'The Orb's Adventures Beyond The Ultraworld' - The Orb (1991)

“What were the skies like when you were young?”

“Are next door mowing their lawn?”
“No, Grandad - that sound’s on the record.”
“Oh. Who is it?”
“The Orb.”

“What’s that dripping noise? Has nan left a tap on?”
“It’s on the record, Grandad.”

“Is that a plane? Or is this still The Orb?”
“No, that’s a plane. But the spaceship you’re about to hear taking off is The Orb.”

My grandparents and I loved those early Orb albums - my Grandad quickly acclimatised to the layers of samples woven in to each track. They were the soundtrack to our Sunday lunch. And our afternoon Scrabble games in my post-college unemployed years. Perhaps not the audience or the environment Dr Alex Paterson had in mind for his visionary ambient experimentations. 

They are also great albums to put on while writing. Which I remembered today while tapping away at the day job. And for an hour I was transported. Off to the Ultraworld. Via my grandparents’ dining-room table.  

Further reading: 'U.F. Orb (1992)'

'(Hey You) Rock Steady Crew' - Rock Steady Crew (1983)

"Bodies in expression of music inspiration,

Tell us when you feel it,

‘Cause we’re gonna rock the nation."

Hip hop was my life. For one weekend in 1983. Think I got carried away by a trip to Croydon. It always seemed like Judge Dredd’s Mega-City One when I was a kid. With its towering concrete edifices, block wars, Umpty-baggers, chump dumping and Stookie glanding. (Ok, I may have over-stretched that analogy a little.). The big difference was that Croydon seemed more lawless. (Yeah, yeah, only joking. Or am I? Yes, I am.)  

Mega-City One illustrated by Gary Erskine.

Weekend shopping trips to Croydon with my grandparents meant I got gifts. Which is how I found myself in Our Price buying this 12-inch. My one connection to a scene that had nothing to do with my life. I wasn’t about to start popping and locking any time soon. But I’d seen someone breakdancing on a bit of cardboard outside Bejams earlier. Next to a wall covered in amateurish graffiti. So this seemed like a suitable souvenir.      

How different my life could have been if I’d let a little more electric boogaloo in to my world. Instead, the enchanting sirens of gothdom were beckoning me.

"Strangeways, Here We Come" - The Smiths (1987)

"I travelled to a mystical time zone,

But I missed my bed,

And I soon came home."

Is the Summer over? Can I come out of hibernation now? What did I miss?

So… we were talking about The Smiths. "Oh no, Michael. Let’s move on  to something else." Ah, but we can’t. We need to wallow in the 25th anniversary of "Strangeways…" and The Smiths splitting. The news that Johnny Marr had left the group had broken in the NME a month back. It almost ruined my week on holiday in Swanage with my grandparents and cousins. Above the Mary Chain on the cover was a big ‘Why I Quit’ headline. Oh, here it is…       

My copy of this is in the loft somewhere, so thank you vinylonthe.net.

Come on, you know you’ve missed these stupidly detailed musings. Heartbroken by the seaside, there was at least one final studio album on the way. Though the cloying absurdity of their current single ‘Girlfriend In A Coma’ didn’t bode well.

Morrissey has often claimed ‘Strangeways…’ is his favourite album. Marr too. I can’t agree as ‘The Queen Is Dead’ remains their glistening pinnacle for me. But they bowed out in their own inimitable style with some wonderfully intuitive paeans to the loveless, witless and, er, spleenless. And no-one rolls an ‘r’ quite like Morrissey.

  

Let’s hope they never reunite.

Spotify linky:

The Smiths – A Rush And A Push And The Land Is Ours - 2011 Remastered Version

‘Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo’ – Fairy Godmother (1950)

"Salagagoola,

Mechicka Boola,

Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo.

Put 'em together and what have you got?

Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo."

"Would you ever sell your record collection, Michael?" I get asked this a lot. (Note to self: Time for an FAQs section?)

"So would you?" Well, how do you put a value on something like this 'Cinderella' album from Disney’s 1981 Picture Disc Collection? "That’s easy, Michael. It’s $9.00 on eBay." Ah, but is that its true value. "Yes, Michael. $9.00. About £6 in sterling. Are you haggling?"

Well, to me it’s priceless. A gift from my grandparents. Featuring the wonderful ‘Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo’. One of my top ten songs of all time (in, fact, it's nestled at number 6 in my Melody Maker Reader's Chart from 1992). So I can’t imagine ever parting with it. And the same is true of every record in my collection. Even the ones that don’t feature singing mice.

Plus, I’m an obsessive compulsive hoarder, so the question’s pretty moot really. Next…

Spotify linky:

Various Artists – Where Did I Put That Thing/Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo

‘Close (To The Edit)’ – Art Of Noise (1984)

“To be in England,
In the summertime,
With my love,
Close to the edge.”

Smoking. Usherettes. And Art of Noise videos. All three have now disappeared from our cinemas. Good riddance to the first. But I miss the other two.

People these days treat the cinema experience like they’re sitting in their living-rooms – continually chatting, checking texts and getting up for food. For a child of the 70s and 80s, it really was something extra special. Certainly before the rise of video recorders, this was your only chance to see new films. If you missed ‘The Black Hole’, you’d be waiting another four years before it was shown on ITV (and then you’d miss it because it’d be shown on Christmas Day and you’d be stuck round your auntie’s house and she only had a black and white TV in her bedroom and anyway we should be playing games as a family not watching futuristic visions of space exploration and robots fighting each other).

A trip to the cinema in those days would also throw up some surprises too. Which is why I so clearly remember the Kia-Ora and Butterkist adverts being followed by a random stream of animated images accompanied by the sound of a car stalling. It turned out to be the video to ‘(Close) To The Edit’. I went out to buy it immediately after. And thus began a teenage love of playing around with sound samples. And hiding behind masks (which spooked my grandparents on a couple of occasions – but that’s another post.)

Spotify linky:

Art Of Noise – Close (To The Edit) - Extended Mix

YouTube video:

http://tinyurl.com/33yrhfo

‘The Sounds Of Star Wars’ – The Sonic All-Stars (1977)

“Mission control calling all eathlings. Pickwick International have broken through the inter-cosmic barriers with a new and hitherto unidentified sound.”

Many of the first albums I owned as a kid were soundtracks. In those days (otherwise known as the 70s), there were only two ways to see films: at the cinema or broadcast on telly (three years later). So soundtracks and novelisations were the closest you could get to re-living your favourite films.

I’m quite certain my grandparents bought me this record, as I saw ‘Star Wars’ with them countless times when it came out. And as a 6-year-old, I really wasn’t that worried that instead of the original John Williams score, I was listening to The Sonic All-Stars conducted by Bruce Baxter. As a 39-year-old listening back to it now, I think Pickwick International pretty much nailed it with their description at the top there: there is indeed very little you can identify on here. “Why bother with an orchestra when you can use one of these new synthesizer things?”

The album does immediately take me back though to those days of playing with my Star Wars figures in my room, reading Star Wars comics in the woods, and drawing more Star Wars adventures with my Star Wars pencils from my Star Wars pencil case, before falling asleep on my Star Wars pillow in my Star Wars pyjamas. Of course, at my age, I shouldn’t still be doing those things, but hey.

My Star Wars memories could fill a blog of their own … Watching it at the free cinema at Butlins with the sound two seconds out of synch. Watching ‘Return Of The Jedi’ and the film melting just as the Death Star explodes (oops – spoiler). Watching the original trilogy as an all-dayer with my cousins – and having the cinema almost to ourselves for nine hours. Popping over to Boston to see ‘The Phantom Menace’ the day it came out (three months ahead of the UK). And so on. Have you given up reading yet?

“So today’s song pick was simply an excuse to write about Star Wars?” Yes, it was. May the Force be with you. Always.

Spotify linky (rest easy: Spotify doesn't have the Pickwick version):
London Symphony Orchestra;John Williams – Main Title/Rebel Blockade Runner - Medley

'Red Right Hand' - Nick Cave And The Bad Seeds (1994)

“You’re one microscopic cog
in his catastrophic plan,
designed and directed by
his red right hand.”

Sundays are spent with my grandparents. They’re both fans of Nick Cave and have their favourite songs, but this is one I know they both like. I smile every time my Nan raises her right hand up in the chorus, just like Nick does on stage.

A couple of years after this was released, I met Nick at a signing for his book ‘King Ink II’ in Kensington. It was my Nan’s birthday coming up, so I thought it’d make a great present. ‘Could you sign it to Doris?’ ‘Er … Doris?’ ‘Yep, my Nan’s a big fan.’ Bemused smile from Nick. Shy handshake from me. Happy Nan.

Spotify linky:

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds – Red Right Hand