‘Yon Yonson’ – The Dave Howard Singers (1987)

“My name is Yon Yonson,

I work in Wisconsin,

I work in the lumber mill there.

The people I meet as I walk down the street say:

‘Hey, what’s your name?’

I say …”

Hard to imagine these days, but there used to be music shows on TV. That’s right. Music shows. On proper telly. During daylight hours. Not just Jools doing some boogie-woogie piano over the new Adele single or a one-off documentary about punk tucked away on BBC4 at midnight. And certainly not the karaoke nonsense that’s annually inflicted on us by Simon Cowell Incorporated.

These shows had great names like Snub TV and The Tube and Rapido. And they had rubbish names like The Chart Show. But, whatever their names, the best thing about them was that they’d throw up an unexpected musical treasure just as you were eating a fish finger. It’s how I found ‘Yon Yonson’. Except it was a Saturday morning, so swap in Weetabix. And how great was that. You’ve just suffered through another 9-minute Madonna video exclusive on The Chart Show, when suddenly you’re ambushed by this marvel of repetitive insanity. Here’s a young guy I’ve never seen before (and will never see again) getting increasingly irate while spouting nursery rhyme lyrics and pushing a keyboard around on a wheelchair in some bleak urban conurbation. This is what Saturday morning telly should be like.

At the time, my knowledge of The Dave Howard Singers stretched no further than this song. And my knowledge of this song stretched no further than a line on the back of the sleeve that told me Yon Yonson was a fictional character originally inspired by the novel ‘Slaughterhouse Five’ by Kurt Vonnegut Jr. And that’s all I’ve wanted to know. I knew from that first time I heard it that the song’s mystery was its strength. Though I was very recently compelled to do a smidgen of research to learn if Wisconsin is actually known for its lumber mills. I’m pleased to report back that it is (thanks, Jonna).

It would be great to think that I’m going to sit down with a fish finger tonight and discover another song that’s as exciting or surprising. But it’s just not going to happen. Though some of that’s my fault as I haven’t got any fish fingers in the freezer.

As to be expected, this song doesn’t appear to have made it on to Spotify yet. But it seems more appropriate to show you the video anyway …

‘Some Candy Talking’ – The Jesus And Mary Chain (1986)

“But it’s too much for a young heart to take,

'cause hearts are the easiest thing you could break."

Happy birthday! To this blog. One year old today. (“Oh, this is getting all very self-congratulatory, Michael – you’ve only been back two days.”) It’s not by chance it was conceived on 4^th May. But that’s for another post on another day. (Yes, narrative arc. Ooh.)

We began with my most favourite album ever: the Mary Chain’s ‘Psychocandy’ – celebrating it’s 25^th anniversary last year. And I can confirm that a year on it remains my most favourite album ever. And it seems fitting that we toast today with another Mary Chain gem celebrating 25 years: ‘Some Candy Talking’. (Can you guess next year’s anniversary record already, folks?).

Lots of the usual drug-related outrage from Radio One around this single (shown here in its limited edition, gatefold double 7-inch EP version, including acoustic Peel sessions – I can see you’re impressed). I always liked to think it was about one penny shrimps and fizzy cola bottles from the Woolies pick ‘n’ mix.

What I remember most from the time was the fringe-tastic Jim and William actually gracing the cover of Smash Hits, which also printed the lyrics and some wonderfully juxtaposed photos of the brothers in a field of blooming flowers that spent the year fading on my teenage bedroom walls. I’d love to find that copy of Smash Hits again. In fact, I’m off to track it down now as a birthday present to my blog – I’ll let you know how I get on. Probably.

Spotify linky:

The Jesus And Mary Chain – Some Candy Talking

'Curse Amazon and its open-all-hours trading policy'

Yes, a new (regular?) column to mark the birthday celebrations. Think of it as my present to you. (‘Thank you’ letters to the usual address.) Basically, it’s just a look at the CDs and stuff that arrived in the post today – a snapshot of what I’m consuming at the moment.

‘A Kiss In The Dreamhouse’ and ‘Tinderbox’ – Siouxsie and the Banshees

I’ve become rather smitten again with the Banshees over the past month (far more than I probably was back in my goth days) and these reissues from a couple of years back were today’s crimped hair fix.

‘Very Best Of’ – Morrissey

What a dreadful title. And yes, I’m buying all these songs for about the fifth time just to get one previously unreleased track. This is why you must never fall in love with Morrissey, kids.

‘In A Special Place’ – The Waterboys

Piano demos for 1985’s ‘This Is The Sea’. Including ‘The Whole Of The Moon’. ‘Nuff said.

‘Darkness & Light – The Complete BBC Recordings’ – The Only Ones

Had their radio sessions on vinyl from 20-odd years back and often wondered if they’d ever be released on CD. And now they are. It’s this sort of thing that makes me happy. Has inspired a future blog post. Now I know you’ll be back.

‘Lowside Of The Road – A Life Of Tom Waits’ – Barney Hoskins

Usually I avoid books disowned by singers (yes, Johnny Rogan, I’m looking at you). But this has got such good reviews and I really want to learn just what it is he’s actually singing about.

'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

‘Levitate Me’ – Pixies (1987)

“Come on pilgrim,
You know he loves you.”

So it wasn’t bad enough having to share a school with rabid Bros fans. Oh no. I actually had to share a school with the Bros twins Matt and Luke themselves. That’s right. My poor, fey gothic heart was imprisoned in the temple of infantile pop by the ascending pharaohs of the culturally inane. What’s more, they lived at the end of my road. There was no escape.

The Goss boys were a couple of years above me and I can’t say I noticed them at all until they left. By then I was in the lower sixth and their first single had come out ('I Owe You Nothing'). And then they were back, playing the school gym at lunchtime. And then they were everywhere. Now, I can understand the kids in the first year thinking this was all very exciting. But I had classmates who were thrilled simply because they had finally discovered a band before the rest of the world. Oh dear. How to explain to these people that there were far better bands waiting to be be discovered out there. Just turn on the John Peel show. Go to a gig that isn’t being held either at lunchtime or in your school gym. Read a music paper. Please. But no, I was surrounded by people buying multiple signed copies of the first Bros single as an investment for when they hit the big time – yes, Spencer, I’m talking about you. Which is all very fair enough I suppose as those singles probably were worth a fair bit for two weeks in 1988 as Bros-mania swept Saturday morning telly.

Meanwhile, I was hunting down the first Pixies mini-album and wondering who would like to come see My Bloody Valentine with me. And people wondered why I felt so isolated at school. Funnily enough though, I can talk about those bands now and quickly find kindred spirits. Don’t see so many people bonding over Bros.

Spotify linky:

Pixies – Levitate Me

‘The Whole Of The Moon’ – The Waterboys (1985)

“I wondered, I guessed and I tried;
You just knew.”

Best sound effect in a song ever. Fact. “You came like a comet …” Pause and cue comet shooting across the sky. “Blazing your trail.” Do comets actually make a sound? Who cares. They do here and it’s quite perfect.

If you ever want to tempt me along to karaoke, this is the song that will get me there. A real belter of a vocal that’s simply a world of fun to perform. And the lyrics remind me of a girl from school. You’d speak about wings, while she just flew.

Spotify linky:

The Waterboys – The Whole Of The Moon

On this day … 1990 (aged 19)

Scribblings from my diary …

“Cousin Matt and I visit the Museum of the Moving Image on the South Bank. You can read all about the history of photography and filmmaking there. Or you can quickly pass all this by and go see Sooty and Sweep.”

Now playing: ‘Station To Station’ – David Bowie (1976)

“It's too late

to be grateful."

Ever buy an album by an artist you adore and it just doesn’t click? So you put it away and go back to listening to their other stuff. And then you take it out again one day and it sounds like the most marvellous discovery. That’s what happened to me this week with ‘Station To Station’.

I bought it back in 1991 when it was reissued on vinyl with the rest of Bowie’s back catalogue. At the time, my heart belonged to ‘Hunky Dory’ and ‘The Man Who Fell To Earth’ so this album suffered from little time on my record player and got quickly shelved. Until last Monday when it was reissued in a glorious CD box set. Here was vintage Thin White Duke Bowie with songs I’d simply neglected. I’m a fool. I’ve played it continuously all week to make amends. And the reissue comes with perhaps the best Bowie live recording I’ve heard – captured at the Nassau Coliseum in March 1976.

I wonder what other treats are buried in my collection?

Spotify linky:

David Bowie – Station To Station