Comprised of sisters Karen and Shelly Poole, Alisha's Attic were probably one of the first groups that I ever truly embraced: actively searching for all their singles, and repeatedly listening to their music. Their 1996 debut, 'Alisha Rules The World', is still one of my favourite albums and I continue to play it regularly (and not just as a nostalgic attempt to remember when I was a teenager). Soon after their third album in 2001, 'The House We Built', they were sadly dropped by Mercury Records and the duo ceased recording together.
Four years later, I discovered that a fourth self-produced album had been made available by the girls. 'The Attic Vaults 1' (a 'Vaults 2' was apparently planned) was a collection of previously unreleased songs that had never made it onto their previous albums, and so the tracks were put together as a final thank-you to their fans. Needless to say, I bought a copy as quickly as possible and soaked up the "new" music.
The penultimate tune, 'Stay Will U Stay', is the stand-out track for me and definitely deserved to have reached a wider audience, although it is difficult to find a place for it amongst the songs on their three albums. With just piano accompanying the sisters' always-beautiful harmonies, the track feels stripped back and raw, a sound that is complemented fully by the sincere lyrics. Perhaps if it had been included on a previous release then further instrumentation may have been added during production, but I am glad that it has remained as it is: a tender, gorgeous reminder of what Karen and Shelly Poole achieved together.
As with Nik Kershaw's 'So Quiet', 'Stay Will U Stay' is on the list of music I intend to transcribe into a piano score one day.
Since Alisha's Attic, both of the sisters have remained in the music industry: Karen has successfully written for many other musicians whilst Shelly has also continued to record, both as a solo artist and in current band Red Sky July.
Back in the day, I used to frequent a music website called PeopleSound (as mentioned in this previous post). The site no longer exists anymore, but I used to enjoy visiting it and using its search tool. By inputting the name of a band or artist that I liked, it would recommend something to me. Not something obvious that I might hear on the radio, but something new from an unsigned or just-signed artist that regarded my chosen band as an inspiration.
During one of my first visits, I was basking in the back-catalogue of Tears For Fears, so I naturally asked PeopleSound what it could offer me. One of the first results was a guy called Dean Freeman, and his song How Does It Feel?. After listening, I soon downloaded a couple of other tracks he was offering, then found his official website which had one extra track on offer.
Today, his website no longer exists. I can find only a couple of references to Dean and his music that aren't just within a list of mp3 files. His career as a musician, it seems, was shortlived. I recall that he was also involved in production and so perhaps he continued to walk down that avenue instead.
Really, I shouldn't mourn that he didn't release any other music. There are hundreds of thousands of musicians that release good stuff and yet never "make it", or fail to be discovered by the right person, or decide not to pursue that particular dream, or just lose motivation and allow it all to fade away. It's a fact of life in the music industry: only a very, VERY, tiny percentage of people ever approach a point where they might call themselves "a success".
But as for this guy...
Dean Freeman was one of the first artists that I listened to away from the radio, or from personal recommendations. His music represents one of the first times that I felt I was discovering something for myself and, at that time (potentially anywhere between 1999 and 2003), that was a big deal for me. I tried to find out as much as possible about his music but, naturally, found very little. In my somewhat childish naivete, I started to set up a fan page and contacted Dean by email requesting the possibility of conducting an e-interview. From what I remember, his reply was understandably cynical; asking what form my website was going to take, and what I intended. I saw sense in the end, and didn't proceed with the 'project'.
My fan-website never saw the light of day and, unusually for me, I don't think I have any old floppy discs with the files on it. His own website no longer exists. All that remains is a couple of old references on websites such as EmoSonic (2008) and The Muse's Muse (2007).
So here I am now, talking about a musician that very little people have probably ever heard of, that never really made it, and that doesn't really seem to exist anymore. And yet, somewhat amusingly, his music actually means something to me because it represents a period in my life when I started finding music with a little more independence. Perhaps then, this is my eulogy for his career as a recording artist.
His one release which was available digitally and as a physical CD (which I stupidly never purchased, so I guess I'm as much to blame for not fully supporting his endeavours!) was his EP: Give Me Time.
Give Me Time EP
1. Give Me Time
2. Rain
3. Something I Can't See.
[currently seems to be downloadable at EmoSonic and CampFame, amongst others]
Curiously, the first track that I ever heard, and my favourite, is How Does It Feel?, which doesn't actually seem to feature on the EP. It definitely had the production values of both the early and revived forms of Tears for Fears, some nicely distorted background vocals, and a confident guitar. From the EP, the title track stands out above the others , but Something I Can't See is notably different due to a piano taking control. If you were to pressure me into making a comparison (which, to be honest, I'm generally quite happy to do) I'd draw a strong parallel with White Ladder-era David Gray.
Maybe someone else out there also downloaded the mp3s like I did, and still enjoys them the way I do. Maybe there's some CDs of his EP still floating around in the world, regularly listened to by someone else who wishes there could have been more.
Whether an artist "makes it" or not, their music still could have something to offer.
Thanks, Dean. You were one of the first important steps along my own, personal, musical road.
...
Sadly, there's no YouTube video I can link to, no SoundCloud widget to play his music. So I shall reiterate that the Give Me Time EP can be found to download at a couple of places such as:
There are a few albums in my collection that I consider to be perfection. I don't necessarily mean that there's no room for improvement, or that every single song is amazing. It's more to do with my willingness to listen to the album as a whole, without feeling like a track is just filling a gap, without any temptation to skip, without any desire to move on to something else.
Sarah McLachlan's Surfacing is one of those albums.
Her fourth studio album, and with great success preceding it, you'd have thought that maybe I'd have heard of her before. But I hadn't. Whether's it is due to Britain not receiving very much in the way of music from Canada, or just down to my listening habits back then (I was still very much exploring 80's music at that time, rather than anything new), I was entirely unaware of her or her music. The first time I listened to anything she had created was when I put Surfacing in the CD player for the first time.
I was sent the album by a girl from America. I was very surprised to receive it; I don't think I was expecting any kind of gift at all, it just turned up one day. Back then, when I must have been about fifteen, I was involving myself in an online, long-distance relationship with this girl. Regardless of how I now look back on that time and whether or not it was "silly", or "adolescent", and whether or not it could even be regarded as a "real" relationship, the fact remains that for a few months I felt as thought I was in love with someone I'd never even met. At the time, I'm sure it seemed as though it lasted a long, long time but, if I try and remember, I'm sure that it might just have been throughout a Summer. Either way, my fifteen-year-old self felt as though it was all very real indeed.
We had already broken apart by the Winter, but still remained in touch a little. And then one morning in December I came downstairs to find a small parcel with the CD and a Christmas card inside. She had sent me Surfacing, and later mentioned to me that she knew I would like it.
I did like it. I do like it. I love it.
The album is incredibly introspective and, at times, certainly has a rather depressing air about it. For my mid-teens it was probably a perfect choice as - although not actually going through anything particularly horrible or life-changing - I sometimes felt like I needed to be a little forlorn and morose sometimes. Surfacing gave me an easy way to lie down on my bed for forty minutes, and not do anything else except listen intently. The sleeve did not include the lyrics (a pet hate, to be honest), so I scoured the Internet for them and printed them so that I could sit and read along... eventually singing along. I did this goodness knows how many times. The lyrics are now permanently ingrained in my memory, I'll be surprised if I ever struggle to recall them in the future.
The connection between this album and the girl who sent it to me still exists to some extent. I mean, I don't hear a song and find myself thinking about what once was. No. I just remember the circumstances that led me to receiving it, and how it became my solace for an end of a relationship. It later got played a few times when spending time with my first real/serious girlfriend, and probably a few times after it ended I suspect.
Nowadays, I don't often find the time to just sit and listen to an album without distraction. If any chance exists it tends to be whilst driving, but there's a certain amount of concentration that is required for that! However, from time to time, a single song from Surfacing will pop up on my iPod, and I'll feel compelled to listen to the album as a whole once again.
It peaks and troughs wonderfully from an ever-so-slightly upbeat starting track of Building A Mystery (and therefore the obvious choice of single), sliding down into moments that describe isolation and despair and regret, then pulls you back up into one of my favourite tracks: Sweet Surrender. It takes no prisoners as again there's a dip of sadness, an acceptance of loss, a recovery... then the final instrumental track with the beautifully haunting sound of the saw being played.
I have most of Sarah McLachlan's other albums but none of them compare to Surfacing. Whether the nostalgic links makes it difficult for something to come close, I don't know. Would I feel differently if I had just stumbled upon the album myself somewhere? It's difficult to say. All I know is that it came along at exactly the right time for me to develop a bond with it that still continues over a decade later, and I think that's one of the most meaningful ways for music to exist.
"Music is the fourth great material want, first food, then clothes, then shelter, then music." - Christian Nevell Bovee
Okay, so... just had a big surprise. My intention was to write about this song with reference to certain moments it reminds me of. Yep, just a little nostalgia-spree again. In the moments before writing the first words, I took a look at the Wikipedia page for it just to check the date it was released. Had a little surprise from the first paragraph.
This is a COVER VERSION?!
In all the years that I have loved this song, I assumed that it was written by (or, at the very least, for) Annie Lennox. Turns out that it was originally written and sung by a group from the 1980's called The Lover Speaks, who gained a recording contract with a little help from Lennox's Eurythmics band mate Dave Stewart. The group also toured with The Eurythmics. I can only assume that Annie Lennox heard it enough times to decide she wanted a go at it.
The original version is very mid-80's in all the ways I love and adore in so many songs. I hear similarities to Simple Minds, as well as power-ballad groups like Cutting Crew and Mister Mister. If it had been on one of the Weetabix cassettes that I mentioned in a previous post, and therefore I'd have spent my early years listening to it repeatedly, I'm sure I would have been eagerly spouting facts about the original when Annie Lennox released her cover.
But it wasn't. And I'm not.
I prefer Lennox's version by miles. I always struggle to answer the question, "What's your favourite song?" but this is certainly somewhere on the long list. The introduction alone (a single synth chord before the 'Do be do be's) makes me feel excited for the rest of the song and, as a whole, the song feels a little darker and honest in her version. The mid-section features talk of monsters and sounds of laughing (giving me those 'moment shivers' I talked about in a previous post) . It's... weird, yes, somewhat ethereal, but entirely fitting with the rest of the song.
"I used to have demons, in my room at night. Desire, despair, desire, so many monsters."
And, oh!, one of Annie's final calls of 'You' that hits that higher note: it completes the song for me, somehow.
How on earth do you describe what makes you love a song so much? Lyrically, I have never found it particularly easy to translate and understand yet I've always managed to feel like there's some kind of story going on. The feeling the song gives me is that of fallen relationships, and a difficulty in finding a way to move on.
The original version, personally, just doesn't sound quite so heartfelt. The passion and audible pain that exists in Lennox's cover just isn't present when I hear The Lover Speaks. I apologise to all the fans of the original, and I'm sure they would scream in protest at my disregard for it. Sorry.
Aside from the pure beauty of the song itself when Lennox sings it, her version also reminds me of a couple of things. The first is going to a youth club as an eleven(ish)-year-old, and the song playing on a stereo in the main hall. Somebody went to skip it (probably preferring to find something a little more upbeat and party-appropriate), and asked if anybody minded. I piped up that, yes, I minded. In remembering this specific event, I also end up recalling other moments from spending time at that club: notably having a huge crush on a girl there, and all the silly little feelings that went with that.
Secondly, this song also reminds me of when my sister went and bought me a copy of Lennox's album Medusa. I had bought the single of No More "I Love You's" and played it incessantly, so my sister clearly thought I'd enjoy the rest of the album. So, yep, she bought it for me. And my response when she was about to hand it to me?
"Why did you buy me that? I didn't ask for it, did I?!"
Wow, I was a real brat :)
Needless to say, it was about a decade later when I actually bought the album for myself since, understandably, my sister decided not to give me the gift.
As a final note, this song has given me one extra pleasing surprise today. I was humming it whilst wandering the house and in walked my girlfriend, back from work. She heard me, and began to sing the 'Do be do be do do do... a-aaa' vocals. I very quickly learnt that she loves this song, and loves Annie Lennox. Musical connections like this are important to me, so it makes me very happy indeed.
"Ah, music! A magic beyond all we do here" -JK Rowling (Harry Potter & The Philosopher's Stone)
A friend of mine over at Reverberations and PlugInMusic reminded me of this song a week ago. Not that I'd forgotten about it as such, I just hadn't listened to it recently. The main reason for this is almost certainly because I've not been using my iPod lately - opting for the radio instead (a topic to write about later) - and I invariably end up listening to this song when I shuffle my way through my collection. I usually hit upon it by chance, or when noticing Pulp as I scroll down through the list of artists, and then end up playing it several times in a row (also a topic to write about later).
I don't know when I first heard Disco 2000. My guess is that I probably was aware of it when it first hit the airwaves because I don't feel as though I arrived at it particularly late, but I think I've embraced it a lot more in the last ten years. As with pretty much everything I've talked about in previous posts, there is a certain amount of nostalgia in this song. However, rather than it reminding me of a particular moment of my life, the song instead seems to make me long for something to be specifically nostalgic about. There's a lot in the song that I do connect with and/or remember connecting with (unrequited love and affection, teenage jealousy, lost friendship, etc.), but I cannot say that I've ever felt as though I will one day meet up with somebody I was once very close with and have some rekindling of desire. And that's not just because I'm happily with someone now, anyway. I just don't have that kind of personal history; at least not to the full extent that the song discusses.
"Let's all meet up in the year 2000 Won't it be strange when we're all fully grown Be there, 2'o'clock, by the fountain down the road."
I don't have a crush I've been clinging onto for years, waiting to see them once again. I never chuckled to myself how things might be so very different in the future. And, because I went to a single-sex school for most of my teenage years, there wasn't much opportunity for me to be enraged by my friends fooling around with the girl I longed for in school... there were no girls.
So how can I get nostalgic about something when it doesn't seem as though I can relate to it?
"Deborah do you recall? Your house was very small, with woodchip on the wall. When I came around to call, You never noticed me at all."
I guess it's... hmm... empathetic nostalgia, perhaps? I can understand what Jarvis Cocker is singing about, even if the specifics don't match my own past, and I can get wistful about 'Deborah' even though she doesn't exist to me.
Sure, it's not totally unrelated. There are some links. I've liked people that have thought nothing of me, and I've watched people become close to a girl I've desired. But I guess I feel as though Disco 2000 succeeds in getting me to remember things that, actually, never happened. I may as well have fallen for 'Deborah' when I was at school because I feel that angst as I sing along.
Incidentally, none of the above is why my friend mentioned the song. She just wanted to know what 'woodchip' was. In the process of explaining, she asked whether I had heard Nick Cave's version of the song. I hadn't, even though it turns out I own it.
It's quite a different sound. I'm a big fan of taking a fast-paced song and trying to slow it down (hence trying to do a couple myself), and that is what Cave has done with the song. It's a nice enough version in my opinion, and he's typically nonchalant in his vocals, but I guess I just don't get the same feeling from it - and I miss that. I don't really get any feeling at all from it. It is, as I say, "nice enough".
Keane (a favourite band of mine) also did a cover of Disco 2000, and played it safe with a straight cover. I like Keane, their version sounds good, but still... I just don't feel the same way about it. Without Jarvis, I guess I just don't get the same kick out of the song.
So, Pulp all the way for Disco 2000.
Final thought: Apparently most of the song was based on true events except, according to Cocker, "The only bit that isn't true is the woodchip wallpaper".
"You are the music while the music lasts" -T.S.Eliot
