one of god’s sorry creatures

stephen lionel mcrobbie / 1962 / 19 when forming the pastels in 1981

the black tambourine song “throw aggi off the bridge” as directed at stephen pastel requesting he throw his then girlfriend / band-mate aggi so they could finally be together

stephen n aggi were in fact dating !!!

stephen owned a record label called 53rd & 3rd after the ramones song that released the bmx bandits / the shop assistants / talullah gosh / beat happening / the vaselines / the soup dragons

remember: ‘painting’ first ever version + alone in the paintbox + i wonder why off of the entertaining edward cassette 

stephens favourite albums

faust - the faust tapes

stereolab - cobra and phases grouop play

to rococo rot - the amateur view

ralf & florian - self titled

arthur russell - first thought best thought

bridgette fontaine - est ...

brian eno - another green world

miles davis - kind of blue

maher shalal hash baz - return visi to rok mass

kryzysztof komedo - le depart

the velvet underground - the velvet underground & nico

a look at an underrated classic.

inspired by x

For quite some time now there has been a woman gesturing to you from across the streets to enter the shadowed forest behind her home, every night you lean in a bit closer to your window.

Often times when you look at your spouse, you find yourself thinking they’d look quite beautiful dead in a rose bush.

You have been ostracised from your family and in a blind rage have taken off into a strange new land where you are promptly confronted by unwelcoming townsfolk warning you of the mighty hand of God.

You don’t know if you believe in God, but you definitely believe in the devil, for he is outside your door as we speak.

Your girlfriend has left you because you’ve forgotten how to fuck, are ugly, and obnoxiously loud when drunk. Oh, and you wouldn’t stop comparing her to the lovely dying flowers outside your West Berlin flat and her friends were getting creeped out.

The bells that ring from the chapel are becoming increasingly loud in the shadow of your long time lover’s departure.

Multiple people have referred to you as “boy.”

Religious is seemingly the only genre of media you will consume.

Your name is Henry.

You are a long forgotten saint of the Catholic persuasion.

You are a long forgotten saint of the Catholic persuasion who, at the funeral, lunged from your coffin declaring with a booming voice like God’s; “The stink of human sin is more than I can bare.” who went on to live out the rest of their life as a folklore legend.

The sherrif of your town’s new wife looks so beautiful you could just rip her into tiny shreds. Literally. And you did.

You have commited murder.

You have comitted murder multiple times.

Your murder count is equivalent to that of a small nation’s population.

Your long lonely nights have made a mistress of your shadow.

No, really, you’re married to your own shadow. You have kids and everything.

But you killed your shadow.

Your name is Jack.

There are mermaids everywhere, in the ocean, in the sky, hanging upside down from lamp posts.

Though you believe in God, you get no special compensation for this belief.

You are someone with an oddly specific profession, in an oddly specific place, believing in God.

You’re filled with stories of religious martyrs and convicts of all kinds.

Your girlfriend broke up with you, or maybe you killed her.

Your girlfriend killed YOU.

The ghost of Johnny Cash has visited you many times.

Your name ends in ‘Lee.’

You’re a sideshow worker burying a dead horse.

You once knew a woman, a gorgeous woman who took you in and treated you well. You swear to the heavens that you loved her, she showed you happiness, which is why you had to kill her.

You once knew a woman, an enigmatic woman with long black hair who taught you well about the world you lived in. You believe you loved her, you must of, which is why you had to kill her.

You know a woman, she lives down the street from you and on stormy days you can catch a glimpse of her lily-white hands grazing the windowsil. She owns a cat you see often. You’re thinking that maybe you should pay her a visit.

On a whim one rainy day, you leave your home while ill to visit her down the street. Her hands are cold but her coffee hot, and as the fire burns beneath the mantel you think to yourself; ‘All beauty must die.’

( outdated, has since been rewritten, please don’t read this - it is very bad. )

 in some's musical careers, an artists first and sometimes only hit will be a cover. for the dexys midnight runners, one of their first hits was a magnificent cover of van morrison's 1972 track 'jackie wilson said (i'm in heaven when you smile),' for others they don't get such a fantastic rep (see alien ant farm's dismal cover of michael jackson's 1987 hit 'smooth criminal').  a cover version should be a new take, a different take on a classic or lesser known track. it should revive what it's covering and bring to the table what the song had initially lacked. the main key to a good cover is revival and creativity, something that a lot of artists fall short on. 

 below is a short list of covers that do exactly this, therefore making them not only unique to the artist but also giving the songs a new kind of life.

1. robyn hitchcock: the ghost in you (2014) the psychedelic furs: the ghost in you (1984)

 robyn hitchcock, the eclectic uplifting ex-frontman of the legendary proto-punk band 'the soft boys' has often left followers of his floored by his innovative music and bursts of uniqueness. as one of the most distinguished vocalists of his time (standing along side the likes of jonathan richman and tom verlaine within his genre), he has brought more than enough to the table than we could have ever asked for.  however, in his recent 2014 record 'the man upstairs,' hitchcock opted for an all-cover, all-acoustic album. this record has many brilliant covers on it including a slightly more erotic version of roxy music's 'to turn you on,' and a lighter version of the doors' 'the crystal ship.'   yet the most outstanding track on this album is the opening track, a soft, careful cover of the psychedelic furs' 1984 single 'the ghost in you.' while the original is riddled with a quaint main synth riff and choir-like backing vocals in the chorus, is it contrasted heavily by richard butler's almost monotonous bowie-esque vocals. it's a beautiful sweeping song of love and confusion that is very much of it time. but at many times it seems as though it comes on too strong for such a sad topic. some times contrasts like that can be good, but in this song - despite its undeniable genius - it almost feels as though the sentiment is lost in the power of the execution.   in hitchcock's version, the gentle guitar immediately strikes a sense of concern. it plays almost idle, as though the notes themselves are twiddling their thumbs. not soon after the initial impression we are kindly met by robyn's iconic voice gently brushing over iconic lyrics such as 'falling over you is the news of the day,' 'stars come down in you,' 'ain't it just like rain?' and potentially the most impactful his loving delivery of the repetition of the word 'love' in the latter half of the second verse. robyn's voice suits the cotton-soft emotion of the lyrics and gives them the life they deserve. his version is very much like the first chirping of birds in the morning, like sunshine warming your face after a long winter, which is exactly what the song needed - some love.

2. bauhaus: ziggy stardust (1982) david bowie: ziggy stardust (1972)

  i have no need to tell you of the grand impact of david bowie's 1972 record 'rise and fall of ziggy stardust and the spiders from mars.' if you're reading this, you know. in the context of the conceptual album, the song sings sadly. it is a tale of a being who lost his head in the midst of fame and fortune with allusions to abandonment by friends, very similar to the exile and death of rolling stone's founder brian jones. it chronicles the career of well endowed superstar from mars, who falls victim to the human ego he had been trying to dismantle by starting a musical career to begin with.   perhaps its due to the deficiency of proper effects for the time that the song lacks a certain passion that you swear oughta be there. the genius guitar of mick ronson has all the indications of a grand performance, however it stays trapped in mono. even bowie's vocals feel muted, where's the hype? where's the chaos of ziggy's career? has the beer light gone out?   it wasn't until bowie devotee peter murphy came along in 1982 with his ground breaking band of bauhaus that the song was given the life it deserved. murphy has a knack for impersonating bowie, but in his time to completely replicate bowie, he instead displays his own personally unique voice. daniel ash's constant stream of guitar is relentless, we are never released from the excitement of this track. even the verses, which were originally quiet, have the same electric energy in them. every beginning of a chorus is kicked off with kevin haskin's quick and powerful drumming, and murphy's vocals split through the revolutionary song of demise like a knife.   the beer light has been switched on, the triumph of a hero has been brought to life. the cover gives the original all that bowie had been aiming for - excitement, energy, chaos, rile, all of it. it transforms the song into the true anthem it was meant to be, filled with spinning turmoil and a constant 'in your face' attitude, the song ends with the last cry of '... ziggy played guitar' as a drum roll and screeching guitar leaves us breathless in the midst of it's product.

3. marching church: dark end of the street (2015) percy sledge: dark end of the street (1967)

  percy sledge's 'dark end of the street' is the exact kind of forbidden love song you can imagine your high school sweetheart and you dancing to haphazardly with faces flushed red with love. it echoes of 'earth angel,' in many ways, making the aspect of the love the two shared being wrong even more powerful. throughout the entire track, the wedding-like backing vocals and instrumentation remind us that this is a doomed romance. and though sledge's voice conveys a level of longing that is necessary for the subject, the darkness of the street the two lovers meet on is lost on the track.  the mentioned darkness that hides their wrongs is not expressed in the sorrow filled song, a love that is described as a sin seems too sweet still. in a way, the impending end is polished over by sentimentality.   danish lead singer of well known bands such as iceage and vår, however, does not let the grim fate of this love affair slip from his grips. book ending a triumphant debut record, elias rønnenfelt whispers the lyrics once belted as though speaking directly to his lover through a vinyl record. the version is quiet, the depth of the blackness of shadows conveys through a bass line that is every present in the song. the background samples of cars passing, faint doors closing, subtle drums, percussion that reminds one of footsteps from a rickety second story. the covers conveys all the forbidden mischief of two unfortunately lovestruck individuals. you can picture yourself at the end of the street, whimpering cries of adoration to your lover in secret.   rønnenfelt sounds pained, worried, paranoid, even, about the potential to be caught. and the hum of the saxaphone through the rain near the end of the song brings about a flood of remorse for two lovers caught in an inescapable situation. all the once glossed over despair is on full, withering display here, for all the ear to heard.

4. rowland s. howard + lydia lunch: some velvet morning (1982) lee hazelwood + nancy sinatra: some velvet morning (1969)

 perhaps one of the most renowned lyricists of all time, lee hazelwood meets one of the most iconic faces and voices of all time - nancy sinatra. in a violin ridden song he sings of phaedra, a love, perhaps a vice. the music itself strings together the twos contrasting vocals like velvet, the song is smooth in its polarities.  while sinatra sings her part with a voice like a fairy, hazelwood delivers his end with a heavy western-like atmosphere similar to many of his previous works. a thick, heavy bass follows him, while the chiming of bells trails behind sinatra like a long wedding dress.   the song shifts from one side to the other wise ease, missing a mark that should have been met with the spontaneity of the shifts in vocals. though it does swing you from side to side, it does so with the casualness of a rocking chair outside on your front porch. at times, you wonder if these voices are too sophisticated for this task. there is a pleasant glaze over the song which diminishes the contrast. and much like david bowie's 'ziggy stardust,' we don't properly experience the chaos that is meant to be depicted.   now, when this track is tossed over to life-long hazelwood lover and notorious wielder of uncontrollable guitar rowland s. howard and new york city's own queen of no wave and dismantlement lydia lunch - we get a very, very different take. instead of a rocking chair being moved by the wind, we get a madly swinging pendulumn unsure of which fate is to come. though we are introduced with similar heavy bass, the speed immediately picks up and howard's snarling vocals tear into the song with a sense of sarcasm - very different from the original sense of genuineness. lunch's end is met with the sound of an out of tune music box, with a voice that compliments the unconventionality of the music.   as howard drawls on his verses, he delivers the name of 'phaedra' with a sense of animosity for the pain she causes him. and though lunch maintains the innocent sound, the underlying trickery is evident in her voice. here, all is revealed. there are no closed doors.   the shift from one end to the other is abrupt, startling, and begins to feel like a direct argument unfolding before your eyes. the aladdin sane like piano near the end of the track takes us into a rabbit hole of confusion and emotional turmoil; a logical conclusion to a disagreement we had the misfortune of stumbling upon. the conflict between the two narrators is very evident in this version, as to where in the original it seemed much more like an innocent misunderstanding, here we see the raw bones of it. this wasn't a simple mistake, this was a downright shoot-em-up, and who better to depict this but two musicians with the same rawness and ferocity of a blood and guts western?

 in what may be one of jonathan richman's most well known songs, we elaborate on the nostalgic sensation one experiences when they reach a point in their life where most activities seem mundane. the things you once loved have fallen victim to routine, and you too often find yourself glancing through old Polaroids from when you seemed to be more alive. a time where your actions were not dictated by obligation, where you believed in things such as trust and love, a time that now escapes you. a polite guitar accompanies a melody of genuineness, something often found in richman's work, the song is one that is just as soothing and relaxing as those idle summers you used to enjoy. the quiet hums of his bandmates carry the listener with ease into the song, which is an exploration into the periods of your life that, when they occured, were awful. but now that you're older, were splendid. however, as we continue into the track we begin to realise and understand the point: memory is a clever trick. in your lowest points, you will remember your previous lows as highs. you will mistake your childish fascinations for grand endeavours, your puppy dog crush as a true love, and you will feel inclined to throw away your current stability for the seemingly appealing 'freedom' of your yesteryears. this sentimentality will always follow you, but giving into it would be a mistake, as ultimately; your peace remains in your current state. there is a reason you are here now, and not there, you have grown. and to go back would be to reverse yourself to a place you no longer belong. jonathan richman knows of restraint, and can appreciate the life he understands he has made for himself as a product of all those past experiences. he halts at wistfulness, and leaves it as such.

 oppositely, one who does not yield to recollecton is the narrator of tom waits' solemn track 'martha.' in this side of memory we are confronted with a man who cannot find contentment within the life he has created.  often lost in the dysfunctional, now romanticised past, old tom frost seeks out the warmth of his once love. as he goes through a seemingly one sided conversation with his first partner, martha, we are reminded of a line from jonathan richman's song. "And you boys long for some little girl that you dated / do you long for her or for the way you were ?" as we listen to the aching words of tom frost, we can't help but wonder if his sentiments towards martha are pure, or simply misconstrued desperation for a time that was much more exciting than the present. there is more recollection of the events they went through in his conversation than there are emotion towards her, as a matter of fact, his confession of love does not come till much after his initial reminiscence.  it seems as though martha is not the one who he seeks so feverishly, but the life they used to share when he was a more confident, daring man. the harshness of the cold, the bitterness of being alone, are now recalled as romantic moments when in reality, (presumptively) for martha those were more than likely the harshest years of her life. 

 it is here that we are forced again to consider another line from richman's song; "When the playground that just was all dirt comes hauntin/ And that little girl that called you a flirt / Memory comes tauntin / You pick these things apart, they're not that appealin."  richman has analysed his past, in his second glances he finds that those occasions and those places were not as wonderful as he recalled. they were simple, often dirty, minuscule times. these were the times before the future was a thought, but now that he has reached his future, he understands that these events are simply that - events. he takes a deep breath, nods, and walks away from what he once had instead of attempting to plunge himself back into those foggy days. tom frost, unfortunately, does not. he tucks himself into a phone booth, asks for a number which has now subsided into forgetfulness, and pleads with the past to become his present. 

 'martha' is certainly a tragedy of the consequence of being too nostalgic, of being filled with regrets, and the inability to move on. by the end of 'martha,' we feel as though we are standing outside tom frost's phone booth watching him stand still in time. we can only hope by the end of this musical journey, that we choose to stay in the present with richman, as opposed to falling victim to yearning like frost.