Great days

A friend of mine (oldest friend when I think about it) sent me a link yesterday to some digitised photos from a holiday we had together a long time ago. I never saw myself as the kind of person who had a photocollage noticeboard in their living room showing me with a bunch of great mates doing great mates things, but blow me down if there isn't a photo of a skinny teenage me jumping into the Mediterranean from a pier accompanied by five or six school friends. Perhaps I wasn't always such as curmudgeon.

Anyway, the photos also showed a very long haired me and my (now) wife looking young. It's quite confronting seeing a photo from ~20 years ago all of a sudden, particularly when you were a few kilos lighter and with hair to your shoulders. Can't say it was such a bad look actually... I thought I'd show my young colleagues a couple of snaps (particularly one guy who is looking to grow some length before the hard core clinical years) and the response was quite reassuring!
Anyway, cue plenty of reflection and introspection, mulling over the person I was then, the person I was now and how the years between have affected and changed me. The young fellow in the picture probably would have been surprised to have seen his older self make a decent fist of I Banking... although whenever I was at my desk my music tastes would have been recognisable. As is not uncommon, tastes tend to ossify around the 17 - 25 years which is the case with me.

One album I was listening to for the first time in a long time, before even the photos appeared, it the Ultra Vivid Scene album Joy: 1967-1990. This was released in 1990 and was very popular amongst the hip young things of the time. Even though I was more of a SubPop fan (probably the more listenable stuff I was into), for some reason Kurt Ralske's poppy- noise(ish) music fitted my mould, and that of my friends too. Probably due to his being a New Yorker (I was very keen on Shimmy Disc at that point), the fuzz on his guitar, the odd lyrics and a song with the same title as a very popular Nick Cave song (Mercy Seat).

I never subscribed to Ralske being 100% derivative of MBV, JAMC and the rest despite him confessing to similar VU roots on a SNUBTV clip I saw. He's pretty original and the mix and the production are so layered you can listen to each track numerous times and spot a different instrument that you've been listening to passively for 20 years suddenly come to the fore.

Sad and obsessive behaviour

I must admit to being a bit of a Joy Division tragic. Although I was very young when they turned into New Order, the re-release of their albums in the late 80s found me at an impressionable age and an indie kid to boot. The only JD you would hear typically came at an "alternative" dance night when you'd badgered the DJ for hours to put some on then yo'd be treated to Love Will Tear Us Apart... and a largely empty dance floor.

The sad and frustrating story of the lead singer Ian Curtis' suicide is part of popular culture now having been turned into a film on at least two occasions quite recently (C0ntrol, 24 Hour Party People) but when I started listening to JD it was all very confusing adding to the mystique of the band (give me a break, I was an adolescent...) Living within driving distance of Manchester meant that I could head over to visit the town regularly which cemented a love of the city's music that began with the Smiths and continues to this day. It was an odd experience to walk through Afleck's Palace, loading up with JD posters and a copy of the Komakino flexi disc to take off to college and stick on the walls (the posters, not the disc) . Felt like proximity to the band. Hard to explain but strongly remembered times for me. Probably due to me being 17.

Anyway, this Christmas I received a copy of Who Killed Martin Hannett? , a painfully complete description of the relationship between the man who produced their albums and the band seen by his "best friend" (it says here). The full story of Martin Hannett would take a book to go through (as you can see from the fact that someone has written one) but suffice to say he was credited with the band developing a unique sound, of being a control freak / perfectionist and being increasingly fond of heroin as the albums progressed. Martin H died in 1991 and his story reads like Wired, the John Belushi biography where, even if you didn't know the Belushi story and question the veracity of Woodward's account, you just know the guy has to die soon the way he's going on. I had the same vibe about the author of the Hannett book whilst reading it... imagine my lack of surprise when I found that he had passed away in September last year, poor guy.

Leaving this ghoulish aspect of the Factory story, this brings me to the album of Martin Hannett's Personal Mixes, the cover of which is at the top of this piece. Browsing through a vinyl shop in the CBD, I came this vinyl (mmm... 180g) and having heard about it elsewhere, I laid out the frankly painful $39.98 to buy it. The music here falls into three categories: different mixes, some sound effect recordings (interesting.... having heard them so often as part of a JD song) and a couple of interview snatches (not worth discussing). This album has had mixed reviews, but for a sad man like me it's been an insight.

Basically, it looks like Hannett's reputation for a love of delay and treble is well founded. What is more surprising is the amount of bass that is in the front of the mix. Almost capable of causing nausea. The top end hiss on the recordings of Autosuggestion plays from left to right and causes more disorientation. Two of my favorite tracks on Closer, The Eternal and Decades (which I used to listen to so much as a teenager it still causes my father conniptions) are provided in mixes which only show their differences if you've heard them a thousand times before. The sounds seems comprised of only top and bottom end (bass drum and snare, bass guitar and strange trebly jangling guitar parts) which may have been the idea: to let the singer's voice stand alone in the middle ground with only the sibilants venturng out of this territory.

At the end of side four comes a probably intentional piece of iconoclasm added to provide some contrast: someone telling Ian Curtis to "F*ck off".

Hot 100: John Peel and lugging too much stuff around clincial placements

Being an old northern England indie boy at heart, but with techno lungs and an ambient spleen, I grew up listening to John Peel on Radio 1 (FM or otherwise). From being a small lad confused by what I was hearing, through the wilderness years where I stopped listening due to the intrusion of work and other interests, to returning to the fold just prior to his death, John Peel was something of a constant in my life and the lives of most average bedroom-bound music obsessives.

Each Christmas, he compiled a list of listeners' favourite songs released that year. It had to have been released in current year to prevent "Anarchy in the UK" winning again. Compiling the "Festive 50" seems to have been a pain in the backside, but each year out it came and out it still comes.

Inspired by this, a friend of mine from school, now sadly demolished (the school that is), who by some miracle has made it to medical school, saw a solution to a problem he faced. Being back in the days of CDs, pre-MP3, he faced the prospect of starting a series of short-term clinical placements music-free unless he chose to cart his record collection around from placement to placement. And it was largely a record collection, because he was largely a fan of 60s rarities and US imports which came in vinyl only. Taping wasn't an option or him due to loss of self-esteem, sad obsessive that he was (as discussed). Having said that, I would have been just as bad.

Thus began his "Hot 100" where he selected only those 100 records he couldn't live without ("hot" in this case being a highly subjective term unless you were a big fan of Wingtip Sloat). Even then, 80 odd vinyl records is a lot to lug from one place to another every six weeks or so.

Reading back through this, it sounds like a story from the dark ages, sitting here with an iPod I will never get close to filling to capacity. Then again, pre-1999 or thereabouts, student digs hadn't changed all that much since the 50s: different posters, dansettes / ghetto blasters / portable CDs players notwithstanding. There may have been an occasionally laptop in the 1999 vintage study rooom, but that was still unusual for undergrads. My friend would have traded a kidney to get his hands on a small device that could have contained all his music.

So spare a thought for the poor old clinical phase medical student of the pre-iPod 80s / 90s. They may have been guaranteed a training place and have been spared MTAS and the rest, but they had to make the difficult decision of whether to pack Speedy J or Loop.