Musique Non Stop

I, somewhat depressingly I admit, regard myself as being the classic jack of all trades and master of none. I take an avid interest in many things - cooking, gardening, environmental issues, history, architecture, film, art among many others - but not to any great depth. I skim the surface, gleaning nuggets of information but never delving down into significant detail. Consequently I am able to hold a conversation with many people about many esoteric things, but if someone I am talking to happens to be an enthusiast in any of these areas then quite rapidly my knowledge is exposed as nothing more than cheap guide book highlights.

The one exception would be music; this would be my major passion in life. With everything else I've sort of dabbled up to a certain point, wavered and finally given up completely. Any of the various interests and hobbies I tried in my earlier years would fall into this category, but music is the only constant. Anyone who knows me would know that music is my major love, and therefore it may come as a surprise that it's taken me this long to write about it, given that it has been a major part of my life for such a long time.

My early music exposure was hardly spectacular. In the Smith family home, music was not a major feature, and what there was would hardly be described as having a major bearing on my life. Mum had her ABBA LPs, which may or may not have led to my later love of 'camp' eighties electro pop (I use inverted commas around the word camp as I actually don't think my favourite band, Erasure - there, I've said it - are necessarily camp, but most people would probably tend to disagree); my dad had some Elvis tapes, which I'd probably love today, but at the time didn't set my world alight. Apparently my parents used to have a much larger record collection including an allegedly valuable psychedelic LP picked up from a Hare Krishna monk in Trafalgar Square in the 1970s, but any gems that may or may not have existed were sold to a collector early in my childhood. I have subsequently appropriated for myself a couple of records from the parental collection which nestle comfortably in one of my many vinyl boxes, including the seminal 'Magic Fly' by Space (not the 1990s Scouse reprobates) and a Booker T And The MGs LP whose cover is stuck together by weathered tape.

Thus my early music exposure was to Barbara Dixon LPs and the chart, wherein the music I liked was pedestrian, middle of the road pop. Aside from two Smurfs 7"s, which I will never dispose of, the first official 7" I owned was 'The Riddle' by Nik Kershaw, a doyen of everything eighties, but who I will vehemently defend as a quality song-writer to this day. Chesney Hawkes' 'I Am The One And Only', if you ignore the singer, is actually a perfect example of Kershaw's lyrical expertise. Trust me. After Nik, there was an extended gap until I had enough money to buy records myself, whereupon my small but burgeoning record collection became filled with some atrocious releases, and some others which I look back on and think 'Wow' even now - MARRS' 'Pump Up The Volume' for example would be the latter, Technotronik feat. Ya Kid K would probably fall into the former. I even reserve a special place in my heart for the first Kylie Minogue album (the one where she's wearing essentially the brim of a hat through which her permed hair protrudes), which I received for my 11th birthday.

By the end of the 1980s my favourite band was Erasure. They still are my favourite band, and I don't care whether you like them or not. I think of Erasure as producing clever pop, even to this day. The 'camp' thing stems chiefly from Andy Bell's homosexuality and tawdry on-stage antics, but the lyrics and synth backdrops are actually very evocative and emotional. But don't just take it from me - the NME or Melody Maker upon the release of the duo's 'Always' in 1994 (ah, 1994 - that was a good year) remarked that everyone, whether they liked it or not, loved at least one Erasure song. So even if you think you don't, you do.

I have Erasure to thank for getting me into some seriously experimental music. You may find this a hilarious notion, but an avid music lover's journey to the underbelly of popular song often arises out of unexpected places. Erasure are still to this day signed to the Mute record label. Mute, until very recently were the UK largest independent (indie) record label until they were snaffled up by EMI earlier this decade; set up by an innovative, visionary chap called Daniel Miller, Mute's roster includes exceptionally mainstream acts - Depeche Mode, Moby and Erasure - some cult acts - Nick Cave, Neubauten, pre-Geffen Sonic Youth, Wire - and some niche, experimental and uncompromising folk - Boyd Rice / Non, most of the Blast First sub-roster. An indie label arguably shouldn't take such a financially-risky scattergun approach to their ‘sound’, but Mute have Depeche Mode, Erasure and Moby to thank for effectively bankrolling the label and allowing them to invest into arguably more risky areas.

What happened was that I bought my first Erasure 12” in the summer of 1991 and it included a large square brochure detailing all of Mute’s releases up to that point, right from The Normal’s ‘Warm Leatherette / TVOD’ up to 1991. There they all were, in catalogue number order, all these albums and singles, mostly by bands I’d never even heard of. I just couldn’t fathom why it was that these acts had not become known to me even though I listened to the full Top 40 on Radio 1 every week. It didn’t even occur to me that there was a music scene outside of pop. I mistakenly, but quite prophetically, believed that all acts on the Mute label would all sound the same.

So, to cut a long story short, I ended up getting into all sorts of esoteric artists and groups simply from getting that 12” single with those rostered artists within it. My love of Mute extended to developing the Documentary Evidence website – www.documentaryevidence.co.uk – in homage to the square pamphlet, also titled Documentary Evidence, that I found in that Erasure 12” fifteen years ago. From Mute I got into underground techno which then, quite logically at least to me saw me getting into monochord punk rock, guitar soundscapes and all sorts of unusual bands. Call it a passion or a way of life but it was basically an all-encompassing addiction that has cost me an arm and a leg over the years to fund. But it’s still Erasure, and also Depeche Mode (from whence Erasure were born, fact fans), that are the principal loves within my music collection, and always will be.

I’ve always said, put me on Mastermind and my chosen specialised subject would be 'Depeche Mode 1981 - 2006, including offshoots and collaborations'. That is, I always thought of myself as being expert in this subject. Despite my avid following of the Mode, even this specialist knowledge was challenged earlier this year when a new colleague started working alongside me, who was also mad about Depeche. All those hundreds and hundreds of pounds spent collecting every Depeche Mode release on every conceivable format became effectively worthless when it became more and more apparent that John knew more than I ever did.

‘”Life in the so-called space age” – know what that’s from?’ He enquired one day. Depressed, I shook my head as I mentally ran through assorted Depeche Mode lyrics in vain, trying desperately to identify the song where John had lifted this wry social, sub-Futurist comment from.

‘Black Celebration, rear sleeve, centre, bottom,’ he said, referring to the tiny quote tucked away at the very bottom of the sleeve. And with that brief conversation, I realised that my knowledge of this band that I’ve loved for years and years was far from exemplary, and so going back to very first point, even with something where I do consider myself an expert I realise I am a mere novice.

Changes in priorities and a sudden curtailing of disposable income has put paid to my ability to spend vast sums of money following all the disparate bands that I’ve followed over the years, and accordingly my music taste seems to have moved away from the more radical elements to a sort of middle-aged musical conservatism; a need to create some space has seen me start the painful process of selling records I can no longer justify keeping.

I just hope that one day my daughter finds herself looking through our combined music collection and is able to say ‘Wow dad! Throbbing Gristle? Who were they?’ and having her eyes opened to the diverse world of music like her father did when he was fifteen, rather than shackling herself only to crass pop commercialism.