For no good reason, the American one hit wonder Carole Bayer Sager’s three minutes in the spotlight, You’re Moving Out Today came to mind the other month. Presumably this was when I was rooting through the cupboard in the spare room and came across my 61 cassettes; well, 59 actually, which I whittled down to 57 by giving away a couple of Whitehouse Live Action tapes, as I’m no longer prepared, ideologically and morally, to give them house room. Having just taken possession of a tape player, meaning I was now able to listen to cassettes for the first time in a decade or more, I set myself the mammoth and possibly pointless task of listening to every single one of these dusty mementos of a bygone era, in alphabetical order of course, then doing brief reviews for this piece. Without spoiling the imminent reveals, I must admit I know I can live without the vast majority of these unearthed treasures. Hence, if you’d like any of the tapes numbered: 1,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,15,16,17,24,25,26,31,33,36,39,46,48 50,52 send me an email listing your choices and I’ll post them on to you.
1. Anoranza: Hasta Siempre Comandante Che Guevara. I bought this from a shop in the hotel where I was staying on Tenerife in August 1994, entirely because it has a photo of Che on the front cover. Apparently Anoranza means homesickness and they were a Canary Islands based, Cuban inspired Trova band. Listening again, this is an interesting series of polemics, whose lyrics I don’t get. Perhaps that’s why my favourite track is the instrumental El Pajara Campana, which is apparently a bare-throated bellbird. One for all you ornithologists out there anyway.
2. Joan Baez: Ring Them Bells. I love Joan Baez. Seeing her at The Sage back in 2010 was a real delight and honour. This is a live album, recorded in New York, back in 1995, which I was given when I wrote for Paint It Red, not because they wanted me to review it, but otherwise it was going to be thrown out. That would have been a shame as superb versions of The Lily of the West, Willie Moore and an acapella The Night they Drove Old Dixie Down are enough to make this set quite memorable.
3. Blur: 13. The last time I had a stand-alone cassette player was back in 1999 when I first moved to Bratislava. CDs were still a scarce commodity back then in Slovakia, so I had to improvise for my musical enjoyment. Some things I listened to were old, many were borrowed and only this one was new. It’s very blue in its mood, as Albarn moves on from the grind and crash of Blur, with a set of generally low-key and lo-fi introspective numbers that were clearly a way of distancing himself from the wreckage of his time with Justine Frischmann. My favourite on this one is the wrecked elegy that is No Distance Left to Run. Blur never did a better song. Indeed, this is a superb album, but one that I sidelined after returning to England, in favour of the easier to use double CD, The Best of. Poor old Think Tank probably only got listened to a couple of times as well.
4. Bogside Volunteers: Ireland’s Fight for Freedom / Owen McDonagh: Songs of Irish Civil Rights. One of 2 C90s of rebel songs (the other gets a mention in a bit) duplicated for me by Paul Flanagan, who was just learning how to use his scanner back then (1998), when he presented them to me. And this is absolutely tremendous; in a kind of K-Tel Arla, we get 20 rebel songs by the Bogside Volunteers, including just about every number you’d need, bar perhaps The Rose of Mooncoin (I’m jesting here), for a proper republican karaoke. Owen McDonagh’s set is equally interesting, in a different way; recorded back in early 1969, this is the People’s Democracy songbook, with most of the material written contemporaneously. A fascinating historical document that proves, as ever, cruel England is to blame.
5. Vincent Bugliosi: Helter Skelter. A four-cassette talking book of the memoirs of Charles Manson’s prosecuting attorney. Somebody gave me this. I can’t remember who or when. I didn’t listen to it then and I still haven’t now.
6. Charles Bukowski: The Home Recordings (1969-1970). Double cassette pack. Bought this one mail order (those were the days, eh?), like the next two, when I was going through a Chinaski addiction during my MA in American Literature & Creative Writing. Not that I’ve got any time for the misogynist old soak these days I must say. The self-indulgent ramblings of a boring, aged egotist. A bit like my blog I suppose…
7. Charles Bukowski: The Screaming Life. See above.
8. Charles Bukowski: There Goes the Neighbourhood. See above.
9. Johnny Cash: Water from the Wells of Home. I love Johnny Cash. Always have done; always will, though I do acknowledge there are different levels of enjoyment to be had from his work. His career was bookended by genius; from the raw, early stuff with the Tennessee Two to the bleak, nihilistic sparseness of his latter-day American Recordings, he produced a body of indispensable work. The problems lie with the schmaltzy, corporate pap that big labels insisted he did, by welding orchestral arrangements onto songs that worked best in a stripped-down fashion. Water from the Wells of Home just manages to stay on the right side of rhinestone rubbish, including a fabulous reworking of the appalling paean to God, Mom & Apple Pie sensibilities, Ballad of a Teenage Queen. I was given this by the folks, who’d got it free with The Sunday People, but didn’t know any of the songs. Fair enough I suppose as the main songwriter was John R Cash, the younger Man in Black. He deserves to remain anonymous, other than the baffling and bizarre rewriting of the Highland clearances, A Croft in Clachan (The Ballad of Rob MacDunn), that is a real curio and very hard to explain. Not Johnny’s finest hour, but not irredeemably terrible either.
10. Johnny Cash: Unchained. Johnny Cash’s first collaboration with Rick Rubin, American Recordings, is a solid gold classic. Utterly unaccompanied, The Man in Black lays down some of his most poignant and emotive performances of his entire career. This follow-up album, purloined from the slush pile at Paint It Red some time in 1996, with a backing band of Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers isn’t in the same class, but it does include some fantastic readings of excellent songs, such as a delightful Memories are Made of This and a solemn take on Petty’s Southern Accents, not to mention a rip-roaring tear through I’ve Been Everywhere. There’s also the atrocious Spiritual by Spain, but you can fast forward through that one, as it’s at the end of side one. All in all; a good album and one I enjoyed hearing again.
11. Cathedra: Until the End of the World. Released on Kev Wilkinson’s Muza Muza label, I bought this on the strength of one track, Song for JB, that appeared on a compilation tape in 1997 that I’ll review later. The pastoral beauty of the piano and woodwind simplicity, albeit computer generated, of that track and the eponymous opening number make this tape a decent purchase, even if some of the longer, sombre pieces on side 2 are a bit of an ordeal to get through. I must admit I know nothing of the band, their members or other activities. Sometimes that doesn’t matter.
12. The Chemical Brothers: Brothers Gonna Work It Out. Another Bratislava banger. At a time when Surrender was pretty much a permanent soundtrack to my life in Slovakia, along with Shellac’s 1,000 Hurts, I was gifted this tape by a fella I worked with. Gary was more of a soul boy and this mega mix was a bit too big beat for him. I must admit that having this on tape is almost perverse as it should be used for mixing, if properly treated. That said it’s a solid, inspiring and in your face uplifting combination of many disparate sounds, from 60s soul to introspective indie. I’m not sure if I’ll listen to it much by myself, but it is decent artefact of a particular time, place and genre of theft and composition.
13. Brigid Corey: Guns and Songs of the IRA / Ray McAreavey: Irish Rebel Ballads. The second of the tapes duplicated for me by Flanners. Initially, I thought this was a pile of old toffee, which it is, but Brigid’s hysterically tremulous voice and comical insistence on screaming out the name of anything or anyone to do with Cork (no bad thing of course) make this an enjoyable, if not an edifying experience. Sean South from Garryowen wins the prize here, but a closing Soldier’s Song (what else?) is great value, on account of her managing both verses. As much fun as a late one in a Leeside hostelry. Ray McAreavey’s set is dull in contrast, both in choice of material and delivery, although a spirited James Connolly Was There is a decent shoutalong.
14. Cornershop: Woman’s Gotta Have It. Of all these cassettes, this promo tape that I reviewed glowingly in Paint It Red back in April 1995, includes one track that would make it on to any Desert Island selection I could be asked to make: 6AM Jullandar Shere. The single most ecstatic moment this wonderful band have produced, which is almost matched by the closing 7.20AM Jullandar Shere. Unfortunately, bar the brilliant Loaded-era pastiche Looking for a Way In, the rest of Woman’s Gotta Have It doesn’t consistently match up to the same exacting standards, though the French-language tabla and sitar driven My Dancing Days Are Done is a standout moment. Cornershop are still one of my all-time favourite bands like.
15. Drill: Killerism. Before Kev Wilkinson launched his Muza Muza label and Big Road Breaker (BRB) projects, he used to be the leading light behind South Shields’s extreme noise terrorists Drill. This tape was handed out at their Riverside gig on Holy Thursday, March 31st, 1994. If I remember correctly, it was one hell of a gig and, probably, the last time I saw them live. It’s almost 30 years ago now, but I sense Drill were too limiting for Kev’s musical visions. This tape was radical in its day, reaching out towards Ministry, Nine Inch Nails, Revolting Cocks and other industrial metal acts of the time, though it sounds tame compared to what Kev does these days. Then again, so does most stuff. Definitely an interesting historical curio.
16. Bob Dylan: John Wesley Harding. I bought this, my first ever Bob Dylan purchase, out of a bargain bin in a Benidorm gift shop in early April 1976. It was cut price, as it didn’t have a cover, so I made one of my own with a picture cut from an Observer magazine review of Desire, which became my first vinyl Dylan album, on the same day I also bought Highway 61 Revisited. Ironically, I bought what I thought was the album version of this from Tynemouth Market about a decade ago, only to find that the record was actually a badly scratched duplicate of Planet Waves. I kept the cover and chucked the disc in the bin. Anyway, this is another one of those indispensable run of Dylan albums from 65 through to 67 when he produced the best stuff of his career and some of the best records any human being has ever made. Listening to this tape again, I am transported back nearly 50 years to my pre-teenage bedroom and its rapidly expanding collection of music and books that I love to this day and will remain close to until I die.
17. The Fall: I Am Kurious Oranj. I didn’t get a CD player until October 1991, which meant I began to miss out on bonus tracks and remixes that didn’t come with vinyl releases. Very, and I mean very rarely I bought cassettes for the freebies they contained. This, which came out in November 1988, was one of them. Coming only 6 months on from the stunning Frenz Experiment album, this soundtrack to the play / ballet that MES had concocted with Michael Clark, it is a bit of a hit and miss affair that combined quality tracks that had to be shoehorned into a narrative that allegedly retold the story of William of Orange, together with dull bits of incidental music, written especially for the play. On the whole, I’d rather have bought the vinyl, even if it meant I would have missed out on the anonymous Guide me Soft.
18. Gerard Hoffnung: A Last Encore. Now this is definitely an acquired taste; acclaimed cartoonist and jobbing musician Gerard Hoffnung is repeatedly interviewed for the wireless by uptight, humourless American Charles Richardson. It leaves me on the floor in hysterics, as does Hoffnung’s magnificent address to the Oxford Union. A double cassette of spoken word silliness from an era when people sat in their drawing room, huddled round an open fire, giggling at silliness from the Bakelite set that brought the Home Service into their homes, in an austere post war world. Just lovely.
19. Jazzfinger / Big Road Breaker: Live at Surface Noise, 12 September 1997. Recorded in the much-missed Ridley place record shop on a Friday evening and then broadcast the same night on a short-lived local radio station, Has and Ben, as Jazzfinger, cook up a slow, tremulous stew of groaning undercurrents and guttural choking sounds of the swamp. Atmospheric it is too, without being as full on aggressive as BRB’s technological sonic assault. I was at this gig and remember the night, but not the music.
20. George Jones: Good Year for the Roses. Just as I’d remarked to myself as to the surprising quality of the sound on these long-ignored tapes, here came one of the major drawbacks on music on cassette. I’d been given this one when my old folks upgraded to a CD player in summer 1989 or thereabouts, which suited me just swell as the title track and White Lightning (covered so memorably by The Fall) are favourites of mine. Sadly, the tape was stretched beyond redemption and after an initial giggle at George sounding like a muppet on quaaludes, I realised this had potential to unspool in the player, so I pressed eject and sadly put it in the bin. Wonder what happened to my Mam’s CD of this one?
21.
The Mekons: So Good It Hurts. Now, this is the most
likely candidate for my Desert Island album of all the tapes I’ve heard so far.
I bought this at Leeds Astoria in March 1988, when The Mekons were
sharing a bill with Pere Ubu. It was a blinding gig, and this remains a
blinding album. The last one before they temporarily abandoned their hillbilly
incarnation in favour of an unhappy marriage with A&M as a rock
band, So Good It Hurts finds The Mekons in top gear throughout. The most famous number is Ghosts of
American Astronauts, but the highlights for me are the faux dub opener 1967
(I’m Not Here) and the pounding Fantastic Voyage. All in all, a very
special album by a very special band.
31. Jim Reeves: Waiting for a Train. Recorded live at the Grand Ol’ Opry, we get 20 tracks of almost hysterical, flamboyant intensity that suggest Jim and the lads were all hepped up on goofballs for this performance. Another cassette that was palmed off on me by the parents at some point in the mid-90s, it includes Bimbo and He’ll Have to Go, of course, though my favourite is the ludicrous Yonder Comes a Sucker. Destined for landfill if nobody expresses any interest, proving yet again that the capitalist crisis of overproduction is a real and compelling thing.
32. Alex Rex: Memory, Speak. Alex Neilson is a genius. Period. I love him and I love his music. I am also deeply saddened by the lack of new product issuing from the lad. So desperate am I to have Alex Rex music about the place that I actually purchased Memory, Speak in December 2021 as a download and I hate downloads. It came with a free cassette, which I’ve finally got round to listening to. Obviously, I’ve listened to the download and, equally, obviously it is a work of stunning beauty. This is the big Alex Rex band with Audrey Bizouerne on bass and Georgia Seddon on keyboards, as well as the ever-present Rory Haye on guitar, which means we get full blooded versions of Night Visiting Song, The Cruel Rule and Coward’s Song, but those three songs are only part of the 11-act tragedy that is Alex’s baleful, self-immolatory narrative. As I say, the bloke’s a genius and this is one of the top 5 tapes I’ve got on this list. Brutal and blindingly brilliant.
33. Seize the Infidels: Demo. The Nico gig at Rockshots in September 1985 I referred to before? Seize the Infidels were the support act. This was their demo tape I got hold of that night. Nearly 40 years on and the Beefheart meets The Fall style shuffling growl and grumble still appeals. The two tracks that open each side, Mock Tudor and Map of England respectively, are bloody great songs. They’ve got a fairly extensive Bandcamp archive, so if you’re wanting to explore more, go and check them out. Shame their best years were when I lived away from Newcastle.
34. Smashing Pumpkins: Cherub Rock. I saw Smashing Pumpkins twice at Riverside in 1992; February and August and, frankly, I was a little underwhelmed. Unlike Dinosaur Jr, for instance, I didn’t feel as if I was swimming in a pond of psychedelic soup or being punished with sound like Swans did to you. The only really good thing about them was the fact they didn’t play things too fast, which is always a positive in my book. I didn’t get Gish but Paint It Red provided me with the follow-ups to review and I really like Cherub Rock, which is both intense and melodic, but not as much as I love the b-side of this one. French Movie Theme is a seemingly inconsequential piece of piano and acoustic guitar led Serge Gainsbourg style Scopitone pop that dissolves into a very bizarre, distorted version of The Star-Spangled Banner.
35. Smashing Pumpkins. Siamese Dream. Starting off very strongly with the aforementioned Cherub Rock, Siamese Dream is the one album where Smashing Pumpkins make complete sense to me. Rhythmic, introspective and dripping in slow guitar solos, this is exactly what I like corporate rock to sound like. Alright so Corgan is a complete badly fraud, but on tracks like Hummer and Disarm he just gets everything right, no doubt assisted by Butch Vig, who layers shimmering guitar onto pounding drums, topped off by languid, disinterested vocals, lacking any histrionic overacting. I’ve not really bothered with much of their other stuff, but I do like this one.
36. Sun Ra & His Arkestra: Interplanetary Music. I really regret that I never got to visit Volcanic Tongue record shop when I was in Glasgow. Anywhere that had David Keenan and Alex Neilson behind the counter must have been worth a visit. Sadly, the times I made it up there, it was closed, but I did get a couple of things mail order from them; firstly, Keenan’s work with his partner Heather Leigh and a certain Thurston Moore, under the name of Dream Aktion Unit and, much later, this cassette, once they were winding down the business. I’m not a devotee of Sun Ra; indeed, this isn’t just the only thing I own in his name, but actually the only thing I’ve ever heard. It’s alright I suppose, but if anyone wants to relieve me of a slice of weirded-out Free Jazz nonsense, they’re welcome to it. I think I only paid a fiver for this, so it’s not as if I got mugged for it.
37. Swans: Live at Newcastle Riverside, 20 May 1988. Remember those old bootleg C90s you could pick up at record fairs for three quid? The muffled recordings made on a Walkman, wrapped up in a photocopied cover on coloured paper and blessed with a charmingly inaccurate set list. Here’s one that I bought in April 89, as I’d been at this gig the year before and was utterly besotted by Swans at the time. In October 1987 they’d toured the Children of God double album, which was probably them at their loudest, most punishing and fearsome. Consider this; their 90-minute set consisted of a grand total of 7 songs. I’d seen them two nights in a row at the Riverside and Leeds Poly, as I was living in Leeds at the time, doing my postgrad stuff. On both occasions I’d ended up with my head in the bass bin to Sex God Sex, and by the end of the second gig I couldn’t hear or even walk straight, as my inner ear was that affected by the sheer volume. Eight months later, Swans returned, and I travelled up home one Friday night to see the gig. Despite the sound quality, my memories of that evening over 35 years ago remain undiluted, with absolute killer versions of Let it Come Down and Sex God Sex, but also the cover version of Love Will Tear Us Apart that hinted at the next step in their journey. You know, if I’d listened to this tape a bit sooner, I may well have gone to see Swans at The Boiler Shop this August, even if tickets were about £35 or something mental.
38. Swans: Love of Life. After the apotheosis of sheer noise that was Children of God, Swans dialled it back a notch with the relatively mainstream The Burning World and the intense acoustic fury of White Light from the Mouth of Infinity, but didn’t tour the former extensively or the latter at all, so it was March 1992 after the release of Love of Life when I got to see Swans again, this time in Middlesbrough. I got to meet Michael Gira afterwards and he was a complete gentleman, who was very complimentary about the review I’d written for Paint it Red of this album. Thirty-one years on, I stand by it; I do wish I’d bought the CD rather than just having this tape though, as it means I’ve been denied access to some stunning music, including the title track and the anthemic closer, God Loves America, not forgetting the ethereal The Other Side of the World that Jarboe sings so beautifully.
39. Swell: 41. Released back in 1994, this is one of those abandoned jewels this exercise in sound archaeology has thrown up for me. San Francisco based and decidedly lo-fi, Swell’s first album on Beggars Banquet ended up on my slush pile at Paint It Red. I remember reviewing it very positively, but that’s the last I got to hear of the band who, I’ve just discovered, have recently reformed as a tribute to their former singer and main songwriter, David Freel, who passed last year. I hope he had a good life, as 41 is a worthy footprint to leave the world to remember him by.
40. That Petrol Emotion: Manic Pop Thrill. Sadly, this is totally unlistenable as the tape is stretched beyond any practical use. Of course, as TPE are one of my favourite bands and I’ve known them and followed their career since 1985, I simply can’t throw this out. I didn’t buy it on record at the time it came out, as I was at university, without funds or a record player. I actually got hold of it in 2000, from a second-hand shop on Cowley Road in Oxford, for a couple of quid, so I don’t feel like I was defrauded. I’ll stick with Babble and the rest of their superb output instead.
41. John Trubee: Sampler. The RE/Search publication Pranks, which was basically an account of cod-Situationist misbehaviour in the 60s, 70s and 80s, by such notable counter cultural US slackers as Timothy Leary, Abbie Hoffman, Monte Cazazza, Jello Biafra, Joe Coleman, Karen Finley, John Waters and Henry Rollins and their, generally unsuccessful, attempts to challenge the sovereign authority of words, images and behavioural convention. The book was very influential, and it led me to contact the erstwhile leader of the bizarre band, The Ugly Janitors of America, a certain John Trubee, who is my Facebook pal to this day. John’s finest achievement was writing the incredible faux C&W nonsense Blind Man’s Penis. This opens the tape and is probably the only thing worth listening to, as the rest of the side is full of unfunny prank phone calls to various massage parlours, pizza takeaways and random members of the public. Side 2 is a load of semi-unlistenable noise by The Ugly Janitors of America dying on stage. As I say, Blind Man’s Penis is wonderful. The rest isn’t.
42. Unrest: Fuck Pussy Galore (& all her friends). A real tragedy this one. The gloriously obscure Washington state natives behind the criminally ignored Teenbeat Records, Unrest, put out a cassette only compilation of their long unavailable early stuff in late 1993, cashing in on their late career interest in their brilliant Perfect Teeth album, which I still play frequently. Sadly this cassette became another casualty of time, moisture and neglect, as it unspooled while playing and became hopelessly entangled on the tape heads. It was snapped and ruined, so I had no option but to throw it away. A real tragedy.
43. Tom Waits: Goin’ Out West. A 1992 promo cassingle (remember those?) from old gravel voice’s Bone Machine album. I’m not a Waits afficionado, but I like everything I’ve ever heard by him, and this is no exception. Actually, the style of it does seem an exception to his usual stuff; a thudding, percussive beat underpins the song, which made it very appealing the first time I heard it. There’s another track from Bone Machine on here, A Little Rain, but the one that catches my imagination and ear is the subtle piano led The Ocean. A minor curio that I’m delighted still to own.
44. The Wedding Present: Live at Windsor Old Trout, 28 October 1993. Back to bootlegs. This time an official one, which was released when David Gedge was more concerned with getting his music out there, rather than bolstering his pension plan. Obviously, having been selected for release, this is a top notch set, both in terms of choice of material and the actual performance. Considering it was in their hiatus between 1992’s Hit Parade and 1994’s Watusi (of which more soon), this iteration of the band are superbly focussed, especially on an enthralling Cat Woman that would have been new to the audience. Perverse as ever, they open and close the set with two other cuts from Watusi, namely Let Him Have It and So Long Baby.
45. The Wedding Present: Watusi. Ironically, So Long Baby kicks off this album, which was a forgotten gem of a release, long unavailable after Island deleted it, that came belatedly into the spotlight after The Wedding Present toured it in 2014. At that gig, at The Cluny, David Gedge inquired of the audience as to what format they had of the album and burst out laughing when I told him I had it on cassette. Indeed, when I’d seen The Wedding Present on that tour at Newcastle University in October 1994, I got Gedge to sign the promo cassette and CD singles of Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah, which could be the finest song on the album. Other than Click Click and Cat Woman of course, not forgetting Spangle and Gazebo. Goodness, this is an absolute belter of an album. I’m furious that, having ignored Newcastle on the 24 Songs tour, TWP aren’t coming our way when the play Watusi again next year. Twats.
46. Various: Bend It 93. One of those early 90s compilations of football related songs that were released by both Cherry Red and El Records (there’s a track here by renowned French football writer Phillipe Auclair under his indiepop alias Louis Phillipe; not that it’s any good). As this about the fifth in the series, there’s an element of barrel scraping going on, though a few tracks are worth investigating. Franz Beckenbauer’s effeminate monotone on Ein zu Null fur Deine Leibe is an amusing diversion, as is Godley and Crème’s instrumental Funky Manchester City, the frankly weird Soccer Boppers by The Posh but the best of all is Johnny Cobnut’s endearing Ipswich Town Calypso. The rest you could easily dispense with. See also tape #50.
47. Various: C86. There’s already a book about this seminal tape that I really must read. Sadly, I’ll not be listening to the cassette again as, having got through side 1, where The Bodines and Stump wipe the floor with the rest, my machine chewed up the tape just as The Close Lobsters started on Firestation Towers. I have to say that, having had this tape since it came out in April 1986, I felt quite emotional as I unspooled the chewed-up wreckage of a specific set of memories and threw it in the bin. Oh well; I’ll just have to get the CD and pretend it is the same. Doubt I can bear to throw the inlay card away mind.
48. Various: Dry Humour. This came free with a box of Stella, which was the kind of marketing strategy that I could get in bed with. That’s surprising as, other than Stewart Lee, I don’t like comedy. Not because I don’t have a sense of humour, but because I don’t like comedians. Frankly only the Stephen Wright section can make me laugh, though the Paul Calf and Jo Brand bits are alright. Sean Hughes, Eddy Izzard and Fry & Laurie completely get on my tits, but then they always did.
49. Various: Field Trip. Free with the NME, containing 5 bands on stage at that year’s Glastonbury. Something worthy from Belly, something awful from Suede, something stoned from The Lemonheads, something dull by Spiritualized and then the only reason I’ve kept hold of this; Teenage Fanclub with a storming take on Alex Chilton’s Free Again. Thirty years on and it still sounds immense.
50. Various: Football Crazy. Another cash-in compilation (see #46), but as it is from 1995, there’s even less decent stuff to choose from. Despite the appearance of a couple of NUFC related numbers by the bastard son of Marshall McLuhan, the infamous Harry Palmer, all that’s worth listening to are the wonderful Soccer Fan by Real Sounds of Africa and the disturbing Alouette by David Webb. Yes, that David Webb.
51. Various: Gigantic! A superb compilation from the back end of 1988 that came with Melody Maker. I mean there is some shite on here (no names; no pack drill), but there’s also The House of Love (Shine On), Band of Holy Joy (Killy Car Thieves), Ultra Vivid Scene (Lynn Marie), Wire (Kidney Bingos), My Bloody Valentine (Slow), Dinosaur Jr (Freak Scene), Swans (Trust Me), Sonic Youth (Teenage Riot) and The Pixies (I Bleed). Now that’s what I call music…
52. Various: Good Evening, We Are Not The Fall. When I first became aware of the internet, I didn’t go looking for pornography, you’ll be astonished to learn, but for stuff related to The Fall. I discovered Fall.net which was the biggest store of stuff imaginable related to your pal MES and his lads. Of course, lots of it was rubbish and this tape of alleged Fall cover versions that came out in 1996 is possibly the worst of the lot. Other than Mohammed Salam’s take on Jerusalem, which isn’t really a Fall song anyway, there’s nothing worthy of your attention here. A load of smug Frat boy wankstains who think they know best, attempting to update and rewrite Fall songs in their own inimitable way. I thought it was rubbish at the time. Coming at it from 25 years later, it’s far worse than that.
53. Various: Humbug. This tape was given away free with Dissident magazine in 1993. I don’t recall that publication, nor do I remember how I ended up with this tape in my possession. In fact, other than Captain Sensible and TV Smith’s Cheap, I’ve never heard of any of the musicians on here. It’s that kind of southern English whimsy I tend to associate with El and Cherry Red permeating this release, but there is one outstandingly beautiful song. Martin Newell has been in The Cleaners from Venus for 43 years; I’ve heard the name, but nothing by them. Under his own name Newell performs the achingly melancholic Boy from the Home Counties. It’s a glorious moment and enough to make me want to find out more about him. The rest don’t impress at all.
54. Various: Mixed Peel. Another one from the NME in late 1987, in collaboration with Strange Fruit. The line-up is, frankly, stellar: Wire, Robert Wyatt, Gang of Four, The Slits, The Birthday Party, Culture, That Petrol Emotion and, of course, The Fall. Considering there’s nothing less that 38 years old on here, it’s an absolutely mighty listen. Nostalgic and righteous.
55. Various: Muza Muza. As I’ve mentioned earlier, Cathedra’s sepulchral Song for JB pricked my interest when I first heard this tape. It was handed out to those attending the Jazzfinger and Big Road Breaker event at Surface Noise back in September 1997. I’ve not listened to this tape much, I have to admit and, looking back over quarter of a century, many of the electronic pieces have not lasted the test of time. However, there is a glorious minimalist guitar piece called Quartz by Ashtray Navigations as well as a trademark sonic inferno from Culver that I rather enjoyed.
56. Various: Outlaw Blues. Along with football compilations, another early 90s fad was the tribute album, whereby a load of artists, some of dubious ability, covered a legendary figure’s greatest hits and some of their lesser-known moments as well. Illuminated Records were big movers in this scene, and I’ve still got all 3 volumes of their Velvet Underground tribute series, Heaven and Hell. This, which was a review copy for Paint it Red from late 1992, is a Bob Dylan tribute. As it concentrates on the golden period of 1965 to 1968, the material is of a uniformly high standard, so there aren’t really any duffers on here. My favourites are a very breathy Spirea-X addressing It Ain’t Me Babe and a superbly thrashy garage version of Sitting on a Barbed Wire Fence by Thurston Moore, Kim Gordon and Epic Soundtracks (RIP), though a seriously sinister Isis by The Poster Children is worth a listen too.
57. Various: The Tape with No Name. I used to be quite a fan of Alt Country back in the day (this tape was given away free with the NME back in 1987), but I lost interest when I heard Ryan Adams, who makes me ill, and that Americana Festival started at The Sage, which legitimises the Jumpin’ Hot club nonsense.
So, having gone through all 57 tapes, with 54 surviving and 53 still in listenable condition, discounting Dylan and Alex Rex from my list as I know those albums inside out, I’d suggest the following are gems I’ve rediscovered that I could never be parted with -:
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Cornershop: Woman’s Gotta Have It
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The Mekons: So Good It Hurts
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Missy X: Edit Yrself
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Pavement: Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain
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Smashing Pumpkins: Cherub Rock
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The Wedding Present: Watusi
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Various: Gigantic
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Various: Outlaw Blues
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