For as long as I have been able to hear, I have been enjoying music. This is not a fact that makes me unique in any way, shape, or form - it is something that is crucial to my existence. Throughout my life, there have been several 'phases' - an obsession with Warp Records' Warp 10 Compilations aged 14 with a borrowed nostalgia for a club scene that had never existed in my lifetime; a distinct belief that Scroobius Pip's Distraction Pieces album was by far the most profound piece of writing to ever exist during my first breakup; the discovery of, and inability to stop listening to, Enter the Wu-Tang. Throughout my life, music has been a constant. Again, there is nothing special about me, but something very special about music.
I have owned albums and bought albums for a long time, but not until reading Tim Burgess' Vinyl Adventures did I consider just how carefully curated a record collection is. While it may feel that while digging through pallet after pallet, a bucket next to you collecting the rainwater that leaks through the ceiling, the record you eventually stumble upon and subsequently purchase is far from intentional - everything about the process is intentional. It can be personal favourites, an artist you have always wanted to give a go to, recommendations from friends (both pre-existing and those made in the hour or so spent searching for the perfect purchase), or just a highly intriguing piece of cover art - there is very little about selecting a record to add to your collection that isn't intentional. And so, with this realisation at the forefront of my brain and a substantial amount of time off from work - I set out with a loose list to try and consciously curate my record collection.
The Charlatans - Modern Nature
Rough Trade, Bristol
Hometown heroes.
Salt, the ex-drummer from Placebo and The Charlatans - that's what Northwich is known for. One of the first records I bought was the band's debut Some Friendly, and as a Northwich lad myself - they have played a pivotal role in my life. One of my fondest gig-going memories is their Delamere Forest gig in 2013, where I distinctly remember being about half the age of every other attendee. Similarly, it was Let the Good Times Be Never Ending that I queued up to play through my headphones as I ran the final stretch of the Greater Manchester Marathon in 2017 under the shadow of Old Trafford. Not to mention, it was frontman Tim Burgess' book that had brought about a renewed interest in collecting vinyl. So, all in all, it only felt right to start with one of The Charlatans' records.
To my shame, as a big fan of the band, I only own the debut album and a 7" single of Oh! Vanity, so the 'need' list was certainly longer than the 'got' list. With such a plethora of records of theirs that I love, they are a permanent feature on the list of records that I need to buy but rarely am I actively seeking one of their records.
So, faced with the countless options that an emporium of joy such as Rough Trade contains, what was it that made me pick up Modern Nature? Well, as I said, Let the Good Times Be Never Ending is a track I associate with some very happy memories. Similar nostalgia is roused when Come Home Baby or Emilie, but equally, I feel the album has such a complete sound when played through. It also happens to take its name from a Derek Jarman book that I thoroughly enjoyed reading recently.
Well, there are those reasons, and then there is the less glamorous fact that the plastic around the sleeve had a bright red sale sticker attached to it. Not to mention the fact this particular version was the limited edition clear yellow vinyl. What's not to love? The only way to pay my respects to the hometown heroes.
Sturgill Simpson - Metamodern Sounds in Country Music
Oxfam, Dalston
Contemporary country that is actually enjoyable.
I would be lying if I said I was an early adopter of country music. Not least because it pre-dates me for quite some time, but also within the timeline of my life itself. Johnny Cash was just about the only artist I could have named up until about the age of 18. While acoustic music, folk and indie folk had permeated my musical sphere, alongside a healthy dose of country-inspired musicians, country itself had yet to join the party. Perhaps it was the cliches of pickup trucks and spittoons. Perhaps it was the connotations of overly patriotic Americans that made me want to cringe every time I thought about giving it a go. Perhaps I was too young to really appreciate the stripped-back beauty of three chords and the truth. Perhaps I needed someone to show me that country could be cool: that person was Dylan Rieder.
Long familiar with Rieder's copious skill on a skateboard, his undeniable beauty and the coolness he dripped in bucket loads - it was perhaps ridiculous that I hadn't turned to him as a source of sonic guidance. It was watching content where he recommended Harry Nilsson that was the turning point, that and a re-watch of his remarkable Gravis video part featuring Graham Nash's Better Days that really opened my eyes to his musical knowledge. From this point came a Jenkem Mix and Monster Children Playlist that opened my eyes to new artists and deep cuts from artists I already had an appreciation for. One such artist was Sturgill Simpson - and in particular his cover of When in Rome's The Promise.
With this song was born a love of country music broadly: Gram Parsons, Gillian Welch, Townes Van Zandt, Willie Nelson, Hank Williams, and Merle Haggard all forming part of my regular listening. But it was Sturgill Simpson who pushed me in this direction originally, embracing the love of all things Western that was hereditarily passed down from my Grandad. What was it about Sturgill Simpson that I liked? Unlike musicians such as Luke Bryan who sing of cultural experiences so specifically American, Sturgill Simpson writes and performs contemporary country music that is actually enjoyable. Pair this with performing the title track of the score for The Dead Don't Die - a film in one of my favourite genres made by one of my favourite directors - and when I saw a copy of his album Metamodern Sounds in Country Music on sale in Oxfam Books at a very reasonable price, how could I resist? And all in the name of charity too...
Joni Mitchell - Blue
Atlantis Records, Hackney
Not available on Spotify.
I was once dating somebody who loved Joni Mitchell, and to my shame, I had never actively listened to her music. When conversations of her music would come up, I would reductively explain it away in my mind with a bastardised logic that Joni Mitchell was essentially Bob Dylan for women. It wasn't Joni Mitchell's gender identity that was a stumbling block to me listening to her, but rather her absence from streaming platforms. So, when the recommendation came in from a friend to purchase her iconic album Blue came through at the start of my summer, accompanied by the message "Not available on Spotify" it only felt right to set about finding this.
Of all the recommendations I collated at the start of my summer break, it was this particular album which seemed to be available in every record store I set foot in. Armed with a plentiful list, I had next to no luck in working my way through some albums that I wholeheartedly agreed should form the backbone of any good collection, yet this album that I had never listened to before seemed to haunt every stop on my journey.
The shop I purchased it in - Atlantis Records - had many parallels with the record itself. For starters, both the store and the record were right on the edge of areas (geographically and musically) in which I spend a lot of time. Then there is the fact that they are both highly regarded - Atlantis is a treasure trove for a collector that I came with high recommendation, a recommendation that was validated by the fact that I had to use a significant amount of my energy to resist spending more than I care to admit on a Japanese import of The Warriors OST; Blue also highly regarded, the only recommendation that came in from multiple people that I reached out to. My favourite of the similarities between the two was the instant comfort that I received from both. In the case of Atlantis, it was being offered a coffee, making music-based small talk with the right level of distance given for perusing at my own leisure, and the reassurance that I was correct. For Joni Mitchell, it was the delightful timbre of her voice, the heartwarming heartbreak of her poetic lyricism, and the gentle yet raw compositions that sit beneath it all that brought about the sense of comfort.
I'm grateful for the recommendation. I'm grateful to have been proven wrong. I'm not grateful that as soon as purchasing this album, it made its way back onto streaming services, but I am grateful to own it.
Arctic Monkeys - Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino
Stranger than Paradise Records, Hackney
Trademark Northern swagger.
Stranger than Paradise takes its name from a Jim Jarmusch film - one of the few that come to mind as not having Tom Waits play some role in it. Initially, this set me on the quest of seeking out a record by the man himself, but the only one of his albums there was Closing Time - an album I already owned. Like any good record shopper, though, this plan was never one that I was afraid of pivoting away from. I spent a good deal of time in the shop and eventually settled on Arctic Monkeys' Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino.
There has been so much written about this band, and there is very little I can really add to this debate other than my opinion on their back catalogue. The band burst onto the scene with a debut that rightfully holds its own in conversations about best debut albums, and since that point, there haven't been many misses. For me, AM was a departure from their sound that I couldn't really get on board with. I didn't dislike the album, but I did dislike the phenomena of every twat I knew suddenly owning a leather jacket and slicking back their hair.
With this distance growing between myself and a band whose sound was seminal to my younger years, like a rift between two lovers afraid to call it a day - I was scared the passions of our past would never re-ignite. I was wrong because along came Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino (and eventually follow up The Car) to get us well and truly re-acquainted. A concept album that somehow dropped the pretence of AM in exchange for reclaiming some of their trademark Northern swagger, I was blown away by it when I listened to it in full. Managing to transport the tropes of science-fiction I most commonly have explored visually into a sweeping, grand piano-centred soundtrack is no mean feat. It captured my imagination and re-ignited a love of the band.
I will never not have a sweet spot for most things associated with Sheffield, however, this cemented Arctic Monkeys' place towards the spot. Where some bemoaned their slower performances last year at Glastonbury and on their stadium tour; I found it remarkable to see a band associated with jumping up and down on sticky dancefloors manage to pivot so effortlessly into this glorious expanse of a work of art.