Tag: music

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So Many Prophets, Fetish

Album cover for So Many Prophets by Fetish.

Female-fronted alternative bands in the late 90s. Garbage had set the template and, whether unfair or not, others were judged against them. So it was with Fetish, and unfairly I think.

Hailing from South Africa, this is a band that mixed the ‘goth’ of bands like Evanescence and, yes, mixed in those melodic moments Shirley Manson and her band of merry men did so well, but there’s something else that takes this album beyond a Garbage soundalike.

For one thing, there’s a yearning, tinged with a subtle anger. I’m partly reminded of Julianne Regan’s performance from All About Eve’s third album mixed with elements of bands such as Cocteau Twins and The Mission. They certainly stood out in the musical landscape of London back in 2000 when I was first introduced to them by a colleague from Cape Town. Part nostalgia, perhaps, but they had more than enough interesting aspects to their sound and composition to break through.

Take Leah, for example. The jazz-inspired bass notes break through the acoustic guitar strum to catch the ear, while Michelle Breeze’s ethereal vocals add a melancholic air to proceedings. And that melancholy and, in places, malevolent vibe, carry through many of the tracks. Yet they are not bleak or depressing. And they are also not full of clichéd gothic stories.

The band also makes liberal use of electronic music in their final sound, merging it with slide guitar or finger-picked arpeggios to create atmospheric soundscapes that suck the listener in. On opening tracks, If and Permanent, these electronic elements really bring a different perspective and depth to their brand of alternative pop-rock music that other bands of their ilk never had. On Mind In Two, they recorded a song that could sit alongside Teardrops from Massive Attack’s Mezzanine and it wouldn’t sound inferior, yet was out a full year before.

The band clearly enjoyed bringing different genres and sounds to their music. A cleverly integrated rap midway through A Reels Romance is just one of many examples. It’s hard to imagine the song without this moment, which serves to strengthen the song rather than feel like it’s been shoe-horned in because it was ‘on trend’ for the era.

The sign of a great album is when a song drops in the last third and lifts it up higher than you thought it would. This is exactly what Ground Below does. A lesser band with fewer solid songs would have put this track in fourth spot, but on So Many Prophets it’s perfectly placed at number nine. A deceptively slow number, with a scratchy fuzz guitars over a picked acoustic with its elegant slides, and a wistful piano accompaniment as it draws to a close, it’s a real highlight among many.

The album ends as it started with an introspective and moody piece, although Fear Of Hurting washes over you with bright guitar phrases and pop ballad sensibilities, yet retaining the brooding atmosphere that kicked off the album. And Breeze’s vocals continue to mesmerise right to her final soaring notes and breathy sighs.

Originally released by Virgin/EMI on CD only, one can only hope that there are enough people who would line up for a vinyl release – especially if it were the special edition that also contained the four-track Shade Of A Ghost EP. You could count on me to be there, maybe even leading the way.

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Year Two: A Retrospective

24 months. Sounds grand, almost impressive. Certainly for someone who hasn’t held a full-time job, ever, that exceeds this time frame or – if I’m honest – even comes close to getting there. I’m congratulating myself on still being here and doing this two years on. Yep, it’s another annual self-indulgent post. You can read the first year’s post if you fancy it.

This year has been quite different. What started as one thing quickly dissolved and resolved to become another. What began as a bit of a winding road has crystallised into a focused beam. Only two things remain that began as that idea back in March 2023. Me, and the brand.

The first year was all empty promises. Talk and no obvious action. It was all happening behind the scenes, but also in plain sight, which meant a lot of people didn’t see it. I was learning the hard way, in public, though. Releasing records on vinyl for the first time isn’t as easy as I thought it might be. I have support in terms of cheerleaders, but it’s just me here working to make this happen. And this shit takes time if you want to do it properly.

And what does properly even mean? In the context of Unspun Heroes I always wanted it to be rooted in experience. The listening to a vinyl album you’d probably never heard before. To read words full of emotion that connected you to that album, that belonged to that listening experience, therefore making it hard to separate the two. To be about the anticipation before you played and read, and to be the longing after it was done for the first time. To attempt, in some small way, to stick two fingers up at the law of diminishing returns by producing something that got better the more you listened and the more you read.

I had a mission for the label and I wasn’t going to waver.

A quick recap
The end of Year one was an obvious highlight. James Varda’s Chance And Time was always going to deliver. The story, which is tragic on its own, is made more so when accompanied by his tender voice and heart-wrenching songs. And yet it is an album that lifts, that points to the light at the darkest of hours.

At the time of writing it is almost sold out in its singular album format, although anyone wanting even more of an experience can snag a copy of the deluxe version with James’s handwritten lyrics and a handmade outer sleeve created by an artisan bookbinder who plays guitar for the Jasmine Minks.

That release cemented the shift in Unspun Heroes. It made me realise that the experience really was everything. From ensuring mastering was properly taken care of through to understanding how it would be ‘un-sleeved’. Mostly it was a shift away from being ‘just’ a reissue label. It became about finding albums that had never been on vinyl, that deserved to be put on that format because the music would sound glorious.

It was about introductions. Like a vinyl dating agency, perhaps? No, that sounds too facile. I found myself talking about the idea of cherishing the album and the music it contained. In that word, cherish – which has its roots in the meaning to “treat with affection” – I worked out what Unspun Heroes was all about.

Sowing the seeds of the follow-up release
The second release was always going to happen. It was the first to be agreed but took the longest time to bring out. These things cannot, and should not, be rushed. Friendship Is Deep became an obsession for me. I’d loved the album for almost 20 years and so I wanted to make sure it was as close to perfect as it could be – and to make its 20th anniversary an occasion.

This meant working closely with the pressing plant to create something extra special and unique. It meant a lot of trust being given by Adam Kline from Golden Shoulders who, I fear, at some points wondered what the actual fuck he’d said yes to, on a whim, to some idiot British bloke who had no idea about vinyl production but had tagged him on social media. I like to think that I did okay on my promise, and the album has sold well and continues to bring me joy every time I play it. Which is often. Copies – both the signed and standard variants – are still available.

The third release was the opposite. From listening to it for the first time ever to having a copy in my hand took under six months. Stephen Simmons has become a good friend in that period of time. We talked for hours on video calls, exchanged many texts and emails. I don’t have favourite releases because Unspun Heroes is not genre-specific and so each release is different. However, Drink Ring Jesus has opened me up to music I would otherwise not consider listening to. My life would have been poorer had I dismissed Stephen’s 2006 album and I am so pleased I pressed play. It’s an album that has changed me as a person – although that may also be Stephen’s influence.

I went hard on making sure that Stephen would be happy when he received his album over in Nashville. I knew he had experienced the cutting of corners in previous moments and I think I sourced about 20 different cardboard sleeves and created a number of different options before we settled on a simple Kraft sleeve and inner. But we went full-on for the insert. All those decisions we made together paid off.

That’s the second year of Unspun Heroes in two distinct records. Both different, yet all the releases are united by the fact they made their vinyl debut – and proved that it’s a medium they always deserved to be on. Each one has its own personality. They do not compete in that sense, although it’s clear they are all from the same label.

All have received rave reviews, too.

The blog that almost never happens but somehow does – and the future
I haven’t been able to write as much as I’d have liked about music that deserves to be given wider attention. Now it is me on my own (although ably helped by designer extraordinaire, Anthony Oram) and I have to deal with the fairly shitty things that most people don’t know I deal with on a regular basis due to my health, so the time and effort has meant a slowing down. That’s unlikely to change any time soon – and asking people to write for free doesn’t sit well with me, although I’d happily accept submissions if you want to write something that sits well with the Unspun Heroes ethos.

However, let’s not ponder the blog. Instead, let’s look to the year ahead.

Two releases upcoming. The first is like some art project that’s full of mistakes and twists and turns and mad decisions that somehow seem to pay off. It’s cost me more than it should. Much more. Not just financially, but in terms of pulling it off and putting it all together. But the experience that anyone buying it will have will be rich and deep and quite odd (in a good way). And the first Unspun Heroes release on bio vinyl, more of which shortly.

After that, something no less brilliant, but definitely more likely to be subdued in its physical presentation. Scottish indiepop with a musical jangle reminiscent of The Smiths and Teenage Fanclub, but with a twist. Oh, and the chance to get your hands on something special from Sean, better known as Hey Kids! Rock ‘n’ Roll.

Both will be on bio vinyl, which is something I’ve wanted to commit to for some time but it comes with constraints. Colour being one. It’s in black only and I always wanted to do a colour option at least once (Golden Shoulders delivered on that wish twice). This decision can also be vetoed by the artist, but it’s the starting point for every release.

Both will be a run of around 200 (The Tracksuit Trilogy will actually be 222 copies) rather than the grander 300 and 500 of previous releases. Partly this is because of the audience numbers for these albums. Partly this is because it’s damn hard to sell these things. Convincing people to spend money on vinyl is hard enough, but to add in the fact that it’s an album and/or band they don’t know makes it even harder. Plus, costs have skyrocketed for print and pressing (Thanks Liz.) And the spectre of not being in a customs arrangement with our nearest trading neighbours makes selling outside the UK harder. In some cases, impossible. Oh, and then there’s packing and postage cost increases.

That’s why I made some t-shirts. The margin is healthier (in most cases, my margin is lower single digit percentages) and I can use any profit to offset the cost of a more expensive, shorter run. That’s the idea. Unspun Heroes was always meant to be about putting my profits back in. When I make some.

Time for a bit of honesty
Right now, if I’m honest, I have very little belief that this project will extend beyond Year Three. I have some records I’m negotiating but the short term financial pain I personally feel makes it harder for me to be able to commit. Yes, this is my own money. Sales have been good, but not really good enough to go mad. Longer term it’ll all be fine, I’m certain. I may just be slowing down to speed up, as they say. Also, I’m really wanting to do a 7-inch single that keeps to the Unspun ethos, and that’s proving to be a tough ask.

I don’t to end on that note, though. So, I will briefly talk about the absolutely best thing Unspun Heroes has given me, the experience that I feel it’s worth stumping up a few thousand pounds to have happen each time.

It’s meeting and chatting to people like James Varda’s widow and his friends and hearing how much a release has brightened their world, or laughing raucously with Adam on a Zoom call about the music business or British accents, or WhatsApp chats and calls with Stephen while I walk my dog and he’s preparing to go record his latest album. Because we don’t talk about the releases much, we chat about each other, our lives, what’s happening in our worlds. Anything. It’s a connection that only Unspun Heroes could have given me.

Then there is the time spent working with Anthony on design, working closely with the Electric Mastering and Press On Vinyl to ensure the final product is as amazing as it can be. The journalists and authors and music people who have kindly provided words for liner notes and obi strips.

The fact that a few hundred or so other people have agreed to come on a small part of that journey with me, as customers, is the icing on that cake. And the cherry is when I get a great review, or a customer emails me (or shares on social media) that they love the record they’ve just bought. Or I see the same names pop up on Bandcamp sales. Never gets old hearing from you all.

It’s an experience. One that goes far beyond the music, or the liner notes, or the arguments about whether or not an obi strip is worthwhile. And it’s worth every penny.

Thank you.

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Death, Pillage, Plunder, Mellah

Artwork for Death, Pillage, Plunder by Mellah.

I haven’t done a single song as a blog post, but this felt like the time to mix things up. And so, today I’m writing about a song that hooked me in from the first listen, has never been out on vinyl and represents everything I look for in an ‘unspun hero’.

Mellah is Liam Ramsden. A fiercely talented young man, he is more than just a multi-instrumentalist. A skilled carpenter, he’s built his own studio in Peckham, south London, and sets on TV show, Black Mirror. His creativity seemingly knows no bounds, as his career has seen him direct his own music videos, write all his own songs and produce his own music. A true creative tour de force, that’s for sure.

As yet, Mellah has no album, although his three EPs and several singles all point towards a huge talent developing. Death, Pillage, Plunder arrived slap-bang in the middle of his recording output and was my introduction to his music. As I said, it hooked me immediately with its twinkling synths, liquid guitar riff and dark, somewhat menacing lyrics delivered as staccato as the stabbed synth chords that provide the highlight.

All of this tumbles towards a chorus that has the charm of a pop song and yet the avoirdupoisthat more well-known artists never come close to. It’s all vulnerability close to the surface delivered with a dexterity that defies how effortless he makes it sound. It’s fair to say, for what sounds like a fairly simple song it’s incredibly complex, and yet the listener is not burdened by it. Instead, you’re carried along much as a paper boat is by a stream.

Everything is considered in this song. Nothing is out of place. The guitar solo that follows the second chorus, for example, never comes close to sounding like an add-on, but propels the song towards its conclusion – with Liam’s hoots and squalls adding a new dimension.

And then, suddenly, it’s over. Three minutes and forty seconds pass in the blink of an eye and there’s only one obvious thing to do: play it again.

I used to do this. Find a song and just saturate my world with it by playing it on a constant loop. Very few songs make me want to do that – I think it’s fewer than ten, maybe even under five. They may not be everyone’s classics but they represent songs I never tire of and that I can listen to over-and-over again without them losing the energy they brought me on first listen. The law of diminishing returns need not apply.

And so, while I’m typing this I’m already three listens deep. I keep hearing more and more layers to the song’s composition on every virtual spin. I’m insatiable for this song and it’s six years old! It’s the ’45 I’d wear out within a year if it were possible to buy and play it. It’s not. At least, not yet.

There hasn’t been much happening on the release front for a few years, although gigs have happened, as well as a festival appearance here and there. Here’s hoping there’s more to come from Mellah. In the meantime let’s go for another spin of this most excellent track.  

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On The Brink, The Thirst

An acoustic guitar, with a staccato rhythm. So begins the album, On The Brink, by The Thirst, a Brixton-based foursome making rock music with guitars. Clearly inspired by Bloc Party (no bad thing) these young men have a swagger about them as they tell tales of Brixton life. It’s a place I first visited several decades ago and fell in love with. I’ve lived there, got very drunk and stoned there, seen too many gigs to mention there, been to quite a few house parties and the occasional illegal gathering listening to hip hop, reggae and grime.

But that’s me.

Fast forward to 2008 and these young men are living a similar life to the one I did back in the 90’s, if the lyrics are anything to go by. Their music is all catchy lyrical hooks and a raucous energy reminiscent of bands like The Libertines and the aforementioned Bloc Party, as well as fellow rockers, Skunk Anansie. It’s very much that south London indie rock sound, but given that twist of rooting you in a very specific place, Brixton.

Formed by brothers Mensah and Kwame Hart, I first came across them busking in central London. Instantly compelling, they know how to write a great line and combine it with a hyperactive guitar lick to create anthemic, dynamic songs with broad appeal. And yet… despite signing with Ronnie Wood’s Wooden Records imprint, they didn’t become the household names they should have been. Financial crashes and a shift in musical tastes, perhaps? Were they 10 years too late? Whatever the reason, all these years later the songs stand up to scrutiny really well.

The soulful I’m Falling, for example, is one of many highlights, a snapshot of what it’s like to see situations only too real to many struggling to get by each day but held together by strong family and community ties. They are relatable.

Acre Lane takes you on a journey of one of the area’s most famous roads. Plenty of tongue in cheek observations that bands like Arctic Monkeys and The Rifles had made only a few years before, it’s a poignant love letter to the things that mean something to these lads. And it has bags of fun baked in. Lines you can sing along with out loud.

The culture of south London and Brixton in particular, is never far away. The ska-esque rhythms of Watch Me Now and Don’t Waste Your Time, for example, or the nods to drum ‘n’ bass you’ll find on the intro to All Mine, which remains one of my favourite tracks on this album with its infectious energy and raw power.

There’s a lot of potential on this album, which was released on CD only. And while that potential didn’t come to fruition under the moniker, The Thirst, they’re still recording and making great music that really showcases their songwriting talents, albeit with less of the punk sound, as Baytrees. Check them out.

Listen to The Thirst’s On The Brink on YouTube, or your preferred streaming service.

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With The Tides, South

The turn of the century was a weird time. Computer bugs, terrible public art projects that captured no-one’s imagination, and a stagnation of the indie music world as electronic music took over the mainstream. I’d moved back to London and was working in digital media as a writer. It was a time of immense change and at the tipping point of the dotcom crash. Culture was shifting in ways that no one could reliably predict, although we all tried. I lived for music as much as words. Still do.

I was as happy raving as I was amongst a rock crowd. There was a lot of crossover still happening as genres blurred. Still, it took a lot to stand out of a crowded market. I shopped for promo CDs on Berwick Street, but also began my era of buying by label name. So, when I happened across a slew of promos singles from a band signed to Mo’Wax, my interest piqued. That band was South.

Their debut, From Here On In, was a mix of dance beats and acoustic-y songs. I loved it and still have the original CD featuring plasticine figurines of the band on the front. It’s since been released on vinyl alongside a 2LP set of singles and outtakes. Of course, I have a copy. It still stands up all this time later.

And that’s the thing about South. They were timeless and remain so. The mix of electronic sounds and bleeps, alongside the layered shimmers of strings and the gorgeous melodic guitars never seems to go out of fashion. And yet they were never fashionable eclispsed by the likes of Elbow and Doves on the indie side of things, Radiohead on the prog-indie side of things, and all manner of dance music genres captured everything else. Yet, in the UK, Japan and Germany they were rightly lauded by fan and critics alike.

Moving from Mo’Wax to Kinetic Records for their follow-up, With The Tides, the band consolidated their sound and their songwriting skills moved up several notches, too.

Here was a band where every member was a talented musician, and when you saw them live they spent time shifting around the instruments, even taking turns singing lead vocals, although it was Joel Cadbury who stepped up for that role most often. They clearly found a supporter in Lavelle when signed to Mo’Wax and I’m sure they picked up some of his production techniques while recording From Here On In. The fruits of that time are not only present on With The Tides, they’re ratcheted up to the max.

But where Yorke and Co. prefer to be more noodle-jazz vibe, South use more traditional instrumentation to create soundscapes that whisk you away and swirl you within the depths of the music. And in those many eddies you’re happy to drown. Even at their heaviest, most post-rock out moments, such as the final track, Threadbare, they never forget the need to have a hook that pulls you in, a melody you can hum.

On Colours in Waves, and also Same Old Story, and Silver Sun, they shift tempo without wrongfooting the listener, building layer upon layer of musical detail that means every listen brings something new to your ears. If that sounds overwhelming, it actually isn’t. Compositionally, South really understood how to create memorable songs. The difference between Fragile Day and Nine Lives as the album approaches its mid-point is the perfect example of this, especially with the latter which sounds as if it could have been written by McCartney thanks to its Eleanor Rigby-esque strings.

I want to pause here. Because I’m still unsure how I might have come across this band had I not been hunting promos. While I do recall HMV on Oxford Street, London having a display for their debut, whenever I mentioned South’s name to people they look at me like I’ve said something in a language that’s alien and unintelligible. I then get messages about how they can’t believe this band passed them by. And the thing is, not a single one of their three albums or multiple Eps drops to average. It’s all excellent quality. Every. Single. Song.

That quality is on show with the final two tracks of With The Tides. What I Find is a simple guitar lick, underpinning a more melodic acoustic guitar line and a simple run on an electric guitar. That’s all there is, plus a voice. Yet it’s so much more than the sum of its parts.

And then we’re at the end. Threadbare could have been the album’s opening track, as it’s the closest sound to South’s debut. And it’s the most upbeat track even if it starts from that humble acoustic guitar, it finishes in a haze of distorted guitars and riffs that wouldn’t be frowned upon by a heavy rock back. There’s feedback and bleeps, as well, which while making my comparisons to Radiohead easier to accept, also shows that they are very much a different band.

I hope With The Tides gets the reissue treatment, as it’s tough to find on vinyl secondhand. Not only that, I truly believe that had South started five years ago, they’d be huge now. Ahead of their time, they’re deserving of wider attention. You should give them yours.

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Dead-End Tape, elie zoé

A close-up portrait of a person with long hair, wearing a dark garment. The image has a vintage sepia tone and a textured background, giving it an old-fashioned appearance. The person's expression is serious, with prominent eyes.

No matter how complex life is, a simple song can shine the light on it. The darkest places become seen, the hidden surfaced so you can’t pull your eyes away. It takes something special to make you feel that combination of chills down your spine and a sense of unease as a song unfolds – or unravels.

elie zoé has the ability to force you to confront uncomfortable feelings and also has the chops to salve the wounds, often in the same track. Their debut, recorded in 2015 and released the following year, Dead-End Tape, is an accomplished set of songs from this French-speaking Swiss artist. They have surely been listening to PJ Harvey’s earliest EP. Additional echoes of early Radiohead, rivulets of Soccer Mommy – and yet without the angsty layers of the latter, or the ‘progestations’ of the former. It’s a gem, one that comes with talons which hook into you.

The opener, My Shadow On The Wall, is so stripped back, it’s all metronome and plucked acoustic guitar. Many of their songs don’t even get that complicated. But punch above the weight of their compositional lightness they most certainly do.

There are shadows here, though. Something unsaid, or that cannot be brought forth. Like a stutter. Or the hiding of scars. Looking back from recent events related to their name and pronoun changes (you should read about what led to those changes here) perhaps it was always in plain sight, or perhaps it’s discolouring the brightness a little – because there is a lot of brightness here, once the contrast is reduced. On The River it is the tinkling bells towards the end of the track; on Hold Me Tight, it’s the fast pace of the music pulling against the relative slow release of the lyrics.

And there is also a ruggedness, something shaped by harsher elements. This is first heard in Chop Me Up and resolves itself in the final track, It’s Only Me on a Dead-End Tape. And yet, in that first touch of heaviness on Chop… are angelic vocals that soar above the grumble of the staccato guitar riff. It’s fucking catchy, too. Especially as the fluctuating cadence in response to those rising vocal lines.

It’s affecting music without the affectations you might expect of the darker brooding tones, though. That’s the simplicity making itself known. Perhaps it’s the youthfulness of the artist just needing to get their songs down, to relieve themselves of the burden of these words and their accompanying music? This urgency is present in I Found A Girl, which is a poignant moment when considered against the backdrop of elie’s recent transition, but also a point on the album when tempos change even as the early intensity is never relinquished.

On Last Night We Talked, we actually get to hear a softer side to elie’s output, which continues into I Cried in My Beard – although there is discordance in the chord changes and finger-picked strings. Again, I think of PJ Harvey, but this time I would reference White Chalk rather than Dry. Lines are repeated as poetic undercurrents beneath their voice and the harmonies they have created with overdubbed vocals.

Just as we reach the final chapter on this album, so listeners are rewarded with some further experimentation, using backward recording techniques and simple synth melodies as the scaffold for Do You Still Sing. It’s a track that could be played out at the end of a dark thriller, or to accompany the reading of a disturbing graphic novel. It’s glitchy in places, but the voice is almost sweet. Almost. The repetition of the song title keeps the level of malevolence high enough to make you shudder, yet with that shiver of excitement a good ‘scare’ can give.

And so, with the final two tracks, Zara and It’s Only Me on a Dead-End Tape, so the album concludes. The songs slow down again, yet that intensity previously mentioned rachets up somehow! It’s like turning over the final page on an engrossing novel only to be left dangling by an unforeseen cliffhanger which can only be resolved by skipping back to the beginning and reliving every second of every moment. If that sounds like you’ll be left unfulfilled, it’s not true. The detuning slowdown-speed-up warp of elie’s guitar on that final song adds purpose. It’s slippery, like emotions.

You will be changed by these eleven songs. It is absolutely impossible to listen and not have this album leave its mark on you.

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EDC, Satchel

Grunge is a terrible label for the music and fashion of the early nineties, but that’s what it was called. Even though the ‘scene’ started way earlier than many people think, what always struck me was the sense of community and cross-pollination that happened. The sound was actually quite diverse.

As the Seattle bands headed to toward the middle of the decade, this mix-and-match band creation really began to pay off with Brad, whose debut we wrote about here. The singer for this side project of Pearl Jam’s founders, Stone Gossard and Jeff Ament, was Shawn Smith. He brought a raw emotion and softer piano playing to the noise many had come to associate with the Grunge era. This combination is showcased beautifully on Smith’s own band’s debut, EDC by Satchel, released in 1994.

Back in the very early ninties, I had two obsessions: Mother Love Bone and Quentin Tarantino. I adored True Romance, for example. And Reservoir Dogs, of course. Smith clearly adored that film, too, as EDC is loosely based on the film’s characters and contains snippets of dialogue scattered throughout the album.

And this use of samples shows how Satchel was willing to step out of the Grunge shadow and yet also keep one foot within the inner circle. They brought together drum loops and ‘almost metal’ guitar sounds, all of which served to elevate Smith’s vocals, which pitched higher than most of his contemporaries. He was, to my mind, the worthy successor to Andrew Wood’s crown as Seattle’s best known unknown singer.

Smith and the band clearly had a broad and eclectic taste in music. I’d like to think they were listening to as much of Prince’s material as they were the output of Alice In Chains; perhaps they shared more in common with early Queen than Soundgarden? Here, again, I think there is true lineage between Andrew Wood and Shawn Smith – perhaps a reason why Stone and Jeff were drawn to create Brad alongside his immense talent?

The final track, Suffering, is exquisitely positioned to end this album, but I’m mentioning it first because it is the zenith of Smith’s abilities in terms of songwriting and performance. That’s not to do down the rest of the album, but it’s building to this point so that the release you’ll feel once the album finishes leaves you spent and breathless.

However, there is an absolute groove to this record. I wore out my tape constantly rewinding Equilibrium, which manages to sound like it’s from the 1970s and the future all at once. I think Jake Shears was likely a fan. Trouble Come Down has a similar aesthetic, combining Zeppelin-esque drum patterns with a catchy piano refrain and Smith’s clever harmonies. The closest you’ll come to the Grunge sound is on track eight, Mr. Pink. However, even here Smith takes it somewhere else entirely. It’s stadium rock levels of brilliance that would work best in a small sweaty club.

This is an album that constantly surprises. It combines the funkiness of Prince with the theatrics of Queen and yet retains the best elements from its peers such as Pearl Jam or early Soundgarden.

Over the next 15 or so years, Satchel recorded and released three further albums, all exceptional in their own right. However, Satchel never became as big as many of their friends’ bands. Smith continued to record with Gossard as part of Brad, until his sad and untimely death in 2019 from a torn aorta.

Sad, too, that EDC has never been out on vinyl. It’s the format for the great man’s vocal talents and the musicians with whom he made this genuinely ground-breaking rock album.

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Beloved One, Lou Rhodes

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.

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Sport Fury, Beachbuggy

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).

Bonus content: check out the Beachbuggy fan site for more on this great band: https://teambb.wordpress.com/

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Learning About Loathing, The R.G. Morrison

Image shows a portrait drawn in ink, below which is a banner unfurling to the left and right. Inside this banner are the words The R.G. Morrison. Under the banner are the words, in all caps, "Learning About Loathing"

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.

Try it.

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The Green House, Robert Scott

An image of a goat taken at dusk. Its eyes have reflected the flash. It is behind a wire fence.

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.

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Finelines, My Vitriol

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.

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Horse Fabulous, The Stands

The cover of Horse Fabulous, which shows a reel-to-reel tape recorder in a graphic illustration style.

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.

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The Good Times Are Killing Me, Dear Leader

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.

YouTube playlist of the album.
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The Muslims, The Soft Pack

Black and white photograph of the four members of The Soft Pack. It's over-exposed.

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.