When the duo, Lamb, burst on the scene in the mid 90s, it wasn’t only the frenetic and interesting beats from Andy Barlow that commanded attention, the vocal talents of Lou Rhodes were instantly recognisable as a new voice worth paying attention to. And when Lamb split, as Rhodes did with her partner at the same time, there was no inkling of what might come next. But what did demonstrated that Lou Rhodes was more than a backdrop in an electronic band.
Widely acclaimed on release, Beloved One was shortlisted for the Mercury Prize in 2006, and from the opening bars of Each Moment New, it’s clear that this is very much not Lamb and also very much a personal album. Its naked honesty marks the album as a standout piece of art, marrying minimal percussion with more organic instruments such as Rhodes’ beautiful acoustic guitar playing, a piano, and also double bass. It’s not just stripped back, it’s laid bare – both Rhodes’ own view of her life, and the music itself.
Because of the emotional upheaval that any ending brings – be it personal or musical relationship – the listener is drawn in deeper with each track. Lou Rhodes delves into her own pain along with her well of optimism of a future, as yet unknown to her or us, to deliver an album that is as much a rebirth of her own self as it is a call to arms for us to love the world in which we exist. There is real optimism to be found in her lyrics, rather than simple or shallow platitudes. Rhodes takes us on a journey with her, by inviting us into her world, and it would take a cold-hearted brain-dead moron to not be moved by that.
Just the circular refrain of Fortress, played impeccably on the acoustic guitar, would be hard to resist continuous playing. The love song – perhaps to her children, maybe to herself – that is the title track, Beloved One, is so rich in both instrumentation and lyrics, with space and quietness built into the composition through its incorporation of natural sounds of birdsong, the call of the flute in the opening moments before voice and guitar work together begs for a stylus to bring it’s delicacy to your ears.
Then there is the percussive guitar playing on Tremble along with Rhodes’ trademark voice that is as close to her previous work in Lamb as this album could offer; and yet, it’s melody could have been plucked from an obscure 60’s folk album beloved of so many these days. It’s an unforgettable album in so many respects that only listening to it can really do it justice. So do that.
Originally released on her own Infinite Bloom label, it was reissued with additional tracks on CD by Cooking Vinyl. However, somehow this album has never been committed to vinyl. And yet, if ever an album was made for that format, it’s this one. The songs are so good, you’d want to be jumping up to turn this record over, again and again, until you wore through the plastic. I’ll be doing everything in my power to have a conversation with Lou Rhodes about putting this out as on Unspun Heroes.
EDIT: Lou’s Bandcamp page has been taken down. In a conversation with her recently, she said she was hoping it would be back up soon. In the meantime, here’s a link to a YouTube playlist of this album.
Some of my favourite bands have had two drummers: Adam and the Ants, Osees, Melvins, Swans, Butthole Surfers, The Fall… and Beachbuggy.
To some, they were merely a band that borrowed from Mark E. Smith’s group but I think that does them a disservice. Sure, they had driving, repetitive rhythms, but with their creative nod to car/drag racing and Americana (very much the concept, not the musical genre) they couldn’t have been more different. They could easily have been a novelty act, too, and yet their ability to write great punk-pop songs and deliver them, very loudly, with aplomb, lifted them above and beyond such easy-to-apply labels.
Their debut album owed a lot to Pixies in terms of sound, so it was an obvious choice to work with Steve Albini – and to even write an entire song for Sport Fury about Black Francis finishing Kim Deal’s sentence while Albini had the tape rolling during the Surfer Rosa sessions: Touch My Stuff (You Can Die). This sort of in-joke is usually hidden in the liner notes, so to get it committed in song – and a great punk rock one, at that – was sublime songwriting from singer, Jack Straker.
Jack Straker? That name might ring some bells, even though it’s a pseudonym. A stalwart of the Doncaster music scene, Straker played and recorded with The Wedding Present during the 90s, leaving to write and record Sport Fury. In fact, one of Beachbuggy’s first gigs was supporting David Gedge’s band, and this is also their link to Albini.
There is an American surf sound to a lot of tracks on Sport Fury, notably on Bad Guys Wear Black, and Science Fiction. That’s the 50’s racing car aesthetic coming through again – although, one could argue it’s also the late 80’s Boston sound. Yet, this album is unapologetically punk rock, with only Godspeed My Friend and Cuba offered up as anything other than head-down thundering guitar-led tracks.
If you ever caught Beachbuggy live, which I was lucky enough to do several times, you knew there was a sense of fun running through everything they did. While there was an obvious punk snide to the songs, it was all part of the act. They’re entertainers – as Sport Fury proves. This is the band that once played from the back of a lorry outside The Leadmill where they had a support slot with ‘And You Shall Know Us By The Trail of Dead’. And they were a loud band, as these songs deserved being turned up to the max just like the noise of the racing cars from which they took their sartorial pointers. (I can confirm my insides felt like they were being liquified when I caught the band at their Death Disco appearance in Notting Hill.)
The band were signed to Poptones, so while they put out singles on vinyl all their albums were CD only. Shame. Like a good vintage, they’ve bettered with age. But you’ll need to get searching to hear their songs as they’re not available to stream. Enjoy a low quality video of Kickin’ Back, the opening track from Sport Fury, on YouTube and a separate playlist of the remainder of the album (except the Italian radio ad at the end).
Totnes. A place that stands up for itself, that stands out for taking a stand. It’s a creative town, one that refuses to bow to the mainstream. And for that reason it flourishes. It’s also home to one of the best record shops in the UK, Drift Records.
If you know Drift Records, you’ve probably met Rupert as he’s one of the co-founders. I would guess I have, too, yet at the time I had no idea of his musical output. Then recently, I spotted a post by Neil from the excellent band, SHOPFIRES that had an album in his ongoing ‘Unloved Vaults’ series on Instagram. That photo was of an album and that album was Learning About Loathing. It had the look of something I thought I might like – and to be honest, when I see something I don’t know my first instinct it always to go and play it.
I’m so glad I did.
Learning About Loathing gives you chills. Recorded on vintage, analogue equipment in a rural church in St. Melnus, Cornwall, it has an emotional heft within the eight songs that were captured to committed to the record. More than many records you’ll ever get to hear. It’s raw, yes, but these flaws are what gives it that heft. Somehow, the atmosphere of that church has been imbued throughout.
Think of the early Palace Brothers, or some of Nick Drake’s output, and you’ll be close. Especially on tracks like Honestly Now and Summer Bride. Yet, the songs that resonated most with me were those where that atmosphere I mentioned earlier is upfront and present, such as my favourite track, Night Falls. It’s haunting, especially as the distorted drone shifts into the following track, Funeral For A Foe, with its eerie drum beat.
For such a simple album it’s incredibly complex. There is a thrum to these songs; what I mean by that is that they hang in your bones, becoming part of the energy that sustains you in the days following each listen. Rupert’s voice is like a mirrored pool that draws you back for another look, because it’s impossible to not wonder what lies beneath the still warm waters of his voice, about the stories that led to these songs being written and recorded.
I would suggest it’s impossible not to be moved by this small, tight collection of songs. For all their lightness, they’ll weigh on your conscience. From the opening drums, detuned guitars and gentle vocals of the title track to the final harmonies in alt-love song of In Out, this is an album that captivates the listener. If it were available on vinyl, I could imagine someone pulling it off their shelf, perhaps finding a small crackle as the needle finds the groove, and that person settling back into their favourite chair, eyes closed and a smile breaking on their lips like a wave across a beach.
Back in the 1990s, New Zealand band, The Bats, rose to prominence on the international stage. Like many other bands of that era, from that relatively small country, they had an outsized influence on many others. It’s hard to talk about New Zealand’s music scene and not mention Split Endz and the Finn Brothers. I think we should speak of Robert Scott in the same way when we think of the list of great NZ musicians.
I’m not here to write of his output with The Bats, but to look at his solo work. In particular, I want to go back a decade to Scott’s album, The Green House. While his solo work can sometimes be quite experimental, this one is pretty straightforward alternative indie rock/pop. Yet, it bears all the hallmarks of Scott’s talents as a songwriter – top-tapping melodies, atmospheric instrumentation and his exemplary guitar work.
The album opener, Lights Are Low, is all moody picked guitar and the haunting vocals of Hollie Fullbrook from Tiny Ruins, who, incidentally, adds her voice to five of the The Green House’s 12 tracks. It is a song that sets the scene for the rest of the album. You might be getting songs that on the surface are just great pop songs, but they’ll sink into your psyche and stick there, finding ways to affect you when you least expect it. That’s the magic of Robert Scott, right there.
It’s not all acoustic wonderment, either. Vertigo, finishing off the first quarter of the album, could easily sit among the output of current indie faves, The Reds, Pinks and Purples. Glenn Donaldson’s band is probably a good contemporary comparison, although there’s also a seam of darkness that keeps bubbling up in The Green House. The jangle pop of Scott’s other bands is put aside here, swapped out for a harder edged and layered soundscape.
Scott’s 30+ years’ experience of being in bands and writing songs really shows, as each of these songs showcases a songwriter who not only still at the top of their game but is able to wrong foot the listener with creative compositional flourishes that keep you listening. They’re the sort of musical switches that make you think, “Damn, I wasn’t expecting that!” He’s a master.
The richness of NZ’s folk scene is also present here. Following on from the beautiful instrumental, Favourite Case, comes another track which features Hollie’s contrasting voice, Now In Your Hands. It’s probably one of the most straightforward songs on the album, yet in any other hands it would be merely good. With Scott’s deftness as a writer, guitarist and singer, so it becomes great.
It’s Scott’s voice that makes this album so listenable, really. It’s understated. It’s a vehicle for this lyrics, sure, but it’s dripping with emotional intent. There’s a weight to it, even though it’s actually quite fragile and dropped down in the mix. In this way, it reminds me of Sune Rose Wagner of The Raveonettes (if he was to sing with Sharin Foo in an alt-country, folk style). If it wasn’t there you’d be wondering what was missing. This is most obvious on Hear The Hondas, which has a simple melody picked out on the guitar, the vocals carefully laid atop almost as an afterthought. And yet. Using overdubs, Scott manages to create a soothing complexity, so warm and inviting you want to bathe in it.
I think, in all honesty, what I’m describing is a New Zealand sound. Despite no accent to pick up on, I reckon I could place the origin of Scott’s music on first listen. As you come over the ridge of the guitar riff on Where The Frost Lies, for example, the drums make you stop and take in the view, as it were. Another instrumental that somehow bottles the feeling of the place in which it was made and brings it to you through the magic of audio.
And with that, you slip beneath the surface of the final track, Right From Wrong, and suddenly you’re cocooned in more of Scott’s folk splendour. Probably one of simplest tracks of the entire record, it’s the perfect way bring your listening to a close. There’s no fade out, though. It’s Robert Scott doing what Robert Scott does best – an unexpected ending as the final plucks of his guitar strings stop a bar or two earlier than a lesser musician might choose. Yet, it is of course, the perfect way to draw this listening experience to a close.
The comment at the top of the YouTube playlist of Finelines describes My Vitriol as “criminally underrated”. To understand why, we need to step back 23 years.
iTunes was just about to be launched. The top selling album worldwide was Linkin Park. Destiny’s Child had the biggest selling single. So a noisy indie rock band from Croydon, put together by two lads who met at University in London, well, the stars weren’t aligning. Oh, and in the indie world, having members of Sri Lankan origin probably set them apart from a scene ruled by skinny jeans-wearing white boys with little talent. Still, this was the formative period in British indie rock before Bloc Party, before Foals, before Croydon was cool. Okay, so maybe that last point is still happening (and it will, at least musically, I am certain).
At the time of their debut release, Finelines, few British bands sounded like them – Muse were perhaps closest, before they went proto-Prog and (more) pretentious. Yet, they were the forebearers of the indie scene that arrived a few years later. They had the raw energy of the metal-esque Linkin Parks of this world, but also the shimmering guitars reminiscent of the shoegaze and dream pop crowds, a sound now brilliantly revived through the likes of deary, Whitelands and the reformed slowdive.
And what an album. Criminally underrated indeed. The Foo Fighters style of the single, Always: Your Way has everything you want in a guitar track. It’s melodic without being pop, brash without being too heavy, and Som Wardner’s vocals keep it radio friendly. Yes, it has that American sound that was so prevalent in the late 90s and early naughts, but with a distinctly English twist.
It opens with noise. A growling guitar sound that grows into a snarl, and that sparkling shoegaze arpeggio to set the scene for what would follow. I would bet money the band listened to Radiohead as well as Nirvana, and probably Ride, too. They sure knew how to control the violence of their riffs so the melodic hooks didn’t get lost. Listen to Cemented Shoes, Losing Touch, and Grounded to get a good idea of just how well they walk the line between screaming emo and melodic indie, or how they mix that with shoegaze on Infantile or instrumental, Tongue Tied.
For almost 15 years, this album was the only output from My Vitriol, after they went on hiatus in 2002. Now they’re back and recording again, playing occasional shows and offering fans a subscription via their Bandcamp page, including the digital version of Finelines. Let’s hope they get around to reissuing it on vinyl, it’s very deserving of wider attention.
The album was remixed as a US release with some different vocal takes, but to my mind (and ears) the original is superior. It’s interesting to see that Drowned in Sound originally gave the album a 10/10 but scored the Epic release a 2/10. They knew. NME just hated it, but they tended to hate everything at the time, themselves included. I still believe it’s one of the most underrated records of its time. Tellingly, a copy of the original vinyl sells for more than £200 on Discogs.
Listen to the album via Spotify or, for those without a subscription (or if you don’t like the platform), listen on YouTube. Embeds below.
Consider 2005, if you can. There were many in the music press still believing the singing electricians (Oasis) to be the best thing ever, so it’s hardly a surprise that The Stands’ second album passed many people by. Lumbered with the Noel Gallagher curse of approval and a label that was failing financially – essentially dropping the band a fortnight before they released Horse Fabulous – they were up against it.
It also doesn’t help that Liverpool, the great city from which The Stands came, already had a group of lads who played guitar-based jangly indie pop when it didn’t have that name. However, it’s unfair to both blame The Beatles and compare the two bands. Distance changes perspective, because Horse Fabulous is, listening almost 20 years on, an absolute gem.
These are unequivocally pop songs, yet there are some sublime moments – from the trills on opening track Turn The World Around to the melancholic major to minor shift of the piano chords in Mountains Blue and the World Through My Window, to name just two. It has harmonies and melodies that deserve some attention, such as the backing vocals on Back To You. If you’re thinking it’s derivative, you’re probably remembering the language used in some of its harsher reviews.
The styles also vary across the album, from the straight out pop songs of the opening trio of tracks, to the Americana-influence of I Will Journey Home, which not only showcases a more laidback vibe but also highlights singer Howie Payne’s softer vocal, where the scouse whine is less obvious. As does the breakdown in the first part of Nearer Than Green, as the strings build and the whole track takes on a psychedelic hue before returning to the rock and pop riff that drives it along and then melting into what could be a guitar on its first trip.
While When The Night Falls In and Bluer Than Blue are more standard fare when it comes to 60s-inspired songwriting, the one song that is obviously influenced by their Liverpudlian forebearers, the belter that is Do It Like You Like, pulls the listener back into a night of revelry. If you heard it on some crime drama on Netflix it would not only set the mood but you’d be humming it for weeks afterwards. Rightly so.
This is music that reminds me of my earliest years, listening to my Mum’s record collection and delighting in what I heard. It feels like something comforting, yes, almost a set of songs you might already know. Yet, it’s full of blissful moments, get-up-and-dance riffs, and enough layers to reward repeat listens.
Boston is well known for its music scene, having brought a huge number of influential bands to the world stage over the decades. Home to Berklee College of Music, as well, so it’s no surprise there is a rich seam of artists to mine. One of those artists is Aaron Perrino.
This might not be a name that you know, but you’ll likely know his songs. For several years after forming Dear Leader’s predecessor, The Sheila Divine, he toured the world in support of bands as huge as Primal Scream, No Doubt, and David Bowie. And while I’m not advocating burnout, it’s thanks to his brutal touring schedule that we have The Good Times Are Killing Me.
However, in 2003 when this collection of songs was coming together, that phrase was most associated with Modest Mouse. Which might explain why this album escaped the global success it surely deserves. So, 20 years on, it’s time to shine a light on Dear Leader’s debut, a CD-only release on Boston indie label, Lunch Records. This is the label Aaron has been with since his first recordings, and remains with them today.
Opening track Motto is, for all intents and purposes, the actual maxim of the band. It sets out the stall for the nine songs which follow: the anthemic composition that has become the band’s signature, the introspective lyrics which cast out dark social and political themes. None more so than on the lyrics of Committing Fusion, set against the burbling electronics where the words ‘I don’t believe in fate, or the church and state’ take on a mantra. It calls to mind the best of U2’s songwriting, before they got annoyingly formulaic and self-conscious, or (perhaps more fittingly) the songs of The Postal Service.
It helps that Aaron pulled in John Dragonetti of Jack Drag and The Submarines fame to produce. His touch is evident in the beautiful details in each composition, and provides The Good Times Are Killing Me with the distinctive sound that carries across the entire output of Dear Leader. There’s a twinkle in each song that you uncover on subsequent listens. It also means we get Blake Hazard guesting on Culture Vultures so that even its simple instrumentation feels like it’s painted with a broader palette.
There are still moments that catch the listener out and prevent the album falling into the trap of being a collection of similar sounding songs. This is especially noticeable on the rhythm of If The House Spoke which feels both bouncy and fast and languid and slowed down. It’s effect is to bring a haunted quality to an indie pop song. The middle eight is like the blammo! moment when an LSD trip kicks in, before you’re dropped back into reality as easily as if you’d sat down on the world’s cosiest sofa. For that brief moment when you’re feeling as if you’re hallucinating, the bliss levels are close to overflowing. It’s really quite something.
Why this album has never come out on vinyl is anyone’s guess. Perhaps the era, perhaps a choice. It has the feel of an album that would sound even richer (if that is possible) when listened to on some wax. Only hearing it live would eclipse that experience. 20 years on, perhaps we might get a chance to find out. For now, we it’s available on streaming platforms and YouTube, or you can find it on CD in the usual places.
When I read this title back to myself, I think it’s backwards. That’s because The Soft Pack were once called The Muslims but got some hate and heat from that back in 2007 when they first burst on to the indie rock scene. So they changed it, releasing their debut (which contained many of these songs) as The Soft Pack.
I’m of the belief that the original name of the band was great. (That name now belongs to an all-queer black and brown punk band – their words – who hail from North Carolina.) That said, it’s their band and they can call it what they want – the important thing here is the music.
It’s clear that The Strokes played their part in the sound of The Soft Pack. I imagine This Is It being blasted out and influencing this band from San Diego. It’s got that distinctly east coast vibe rather than the sunny west coast from which they hail. It’s DIY, with thrashy drums up front and vocals low in the mix.
I first came across the band when they put out their lead single, Extinction. The video had that perfect film/art school look and feel which singer Matt Lamkin had studied, but somehow was also simple and hypnotic as Matt moved in and out of focus behind the leaves of a tree as the wind blew. It was so different to the flashy MTV-style videos that rap bands were putting out, or indie bands conjured up. That DIY aesthetic again. That song alone hooked me in.
Video for Extinction. Humour involved.
The garage rock sound pervades throughout the album. The production isn’t great, yet it lends itself to the overall sound of the band and, I would like to think, was purposeful. Once they’d changed their name and re-recorded many of the songs, some of that essence was definitely lost. Despite the obvious low production values, the band is a tight unit. They have great riffs in the same way that early Libertines songs have them. Tracks like Call it a Day and the aforementioned Extinction showcase the catchiness of the guitar riffs, the drummer’s pounding but solid beats. The perfect backdrop to singer Matt’s punk rock crooning.
The Soft Pack weren’t necessarily doing anything new or innovative. Yet, somehow, they avoided being completely derivative. On My Time is a good example. It punches out at you from the get-go so you can’t duck and avoid it (not that you’d want to). It’s like the band aimed to obscure their musical abilities while at the same time demonstrate they could write and play simple, brilliant songs.
The shimmering noise of Religion is a band doing things on their own terms – Mark E. Smith would’ve hated them for following his lead in that respect, especially on tracks like American, but as someone who loves The Fall, there are few comparisons to make here beyond hypnotic, rhythmic guitars and occasional vocal barks.
The Soft Pack managed two albums before they ceased to be. This early incarnation of their sound was, perhaps, their best. Unencumbered by media expectations, their desire to make noisy guitar-based music in a garage with their mates was what mattered most. And for that, we can be thankful.
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.
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.
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).
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
