Episode 120 - Farewell Keith Levene (PIL) and Mimi Parker (Low)

A sad week in which we lost two titans of the alternative music universe.

First, Mimi Parker of Low. Stevie Chick has written very movingly here:

“For Parker, music had been “kind of a dream, but not something I’d ever thought I’d do”. She had other passions anyway: sports, and riding snowmobiles across Minnesota’s wintery landscapes. But then Sparhawk suggested he and Parker form a band, giving her a snare drum and cymbal he’d found in the basement of the arena where he worked (Parker had played drums in her junior high concert band, years earlier). “She was a little reluctant,” Sparhawk remembered. “She’s really not terribly interested in being in front of people.”

That minimal drum set helped shape Low’s early, spare sound, but Parker’s voice – along with her songwriting – would prove her most crucial contribution to the group: a hushed, strong voice, holy yet human. “I vividly remember writing Words, off our first album, in our old apartment,” Sparhawk told me. “And then Mimi came in with the harmony, and it was like putting the spirit into a body, like taking something two-dimensional and making it three-dimensional.” The intimacy of their harmonies almost felt like we listeners were eavesdropping.

The ability to make music, to release their universally acclaimed Hey What in the midst of this turmoil (her cancer diagnosis) had, she said, “been a respite and a source of comfort … I’m thankful for the experiences I’ve had, the opportunities to make beautiful music, to collaborate with Alan, to understand his chaos and his tendencies to mesh them with my calmness and my search for harmony and beautiful things.”

Then two days later, Keith Levene passed also, the legendary link between the Pistols and the Clash who helped, along with John McKay of the Banshees, create the metal-shard guitar template in the early days of post-punk. Here’s Alexis Petridis:

“The sound Levene achieved on Public Image itself was just the first sign of his dogged commitment to ‘make the guitar do cool things, use it in different ways’. PiL’s debut album First Issue was filled with examples of Levene’s hugely inventive and original approach to the instrument. On Religion and Annalisa, he plays vaguely punk-y riffs that seem to exist in a state of constant motion, never going where you think they’re heading to. The woozy chords that open Theme are one of the few precursors for the hugely influential sound minted by My Bloody Valentine’s Kevin Shields a decade later: over the course of the song’s nine minutes, the sheer array of noises Levene wrings from his guitar is astonishing, particularly given that the whole thing was played live in the studio, without overdubs.

Things got even further out on 1979’s peerless Metal Box, an album that also demonstrated how much PiL had learned from reggae about using the studio mixing desk as another instrument: listen to the frankly astonishing moment midway through Memories when the entire texture of the song suddenly changes, becoming punchier, harder and more intense, as if someone’s whipped a blanket off the speakers. Levene’s playing sprawled extravagantly across Swan Lake and Chant, as if he was treating the whole song as one long solo, utterly devoid of any standard guitar cliches. The studio version of Careering is largely synthesiser based – perhaps its atonal hums and screams were what Levene had in mind when he tried to get Rhodes to buy a Polymoog for the nascent Clash – but during PiL’s incredible live performance of the song on The Old Grey Whistle Test, Levene alternates between synthesiser and guitar, using the latter as if it’s a purely percussive instrument.

Keith Levene’s guitar … spoke a vibrant language that he’d more or less invented himself – all because he’d discarded the memo about what you were and weren’t supposed to do.”

I’ve smashed their tributes together into one episode which can be quite disconcerting at times. But, in their own immensely different ways, Levene and Parker embodied a fearless spirit, an unwillingness to be restricted by expectations and a sheer joy in sonic exploration.

Tracklist:

Public image, PIL

In metal, Low

No birds, PIL

Just make it stop, Low

Swan Lake, PIL

I remember, Low

Careering, PIL

Congregation, Low

Memories, PIL

Point of disgust, Low

Chant, PIL

Just like Christmas, Low

Episode 119 - John Cale at 80

There are a few contenders in the category of Most Influential UK Music Partnership of the 1960s.

John and Paul, Mick and Keith, enough said.

Ray and Dave Davies, warring brothers and godfathers of psychedelia, hard rock, heavy metal and Britpop.

Roger Waters and David Gilmour, less so.

A few years later you could make a case for the two Brians in Roxy Music, then Bowie and Mick Ronson maybe.

But then there’s the case for the Welshman who hooked up with an American in mid ‘60s Manhattan, thus making them technically ineligible for this list. But their influence is as great as any of them. Lou Reed and John Cale from The Velvet Undeground.

Reed brought the subject matter, the lyrics and the attitude. Cale brought something else entirely, from outside of contemporary music. With a talent for the viola, he’d arrived in New York from Wales where he’d been a member of the National Youth Orchestra. In the US he immersed himself in the avant-garde, meeting and working with contemporary composers such as LaMonte Young and John Cage.

His partnership with Reed yielded music that is still shaping what we hear now. The energy of rock with the adventurism of the avant-garde. To realise how profound Cale’s contribution was, you only have to listen to the third album after he and Reed parted ways. It’s very listenable, but there’s no X-Factor.

Before the Velvets, people simply weren’t writing songs such as Heroin, Venus in Furs or Sister Ray. Afterwards, all bets were off. This is Philip Sherburne’s view:

“The dream of the underground as an autonomous zone takes root here: a sense of style that would pave the way for glam rock; a sense of nihilism that would bulldoze a clear path for punk; an uncompromisingly avant-garde sound that would lead to post-punk and beyond. There was their subject matter, decadent and depraved: whips and furs, back-alley blowjobs, tragic heroines, and also heroin—lots of heroin. The Velvets invented a whole new kind of cool, their sound raw and shambolic. The record was grotty and lo-fi, the sound of a reel-to-reel tape retreating into a turtle shell. And yet they had noise, much from their avant-gardist John Cale, a classically trained violist who turned his education into droning, seesawing, nails-on-a-chalkboard frequencies.”

Well, there was a bit more to Cale’s contribution than noise terrorist as his long solo career, peppered with highlights, underlines. Wales’ finest living musician? Certainly the most influential. Albums such as Fear and Paris 1919 stand comparison with any other solo artist from the ‘seventies. As significantly, he appeared Zelig-like as a musician, collaborator or producer with the Stooges, Nick Drake, Nico, Patti Smith, the Modern Lovers and the Happy Mondays amongst many others.

And now he’s 80. Treasure him while he’s still here. This episode is a selection of his work wearing those many hats.

Tracklist:

I’m waiting for the man, The Velvet Underground

Fear is a man’s best friend, John Cale

Andalucia, John Cale

Northern sky, Nick Drake

The janitor of lunacy, Nico

Buffalo ballet, John Cale

No fun, The Stooges

Spinning away, John Cale and Brian Eno

The gift, The Velvet Underground

Free money, Patti Smith

I keep a close watch, John Cale

 

 

Episode 118 - Don't let our youth go to waste

They say that youth is wasted on the young. They say a lot of things, though, whoever they are.

Whatever song we hear when we’re 17 will feel like the most important track of our life. The psychologists call it ‘Anchoring’. The Nobel Prize Winner Daniel Kahnemann noted that even he, who coined the term, was not immune. If a student of his performed well on their first essay, he had them down as a good student. And the opposite applied.

Your youth is your youth. Sure, I might have marginally preferred to be born fifteen years earlier and enjoy a career where there was still money in advertising, it was all about the TV schedules and digital banners were just a glint in the eye of a yet-to-be-born customer experience strategist.

And I would have been 17 in 1964, ideal for the avalanche of youth culture that was about to overwhelm everyone. The hippies of Haight-Ashbury, the Beatles of Blighty, the Velvets of Vanderbilt Avenue.  

But I feel I’d have missed out on more. Being 17 in 1979 meant I was primed for post-punk. You get what you get in terms of your music, but the longevity and even longer influence of those bands confirms that I was right to put my money on Joy Division and the Fall back then. More prescient than a college acquaintance who’d actually bought a copy of the Sordide Sentimentale version of Dead Souls/Atmosphere, then abandoned his long coat for a pair of espadrilles and the music of Blue Rondo a la Turk (I’ll respect his anonymity to protect the guilty).

My youth didn’t go to waste at all. I was unhappy for some of it, but that’s life. I feel much more sympathy for my own children who lost two of their finest years, locked up during a pandemic. But they emerged stoical and with a new love of books, I suppose.

Most pop music is about the state of youth, because that’s when our flower is in full bloom. Dreams, braces and Instagram. So, here’s some songs about fragility, first love and owning a band before anyone else gets to hear them.

Tracklist:

When I get my braces off, Mallrat

Teenager, Camera Obscura

Bathysphere, Smog

Mine first, Vancougar

Teenage crime, Adrian Lux

I wanna be an Instagrammer, Goofy18

Boyfriend, Best Coast

Kill yr boyfriend, Bis

Tire swing, Kimya Dawson

Younger us, Japandroids

I’m sixteen, The Cambodian Space Project

Teenage talk, St Vincent

Garden song, Phoebe Bridgers

The chronicles of a Bohemian teenager, Pt2, Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly

Don’t let our youth go to waste, Galaxie 500

Episode 117 - Perth

(I’d like to thank my parasocial friend Tim Dennis-Jones for helping with his comments and suggestions for this episode.)

Memphis – home of Elvis and the ancient Greeks.

Perth? Home of Dennis Lillee and the Americas Cup.

I spent a very enjoyable few weeks in the city working with the insurance company HBF a few years ago. Locally the name of the company stood for ‘Home By Four’ and indeed it was hard to secure a berth in the lift at that time as everyone left their desks. And why not? Rather than being behind the times, it rather looks as if they’d got the hang of quiet quitting before the rest of the world cottoned on.

It characterises a certain WA mindset. Australia has its own thing going on, for sure, but WA has its own agenda within it entirely. The starting point, rather like Scotland with North Sea oil, is that since WA provides the backbone of the economy - digging up the minerals and exporting them to China - they can do as they goddam please, thank you. “Don’t give a fuck about the ACT”, indeed: the ACT being Canberra, aka the federal government.

First song on this setlist sets out that WA pov perfectly. It’s kinda ironic and probably also not at all. If you’re not Australian you may miss out on some of the references here, but if you’re familiar with England vs Scotland or the Midwest vs the US coast, or any of numerous other intraregional rivalries, you’ll get the idea readily enough.

WAXIT by Dennis Cometti:

Don't want a share of the GST, I wanna buy a ute and two jet skis

Don't give a shit about the NRL, Take your politicians and go to hell

We've got the beaches, we've got the mines, We live our life three hours behind

We get lotto on rotto, Watch WAFL on the telly

Moondyne Joe could bash Ned Kelly

Waxit

We've got the sharks, we've got the ore

Waxit

The ACT doesn't own us anymore

Don't give a fuck about the ACT, Leave us alone, we wanna do as we please

Don't want your schooners, Don't want your pots

Federation was a joke, we gotta turn back the clock

We've got the beaches, We've got the mines, We live our life three hours behind

We get lotto on rotto, Watch WAFL on the telly

Moondyne Joe could bash Ned Kelly

Waxit

We've got the sharks, we've got the ore

Waxit

The ACT doesn't own us anymore

Waxit

The time has come for us to settle the score

Waxit

Tracklist:

WAXIT, Dennis Cometti

Perth Traumatic Stress Disorder, Alex Lahey

Paint me silver, Pond

Blood red river, Scientists

Mechanical bull, Stella Donnelly

Boredom, The Drones

Perth girls, Abbe May

The seabirds, The Triffids

Things change, Carla Geneve

Vegemite sandwich, Jack Davies and the Bush Chooks

Tripping up to fall in love, The Bank Holidays

Is it true, Tame Impala

Perth is a culture shock, The Victims

Trout fishing in Australia, Apricot Rail

Graceless, Tanaya Harper

Episode 116 - 25 Years of Mogwai (plus their influences)

Mogwai arrived into a world that wasn’t especially interested in hearing from them. The mid ‘90s were all about the Britpop, looking back towards a ‘60s of ‘proper’ music for young people. Forgetting that the Beatles had once been radical innovators, groups like Oasis tried to ossify rock’n’roll, photocopying the template of the Who, the Stones and the Kinks and turning it into anthemic surges of meaninglessness. What exactly is a wonderwall?

Like a shy unevolved mammal biding its time on a shady corner of the Serengeti, the members of Mogwai patiently waited, listening to the newly unfashionable slowcore bands like Slint, Rodan, The God Machine and Codeine, as well as the sonic experimentalists such as Sonic Youth and My Bloody Valentine.

Their first album was called ‘Mogwai Young Team’ and the title in those pre-internet days was intriguing enough to get me to invest. And I remained intrigued, if not quite blown away (you had to hear ‘Mogwai Fear Satan’ live to completely get it). I had already become a follower of slowcore, though this was rather a lonely occupation back then. I’d seen Codeine in 1993 in a basement venue with a handful of others and you could sense they were coming to the end of the road. So Mogwai seemed a good step forward to the cul-de-sac that post-rock had found itself in, adding texture to the slowness.

One by one, their albums slowly crept forward. Some classic tracks emerged. ‘CODY’. ‘Hunted by a freak’. ‘Friend of the night’. A pal in my music club, who I don’t think had ever given them the time of day before, was stunned by ‘Take me somewhere nice’. Their most consistent offering is, I think, ‘Mr Beast’: the confluence of their early progression towards mainstream acceptance while not losing sight of their pioneering restlessness of spirit.

Eventually, bizarrely, they scored a number one album with ‘As The Love Continues’. I still don’t quite see how that happened. But there’s no denying that in the UK their last 5 albums have come in at numbers 35, 25, 10, 6 and 1. It’s been a long haul, but finally the mainstream has embraced their thing. I did not see that coming. It’s kinda good.

Although, also worth noting that Liam Gallagher’s 3 solo albums have all gone to number 1. It's an imperfect world.

 Tracklist:

 I’m Jim Morrison I’m Dead, Mogwai

 In bad dreams, The God Machine

 CODY, Mogwai

 Loss leader, Codeine

 Hunted by a freak, Mogwai

 Bible silver corner, Rodan

 Glasgow mega-snake, Mogwai

 Feed me with you kiss, My Bloody Valentine

 I know you are but what am I?, Mogwai

 Metamorphosis: One, Philip Glass

 Good morning captain, Slint

Episode 115 - Tributes, Odes and Homages

I quite like songs where the fourth wall is broken, as it were, and the singer issues some instructions. We’ve got a great example on this episode on ‘Ode to the Mets’ by The Strokes:

Cuts you some slack as he sits back / Sizes you up, plans his attack / Da-da-da / Drums please, Fab …

And the drums come in.

Reminiscent of ‘I Am Damo Suzuki’: “Generous, valeric, Jehovah's Witness / Stands in Cologne Marktplatz / Drums come in…” … and talking of which …

Will you fuckin' get it together instead of showing off

There is no shortage of harangues to his band one could pick from Mark E Smith, but this is one of the more well known, relatively speaking. When I looked to check on which song on Totale’s Turns those words feature (it’s ‘No Xmas for John Quays’), the helpful search engine suggested that we should “try setting aside regular time to focus on each other, like having dinner or tackling a project together.”

Don’t push us when we’re hot

The producer Kosmo Vinyl agreed with the band beforehand that the ideal length of a song is two and a half minutes. So in Joe Strummer’s ear on ‘Armagideon Time’ he can hear Kosmo telling him to bring the song to a stop. The band, fortunately for us, went with the groove instead.

All right, Nils, all right

Nils Lofgren given the green light to solo by Neil Young on ‘Speakin’ Out’. Makes a pretty good job of it for a 22 year-old.

This monkey's gone to heaven / Rock me, Joe

Forensic scientists from the year 2525 with only the song to go on might well deduce that the guitarist’s name was Joe. And they’d be kinda right – Joey Santiago addressed by Black Francis, and he duly obliges.

But the daddy example of them all, and coming full circle to our theme for the episode, is the fulsome tribute (and what else can a tribute be other than fulsome) to the supergroup the Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band assembled for the track ‘The Intro and The Outro’.

Nice to see Incredible Shrinking Man on euphonium / Drop out with Peter Scott on duck call / Hearing from you later Casanova, on horn... yeah! / Digging General de Gaulle on accordion... really wild, General!

Tracklist:

Homage to birdnoculars, Horsegirl

Homage, Terry

Ode to the Mets, The Strokes

Song for Tubbo, Spirental

Ode to divorce, Regina Spektor

Homage, Infrared Krypto

Hymn for a droid, Psychedelic Porn Crumpets

The hymn for the cigarettes, Hefner

Song for America, Destroyer

A tribute to, The For Carnation

Homage to Catalonea, The Durutti Column

Song for the meek, Hydroplane

Song to the siren, Tim Buckley

Episode 114 - Class and Inequality

We did an episode right at the start of things called Politics and Protest which is a cousin to this excursion. Here though we’re taking a closer look at the layers that exist in society which separate ius from each other. Where do they come from? 

In England there’s a very specific answer. The class system. Older readers might well remember (or their parents will have reminded them, frequently) of John Cleese, Ronnie Barker and Ronnie Corbett in the class sketch from the ‘60s. Cleese is upper class and looks down on Barker and Corbett. Barker is middle class and looks up to Cleese but down on Corbett. All Corbett, representative of the lower classes, has to say is “I know my place”.

Everyone in England is acutely attuned from birth to their place in the social pecking order. It started with the Norman Conquest in 1066. A new elite arrived, expelled the Anglo-Saxon ruling class and gave all the top jobs to their cronies. And the land too. The easiest way to understand the consequences is to consider the effect it has on the language we still use.

When an animal is alive, it’s looked after by the peasant farmer. They’re the Anglo-Saxons and use Anglo-Saxon words for their animals: pig, cow, sheep. But it’s cold out in the fields and the cushy jobs are for those who aren’t mucking out farm animals. So when the animal is dead, it’s called by the names the Franco-Normans used for their animals because they’re the ones in the warm kitchens: pork, beef, mutton.

England has never been successfully invaded since 1066 so the class system has become entrenched. Three quarters of the land (I am plucking a number slightly out of the air here) is still owned by descendants of William the Conqueror’s cronies.

 It was quite refreshing to arrive in Australia to discover that, sure, there are nuances and class distinctions, inequality and a petit bourgeoisie, but that your accent wouldn’t consign you to “know your place”. Whatever the shortcomings of the systems in place in Australia and, dare I say it, the USA, there is still the belief that a man or woman can come from nothing and be prime minister or president. In England, that’s less likely now than at any stage in the past. While a pauper in practice never becomes US president, in Australia there’ve been two prime ministers who’ve grown up poor this century. One of them had to sleep in a car when he was young (not when he was prime minister though).

So here are some songs about class and inequality. (There are some obvious ones I’ve omitted – there’s one by Pulp you’ll be very familiar with – because of over familiarity, however excellent the song.) We can’t change it, but we can sing about it.

Tracklist:

Here’s the thing, Sports Team

Eton Rifles, The Jam

Di black petty booshwah, Linton Kwesi Johnson

End result, Jeffrey Lewis

We are all bourgeois now, McCarthy

Kill the poor, The Dead Kennedies

Kidnapping an heiress, Black Box Recorder

Racing like a pro, The National

Singer songwriter, Okkervil River

The lady came from Baltimore, Scott Walker

Mysterex, Scavengers

Modern yuppies, Home Counties

Not great men, The Gang of Four

Armagideon time, Willie Williams

Mis-shapes, Pulp

 

Episode 113 - Neo-Psychedelia

You could argue that psychedelic movement was when the sixties started to collapse in on itself. The Sergeant Pepper cover is iconic. It’s colourful. It’s as far from the dour monochrome 1950s, or even 1964, as you could get. But it’s also fuelled by mind-altering drugs. Which was unsustainable.

The hippy dream was over almost before it had got started. 1967 and The Summer of Love collapsed into Altamont, the break-up of The Beatles and psychedelia was taken down along with it. Idealism gave way to the grim realities of life in the seventies.

Like an evolving lifeform though, psychedelia may have gone underground but was finding ways to burrow to the surface in other evolving species. Psychedelic folk, psychedelic rock, acid rock and psychedelic pop all featured as fresh mutated forms in the early ‘70s.

Then in the late ‘70s and early ‘80s a new branch called ‘neo-psychedelia’, quite literally for want of a better term, got into its stride, first in the UK, with Echo and the Bunnymen and The Teardrop Explodes, next in the US with the LA ‘Paisley Underground’ bands such as The Dream Syndicate. After that, it’s been a free for all and psychedelia has warped into multiple genres. Arguably, for example, dream pop and shoegazing have a godparent in psychedelia.

So this episode tries to restrict itself to what you might, if you wanted to, term neo-psychedelia, closer in spirit to 1967 but without the noodly eight-minute space jams. It’s flourishing right now in Brisbane, of all places, and some of that city’s fine bands are featured here.

I had the privilege of seeing Nice Biscuit (awful name, great group) at The Croxton Hotel a few weeks ago, who are featured in this episode, and I would go so far as to suggest that it was my gig of the year to date. They demonstrated that old art forms don’t die, they can mutate into something better and stronger.

I hope you enjoy the episode.

Tracklist:-

Fuzz jam, The Lazy Eyes

Cornflake, Psychedelic Corn Crumpets

Happy man (Memphis version), Sparklehorse

Captain, Nice Biscuit

Race for the prize, The Flaming Lips

Typical music, Tim Burgess

Static resistance, Hookworms

Stars are stars, Echo and the Bunnymen

The late great Cassiopia, The Essex Green

Let’s get together (in our minds), Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci

Jumping fences, The Olivia Tremor Control

Bronx cheer, Mercury Rev

Forever heavy, Black Moth Super Rainbow

America’s Cup, Pond

 

Episode 112 - Bonus Ep: Bands Listeners Are In

We hand the conch over to our listeners who are going to perform for us in this episode.

What they say:-

J D Meatyard. “He tries to make sense of a crazy world and is often left perplexed by the coldheartedness that he views with horror and disgust. His passion moves the listener, his humanitarian beliefs bleed through his music.”

Fragrant Circus. “Every track is ‘voiced’ by an AI voice that we used from either the Siri selection on Apple OS or from an online voice application. It was definitely intended as a concept album. And just to see if we could do it. Which we have.”

Sairie. “Their haunting style retains the English folk tradition nurtured by Anne Briggs and Shirley Collins.”

Bobbins. “When Miles Davis, Talking Heads, The Blue Nile and Steely Dan are pushed through a Kraftwerk Grinderman, lightly seasoned with some Lou and Joni, made into Neuburgers, and enjoyed with Orange Juice and Television.”

Chinatown Lights. “The culmination of years of unsuccessful bands of several different genres leading into a focused, creative, indie rock machine.”

Marphex. “I’ve recorded 100+ songs and one concept album in Bandcamp. Other tracks I’ve recorded are varied in genre from hip hop, alternative, electronics, pop, art rock.”

The Nightingale Experience. “After about 1000 years of writing and performing music I really do think we have created something worth sharing with the world (or at least with the world beyond Walton on Thames ). We are very much indie to our bones and this is very much not a disco song but a memory of a dream of a half forgotten moment.”

Mad Planets. “We were so entrenched in the DIY, anti-corporate scene, and the 90s terror of "selling out" that I don't think we really knew how (to sell our music), or how to do so correctly.”

Beauchamp’s Tenth Horse. “I have three young kids, so I record and mix in the lounge room after they go to sleep at night… on those evenings where I have enough energy, which are very few! It's hard to get people to listen to your music, and I'm not the best at self-promotion.”

The Marble Tea. “As humble as he is cultivated, he is one of those modest geniuses whom the world ignores for a long time if not always, but who shine for those who meet them.”

Soup Review. “What happens when South Yorkshire meets South Coast, when folk tradition meets anti-folk self-deprecation.”

The Humdrum Express. “Breezily delivered observation, social commentary and sharp wit, fused with familiar cultural references, surreal characters and subtle puns.”

The Fuzzrays. “Great indie garage band with some seriously good song writing.”

The Convenience Store. “Really, really good stuff from a Melbourne band you should have on your radars. "We're still working on what our sound is." ”

Tracklist:

Jesse James, J D Meatyard

The Spinning claw, Fragrant Circus

Bushes and briars, Sairie

Journey and the like, Bobbins

Eyes, Chinatown Lights

Phase me, Marphex

Her name is disco, The Nightingale Experience

California, Mad Planets

Bum leg, Beauchamp’s Tenth Horse

Your energy, The Marble Tea

Too long, Soup Review

Christmas with Evan Dando, The Humdrum Express

Kill Bill, Fuzzrays

Bruise (Portland version), The Convenience Store

Episode 111 - Movies and Actors

You think a song’s about one thing, you do some research and you find out it’s about something else entirely.

Item one, Michael Caine by Madness. This has long been my preferred track from this band, a hangover from the days when I had an allergy to people having too much fun with their music and consequently their ‘Nutty Boys’ persona jarred. But Michael Caine isn’t nutty at all. Sung by Chas not Suggs, for one thing. I wish he’d sung more.

And it turns out it’s about informers during the troubles in Northern Ireland. I’m tempted to say “Who knew?” but clearly some people already do. They chose Michael Caine because of his role as Harry Ipcress in the ‘60s spy thrillers. He wasn’t going to lend his voice, then his daughter explained how big Madness were and he changed his mind.

Item two, The Union Forever by The White Stripes. I’d guessed this track was about something specific but I didn’t know what. (It also falls into another category of ‘two tracks smashed together into one’ which I’m currently researching.)

Well, this one’s about Charles Foster Kane, aka Citizen Kane from the movie of obviously the same name. In which a band pay one of those folksy tributes to the ‘Great Man’ everyone seemed to love before Elvis and some others invented rock’n’roll. The words from that song are repeated here:

“There is a man, a certain man

And for the poor you may be sure that he'll do all he can

Who is this one? Whose favorite son?

Just by his action has the traction, magnates on the run

Who likes to smoke, enjoys a joke

And wouldn't get a bit upset if he were really broke

With wealth and fame he's still the same

I'll bet you five you're not alive if you don't know his name”

This eulogy is sung at a brisk pace, while the “You’ve gotta love me” parts concern the angst in his private life and are sung at a very different tempo.

Clever movie, clever song.

A final word for the final track, Donne Darko. It’s long at 11 minutes. It’s not much about movies beyond the title and a fleeting reference in the lyrics. But it’s superb and happens to be on my all-time favourite films. So it’s in. The benefits of not reporting into anyone.

Tracklist:

Michael Caine, Madness

Underground movies, The Auteurs

Kids 1995, Been Stellar

I wish I knew Natalie Portman, K-OS, Saukrates, Nelly Furtado

Clark Gable, The Postal Service

Nurse Ratched, Cherry Glazerr

Jo Jo’s jacket, Steven Malkmus

Crispin Glover, Scarling

The union forever, The White Stripes

Movies, Weyes Blood

Donnie Darko, Let’s Eat Grandma