(Sort of) New to NA: Rachael Wood

Full disclaimer: Rachael is not technically "New to NA", in that she's been David Gedge's lead guitarist in The Wedding Present since some time in 2023. As such, I've seen her live multiple times, and have increasingly admired her chops. This, though, is her first solo album: It's Not The End Of The World. To quote Rachael:

"The songs jump between bright indie riffs, surfy guitar lines, noisy bursts of energy, and quieter moments of reflection. They're rooted in the experience of feeling a bit lost, searching for purpose, and trying to understand yourself when things don't turn out the way you thought they would."

I'd also add that the album's consistent and accessible sound is sympathetically produced by Colin Walker, but then he is Rachael's husband, so I guess he really ought to get it right. As for the title, Rachael adds:

"The title is a tongue-in-cheek take on the phrase, "It's not the end of the world." It can be comforting, irritating, or impossible to believe, depending on what you're going through. That tension between hope and frustration sits at the heart of the album."

Her guitar skills are not in doubt, of course, but having only ever heard her sing Wedding Present backing vocals, I was intrigued to see how Rachael would handle lead duties on her own work. After a good few listens I've been wracking my brain for comparators, and can only come up with Rachael sounding like someone put K.D. Lang, Tracey Thorn, PJ Harvey and Dido in a pot and gave them a stir, then left them to simmer. That probably doesn't do Rachael justice but, for whatever reason - too hot? too tired? too Friday? - I'm really struggling for words today. Anyway, I rather like this, and feel it might be a grower - see what you think.

No (or, Old man shouts at cloud)

I saw the BBC News headline:

"Why playing your phone out loud in public might become the new normal"

And I read the story. To which the only reasonable response is:

I was discussing this with The Man Of Cheese last week. It will come as no surprise to anyone to learn that The Intolerance Twins both preferred a time when phones were for personal communication rather than public broadcast.

I was also reminded of a quote from Alan Bennett, given in interview in 2015:

"There has been so little that has happened to England since the 1980s that I have been happy about or felt able to endorse. One has only had to stand still to become a radical."

I also see myself in this.

New to NA: Ruby-Jean Clunie

It's too hot for working from home. I have the old nursery thermometer from when Amusements Minor was a baby in the corner of the spare bedroom I laughingly call an office. It tells me that, even this late in the afternoon, it is 29°C. That's 84 in old money! But however hot it is, it's hot enough for a song called Wilted to be appropriate.

The Man Of Cheese and I had an evening in the smoke last week, ostensibly to see the thinking man's Smiths' tribute act The Smyths at the Half Moon in Putney. But also to have a long-overdue catch-up, sink a few ales¹, put the world to rights and debate life. Which we duly did, and had a reliably excellent time in so-doing.

The support act for The Smyths was a young singer-songwriter type called Ruby-Jean Clunie, who performed a mix of covers (including Radiohead) and original compositions to an appreciative Half Moon audience. I was a bit concerned, at first, by a slight tendency to over-emote in her vocals. You know the way X-factor and BGT contenders do, to somehow convey that they are more genuine than their fellow contestants because, you know, they're really feeling it? All imagining that they are somehow about to deliver a new level of emotional heft to The Star-Spangled Banner in some far-flung US sports field? You can't blame them, it's what they think is expected; I just find it a bit false. Fortunately, as Ruby-Jean got into her set (and her own material) this tendency softened and almost entirely disappeared. By the end of her allotted time on stage, she had won me and TMOC over completely.

During The Smyth's set, Ruby-Jean, a friend and a woman I presume to be Ruby-Jean's mum, stood right in front of us, dancing along. Ruby-Jean seemed to know all the words to all the Smiths songs. I take this to be a good thing, especially in one so young. It feels very early in her career, and some of her songs on Spotify have a raw, lo-fi, demo quality, so I hope there is more to come. It's a competitive place, of course, and Spotify is full of similar types, but I wish Ruby-Jean well and hope she goes far.

As we headed back to our crashpad hotel, TMOC and I stumbled upon a pub in which a pub-rock three-piece covers band were setting up, and suddenly the early night turned into a late one. I have no idea what that band were called, so I can't namecheck them, or the DJ who played a crowd-pleasing set straight after, but they were all pretty effective. Reader, there was singing along, there were strangers putting their arms around us and, though I use the word very loosely, there may even have been some dancing...

1. Okay, more than a few ales. And possibly more than a few vodkas too, especially during the late-night pub band and DJ sets...

Randcamp: Long Hot Summer

Here we go, another Randy Camp, as C likes to think of it. It's August, so I've been searching for "long hot summer"; aside from many Style Council covers, I also found these...

Sports Team are/were a six-piece from London town. Their Long Hot Summer was released into the clear blue skies and empty roads of Summer 2020.

I was surprised to read that Suedehead are from California. Their take on Long Hot Summer sounds like the sort of indie landfill being dragged around Camden at the dog-end of Britpop.

Glimmermen are from Dublin and, in their bio, are very keen to emphasise that they are not indie landfill. I mean, they use those exact words. Okay, they use that exact quote from a magazine review...

So, three long hot summers, and not a Weller in sight. Any of these got you warmish under the collar? Or did they all leave you cold?

Take this sinking boat and point it home

I was shocked and saddened yesterday to read the news of Glen Hansard's death, in a motorcycle crash in his hometown of Dublin.

A potted bio of Glen: he first found a degree of fame as frontman and founder member of The Frames, then landed the role of Outspan in the 1991 film The Commitments. He also released loads of singer-songwritery stuff, but really hit pay-dirt in the 2007 film Once, in which his character, Dublin busker Guy, meets an unnamed Czech immigrant woman, and they make lovelorn, folk-inflected music together. The unnamed Czech was played by Markéta Irglová, and she and Glen recorded the soundtrack together, and later recorded and performed as The Swell Season. The Beeb have the bio/obit Glen deserves here.

I'm pretty sure Once was the first film Mrs Amusements and I saw together at the cinema, way, way back when we were just friends but trying each other on for size as potential more-than-friends material. It's safe to say that I was the keener of the two. Maybe that's why I was sufficiently moved by the film's will-they/won't-they romantic undercurrent to buy the soundtrack on CD, and later pick up a Frames album for good measure. It probably also explains why I feel so saddened by yesterday's news, a sadness that is only magnified by the knowledge that Hansard was just 56, and leaves a wife and three-year-old son behind.

Glen and Markéta won the Oscar for Best Original Song for this, Falling Slowly.

And here's The Swell Season's Tiny Desk Concert:

And because I spoil you, here's some time-capsule TV from The Late, Late Show of The Frames doing Revelate in 1995.

RIP Glen.

Latitude's Byrne's Night

I wasn't going to go to Latitude this year. The line-up left me ... whelmed. The growth in size, the increased focus on music to the detriment of other arts, and the unavoidable commercialisation in recent years were also reasons not to go. I figured I wouldn't enjoy myself, so why bother? Except then Amusements Minor and two of his mates picked up tickets at the last minute. They were quite chuffed with themselves, until they then looked into the cost of getting there on the Latitude return bus service. Turned out it would be cheaper for me to buy a festival ticket and drive them there, so that's what I did. It was only for a day, the Friday, and that's what swung it for me, as the headliner was the only one of the festival that I had an interest in seeing.

Anyway, in the manner of my festival diaries of yore, here's what I saw...

Friday:

• 
  The Adam Buxton Band : Second Stage. I made sure to have negotiated the traffic and the hike from the car park in time, and to have impressed upon the boys our agreed rendezvous point and time for the end of day, in good time so that I could be under the vast canopy of the Second Stage to see Adam Buxton run through tracks from his album. There was a healthy audience of mainly podcast devotees, so he was preaching to the converted, I guess, but everyone went away happy. The songs are genuinely catchy, with lyrics treading the highwire between comedy and pathos. I ate my lunch in there too, enjoying the shade. And I'll get the apology out of the way early, and say sorry that the photographic abilities of my current phone are so abysmal. Brace yourself for a succession of washed-out, blurry rubbish.
• Robert Llewellyn in conversation : The Apollo Stage. It's a fair old trek from the Second Stage to Apollo, but it was worth it to hear Llewellyn in conversation with Robin Ince and Professor Helen Czerski. The Apollo line-up had a vageuly tech focus, so although there were plenty of reminiscences about Red Dwarf and Scrapheap Challenge, there was also some very interesting discussion about electric vehicles, and the changes that have to happen to how we live our lives. Gave me real and unexpected pause for thought.
• Natalie Wildgoose : The Alcove. A change of pace next, at one of the smaller music stages. Natalie self-describes as a folk eccentric, and the festival programme had likened her vocals to Joan Baez. I was intrigued. Dressed like Laura Ingalls on her way to church, Natalie played piano, and was ably supported by an acoustic guitarist and a backing vocalist. I can see the Baez comparison, but Natalie has her own sound. A shame, then, that it was somewhat drowned out by the sonic thump of a neighbouring stage. This was a problem that would beset The Alcove all day, unfortunately.
• Ellie O'Neill : The Sunrise Arena. I only caught the tail-end of Ellie's set, but immediately wished I had got there earlier. She plays the guitar well, creating a kind of acoustic drone that suited the shady setting well. Her vocals have a aching Irish lilt, and the few lyrics I heard had some heft. I wouldn't absolutely guarantee it but I think O'Neill may be worthy of further investigation.
• 
  Adult DVD : The Sunrise Arena. Come on, lads, think of a band name that can be Googled safely! Adult DVD are a six-piece from Leeds who make a very agreeable, energetic racket, with guitar, bass, drums, synths and samples. Even their soundcheck got a good cheer. Only possible fly in the ointment might be the slightly Marmite vocal style of frontman Harry Hanson, which is somewhere between Shaun Ryder, Mark E. Smith and Damon Albarn. Still, those three all did alright, so what do I know? Whatever, this lot provided quite a contrast to the preceding act, and certainly got the Sunrise Arena crowd bouncing.
• Courttia Newland : The Listening Post. Cup of tea in hand, I arrived early enough for the next act to catch the tail-end of novelist and playwright Newland in conversation in what used to be called the Book Tent. There was some interesting Q&A that focused on how the loss of public space and public services might impact on the artistic output of those that might otherwise struggle. But - full disclosure - I was mainly here to get a good spot for the next act, which was...
• Adam Buxton's BUG: David Byrne Special, featuring Ivo Graham : The Listening Post. If you're familiar with Buxton's BUG shows, you know the deal - he plays clips of the featured artist, talks about their background, gives insight into the creation and production of the music... it's basically a love-in by, and for, fans. Here he was joined by David Byrne superfan, comedian Ivo Graham. Later in the show, they were also joined by comediennes Josie Long and Sara Pascoe, both of whom had earlier graced the Comedy Stage. Both Adam and Ivo wore over-sized, Stop Making Sense-style suits for the duration of the show, no mean feat in the heat of the tent. There was audience participation, giveaways, singalongs, an appearance from members of the Byrne's Night tribute act (which uniquely celebrates both Talking Heads and Robert Burns), and more besides. A brilliant way to spend an hour, and the perfect warm-up for what was to come later.
• Ross Noble : The Comedy Stage. Latitude has maintained a strong comedy line-up over the years, but the flipside of that is that the Comedy Stage is always rammed. It can be very hard to get even a sight-line on the headline act. Still, I found a spot on the edge of the arena where I could just about see Ross. More importantly, I had a great view of his sign language interpreter. Most of the opening of Ross's act revolved around his very obvious and real delight at discovering what various signs were for things he was saying, and it was great watching him go off-piste and freestyle material around this. But no further into the set I got a text from Amusements Minor asking if we could meet up, so I bailed out and went to find the boy. He and his mates were flagging a bit - although AM has been to Latitude before, it was a first festival for the other two, and I don't think either of them had anticipated the size and scale, the temperature, the dustbowl that Henham Park had become in the heat, or the amount of walking. Still, I was able to gee them all up a bit and send them off in the direction of food and water, which seemed to do the trick.
• 
  Ain't - The Alcove. In their own words, Ain't are a "London five-piece channelling the stranger end of ‘90s guitar music", a description that was enough to get me to go along. I don't know about that though - musically, they seem to produce slightly anonymous indie rock, the one distinguishing feature of which seemed to be the shredded vocals of Hanna Baker Darch. I may have been extrapolating on thin evidence, but it looked to me like all the rest of the band fancy her, which is the sort of internal tension that leads bands to implode. Might be wise to investigate further quickly then, if you feel so minded. On balance, I do, just, if only to hear them properly as, once again, The Alcove suffered noise pollution from neighbouring stages.
• 
  Brooki : The Alcove. Noise pollution or not, after a quick diversion for dinner, I was back in The Alcove to see Brooki, an Irish four-piece that I was intrigued to see, on the strength of a programme write-up that name-checked Jeff Buckley and PJ Harvey. Well, at the risk of sounding like a wine critic, I didn't get much Buckley but there were certainly notes of Harvey in the vocals. I can't find her name anywhere but the vocalist also had more than a trace of Chrissise Hynde and even Siouxsie Sioux to her sound, to these old ears at least. She was also quite the beguiling frontwoman, dancing between verses in a t-shirt that proclaimed her to be "Romantic Material". The rest of the band were typical Sleeperblokes, save for the lead guitarist who seemed to have styled his look on the late Darius Danesh. How's that for a topical reference? Whatever. Beguiling frontwoman or not, the poor sound in The Alcove lead me to abort early, and head off for a bit of a sit-down with a cup of tea, which I managed to do at...
• Robin Ince's Nine Lessons for Latitude : The Listening Post. This show was essentially a grab-bag of different artists, invited by Robin to do their thing for five minutes each. Our compere interspersed the "lessons" with readings of his own comic poetry. By his own admission, poetry is a new development for Ince. If I was being unkind I might say it showed. That said, some of the lessons were very good: psychologist Dr Julia Shaw was excellent on the epistemic risks of AI; comedian Toussaint Douglass got genuine belly laughs out of this recalcitrant reviewer; a Geordie singer-songwriter called Sonny someone (I didn't catch it, sorry, and the programme is no help) was also good and charmingly enthusiastic; and more besides (I wish I'd made better notes). I couldn't stay to the end though, because I wanted to secure a half-decent spot for...
• David Byrne : The Obleisk Arena. I hadn't seen Byrne live before, so wasn't entirely sure what to expect. What I hadn't dared to expect was a gig that would mark a new entry in my notional "Top Ten Gigs Ever" list. Precisely on time, and without fanfare, David and his 12-strong ensemble took to the stage, clad head to toe in matching orange. All the musicians carried their instruments, even the percussionists (of which there were four), allowing them all to be mobile, all the time. And if this wasn't enough, the backing singers danced too. In fact, the whole show was choreographed, and I genuinely marvelled at the professionalism, rehearsal and prep that must have gone into co-ordinating the movement and musicianship. To do it for one song would be impressive - to do it for a 90-minute set was nothing short of mind-blowing. And then there was the lighting... or rather, lack of lighting, at least in the conventional gig sense. Instead, the band (troop?) were lit from above and below with different colour lights throughout the show, making their orange jumpsuits stand out dramatically. There were also high-definition panoramic back-projected images to add to the visual impact, most notably the footage of ICE raids in the US as a backdrop to Life During Wartime. Between songs, David was as thoughtful, considered and articulate as you'd want him to be. Singing, he was in terrific voice, indecently good for a man of 74. And the songs... oh, the songs. Aided by his immaculate band, the setlist included Heaven, And She Was, This Must Be The Place, Psycho Killer, Life During Wartime and Once in a Lifetime, before ending with an appropriately incendiary Burning Down The House. Within the 90-minute constraint he was forced to operate I guess something had to give, so I was a little disappointed not to hear David give Road to Nowhere a run out, but honestly that was my only minor quibble for the whole gig. As the band left the stage and the arena lights came up, Brian Eno's Ascent (An Ending) was piped quietly over the PA, providing the perfect coda on which to float away from this stunning set.

And that was pretty much that. I headed back to our pre-arranged rendezvous and found three very-tired looking lads waiting for me. We trudged wearily back to the car and then made our car park exit in record time - no queueing at all. The boys all fell asleep in the car on the way home, and I was tired too, but it was worth it for a day of unexpected fun and a headline act that will live long in the memory.

A footnote: the boys all agreed that the best act they saw all day was Must Be John. Amusements Minor was also quite taken with Overpass. They even conceded that David Byrne was pretty good for an old guy...

Homonyms #7: Run

For the purposes of this blog, homonyms are different songs with the same title. And for the purposes of my sanity, I'm limiting each post to two songs, however many there may be that fit the bill.

Today we lace up our trainers and go for a run.

Our first Run is by New Order, from 1989's Technique. I think that was the last album by them that I bought, other than compilations. It's certainly the last I bought on vinyl. Don't @ me, as the youth might (still?) say. Anyway, it's alright isn't it, but suffers by comparison to other tracks on the album, I think.

Talking of suffering by comparison, here's Snow Patrol's Run. I know this cemented their status as the headline act they've been ever since, and I don't mind it at all, but, as a guitarist, I do sometimes wonder how a band can get so big with such simple songs? What am I missing?

Other Runs I haven't been on include those by Spiritualized, Air, Stephen Fretwell (popularised [a bit] by Gavin & Stacey), Lighthouse Family, Amy Macdonald, and probably loads more, inevitably including that one you know and love that I've somehow overlooked.

So, do these make you want to run towards them, or in the opposite direction?

What is the reason for it?

More than 50 years after Talking Heads started, David Byrne is still doing David Byrne things.

The power of music. The music of power.

I listened to this in the car yesterday. First time I've played it in a long time. And it's 38 years old too. But that didn't stop the hairs standing up on my arms, so much so that I had to keep skipping back and playing it again. Reader, I may have played it four times in a row, singing along louder with every play.

For me this song is indelibly linked with seeing Bill in 1990, my American friend by my side, watching with unadulterated joy as all the support acts joined him on stage for this, the show's finale. I can see it now. I can feel it now.

What a song.

I'm still waiting, mind...

New to NA: Mouth Ulcers

Bandcamp is usually a good source of inspiration when bereft of blogging ideas. Within two minutes of logging in today, I'd found Mouth Ulcers. I'm not sure about the name, but the London four-piece put an intriguing spin on Interpol-lite (so Joy Division-lite-lite, I guess). Check out the Hooky bassline on Silent Pictures.

And then there's the Heart and Soul percussion on Satisfy.

Ones to watch, maybe. Still not sure about the name though...

More than you've ever lost

We listened to the football last night in the car, in the middle of a long, cross-country journey. We went from headlight-flashing joy when Gordon scored to silence when Argentina headed their stoppage-time winner. I wouldn't call it stunned silence though, because we knew it was coming, with all the inevitability of death and taxes.

I was more gutted than Amusements Minor, but then his generation are used to England getting to quarter- and semi-finals at every tournament. I want to tell him it isn't always like that, but why pile misery on misery?

Speaking of Amusements Minor, he really likes this song. I'll be honest, before he got into Blossoms I mostly knew them for being Rick Astley's Smiths. But this track, Pure Pop, has some very fitting lyrics for England's biennial football comedown, not least "More than you've ever lost, we came close..." and "I'm falling, my head and my heart up against the wind, I'm all in, praying for change again...". And then there's the opening line of the chorus which is how everyone I've spoken to today is feeling, even if only figuratively: "Can you believe the rainfall hasn't stopped?"

Also, for a song called Pure Pop, I quite like how the opening guitar motif seems to ape Gimme Gimme Gimme by Abba.

Anyway, strap in now for more heartache at the Euros in 2028 (though since that will be co-hosted by England, Scotland, Wales and the Republic of Ireland we might actually have a home-advantage chance). But until then, with no sense we can dance to some Blossoms.

More than you've ever lost
We came close, pure pop
Are you sure that you've had enough
On your soul to wake it up?

I'm falling
My head and my heart up against the wind
I'm all in
Praying for change again, won't you say something

Can you believe the rainfall hasn't stopped?
All the things that made us happy
With no sense we dance to pure pop

Have I said too much
Of this life you curse?
Close enough to touch
Twist the knife, rumours

I'm trying
But you played love like it was a game
Your silence
Puts in the pain, the strain, the distance in you

Can you believe the rainfall hasn't stopped?
All the things that made us happy
With no sense we dance to pure pop

The days are long
You're hanging on
Let's call it off
Let's call it off
The days are long
You're hanging on
Let's call it off (repeat to fade)

Homonyms #6: Superman

For the purposes of this blog, homonyms are different songs with the same title. And for the purposes of my sanity, I'm limiting each post to two songs, however many there may be that fit the bill.

Today we turn our eyes to Kal-El, last son of Krypton... with thanks to JC, who suggested this title.

Our first Superman is from David Gedge's other band, Cinerama. He might have switched jangly guitars for a string quartet, but the gritty drama of heartache and failed love is all present and correct.

REM's Superman is more upbeat. I suppose I ought to feature the original, since this is a cover of 60's band The Clique, but this is the version I know and love, and my gaff, my rules.

Supermen I have passed over include early Blur, Eminem, Stereophonics, Black Lace, Goldfinger, Tarrus Riley, and loads and loads more. And before you start, the Laurie Anderson song is called O Superman, so strictly speaking doesn't qualify as a homonym...

Do these make you want to leap tall buildings in a single bound? Or should they be banished to the Phantom Zone?

TLAP: Mash Gang Chug IPA

Another inspiration-free day, another alcohol-free ale review. Sigh.

Mash Gang Chug IPA

What's it like? The Mash Gang website describes this IPA as juicy, tropical and zesty. To their credit, it is all of those things. It comes in a funky-looking can with a welcome humorous touch (see how the beer leaks between the skeleton's ribs), is acceptably priced (just about), and has a hipper-than-thou yet ironic name (the irony being you can chug as much of this as you like without falling down). And it tastes genuinely nice, and is quenching. Trouble is, like a lot of other low/no IPAs (Atlantic's Run Wild being a case in point), without the visual reinforcement of seeing it in a glass you'd be hard-pressed to know you were drinking a beer. I'm not sure if this is a problem or not, but it might make you rethink the cost when compared to regular soft drinks.

Would I drink it in a pub? Yes.

Would I drink more than one? Maybe.

Would I drink it all night? Probably not.

Stats: 0.5% ABV. Calories 15 kcal/100ml. Currently £8.99 for 4x 330ml cans, direct from Chug Gang

Stars: ★★★⯪☆

A song to end, as usual. Mash Gang gives "mash", which gives "M*A*S*H", which gives the cover of Theme from M*A*S*H (Suicide Is Painless) by Manic Street Preachers.

Never disappointed

Any time there's a big football tournament on, I run the sweepstake at work. It generates conversation between people who don't normally have much to say to each other, so that's good, I guess.

Anyway, I offered the opinion last week that I thought it unlikely England would beat Mexico in the Azteca. People asked why I was so negative. The answer?

Looks like I posted the original of this, by Sophie's first band The Audience (or theaudience, as they styled themselves) five and a half years ago. Seems I was writing about my hope that Trump was gone from frontline politics, for good. You see, that's where hope gets you. Far better to be a pessimist.

That said, I do hope England can at least overcome Norway and teach someone how to "stay humble"...

Randcamp: 4th of July

Another month, another Randcamp, and what better inspiration than the transatlantic celebration of freedom from tyrannical British rule. Searching "4th of July" threw up a lot of poor covers, but here are three original songs with that title.

Cassandra Sun are a four-piece from New York, three quarters of whom have beards. In their own words, they create "an eclectic brand of pop-oriented rock incorporating furious, prog-influenced drumming, bass as a counterpoint ... and textured, rhythmic guitar". So there.

The Dig are also a four-piece from New York, though none of them have beards. I've listened to their 4th of July and looked at their profile picture, yet cannot marry vocal and vocalist. Maybe you can.

Everson Pines break all the trends for this post. For a start there are five of them, and then they only come from Seattle. Whatever next? I quite like Pretty High (On the 4th of July), not least for its occasional unironic whoops - the band sound like they're having fun.

So, three tracks for the 4th of July. Which, if any, has you pledging allegiance to the flag? Or which makes you want to spew into the nearest available MAGA hat?

TLAP: St Peter's Without Original

Kickstarting the month with another drab alcohol-free ale review. Sorry.

St Peter's Without Original

What's it like? This comes from the Suffolk-based St Peter's brewery and, like many of their ales, comes in a vaguely medicinal bottle that wouldn't look out of place in a Victorian apothecary. Unfortunately for this reviewer, at least, their alcohol-free "Without Original" offering tasted vaguely medicinal too - it's just so excessively malty. If you like that, good for you, but this felt like a chore to drink. It's also quite sticky on the lips, which suggests a lot of sugar, though the maltiness overpowers the sweetness. They do a "Without Organic Pale Ale" and a "Without Gold" too, and maybe they're nicer, but this "Original" is not for me, sorry.

Would I drink it in a pub? No.

Would I drink more than one? No.

Would I drink it all night? No.

Stats: 0.0% ABV. Calories 26 kcal/100ml (markedly higher than most ales featured in this series). Currently £15.95 for 8x 500ml bottles, direct from St Peter's Brewery

Stars: ★★☆☆☆

A song to end, as usual. I guess it's hard to look much beyond Nilsson and Without You, but we've all heard that a million times. So here's Harry with a slightly different take, that might be new to you.

You can decide what's true

As a kid, taping my older brother's Police albums, I always had a soft spot for those songs written by drummer Stewart Copeland. They generally seemed a little less earnest than Sting compositions, and more exciting than the occasional Andy Summers offering. They were more fun, basically, and that's what you want in the last years of primary school, right? Whether it was the kooky spoken word intro to On Any Other Day, the relatable angst of Contact or the comedy of co-composition Peanuts, I was a fan of Copeland the songwriter almost as much as I was of Copeland the drummer. And boy, can he drum.

Anyway, here's Does Everyone Stare? from the band's second album, 1979's Regatta de Blanc. Copeland himself wrote about the genesis of this song in a 1982 issue of Musician magazine, thus:

"I recorded the demo for that at home. I had a little home studio at the time with wires going everywhere - I think I was running the guitar through the toaster, that sort of thing - and I was playing the piano part while I sang the song, or at least what was supposed to be the lyrics of the song. And just as I finished singing, all the wires in the room acted like a radio and picked up a signal of this opera. It was perfectly in time and perfectly in tune, even the mood and sentiment of the thing were absolutely perfect. So it went straight on tape, exactly in the place that it should have gone. It had to be a message from above that this was the way the song had to go. So we actually used that, my home demo, at the beginning of the studio recording."

Which is nice if true.

Talking of truth, this song gives us a great example of that situation where, if enough people repeat a falsehood, it becomes the accepted, illusory truth or consensus reality. There must be a word for that^☥, but anyway, if you Google the lyrics of this song, every result you find, without exception as far as I can see, includes the lines:

My shots will always misfire

...and...

I'm gonna write you a sonnet but I don't know where to start

But they're not correct, are they? Or have I really been mishearing (and mis-singing) them for 47 years?

Here's the song, and the lyrics as I hear them. You can decide what's true.

I change my clothes ten times before I take you on a date
I'm in a cold sweat, panic makes me late
I know you never asked for this
I know
My shots were always mis-timed
My shots will always miss

Does everyone stare this way at you?
I only look this way at you

I change my clothes ten times before I take you on a date
I get the heebie-jeebies, and my panic makes me late
I break into a cold sweat reaching for the phone
I let it ring twice before I chicken out and decide you're not at home

Does everyone stare the way I do?
I only stare this way at you

I never noticed the size of my feet
Until I kicked you in the shins
Will you ever forgive me
For the shape I'm in
For the shape I'm in

Does everyone stare the way I do?
I only stare this way at you

I wanna write you a sonnet but I don't know where to start
I'm so used to laughing at the things in my heart
Last of all I'm sorry 'cos you never asked for this
I can see I'm not your type and my shot will always miss
Always miss

Does everyone stare the way I do?
I only stare this way at you (repeat to fade)

P.S. In an earlier draft of this post, a typo led me to calling the album Regatta de Bland. Settle down at the back...

^☥ Baudrillardian, perhaps? "In a world of appearance, image, and illusion, Baudrillard suggests, reality disappears although its traces continue to nourish an illusion of the real." Although what Baudrillard would have made of the Internet in general, and lyric websites in particular, is not well documented, as far as I know...

Homonyms #5: Hot Hot Hot (!!!)

For the purposes of this blog, homonyms are different songs with the same title. And for the purposes of my sanity, I'm limiting each post to two songs, however many there may be that fit the bill.

Today's offerings seem very t(r)opical, labouring as we are under freakish June temperatures. Console yourselves with the thought that they won't be freakish in the future...

First up, the disco/party/club staple of our younger days. I have gone for this 80s version by Arrow, because it's the one I remember, rather than the 60s original by The Merrymen (or their hastily re-recorded 80s cash-in). All together now: olé, olé, olé, olé... etc.

And for contrast (who doesn't like contrast?), here are godlike geniuses The Cure, differentiating themselves slightly by adding three exclamation marks to their homonym.

One of these may make you want to embrace the heat. But which, dear reader, which?

Monday Night Nothing

What a lyric Malcolm Middleton wrote here.

On a Monday night I'm nothing
On a Tuesday night I'm nobody
On a Wednesday, Thursday, Friday night I'm sad
Then the weekend comes to haunt me
Of all the places I should be
Reminding me of the best times I ever had

So there's nothing wrong with being alone
No need to call the doctor
Sometimes people need to be by themselves
And there's nothing weird about hating yourself
When you've seen the hours I've spent
Darkness comes and darkness goes, just like my good times went

Old and driving
I'm tired from straying too far
My head won't give me a break
And the rest is making my history
I never seem to make the right decision anytime
I need to crash this piece of shit into a tree that fits

So I don't know how to finish this song
I'm happy now but for how long
I've a sad tune and I'll have to keep the tone
Well it's only a matter of time before I feel like shit again
I'm a happy army marching to defeat

Blue Friday: You Might Be Happy Someday

I bang on about The Reds, Pinks and Purples (aka Glenn Donaldson) a lot, but make no apology for that.

This little slice of Marr-inflected melancholy is from 2020. I would say enjoy, but that doesn't seem quite the right sentiment.

You might be happy someday
But for now you're a sad mistake
The moon is way too bright
It's the dead of night, you're still awake
Just when you think it's looking up
Maybe you haven't failed enough

They burned your page in the book of love
That's a pain you weren't aware of

You might be someone someday
But for now you're clearly worse
You could always turn their heads around
Now your looks are just a curse

Get yourself to the hospital
Your so-called friends
They don't care at all
They don't care at all
They don't care at all

You might be happy someday
And things are gonna go your way
Go your way