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.
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