My thoughts here on the forthcoming Espers album.

Things in London that annoy/baffle me - an occasional series

I timed how long the traffic lights stayed red near my home the other day out of interest. I happened to notice that the light has been staying red for an inordinate amount of time recently when I've crossed the road at this set of lights. I mention this because of Diamond Geezer's post here about the 'experiments' that are taking place with various sets of traffic lights around London. I too have noticed the Orwellian sight of sinister looking men (and women) in uniform, holding weird thermometer-type instruments and phalanxed by tough looking blokes, looking serious while standing at pedestrian crossings. I was tempted to point out to them that the traffic lights near my place have stayed red for precisely ONE MINUTE AND FIFTEEN MUTHAFU***N' SECONDS. I timed it. Seventy-five seconds by my watch. Seventy-five seconds of my life that I'll never get back.
Does that not strike you as frankly ludicrous, or am I the only one? What followed when the lights went green was that it stayed green for approximately...I don't know, twenty seconds, maybe. Perhaps even less (I didn't time exactly how long it stayed green). The net result, unsurprisingly, was that people simply walk across anyway after, let's say, thirty seconds of waiting while the light is red - and continue to do so. By the time said pedestrians cross the road, the light is still red, of course. Which completely negates the reason for having a traffic lights system in the first place. And anyway, what kind of nutter would stand at a traffic light for the whole seventy-five seconds of it being red? (Well, admittedly I did, but that was because I was timing it).
I seem to remember that when I was living in Bethnal Green, there was one specific set of traffic lights that took even longer than seventy-five seconds to stay in 'standing position'. Which begs the question - am I the only one, or have other people noticed that different traffic lights tend to take different amounts of time to change from red to green compared to other lights? We should be told.
Which is why I find the notion in DG's article that pedestrians are getting too much time to cross frankly incomprehensible. So bollocks to Boris if I'm officially supposed to wait even more while the light is red.

Recluse music night

Tomorrow night (Friday 18th September) at The Flea Pit, with Alex Monk, Konntinent, Isnaj Dui and Met playing live.

Brilliant 'tribute' to the end of Oasis here in The Quietus. I'm not exactly sure what they mean in labelling Liam "genetically curious"; in any case, considering that I've not listened to an Oasis record in about twelve years, much less took any interest in them, I've found myself strangely fascinated by the announcement that Noel Gallagher has left the band. The idea that the rest of Oasis might carry on without him (at least according to this article) is hilarious enough in itself - who exactly in their right mind would pay to go and see a Noel-less Oasis, never mind buy a whole new album?

I never did understand why (What's The Story) Morning Glory? was always in the top rankings of those 'Top 50 Best British Albums Ever Polls' that Q magazine seems to do. For what it's worth, Definitely Maybe and the Some Might Say EP at least had a punk spirit and energy that made them kind of look vital for a while. Yet Morning Glory must rate as one of the most overrated albums ever (as some people are now finally recognising). It's as if the fact that it sold huge amounts of copies somehow automatically transcends it from it's blatant mediocrity and bestows it in people's minds as a piece of great art, when the likes of "Don't Look Back In Anger", "Wonderwall" and "Champagne Supernova" are just bland from start to finish, with smug, half-arsed lyrics and equally half-arsed chord arrangements, not even bothering to hide their plagiarism. Not that Oasis ever sounded like The Beatles, in my view: they could never have done albums as sonically inventive as Revolver or Sgt. Pepper because, at heart, Noel Gallagher just wasn't remotely inventive, dynamic or imaginative as a songwriter beyond his normal frame of reference. Instead, they just sound like a kind of karaoke version of The Rutles, minus the things that made The Beatles interesting and unique in the first place.
I always found it incredibly irritating the way that they would constantly repeat the maxim "we're the best/biggest band in the world", which they always seemed to do in the mid 90s in interviews, as if being the biggest band in the world equates with releasing the 'best' albums in the world (whatever that means) too. By that logic, the last couple of releases by The Rolling Stones are the best albums ever released (given that they often seemed to be labelled with the sobriquet "Biggest Rock Band In The World"), which clearly isn't true. What always irritated me too at that time was the endless articles claiming that there was 'nothing interesting' in music before Oasis - and, by extension, most of Britpop - came along; or that they 'saved' British guitar music, as if the only guitar music of the 90s that was valid was that which directly referenced the 60s (not that Oasis even did it well anyway). Even as a teenager then, I already thought that the implied notion that that there was a huge gaping hole in the early 90s before Oasis' arrival was patently bullshit.

Anyway, now that Andy Bell is (hopefully) freed from his bass duties with the Gallaghers, perhaps the silver lining is that Ride now could reform, whose first two albums were miles better than Oasis in the first place. We'll see.

The travails of moving house...I have left the wastelands of Waltham Forest, interesting as it was to see the evolution of the Olympics site at Stratford. I am no more Blazin' Squad's neighbours. Still, expect more regular posts now that I'm settled at a new abode in the capital, nested in the shadows of gleaming spires.

Since my last post, it's been weird to think how quickly technology advances, and specifically to do with music. Following on from previous posts to do with the future of music consumption, I'm thinking of Spotify, naturally, which - at least in the U.K., and Sweden, and certain other Western European countries where it exists - has took off hugely since, well, my last post (the service isn't available - at least yet - in the U.S. and Canada). Hot on it's heels, we now have a 'rival' site of sorts with the Peter Gabriel-funded WE7, which also relies on advertising in-between tracks for its revenue (most of which isn't half as hilarious as the taped messages that Spotify broadcasts of the site's fans - that includes you, Dave from Cardiff, with your intense Oasis/The Jam obsession). It is weird to think that only sixteen years ago - when I first starting going to 'serious' record shops like Rough Trade in Covent Garden (as it then was) and others - your only source for music was the weeklies (remember Melody Maker?); humble indie record shops vs corporate HMV/Virgin high street chains (depending on your preference); or the radio. Spotify has now decentered music to the point where, in those countries where it fully operates, you practically are the record shop. Like many of a certain age, my first encounter with record shops (years before going to the Rough Trade shop mentioned above) was with the long-extinct Our Price. I used to gaze at the sections on Joy Division and New Order, and look with wonderment at their distinctive and mysterious Peter Saville/Factory Records-designed covers. Ditto Depeche Mode, early Sonic Youth, etc. The idea then that they could all be sitting there on my PC was unthinkable. Back then, it would have seemed impossibly naive to believe too in the idea that these albums would essentially be there for free (if you don't count the amount that you're paying for broadband, of course (which obviously didn't exist then)), along with thousands of others - despite home taping having been a common fashion for a while already back then. This isn't even mentioning the mindboggling array of material by jazz artists - I've lost count of the amount of Miles Davis LPs on there. You could, quite possibly, never go to a record shop again and yet play a new album every day with Spotify (though there is no Beatles, Led Zeppelin and a number of others due to copyright issues).
The ramifications of Spotify are obvious: if it stays afloat (and, judging from the backing by the music industry - whatever that is these days - there's no reason why it shouldn't, despite much scepticism), future generations will become used to the idea that music is, mostly, 'free'; the idea, as in my youth, that you had to save for weeks before excitingly trudging to your independent record shop to buy the product, and then taking it home with baited breath, will slowly become defunct. Music is becoming omniprescent, fulfilling David Bowie's prediction that it'll become like running water one day. Of course, in the face of this, some record shops are still thriving, particularly those with attractions such as in-store gigs (which is precisely what Rough Trade and Pure Groove are doing, with the latter becoming less of a generic indie record shop altogether). And Spotify's lack of content from the more interesting and left-field labels (Constellation and Touch & Go, for example, or the Kranky artists) can be frustrating. Indie record shops will still thrive with obscure vinyl and obscure labels, and other examples that Spotify inevitably can't provide.
That said, one search on Spotify brought up material by the likes of Richard Youngs, Phil Niblock, and Keiji Haino, none of which can be accused of being exactly easy-listening (particularly dear Phil's numerous 25-minute long drone tracks in one chord). I guess I'm just nostalgic about the fact that the thrill of one-upmanship that I felt in 1993 when going to Rough Trade, knowing that I was the only person in my school who knew about the shop, those bands and those records, is somewhat gone. In the age of Spotify, everyone is a deeply knowledgeable music fan now, for better or worse.

Hugh Hopper RIP

Sad to hear of the news...I once saw him play, at the Camberwell College of Arts - it was in the middle of the 2006 World Cup. Germany had just beaten Argentina earlier in the evening. Charles Hawyard was on drums, grinning manically; Tymon Dogg was coaxing weird sounds out of weird home-made instruments that looked like huge metronomes zigzagged with strings, creating a sort of weird harp; while a performance artist, face painted in white, walked around the room doing odd movements and smiling demonically to the audience. There were other strange performers too.
In the middle of all this, Hopper quietly played bass, his face inscrutable. I kept thinking that I might have seen a wry smile occasionally play on his lips when viewing the surreal nature of events around him, but I couldn't quite be sure.

P.S. The below was inspired partly by my own experiences and partly by Diamond Geezer's various posts on TfL and the Underground in general.
P.P.S. Please don't sue me for this article, TfL. I don't have much money, and can't claim expenses unlike most British MPs'. If you're really aggrieved, I'll buy you a pint or something.
P.P.P.S. The image below was spotted on a wall near the Barbican Centre. No artists name was provided next to the work.

"Dear Passengers, this is an announcement from your Station Controller, on the weekend of [insert any here]. The following is a travel update.

The Bakerloo line will not be running in either direction due to the fact that the trains feel like rickety wooden sheds which will implode any minute, setting fire and incinerating all passengers within half a minute. In addition, there will be no Central line due to various engineering works which have outrun their allotted time. Meanwhile, ongoing upgrading work on the Victoria line will ensure that the line will be closed every other weekend until two-thousand-and-muthaf****n’ twelve, that’s 2012. Customers living in the Waltham Forest area should also note that, in the absence of the Victoria line running at Blackhorse Road station, they also won’t be able to get the Overground from Barking to Gospel Oak, which stops at that station, due to repair work on the track. But then who cares about the inhabitants of Blackhorse Road anyway? Frankly, it’s full of weirdoes. Who else would live on a street that’s had roadworks for at last seven years? Krypton Komics looks cool from the top deck of the bus, though. Maybe I’ll see a Deep Purple tribute band at the Standard one day. Residents of this area should note that there are replacement bus routes which go to nearby Tottenham Hale; said residents should also note that this bus route will be completely useless due to the fact that Tottenham Hale is on the Victoria line, which also won’t be running. For passengers in this predicament, we would advise taking another bus route to your destination, which will take approximately three days.
Moving on, passengers are advised not to use the Northern line in the middle of the summer, as (a) it will only confuse the hell out of you if you’re a tourist, what with it’s Byzantine complex of stops and different directions which will no doubt bypass wherever station you want to get to; and (b) the experience of being in a packed carriage in the heat will be roughly analogous to dying a prolonged, agonising death in a vat of one’s own faeces. Passengers are assured that when the new Crossrail line links up with Tottenham Court Road station in 2017, we will ensure that there will be still be an irritating trustifarian busker in the pedestrian tunnels regaling you with mediocre covers of Bob Marley ‘classics’.
Customers should also note that the Waterloo & City will be closed on Sunday, just because it’s always been closed on Sunday, as no-one in control can be arsed to run it. Jubilee Line will be closed in its entirety, which we can assure has been done entirely to spite those poshos who (a) can afford to live in West Hampstead, and/or (b) work in Canary Wharf. The District line will also be closed, because, well, who do you know ever gets the District line anyway?
Meanwhile, the Docklands Light Railway, a genuinely enjoyable jewel in our 'crown', is closed completely due to the fact that the O2 venue has turned out to be a giant spacecraft that’s lifted off and burnt the tracks.
All other lines will meanwhile be closed due to various engineering work that’s clearly taking twice as long as we initially forecasted, mainly due to workers striking / eating peanut butter sandwiches for too long / going down the pub / spontaneously combusting. There will also be no National Rail, due to leaves on the track, everywhere, all at once. Customers should note that the exception is Southern rail, who will conveniently fleece you even if you do have an Oyster card.
Please have a pleasant journey. Eat more vegetables. Watch X-Factor. Shut up and be happy, and carry on buying Oyster cards at ludicrous prices, even though your card will be rendered obsolete half the time due to the fact that the line that you actually need to use won’t be running.

On behalf of TfL staff, thank you for listening. We are transforming your tube. Message ends."

Ballardian

Sad to hear of the death of J.G. Ballard recently. The Guardian’s exploration of his influence (as well as Simon Reynolds’ great article on the man here in Salon) includes his obvious influence on music (The Normal’s classic 'Warm Leatherette' (later covered by Grace Jones), with its cyberpunk adaptation of Crash’s central theme of the psycho-eroticism of car crashes, and Joy Division’s 'The Atrocity Exhibition', named after Ballard’s book of short stories, on Closer).



There’s no mention in the film section of the fact that A Clockwork Orange feels very Ballardian, with its scenes in city underpasses and stylised, neurotic imagery of a psychedelic urban dystopia. Ballard’s “psycho-geography”, his vision of the future, is one where, like Philip K. Dick, technology has often gone wrong and we are surrounded by consumerism, designer drugs, and endless concrete highways. And his writings have often featured subconsciously in the collective imagination: his vision of London immersed in the water, an idea that he explored in The Drowned World and which has taken on a disturbing relevance with increasing worries about global warming and rising sea levels, has found expression in this imagery. And it’s even echoed in the scene in The Day After Tomorrow where a city – this time New York rather than London – is engulfed by water.
But it’s the section on his influence in architecture that’s also interesting, particularly after visiting the exhibition on Le Corbusier at the Barbican. With the surroundings echoing a lot of the ‘Modern Architecture’ and utopian urban planning ideals that Le Corbusier clung to, what was really interesting was to see his vision of housing estates back in the 60s, and what inspired him to erect them. Anyone who has lived in the majority of London – or any other big city in Britain, I guess – will know just how grim and colourless council estates can sometimes look when set against a rainy grey day, which seems to be the U.K.’s speciality in weather so much of the year. They’ve become a ubiquitous part of the landscape even for those who don’t live in one.
Yet there’s something about the images of some of them from the 60s, standing brand new, shorn of much of the decay, grime and weather erosion that they’ve suffered over the years. There’s an almost utopian longing in those old pictures, with the Le Corbusier’s view of the estates being a giant self-contained community that would simultaneously solve housing problems and raise the general quality of life – an ideal that seems impossibly idealistic now.
Yet there are occasions when his architecture does still stand up today, particularly with the housing that surrounds the Barbican itself, which perfectly embodies the original ideals that Le Corbusier strived to – modernist and exciting, with all kinds of new ideas about living and functionality at home, with the images of his examples of work displaying all kinds of unique ideas about furniture and art at home. Then again, after having visited the exhibition, it’s amazing in retrospect to think about his projected ideas – with accompanying diagrams - in 1925 to bulldoze much of Paris north of the Seine, and replace what was there with “sixty-story cruciform towers from the Contemporary City, placed in an orthogonal street grid and park-like green space” (according to Wikipedia). His plans were rejected by those in charge, but the mind boggles as to what would have happened had these developments took place. It’s echoed in these plans in London in the 70s that would have led to Brixton being completely unrecognisable, and which were likewise unimplemented.
Ballard’s landscape is often dominated by these Le Corbusier-like huge housing projects (he even did a book called High-Rise), with their concrete walkways. A few took a dysfunctional turn as the 70s and 80s grinded on, wracked with all kinds of problems, reflecting the kind of dystopias that Ballard explored in his works.



(Ballard image from the BBC website)

There's some great posts here (scroll down to Wednesday 28th and Tuesday 27th) from Diamond Geezer about the new tube maps that Transport for London seem to be prolifically churning out at the moment, including in this case ones focusing on disabled facilities and the presence of public toilets at Underground stations.
I had to laugh at this quote that DG provides from the map on disabled facilities, involving a journey from Sudbury Town (wherever that is) to Borough station, which sounds like something only Beezlebub could envisage:

» Enter Sudbury Town (via the Station Approach entrance, not Orchard Gate)
» Take the Piccadilly line (big step up, medium gap) to Green Park (big step down)
» Via lifts and along a 220m passage to get on Jubilee line (big step up) to London Bridge (small step down)
» Via lifts and via street (410m in total) to get on Northern line (level access)
» Ride southbound through Borough station to Clapham North (big step down) and cross the platform (big step up)
» Return northbound to Borough (big step down) and exit via lift to street

I feel tired just reading that. What I’d like to add to DG’s post, other than agreeing that this seems mindbogglingly complicated, is that this involves taking four trains on three different Underground lines - and hoping that they all work. Given the chaotic nature of the London Underground, would it be cynical of me to comment that this is slightly wishful thinking on TfL’s part? Not judging from the daily update on Underground lines that’s blasted at us commuters over the tannoy at the station near my work when we ascend the escalators, in which there is almost always at least one direction on at least one line a day which is at least partially closed for repairs – and don't even think about what it's like at weekends. Taking the Underground can so often be a game of roulette.
In a fantasy world, where TfL was theoretically awarded with unlimited amounts of money, the only answer to truly making the London Underground blemish-free would be to build new tunnels for each line – admittedly, a colossal task – with 21st century signals and new trains. The old tunnels could then be used for cyclists only, which would theoretically be a benefit to transport on the surface.
Sadly, this suggestion isn’t actually uniquely thought up by Goodnight London, but rather by some bloke in a letter to The Independent that I read a while ago. But what a great idea it is. Of course, the idea contains logistical nightmares, and runs into a fair few problems when we consider that some of these lines actually do go Overground for part of their journey, as in the case of the Jubilee line heading westward. Maybe in these cases the new tunnel could join up with the remnants of the track from the old tunnel just before surfacing. The old track would have been kept only in those cases where it goes Overground, with cyclists in the tunnel being blocked by a wall at this point. Then, if the track eventually goes Underground again, the old track could then feed into the new tunnel, after which the old tunnel could then once again be used only for cyclists. Still following?
Obviously, the idea runs into the other problem, which is that it would cost trillions of pounds, and would be laughed down straight away. So instead, despite TfL’s best efforts with continual repairs, we’re stuck with a chronically exhausted network that’s constantly weakened by signal failures and the such-like – and which, of course, is the most expensive in the world to use.
Oh well, I can but dream...

Ron Asheton RIP

Nice article here on the great man's (second left in the picture above) legacy.
All those memories of The Stooges live...Hammersmith Apollo three years ago or whenever still must rank as one of the most exciting performances Goodnight London was priviledged to witness, despite Iggy's eagerness that night to display his todger to 5,000 people. I've actually still got a Superfuzz Bigmuff pedal at home called ROCK ACTION - the nickname that was given to Asheton, won in a competition that Time Out were hosting in the music section. It was a promotional gimmick that came with Mogwai's album at the time - Rock Action, named in honour of Asheton. And it's still goes up to volume 11 - well, OK, not physically, but at least eched on the pedal by me.

RIP Walthamstow Dog Tracks

The building's demise is another example of great individual modernist art set to perish forever, even though (a) dog racing is arguably an inherently ethically dodgy sport due to the treatment of the animals, and (b) it was largely as a result of indifference rather than deliberate attempts to knock it down.
However, it could be used for a myriad of other purposes besides dog racing, ranging from art to music. Instead, it's likely that it'll be replaced by identikit flats with nothing but the desire to fit in as many people as possible. Perhaps this is the future: truly unique architecture for the working people, as grand as the Volksbühne in Berlin, set to rot without a moment's thought. Perish the thought that it could ever be grade A listed (though admittedly the food was awful).
Maybe architectural monuments such as the Hoover Building and Battersea Power Station are next...and soon we will have no trace of a city past.

This site's celebration of the aesthetic joy of sleeve art brings back so many memories - being eternally transfixed by Peter Saville's endless run of mysterious Factory Records' covers in Our Price, including the unforgettable austerity and minimal reductionism of Unknown Pleasures (which it covers here); the strong palette of colours in the 'tree of life' that features in both Talk Talk's Spirit of Eden and Laughing Stock; the forbidding secrets of Sonic Youth's Bad Moon Rising, with it's towering Gothic pumpkin image framed by a blood-red sky with the New York skyline menacing in the distance; and the blur of guitar haze on MBV's Loveless - a sleeve that actually captures the contents of the music...not to mention the beautiful packaging of the Constellation Records releases, and so on, with endless examples. Record sleeves have become so woven into the flotsam and jetsam of everyday life, that it's easy to forget just how strong a statement - both politically and aesthetically - they can be. I've always thought that the best album sleeves are those which have a certain amount of intangible mystery and individuality to them, and yet paradoxically are strongly evocative of something about the contents within - despite however abstract the cover art may be. Which leads on to my posts below about downloading culture - could the album sleeve be another casualty after record shops, what with the rise of the mp3?
What's disappointing about that site is how banal some of the sleeve art that's on display is (and let's not even mention the presence of Lenny Kravitz on the list). Christ, even Screamadelica would look great on there compared to Regurgitator. From the top of my head, here's my list of what else should be on there other than the one's even mentioned.
Daydream Nation (Sonic Youth)
Spiderland (Slint)
Things We Lost In The Fire (Low)
Yanqui UXO (Godspeed You! Black Emperor)
Forever Changes (Love)
Liar (The Jesus Lizard)
Quiqe (Seefel)
Mouths Trapped In Static / Telegraphs In Negative (Set Fire to Flames)
The Doctor Came At Dawn (Smog)
Do Make Say Think (Do Make Say Think)
Lazer Guided Melodies (Spiritualized)
Palaa Aurinkoon (Islaja - there's just something about that image of her...)
Deceit (This Heat)
Admittedly I could be here for a while (not to mention the fact that this list contains no real dance music or jazz). Any suggestions?

Back at the Flea Pit for the Christmas Recluse next week, performing with Fractured Waves...should be a corker.

That post below about music in the internet age has really made me think about how technology has progressed and times have moved on when it comes to playing music. Twenty years ago, CDs had been only just been released on the market, and the idea of having your entire CD collection (and record collection too, with new technology, such as this Vinyl Adaptor) on an iPod only marginally bigger than a mobile phone must have seemed unthinkable. My iPod has up to 120GB of space - an unbelievably large amount, and enough to store an entire record shop's worth. Exactly what format music will be consumed in in twenty years time can only be imagined.
As mentioned below, the downside of the current download culture is the ubiquity of music everywhere and the slow eradication of the idea of the album as a coherent, whole entity rather than a collection of disposable, individually downloadable tracks, thus chipping away at the traditional pre-internet era thrill of buying an album from a record shop. Of course, you can still physically go into a record shop and buy an album, but there's no doubt that download culture has seeped thoroughly into the music retail market. The other issue of downloading culture is sound quality, of course, including the omniscience of compression more and more, as Simon Reynolds points out in this article.
The same thoughts above about iPods containing entire record collections also applies to the making of music, and particularly relates to a band that I'm looking forward to seeing at this weekend's ATP at Butlins curated by Mike Patton and the Melvins. Along with Silver Apples and United States of America, The White Noise are one of the original primitive experimental electronic 'rock' outfits, the difference with those two acts being that White Noise were based in Britain (albeit with David Vorhaus being American in origin), and congregated around the BBC Radiophonic Workshop, enlisting Delia Derbyshire along the way. An Electric Storm, with its panned drumming, tape loops and jarring samples juxtaposed with sweet pop melodies, must have sounded completely alien when it first came out.
The idea that the painfully-constructed sounds emanating from these mysterious rooms full of enormous primitive electronics, tape and synthesiser machines in the BBC headquarters could one day be distilled down to that coming from a laptop must have seemed incredible in the 1960s, just as with the idea of entire record collections existing on a piece of software barely the size of a phone. Consumer technology has become smaller - nanoized, you could call it - and more powerful rather than simply becoming bigger, as predicted in much old sci-fi. The downside of easy-to-use software such as Garageband that can be used in laptops now, as opposed to the painstaking work that must have took place splicing tapes in the huge laboratory-like rooms during White Noise's time, makes me think that perhaps punk's mantra of 'anyone can do it' has finally come true, liberated by the progression of technology.

Went to the closing-down party for Sound 323’s shop in Highgate recently, which has joined the list - along with Disque on Chapel Market, Mr CD, Reckless Records, Beano’s in Croydon (not that I ever went) and that one in the corner of Greenwich Market whose name always escapes me - of record shops closing down in London (though Sound 323 will carry on online just as Smallfish have done). Sound 323’s focus on modern composition, field recordings, experimental, free jazz, improv etc. was always going to be a niche market, and while it’s sad to see another independent shop closing its doors in an increasingly homogenised market, there’s always Second Layer Records in the basement – with its focus on noise, psych-folk, drone, out-there, etc – taking over both floors. Sister Ray, too, has managed to stay up despite its much-publicised recent problems, while Rough Trade and Pure Groove in the East End have done well.
Perhaps you could blame downloading culture and the iPod (though admittedly I have one myself, so am not immune to its charms) for the problems that some of these shops appear to be having. The question of where the album format is going next is a moot point, and something that this article addresses. The god-awful Shuffle function – which Goodnight London never uses – decontextualises the album format, so that songs are just that: a collection of songs played in completely random format, rather than sequenced in a carefully thought-out order, designed to ‘complement’ each other and introduce texture and progression into the listening experience. The Shuffle function negates any sense of the album as a linear, conscious progression of songs whose dynamics when set against each other bring focus to the whole recording. To give you an example: the juxtaposition between loud, crashing noise on ‘Ascension Day’ suddenly giving way to the serene, beautiful calm piano of ‘After The Flood’ on Talk Talk’s Laughing Stock. It’s not inconceivable that future generations of iPod users will hardly bother with the album format at all, and will instead randomly rotate individual tunes – which they’ve downloaded from iTunes or wherever rather than buying the whole album - using the Shuffle function. It may be for a long time just yet, but it could happen. Then again, it’d be unfair to demonise all download sites – Bleep cover some brilliant left-field music, for example, and there’s an argument that magazine cover mount CDs are equally to blame.
Perhaps it’s inevitable that music, like everything else (including maybe even books one day, what with Google’s new service), is becoming digitalised.
And perhaps too I’m sounding like an old fart here who’s too stuck in the nostalgia of being thrilled when going to Our Price (remember them??) all those years ago and seeing New Order’s back catalogue of albums on display, as well as purchasing Daydream Nation on tape (does anywhere apart from Second Layer and online enthusiasts still sell tape these days?). You can, of course, still go to HMV and see those albums in pristine condition on CD. Perhaps, too, as that article notes, the popularity of downloading individual tracks off iTunes or wherever has meant that there’s a weird return to the idea of singles as a dominant format – stretching way back to 7-inches and 45s - so that we’ve gone full circle in a strange way, albeit updated for the digital age. In it’s own way, this is no bad thing.
Furthermore, just as there still exist those second-hand bookshops whose musty smell and cobwebs remain part of the charm, there will be always be those ‘niche’/second hand/collector record shops around for the purists – I don’t just mean Second Layer, which covers genuinely challenging left-field music, but places like Haggle Vinyl on Essex Road, Intoxica in Notting Hill, and even the tiny store next to Chingford Station who don’t even seem to have a name, but who has some cheerful old bloke running it. The last time Goodnight London went through its hallowed racks (including some serious Joy Divison/New Order/MBV etc back-catalogue stuff on vinyl), even he admitted that business isn’t easy, and he would know, having ran the store for 25 years. Check it out if you, erm, ever fancy going to Chingford Station.
There’s also The Dream Machine in East Dulwich, which continues the fine tradition (took up also by Second Layer) of being in the basement of a building. There’s just something about hermetically-sealed basement record shops, the thrill of descending a flight of stairs to another world completely, one that’s different to your own, which is the feeling indie record shops should elicit. It’s a feeling I always got with the Covent Garden branch of Rough Trade (since moved to Brick Lane, of course).
Anyway, I will be playing with Fractured Waves at an in-store on Friday 28th November at The Dream Machine, on around 7:30 or so, if anyone fancies coming down. Map here; nearest train is East Dulwich. It promises to be a pretty interesting evening.

[images from Kinetica's website]

The recent Concrete & Glass event in Shoreditch certainly felt to me like the last bastion of something creative in the area before it becomes simply too expensive and upmarket to nurture any kind of alternative arts scene. With the Hackney–Chelsea link building work gaining steam, the ossification of the area into an extension of the City and its homogenous wine bars is inevitable, despite the credit crunch. The link between the arts scene and the music scene is something that’s been well overdue, and one of the most interesting things was finding that I often preferred trawling the galleries in the area than checking out some of the bands. The Byzantine labyrinth of tunnels in the basement of Shoreditch Church set the tone for Thursday evening, while Kinetica’s gallery of hybrid technological monstrosities produced some incredible results (such as those in the pictures above). I still can’t get out of my head too the different coloured lamps that populated the room at the top floor of Cordy House, with each one revealing all kinds of weird secrets when you viewed them through a binocular.
One impression to be gained from the festival was that it hadn’t completely demolished the barriers between the arts and music crowd, as evidenced by the characters trawling through the galleries of Redchurch Street; for some reason the impression I got was that they remained entirely separate from the music goings-on.
Anyway, some highlights music-wise on Thursday: Matthew Sawyer & the Ghosts’ lo-fi, low-key set on Tuesday night at the Strongrooms; Errors playing to a packed set at the Old Blue Last; and the ridiculous 80s synth-metal band (Grosvenor, perhaps?) at Favella Chic. Sadly, Friday summed up the problem with these events: all the venues were just too packed, with no luck queuing up for The Macbeth, Catch (where the ubiquitous Selfish C**t were playing), and elsewhere, while the queue for TV On The Radio at Cargo – the festival’s big draw - went beyond the realms of the ridiculous. The only place that had any space was Pictish Trail upstairs at the Vibe Bar. Still, it led to the music venue find of the festival for me: The Brady Centre, on Hanbury Street off Brick Lane, where The Real Tuesday Weld delivered a charismatic set in plush theatre surroundings, backed up by a great film show. Just goes to show that sometimes the most interesting places are off the beaten track in that area.
Judging by the success of Barden’s Boudoir (particularly the Club Motherfuc*er), I’m guessing that Dalston, where I went school and consequently have mixed feelings about, is set to be the Shoreditch of the future. If so, Café Oto is its Spitz, before the Spitz itself sadly got shut down, replete with candlelight and a relaxed, slightly arty and intelligent atmosphere; a place that feels very much independent and untouched by the Carling-sponsored mainstream. Playing there on Saturday on Recluse’s first birthday was a blast. Thank God these places still exist before the area gets swallowed up in a tidal wave of yuppie bars.

Me here with an interview and live review of Comets on Fire. Listening to their music makes me think that if the 90's was a repeat of the 60's (as Select magazine many aeon's ago spuriously once wanted us to believe), then the "noughties" (what an awful phrase that is to describe the 00's) is a repeat of the 70's, what with the likes of COF, Espers, Sunburned Hand of the Man, MV & EE with The Bummer Road / Golden Road etc., Wooden Wand, Smegma, Wooden Shjips etc. Despite these bands' ostensibly owing huge debts to the 60s, I would argue that they actually reference the 70s far more - specifically the pre-punk period from 1970 up to around '76 (punk's 'year zero' approach wiped the slate clean in most people's minds to the point that even if the likes of Hawkwind continued beyond the 70s, they still remind inexorably bound to that certain period).
True, you could find tenuous links between those bands and out-there early 'primitive electronics' outfits such as Silver Apples and the United States of America, both of whom are firmly rooted in the late 60s, as well as other examples. But really, these bands' antecedents lie much more in that aforementioned 70-76 period that saw coming to the fore Hawkwind, disparate Krautrock acts (Can, Faust, Neu!, Amon Dull II, Ash Ra Temple), Träd Gräs och Stenar, Gong, Henry Cow and Led Zeppelin's 'Battle of Evermore' (still an incredible track despite what ever prog-rock horrors the band may have committed post-Physical Graffiti). Equally, too, the DIY approach of Sunburned and other acts of a similar ilk, and festivals such as Terrascope in America, reflect the children-friendly free festival ethos that dominated during that period (even though Terrascope itself isn't actually free). Admittedly it's easy to laugh at the worst excesses of that period, with it's preponderance of beards (something I couldn't help but notice was replicated at the Comets on Fire gig, where they were in abundance), flute solos, and Tolkien-referencing lyrics. But these bands also reference the fact that much of this music reflects the dark side of the original hippy dream as it slowly extinguished in the late 60s: Amon Duul II's Yeti in particular sounds like the acid trip gone bad, the music overloaded and dangerously out-of-control; the same could be said for Ash Ra Temple's howling ghost epic 'Traummaschine'. The drugs went sour and recession loomed (at least in Britain), giving birth to the equally bad trip vibe of Throbbing Gristle - who, ironically, appropriated much of the synaptic live spectacles that Pink Floyd (in their 60's era) and other innocent psychedelic acts employed to enhance their music five or six years before. In terms of the present, too, Selfish C*nt - forever associated with Shoreditch - and the other similar wannabe confrontational electroclash outfits that seem to congregate weekly in that area are, when it comes down to it, really just a throwback to Suicide's audience bating in late 70s in pre-gentrification Lower East Side NYC.
Incidentally, the Green Man festival that I just went to had echoes of the early 70s era, with Pentangle on the main stage on the Sunday night and much of the acts on the (cringeworthily titled) Folky-Dolkey stage in a similar vein, not to mention children running around everywhere. A shame, then, that any hopes of shamanic dancing in fields was obliterated by three days of torrential downpour, to the point where I missed Comets on Fire offshoot Howlin' Rain's set due to, well, howling rain. The only thing to do was play cards in the tent instead. Such is the pitfalls of British outdoor festivals. The first picture below was took on Friday near the main stage, when a faint belief in a beautiful, sun-kissed weekend persisted; the latter was took on Sunday at the top of a hill at the festival.

Off to The Green Man festival tomorrow and expecting to see some serious beards...check out that line-up for tasteful quality!

Interesting...and given the rumoured troubles the Foundry has been in, things could get worse. Then again, if you can afford to live around there nowadays, you're probably working in a demented finance department in the City anyway. Doubtless many who were in the queue for Trailer Trash last Friday do - no sane person in their right mind would wear moustaches (the new fashion) combined with 80's white Reebok trainers.
Nonetheless, the area still exerts a great fascination for me, with the contours of the area often springing deep surprises. Forget the garish technicolour excess of Shoreditch High Street / Old Street for a while and the area can produce all kinds of revelations while wondering drunk through its streets. For all it's faults, it reminds me repeatedly of the kind of scene that Glenn Branca, Sonic Youth, Swans etc. spawned from in late 70's/early 80's NYC, where experimental art rubbed shoulders with nearby financial districts in a startling juxtaposition. Sad that I had to move, exacerbated with these kind of rents in Bethnal Green alone...