There aren't any songs that make me sad, I don't think. I can't bring one to mind anyway. There are songs that sometimes make me think of the sad stories behind them (Kirsty MacColl, The Carpenters) but there aren't really any that evoke sad times for me.
There are a few that I like to wallow in though, indulge a sort of studied sadness, a bit like the slim volume of poetry you might take to moon around in a cafe for a bit. It's not real sadness, it's cinematic gloom, ersatz nostalgia.
The best of these is the Kings Singer's version of The Slow Train. A lovely evocation of a less efficient time, and the male choir highlights the splendid anachronism of it all. It makes me sad like Passport To Pimlico does - oh why can't we go back to a past that never existed?
If you're in a spotify compliant geography you can listen here. If you're not, this might work. And this Lemon Jelly track samples it to good effect.
I can't remember when I first heard this. Years ago. And still when it pops up on shuffle I get a grin on my face. The sound is so rhythmic and rich and joyous. And then, when you know the back story it gets deeper; Les and Mary laboriously laying one track on top of another, inventing a whole recording industry while making something poppy and irresistible that still sounds newly minted today. The chug of that guitar in the background is gorgeous, and there are
the simultaneous swooping harmonies and the little jabs of solo. If
music had just sounded like this forever that would have been fine.
I think it makes me happy in the same way Aardman animation does - light and lovely on the surface, yet you know, deep down, it's the product of a man in a shed - simultaneously contented and obsessed.
The rhythms of the working week sometimes get lost when you're a freelancer, weekends erode, bank holidays slide by. Not this time though. I'm having a proper week off for Easter. Looking forward to that enormously.
Been quite a good short week though. Not much to report. Powerpointing along. Had a good moment working with the Large-Sports-Related-Organisation when I realised that we didn't just have to do what was expected of us, we could try to do something different and better. And, that, if we did nothing else, we should at least try and enjoy it. Those sound obvious but the geological forces in many organisations often mean you forget. It's good to be reminded. That was inspired quite a lot by reading The Audacity To Win, which will bear some dog-eared blogging soon.
Odd moment at the end of the week. Someone sent me a nice email about this week's Campaign column but I can't for the life of me remember what I wrote about. It's obviously only a couple of clicks to find out but I've decided instead to wrack my brain for the answer. Nothing so far. For some reason this slightly troubles me. I feel like I should be paying more attention.
The Velvet Underground were an awful, awful band and Venus In Furs is a terrible, terrible song. I suspect this is where Morley & Me part company (that'd make a good Jennifer Aniston vehicle). I hate this strain in music; whiny, self-indulgent, pompous, impressed with bondage, drug-taking and playing music late at night when hard-working families are trying to sleep. Student crap. Most of the worst music ever was inspired by the Velvet Underground.
I'm going to have a go at this. And my favourite song is Fantastic Day by Haircut 100.
Why? Hmm.
I suspect it's pointless trying to analyse the abstract merits of a song, especially to explain why it's your favourite. What 'favourite' is really about is how a piece of music and your life seem to fit each other.
My early musical life was all prog and classical. Then when I realised that meant ostracism at school I cast about for something to like; flirted with NWOBHM, had a very brief ska phase, never really liked all that gloomy post-punk stuff. And then found the perfect solution in the joy of perfect pop - good tunes, nice clothes and intellectual credibility courtesy of Penman and Morley.
And Fantastic Day is so perfect. The chorus; "It's a Fantastic Day" What else do you need? Brilliant lyrics, poised between nonsense and sense, archly knowing how silly they are - ("Prance and flutter stride down that green escalator yeah" ) - the perfect response to Style Council pomposity.
"Well there`s a great amount of strain/About getting on that train/Every day and every night"
Even that sounded glamorous to me. What did I know about commuting? I was 16, it just sounded good.
I briefly met Nick Heyward once. I was in a band, we were going to be on Razzmattazz (not this episode) and got invited to the launch party for it with all these proper pop stars. So I went on a special trip to Top Man in Nottingham and got something new to wear - trying to dress like a pop star. I remember it being some grey canvasy jacket thing with lots of straps and pockets, the sort of thing you can imagine Howard Jones or Fiction Factory wearing.
Then Nick Heyward walked in, I think it was just before North Of A Miracle came out and he looked brilliant. All preppy and American, thinking about it he'd obviously been to all the US vintage stores down the Kings Road (which I'd no idea existed) and possibly to J. Simon. But that preppy thing just didn't exist then. No-one looked like that. Everyone else looked somewhat like they worked at 4AD or had just been in the Union Of The Snake video, he was just from a brighter, poppier, perfecter world.
I think, to some extent, that's the moment when I realised pop stardom wasn't for me. I was trying to look like a pop star, he just was one. And he wrote Fantastic Day.
