Alisha's Attic - Stay Will U Stay

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.

Alisha's Attic:

Facebook: www.facebook.com/AlishasAttic

Wikipedia: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alisha's_Attic

Karen Poole:

Twitter: twitter.com/kazpoole

Official: www.karenpoolemusic.com

Shelly Poole:

Twitter: twitter.com/shellypoole

"Songwriting's a weird game" - Keith Richards

The Singing Sheep - Baa-Baa Black Sheep

When Richard Branson's Virgin Records made its first fortune with the million-selling 'Tubular Bells' from Mike Oldfield, the opportunities for the next step must have been countless, astonishing, heaven-sent...

Apparently not.

The company was still seen as being too small compared to the big names, so signing other groups was proving difficult.

Fortunately for my childhood, Branson made an interesting decision when his auntie, Claire Hoare, told him about the singing talents of one of her sheep. A crew of sound engineers went sent to her flock in Norfolk, and began recording the sheep in question - plus a collection of other farmyard animals.

Via the wonders of 80's technology, the baas, clucks, quacks, and moos were pitch-altered and spliced together to form a single that was released just in time for Christmas: "Baa-Baa Black Sheep". Beginning as just an ovine version of the nursery-rhyme, it follows a chicken-based crescendo with the inclusion of drums and synth and then, obviously, throws in a portion of Tchaikovsky's '1812 Overture' for good measure.

Oh, and the B-side? "Flock Around The Clock"

When the record was released in 1982, I was still three months away from being born. However, it somehow avoided being thrown out once the novelty had worn off, and so I had the pleasure of listening to it many times during my early years. I recall at least one member of my family finding the song "a little creepy".

I still own the record which remains in surprisingly good condition, especially considering my clumsy ways with the record player's stylus when I was a kid. Sadly I no longer have a turntable on which to play it, but YouTube (as always) provides the audio of my past.

"Baa" - A Sheep

Goto80 - Last Christmas (Hot Digi Remix)

It's that time of year and, once again, there is a definite slew of Christmas-themed records vying for our attention from all the latest and greatest singers and bands out there.

With that in mind I've ignored the whole lot of them and gone back almost a decade to enjoy 2003's release from Goto80 - a Swedish chiptune musician who works primarily with the Commodore 64 computer (my own personal favourite). Although listed as a 2005 release in his discography, Goto80's cover of Wham!'s 'Last Christmas' was included on the 2003 compilation 'The 8bits of Christmas' from 8bitpeoples, a collection of eight Christmas songs created by artists on a variety of different classic machines (NES, GameBoy, Spectrum, VIC20, etc.).

I've chosen to highlight Goto80's song because it not only gets my nostalgic juices flowing for the Commodore 64, and I also happen to quite like the Wham! original anyway, but because it's a pretty good cover version within the chosen medium. Naturally - considering the limitations of the equipment used - there are no vocals, but the tune progresses nicely from a relatively simple interpretation of the chorus before introducing different elements to vary and fill out the sound. The verses are mostly ignored, but I think that was the right decision to take in this case where voice cannot be included.

All in all, this is an enjoyable and festive song from a highly regarded composer within the chiptune scene and well worth a listen by anyone with a hankering for something a little retro.

Official: www.goto80.com
Collective: www.8bitpeoples.com
Twitter: twitter.com/goto80

"Pop music is aspirin and the blues are vitamins" - Peter Tork

Kid Jensen's Chart Blasters - Various Artists

So far, the most popular post here is about the Top Trax cassettes that were given away by Weetabix in the 1980s. Judging by the comments left on the page, I can only assume that there are lots of people out there that get as nostalgic about these kinds of things as I do.

Those Weetabix tapes got an awful lot of play when I was a child, but if there was one other cassette that could possibly have been put in the player more times then it would have to be yet another tape that was given away back in the 80's.

Smiths crisps (which later became part of the PepsiCo group, and thus some of the products became labelled as Walkers instead) gave away a 10-song track cassette in 1986. David "Kid" Jensen was the celebrity used to give the mix some credibility as he'd been a radio regular throughout the 70's and 80's and, when this tape was released, had made a move from Radio 1 to Capital FM as well as making a start in television.

The album's title is incredibly eighties: "Kid Jensen's Chart Blasters"

"Kid Jensen's Chart Blasters... from Smiths!"

My sister and I adored this tape and, as with the Weetabix cassettes, I am certain that my relationship with music was forged and moulded by it.

Before the music began on Side One, Kid Jensen himself provided a little introduction that still remains deeply ingrained in my brain. Sadly, the actual tape itself was accidentally left in a car that got sold/scrapped and so no longer can I listen to those immortal words:

"Hi, I'm Kid Jensen, and I've got together with the people at Smiths to bring you a hot selection of chart blasting hits. You'll be hearing from The Bangles, King, Cyndi Lauper and Paul Young, D.C. Lee, Bonnie Tyler, Shakin' Stevens, Dead or Alive, Alison Moyet and Michael Jackson! So get on your feet and jump to the beat with Kid Jensen's Chart Blasters... from Smiths!"

And then The Bangles' Manic Monday would begin.

In fact, we became so used to listening to the tape that whenever I hear one of the songs being played today, I always expect to then hear the intro to the next track off the tape. It seems a little wrong when Cyndi Lauper's Girls Just Wanna Have Fun doesn't begin as King's Taste Of Your Tears ends. But then, that's what custom digital playlists are for these days.

So, for those of you who remember the tape but don't remember what was on it, here's the track listing:

Side One:
1. Manic Monday - The Bangles
2. Taste Of Your Tears - King
3. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun - Cyndi Lauper
4. Every Time You Go Away - Paul Young
5. See The Day - D.C. Lee

Side Two:
1. Holding Out For A Hero - Bonnie Tyler
2. Turning Away - Shakin' Stevens
3. You Spin Me Round (Like A Records) - Dead or Alive
4. All Cried Out - Alison Moyet
5. Thriller - Michael Jackson

"Music is forever; music should grow and mature with you, following you right on up until you die" - Paul Simon

Surfacing - Sarah McLachlan

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

Weetabix Top Trax / Top Trax II - Various Artists

One of my first posts here talked about the song Young At Heart by The Bluebells; a song that I know and love, and has some good memories associated with it. Chances are that the only reason I know it so well is because we had it on a cassette tape that came free (with tokens, I suspect) from Weetabix breakfast cereal. The tape itself was given away during 1985, the song was originally released in 1984, and I was born in 1983. So I suspect that, without the tape kicking around my house, I wouldn't have ordinarily listened to it a great deal due to being so young when it was out.

But we did have the cassette.

In fact, we had several. Weetabix did two sets of tapes, one in 1985 and one in 1986, known as Top Trax and - imaginatively - Top Trax II. Each cassette has two songs on each side. I'm not sure how many tapes there were altogether. I still have six, and I believe that is all we ever had. Five from the original set, and one from Top Trax II.

I've had several visits to my post about The Bluebells track, which mentions the Weetabix tapes, so I've decided I'd mention all the tapes I have. Partly because I like listing stuff, partly because some people may be genuinely interested and (most importantly of all, considering the purpose of this blog) because these tapes defined my listening habits and tastes for quite some time.

From a very young age, these cassettes were played repeatedly. At first, played around/to me, but then later played by me. Long car journeys meant my sister and I bringing the cassettes along with us and shouting, "Mum! Change the tape!" after every four songs. I regard those six tapes as a single album of 28 tracks and, since I now own each of the songs on CD or MP3, I often consider compiling them into a Top Trax playlist so I can once again listen to them as a whole.

Here's my collection of the tapes:

Weetabix Top Trax/II Cassettes

And here's a list of what was on each of them (again, I point out that I don't have all of the tapes that were ever given away, so this is just a list of those I have):

Brian's Cassette:
1.1. Haircut One Hundred - Fantastic Day
1.2. Nik Kershaw - I Won't Let The Sun Go Down On Me
2.1. The Bluebells - Young At Heart
2.2. New Edition - Candy Girl

Bixie's Cassette:
1.1. Nik Kershaw - Wouldn't It Be Good
1.2. Bucks Fizz - My Camera Never Lies
2.1. Billy Ocean - Caribbean Queen
2.2. Irene Cara - Fame

Dunk's Cassette:
1.1. Thompson Twins - Doctor! Doctor!
1.2. Tears For Fears - Shout
2.1. Dexy's Midnight Runners - Come On Eileen
2.2. Kirsty MacColl - There's A Guy Works Down The Chip Shop Swears He's Elvis

Crunch's Cassette:
1.1. Tears For Fears - Mad World
1.2. Big Country - Wonderland
2.1. The Jam - Beat Surrender
2.2. Status Quo - The Wanderer

Brain's Cassette (this is the one with a torn label, so I don't know which side is which):
?.1. Bucks Fizz - If You Can't Stand The Heat
?.2. Thomson Twins - We Are Detective
?.1. Bananarama - Robert De Niro's Waiting
?.2. ABC - The Look Of Love

Bixie's Cassette - Top Trax II:
1.1. Thomson Twins - Don't Mess With Doctor Dream
1.2. Tears For Fears - Head Over Heels
2.1. Five Star - System Addict
2.2. Baltimora - Tarzan Boy

For me, the three standout artists from that bunch are Nik Kershaw, Tears for Fears, and Thompson Twins. Mainly because, several years later, I got myself the greatest hits CDs of each of these and discovered other songs that have gone on to become particular favourites. And there is no doubt that my enjoyment of music from the 1980's began with these tapes.

EDIT (05/08/12): I have just realised that I must own at least one other tape, because I'm certain that Nik Kershaw's Wide Boy was a featured track. When I return home, I must search...

EDIT (08/08/12): Yep, I actually have one other tape:

Brian's Cassette - Top Trax II:
1.1 Nik Kershaw - Wide Boy
1.2 Big Country - Look Away
2.1 Bronski Beat - Hit That Perfect Beat
2.2 Jim Diamond - Hi Ho Silver

Weetabix Top Trax II - Brian's Cassette

The photo above also shows how awesome my mum was, in that she'd type little inlays for all the cassettes, just to make life easier searching for the tape we particularly wanted. To be honest, I'm surprised I forgot about this one. Side 1 must have been played an awful lot.

"People go to movies or listen to music because they want to be inspired" - Daphne Zuniga

Habits : Rediscovery

In a previous post, I mentioned how I tend to alter between listening to the radio and listening to my iPod, because I start to get anxious about either neglecting a collection of music I already own (and much of which I might not have heard of), or about missing out on something new. One thing that both options can offer me though, is rediscovery.

Generally, if I'm listening to the radio during the day, then I am listening to BBC's Radio 1. In terms of musical variety, the daytime shows admittedly don't offer very much; focusing primarily on what is currently considered to be a chart hit, or is expected to be successful. I am not bothered by this at all because I do enjoy a lot of accessible, mainstream music. However, some of the evening and late-night shows are less to my taste. If I happen to be driving at night, listening to the radio, and Radio 1 isn't providing me with something I like, then I'll usually switch to one of two local radio stations.

Both stations play a broader mix of music. Not so much in terms of genre, but in age. Although peppered with advertising between songs (and this is the main reason I don't generally listen to it), local radio can provide me with music from the last four or five decades.

Occasionally... very occasionally... I'll be listening to the radio and a song will begin to play that I haven't heard for a very long time. A forgotten song. And not just any forgotten song, but a song that I my have once loved. Pretty quickly I will spot that the introduction is familiar, and then I'll turn up the volume and suddenly find myself rediscovering the tune again.

For me, it can be quite a profound feeling. It's like finding a letter from long ago and, as you read through it, you begin to remember parts of it even though the details had left your memory. It's like getting a whole wave of nostalgia rush past... no specifics, no great moments from time picked out. Just a few minutes where the memory of the song is reignited again. I love that feeling.

It doesn't exclusively happen when I'm listening to radio either. If I scroll through the music I own in iTunes, there's plenty in there that I haven't yet listened to. They may be songs on a compilation album, or I may have just forgotten that I even own them at all. Regardless, shuffling through them can sometimes bring up one of those little gems.

Usually, once I've rediscovered a song, it'll then be played incessantly for some time (repeat is my friend, remember?). Then I guess time will pass. My love-affair with the song will burn out. Perhaps, a year or two later, it'll suddenly pop up once again, and we'll rekindle our affections.

All this means is that I'm pretty much feeling pulled between three musical options:

1. Stick with my familiar and comfortable musical partners, and remain content with what they give me.
2. Go out looking for a hot new fling: some new song that I've yet to hear, but can soon embrace.
3. Suddenly come across an old-flame - that song I once loved - and continue where I left off.

I flick through all of these options week by week. The only conclusion I can come to is that I must be some kind of manwhore for music, but also very lucky in that option #1 always takes me back.

DISCLAIMER: My musical habits do not mirror my relationship habits :)

"Music washes away from the soul, the dust of everyday life" - Berthold Auerbach

No More "I Love You's" - Annie Lennox

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)

Disco 2000 - Pulp

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

Don't Dream It's Over - Crowded House

This was a favourite song of my mother's, and I remember it being played on many Sunday mornings whilst she prepared a roast for lunch. She owned Crowded House's greatest hits album but, as far as I can remember, I think this was the only song that she really ever played with any great frequency. Although she liked the song as a whole, I think she especially liked it because of a particular moment in the song.

It is difficult to describe what the 'moment' is. I initially wrote it here as an "Mmmm-note". Then I thought, no, it's more of an "Ooooh-note" or an "Awwww-note". Labelling it with words is hard. For my mum, these particular moments in Don't Dream It's Over made her feel a little sad, a little happy, a little teary, and a little hopeful. It's a moment that can make the listener shiver a little, perhaps even make their voice crack just a bit as they sing along. There are at least a couple of songs that I can think which have this effect on me; this isn't one of them (although I do like the song), but is the only one I can remember that did it for my mother.

The moment itself is during the chorus as the word 'dream' is sung and held for the beat. Combining the note, the chord, and the word, gave my mum one of those moments.

"Hey now, hey now, don't dream it's over
Hey now, hey now, when the world comes in
They come, they come, to build a wall between us
We know they won't win"

In memory of my mother, I have considered having the words, "Don't dream it's over..." tattooed somewhere upon me. I like the song, the lyric, the sentiment, and the memory. I don't know if I will ever have it done, or where, but I've thought about it.

"Music is a safe kind of high" - Jimi Hendrix

Under The Iron Sea - Keane (pt.2)

So, after my previous post, I decided to listen to that Keane album again. It has been played almost constantly since. Sadly, as I now have a few more commitments and responsibilities in my life, I couldn't justify driving around randomly at 2am along the seafront the way I used to. However, in the fine weather we've been having recently, it still feels good to listen to Under The Iron Sea in the car, windows down, enjoying the sunshine.

I still cannot pinpoint which track particularly links itself to memories (it really is the album as a whole, I think), but Atlantic has been played the most over the last few days.

"I don't know anything about music. In my line you don't have to." -Elvis Presley

Under The Iron Sea - Keane

Once again, I am following on a little from the previous post. In it I mentioned that hearing particular songs will always remind me of specific moments in time that have some link to the music being played. This is more often a case of, "it was playing at the time," rather than any lyrical importance.

This evening, I experienced something similar which is almost the reverse. A feeling reminded me of a moment in time, which then reminded me of music.

After several weeks of rubbish weather (even for England) where it has been difficult to believe that the sky can be anything except full of grey clouds, this week has suddenly provided us with sunshine and warmth. At least where I live, anyway. Typically, I've had to spend the majority of it at work so far but - still - it is nice that things are substantially brighter and far more summery. As I left home this evening, my senses picked up a combination of things that brought on the nostalgia-ride.

Firstly, the sun was starting to drop ever so slightly out of sight, casting long shadows, and giving everything a nice warm glow in contrast to the harsh brightness that was present for most of the day.

Secondly, the arrival of the evening had made the roads just a little quieter and I could make out other sounds besides the usual roar of traffic.

Thirdly, the warmth of the sun was combining with a constant, cooling breeze. Not too fast or cold to make things chilly. Just steady enough to take away any burning heat.

Lastly, but most evocatively of all, I got a whiff of the seaside. Or... hmm... the sea at night. And it was also like smelling the weather, if that makes any sense at all? To give the specifics (and, for me, the smell was very specific), the air smelt like a late night in the summer spent driving my car along the road by the seafront at Clacton-on-Sea. A memory I'd not revisited very much recently.

A few years back, my sleep-patterns were a little messed up. This was partly deliberate, and partly because I was genuinely tired at odd times of the day. As a result, I would often come home from work and sleep through the evening. I'd then wake up and decide to take a little drive in the local area. More often than not, at some very stupid hour. This was usually done once I'd made sure I had some music to listen to. The memory I recalled today was essentially just of myself, driving by the sea in Clacton, my window down so I could receive a gentle cool breeze, the moon reflecting on the water, the smell of the beach in the air as well as the general smell 'of a summer night'...

And me singing along to Keane's second album: 'Under The Iron Sea'.

It is an album that I rather quickly grew to adore. Initially, I was disappointed that it didn't sound quite like their first. But I was being stupidly naive in forgetting that, sometimes, it is better to push away from the expectation. So I started to listen to it constantly, and very quickly I became obsessed with it. Every song, every verse, every minute. It was just perfect to me.

Today's flood of information to my senses took me right to a moment as I went around a corner in my car, faced out to sea a little, and sung along. I don't remember which track in particular was playing at that time. I think it might be 'Atlantic', the instrumental which has an obvious link to the sea, and I can certainly recall hearing the opening piano arpeggios as I drove. But I also know that I listened to 'Leaving So Soon' an awful lot; probably my favourite from the album. But then, if I consider any of the other tracks, the chances are that it could well have been any one of them.

There were both good and bad reasons for my late-night driving at that time which, in turn, give the album some positive and negative associations. I haven't listened to it for about six months, but getting that feeling today makes me want to revisit it. Actually, it makes me want to get in my car at stupid'o'clock and listen to it whilst driving along the seafront.

"Music is enough for a lifetime, but a lifetime is not enough for music" - Sergei Rachmaninov

Young At Heart - by The Bluebells

Young At Heart (1984)

The Bluebells

Following on from the previous post about general feelings of nostalgia in Stereophonics' Dakota, I thought I'd mention a song that does cause me to remember a specific moment in time whenever I hear it.

As a young child (i.e. about 8 years old), the majority of the music that I used to listen to was either what my sister was playing, or my mum. At some point during the eighties, Weetabix cereal gave away promotional cassette tapes called Top Trax. Each only had four songs on, and they were all relatively well-known 'hits' (or almost hits) by fairly-current popular bands. I think we collected about eight tapes, and so we'd be regularly swapping them in the cassette player in order to listen to some Tears for Fears, or Thomson Twins, or a bit of Bucks Fizz. The tape with Young At Heart on also included Candy Girl by New Edition, and Fantastic Day by Haircut 100... I forget what the fourth song was.

As far as I can remember, Young At Heart wasn't particularly the stand-out track for me: I don't recall listening to it more times than the others. I do know that I liked it though, particularly the violin interlude (which later became part of a court battle), and certain lines that I enjoyed shouting at the top of my lungs.

"They told us tales
They told us lies
Don't they know
They shouldn't have told us at all!

How come I love them now
How come I love them more
When all I wanted to do when I was old
Was to walk out the door!"

Those Weetabix tapes are definitely responsible for forging a lot of my musical taste, and any long car journeys would have them playing constantly. I also used to play them on my cassette radio whilst sitting in my bedroom. This particular song provides me with the memory of a very specific moment in time whenever I hear it. It's not a huge event, not a life-changing moment, not seemingly significant in any real way at all I suppose.

I think I must have been about eight or nine at the time. I remember the tape playing away in my portable twin-cassette radio which was sitting on the blue carpet of my bedroom floor. Even though it was far too narrow to actually be comfortable, I was sitting on the window sill; liking the idea of sitting there and gazing out the window, and ignoring how difficult it was to actually balance on the strip of wood. My neighbour - she was a year older than me, and very much my 'crush' in those early years - sat at the other end. My memory isn't good enough to inform me what time of year it was, but I like to guess that it was the Summer holidays, because I know we both looked out the window at my sun-lit garden and the blue sky, and I'm sure we both tried to sing along to the song (even though I've only just learnt some of the lyrics via Google).

And that's pretty much it. I wasn't lying when I said it wasn't "a huge event"...

There is some significance in that moment, for me, as it does represent those wonderful care-free days of childhood when the Summer holidays seemed to last forever, when the notion of love was far more simple and naive, when so many things were not yet a problem. So, for a time-specific nostalgic trip, Young At Heart does a good job.

Incidentally, as a little final piece of trivia, it is only during the process of writing this post that I discovered Young At Heart was originally by Bananarama (although Robert Hodgens of The Bluebells is a writing credit, and was dating Bananarama's Siobhan Fahey at the time). Their version is quite different, and I have to admit I prefer The Bluebells' reworking.

 

"There is geometry in the humming of the strings, there is music in the spacing of the spheres" - Pythagoras

Dakota - by Stereophonics

Dakota (2005)

by Stereophonics

I'm fairly certain that I first heard this song on the radio at work, and I'm pretty sure that I liked it immediately. Now, if my iPod decides to shuffle it to me, I will probably replay it several times before moving on to something else. I happily lap up the fact that I may not have heard it for a few weeks, and I wallow in the surprise of hearing it again.

And that's funny because the song itself seems pretty nostalgic. The lyrics seem to reminisce about past moments in a relationship -

"Thinking about thinking of you
Summertime think it was June
Yeah think it was June
Laying back, head on the grass"

- and towards the end they even predict getting sentimental.

"I wonder if we'll meet again...
Talk about why did it end"

The odd thing is though, that even before I became particularly aquainted with the lyrics, this song already 'felt' nostalgic. I love a good song intro, but I really think that Dakota's is the key - setting up the rest of the tune entirely whilst also giving me that wistfullness. And getting this flood of memories isn't exactly unusual for me with music; there's a whole bunch of songs that can take me to a particular moment, or feeling, or person. Sometimes they are big events, sometimes just a few seconds that occurred whilst the song played. With Dakota, it is different.

Dakota doesn't take me back to anywhere. I got nostalgic the very first time I heard it, so there was nothing I could link it with, as such. No, what this song seems to achieve is making me feel nostalgic about being nostalgic. It brings to mind other songs that I have that kind of relationship with, and sparks up the memories that are linked to them. Or it just generally makes me consider things from the past. Yes, lyrically, as I said before, this should be no surprise, yet I feel that it's not the words alone that do this. From the awesome intro to the quick fade of the outro, each beat seems to be trying to remind me of something nonspecific.

And that's why I adore it: for inviting me to consider memories without telling me exactly which ones.

"Without music life would be a mistake" - Friedrich Nietzsche