And we’re off!
Hercules Morse – Good Old Days
Nostalgia is nothing more than denial of the benefits of progress. At various points throughout history there were sections of society which bemoaned the encroaching obsolescence of invasive thermometry, of vaudeville, and of the horse and cart. Now, rectums remain largely undisturbed in the taking of one’s temperature, television provides a level of access that vaudeville never could to enthralling baking contests occurring miles away, and horses are put to better use padding out delicious budget lasagnes. It’s called progress. In The Good Old Days, Hercules Morse pine for the 90s – VHS tapes, the Macarena, Mr Motivator – despite the elephant in the room being that all these things, in hindsight, were verily meritless. The song’s an unintended Hogarthian tapestry of retro terribleness. “In the good old days, there wasn’t an app for that” they coo, as an imaginary Tracy Island building contest in the video is judge by Pat Sharp – a coup for the band, definitely, but a sad indictment of the floundering, once-leonine gunge-merchant’s career in 2014. When he appeared at my student union back in 2004, Pat Sharp told ribald, presumably false, tales of sexual misdeeds with the Fun House twins. This is what your precious nostalgia for history is, Hercules Morse: a pernicious lie, told by those who have no choice but to still believe in it. I bet the demo for this song was recorded on an iPad. Catchy chorus though. LH
The ‘dark tourism’ of Bohemian Blog
I’d never heard of ‘dark tourism’ before reading Darmon Richter’s Bohemian Blog, in which he mainly photographs and writes about ‘places which are associated with tragedy, suffering or death’. It might sound like a pretty tawdry and subversive enterprise, visiting all these cemeteries, concentration camps and sites of general carnage, but if you think about it, they’re all the sorts of places hordes of 17 year-old school children are carted off to on a yearly basis - ‘dark tourism’ is practically on the school curriculum. No wonder teenage summer holidays and gap year jollies usually have mindless, identikit hedonism as their central theme: it’s a jovial rebellion against the education system’s insistence that everyone develop an insatiable appetite for touring the world on a brutal murder tip. Which does make Richter’s blog - for all its accounts of ghost towns, nuclear exclusion zones, and abandoned circuses - look a bit pedestrian, to be honest. RA
Scandinavia– Silly Feet 2
The fey indie subgenre would be markedly improved if, rather than being about unrequited love and cupcake frosting, its songs were paeans to cult footballers of the 80s and 90s. I mean, take Silly Feet 2: musically it’s a sub-Los Campesinos, boy-girl-singing-in-unison campfire twee-along, but it gets a pass, because it’s about Gazza. And not the Gazza of troubling tabloid headlines, but the swaggering early-90s icon, the country’s last true street footballer, the man who dragged English game away from the Charles Hughes hoofing and terrace violence of the 80s, the man who gave post-match interviews that weren’t skull-thuddingly tedious, the man who did this, and, admittedly, this, but also this, this and - OH, OH, OH - this. Thank you and good night. GM
Poetry collection ‘Notes From The Office Chair Volume 1’
Poetic material contemplating the inner lives of finance workers in Chiswick is probably deployed as a tool of torture in some parts of the world. Particularly when said traders appear to possess within them levels of empathy Patrick Bateman might find a tad underwhelming. I chose to put all that magnanimously to one side today though and concentrate on what was really important about this submission; a complete absence of poetic sensibility. Above you can see the original version as supplied by young T Neville and, also, the version i’ve cut half the words out of in order to give it some basic sense of rhythm. You’ll thank me eventually. PM
The Thing Invisible – Die Schwarzen Raben
I am told The Thing Invisible have submitted material to #reviewanything before, which I think displays an unshakable faith in the power of their art, even in the face of this franchise’s trademarked blend of smarmy witticism and sustained smartassery. Still, it’s Hallowe’en, and while you get the impression this gothically inclined Manchester outfit effectively celebrate All Hallows’ Eve 365 days a year – this release takes its name from the German for ‘raven’, for Christ’s sake – this is the one day where we can confidently declare them on trend. A drum machine goes through the zombie motions, a serious woman intones things - Poe? Could be - in German, a bass guitar prowls through mist; towards the close there is some chilling laughter. “Incantations and exercises in magical thinking to mark this liminal time of year,” reads a note on the Bandcamp, and if you, like them, want to live in eternal Hallowe’en like some contented Jack Skellington, you can send them £4.50 for a limited edition CD. They made 10, and there’s still seven left. LP
The Going Goods – Ladyzone
Like a collaboration between Dizzee Rascal and Jamiroquai – and who’s to say that won’t happen in the future – this is an earwormy, strum-along slice of bloke life. It takes the point of view of a man in a pub eyeing up a woman and talking himself out of going over to chat her up (“Well worth the risk/ Not worth the wear and tear”). No great insights into the male psyche (whither macho man in an age of empowered women?) and some frankly unnecessary beatboxing contribute to an amiable song with the feeling of a work in progress. SW
