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|They're all love songs, I've only just realised. Even the hate songs. The idea was to spiral away from pop innocence into the pure cynicism of noise, a bit like the first Velvet Underground album, but to come out of it at the end. Written and recorded late 1999, early 2000.|
|Pure joy. About one night stands. That's the single! - people cry. (Wanna know a secret - F minor followed by A major, rising vocal line. That's it. It'll make you a fortune, I promise.)|
|My personal favourite. Buddhists will tell you that the secret journey to fulfillment and a liberation of the spirit is not through booze and pills and picking fights and screwing in alleyways. But I bet they're all at it, secretly. The Great British Friday night to the power of ten. Millenium Eve, maybe.|
|storm of unknown origin|
|A blues soundscape. Partly Underworld. I put this on because it sounds like a frenetic mess, being reigned in and controlled. Almost falls apart but makes it, like a great live set.|
|girl with the stained glass heart
give it unto thee (hell yeah)
|Rural hotel showband MOR, but with the emotions turned up a little bit too far for comfort, and a prog rock analog phaser going loopy in parts, and Johnny Marr's dad on guitar. Pure trash masquerading as class. Or is it vice versa.|
|itty bitty h bomb|
|A whoosh of Electric Ladyland chords and breakbeats and an analog synth sample or two. Energy song. This'll get you on your feet. I'm a bourgeois dad concerned about his wayward spoilt daughter. And a similar theme crops up in..|
|sissy's hot summer|
|Phaser-heavy kick-bass King Billy hillbilly. Originally about Tiffany Mynx, the Orange County sex star, but I felt I'd wasted enough energy on her already. I'm a randy old gardener in a bourgeois household and Sissy is the blossoming, untouchable daughter. Baby Doll.|
|i wanna get worse|
|Ferocious. Written in 15 minutes and then binned. Gradually people heard it on tapes and always commented. More people know this feeling than I imagined. I feel like this very rarely. You have to see the comedy or you've missed everything.|
|the revolution of everyday life|
|A proper simple love song. Sit down, press record and sing. Not out of keeping with the conclusions of the Situationist handbook by Raoul Vaneigem of the same name.|
|In the Sex Pistols "Bodies" John Lydon sings 'I'm not an animal' and the song turns almost metaphysical. Xfm wanted to play my songs but I sent them this, with New Labour references and now they won't return my calls. Allegory for political spin and manfacturing consent and dead clever stuff.|
|parliament of stars|
|We were all elected and we're still elected now. Yuppie disco. Prince. Revolutionary slogans secreted in there too. I'd love to hear people sing along to this in smalltown nightclubs.|
read a bunch of books about the origins of US biker gangs. How many
were emotionally damaged WW2 pilots, bombardiers and atomic progam
grunts. It was 1947 and America still felt the effects of the war. Many
saw it as a Year Zero, when they could stake a claim that had
previously been denied to them. But what the Hells Angels saw in the
war had shifted their morality completely. Moral decisions became
impossible. Nothing 'bad' they could do in peacetime felt 'wrong',
compared to what their government had asked them to do with the bomb.
Bankrupt and shell-shocked, almost profoundly ashamed, they lived, and
were allowed to live, as outlaws. On rural sandy ranches, on their
Through no desire of their own, they attracted new flyboys and runaways who confused their rawness for freedom, their cynicisn for strength.
rock and roll music arrived, it mirrored urban teenage unrest. But a
burgeoning pop culture industry passed much of the blame onto the
bikers. Hollywood noted this press attention, softened their lifestyle
into the 'Wild Ones', and twisted their story into a sell-able Middle
American family morality tale. The mythology enflamed the imaginations
of suburbanites for the latter part of the twentieth century. Leather.
Black. Tats. Bad boys. Doing whatever the hell they wanted. Angry young
men, drugs, protest, psychedelia, punk. The irony being that it started
with a group of broken men who weren't freewheelin' or born to be wild
at all. But had had the humanity burned out of them.
Rock. Humanity burned out. Atomic Noir. The low point of the human spirit. It seems dated now, the western world seems fairly content with itself. But it's a sexy mythology and a sexual music and a shorthand. Dance music, dominating the past decade, tries to find a mythology. But it fulfills a timeless function. And it does it well. Many bands now move toward Wire magazine abstraction. Although I share many influences, it's still very .. neutral.
So, the album was a shot at finding those atomic seeds of pre-rock and roll attitude and seeing what would happen if they had been planted elsewhere. Adopted by other people, at another time, in other locations.
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