Top Ten Albums of the Decade

I was tempted to post some choice Christmas albums but only got as far as The Beach Boys, Bob Dylan and Elvis. I'm sure there are more, but I don't think I have the stomach to handle too much Christmas music, even if it is performed by great artists...

So without further ado, here are my top ten albums of this decade. The list will probably change every time I try and catch up with all the music out there, so think of it as an approximate list.

10. Art of Fighting - Wires
9. The Shins - Chutes Too Narrow
8. Sparklehorse - It's A Wonderful Life
7. The Go-Betweens - Oceans Apart
6. East River Pipe - Garbageheads On Endless Stun
5. Augie March - Sunset Studies
4. TV On the Radio - Dear Science
3. Portishead- Third
2. Radiohead - Kid A
1. The Strokes - Is This It?

On that note, Merry Xmas dear readers and a rockin' New Year. We survived the "noughties" (what a dreaded term), now it's time for the..er...tenties?

Love and drunken festivities,
-AMCS

Debut album 'The Ruins Of Our Town' out now!!!

Yes, after months of speculation, it turns out my debut album does now officially exist.

As of...now, you can purchase 'Ruins of Our Town' online at Amazon, iTunes, Napster and all other good online retailers.
Or, if you prefer CDs to MP3s (and would like to experience the multi-layered artwork) you can purchase physical copies directly through Paypal. Please see the links below!!

-AMCS

New songs!! New album!! New news!!

Please visit A Man Called Son's MySpace to stream two exclusive new songs, 'Lazy Shoreline' and 'The Discount Stores (Looked Ghostly At Night)' taken from the forthcoming debut album 'The Ruins Of Our Town', release date this Friday 20 November on iTunes and more!!

Love and shiny guitars,
-AMCS

ALBUM NEWS!

Yes, my blog has been looking a little malnourished lately. You might say it has been left to rot like someone's collection of movie laser discs. But I assure you I have a valid excuse. I am finally releasing my debut album 'Ruins of Our Town' on November 20! You can preview tracks from the album at this address:

http://www.amazon.com/Ruins-Of-Our-Town/dp/B002U6UL4M/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&s=dmusic&qid=1257223903&sr=8-3

My sister, Charlotte, designed the wonderful artwork for the cover you can see above. She also has a website where you can view more of her distinctive art.

http://www.mcgowan-griffin.net/Home.html

There will be 11 tracks total.

1. Broken Sunlight
2. Waiting For the Jets

3. The Discount Stores (Looked Ghostly At Night)

4. My Life Is A Flop

5. Slipping Away Again

6. Lazy Shoreline

7. A Time Before

8. Been Here Too Long

9. London Clouds

10. Tale Yet To Be Told

11. All the Things You Rely On

Alas, this release contains no great surprises. There will be no secret track, no guest musicians and definitely no horn arrangements. One song may feature a guitar solo. Another track may contain no drums. I think one track might even have an interesting effect done with an out of control delay pedal, an amplifier and a bathroom but that's about as shocking as it gets. Having said that, there are some good moments on here. If I had to pick a favourite it would be 'Lazy Shoreline' because it sounds relaxed yet intense at the same time, which is an ideal balance. I might go as far as to say this is a decent headphone album. I hope you enjoy it as well should you be so minded to purchase a copy.

-AMCS

Got To Be There (Michael Jackson 1958-2009)

Writing about Michael Jackson's passing, I'm afraid I'm just adding to a million other rhinestone-studded obituaries. But that's to be expected when we lose someone of his stature. His appeal was so utterly universal that only the impact of The Beatles or Elvis Presley compare. You did not have to appreciate music to enjoy the music of Michael Jackson. You did not have to appreciate choreography or dancing to be awestruck by the jaw-dropping moves. You could be the most sullen kid in the universe with no interests except for dissecting cicadas and still be a fan. It takes a certain kind of genius to achieve that kind of crossover appeal.

I could quite easily focus on Michael Jackson: The Troubled Pop Star or Michael Jackson: Even Bigger In Death but I'm not going to do that. Outside the music my parents introduced me to, Michael Jackson was probably the first pop artist I seriously got into. When I was in primary school I had a friend where, as far as i can tell, the only thing we shared in common was that we both had our fair share of Michael Jackson albums on cassette. We would trade our tapes that covered the spectrum of Jackson's career at that point, from the Jackson Five through to Dangerous (which hadn't long been on the shelves) and dub copies for ourselves. We were precocious pre-Internet bootleggers with no business plan. I think we both secretly distrusted each other.

At that time, I was such a fan I even enjoyed the Moonwalker film, which is essentially a hodge-podge of the King of Pop crotch-grabbing his way through Bad-era material as the host of a futuristic TV special. The thing is, I'd probably still enjoy watching it now because the sheer scope of Michael Jackson's talent often transcended dross. Hence why he was able to get away with the monstrous statue-shipping ego-trip during promotion for History or the maudlin preach-fests of 'Heal the World' or 'Man In the Mirror'. It didn't matter what he did or whatever the latest controversy he was embroiled in, his blinding success and kinetic moves remained a constant source of fascination for me.

Yet at some point, perhaps when I was discovering acne and depressive English mid-80s vocalists, my interest in the King of Pop began to wane. The cassettes were replaced by newfangled CDs. The posters were torn off the wall (no pun intended) and replaced by Britpop idols. When Jarvis Cocker mooned Michael Jackson at the Brit awards for his predictably over-the-top performance of 'Earth Song' , it felt like the end of an era. I didn't know it at the time, but moving on from Michael Jackson signalled the end of my childhood. Yet the songs were still deeply engrained.

As soon as I hear 'I Want You Back' or 'Rock With You', I'm transported to being in Grade 5 class and I'm looking at the kid's desk next to me, realising he'd just created a dish-sized puddle of snot. Nothing to do with the subject matter of the songs, mind. When I hear 'Jam' or anything else off Dangerous, I remember my basketball obsession and am also reminded of sitting in front of the first tape player I ever owned and thinking "This is what hi-fi really means." Of course, I had nothing to compare the sound quality to, but I knew it sounded good.

Perhaps that's where the key to Jackson's success lies. There was simply nothing before him like him and unlikely to be anything since. Not having any other point of reference growing up, Michael Jackson seemed like the coolest human being on the plant. He seemed completely unshakeable. Yes, we all know the reality was different. Yes, the critics were quick to point out the irony of releasing an album called Invincible in 2001 at such a fragile, low point in his career (undoubtedly the irony was not lost on him or anyone else.) But there's something to be said about spending your childhood viewing your idols in a God-like aura. Don't know about you, but that's what true pop represents to me.

-AMCS

Obscure (but should not have been) album of the week...

THE DREAM SYNDICATE - Days of Wine and Roses [1982]

Of all the fashion faux pas committed through the decades, the 1980s undoubtedly committed some of the most brutal. Unfortunately, the music scene of this period merely exacerbates this sad state of affairs. Not only do we have to deal with spandex and mullets, we even have whole music genres named after fashion. ‘Hair metal’ would be one that “springs” to mind (though one could really see that genre as an extension of glam metal which arose in the 1970s.) Here’s another less likely name for a genre: the Paisley Underground movement.

Before you fear the worst, read on. The Paisley Underground movement was certainly one of the more curious branches of 80s alternative rock. Its key bands (The Rain Parade, The Dream Syndicate, Green On Red, The Bangles before they walked like Egyptians) were steeped in a jangly, retro sound reminiscent of The Byrds but played with a vicarious punk bite. Somewhat maligned at the time (Robert Christgau once wrote of a Rain Parade album “Smart hippies knew how dumb a lot of that music was even then. It's twice as dumb now”), the Paisley Underground proved to be quite influential and actually had noble intentions to begin with: a kind of antidote to the intimidating hardcore Los Angeles punk scene which, let's face it, was full of jocks. I guess if it were a movie, it would be called Revenge Of The (Retro Music) Nerds.

Some people say Rain Parade’s Emergency Third Rail Trip is the definitive Paisley Underground moment. While that album has prettier tunes, The Dream Syndicate’s debut Days of Wine and Roses certainly rocks harder. So, let’s get the most obvious thing out of the way here first: this album is essentially a Neil Young/Velvet Underground homage, albeit one that’s done very well. Steve Wynn gets my vote for the best Lou Reed impersonator out there, although he’s not far removed vocally from another Steve (that is, Steve Kilbey) who was also fronting his own Australian paisley popsters (at least at that stage), The Church.

The opener, ‘Tell Me When It’s Over’, is simply infectious guitar pop and gets the album off to a cracking start. Featuring a killer riff and a particularly indolent Wynn vocal, the whole thing jumps off the speakers like a Crazy Horse (sorry, I couldn't help myself). Elsewhere, propulsive, high-octane numbers such as ‘Then She Remembers’ and the title track sound like a pissed-off Bob Dylan circa 1965 if he was put in a blender with Black Flag for company.

But it’s the guitar playing of Karl Percoda that impresses the most. Whether it’s the shards of feedback he injects into the droning ‘Halloween’ which makes it all the more unsettling, or his haunting lines on’ Too Little, Too Late’ (featuring bassist Kendra Smith’s lovely vocals), he lends the songs a palpable sense of urgency and drive. Legend has it he only played cheap guitars because he ruined every other guitar that was worth something. Take that for a lesson in guitar heroics, Sonic Youth. Oh wait, you did.

Despite its derivative qualities, Days of Wine and Roses bears all the hallmarks of a snotty, garagey classic. The whole thing sounds like a bunch of young musicians who were clearly in awe of their heroes and just wanted to make a great record. For that reason alone, they had as much vitality up their sleeves as they did paisley patterns.

-AMCS

Obscure (but should not have been) album of the week...

BEDHEAD - WhatFunLifeWas [1994]

If there ever was a competition for the most low-key band in the cosmos, the awesomely understated (and now defunct) Texan four-piece Bedhead would claim the trophy. What Is Life (the first from a very fine trilogy of albums) moves at a deceptively languid pace. The soft, drowsy vocals from brothers Matty and Bubba Kane are buried low in the mix. The drummer is so restrained he might as well be shackled to his drum stool. Were it not for the fact that these songs have a tendency to suddenly detonate with guitar squalls and ocean-size cymbal washes, Bedhead would be positively horizontal.

Alas, Bedhead often get tagged to that lazy term applied to any “tempo-challenged” band in the 90s – slowcore. However, there are many elements to Bedhead that set them apart from their peers from this period. While the words are hard to decipher on almost every Bedhead track, they reveal a quirky, dark humour with repeated plays. Nowhere is this more evident than on ‘Bedside Table’, their first single they released after being signed to Butthole Surfers member King Coffey’s Trance Syndicate label in 1992:

you cut your head on the bedside table.
your temple bled as you were unable to remember
the lines of what you were reading
about someone deciding to quit speaking

‘Bedside Table’ is one of the great lost indie singles of the 1990s, a haunting slow-burner that lingers long with the listener after the climactic outro. Elsewhere, the epic, droning ‘Powder’ (clocking in at over seven minutes), is nectar for the ears, while the unexpectedly upbeat ‘To the Ground’ sounds like the Velvet Underground if they had spent more time chewing tobacco and playing in barns.

While later Bedhead releases would benefit from reigned-in production values (their final album, Transaction De Novo, was produced by Steve Albini – a great partnership), ‘WhatFunLifeWas’ is the best place to start for my money. There are also a handful of deleted EPs and singles worth tracking down on the online market, including the very literally-titled CDEP19:10, which contains a very worthy cover of Disorder by Joy Division.

-AMCS

Obscure (but should not have been) album of the week...

HOOD - Cold House (2001)

Apologies, keen readers, for the absence of last week's blog. As Lennon once sang, life is what happens when you're making other plans. Seeing winter is now upon us (at least in the southern hemisphere), I am focusing on one of the most wintry albums released post-millennium. If you want a reference point for how icy this album sounds, imagine the members of Sigur Ros getting cryogenically frozen and left in vats 12 feet under tundra. A veritable cold house, indeed.

Hood are an enigmatic, yet prolific, British outfit that have a considerable back catalogue (and one that's not easy to track down) that dates back to their first single "Sirens" in 1992. Plenty of gushing critical praise, articles and fan sites have been devoted to them. So why aren't they up there with the Radioheads or Bjorks of the music world? Perhaps it's because they lack a defined personality within the group. Perhaps they lack the lofty ambitions of their globe-conquering peers. Perhaps, more to the point, there is not a chorus in sight. In Hood's case, however, this works to their advantage. This is an austere piece of work, so don't go looking for cheerful melodies or lyrics. The irony of Cold House containing a song titled 'This is What We Do To Sell Out(s)', which happens to be the most experimental track on the album, would not be lost on the casual listener.

A beguiling mix of glitch beats, arctic synths, haunting vocals and hypnotic drums, Cold House is Hood's fifth album and most adventurous work. Superficially, the key ingredient that sets it aside from the rest of their output is the remarkable synthesis of hip hop elements into their sound, incorporating exceptional contributions from San Francisco-based hip hop artists Doseone and Why? In the wrong hands, such a combination could spell disaster but here, Hood have achieved just the right balance; using it sparingly. Two tracks that feature these artists, 'Branches Bare' and the chilling opener, 'The Removed All Trace of Anything That Happened Here' are a testament to this (the garbled rapping almost indecipherable in the latter, which only adds to the song's power).

Hood vocalist Chris Adamson's may not have an especially distinctive or dramatic voice, but the detached feel of his singing suits the feel of the songs. The interplay between the musicians is subtle and shifting, recalling Talk Talk at their most unconstrained. Hood also have a masterful drummer in Stephen Royle, who I sometimes wish would feature more in the mix. But that's just a quibble. If you ever need confirmation that isolation from the cogs of the music industry is good for the creative blood, the proof is in the Hood in this frost-bitten minor masterpiece.

-AMCS

Obscure (but should not have been) album of the week...

DANGER MOUSE and SPARKLEHORSE present: DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL [2009]

This week I've taken some liberty with the concept of an obscure album. None of the artists that feature on The Dark Night of the Soul are obscure (far from it), and I'm sure I'm not the only person out there who is blogging about one of 2009's most anticipated releases. But here we have an album which is unlikely to see the light of day in physical form. If that isn't obscure, then I don't know what is....

Because this release is literally hot off the press, I will attempt to give an overview of what's on offer, rather than a detailed critical analysis. Basically, Sparklehorse and Danger Mouse have teamed up with David Lynch, a collaboration which can only be described as an artistic wet dream. Not only have they produced some music together, they will be releasing a multimedia package including a book filled with original photographs by Lynch, of which only 5000 will be printed. As for the album, it is symbolically packaged as a blank CD-R. Confused yet? Read on. Every song features a different guest vocalist and, my word, there are some big names on the list; Wayne Coyne (Flaming Lips), Julian Casablancas (The Strokes) and James Mercer (The Shins) to name but a few. It would be a safe inference to draw that appetites in the indie community are whetted for this release. And the results?

Though responses have been divided so far (one of the more amusing comments I came across went something like: "This is awful...you'd have thought it was a Beatles record", and that's bad how?), it is without doubt a unique listen. Collaborative efforts like these can sometimes lack a cohesive whole, but with the cream of alternative cool at the helm, who's complaining? The production chops are impeccable and there are some real standouts, particularly the woozy, catchy-as-hell 'Everytime I'm With You', sung by Grandaddy mainman Jason Lytle. Sonically speaking, Dark Night of the Soul isn't too far removed from the last Sparklehorse album 'Dreamt For Light Years in the Belly of A Mountain' (in which Danger Mouse also had some involvement).

I would be a fool to overlook the real selling point for everyone, however, and that is the fact that David Lynch actually sings on two of the songs. The vocals may carry a whiff of auto-tune, the lyrics might be nigh on incomprehensible but....it's David Lynch, what else do I need to say? The first, 'Star Eyes (I Can't Catch It)', is the sound of Mercury Rev and Brian Wilson doing illicit substances together while riding on horses in slow motion. OK, a bit of aural exaggeration there but I'm doing my best. But the real pearl is the title track, the finale of the album, and would fit right at home in the visions of Betty Elms' relentless nightmare in 'Mulholland Drive' or the black lodge in 'Twin Peaks.' It's eerie, dark, other-worldly and bears the distinctively batshit-crazy stamp of Lynch's universe.

Because of an ongoing conflict with EMI, The Dark Night of the Soul may never see the light of day (hence the inclusion of the blank CD-R, the buyer choosing what to do with said item as they wish.) Either this is a genuine artists vs big corporation dispute or the best publicity stunt ever. Regardless of the actual situation, we are deprived of owning some great music. For those that aren’t modem-challenged, you can currently stream the album at this address:

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=104129585

Happy listening.

-AMCS

P.S - Special thanks to my friend Daniel for passing on the news of this release!

Obscure (but should not have been) album of the week...

EAST RIVER PIPE - The Gasoline Age (1999)

I first came across East River Pipe in NME's review of The Gasoline Age a decade ago. It would be another few years before I actually bought the album, as no local record store I perused stocked any of his records and crazed Internet shopping had not quite taken off in a way that it has now. Aside from the typical hyberbole that accompanies many a favourable NME release, the first line from the article always stuck in my mind, "There is bliss to be found in emptiness." This is a neat summation of the East River Pipe approach, in which the bleak, artificial landscapes and desperate characters of FM Cornog's songs are channelled through his strained yet eerie voice, juxtaposed with lush keyboards and chiming guitars. It's a contradiction that sits oddly to some ears, but I find it strangely compelling.

Given that at least half of the subject matter concerns cars and the vast nothingness of highway-riddled america, The Gasoline Age (save for a few inconsequential moments), could almost be labelled a lo-fi concept album of sorts. Every character within the songs, despite their yearning for freedom on the open road, acknowledges the futility of the journey ahead. It's the dark side of the American dream, the sinister flipside to On the Road for the new millenium. Tracks like 'Cybercar' and 'Astrofarm' paint a lightly dystopian vision of the future without going all Gary Numan (think of a more human Kraftwerk instead), while the opening number 'Shiny, Shiny Pimpmobile' (beyond it's great title), is a twinkling delight that perfectly evokes fast cars and glittering cityscapes yet is undercut with a slice of patriotic malice:

We're all alone, just get inside

We're going for a little ride

The cherry bombs, confederate flags

Don't forget that's all you are.

Other songs take the lonely highway chancer to familiar American pastimes, in the epic (and just a mite overlong) Atlantic City (Gonna Make A Million Tonight) where the gambler, after recounting his history of family neglect and poor choices, is convinced he is a "big time player" and will finally hit the jackpot and turn his life around.

Being modestly home-recorded, with nary a session musician or record producer in sight, the majority of East River Pipe's output tends to feature a rather cheap-sounding drum machine and/or drum samples. One can choose to be frustrated by this minor sonic setback or adopt the view that were East River Pipe's songs given the full band treatment and production, they would lose something in the translation. These are deceptively simple songs; intimate, warts-and-all but also full of pathos and quirky humour that is deeply ingrained in FM Cornog's lo-fi aesthetic.

Sadly, FM Cornog rarely performs live, which one could argue has limited his exposure somewhat. Nonetheless, this hasn't stopped other artists (Lambchop, for instance) recognising his singular talent and covering his works on stage and on record. So, in the absence of any future East River Pipe tour dates, if you do find a copy of The Gasoline Age in a record store, you won't regret the purchase. The album that followed this after a four year gap, Garbageheads On Endless Stun, is equally as impressive, filled with more of FM Cornog's slanted tales, so be sure to invest in that should you find a copy as well.

-AMCS

Obscure (but should not have been) album of the week.

THE OCEAN BLUE - Cerulean

Writing accessible pop with a subversive edge is tricky. A handful of artists (Steely Dan and Randy Newman, for example) have managed to pull it off successfully throughout their careers, often with such deftness that you barely notice the satirical leer underneath the words.

Could there be another argument that writing innocent and wistful pop, free of cynicism yet also free of saccharine, is equally as challenging? Many bands fall under the unfortunate banner of "twee" when attempting this or write 60s bubblegum songs in the vein of The Archies. Surely there must be some exceptions....

Perhaps it requires a bit of youthful vigour. The Ocean Blue (hailing from Pensylanvia U.S), enjoyed a mild amount of homeland success when they had barely graduated from high school, after releasing their debut self-titled album in 1989. This was due in no small part to their heavily British-inflected jangly sound, as UK groups of this ilk were a considerable influence on the American college rock scene at the time. Little wonder then, that many listeners were surprised to discover they weren't British. But despite the naive charm and strong hooks of the debut, they had matured a bit two years on by the time of their second album, the majestic Cerulean. It's a far less derivative, less dated effort.

The shimmering 'Ballerina Out of Control' is an exercise in chiming three-minute pop mastery, an American indie classic every bit the equal of 'There She Goes' by The La's or 'Bizarre Love Triangle' by New Order. The instrumentation is so sparse it's almost jarring upon first listen but repeated listens reveal its potency. It's a song so effortless and weightless it floats off the speakers. Or off your headphones. Did I mention this is a perfect headphones album?

Other highlights include 'When Life Was Easy', a yearning for simpler times but without a hint of angst or self-pity. It's just what it is, a piece of nostalgia performed and written with sincerity. And yet, I struggle to think of many other bands who have written songs like this without belabouring the point.

The final song is called 'I've Sung One Too Many Songs For A Crowd That Didn't Want To Hear' and belongs in the ranks of Greatest Extended Song Titles list. It just so happens to be a great tune as well.

Strong melodies and crystalline guitars are The Ocean Blue's butter and bread, so the lyrics seem like a bit of an after-thought. Many might find the American wholesomeness of singer/guitarist David Schelzel's words a bit cloying. I find only 'Questions of Travel' and 'Marigold' grate slightly with lines that stray a little too close to Hallmark territory ("Pockets full of posies" and "Swiss alps in the snow" should give you some idea of what to expect).

It's somewhat ironic that an American band release such a sunny, optimistic pop album in the year of grunge and an increase in flannelette shirt sales. They would not have sounded more out of place. In a way, they still do sound out of place. Cerulean is a collection of 12 blissful guitar pop songs and nothing more. Why can't it always be that simple?

-AMCS

On the topic of hard rubbish...

One thing Melbourne has over Brisbane (and many other cities for that matter), which I've come to appreciate is hard rubbish collection, those intermittent points of the year when everybody in suburban Melbourne does a bit of garage-cleaning. I have no doubt that many a student in suburban Melbourne are furnishing their houses as we speak with old picture frames and rickety chairs that others with fancier jobs have discarded.

Quite frankly, I don't blame the rubbish-scavengers. Who the hell wants to go to IKEA? I've found some perfectly good rickety chairs lying around myself before. I was shocked to find a recent city council brochure speaking of the evils of people scavenging around outside your house during hard rubbish time and what you can do to prevent them taking your stuff. Here's a preventative measure; don't put hard rubbish outside in the first place maybe? Talk about dangling the carrot...

But I digress. Being the DIY musician that I am, my primary aim is to find anything audio-related.

I was quite surprised last year when I found a classic 80s synth in good condition lying around during an otherwise aimless stroll. All it needed was an adapter and it was underway, as good as new. The potential of this keyboard is vast but it unfortunately has the memory of a broken calculator. Perhaps the original owners just misplaced it. If you're out there, sorry, but it found a better home.

I've been without a proper record amplifier for months. The fuse for my original one broke and so I've had to resort to listening to CDs; the lowest form of audio entertainment. So my heart skipped a beat today when I found a Marantz amplifier with a tape deck sitting outside someone's front gate. I've seen things like this before but have always come away disappointed after finding they've cut the cord or made some alteration that screams: "Scavenger beware: this does not work and it comes with a curse."

But this one had no markings to speak of. "Perhaps the owner just got a hi-fi upgrade and couldn't sell their old amplifier to anyone", I reasoned, trying to keep my spirits high. I quickly nabbed the dusty thing and took it home. Finding that it took one of those strange two-prong cords, I found one and plugged it in, not expecting much, when the light came on. "That's a good sign", I thought. I then plugged some old speakers into the back, found an old cassette to test it and...success! This neglected piece of equipment actually works! "Melbourne, you are the city of dreams, if only for your hard rubbish!"

I left the house briefly, forgetting to switch off the amplifier. When I returned, I found the light off. "That's funny. I thought I left it on." I turned the switch off and on again. Nothing. I tried switching the power supply. Nothing. I tried changing the cords. Nothing.

Much fumbling around.

Some cursing ensued.

More fumbling around.

More cursing ensued, this time more frequent and involving spitting.

"I give up. I'll just go into a pawn shop and pay the $70 instead." With that, I proceeded to place the amplifier where it now belonged. Outside the front of my house.

-AMCS

Obscure (but should not have been) album of the week...

DAVID McCOMB - Love of Will [1994]

It goes without saying that Perth native David McComb was one of Australia’s greatest songwriters. Following the disbandment of The Triffids in the late 80s, he released his one and only solo album, Love of Will, in 1994. It is a shamefully overlooked work, equally on par with any album of The Triffids.
It is also long out of print.

The final two albums from The Triffids, Calenture [1987] and The Black Swan [1989] contained some of the band's best work but were marred by over-production and superfluous synth wash, as was the style of the time. Following these works, it's refreshing to hear the dry treatment and uncomplicated arrangements of Love of Will. The contributions from various Triffids and Blackeyed Susans members (the latter of which McComb was also a member of) are warm and sympathetic and, whilst there’s nothing here quite in the pantheon of Triffids masterpieces 'Wide Open Road' or 'Bury Me Deep In Love', the quality remains high throughout.

The scorching 'Setting You Free' (one of two singles from the album along with 'Clear Out My Mind') is probably the closest link to the Triffids sound of yore. Elsewhere, it's an intimate and sombre affair. The two most spiritual songs, 'The Day of My Ascension' and 'Leaning' are prophetic in tone, somewhat eerie in light of McComb's tragically early passing (aged 37) in 1999. Listening to these tracks, one could be forgiven for thinking that McComb had some awareness of his fate.

Broken relationships and the tyranny of distance are subjects that McComb excelled at. He seemed to have an ability, much like his key influences, Leonard Cohen and Lou Reed, to sound tender and sardonic at the same:

I could ask you why you married him
I could ask you one of a dozen things
But I don’t like to watch an old friend suffering.
(‘Nothing Good Is Going To Come With This’)

He could be downright venemous too, when he wanted to be. ‘I Heard You Had A Bed’ is a kiss-off that would be thoroughly unpleasant were it not for the fact that the character sounds like such a lost cause, while other tracks revel in a paranoid fog, evidenced by this chilling verse:

What scares me to death, baby
Is that you can see right through me
And if you can do that baby
What good are you to me?
('Deep In A Dream')

The efforts of surviving Triffids members, along with devoted fans, high profile musicians and industry-types have done much to sustain the legacy of David McComb's work. Tribute gigs, reunion shows, cover songs and art exhibitions have abounded. Every Triffids album has been repackaged and remastered, with bonus tracks and exemplary liner notes.

And yet sadly, this is the one album in a formidable canon of work that has not been reprinted. I was fortunate enough to stumble across a copy in a secondhand record store in Switzerland a few years ago for an almost criminally low price. Since then, I have found the odd used copy circulating online in excess of $150.
As I say, there are devoted fans…

-AMCS

Obscure (but should not have been) album of the week...

THE COMSAT ANGELS - Sleep No More (1981)

Perhaps not as obscure at the time of its release (managing to reach No. 51 on the UK charts) and certainly not unattainable today*, The Comsat Angels' Sleep No More is nevertheless a forgotten classic that would nestle quite easily in any gloomy record collection between Unknown Pleasures and Disintegration.

After forming in 1978, Sheffield's finest had already raised the bar high with their first album Waiting For A Miracle (1980). Echoes of that tense debut can be heard through current acts like Bloc Party and Interpol, whether or not they are aware of and/or acknowledge their influence. It features probably their best known track, 'Independence Day', which must rank as one of the greatest alternative-hits-that-never-was.

By the time of their second album they had morphed into a different beast altogether.
Not exactly a singles-friendly affair, Sleep No More survives on its foreboding mood. It's oppressive, it's dark and it's relentless. No wonder this group came from Sheffield, the songs here are the aural equivalent of stainless steel; cold, metallic but with an undeniably resplendent finish.

There is a political undercurrent to some of the songs, such as 'Dark Parade' and 'Goat of the West' (probably the two most intense numbers on the album), which vent disgust at America’s Reagan-era foreign policy. But the album's lyrics and textures seem to reflect a more familiar theme of social isolation. The title track and 'Restless' are eerie, disorientating pieces that are almost alien-like in their detachment. They seem to exist in that woozy but wired state, like wandering through an unfamiliar city in the early hours and being confronted with the strange sights and bright lights.

Mik Glaisher, Comsat Angels drummer, has a fantastic style; he is the John Bonham of post punk. The production serves him well, as it features an absolutely mammoth drum sound, apparently achieved by recording in an elevator shaft, with microphones positioned on six different floors. The other three members are no slouches either; the bass-playing from Kevin Bacon (no, not the Footloose one) has an ominous tone, while icy keyboards from Andy Peake and slashing guitars from Stephen Fellows are positively hypnotic. Allegedly, it was the distinctive Comsat Angels guitar sound that influenced the style of U2's The Edge, after both bands toured together. I wonder if The Edge has considered splitting half his royalties since those heady days…

Post-Sleep No More, The Comsat Angels never plumbed such doom-laden depths again. Their next offering, Fiction(1982), is a more optimistic, accessible affair, a bit patchy in parts but still an excellent listen. Everything went a bit synth-pop/MOR-ambitions after that (well, it was the 80s after all), until they regained their chops with My Mind’s Eye (1992), which is probably the closest they came to matching the dynamic ferocity of Sleep No More.

Bleak? Yes.
But at its best, bleak rocks.
One to play loud.

-AMCS

* Aside from the original vinyl pressing on Polydor and a CD reissue in the 90s, the superb reissue label Renascent released an expanded version of Sleep No More in 2006, along with other Comsat Angels albums in expanded editions. So best place to get this album is: http://www.renascent.co.uk/

New music worthy of your eardrum attention...

Staying true to my original blog, I’m going to introduce you to some music that I’ve come across recently in the vast Myspace world.

First up is a local (that is, Melbourne) three-piece, the pleasantly-titled Hope Diamond. They play ethereal, haunting guitar pop, topped up with some nice vocal harmonies. I guess early shoegaze or Cocteau Twins would be a reference point but they are hard to pigeonhole. Check them out at http://www.myspace.com/wearehopediamond

Next is an intriguing character who goes by the name of Mr Smith. I don’t know much about him but he lists his location as ‘Australia, U.S.A’. There is a South Australia in Texas (would you believe) but I somehow don’t think that is where he’s from. Anyway, his songs are delivered in a distinctive baritone drawl, and they are very quirky. There’s an obvious love of 60s whimsy there, but that’s part of the charm. My favourites are ‘It Didn’t Happen’, 'Broken' and ‘Prince Albert’, which features an old joke you may or may not be familiar with. Have a listen at:
http://www.myspace.com/musicmrsmith

Finally, this isn’t exactly a band but a small independent record label based in Indonesia called Inmyroomrecords. Their ethos is as follows: “To gather fellow bedroom musicians, who are those who play, record, and personally distribute the work, not for sale but for free download.” There’s some lovely stuff on there. I particularly like the first track on offer by ‘Bad Lovers Company’, entitled ‘Heart Rescue.’ They can be found at:
http://www.myspace.com/inmyroomrecord

So that's my attempt at a "showcase" for this week. If anyone wants to recommend some good, independent music to me, send it this way!
-AMCS

Pity Prize

The sky is vanishing
Like the embers of a bonfire
Stumble back to
Each other’s arms
Safe from urban harm

Fate threw us a pity prize
In amongst the hundreds of hopefuls
Find a way to survive

See how far we’ve come
See how the odds are never against us
Just promise to leave the lights on
Swear I’m not superstitious

Fate threw us a pity prize
In the calm of
The smoke stained night

Obscure (but should not have been) Album of the Week

Underground Lovers - Get To Notice

The Underground Lovers were one of the great Australian alternative bands of the 1990s. A profoundly overlooked group even to this day, their songs have been covered by established Australian acts such as Sarah Blasko, while founding member Vince Giarrusso is also a film director (directing Mallboy in 1999).

In the early 90s they drew critical acclaim in England and beyond with their distinctive guitar drones and slightly off-kilter melodies, which drew comparisons with bands associated with the shoegaze movement doing the rounds in the British press at the time. But there was something uniquely Australian about their delivery that, much like The Go-Betweens, set them apart from their European contemporaries. Their brilliant sophomore album 'Leaves Me Blind' (1992) was released on esteemed label 4AD (imagine if Psychocandy was conceieved in suburban Melbourne and you might have some idea of what it sounds like). By the time of their third album, 'Dream it Down' (1994), they had reached a new level of sonic sophistication. In it you'll find flat-out classics such as 'Losin It' and 'Las Vegas', but you'd be hard-pressed to pick a favourite. It is probably their masterpiece and is well worth tracking down if you can find a copy.

One album by the Underground Lovers which you would struggle to find a copy of is their debut 'Get To Notice' (1991). A limited run was pressed during its release and since then no reissue has surfaced. The 'Undies (as the affectionate abbreviation for their name goes) were still finding their feet with this one. The shoestring budget production do not do the songs justice and an unfortunate Manchester "baggy" influence in tracks such as 'Sleep and 'Lick the Boot' creeps in, a style which seems at odds with the group's atmospheric, enigmatic qualities. However, the album contains a number of gems, notably 'Looking For Rain' (featuring one of their best riffs) and 'Girl Afraid', sung by the group's secret weapon Phillipa Nihill, that happens to be just as good if not better than The Smiths b-side that shares the same title. But it bears no resemblance to that song, in case you were wondering.

-AMCS

Shameless venting, it does follow...

Self-promotion was once a tedious task for the struggling artist (or business, depending on how you look at it). Then the mega-Internet came to the rescue and made it a billion times easier for us all to hawk our wares in whatever shape or form.
Self-promotion is now a mouse-click away. But with the luxury of this technology comes a price. It seems we've lost some definition of what the boundaries are.

As an example of this, and call me old-fashioned, it struck me as just a bit "counter-indie" for bands on Myspace and other similar sites to continually spam you about their upcoming gigs/releases/orgy events on your own page. That would be like me going to a band's gig, grabbing a bunch of flyers for my own show, ripping them up and scrunching them into tiny balls, pushing them into a pen and spit-balling them at every musician on the stage. An impact to be had, sure. But is the message actually getting through?

Friend requests are a different proposition. I'm not sure why a Scandinavian death metal band thinks I might like their music (or they liking mine) but lately, I seem to have more Scandinavian death metal bands as "friends" than I envisaged.

By the same token, I don't like denying requests, partly because I'm worried they will get all Satan-on-my-skinny-ass but also in a way, a denial seems "counter-indie", no matter how superficial the request was.

Yes, everyone these days is in a band and everyone knows someone who is in a band and everyone has a band to promote.
But without sounding preachy (too late), I think we should be spending less time trying to "promote" our own stuff through cheap means and more time listening to and giving other music a go. There's a lot of diamonds in the rough out there, if you look hard enough. In my next blog I'll attempt to show you a few gems.

-AMCS

Random trivia...

According to the UK Hit Singles book (don't ask me why I don't have the Australian version), approximately 40 years ago today (March 27) Marvin Gaye's version of 'I Heard it Through the Grapevine' was topping the charts. It would become Motown's biggest ever single.

Ten years later in March 1979, Gloria Gaynor's 'I Will Survive' was reigning supreme, ensuring years of bad Karaoke versions.

A decade on in March 1989, Madonna's 'Like A Prayer' dominated the airwaves, with the "controversial" video clip to boot.

It was ten years ago today when, in 1999 Britney Spears had a little ditty out called 'Baby One More Time.' A rock critic once referred to her as "Madonna next door." Spooky.
I don't know about you, but I distinctly remember not being able to escape that song where I lived at that point, much like The Offspring's 'Pretty Fly (For A White Guy). I was 15 and, subsequently, was traumatised and didn't emerge from my bedroom for three years.

Good times...
-AMCS

untitled 9

It is always the mystery that attracts.

That first enticing, ringing chord.

A voice that sounds otherworldly.

Words that evoke a place

That only the wildest of dreams can conjure.

That first listen.

A crackly car radio on a sweltering summer day.

A band in shadows luring you in from a distant stage

Amidst the sweat and stale, spilt drinks

A sleepy melody drifting from a neighbourhood window.

You want to catch it again, like a rare insect

But every attempt only dims the experience.

No. 1(blog) with a mullet....

Apparently I have two minutes to write this blog before this wonky old laptop officially runs out of battery power, so I'd better think of something interesting.

...Seeing as I can't guarantee words that will interest you, I can guarantee that once this blog is up and running I will be having a bit more of a laugh on here than I do on myspace (cough, splutter), filling it with ruminations on the pitfalls and "prat" falls of humanity (much like 100 million other bloggers in the universe are doing.)

However, what I hope makes this blog a little bit different is to introduce you all to some music which I have stumbled upon in my time, some you may have heard of, some you may not have. I will also endeavour to introduce a new-ish band every week that I have found out there in Internet-land whilst also musing on ones from the past. In short, it's an excuse for me to put my hours of music listening to good use.

And with that, I will read my laptop its last rites.
"See the hibernation light..walk into the light.."

-AMCS