April Albums: An Introduction

Anyone who has been reading our various musings on this here blog over the last 15 months or so (and there have been some of you. It's not just us making up the pageviews. Honest) you'll have noticed that an area that fascinates me is the way we listen to and ingest music (or 'consume' to use the vulgar terminology so popular amongst the marketing-obsessed industry these days). You'll already know that if you've seen some of my earlier pieces which have explored tangible music formats – one about how I'd be sad if physical formats disappeared altogether, another on the sociological side to physical record collections (excitement of opening it for the first time, ogling other people's collections etc).


Naturally this extends to the format of the album as a whole. For so, so long it's been given the last rites by pretty much everyone involved within the industry. The downloading culture seems to have wiped out the concept of the album as a body of work to the more casual music listener. Consider how much thought has gone into choosing which songs are going onto an album and in which order, so as to present a coherent body of work documenting that artist's influences or experiences at that time. Now try and tell me that cherrypicking tracks from it to put on your hard-drive or MP3 player in no way devalues, disturbs or compromises the processes listed above. Exactly.

Now, let me try qualify a couple of things here. Firstly, I'm not saying we should all sit through unlistenable shit that crops in albums for the sake of preserving tracklistings every time. All I'm saying is that it's all too easy to reduce an album into a personal greatest hits compilation. In doing so it also becomes so easy to distance yourself from the original body of work as a whole to the point that you never give an album a proper chance. It's all about some misplaced notion that immediacy is key.

I don't say any of this as an outsider looking in. I'm guilty of this myself. My first ever post on here described how, when I once again invested in a device for playing physical formats, I sat down for two days and listened to records to rediscover my love for the album. Sadly, I appear to have regressed. Somewhere over the 15 months since writing it my life has once again gone onto shuffle. Aside from a week working night shifts where I wanted to explore how some of my favourite albums sounded at night the random function has been king. Time for another dose of remedial action.

A weekend drink (or several......) with the Pull Yourself Together produced the jocular remark that with so many albums coming to my house this week (courtesy of a small but welcome profit share from work) I could conceivably listen to an album a day throughout April and still have some left over. A quick bite to eat at PYT HQ saw Hefner's We Love The City providing the soundtrack, and at that moment I couldn't remember the last time I'd sat down and listened to an album all the way through. Two days later, while writing up a feature on Darren Hayman and his January Songs (where he wrote and recorded a song a day) I finally had my inspiration.

So yes, this is indeed inspired in equal parts by the people behind a fanzine named after a Hefner song, a Hefner album, and another dose of Hayman for good measure. Bordering on Darren overload if you ask me. Where he had January Songs, I'm doing April Albums.

The original idea of listening to one a day seemed frankly laughable. My aim is to now listen to at least 100 for the month. Sounds easy doesn't it? Pick 100 albums, press play, 3-4 a day and you're done. Except which 100 do you choose? There are so many ways of doing this I've already started to have choice paralysis. The arrival of most of my new albums (and possibly all by the end of the week) hasn't helped. It's thrown a whole new dimension into the mix of 'how many albums out of the 100 do I put on for the first time?'. One thing is certain though, as easy it would be to merely make it a month-long karaoke session it isn't something that I want to do. I want to be able to say that I've gained something new from every album I've put on, and picking ones you've heard 100s of times before just won't cut it. I'm sure there'll be moments when I'm tired or want something familiar that the odd personal favourite will creep in, but I'm aiming to keep that in the minority. I also want to try and throw in some albums that I haven't heard in 4 years or so, and see how they compare with the things I'm into now. Hell, I'm willing to sit through things I still own that I played twice and thought were bloody awful, just to see if my opinions have stayed consistent.

I'm really looking forward to it, I have to say. I'm already looking at albums and thinking 'am I going to put that on now or am I going to wait and have it included in my 100?'. Not even the fact my house is being totally reglazed at somepoint in proceedings (I think it's around week 3, and will last a week) is stopping me. I'm already thinking of ways to go and listen to albums aside from sitting in the house in order to keep the momentum going. This of course might backfire spectacularly and leave me not wanting to hear an album in its entirety for ever and a day. But we won't know until I get there.

This started as a personal adventure through my own record collection, but over the past couple of days the thought has creeped in that it would be nice if others did it too. Set your own rules. How many you intend to listen to. Whether you do new ones, or old ones. Whether you do albums you own, or trawl Spotify for new ones. It'd be lovely to go look through the #aprilalbums hashtag on Twitter and see not only that people are joining in, but what they're listening to.

I'll be live tweeting my listening experiences on twitter.com/musicismyradar. Entirely up to you if you follow of course, and I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. But if you do join in, remember to hashtag. I'm hoping to do weekly updates/progress reports on here documenting my experiences/slow descent into madness. So until then, BAI.

Actually, not quite. This is clearly the season for listening experiences, for twitter.com/jook is currently listening to EVERY Mercury prize nominated album ever (providing it's on Spotify). He's currently up to 1995, the poor sod. Go keep him company for god's sake.

The Dears - Degeneration Street

Something that should be quoted at the beginning of any review of a band on their third or later album is the saying that the definition of madness is

"doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results"

Huh. The other thing is something that I have tried to figure out for a long time - should I, a consumer of music, really expect that a band can make more than one great album? And do I feel guilty for wanting an album like their original stuff, pretty much the most 'indie' thing you can want? The Dears created something magical with their first major release, No Cities Left, a certifiable indie-classic that is almost timeless in its execution and style, with the crooning vocals and puncturing rhythms that sound like lightning in a bottle. The album is one of very few - like Is This It and Turn On the Bright Lights - born from that early 21st century stable of indie rockers that can still be listened to. But...

There is a problem. Since then The Dears have struggled to match their heady heights, and here's my question? Should I expect them to, do I have an investment that needs returning from my affection in the first place, am I out of order to expect that they can make another album of the quality? The recent albums, Gang of Losers and Missiles were albums that I wanted to love but left me feeling a little out of sorts. They weren't bad records but held up against their startling older brethren they seem less polished and less compelling.

Eight years since No Cities Left they are back with another set of tracks in a perverse perseverance. Should you care that they are back? Should I care that they are back? Is this the album, these 14 tracks, the ones that are going to reaffirm that solid belief that The Dears were the next big thing?

No. No, it's not. Degeneration Street is 14 tracks of great song craftsmanship, good vocal work, nice lyrics, competent guitar and a certain confidence that exude a good atmosphere. But the thing is to understand why I don't like Degeneration Street as much as No Cities Left I have to take apart why I like No Cities Left and you know what? It's the past that makes it so great. In 2004 when I first heard the album I was shocked because it was an album of sheer depth the like of which I'd not really been exposed to - growing up amongst fans of Nu Metal and Pop music I found it difficult to find my footing in bands, and The Dears is a good example of a band that opened my eyes, much like Belle and Sebastian and Godspeed You! Black Emperor - they were a gateway band to a world I had hoped existed and that I was happy to have found. The lead me to a host of new bands, namely The Smiths and Yo La Tengo.

So where does Degeneration Street sit? Quite well, actually - the assured style is akin to No Cities Left and the return of the dark lyrics, slow build up and long over blown drum solos are here in full effect, and it is the best sounding album they've made, better in some respects that No Cities Left. It has a few pretty amazing highlights - Blood being a stomping anthem with a rollercoaster melody on the chorus line. Lamentation is a slow burner like 22: The Death of all the Romance and has the same sense of despair and really does show that the band have the same feelings that made No Cities Left so special.

The album could do with two or three tracks cut from it's running length. Yesteryear is a jaunty sing along pop song that sites rather awkwardly on the record, and the song Easy Suffering sounds like it was culled from session on a Robbie Williams record... but for all it's flaws, Degeneration Street is an album worthy of that 20 year old students love, promise that they might have a place in modern day rock music. The Dears though have yet to make a truely essential album since their first, and the question I must ask then is why do they need to?

They don't. And finally, I don't think they are trying to anymore. This is one of the best albums of the year.

Five Songs For Valentine's Wallowing

The Anti-Valentine’s Day music playlist is probably as much of a cliché as the Valentine’s Day one, with music fetishising heartbreak and desolation as much as it does love and mawkish sentimentality. But seeing as I myself am a cliché-ridden tit, I figured I was on fairly safe ground indulging. Nonetheless, in lieu of the full playlist, and because definitive lists are generally Just No Fun, here are five songs to soundtrack your misery this wallowsome day.

The Walker Brothers – The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Any More

What better way to start this group misery exercise than with what I think of as the definitive break-up, loneliness, whatever song. Scott Walker’s croon has always been mournful, but you don’t need a sad voice when you’ve got someone so desperate at being alone as the protagonist in this song. The song seems to creep along; tired, afraid to commit to itself as it basks in the misery, then suddenly, wham! The sun ain’t gonna shine any more! The moon ain’t gonna rise in the sky! The tears are always clouding your eyes, when you’re without her! Those chimes and those sixties melodies and harmonies tug at the heartstrings, but were there ever truer words spoken than those in that chorus? I think not. Wallow on.

The Delgados – Child Killers

So you found love, met “The One”, moved in together, settled down, got married and had kids – you won, yeah? All that’s left is the happily ever after, right? Wrong! Although the whole of The Delgados’ classic album “Hate” deals with the subject of post-natal depression, nowhere is it more harrowing and sweetly soul-destroying than in this 7 minute-long opus. It’s the rich synths, the lullaby-like quality of Alun Woodward’s vocals that softly lull you, while all the while lyrics suggest that “maybe soon we’ll find peace in another world, say goodnight”. Hell, the pizzicato strings and orchestra in the outro could soundtrack a desperate, deranged woman kissing her child goodnight before stepping into traffic, a peaceful smile on her face. It’s that dark. And if you consider there’s supposedly no love purer than a mother’s love, then this song; this wretched, beautiful, heart-rending song, sits on here as snugly as any other.

The Auteurs – Light Aircraft On Fire

No, I’m not just picking the most antisocial sounding songs I know. A friend recommended a different Auteurs song for this, and though I wasn’t going to pick that one I knew there’s no-one better for a lazy anti-Valentine’s sentiment than King Curmudgeon himself, Luke Haines. Scuzzy guitar intro, vocals so repugnant they should be given an Asbo, and lyrics proclaiming (according to the liner notes at least) that “if you cut your lover slack, you’ll get a fucking monster back”. Alright, the recorded version shuns the swearie, but come on, you’ve got a song called “Light Aircraft On Fire”. It’s catchy. It pretty much espouses being a tyrant in a relationship within the first ten seconds of it (the first ten seconds of the album it’s cut from, too). It’s by Luke sodding Haines. It’s so far from the sentiment of Valentine’s Day that news of it will only reach Earth fifteen years after it’s happened.

The Cure – Disintegration

Considering they’re the same band that wrote “Friday I’m In Love” and “Love Song”, The Cure sure have a morbid streak running through them. This shouldn’t really surprise me, but what gets me every time is this track, number 9 of 10 (or 10 of 12) on the album of the same name, their 1989 classic which you really should listen to. It’s gothpop by numbers, but with a great groove, and a fantastic vocal performance by Robert Smith, which veers from distant, almost distracted, to a frantic, pleading, desperate yelp by the end. But what’s he singing about? Some people say post-breakup, but nuh-uh, it’s not that at all. He’s singing it from a point of view of a dead lover or husband, looking back at his now-widowed wife and child, apologising sure, but acknowledging the inevitability that “both of us knew how the end always is”. Coming so close to the end of Disintegration the album, an album jam-packed full of icy peaks and depths, it’s not so much a gut-punch as the last shower of soil on your coffin.

Richard Hawley – Coles Corner

Putting Richard Hawley and Scott Walker in the same list is always slightly suspect, but this is the kind of music both thrive in. Hawley does misery like few other, and Coles Corner is the epitome of that. Starting with soaring strings, recalling the aforementioned Scott Walker amongst others, before Hawley's wonderful rich voice flows in, singing “hold back the night, for us”, and it's this deep, lulling verse, with soaring orchestration which really draws you into the song. And then, the chorus hits – you notice the melancholy stakes have risen a little, but it's not until those final lines that it really hits you: “No-one there real, waiting for me, no smile, no flower, nowhere.” Bam! It's the sheer finality of that, as you listen you feel all the positivity just drain out of you, leaving you a shell of a man, barely stifling the tears as one of the most heartbreaking songs plays out its course, and with any luck, leaves you wallowing in just the right amount of misery for a day like today. Happy February 14th!

"Hello Cleveland, We Are....Trigger's Broom!"

I’ll tell you what I find oddly fascinating – Wikipedia band member line-ups and charts. Maybe it’s due to slow madness setting in; but there’s nothing I find more interesting than seeing who has been in what band over so many years. In my mind, a band is always seen as a unit – a team when it starts out; built around those core members that started and created the music, and seeing so many members leave, rotating around one or two permanent members (sometimes none) makes me wonder – is it still the same band? Or is it essentially now a covers band led by a sole remaining original musician. Also, how must that one remaining original band member feel? Are they lonely with having to play with essentially new people every five minutes? How long is spent on teaching 4 different drummers over 3 years your entire back catalogue? Why the constant line up changes? Is that guy (or girl) a complete twatfarm? Possibly; hey, look at how many people were in Guns ‘N Roses and The Fall (my Nan on bongos is a contender according to Mark E Smith).

Also, what happens if all the original band members leave? Who has control of the name? Is it better to just throw in the towel and realise that this just isn’t working out? I mean, you don’t want to end up like Billy Corgan playing with a bunch of 25 year olds who grew up listening to Siamese Dream.

Anyway, here are a selection of bands that have had some turbulent line-up changes over the last god-knows how many years that you may or may not know about:

Zao

American metalcore-types from Greenburg, Pennsylvania – once a Christian band, the message changed due to the huge rotating line-up of musicians that passed through Zao headquarters. The band have been going for 18 years and have had 5 different incarnations (all of which are considered different bands by both the band themselves and their fans) with original drummer Jesse Smith lasting only until 2004, before bailing out. The longest surviving members are vocalist Dan Weyandt who’s been with the band since 1997, guitarist Scott Mellinger (1999-onwards) and Russ Cogdell who’s left and rejoined more times than Wes Borland has with Limp Bizkit. Original vocalist Eric Reeder quit before recording ANYTHING (commitment mate) and was replaced by Shawn Jonas who did one album then quit to become a pastor at a New Life Church (hey, he got Christ, right?)

All in all, Zao have had a massive 16 members pass through their ranks, with another 5 temporary touring members who could actually form their own Zao tribute band, considering they consist of two touring vocalists, a guitarist, a bassist and a drummer.

Status: Zao are currently still together with Weyandt, Mellinger and Cogdell still present, joined by Jeff Gretz on drums and Marty Lunn on bass and are apparently working on new material. Let’s see if you can go a year without shedding any personnel eh lads?

Underoath

It must be something to do with being Christian and into metalcore. Underoath from Florida can’t hold on to band members. Only one original member; drummer and co-vocalist Aaron Gillespie, remained with the band from it's inception up to 2010 when he "left to pursue other interests" (i.e. kicked out). Currently the member doing the most time in Underoath is keyboardist Christopher Dudley, who’s been with the band since 2000, first appearing on their second album ‘Cries of the Past.’ Current vocalist Spencer Chamberlain replaced Dallas Taylor and since then there’s been a steady rotating number of bassists and guitarists passing through (3 of each) with Dudley presumably, sitting at his piano wondering why no-one wants to play with him.

So that's 17 band members in 14 years! Good going lads. At least they managed to stick to the same line up for 3 albums between 2004-2008, something which Zao could only dream of.

Status: Obviously still together, now with former Norma Jean drummer Daniel Davison behind the kit. This chart makes interesting viewing.


Iced Earth

You thought the above line-up changes were extreme, wait until you see Florida’s Iced Earth and their revolving door of musicians. Since 1984 they’ve had a total of 28 members – Jesus wept. A total of nine bassists and nine drummers have played for them in that time, as well as seven lead guitarists. Their current drummer, Brent Smedley has left the band twice, finally returning in 2006 – the guy obviously can’t get enough of this sinking ship. Props to guitarist and primary song writer John Schaffer for continuing though – there must come a time when he sees this venture as primarily a solo project and a rotating rhythm section, plus whenever vocalist ‘Officer’ Matt Barlow can be bothered to turn up from saving lives, to rave about demonic overlords and scenes from the latest Warhammer codex.

Status: still together, obviously and recording new material. Holy moly look at those line-up changes; IT'S SO PRETTY.

Now, from studying this; despite being together for other 27 years and still counting, it appears that Iced Earth have not managed to keep the same line-up two releases on the trot, mainly due to the fickle and shakeable tenure of their rhythm section.

Reel Big Fish

So at the other end of the spectrum just to prove it isn’t just metal bands that can’t hold on to a line up for more than 1 album is those wacky, Hawaiian shirt-wearing misanthropes known as Reel Big Fish. Having been together since 1992; the band has had a fast and furious line up changes, mainly going through four different drummers and a wheel-of-fortune spin of trumpet and other assorted brass personnel. Only Aaron Barrett, guitarist and lead vocalist remains from the original incarnation of the band (bassist Matt Wong left in 2007 as he was starting a family, awww!) Trombonist Dan Regan has been with the band since 1994 and is pretty much considered a core member. Mulit-instrumentalist Scott Klopfenstein (owner of the best last name ever) quit the band in January 2011 (to also concentrate on the birth of his daughter, not very rock and or roll Scott, you dork) after a whopping 16 year stint; causing uproar in the Reel Big Fish fandom (i.e.e some sad acts on the punknews message boards crying into their checked hankies).

“Whatever happened to Reel Big Fish? Why did Scott quit? Please don’t go, Reel Big Fish, all the other bands are just shit.”

Drum-roll; there have been a total of 15 past members in this Californian skank-train, alongside the five that remain in the current line-up as of 2011.

Status: See here. I’m going to leave you with my favourite RBF quote from a message board; enjoy:

“Unless Aaron decides to call it quits now that Scott's left, I can totally see him going slowly insane when the RBF crowds inevitably start to dwindle down to nothing and just having RBF banter with himself even if there's no concert happening. I'll gladly pay to watch him drunkenly play "Sell Out" on a "guitar" made out of pizza boxes in an alley behind an OC strip mall should the time come.... I'd let him f**** me, but I really, REALLY don't want to become a "Reel Big Fish groupie". That's reserved for fat, pimply girls with special carrying cases for Magic: The Gathering cards which conveniently attaches to their belt loops.” - Skibz777

The Sound of Boards of Canada

Okay, Christ, here comes the pretentious music blog faux-writer that is going to talk about an artist that is outside the mainstream but critically acclaimed beyond their years and adored by fans and musos alike. But there's a difference here because I am not going to try and preach to you about why you should like them but instead going to explain why I like them so much and why they make such a difference in my musical life.

They are Boards of Canada.

From Scotland and Canada (a good mix, if you ask me) they infused TV show samples, organic musical noises and sounds to create three of the most lauded electronic records of all time - Music Has the Right to Children, Geogaddi, and The Campfire Headphase. They also created some fo the most sought after EPs; Trans Canada Highway, Twoism, Boc Maxima and the Peel Sessions. Throw that output into the mix with two rare, unofficial, not even release 'tapes' that have been Torrented since they discovered, A Few Old Tunes and Old Tunes Vol. 2, and the fact that very little has been heard of them since 2006 and you have the makings of a indie hard-on.

But that's not what I love about them. Their output is something that is an ever presence on my playlist because of the sound. The albums have a dream like quality to them, a perfect balance of melody, bass, hooks and floaty production that cools, soothes and calms me. The records have this strange space between the tracks, almost like room to breathe, with each piece and track so meticulously pieced together, balanced perfectly like a great building designed to look like an illusion.

The songs have an ethereal style to them. There are the trademarks of Boards music - something that's sometimes missing from other bands' outputs. The trademark children's voices invoking a sense of insane innocence, and the swooping synth fade-in-and-outs that back ground an almost icey front melody or sound. It sounds like like a flowing back and forth wave of water that soundtracks the comings and goings of life and the way the universe is built.

I found Boards of Canada late in my musical life and like most of my recent finds they are so different to what I used to listen to it belies my youthful rock sounds that I demanded so heavy handedly during the first decade. Boards are almost the antithesis of my Nu Metal mindset that I used to carry with me everywhere I went. Now, growning up, I didn't ever expect a band or artist to affect me as much as the angst ridden songs had done in my teenage years. However, I was wrong.

Take the track Dayvan Cowboy, which appears on both The Campfire Headphase and the Trans Canada Highway EP - the song is regarded by most in the BoC community as the true mainstream single, and it is a great track, but to call it mainstream obscures the fact that it doesn't "start" until one third of the way through the running time. The EP In a Beautiful Place Out in the Country is with out a doubt in my mind my favourite EP ever released by any artist. The EP opens with a swoop synth base and a rattling rim shot sound effect that is slowly accompanied by drum rhythms and further swooning waves of slowly, brooding synth. The effect that it creates is something akin to watching rain fall down a pane of newly installed glass as a lightning storm rumbles on in the far distance.

It is this sound that makes me love Boards of Canada so much, and slowly ingest everything they have produced and that I can find. By obtaining their sought after tapes from their early years that were simply made for friends and family, I can see the genesis of a strange eye for the unusual and marking them and making them into something greater than before. The slow build up is a stylistic love letter to the art of pace and restrained craft that I admire so greatly.

So, I am going to try and get my friends to discover the band? No, I am not. When I was younger there was a strange nee for validation, the requirement to get my friends to enjoy, love and appreciate the bands that I love in tandem with me. This left me frustrated when my attempts to make my friend understand Rage Against the Machine ("I hate rapping") and Mars Volta ("Sounds like he is just going mental on a guitar") to the point of high blood pressure diagnosis. So, no, I am not going to force my friends to listen to them, and nor am I writing this to try and covnince you that you are wrong to dislike them or to have no listened to them. No, this is not a article to recruit members to the fanbase, but something that I want people to understand, take in, and accept that they are above and beyond some of the other artists I may off the cuff say are my "favourite artists of all time" because, and this is ture, very few can create such an incredible sound, and an incredible thread of consciousness through that very sound.


The worst thing I can say for Boards of Canada is that you don't need to focus on their music. It can be played in the back ground of almost anything and sit there, unobtrusive. This is why when listening to the albums I can almost say with absolute certainty you will hear something that you will have heard before. It's most likely going to be Roygbiv, which has been used almost endlessly by Charlie Brooker and others as background music for TV shows. The strange thing about this, whilst it could be seen as a problem, it has in fact allowed me to enjoy their music more and interpret their sound and style more fluidly than other artists I have listened to.

They have soundtracked walking in the snow home from a night out at the pub, driving to meet my girlfriend at the airport, sitting in the sunshine outside next to a pool in 90F heat, and the most productive and decisive moments in my day job. These moments are all linked to the music of Boards of Canada, and the sound of the artist, and they are the moments that make these albums the most important in my regular listening rotation. They are like a clean white room with a glass of cold, fresh highland water, whilst a blue sky and bright sunshine is outside and I can see sweeping rolling hills and trees moving in a slow breeze. There are birds flying, probably kids cycling. And occasionally a large 70'' metallic robot walks by fighting off an alien species of invading aliens.

If I were to force you to listen to the artists, I'd just wholesale tell you to head to the Warp Records store and buy everything. But that's un realistic. Unfortunately, they are not on Spotify, so I am going to have deal with faulty Youtube links.

This track is the title track from In a Beautiful Place Out in the Country.


This is one of my favourite peices of music of all time, 1969 from the album Geogaddi.


This track is called Turquoise Hexagon Sun from the album Music Has the Right to Children. The voices in the background are incredibly effective, and almost decipherable.


This is '84 Pontiac Dream. Taken from the album The Campfire Headphase, this album features no children voices, and a little guitar. This was a major change in design but the album kept the style and sound of the other albums. It is much maligned by the fan base for this, but I love it for the differences.


And finally, something a little different. From the EP Twoism, this is the title track.

The Strange Feeling of Wanting to Leave a Gig

I love live music and it’s something that I'll forever want to keep going in my life – a friend once stated to me that the moment I realise that I am old will be the moment I stop going to concerts. I don’t see that happening in my near future, but with responsible things like children, cars and houses in my distant future, maybe I will have to give it up at some point.

The strangest thing happens though when I'm at gigs – I have this weird inclination to want to leave. This is not because I hate the band (quite the opposite, in the most recent cases) but for some reason the actual act of being at a gig sometimes feel tedious, or boring. I love seeing the artist play, and hearing them strut through their hits, but the feeling that creeps in is that I’d like this to be a memory, so I can sit and think back to that time I saw Belle and Sebastian play rather than the act of actually being there, in the warmth and sweaty Barrowlands, trying to ignore the crowd.

You see, in my older age, I have had a slowly increasing contempt for my co-gig goers. This is one of a disabling feeling, brought on by a sheer distaste for people who are there to make up numbers, talk, or to just stand in the way of people that are there to see the band. I know, they paid the same price as me, but I hate it. For example, at the afore-mentioned Belle and Sebastian gig, there were such terrifyingly moronic folks standing next to me and my beau. They stood, chatting, laughing, standing with their back turned to the stage, and exclaimed loudly when Belle and Sebastian asks, rather tactfully and with good meaning, that they were wanting to ask for a charitable donation.

They really pissed me off. Unbelievably, however, when the band struck up perennial favourite, and not-that-easy-to-have-heard classic The Boy With the Arab Strap the boys who had not paid any attention to the whole gig thus far knew every single word, syllable perfect, even recanting the fade out ...”set of the smoke alarm” and “list of your ten biggest wanks”. It shocked me. Someone who knew that song so well should never be standing facing the mixing desk talking about work with a friend.

So maybe I'm older now, and that person inside me that used to jump and scream at the first chord of any song now looks down on those doing the exact same. Maybe I'm growing up. Maybe I'm running out patience with the gigs that I go to. And maybe I do prefer to remember rather than experience. Maybe that makes me criminally insane.

Is Spotify Killing the Mixtape?

Or has it already killed it? Because I'm a kind-hearted soul, I'm currently in the process of making a mix CD for, well, for anyone who took up my offer of a mix CD of tracks from my favourite albums of 2010. It's a fun process, making a mix, trying to make sure all the tracks flow into each other, that there's some kind of natural progression. I like to group all my mix CDs into halves, essentially, and the halves into another, less well marked half. And there's a lot of fun you can have with it, messing around with the format, or just feeling smug when you unwittingly create an amazing link between two tracks.

"I'm a Mac. I'm a PC. We look like a pair of total spods." (Please, please come up with a better caption than that. I'm begging you.)

Before I go any further, it's worth pointing around that I'm aware that I'm coming at this from a rather...neologistic perspective. The fact that I've used “mixtape” and then switched to “mix CD”. Yeah, I am aware that it was the casette that really first allowed normal music fan plebs like me to start messing around with all their music. In High Fidelity, Rob creates tapes for girls, and it's that very organic, very labour-intensive process that's part of his rather oddball charm. He sits in front of a tapedeck for several hours, we can just imagine how it is. We get a snippet of it in the film, but you can imagine him doing that for all his crushes, throughout his life. These days, the process is a bit simpler, arrange the tracks in WMP or iTunes or something, then press “Burn”. It's not quite the same thing, and certainly isn't so romantic. There's probably a whole heap of subtext you can read into that, foremost in my mind that of whether the lack of effort we put into things is killing...well, something. But that's for another blogpost.

You could suggest that I should've asked whether Spotify's merely delivering the coup de grace to a rather diminished pastime, but you're being pedantic, and seeing as I'm already in paragraph 3 and haven't started answering, it's time to get started. As I mentioned earlier, the process of burning a mix CD is pretty simple, all told. But you've still got to do the tiny bits of work, y'know, writing the tracklist, actually buying the CDs, CD cases, doing the artwork if you're so inclined. And if you're an awkward gawky teen, nervously hand it over to woman of your dreams, either suggesting that “hope you like some of it”, or promising the Velvet Underground will change their life or something. Generally while your zits are in danger of reaching critical mass.

Spotify just takes all that away, and more. With this programme, you can connect to tens of other friends and with just a click or twenty, you've shared a playlist with a heck of a lot of other people. There's absolutely nothing personal about it, and moreso much less thought and internal conflict involved in the whole process. Despite myself, I enjoy trimming that Beach House track I thought I couldn't do without, or that Neil Young song I'd take a gamble on them having heard already. It's a horrible process, but no pleasure without pain etc etc. But hey, with Spotify, you don't need to worry about time limits, you can put anything on. And you do. You get indiscriminate, and the whole thing numbers 40 or 50 songs. Not in any order, either, because with that many what'd be the point, it's best put on random and just played whatever. No-one tries to put that many songs on an album, except maybe Stephen Merritt. And I really really hate Stephen Merritt.

But...is it killing mixtaping/mixCDing? Or am I just getting old. Heck, when I was younger I was said gawky teen, making mixCDs (and yes, it was CDs) for all the girls I had designs on, and it never failed to get me completely and utterly nowhere. In any case, be it because of paucity of success or because these days I seem to know a lot more people already into similar music to myself (because as a teenager you're convinced that it'll be the thrill of discovery that you gets you there – discovering amazing music being tied to you and thus, er, getting you into dreamgirl's knickers. Or in my case, not), but I haven't made a mixCD with the implict intention of getting a snog for ages. And this is the first one I've made for friends in ages, too. I'll check the list of people who want it, but I'm fairly sure I don't want to snog any of them. Actually, that might not be true, but I'm fairly sure I won't be snogging any of them. Stop talking about snogging you loser.

I think maybe I'm answering my own initial question with a “no”, here. I like Spotify, it's hell of useful, and bigger playlists, like the one my friend made prior to Belle & Sebastian's ATP are useful as anything. I use it to discover lots of new music, and listen to odd tracks I don't own elsewhere. I don't know whether teenagers are using it to impress the opposite sex (or maybe same sex, let's not discriminate here), but I'd like to think not, if only because there's something heartening in knowing that future generations will repeat your mistakes (so long as your mistakes weren't like, starting a land war in Asia) and learn from them. Or not learn from them.

The mixCD's got much to recommend it. And I think it's the personal touch, especially in an area when no-one really owns casette players, which really does it for me. I'll admit I was taken aback that people wanted to listen to a CD I'd compiled of stuff from last year, and I took it as a massive compliment that so many people (double figures!) expressed an interest. Hopefully, I'll be making them a good selection, full of stuff they've not heard that they take an instant liking to. I'm definitely hoping for a goosebump or two.

Of course, I'll write a piece on the CD when it's done, and hey, if you want, I can send you a copy too. Unless you'd rather wait for the Spotify playlist.