Tape Delay

Recently, I was given 17 NME cassettes from the mid to late 90s. Here's what I thought of them -:

One of those seemingly inconsequential, but crucially important facts about recently turning 60 is that it is now over 30 years since I stopped buying the New Musical Express. I first became an infrequent NME reader aged 15 and from 19 February 1981, I bought it religiously every single week until I knew I could no longer put up with the declining standards of journalism, hysterical bandwagon jumping and stupid, internecine squabbles between bands and writers, buying my last copy in August 1994, just as I turned 30. It was a relief to no longer have to deal with a weekly dose of pompous bluster. At that point, I’d read it for half my lifetime. Now, I’ve not read it for half a lifetime and, truthfully, I can say I’ve not missed it all. Strange, considering how vital its words to me for so long.

Serendipitously, and completely out of the blue, my mate Karl contacted me to say he had 17 NME cassettes, from 1993 to 1998, that I was welcome to have, as he had no interest in them. Surveying the slush pile as it spread across my living room carpet, checking release dates, it seemed a racing certainty I must have owned a few of them at the time, though last year’s review of all my old tapes suggests only the first named one, Field Trip, is still in my possession. Of course, back in the day, I was a voracious consumer of all things NME related. I used to collect tokens, for C81 and C86 to send off for them, as well as buying various other NME sponsored CDs, videos, DVDs and vinyl albums. This was before record companies cottoned on to the idea that cheap compilations affixed to the front cover, would snare curious readers who could actually find out what the bands mentioned in the pages sounded like, for free, before buying the product. In a sense, it took the risk out of purchasing. Obviously, come around 1999, CDs took over from tapes as the appropriate vehicle for ballons d’essai and subsequently downloads won the war. Indeed, the NME doesn’t even exist in print form these days. Times change.

Purely for research purposes you’ll understand, I took the tapes off Karl’s hands and engaged in a forensic deep dive, the results of which are in the brief reviews below. Suffice to say, if anyone would like numbers 1, 2, 6, 7, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 16 and 17, then you’re more than welcome to them. Just contact me by whatever means you normally do…

1.      Field Trip: July 1993

This is one of the very few of these tapes I actually had, and I’ve still got it. Recorded at Glastonbury in June of that year, it begins with a very wobbly version of White Belly by Belly, before the best song on any of these tapes; Teenage Fanclub absolutely nailing Big Star’s Free Again. Ok, not as good as the 1992 K Records 7” single version, but pretty awesome, nevertheless. There’s a Suede song after that, which made as much impact on me as their entire back catalogue did back in the day. Flip it over and there’s Evan Dando drawling his way through Big Gay Heart. It’s well-meaning and that, but it doesn’t exactly age well, ideologically speaking. The tape ends with a very presentable Take Good Care of It by Spiritualized. Beautiful, in fact.

2.      5 Reel: 18 September 1993

Another one I actually owned, though I presume I threw it away unopened, having seen who was on there. Carter USM’s lame pastiche of Mick Jones, Travis starts this off, before a dreary track by One Dove and a stupid prank phone call by The Jerky Boys, who I’ve never heard of, conclude side 1. Side 2 gets no better, with uninspired crusty plodding by Back to the Planet and Curve’s bland Goth by numbers. I’ve no wish to keep this one.

3.      Brat Pack: 29 January 1994

I never really got The Sugarcubes; same goes for Bjork, so her opening One Day made no impression on me. In contrast, Space Boy by Smashing Pumpkins is absolutely stupendous. Flipping over, we have Radiohead, New Order, who I lost interest in after Love Vigilantes in 1985, and something decent by Elastica; none of whom particularly float my boat, but I’m keeping this for Billy Corgan’s efforts alone. Well done, baldy!!

4.      The Mutha of Creation: 12 February 1994

I had this one, but it was a faulty copy, so I binned it after one listen. That was a regret as it included The Boo Radleys, Teenage Fanclub (an excellent reading of Goody Goody Gumdrops that was often an encore around this time), Sugar, Ride and Oasis. I think I’ll keep this one, but I could put it on eBay as there’s bound to be some idiot prepared to part with some of his (and it has to be his) hard earned for a demo version of Cigarettes and Alcohol.

5.      WEA C30: 1994

The first of the label specific collections, which made me a bit suspicious as to the motives of the NME and their paymasters at the time, is a mixed bag. Red Hot Chili Peppers, who I’ve never had any time for after seeing a rancid show at the Riverside in February 1990, Green Day, Babylon Zoo, Candlebox (whoever they were), Biohazard and Electrafixion are all utter garbage. However, Shane MacGowan’s voice still holds up, possibly for the last time in his career, on Church of the Holy Spook, while The Jesus & Mary Chain knock out a late first period minor classic in Dirty Water and Dinosaur Jr’s Feel the Pain, sounding incredibly like a Sebadoh song ironically enough, is top notch.

6.      This is Fort Apache: 1994

MCA Records were the sugar daddies behind this eclectic collection, including several bands who passed me by at the time. First up we have The Walkabouts, whose country rock ordinaire failed to raise my pulse, but at least they aren’t offensive, unlike the ragged bluster of Cold Water Flat. Unlike the opening two acts, I was aware of Belly, but I have to say I’ve gained absolutely nothing from hearing their rancid take on Are You Experienced? Similarly, I’m conversant with much of Sebadoh’s work, but The Freed Pig from their third album is nothing special, even if it does sound remarkably English; redolent almost of Richard Thompson. Apparently, it’s an attack on J Mascis. Wow, best revisit that then. US indie also-rans Fuzzy have their most famous track Flashlight included here. It is nothing special, but it’s a lot less dull than Here Comes the Pain by Juliana Hatfield. The tape finishes with some sprawling Lemonheads dreck, from when Dando was a full throttle bag head, then the whole programme repeats itself on side 2, which is just cruel.

 7.      Xmas Dust Up: 17 December 1994

The Dust Brothers do a superb job here on what is, sadly, a very dated sounding megamix that would have been an absolute floor filler at the time. You can tell exactly how they handed the baton on to The Chemical Brothers after this. I don’t know if I’d listen to this again, so I’m giving it away, despite the fact it’s the biggest and best, unexpected treat of all the tapes I’ve listened to so far. A grand slice of discotheque nostalgia.

8.      USA Today: 18 November 1995

This one is another of the princely treasures I’ve found on this frog snogging exercise. Opening up with the stately and superb Unwind from Sonic Youth’s Washing Machine, it is a tape that encompasses some of my most enduring musical preferences. The standard remains high with the punchy and effective Sam by Boss Hog. Side 2 isn’t quite as stellar, with something anodyne by Garbage starting things off, though Rocket from the Crypt and The Amps bring home some very noisy bacon.

9.      WEA NME 2: 1995

Oh, this is an unbearable load of crap. More bloody Electrafixion, Green Day and Red Hot Chilli Peppers, alongside woeful middle of the road dross by The Pretenders, Suggs, k.d. lang and Alanis Morissette. I’m not making this up you know. There’s also a couple of non-entities such as Better Than Ezra and Lick, who I’ve never heard of. Thankfully, the tape machine chewed up the cassette within 20 seconds of the start, so I was spared the ordeal of actually listening to this shite.

10. Brat Bus: 3 February 1996

Christ this is bland. At least it gave me a chance to consciously hear The Bluetones for the first (and last) time in my life. Fluffy are also on here, so I had the unexpected chance to listen to them twice in one day. There’s a track by The Cardigans, who I knew about. Quite charming musically, except for the helium-voiced chanteuse. It finishes with something with Heavy Stereo, whose singer couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. Did any of these bands ever have any fans?

11. Here Comes the Summer: 1996

Remember the superbly cutting, but ultimately accurate putdown, landfill indie? Well, here’s the largest manmade mountain of skinny white, bourgeois, jangly detritus ever found in one place. Cast, Lush, Bis, Mansun, Pusherman (who?), The Afghan Whigs (what are they doing here?), Super Furry Animals, Baby Bird, Northern Uproar (seriously), Dubstar and Smaller (me neither) are the ones responsible for the dullest 40 minutes I’ve had in a long time. Kudos to Dodgy, who manage to sound like very early Soft Machine on Homegrown.

12. Bleeping with the NME: October 1996

I know less about dance music than I do particle physics or embroidery, so all I can say is that this seems to be a collection of some fairly stellar names from the time: Orbital, Underworld, The Chemical Brothers (which I quite liked), Goldie, Leftfield and DJ Shadow (great jazzy, prog wig out, like Weather Report). Alright if you like that sort of thing; certainly not unpleasant, though a bit dull to these ears.

13. WEA NME 3: 1996

Obviously, I wasn’t reading the NME by this point. Judging by the acts on this collection, I doubt WEA’s A&R team were either, as I can’t imagine this appealed to the traditional NME readership. This begins with Alanis Morrissette, followed by Catatonia, ffs. Kimberley Austin by Porno for Pyros is quite canny, unlike the faux mockney posturing of the irredeemably obscure Jaguar. I’d never heard of them, nor You Am I or Spacehog. For good reason, in each instance. Similarly, one hit wonder Mark Morrison shows why he never had another chart topper. There’s a lovely Nada Surf song that stands out like a diamond in the mouth of a corpse. The same can’t be said of a bizarre piano-based, overwrought ballad by Flaming Lips and I’m really not sure what to make of Tricky remixing an Elvis Costello song.

 14. Beat Up the NME: 1997

 Former Housemartins bassist Quentin Cook has augmented his substantial inherited wealth with the fortune he’s made under his disc jockey alias of Fatboy Slim. He has shown a hitherto unknown philanthropic side, sponsoring Brighton & Hove Albion FC, who wore his Skint Records logo on their home shirts and creating this uproarious, joyful hour long megamix. I think they used to call this kind of music Big Beat, didn’t they? I’d not heard of any of the artists he has remixed, but every so often you can discern one of the samples he has used, Louie Louie and Silver Machine for instance. Good fun to be frank, though I’m saying it through gritted teeth.

 15. Creation for the Nation: 1997

Without any plot spoilers, I can reveal this is the last of the tapes I’m keeping, mainly because it includes a lovely early version of, I Don’t Care from Songs from Northern Britain by the greatest band of all time. This is a welcome high spot, as the tape begins inauspiciously with some tripe by The Gallagher Brothers, the unremarkable Arnold, an ill-advised dance remix for The Boo Radleys and some pretend Britpop from Edward Ball, before the charming beats and synthpop stylings of Japanese girl group Ultra Living end side 1.

Side 2 up the rocking ante, with the very busy 3 Colours Red sounding rather like The Ruts, before post-David Keenan friends of the war criminal Tony Blair, 18 Wheeler recreate the best bits of baggy. Super Furry Animals get all ethereal for a while, before some of their usual shoutalong thud and blunder. The Diggers show that Creation signed as many duds as delights, before Hurricane #1 end the tape. While I loved early Ride, all I can really say about Andy Bell is that he has the same birthday as me and that the trilby fools no-one, baldy.

16. Radio 1 Sound City Oxford: 25 October 1997

This is the first of all these tapes to come in a proper jewel case, unlike the cardboard sleeves of the first 15. I vaguely remember these Radio 1 Sound City festivals. Indeed, I went to see The Wedding Present at Sheffield Leadmill in April 1993 in the very first of them. By the time Newcastle had its turn in October 1998, I wasn’t in a good place and, other than The Wedding Present at Riverside, I didn’t engage with any of the events. A real shame in retrospect. Then again, I sort of lost connection with new music between about 1997 and 2005, for some reason. It wasn’t a great time.

 Introspection over, I have to say this tape includes a load of bands who are just names to me. Side 1 is all guitars: Embace, Sleeper, Travis (this is only the second of their songs I’ve ever heard and it’s not as band as the other one), Gene and Hurricane #1 again. Side 2 is all bleeps and big, big beats: Bentley Rhythm Ace, DJ Shadow and Lo-Fidelity All Stars, with a surprise, and welcome, intervention from Spiritualized. The tape ends with some lachrymose, howlingly overwrought country-tinged rock from Ultrasound. In summary, first side is as pitiful a selection of abject wimpy guitar whine as I’ve had the displeasure to come across in many a long while. In contrast side 2 is a jolly old knees up (Spiritualized excepted, but they’re really good anyway).

17. Brat Pack 98: January 1998

Saving the worst until last, perhaps the only good thing about this tower of toss is the plastic jewel case it comes in. Beck (always mixed him up with Moby), Radiohead (zzz), Prodigy (first time I’ve ever heard Smack my Bitch up and I don’t like it), Stereophonics (just awful), Death in Vegas (not Death in June, as I’d hoped for), Mansun, Bentley Rhythm Ace, Travis and The Seahorses. In mitigation, there is a Blur track on here, but everything else is just awful.

There you go then; I’m keeping 6 tapes (one of which I’ve got already), giving away 10 and had to bin the other. As I say, contact me if you want them.

 

 

 

 

Isak Wonder Disorder

Newcastle United; where we at?

It feels like an age since I last blogged about Newcastle United. To remind you all, what I attempt to do in my public utterances about NUFC is to simultaneously articulate a fiercely local civic pride, while undercutting that sentiment with a knowingly bathetic use of dialect. Naturally I write primarily in what we know as Standard English, but to connect verbally with my immediate audience, I adopt a stylized narrative voice. By doing this, I am being self-consciously parochial; a comic strategy that nuances, but does not negate, any display of parochialism with which the words are concerned. An ostensibly ‘authentic’ small-town sentiment is instead something rather more complex, and to take it at face value does injustice to the reality of coming from Newcastle upon Tyne which, since around 1800, has been a cosmopolitan entrepôt; a multicultural melting pot for dissenting communities and, most pertinently, a centre of organised cultural activity of all kinds second only to London across the Atlantic archipelago. Newcastle functions as a northern metropolis, exerting influence over a broad geographical region that reaches not only south to York and west into Cumbria, but also north into Lowland Scotland. The city boasts one of the country's two first Literary and Philosophical Societies, and numerous spaces that are sites for elite and experimental musical performance. Their importance goes hand in glove with the fortunes of Newcastle United.

While the team were at rest, I continued to improve my mind, especially in relation to my hitherto sketchy knowledge of Irish jurisprudence. One fascinating fact I learned was about the Irish take on vexatious litigants: the Isaac Wunder Order. This is an order issued by an Irish court restricting the ability of a vexatious litigant to institute legal proceedings without leave from that or another court, whether for a specified period of time or indefinitely. It is named after Isaac Wunder, an Irishman who became notorious for instituting a number of actions that were subsequently deemed by the court to be frivolous or vexatious.

In the late 1960s, Wunder sued the Irish Hospitals Trust, also known as the Irish Sweepstake, for claimed winnings. His claims were dismissed as frivolous and vexatious. Wunder appealed, and in each case the claims were ruled groundless. In the light of this history of repeated attempts to get a more favourable ruling on the same issue, the Supreme Court issued an order, directing that Wunder could take no further proceedings on the matter at the High Court. Although this was not the first order of its kind issued, it nonetheless became known as an Isaac Wunder order. It gave me something to think about when Isak’s wonder wasn’t happening on the pitch.

As regards the club, so much has happened since June, while at the same time nothing has happened. Indeed, if we go back to the summer, what intrigued me the most was not Anthony Gordon’s baffling exclusion or Kieran Trippier’s equally baffling inclusion in England teams, it was the ennobling of Old Novocastrian and FSA regent Kevin Miles OBE. Such a prestigious award for a former member of The Organisation must have stung Denver Humbert and his microscopically minute Cheka. While Air Miles continues to have a profile as high as any professional supporter in the game today, Denver’s Cheka are facing oblivion. Kevin’s gong must also have stung the radge little coterie surrounding True Faith, whose endless droning on about NUFC’s failing in the transfer market was enlivened only by a highly important, but largely ignored piece about the appalling employment practices of Newcastle’s sleeve sponsors Noon. I’d imagine the Dubai Chronophiles were appalled by such disloyalty towards our lords and masters, while welcoming such global megastars as Lloyd Kelly, Odysseas Vlachodimos and John Ruddy to Tyneside, and worshipping at the temple of £7 a pint Madri that is Shack redux. Their only minor snivels have been following the departures of their idols, those legendary grifters, Staveley and Ghodoussi. Perhaps, and this is where I stand with True Faith and www.nufc.com surprisingly enough, instead of whining about the departure of Dan Ashworth, perhaps the willingness to sacrifice Anderson and Minteh in order to balance the books, ought to have engaged more minds than it did. Ever felt you’ve been cheated?  

Following neophytic nincompoop Paul Mitchell’s incompetent and embarrassing failed pursuit of Guehi, I seriously believe that Howe might have been better going for the England job, such is the straitjacket that is being imposed on him regarding purchases and by him on the team’s tactics. However, that ship may have sailed as Vol. Carsley, Burton on Trent Cumann Óglaigh na hÉireann, and his skilful deployment of the quartet of Quislings who sold out, looks likely to get the nod. Providing he keeps his mouth shut, eh?

So far, Newcastle United have played 4 games and remain unbeaten. I’ve only seen one of them in full, which was the Bournemouth game. After a promising 15 minutes, we went all to pot and were justifiably going down to a dismal defeat when Trippier came on. Even if his powers are waning and the £12m Bayern Munich offered for him in January looks like a missed opportunity, he’s still got superb organisational skills and that’s what saved us from defeat. In fact, we could have gone on to win that. The other away game at Forest coincided with my trip to Boro Rangers with Benfield (least said about that one the better), but we heard the penalties in the car coming back, and I have to say I’m sure we deserved to go through and how I’m especially glad for Sean, who is still getting dog’s abuse from oafs on social media.

The two home games saw us pick up maximum points, in a pair of fixtures we could have lost. The idiotic sending antics of Brereton Diaz, last seen in these parts spending the whole of the second half warming up but not getting on for Villareal in a friendly thumping last August, got Schar a deserved red card, but he should have walked as well. Still, the remainder of the game showed the team still have a strong supportive ethos and can grind their way to victory. The Spurs game saw our usual victory, though not perhaps by as comfortable a margin as of late. They missed chances and played into our hands, but we really need to maximise our points in such circumstances as this squad isn’t as strong as it was, or it should be. The major relief is we don’t have European football this year, which means we have a better chance of securing it for next year, but only if we have a proper January transfer window.

I don’t feel cheated; just totally underwhelmed….

 

Wrest & Be Thankful

You know me, I’d go to Glasgow for the opening of an envelope, so when Shelley pointed out that her latest indie heroes Wrest were playing Barrowlands on a Saturday night, I signed up for the deal immediately. I’d heard the band and regretted we hadn’t seen them last October at Northumbria University, so this was a chance to put things right. Or Wright if you prefer. Geddit?

Being honest, the weekend didn’t go as smoothly as we’d hoped for but, looking on the bright side, we had smashing weather, a great meal out, a superb gig and a tirade of some of the finest swearing that the West of Scotland can offer.

Being in receipt of my 60+ railcard, I booked the tickets from www.thetrainline.com  and followed a link to www.booking.com where I secured us two nights at the Best Western Glasgow Argyle Hotel on Washington Street, which I thought was the one Shelley had spotted when surfing for a place to stay. Big mistake on my part. Shelley had actually told me about the Argyll Hotel on Sauchiehall Street. I’ve no idea how much that would have cost, but £160 a night, without breakfast, we shelled out for a billet in a barely adequate dosshouse was not what we’d had in mind.

After a smooth journey by train, we saw that our hotel was literally minutes from Central Station. Despite the usual Google maps eccentricity of both our phones, not to mention our latent cartographobic tendencies, we soon found ourselves clambering over mounds of debris from on-going roadworks, only to encounter a gang of bevvying NEDs in the hotel car park. This was not the welcome we’d hoped for. Worse was to come when we tried to check into our allegedly upgraded room. It had literally just been painted that day and reeked of gloss and emulsion, despite two dehumidifiers going full pelt. You couldn’t sleep in there because of the smell and the chance of staining your clothing. After much harrumphing, the woman on reception eventually changed our room to one on the floor below. Despite the windows not opening, the shower rail hanging dangerously loose and the fact our keys didn’t work properly, this was a decent room, in terms of smell at least. Or at least it was before I moved in.

For dinner, we headed uphill, courtesy of a cheap taxi, for the Butterfly and Pig (https://www.thebutterflyandthepig.com/ ) on Bath Street. On the way we passed the nearby Night Shelter where a visibly refreshed habitue greeted us with a cheery what the fuck you looking at you fat cunt? Glasgow is miles better…

Despite initial issues with Shelley being sent the wrong main course, replaced free of charge I’m delighted to say, I was delighted to enjoy the best meal out I’ve had in 2024. The crumbed black pudding, smoked bacon, apple, shaved parmesan and rocket salad was absolute heaven. I don’t have the vocabulary to write descriptively about food, but the next time I’m in Glasgow, I’m coming back here and having the same thing. For post-prandials, we’d been suggested The State Bar, and it didn’t disappoint. Who could have predicted we’d go all that way to find a superb pint of Byker’s own Almasty Green. The suggestion to visit there was from Alex Neilsen, now up and about after a recent accident. He was playing Queen Margaret’s Union on Saturday night as part of Will Oldham’s band. Of course we couldn’t make that, nor could we take in Lavinia Blackwall at Nice ‘n’ Sleazy’s on the Saturday either. In fact, checking out the latter venue around midnight Friday, it seemed a very strange place for a talented folk songstress to be playing. In the end, we found a late evening bolthole in the shape of a Wetherspoon’s of all places and saw the war through in Switzerland, so to speak.

Arising with a serious hangover on a hot Saturday, we eventually got moving to take in my compulsory part of the itinerary, football. With the Old Firm game on the Sunday, the other game on in Glasgow in the SPFL was Partick Thistle 3 Queen’s Park 0. As I’d been to Maryhill, that was off the agenda. In the lower levels of the pyramid, St Roch’s v Ardrossan Winton Rovers was alluring, if difficult to get to. Instead, we headed to the Scottish Cup second preliminary round tie between Rutherglen Glencairn and Lothian Thistle Hutchison Vale, which must be two of the most verbosely named teams around. In retrospect, what with heat, hangovers and health problems, we should have gone to Kelvinside or Byres Road and I’m sad we didn’t.

It wasn’t a bad game or bad experience, just a waste of time. We got the train from Anderston to Rutherglen, which was a bit delayed, then jumped a cab (no card payments, sorry) to the game (no card payments, sorry) at the functional Hamish B Allan Stadium. The Glens, formed in 1896, currently sit fourth in the West of Scotland League First Division, while Hutchison Vale are fourth bottom of the East of Scotland Premier Division. Theoretically, this should have meant a fairly close contest, but The Glens won 2-0, without breaking sweat, and could have tripled their goal tally as the visitors from Edinburgh were completely and utterly outclassed. Still, sometimes that isn’t enough for some, as the local terrace wit kept up an unending tirade of abuse at the referee (you can stick that yellow card up yer erse, you half-wit and that no a bookin then, ya dafty?), until announcing with the scoring of the second goal on the hour, right that’s me away on the swally.

We waited until the end, along with about 150 others, then took a bus to the centre of Rutherglen (card payment accepted!!) and a train back to Central. After tea, an unnecessarily complex walk back to the hotel and a shower, we headed for Barras and the biggest underground Scottish sensation of the year. Sounding like a cross between Big Country, Teenage Fanclub and Stornaway, Wrest had sold out the Barras on a Saturday night, which is a phenomenal achievement for an unsigned indie band. And they’re really good, if you like melodic, anthemic pop rock with a Caledonian tinge. The audience certainly did and the band were almost overwhelmed by the reception they got. We’ve already got tickets to see them again at The Grove on 6 December.

Gig over, we had a last drink in Mono, where 14 Iced Bears had been playing, took an Uber back to the hotel and ordered a takeaway. It had been a tiring day and we slept well. The hotel wasn’t great, and they basically shrugged their shoulders at our complaints, but I always enjoy Glasgow, though we did get out before disgruntled Huns started eyeballing anyone with Irish blood after their usual 3-0 humiliation at Paradise. Instead, we took the first part of the journey home to Edinburgh and had a nose along Princes Street. God it was cold, and we were glad of a quiet, near empty, train home and a chance to see Newcastle’s annual home win over Spurs on MotD2 before bedtime. For that, we could Wrest and be thankful.