I was first played this track as a first year in University in 1990, by a flat mate who's name, I seem to remember, was Neil. As with a lot of people who go away for the first time, I arrived at my new residence a bit wet behind the ears. Neil, however, was cool. He had a guitar. He smoked Marlboro Lights. And he liked Galaxie 500.

Fourth of July is from the Album "This is Our Music", which was released in 1990. It's the first track, and I can still vividly remember the effect that the song had on me the first time I heard it. I was mesmerised. I'd never heard music like this before, although to be fair I wasn't exactly listening to cutting edge music at the time. Queen, Led Zeppelin and Deep Purple formed the backbone of my music collection, so I guess it was going to be fairly likely that this music would sound a bit, well exotic, to the boy that I was at the time. I remember commenting to Neil that all the tracks sounded the same (they don't). He tugged on his cigarette, slowly blew out the smoke as was his way, then sagely replied "Exactly". I'm not sure what that exactly means, but hey, he was cool and I wasn't. So I took it as read that this was good.

I didn't know at the time that this would turn into one of my favourite albums of all time. But it has. It's an album I turn to at various times in my life. It's the sort of album that's the perfect match for episodes in my life where I've been melancholy. Not happy, not depressed, not angry, not upset. Just, well, a bit flat. As regular readers may have read, I'm feeling a bit melancholy at the moment and this track (well, the entire album) is taking a bit of a battering right now.

Galaxie 500 were a three piece who split in 1991 after releasing three albums, of which this one is the last. Their music stands out for itself, but their lyrics are also quite interesting. They range from somewhat bizarre, to tragicomic as is the case with Fourth of July. The song opens with this:

I wrote a poem on a dog biscuit
And even your dog refused to look at it

I was about to say something along the lines of well, we've all been there, but quite clearly we haven't, not literally. But I like the allegory. Later on, this line is trumped by my favourite:

I stayed at home on the Fourth of July
And I pulled the shades so I didn't have to see the sky
And I decided to have a bed in
But I forgot to invite anybody


Even if you've never heard the track before, you can guess it's not an uplifting type of song. On the other hand it's not depressing either. The music has almost dream like quality to it. The mood of the music neither lightens or darkens throughout the song, although the lyrics do hint at mood swings that aren't reflected by the flow of the song:

Maybe I should just change my style
But I feel alright when you smile


Looking back to my first thoughts about the song all those years ago, it's not the case that all the songs sound the same. Rather for me, the songs do share a certain enigmatic quality. Read into them as much or as little into them as you like. I'm sure it means something different every time I listen to it. And because of that, there's no way this song could ever sound the same way twice.

Ralph McTell is best known for his song "Streets of London", which had chart success and won him an Ivor Novello award. But there's a lot more to him than just one song, far more than I know about in fact. A singer/song writer of considerable talent, his styles vary from folk to blues, from love songs to psychedelia.

"Kew Gardens" can be described as a whimsical folk song, but that belies the sensitivity of the song, the performance and the lyrics. At the time it was written, McTell had never been to Kew, but the song was written after a friend of his visited and described it to him. It tells the story of of a shy man and woman as they spend a day in the gardens. I love the pattern and pace of the lyrics as he describes the pair as they spend their afternoon on a summers day. In particular I adore the words describing the moment the man sees the lady as she enjoys the pleasant surroundings of the gardens:

He saw her linger
And With her finger open up a rose,
Standing on tip toes

As the story continues, the rain starts to fall and they innocently spend some time together, chatting until the sun comes out once again, obviously enjoying one another's company and losing themselves in each other. And then they part, never to see each other again at the end of the day.

And one of the griffins cried

For me, this song really does really appeal to the romantic side of me. I love the thought of meeting the love of your life in such a way - but what I really like about the song is that although it's obviously a gloriously rose tinted view of love amongst the lily ponds and pagodas it's actually a story of love lost, or perhaps more poignantly love never found.

I first came across this song through buying my Dad a birthday present. He's always loved the song "Those Were the Days" by Mary Hopkin. which incidentally was produced by Paul McCartney and is the most well known of her songs. She recorded a number of Ralph McTell songs, and Kew Gardens was one of them.

I loved the CD I bought for my Dad so much, I bought a copy myself and I always loved "Kew Gardens" on it. And from this CD, I then decided to listen to more of Ralph McTell. It's a tough one deciding which version I like best. McTell's own version is by far the most interesting, as the arrangement of both the instrumentation and the vocals is much more varied and complex than Hopkin's. But for me, the purity and innocence of her voice and the simplicity of the recording compliments the innocence and simplicity of this rather sad tale. And I love it every time I hear it.

I'm beginning to think this was a mistake calling this track of the week....

Jam and Spoon were a influential German electronic act. They were Rolf Ellmer and Markus Löffel who was otherwise known as Mark Spoon. Spoon was also a DJ. They had a certain amount of mainstream success in the mid nineties with primarily their Album Tripomatic Fairytailes and the Singles Stella and Right in the Night.

The track Follow Me was a B-Side to "Right in the Night". For me, "Right in the Night" summed up a lot of what was bad about Euro dance/techno/whatever. But it did pretty well, despite its cheesiness.

Thankfully, Follow Me was something else. It's a track that sometimes doesn't know what it is. It starts with a fairly bit of generic sounding bit of Euro dance with the slighly annoying lyric being repeated, but once it gets going it settles down into a fairly stripped down techno track losing the chart friendly melody that could well have ruined it. At this point, it's more Detroit than Berlin, running at about 140bpm. About half way through, the techno sound dies to be replaced by some fairly expansive and lush chords as the sound turns a bit more ravey.

And then all hell breaks loose as the track then erupts in to (what for me at the time, I think 1994) the mother of all breakdowns. The tempo rises to about 180, and the sound once more descends into something else, a little more acidy (at this point I really should mention I really am hopeless at describing dance music genres), before dying away into the chords we heard first in the middle of the track.

When I hear this track it always takes me back to one night, myself and Rob ventured to the legendary Orbit @ The After Dark club in Morley near Leeds in probably about 1993. Mark Spoon was DJing that night. And the place absolutely rocked. We didn't have a car, so it was a bit of a mission getting there, so it was a bit of a one off, but made all the more memorable as it was at the time one of the best Techno venues in the world.

Tragically, Spoon died in 2006 of a heart attack aged 39. He's fondly remembered by a large number of people around the world, so for that one night in Morley and a lifetime of enjoying your music Mark, I thank you.

I've never seen the Pixies play live. Much to my regret I didn't get around to seeing them when they reformed the last time, especially when I hear how good they were. I think at the time I was being sniffy about not seeing bands that had reformed after splitting up. But if I didn't see them the first time around that hardly makes sense does it? Ho hum.

Anyway - on to the track in question. It's the last song from the second album Doolittle. It's a superb album and there really isn't a bad song on it. For a lot of people, the stand out song on the album has to be "Debaser" which is truly a fantastic song, but for me the highlight has to be "Gouge Away". This song always sets the hairs on the back of my neck on end when ever I hear it. It's the most distilled, stripped down piece of rock I have ever heard. For me, what makes it stand alone is the bass and the drums, played so well by Kim Deal and David Lovering. The sound is taut and on edge. When you add the discordant guitars and singing of Frank Black, the song truly becomes a unique sounding piece of music.

But the most interesting thing about it is that because the production of it is so special, it simply gets better and better the louder you listen to it. You really begin to feel the excitement and dynamism of the band. Power and control. It's because of this I auditioned my hifi on it last time I went shopping. I remember the poor assistant's pained expression as I put it up louder and louder. It's not that he didn't understand, I just don't think he liked the music. It takes some seriously good equipment to bring this song out perfectly. I once played this on my flat mates set up. He had the biggest bass bin imaginable. But it wasn't hifi (the bloke in the shop told him that at the time as I recall). When turned up to "11", it really really lost the plot. It was loud, but the whole emotion of the song was lost.

I'll audition hifi with it again. And then one day, I'll be able to live in a house where I can play this as loud as it's meant to be played.

I've been thinking about doing a little thing once a week on a single track that I've been listening to during the previous week, why I like it and what (if anything) it means to me. It seems appropriate therefore to kick off with this one.

You may have heard about this one. Malcolm Middleton is one half of the much missed Arab Strap. His solo career is one that I have followed, and in many ways has overtaken my love of Arab Strap's Material. Anyway - he's decided to see if he can get the Christmas Number one to try and take back the slot for real music.

Taken from his last album, Malcolm says its actually a cheerful song (and for him I suppose it is). It's about, er, well in Malcolm's own words:

"I wrote ‘We’re All Going to Die’ to comfort someone, but I kind of failed. It is saying we’re all in the same boat. It’s going to happen to all of us, so we have to make sure that we do the best we can in our life, so that when we die that we can handle it."

Anyway - it's a splendid idea. Buy the single. Take back the charts.

http://www.wereallgoingtodie.co.uk/