure it is lifted away from the introspection contemporary artists were known for. Occasionally, on songs such as Halloween and Mom, it delights with melodies that might even be described as catchy. For sure there are earworms here (Farmhouse, for example), yet this is not music I would describe as tunes for bopping along to while you mix cocktails or make cheese on toast (or both, I’m not here to judge).
What it does deserve is wider attention. Bozo showcases an artist doing things on her own terms, and succeeding.
And as the late, great Bill Hicks said, “If you think drugs are bad, go home tonight and burn all your albums, all your tapes and all your CDs, because the people who made that great music that has enhanced your lives throughout the years… real fucking high on drugs.”
When I think of bands that are quintessentially English, I think of The Wave Pictures. Yet, they also have an edge that sounds like they could be from the US; there’s a distinct Violent Femmes sound to their music, and that is demonstrated on Instant Coffee Baby in spades.
It’s unusual, too, to be talking about a band’s seventh album. We’re usually showcasing their debut or second album. Yet, here we are. This was the album that broke the band beyond the fringes of Herman Düne fans; this is the album that cemented their cult status.
If you grew up outside of the big cities, there’s a sense of the sublime and ridiculous that is woven into the tapestry of rural life. Lead singer, Dave Tattersall, has surely collected all of these weird and wonderful pieces of the human psyche and poured it into the 13 songs that make up Instant Coffee Baby. It’s both a love letter to Loughborough, and a warning to anyone thinking of settling there.
The Guardian weren’t fans, suggesting that “If off-key vocals, low production values and lyrics about tinned peaches and sculptures of marmalade enchant you, Instant Coffee Baby won’t leave your stereo for weeks.” Then again, they completely garble the lyrics they quote, so you can’t take their word for it – or 150 words of it, because that’s all they could feel inspired to write.
Yes, it’s lo-fi. It’s meant to be. Yes, it’s quirky and slightly adolescent, it’s meant to be. It’s philosophical and takes on deeper meaning, if you’re willing to take time to uncover the secrets hidden in plain sight. Like the anti-folk movement that The Wave Pictures sit within, and also slightly outside, it’s probably like the first time you heard The Smiths and either loved them or hated them. There are no grey areas with The Wave Pictures, either.
Again, I refer you to Violent Femmes.
This is the brilliance of the group. They sound like they’re shambolic (to Guardian reviewers in 2008) yet there is an accomplished set of musicians and songwriters here. Catchy songs, humorous lyrics supported by backing vocals that are surely accompanied by knowing winks and wry smiles as they were delivered. If you played it to your parents they’d probably tap their feet and bop their heads, yet be confounded by the masterful tongue-in-cheek lyrical content, particularly those of the title track.
Those lyrics are as good as a certain Sheffield band’s early work, too. It’s just a folksy part of the world they sing about.
This set of songs sounds as fresh today, 15 years on. Those bouncy guitar solos, the proficient drums that belie expectations, the slight croon of David’s voice as he sings about a typical night out in Loughborough and the girl from Baker’s Oven holding back the hair of a puking friend. Despite some of the lyrics, this is a happy album. It’s hard not to want to dance to it. Or singalong with David – who you feel would be happy to duet with you at a gig.
It was reissued by Moshi Moshi only a few years ago. Yet, as with all great cult albums, it sold out and, when it does appear, continues to attract high prices in the secondhand market. One can only hope they’ll reissue it again.
Of course, the band are now approaching their 20th album and playing live regularly. They’re as brilliantly bonkers as ever, yet have retained that sense of exquisite songwriting and composition that makes Instant Coffee Baby an instant classic.
“This might be the greatest record no-one has ever heard of!”
It’s not unusual for the Unspun Heroes team to send each other over-excited WhatsApp messages about new discoveries, but two weeks ago we found a record that none of us had heard of, doesn’t exist on Spotify and where very little is known about the musicians.
The eponymous debut album of a short-lived UK group, Tranquility, is sort of folky, Americana, proggy stuff with immaculate close harmony singing that CSN would have been proud of. The guitar playing is tight and on the right side of noodly, the rhythm section is bang on and the driving organ underneath gives it all a sense of epicness.
If Tranquility were released in the late 60s, rather than early 70s, it might have done very well. But it got caught between changing musical times and tastes. Everyone had come down from the Summer of Love, the economy was shot to pieces and people were looking for a different, grittier type of escapism. While Bowie was giving birth to glam and Sabbath were inventing doom metal, Tranquility were still making gorgeous songs that talked about love and gratitude and nature. Post decimal UK was more interested in sequins, space and Satan.
Now, not every song on the album is a winner; a couple of the songs on Side Two stray into the sort of music hall nonsense that The Beatles and every other UK band in 1968 were peddling. But, the main songwriter and lead guitarist Terry Shaddick hits much more than he misses.
And that brings us on to the musicians – who are they? There is no wikipedia entry for the band and no information on the usual sources such as Allmusic. A bit of digging shows most of the players disappeared into obscurity, but Terry Shaddick did re-emerge in the 1980s as a professional songwriter, penning – of all things – Physical by Olivia Newton John. Which is weirdly great.
You can pick up the original Tranquility LP on Discogs for less than a tenner. Or you can listen to it on YouTube if you “want to get digital, digital”. [Ed: Complaints about Dad jokes to @moonbolt please.] Either way, it is perfect Sunday listening and a complete joy to have picked up on a whim.
Editor’s note After a little more digging, it turns out Tranquility were put together by Donovan’s former manager, Ashley Kozak. They were held in high esteem in the US, so much so that when they toured in support of their debut they booked an additional two months’ worth of dates!
Also, it turns out that Physical was originally penned for Rod Stewart.
