Reading List

I went into the local library last week and starting scanning the shelves for new books to read. I picked up two in quick succession and read the notes on the gatefold. After 5 minutes pondering whether to borrow them, I realised I had already read them - albeit 15 years ago, but nonetheless, my memory had failed me. This has led me to write down all of the books I have read in the last few months, for fear of forgetting.

Colm Toibin - The Story of the Night
Christos Tsiolkas - The Slap
JM Coetzee - Disgrace
Timothy Keller - The Reason For God
Patti Smith - Just Kids
Nicholas Carr - The Big Switch
Hans Fallada - Alone In Berlin
Primo Levi - If This Is A Man/The Truce
John Updike - Terrorist

An imaginary scenario

Sony Music offices, London, early November 2009.
Simon Cowell is feeling restless, chain-smoking in his air-conditioned office. He doesn’t grace the offices often, preferring to keep the Syco arm one step removed from its parent company, Sony. But today is different - Cowell might have to enlist their services, keeping any potential action distanced from both himself and his team, just in case the media gets wind of it.
He’d been awake all night, watching re-runs of video footage of the latest X Factor series, convinced that the finalists on the UK talent show would be Stacey, Olly and Joe. But Stacey (despite the equine look) was no Leona, not even an Alexandra. And as for the boys, well it was Will and Gareth all over again and everyone knows what happened to Gareth. At best, they were destined for musicals. He picks up the phone to call the agent for Chicago.
“Hi, it’s Simon.”
“Sorry?”
“As in Cowell.”
“Really?”
He puts the phone down without saying another word, swings ‘round in his chair, stubs out a fag and gazes out into the middle distance, pondering his dilemma.
The ‘grubby hacks’ were doing one of two things: either turning the tide on the popularity of X Factor, or simply reflecting the changing whims and fancies of the British public. Putting ‘Strictly’ aside, the ratings were sliding, admittedly it was no landslide, but some of the viewers, particularly those in the north, were starting to switch off. Meanwhile, he couldn’t go anywhere without hearing complaints that X Factor and indeed, himself, had ruined Christmas. “No More X Factor Xmas No.1,” he heard Jeremy Vine say on R2.
“How can I appear to give the power back?” The question had been rattling around his head for the past month, irritating him to the point of nervousness. Cowell prided himself on giving the UK public entertainment they could shape and control, although it being Britain, he knew the backlash would hit sooner or later. Either way, it was happening and it needed to be stopped.
We need to make the public feel as though they are in control. We need to make the X Factor finalist appear as though they are an underdog. The British public, second to panning those on the up, love to bring a loser back from the dead. We need another Xmas No.1, one that allows the finalist to lose. Another Xmas No.1...the idea started to take shape.
He calls a Sony intern into the office. A 22-year-old, by the name of John.
“I want you to go through the Sony repertoire and find me a song which will offend the X Factor audience. Something in the archives.”
John can’t quite believe he’s in Simon’s office, taking orders which seem utterly arbitrary.
He looks through the database and is hard pushed to find anything that offensive....JLS, Kings of Leon. But he stumbles across Rage Against The Machine and recalls his older brother playing “Killing In The Name.”
“Mr Cowell? I’ve found one song and I think it might offend people...it’s got the word ‘fuck’ in it.”
“Put it on the stereo. I can’t say I even remember this band.....”
Cowell is just over two minutes into the song and shouts: “Bingo! Now, switch off this fucking horrible nonsense.”
Cowell sparks up another cigarette. “John, now, this has to be kept strictly between you, me, Rage’s manager and the Sony bosses. I want you to start a campaign to get this single to No.1 at Xmas. I don’t care how you do it, but as long as this is kept deadly secret, you can do what you like. The campaign must say one thing: ‘stop X Factor from getting the Xmas No.1.’ If it fucks up, I will have you removed from this building immediately and you will never work in the music business again.”
John remembered all the fuss earlier in the year about Russell Brand and how many Facebook groups had started up to support him. He promptly set about creating a FB group to urge people to buy the download of ‘Killing In The Name,’ pretending to be a couple who were determined to derail Cowell and his plans. It was a start – maybe not amounting to much, but all the same, a beginning.
Cowell calls a bunch of his regular, trustworthy, songwriters. “Write an X Factor winning single about...losing the game, being the underdog, climbing a mountain but never reaching the summit...Yes, that’s right, a song for a loser.”
And so the wheels were in motion. Make the public think they have the power back and ensure the winner is an underdog.
“That will guarantee us at least another two years of airtime. They’ll come flocking back. Now, who is booking my Xmas flights to Barbados?”

THAT list

And so it was. I started work as a music journalist on Nov 26 1999. The job was effectively handed to me outside what was the original Barfly Club at a since-demolished pub called The Falcon on Camden's Royal College St. I was invited into the back of a van by the then editor of The Fly magazine to meet an upcoming band he was championing and their A&R man. The band and A&R man joked I was wearing a coat that could have belonged to a secretary in the 50s and seemingly, because I took that in good spirit (well, it seemed like a compliment to me), I got the job. Such is the nature of the music industry. The job was two days a week as an editorial assistant for no pay, only access to as much music and as many concert tickets as I could ever dream of. Lucky me, I was promoted to dep ed after six months on the handsome, and needless to say, much-welcome, sum of £9K a year.
What I didn't think possible was that a decade later, I'd still be working as a writer/editor in the music industry (now, more interestingly for me, writing about the biz, as opposed to the music itself). I have been extraordinarily lucky - I have witnessed and reported on a time in the music industry whereby it has undergone drastic changes neither predicted, nor, of course, ever seen before.
This all forms the backdrop for THE LIST - my albums of the past decade. I'm not sure the list would read the same if my life had taken a different course. I am sure I have missed out some albums along the way - no doubt. There are also albums which I had crushes on - those which I don't listen to now, but did at some point for a prolonged amount of time - but those aren't included. These are the albums that I find myself repreatedly returning to. Three acts get a special mention: Wilco, TV On The Radio and Modest Mouse. Those are the bands I have cherished the most, hence they have more than one entry.

Wilco - A Ghost Is Born/Yankee Hotel Foxtrot
Modest Mouse – We Were Dead.../Good News for People Who Love Bad News
TV On The Radio - Desperate Youth, Blood Thirsty Babes/Return to Cookie Mountain/Dear, Science
Calexico – Hot Rail
Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds - Lyre of Orpheus/Abattoir Blues
My Morning Jacket – It Still Moves
The National –Alligator
Richmond Fontaine - Post To Wire
NERD – In Search Of....
Bloc Party – Silent Alarm
The Kills – No Wow
Electrelane – Axes
Gorillaz – Demon Days
Sufjan Stevens – Illinoise
Pulp – We Love Life
Viva Voce – The Heat Can Melt Your Brain
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah - Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
Primal Scream – XTMNTR
Sun Kil Moon – Tiny Cities
Sona Fariq – Sona Fariq
Elliot Smith – Figure 8
Gemma Hayes – Night On My Side
The Walkmen – Bows and Arrows
Badly Drawn Boy – The Hour of Bewilderbeast
Nelly Furtado – Loose
Mermaid Avenue I& II – Billy Bragg and Wilco
PJ Harvey – Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea
Brendan Benson – Lapalco
At The Drive-In – Relationship of Command
The Coral – The Coral
Department of Eagles - Whitey on the Moon
Kelis - Tasty
Blur - Think Tank
Manu Chao - Clandestino

When The Devil's Loose

Last year I went to SxSW for the first and what might the only time (given how much I disliked Texas). The saving grace of the trip was seeing 2 different acts: Frank Smith (a band not a man) and AA Bondy, who I wrote about here and profiled in Music Publisher's Assoc. 'Impact' magazine. His latest album (When The Devil's Loose) has been released here and he is finally getting the attention I think he deserves: Guardian, Independent. Some of the tracks are here on his MySpace.

I'm chuffed about this - this year has produced little in the way of amazing albums for me (Will everyone get over The xx and Grizzly Bear, or Frightened Rabbit, or any other animal-centric band name?), so maybe he'll make it to number one of my favourite list.

How is it that all of a sudden I get the Arctic Monkeys?

I never fell for the Arctic Monkeys like the rest of the world did. I appreciated their obvious musical talent. I enjoyed the much-lauded lyrics to a point, often finding them too obviously British, a bit too kitchen-sink drama. I'm probably unusual in that I don't particularly like lyrics which are focused on the toils and tribulations of the everyday, or the ordinary, prefering instead (on the whole) lyrics which are more enlightening, more philosophical - those containing references which force me to think. Musically, the Arctic's brand of jangly, spiky, 60s guitars didn't hit the spot neither, so the first two albums never made it into my collection.
Fast forward to this month and Arctic Monkeys' 'Crying Lightning' is probably my favourite song of the year. I'm a total sucker for American music, so I was hoping Josh Homme would inject the band with the substance I believe they were previously lacking. So far, so good - the producer seems to have done the trick.
The reviews for 'Humbug' haven't been bad, far from it, but all of those I have read seem to say the same thing: Arctic Monkeys have taken a new direction which is going to upset their massive fan-base; that the lyrics are different, that the sound is harder. I'm happy about this. I wanted them to shed their British indie skin in favour of something more gripping, more forceful, more sleazy and judging from the few tracks I've heard so far, they've accomplished it. Good on them.
It got me to thinking about why I always seem to get into my favourite bands after the release of their third album. Kings of Leon are another example. Just before the release of their first album, people recommended it to me claiming it was 'right up my street'. I didn't like it at all, same with the second album. However, "Because of the Times" arrived and I fell in love with it. It's a similar pattern with some of my favourite bands:
u2 - I prefer War over Boy and October.
Modest Mouse - they got me on 4th album, Good News....
Nick Cave - bit different, but it wasn't until Boatman's Call that I suddenly started tuning in.
Wilco - the 4th album ‘Yankee Hotel Foxtrot’ - the first three are OK, but don't touch the beauty of that 4th record.
The National – 3rd album, ‘Alligator’ - still their best record in my opinion.
I think this might make me a bad talent spotter. So many people in this industry seem to fall in love with the first record, complain about the 'difficult second album' and forget the bands by their third attempt, at which point I'm re-evaluating my opinions of such bands.
It just goes to show that to hit people like me, bands do need to be given ample time to develop. It's a strange pattern....

Last-minute notes before the packing starts....

My last night here. It's 6.30pm and a thunderstorm has started - watching it from high up in my hotel room is incredible.
Shinjuku called again today. I discovered where all the record shops are. It's ridiculous - there's so so so much available here - vinyl, CD, DVD, bootlegs which are just too tempting. Disc Union is like a more down-at-heel Fopp and luckily, all the staff speak English. I just can't get my head around why British people stopped visiting them, regardless of the digital revolution. I've missed wondering around such shops so very much.
So - some quick observations (this is all for my own benefit so I never forget what has happened here!)....anyhow:
I found a bootleg DVD of a U2 show around the time of the Vertigo tour. They called it "How to dispatch an ageing band," as opposed to the official album title, "How to dismantle an atomic bomb". I wonder if the Japanese realise how right they were in their re-naming?
I haven't heard any police sirens here. Only once an ambulance went by with its sirens less wailing, but more whispering.
Women wear Wellies in 34 degree heat as a fashion statement (they're often pink or white). The humidity is close to torture - I don't know how they do it.
People never bump into eachother (from what I can tell), which is ridiculous given its the most over-populated city on the planet. Bikes whizz by pedestrians on the pavement and no-one gets in eachother's way. It's as though they are all positive ends of magnets - creating a forceful space that can't be interrupted.
I saw a boy wearing one of those Nike "Do It" slogan t-shirts. His had the Nike logo, but it said "Don't do it." Brilliant.
Picked up some stickers in the Tokyu Hands department store: one of them says, "I was late for the cattle mutilation." Yeah, so was I......gutted.
Am looking forward to seeing the people I have missed, but this city already has a hold on me. Shame to be leaving at 8am tomorrow.

Naked sword-fighting and phallic structures

It’s strange what music sounds good in different locations. I find that when I’m travelling, I make different playlists, but on arrival in whatever country it is, the music simply doesn’t ‘fit’. For example, I never want to listen to Americana bands when I’m in the Mediterranean, preferring instead to go all out for the pop music I wouldn’t normally listen to in London. It’s a mindset thing, I suppose. The two artists I’ve loved listening to while wandering the streets of Tokyo are, rather bizarrely, Nick Cave (the Grinderman project – my boyfriend will be pleased, he’s been long urging me to give it a go) and Mel Torme. They may sit at complete odds with each other, but like Tokyo, there’s just no explaining it. One lyric from a Mel Torme song stood out: “I’ve seen a lot of big cities; I’ve heard a lot of big talk.”
Yesterday was one of those days that I hope I never forget. I travelled out to a place called Asukusa, 25 mins from Shibuya at the end of the Ginza line. Asukusa really came to prominence in the Meiji Restoration period, when the Emperor first decided to let Westerners and Western culture into the city. It was the first place to house cinemas and music halls and allow strip clubs to open. Amusingly, strip joints in the area replaced a different form of ‘erotic’ entertainment: naked female sword-fighting. Asukusa is a mixture of many things: somehow it has retained an air of what I would imagine is traditional Tokyo – a sprawl of temples, statues and pagodas, all incidentally reconstructed after the bombings in1945. The area is also cluttered with a million stalls and shops selling anything you could ever want: kitchenware, clothes, toys, pets etc etc. Tokyo and particularly Asukusa shares something with California: although the architecture is grey and drab, every effort is made to make it look attractive. Flowers, ribbons, ornaments, carefully-designed signage in array of pretty colours. Those who live there clearly take pride in their surroundings. It works the opposite in London. We’re so spoilt with incredible architecture from all manner of periods that we don’t bother to make an effort ‘beautifying’ the place. It’s beginning to sink in just how lazy us British folks can be.
I spent three hours wandering the streets of Asukusa – delighting in the smells, sounds and the visual feast, avoiding the rickshaws, the bicycles, the other mass of tourists. One major pull for the tourists outside the temple is...and I don’t know the official name for it....the fortune telling stand. The procedure is as follows: you chuck some money into an honesty box, shake a cylinder box from which a chopstick falls. The signs on the chopsticks match signs on about 200 wooden draws, from which you pull a piece of paper which tells your fortune. Mine was shockingly awful: “Bad fortune: Thunderbolt hit and sound is breaking the sky, it is real dark and terrible. A man of good sense of humour stay within a house closing the gate and door. All looks really lonesome.” I nearly fell over laughing, which clearly frightened the Japanese people who took steps to get away from me. What amused me even more is that they undertake this ritual, then walk into the temple to banish their sins by wafting incense over themselves and praying to the shrine. Superstition and spiritualism are bed fellows here.
Asukusa sits on the river and over the bridge is the Asahi beer building. It’s apparently meant to depict a glass of beer, but I have a feeling some phallic symbolism is going on. It’s best to just check the picture on my Flickr account and make up your own mind about it.
The “Edo gawa-ku Hanabi Taikai” fireworks took place last night. Paid for by the government, they go on for an hour (puts the London New Year’s shindig to shame!) from a stadium in the centre of town. I was taken by a companion here to the Park Hyatt hotel in Shinjuku to watch them: the amazing five-star hotel where they filmed “Lost In Translation”. We sat in the bar on the 45th floor (just along from where Bill Murray made cloaked advances to Scarlett Johanssen), sipped cocktails and watched the fireworks explode below us. My companion recounted a story about meeting Lou Reed in Paris, which had me in stitches. Forget my bad fortune, I’m a lucky girl.
I’m starting to get my head around the Japanese mindset....a little. They are amazing copyists. Someone quite crudely suggested that genuine, original creativity is thin on the ground here. I don’t believe it. Throwing your own slant on something that has gone before does not mean you are void of creativity. The Japanese are, however, incredibly child-like. Those under 25 or so express themselves so strongly: particularly in their style. They desperately want to differentiate themselves from the rest of the crowd by concocting their own dress sense – it’s brilliant to watch. The adults are slightly different – given they all work in a highly corporate society, they are obliged to do the suit and tie thing, much in the same way as the Western world does. But underneath that veneer, they still hold on to child-like traits. For example, a man on the tube yesterday was wearing a suit, but hanging from the top pocket was a chain carrying a fluffy, miniature bear. Maybe the freedom we are granted in the West means we inevitably mature...if you are kept suppressed, maybe that supposed ‘maturity’ never kicks in. I’m only beginning to get my head around this idea. I’m sure I will travel around the city today and what I notice will contradict this. To the streets it is.....