'Temptation' - New Order (1982)

“Up, down, turn around,

Please don’t let me hit the ground. 

Tonight I think I’ll walk alone,

I’ll find my soul as I go home.”

Songs about walking home alone. Those are my favourite songs. (He says, with the right to change his mind at any time, so don’t hold me to it.) See also The Smiths’ ‘Rusholme Ruffians’ (“Though I walk home alone, my faith in love is still devout”) and The Wedding Present’s ‘My Favourite Dress’ (“A long walk home in the pouring rain, I fell asleep when you never came”).

Can’t get enough of them. 'Now That’s What I Call Some Good Songs About Walking Home Alone.’ I’d buy that album. (Are you listening record companies?)  

Of course, this is because I’ve spent far too much time traipsing around on my lonesome. Let’s just say it’s through choice and there’s a certain romanticism to it. (Except it’s not always. And for ‘romanticism’ read ‘bitter sting of rejection’.)

New Order’s ‘Temptation’ remains one of the most perfect songs to me. And marries my favourite theme of long walks home alone, with my second favourite theme of not being able to remember the colour of people’s eyes (“Oh, you’ve got green eyes; oh, you’ve got blue eyes; oh, you’ve got grey eyes”). It’s another of those songs that seems to capture one Saturday evening in March 1989 quite perfectly. The answer was she had grey eyes. Well, kind of more silver, but let’s not ruin my memory of the song.

Classic enigmatic Peter Saville cover.
With the band's name nowhere to be found. 

P.S. If you like your indie frontmen in white shorts, you'll love this performance from the archives...

'Doolittle' - Pixies (1989)

"So the theme for last week’s art assignment was heat. We have this lovely beach painting from Allison. And the flames of Olympia from Alec. And then we come to yours, Michael. It appears to be three figures throwing themselves in to a volcano."

"Yep, that’s right, Mr Grieves. And they’re melting on the way down."

"Hmm. I was hoping for a still life."

"In many ways it is. There’s lava in there."

"Erm, ok. This may affect your grade for the term, Michael."

"I’m guessing not in a positive way." 

First editions of 'Doolittle' came with this lovely lyric book featuring
evocative still life images inspired by the songs.  

Art direction and design: Vaughan Oliver/v23
Photography: Simon Larbalestier

Spotify linky:

Pixies – I Bleed

'Here Today, Tomorrow Next Week!' - The Sugarcubes (1989)

"Yes to food,

Is yes to life."

This doesn’t really work. Advertised as ‘silver vinyl’. In reality, more like an insipid grey.

This limited edition of The Sugarcubes’ second album was released in my first few weeks at college and had to be bought through the Chain With No Name – an affiliation of UK indie shops that (after a quick Google) I’m pretty certain no longer exists.

Fortunately, it didn’t take me much hunting down as I had picked my college primarily for its close proximity to the indie stores of central London. This is pretty much how I make all the major decisions in my life. Where to live. Where to work. Where to holiday. If it’s within a short walk of a record store, then I’m happy. A theory my friend Alice put to the test one weekend by inviting me to the vinyl wastelands of the Cotswolds. Never again.

I just flipped open the gatefold sleeve and out popped the very bag I bought this in 23 years ago. (Hoarder? Me?)

Spotify linky:

The Sugarcubes – Eat the Menu

'Tom Verlaine' - The Family Cat (1989)

"You’ve got to come to the Agincourt tonight, Michael. They play all indie and goth stuff on a Friday."

"By indie and goth stuff, Laura, do you mean ‘Blue Monday’ and ‘She Sells Sanctuary’?"

"Yes, exactly. It’s great!"

"Is it really?"

"That girl you’re always moping after goes there."

"But does she like it?"

"Well, no – she’s about as difficult as you, Michael. But it’s not just about the music."

"Clearly. Do they play The Family Cat?"

"I don’t know who that is."

"I’ll see you on Monday. Ta ra."

‘Hollow Heart’ – Birdland (1989)

"Baby, take a train,

Maybe dance in Birdland.

I ain’t got the energy,

Maybe that I once had."

So where were you when you first heard the ‘Hollow Heart’ EP by Birdland? "Who?" Well, yeah, ok, fair enough. They blazed brightly, but all too quickly. In fact, they kind of peaked fifty-three seconds in to this first single.

Very rarely do I buy just one EP/single/album by a band. The completist in me strives to collect every multiple variant of every release by every band that bewitches me. It’s why I own more than one Black Lace record (Before you ask : Yes, they actually did make more than one record. And, give me a break, I was only 10!) And it’s also why I still buy Morrissey’s albums. But this is the one and only Birdland release to make it in to my collection.

For one glorious Spring in 1989 (the best year ever for music - fact), they were Melody Maker’s bleached moptop, buzzsaw pop darlings. Listening back to this first EP now, they must have known time was against them. The three short, sharp songs on side one belt along at such a pace that they actually collide into each other. Listening back to them now, I’m not sure why I gave up on Birdland so soon. My passion for them is reignited. The Birdland revival starts here.

And ends here, I guess.  

'Run' - New Order (1989)

"So what's the use in complaining,

when you've got everything you need."

This was so very almost the final song I ever heard. See, how’s that for a come back? Straight in to the drama. Bet you’ve missed that.

It’s a sun-drenched Monday, 30th January 1989, and New Order have just released their very last album that was any good (fact!): ‘Technique’. And, oh, was it good. I still remember the Chris Roberts review from Melody Maker that week: ‘It was worth the wait. In Gold.’ And it was. New Order were always my concession to the joys of what we’ll call here ‘dance music’. It’s something I know very little about. But every three years New Order would pop up talking about ‘Chicago house’ or ‘Balearic beats’ and for about a week I’d feel connected to another musical world – with ‘Technique’ it was the thrills of Ibiza in nine perfect pop moments. And then I’d go back to floppy-fringed indie-boy stuff.

So my friend Chris and I have been bursting for the school lunch break so he can drive us in to Camberley town centre to pick up our copies. I’ve spent my £4.49 on the cassette version so we can listen to it immediately in his car (well, actually his mum’s Mini) on the way back. We’ve listened to the first half of the album as we stop at the bottom of a hill near the school gates to let some fellow pupils cross. And that’s when I stare death in the face. Well, in reality, that’s when I close my eyes and quickly curl into a ball in the passenger seat having just glimpsed a car come speeding Dukes of Hazzard-style over the crest of the hill behind us. Then there’s all the sounds you come to associate with car crashes from watching them every night on the telly – tyres squealing, metal scraping, etc. But now with added New Order. The fact that I can still hear Bernard singing, and have felt no impact, means Chris and I have had a near miss. And on opening my eyes, I can see the car behind has managed to steer itself on to the pavement alongside us without harming anything more important than a school railing.

I knew we’d be all right really. At 18, you picture yourself dying to Morrissey or Robert Smith, not New Order. They became like my patron saints of travel. I used to hang the cassette round my neck. No, I didn’t; so no angry comments please.

Note: My 'Technique' cassette is nowhere to be found today, so above is the 12-inch sleeve for the 'Run' remix - fact fans.

Spotify linky:

New Order – Run

‘Let’s Go Round There’ – The Darling Buds (1989)

“We don’t have to talk,
We don’t have to smile,
‘Cos we’ve only just met,
But please stay for a while”

(“What’s this?” Etched vinyl, kids. Yep, it made a whole side of your expensive record completely unplayable. Buy, hey, look at the pretty flower pattern.)

My Dad wins competitions that he doesn’t even enter. A crate of champagne will turn up at the door. Or tickets will arrive for a weekend away. Once he won a car (which he wanted to sell, but my mum nabbed it).

My winnings total a 12-inch by the La’s (whom I never liked, so that went to my friend Laura G) and a Darling Buds T-shirt. Impressive, eh? I snagged them both in the same competition. A Sunday night phone-in on Radio 210 – the local Reading station. The presenter, Sarah Jane, phoned me after the show to take my details and we got chatting about indie stuff.

The next week I got a name check and the new Buds single dedicated to me. And so began a weekly correspondence where I’d send in requests (The Wonder Stuff for my mum and some Pixies for my sister) and get my letters read out. This continued for about a year and I was mighty chuffed to get a shout out in the final show. The radio just hasn’t meant the same to me since – you never hear a good Darling Buds giveaway any more.

Spotify linky:

The Darling Buds – Let's Go Round There

‘Pure’ – The Lightning Seeds (1989)

“Night-time slows,
Raindrops splash rainbows.
Perhaps someone you know,
Could sparkle and shine.”

Why did The Lightning Seeds only ever make one good song? No, not just a ‘good’ song. A sparkling pop gem. It’s one of the great mysteries of the world. (Yes, I’m sure there a few fans of ‘Three Lions’ who will dispute this with me. But you’re deluded.)

I rarely buy only one record from a band – my obsessive compulsive nature results in me usually tracking down every rare import and shoddy bootleg from every band I like. But I never had any interest in The Lightning Seeds after this first single. (I don’t think I even played the b-side.) And I’m surprised I liked it at all, as at the time I was all gothed up. It was the summer of 1989 and I’d just left school. I remember my friend Charlotte would call round a lot over those summer weeks and wonder why I always had this song on. I had no answer.

This seven inch version is still my only copy. Another peculiarity, as I always buy my favourite songs in new formats as they come along (from vinyl to CD to MP3). It’s like it has become some kind of treasured talisman. I even only allow myself to play it occasionally so as not to diminish its power to immediately transport me back to those days. (Ok, I’m just sounding odd now.)

Anyone else been strangely possessed by The Lightning Seeds? Is there a support group I should know about?

Spotify linky:

Lightning Seeds – Pure

'Drive Blind' - Ride (1989)

“Can’t see the lights,
or the blue orange signs.
Can’t see the road,
or the long white lines.”

For six weeks in the autumn of 1989, no cyclist was safe on the roads of Farnborough. This is because my Dad had decided to fund a dozen driving lessons for me. His idea was that I’d be able to help him with some computer deliveries for his company. The problem was that I had zero interest in learning to drive.

It would have helped if there was somewhere I wanted to go. But I could get the train to London and I was happy walking my home streets. It would also have helped if I could concentrate on the road for more than two minutes. But my mind wanders. And the next thing you know, I’ve reversed into someone.

That’s what happened on my test. The date was set for Hallowe’en – hurrah! – my fave day of the year. But it was timed for the school run. Which meant cyclists. Lots and lots of cyclists. It was like the Tour De Farnborough out there. I think I either clipped, cut up or terrified a good half of them. And almost killed one, by reversing without really looking and forcing him to swerve onto the pavement. I made a mental note of some of the good advice the cyclist was screaming at me (which amounted to ‘Look where you’re going’ – once you removed the expletives) and the instructor made some notes of his own in thick red pen.

To this day I still can’t drive (I never took another lesson) and like to annoy people who ask why I don’t try again by quoting Alex Cox’s ‘Repo Man’: ‘The more you drive, the less intelligent you are’.

Spotify linky:
Ride – Drive Blind

'Unbearable' - The Wonder Stuff (1989)

“I didn’t like you very much when I met you …
And now I like you even less.”

The mosh pit. A beer-soaked, heaving scrum of flailing limbs and tortured groans. Basically a playfight set to music. My 39-year-old self wonders just what the touch sensitive, 8-stone, 16-year-old-me was thinking. A knee in the groin. An elbow in the face. (To quote the Mancunian Bard.) Good times.

As a teenager, moshing was about the only form of exercise I got. They should have put it in P.E. lessons. Far more useful to me than climbing a rope or doing some star jumps.

Diving into any mosh pit at London’s Astoria with my cousins felt like coming home. (Kind of. A mosh pit would be a weird sort of home. But you know what I mean.) And the Stuffies remind me most of those times. A strange, painful bonding process. But every bruise was a sign of affection.

These days it’s all acoustic, alt-country shows at the Queen Elizabeth Hall for me. Not so much moshing at those. Probably just as well. But there’s still a part of me that wants to try that other gig-going rite of passage: the stage dive. Maybe it's time for me to book tickets for the Stuffies reunion tour.

Spotify linky:
The Wonder Stuff – Unbearable

(Regular readers won’t be in the least bit surprised to hear that my Dad hated this song – I’m not picking these deliberately, he just hated a lot of my music.)

'Just Like Heaven' - Dinosaur Jr (1989)

“Strange as angels”

Ahhh … flexi discs. That’s right kids, in the days before CD cover mounts, the music mags used to give away tracks on square wobbly vinyl. You can guess how good they sounded. To stop them warping, you had to place them on another record and then weigh them down with spare change. This all required a bit more patience than playing an MP3. But we loved them,

The one above is a Blast First double-header from The Catalogue. Lunachicks take the lead, but I picked it up for Dinosaur Jr. Here they are being brilliantly Dinosaur Jr all over a cracking cover of The Cure’s ‘Just Like Heaven’. Bliss. I’d first heard this late one night on the John Peel show and smiled ear to ear. And then it abruptly stopped. Which usually meant Peel had pressed the wrong button again. But this time it was all part of the song. I have no idea to this day why it ends like that. But now I wouldn’t want it any other way. I’m all for sudden endi

Spotify linky:

Dinosaur Jr. – Just Like Heaven

(Mind your ears with this one.)

Spotify bonus linky - the original version:

The Cure – Just Like Heaven

'Sight Of You' - Pale Saints (1989)

“What’s going to happen?
How will I know …
when things are back the way they used to be before?”

“For beds in Reading, the place to be heading is Reading Bedding.” Fact. (Well, according to an advert that used to play continuously on local station Radio 210. I hate that I remember this jingle so well.) For shoes in Reading, I’m not so sure. But that’s where my Dad sent me to get some ‘smart’ shoes (which translated as something without buckles or pointy toes) for my college interview. Instead I came back with this record. My Dad wasn’t too pleased.

He sent me back to Reading the next day and I just bought the first pair I saw. I wore them once. Yet I’ve listened to this record probably every month for 21 years. There’s something in the lolloping bass line and the dejected vocals. Better than any pair of shoes (high praise indeed).

Spotify linky:

Pale Saints – Sight Of You

On this day ... 1989 (aged 18)

Scribblings from my diary ...

“Apparently, this has been the hottest May for 140 years. This record will no doubt be broken when the sun explodes and we are showered with radioactive rock.”

'Disintegration' - The Cure (1989)

““The shallow drowned lose less than we”
You breathe
The strangest twist upon your lips
“And we shall be together …””

My alternate title for this blog was The Shallow Drowned. But it seemed a bit heavy.

My love for ‘Disintegration’ knows no end. It knows a beginning though. And that was twenty-one years ago to the month. In fact, The Cure have just reissued the album today in one of those shiny gatefold Deluxe Anniversary Editions (which obviously means I have to buy it for the fourth time). The first time round, I bought it on cassette during school lunchtime on the day it came out and it became the soundtrack to my A-level revision. Except very little revision got done if I was listening to it (which could account for the grade D in Geography).

“But what about that girl you hit with the snowball?” I hear you ask. “We’re only putting up with another Cure post to hear about her.” That’s a good memory you have there. Don’t worry, if I’m writing about The Cure then I’m also writing about Toni. Having restrained from throwing anything at her head for over two years, I felt a wave of confidence and invited her to see The Cure on The Prayer Tour that supported this album. It was a baking hot Saturday evening in July at Wembley Arena (the second of three shows that weekend), and for all three and a half hours they were mesmerising. Even people who didn’t go with Toni seem to agree it was just the most wonderful night.

I’ve listened to ‘Disintegration’ five times today. (Which, in 2010 terms, must make me Mayor of this album surely.) And although it’s the second in The Cure’s ‘doom’ trilogy, it only reminds me of the best of times.

Spotify linky:
The Cure – The Same Deep Water As You

My life in passport photos - Part 1

On this day ... 1989 (aged 18)

Scribblings from my diary …

“Rearrange my room a bit. (Well, actually, I just rearrange my records.)”

'Can't Be Sure' - The Sundays (1989)

“It’s good to have something to live for you’ll find;
Live for tomorrow.
Live for a job and a perfect behind,
High time.”

(See what I’ve done here? It’s Sunday. What song should I choose ? Yes? Very clever, I’m sure you’ll agree.)

My friend Laura G was a huge fan of The Sundays from this very first song. Which meant I couldn’t be. Those were the rules. Well, the indie snob rules. If a friend at school discovered a band before you did, you had to dislike that band. In fact, you had to actively dislike them. In every childish way possible. “The Sundays? The Scumdays, more like. Have you heard the secret B-side track on the white label, French import, 12-inch remix of the new Family Cat single? No? Then you can hardly comment on good music can you, Laura?” That kind of thing.

Secretly though, I was quite smitten by The Sundays' first album, ‘Reading, Writing and Arithmetic’ with its tales of hideous towns and finding a pound on the underground. How could I resist any band that sounded like a magical hybrid of The Smiths and The Cocteau Twins. And who didn’t have a soft spot for Harriet Wheeler?

So this is my belated apology to Laura. Sorry. (Voice of the Beehive still suck though.)

Spotify linky:

The Sundays – Can't Be Sure

On this day ... 1989 (aged 18)

Scribblings from my diary …

“Part two of my art exam this morning. I spend four hours carefully selecting the right tapes to listen to, as I add a dab of paint here or there. I want my hair cut like Ian McCulloch’s.”

On this day ... 1989 (aged 18)

Scribblings from my diary ...

“We have the sixth form photo at lunchtime, which involves everyone brushing their hair and smiling.”

On this day ... 1989 (aged 18)

Scribblings from my diary ...

“The sun’s out and everyone feels the need to look stupid, and moan at me for wearing black.”