Getting to and from work has become more of a chore than usual lately. This is on account of some long-running and pesky roadworks which, according to the signs, were meant to be finished weeks ago - 28th October, 2012 to be precise. Colleagues who travel the same way as me have pointed out that the 28th October part has now been scrubbed out. Which just leaves 2012...I suspect this will go the same way before long. True to form, we have all noticed that no actual 'work' seems to be going on at these 'roadworks'. Some have speculated that the work is perhaps going on under the bridge, where we can't see it happening. I prefer the suggestion I heard yesterday - that there are 'invisible Oompa-Loompas', beavering away right before our untrained eyes. In any case, at a certain point in the journey, the traffic gets stuck and stays stuck for a very long time.
It doesn't take much for me to drift off at the best of times, but this situation creates the perfect conditions for musing on the most inane aspects of existence. This week, amongst the usual debris, I have found my head space cluttered with memories of how I used to 'do' music, before the invention of MP3 players and ipods. This may be due to the fact that my ipod has stopped working in my car. It may also be due to a documentary about the UK singles chart I saw the other night. Whatever the reasons, at some point I recall thinking to myself that I am part of the last generation to have 'done' vinyl.
The term 'generation' is one that has perplexed me for quite some time, as I've never been quite sure what it means. On closer inspection, I have discovered that there are two types - familial and cultural generations. Familial is the obvious one - measured apparently by the approximate length of time it takes between a daughter being born and producing offspring of her own. The second, it seems, is pretty much anything you can lay claim to. In that case, then, I am laying claim to being one of the last members of the vinyl/ mix tape generation. I would count CDs in this but, when it comes to talking about the music we listen to (some call it 'taste' but, as you are about to see, this really is a misnomer in my case) we are talking about something that germinates and, essentially, flowers in our formative years. My formative years didn't include CDs as I didn't get a CD player until I was at least part-way into my 20s. Before that, I had what was unimaginatively described as a 'music centre'. It was called this, presumably, because it had all the essential components of playing music - in other words, a record player, two tape decks (for copying tapes) and a radio tuner. This was all you really needed in the 1980s. Despite it's unattractive design and, no doubt, place at the lower end of the audio equipment food chain, my music centre was fabulous. For a start, it was loud; a student friend of mine once commented that they could see the walls of our university residence shaking with the sound of my music centre's output. It was also a reliable companion for many years. I acquired it (in other words, my parents bought it for me) when I started secondary school and it stayed with me until I was taking my finals at university. That's over 10 years of general abuse and being moved about - I'm not even sure if it was actually broken when I finally did get rid of it.
So I've covered the equipment, now what about the music? I've already said, music for me came in two formats - vinyl and cassette tape. The cassettes are long gone. Lost in the mists of time or, at least, sitting in an unwound heap somewhere in my mother's attic. What remains, however, is the vinyl. And why does the vinyl remain? Because - as anyone who has ever bought a record will tell you - vinyl is special. Ok, cassettes were functional and certainly more convenient - especially for playing when you were on the move. Their successors - CDs, ipods etc - became popular for largely the same reasons. Owning vinyl, however, had particular meaning. Buying a single was partly an act of allegiance - showing solidarity with your favourite song and participating in the great social experiment known as 'the charts'. Having an album went far beyond the music - you could spend many hours with your friends, reading and re-reading the cover notes or studying the images on the sleeve - it was also a lifestyle statement and, certainly by the time I left home, a decorative room accessory. Vinyl on the whole, therefore, was a shared experience. Vinyl also demanded your respect. I remember as a kid having a phobia about placing a needle on a record. I just couldn't bear the terrible, warped, scratching sound it made if it all went wrong. I spent years overcoming this and honing the skills necessary to get it right. As I discovered, placing a needle on a record required focus, good manual dexterity and attention to detail. Like a high-maintenance partner, a record insists on being loved and treated with care. This is why, to this day, I still have my motley and somewhat questionable record 'collection'. Something which, against my better judgement, I suddenly feel like sharing.
The Singles
First of all, I am limiting this to the singles I actually bought, rather than those that were given to me as a kid. I am doing this in the spirit of openness and honesty. After all, I can neither lay claim to or admit responsibility for the Adam Ant records my sister gave me. On the other hand, I do have to own up to having bought 'Eyes Without a Face' by Billy Idol. I'm sure I had my reasons at the time. And that's the great thing about having a singles collection. No matter how embarrassing or perverse, there were always reasons. A singles collection tells you a lot about your adolescent self. My particular one starts in 1983 and ends in 1990, thus taking me from a child into what should have been adulthood. Secondly, in the interests of time, I am going to limit it to one single a year (except for 1983). So (deep breath) here we go...
1983 and the first single(s): Nena - 99 Red Balloons/ Van Halen - Jump
People often talk about their first single - I can't exactly do this because I bought two on the same day. What interests me is that these singles are like two sides of the same coin. '99 Red Balloons' is about the total annihilation of mankind, albeit cosily wrapped up in a catchy chorus and driving guitar riff. Nena is a German singer, there was still an 'East Germany' at the time and the Cold War was still raging. It reminds me of how preoccupied everyone, including myself, was with the threat of nuclear war. Van Halen's 'Jump', on the other hand, is a completely mindless, West Coast American romp of a song - 'might as well jump - Jump! - go ahead and jump'. There is also something fittingly nihilistic about it, however, and, faced with the threat of a nuclear winter, I suppose I can't blame myself for wanting to even things out. What worries me most in both of these cases, though, is my apparent liking for soft rock.
1984: Howard Jones - Like to Get to Know You Well
Unlike the book of the same title, 1984 was my year for keeping things light, as well as developing a burgeoning interest in the opposite sex. 1980s electronica seems to feature quite heavily, I was a massive Duran Duran fan and that little sex-pixie Prince hadn't escaped my attention either. Looking back over my selections, though, I can see that I was also starting to develop something along the lines of a social conscience. Apart from Duran's Andy Taylor, the most important person in my world at this time was Howard Jones. Friends and family may see things differently of course, but, to me, he was everything. It was a slightly unusual schoolgirl crush perhaps. For a popstar, Howard Jones had the sort of face only a mother could love. This didn't matter though. He had a lovely smile and, crucially, he was a man after my own heart - vegetarian, into world peace and mutual understanding and very fond of analysing and pulling apart the things that bond us as human beings. Ok, so I'm no longer vegetarian but I still hold Howard personally responsible for shaping the person I am today. I could even go further and credit him (if that is the correct phrase here) with my philosophy degree but that's probably pushing it. I eventually bought all his albums, of course, but for some reason I also saw fit to buy this single:
1985: Frankie Goes to Hollywood - Welcome to the Pleasuredome
Looking at my choices from 1985, I can see straight away that Britain was at the height of its 1980s excesses and deep in the middle of it ran a social divide. On the one hand, I have the over-produced, overblown posturing of Duran Duran breakaway group, The Power Station with 'Some Like it Hot' (bought purely, it has to be said, out of loyalty to the aforementioned Andy) and on the other hand, a cover of Marvin Gaye's 'Inner City Blues' by lesser-known Liverpool band, Working Week. The Working Week single was clearly a result of my wrestling with a guilty conscience, because, by this stage, I totally loved another Liverpool band - Frankie Goes to Hollywood. Frankie Goes to Hollywood did 1980s excess with panache and, in my view, it was more than okay to like them because they were so in your face with their homosexuality. Having said that, they blew cash like there was no tomorrow and their lyrics were ridiculously over-the-top. And if you need an example, try this refrain from 'Welcome to the Pleasuredome' out for size:
I will give you diamonds by the shower
Love your body even when it's old
Do it just as long as I can do it
And never, ever, doing what I'm told
The diamonds are a bit off my radar, but there's a lot to be said for this, truth be told.
1986: The Fine Young Cannibals - Funny How Love Is
First of all, I have noticed a disturbing trend amongst my singles choices from 1986 - the jazz saxophone/ jazz trumpet. Frankly, if I never hear another saxophone solo again, it will be too soon. Thankfully, the trumpet solo in this song is quite short. When I looked at this single yesterday, I chortled at my innocence - Funny How Love Is - what did I know about love at the age of 15? Actually, the song isn't a love song at all. It's about being ditched and then telling the one who rejected you to get lost and stay lost. In fact, this was probably the most positively influential thing I listened to in those tender years: I don't want your magazines. I don't want your clothes. Take them from my house. Let me be alone - sage words, FYC. Sage words. Wish I'd paid more attention.
1987: Jackie Wilson - The Sweetest Feeling
1987 was the year when my taste in music really started going retro. At this point I was already deeply into The Doors, Jimi Hendrix and the Rolling Stones thanks, mainly, to the more advanced musical taste of my boyfriend of the time. As well as the heavier stuff, though, my sixties soul button had been activated, in part due to clever marketing by the Wilson estate (I assume), who had a huge hit with a re-release of 'Reet Petite' at the end of 1986. 'The Sweetest Feeling' was the follow up single and I loved it. It is a very sweet song, full of joy and longing, and still ranks up there as one of my favourites of all time. I honestly don't know if it reminded me of anyone back in 1987...if it did then it wasn't my boyfriend.
1988: The Mission - Tower of Strength
I was never a goth. Apart from a fondness for black, I never even flirted with goth. I was alarmed, therefore, to find a single by 'The Mission' in my collection. However, after a quick listen on 'You Tube' I was reassured. It is a good track; over-the-top and dramatic, with an element of optimism and romance - just how how a good goth track should be. Still not totally sure why I bought it though.
1989: Swing Out Sister - Break Out
If I was reassured to find my only foray into goth was quite a successful one, I am truly horrified to realise that this is the only single I saw fit to buy in 1989. I honestly don't know what possessed me - it's awful and, not only that, it represents everything I loathed about the charts at the time. I can only put it down to some kind of forced surrender. What's worse is, there was some really excellent stuff around that year (Soul to Soul, The Stone Roses - even Cathy Dennis was better than this) - I guess I must have been taping it all off the radio.
1990: Adamski - Killer
Evidently, I only bought three singles this year, but I'm glad to say that at least two of them were classics. Adamski's version of Seal's 'Killer' was fantastic and, in those days, such a departure from the huge production values of the 80s. 1990 was the year dance music really took off in Britain. Mainly, however, it reminds me of driving back from a party at a local squat and hearing it come on the radio. Part of the soundtrack to my misspent youth.
The Albums
The difference with albums, of course, is that you don't always buy them the minute they hit the shops. In some cases, I have no idea specifically when I bought a particular album - I just have vague (in some cases, very vague) recollections of what was going on at the time. For this reason, rather than by year, I'm going to do it in three categories - the good, bad and the ugly. Of course, this means that a large proportion of them will fall in the cracks between these categories, but this is probably no bad thing. I should say, for the sake of posterity, that the first album I ever bought was 'Under a Blood Red Sky' by U2. I'm not entirely sure why I bought this album - it was okay I suppose, but I think the main reason I got it was because I had just been taken to the first ever Virgin Megastore and felt I had to buy something. In later years, being an American import, it was useful for impressing boyfriends with - but that's about it. Not an impressive start, but I did say I was doing this in the spirit of openness and honesty, after all.The good:
I can't possibly narrow this down to one - I might be able to narrow it down to four or five. This goes in phases - phases of moral and spiritual degeneration, largely.
Phase One: Teenage Angst
The ultimate teenage angst album in my collection has to be 'Hatful of Hollow' by the Smiths. To be totally honest I wasn't a raging Smiths fan like some - but I still thought they were great. Like Adamski's Killer, 'How Soon is Now' is one of those songs that I can remember hearing for the first time and thinking that I had never heard anything quite like it before. I bought this album some time after it came out. I think I was driven to do so by a friend (who described himself as bisexual) telling me that 'What Difference Does it Make?' was written about Morrisey's experiences in dealing with his own sexuality. I hadn't read that much into it myself, but I thought it deserved a proper listen. The best thing about 'Hatful of Hollow' is that all the lyrics are printed on the sleeve. Perfect for angsty teenagers. You don't get that with an MP4.
Phase Two: Teenage Rebellion
Truly, my teenage rebellion didn't feel that rebellious. It didn't help that I had quite laid-back parents, who, after raising three others, didn't seem to mind overly when I stayed out getting drunk with my boyfriend all night. Maybe I just didn't tell them very much - I certainly never told them how much I was drinking. Anyway, the majority of my teenage rebellion was conducted to 'Smash Hits' by the Jimi Hendrix Experience. Actually, as the title implies, this is simply a compilation of the Jimi Hendrix Experience's greatest hits, but it was this album, alongside a borrowed copy of 'Let it Bleed' by the Rolling Stones and my own copy of 'The Best of the Doors', that started the downhill slide. It also opened my ears to what really great music sounded like. I'll never forget being semi-conscious on the floor of a friend's house and hearing 'Purple Haze' for the first time. Of course, these were the days when I could recall things after a night out. Before, I was always too drunk to get home but could remember every social nuance of the evening with perfect clarity. Now, I'm always sober enough to make it home, but I'm lucky if I remember how I got there, let alone what I said to anybody.
Phase Three: Teenage Meltdown
The album that probably best signifies the beginning of my teenage meltdown is 'Atomiser' by Big Black. Big Black was ubiquitous at most parties in the late 1980s, particularly those populated by boys with dyed black, backcombed hair and fringes that covered most of their face. It's opening track, 'Jordan, Minnesota', is particularly nasty and I would recommend that anyone gives that one a miss. However, 'Kerosene' and, in fact, most of the tracks on this album, are genius and I can still quite happily listen to them now if I am in the mood. 'Kerosene' had particular resonance for me and, now I mention it, still does - the line 'probably going to die in this town - lived here my whole life' reminded me of life in my current home town of Whitstable (not my place of birth, but close enough for union work, as my brother in law would say). Oddly, I got away from Whitstable, only to find that I missed it and decided to return. This lyric, therefore, still applies.
Phase Four: The End of the Road
I am having a hard time figuring out what the last really good album I ever bought on vinyl was - I have a copy of the Beatles' 'White Album', for instance, but I happen to know that I bought this to replace a copy I had on cassette, so I don't think it really counts. I'm afraid to say, I think there can only be one choice here and that is the album with no title, otherwise know as 'Led Zep IV'. I listened to this album so much during my first year at university that I feel like I know it better than the back of my hand. Some of it was, of course, already familiar to me. Thanks to a mix tape from my sister, I grew up listening to 'Stairway to Heaven' for example. Yes, most of it is pretty cheesy and the folkish, mystical references are so unlike me but you just can't argue with Led Zeppelin and it sounded really cracking on my clunky old music centre. I think it is also relevant that I bought my last really good record shortly before hitting the age of 20.
The bad:
Luckily, there isn't too much actual 'bad' in my collection, as every album I have ever bought has a least some merit, even if it is only on one track. I am happy to make an exception for the Ozric Tentacles and their album 'Pungent Effulgent', however. I wouldn't mind but I went to see them live about five times whilst I was at university. The Ozrics were basically part of the whole 'crusty'/ hippy/ traveller subculture that I skirted around the edges of for a while there in my late teens. I can forgive them for that, however. What I can't forgive them for, is being 'prog rock'. I cannot believe I spent literally hours that I will never get back, listening to prog rock.The ugly:
Another, related subculture I skirted around the edges of in my late teens was punk. At the time, of course, I never regarded the 'punk' (if I'm allowed to call some of it that - the problem with punks is that they tend to get very defensive) I listened to as ugly. I have very fond memories of certain albums - 'Margin Walker' by Fugazi or 'The Sky is Falling and I Want My Mommy' by Jello Biafra and No Means No. These were the bands I used to enjoy watching live. I'm sure I have some classic 'punk' albums in my record collection. If they weren't a bit battered, some of them may even be of value. I will never, ever listen to any of it ever again though.I'm relieved to say that this concludes my little trip down memory lane. The sad part is, most of the music I really loved listening to wasn't on vinyl at all. 'Doolittle' and 'Surfer Rosa' by the Pixies are completely missing from here as a result, as is 'Dark Side of the Moon' by Pink Floyd. Even 'Rio' by Duran Duran was on tape. All of these are now gone. It takes a particular type of obsessive music fan to keep hold of an old cassette tape and, as I think the list above reveals, I am not one of those. It does make me wonder how much technology will poliarize us in the future, though. It was easy with records. You bought a record and that was it. As the recent court case between Bruce Willis and Apple revealed, you may pay for it but you never really own a download. For the less organised or technologically able, it is unlikely that we we keep hold of much of the stuff we download now. Or maybe I'm just wallowing in nostalgia here. After all, records take up loads of space. I can't keep 2000 records in my house but I can on my ipod. And if, in 30 years' time, you see me compiling a list of these, please feel free to go ahead and shoot me.
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