hey hey honeypop show #1

I'm putting on a show, all on my own, for the first time ever and well, it's a hey hey honeypop thing. Hello. Please come to it you're in London. It'll be all acousticky and, as such, possibly wistful and definitely lovely.

hey hey honeypop presents an evening of acoustic pop with:

Pete Green

http://petegreensolo.com

The Understudies

http://theunderstudiesuk.bandcamp.com

Night Flowers

http://nightflowers.bandcamp.com

David Leach

https://soundcloud.com/davidleach

Upstairs at the King and Queen, 1 Foley Street, W1W 6DL (map)

Starts at 7pm, finishes at 10pm, with all the pretty pop in between. Entry is £3

Facebook event, if you're into that sort of thing.

Podcast #12: They can't tell us apart

The police over here have just released photos of 14 people who, they claim, contributed to the violence that occurred at last Thursday's student protests. And so the witch-hunt begins. Here, look, here are some more people to stare at. Aren't they beautiful?

The slowness and quietness with which this new movement has taken shape is wondrous. It took over a decade of reality TV. Oh, but it must drive the government and the right-wing media absolutely insane that they can't point the finger at any one individual. This is a movement borne out of a collective spirit. There isn't one face that represents it. Not one face, not one name they can demonise. They can't tell us apart. They'll hit people over the head, they'll put others in prison but they have no idea how deep this is and how widespread. How this has been happening for years in small ways they'll never understand or care about. And it's now hit the streets. Still anonymous but loud and fantastic.

These are incredible times. I can't see them as in any way separate to my idea of what indiepop is and should be about. I feel as much part of this as I feel part of Indietracks and popfest and every brilliant popshow in Nottingham, Glasgow and Sheffield. My comrades in indiepop are my comrades in the cold streets around the country. This is the real 'we are all in this together' and it's been ours all along. It's the principles we've been guarding with our late nights all this time that are at stake here.

This coming week I'll find out whether my colleagues and I will still have a job in a few months. I've been feeling sick with anxiety for days now. But then I remember it's also the week when I'll be sat in a warm pub in the arms of two of my favourite people in the universe putting the world to rights; and the week when I'll be drawing up giddy pop plans for July with a group of incredible friends. You see, for everything they throw at us, we have a handful of things that are brighter and truer and make us indestructible.

And now I've got all this off my chest, here is a podcast you can download from here (34 MB), if you like. Told ya it was all relevant. Please forgive the sloppiness of it. My computer is playing up.

Tracklisting (30 mins)

The Tomboys - I'd rather fight than switch
Heavenly - Cut off
The Flame - See how I smile #1
Second-Hand Furniture - Whom to choose
Red Sleeping Beauty - Rocketship
When Nalda Became Punk - Moderns you should stay home
Murder Mystery - I am (if you are)
Soda Shop - Farewell
The Blanche Hudson Weekend - Let me go
The Sugar Stems - I don't want to be around you
Evans the Death - I'm so unclean
The Cannanes - Frightening thing

This is your train driver speaking

Tonight after work, I'm heading to our monthly pub club (where a bunch of us go to the pub and sit there until we're kicked out). It's an Indietracks Comedown Special and it's not coming a moment too soon: round 2 of my Indietracks comedown hit me good and proper on Sunday night; that slow sorrow that lingers for ages when you realise that, come Monday morning, you become once again a bundle of worries and anxieties that are of no benefit to anyone, really, apart from The Man who wants you tied down so it can keep The System running without interruptions. Come Monday morning, the friends you long to be surrounded by will be as sad as you, and the music you love will become a sound you have to turn on to block the ugly noise coming from outside. I sound like a cheery goth, I realise that.

You see, until this year I always saw Indietracks as a superlative escape from reality, this magical thing we have that allows us to forget. But last Sunday night, on the dark train to Butterley, as we were waving goodbye to the site and wished to be allowed to live in signal boxes, that night I was filled with so much love and hope. Hope! That's it. The fact Indietracks happens at all should give us hope. Because it's not magic, not really. It's very real proof that the things we believe in are possible and utopia is a reactionary concept and can sod off. Before you hand me my laminated membership card from the Anarchist Federation I have something else to say.

Here is the thing: we have to carry on. We need to keep putting on popshows, writing songs, writing about indiepop, making fanzines, putting records out and buying them. Indietracks and popfests around the world rely upon all of us doing so. We carry each other on our backs and we shouldn't let go for fear of disappointment or fear of anything. The only thing to be afraid of is that the Tories get to us. And the anxiety of doing the stuff we care about justice is still the sweetest and most joyful because it means something, and there is true comradeship and a slight bit of madness there. Fair ticket prices, all the money going to the bands, records sold at cost price, fanzines written with passion, free songs, travelling for popshows, drunken smiles, bands on your floor - beauty in the face of adversity. Indiepop as a public service. We have to keep going.

Podcast #11: The world lights up

This podcast is as much for anyone reading this blog as it is for me, to help drag myself away from the radiant sadness of the Withered Hand album and that phenomenal video of Linton singing and banging the drums at the Slumberland 20th anniversary show.

You can download it here (34 MB)

Tracklisting (29' 45")

Boyracer - Final day
Eggplant - Candy floss conspiracy
Laura Watling - Let's go
Gaze - Peeking shows his ignorance
Christmas Island - Blackout summer
The Action Time - Rock and roll
This Many Boyfriends - That's what diaries are for
Dear Nora - The flats of irony
Inside Riot - Revolution queen
Lush - Bitter
Brilliant Colors - I searched
14 Iced Bears - Miles away
Leaving Mornington Crescent - Smile meant for you
The Aislers Set - Through the swells (P3 session)

Thankyou and I hope you like it. And if you're looking for Christmas, this way please.

It was never this cold in my dreams and I think I might have fought for the wrong side

Having no music to listen to on a four-hour train journey is a terrible tragedy. But this time I was travelling on the right side of the afternoon; and because my train was going up and down the Midlands, as some trains tend to do these days, I was looking at familiar fields and forgotten railway stations getting showered with the disappearing sunshine, that last bit of bright light before it all reluctantly fades away in that slow autumn way, and darkness only really fell just after Bedford, like it always does.

I had 'Rescue Us' by My Favorite going in my mental jukebox the whole time. It's sweetly and almost obsessively familiar so for a few hours it didn't feel like I needed to hear it properly. But it was making me want to bury my head in my hands and it was threatening to kill the gracefulness of what I could see out of my train window. It's a song with key changes that amount to emotional blackmail and it even has one of those galling yet incredible voice-breaking moments.

And the book in my hands was Rabbit, Run by John Updike, whom I'd completely missed out on reading before, and it's a very uncomfortable read: at first cruelly misogynistic, then equally misandristic, hollow in feeling, sexy as hell, urgent, hopeless, incredibly beautifully written.

Those were the four shortest hours of my life but by the time I got home I was feeling ten years older, ten years younger and like I should be burning everything down to start all over again. So I had a bath and went to bed.

My Favorite, 'Rescue Us' (mp3)

Why stuff is important, parts 3, 4 *and* 5: Striving for the Lazy Perfection

I remember the time and the place and the feeling - that's what's so mad about this record. It was a dark winter afternoon back in the 20th century when I went to Pilgrim, the only indie record shop in Athens, for the tenth time in as many dark winter afternoons and finally, finally they had received the stock from Sarah despite the general strike.

It used to take me about an hour and a half to get from the record shop to my house in those days. A walk down the centre of Athens, down to Athinas Street, a really long wait for the bus and a really long, ugly journey back home to Pireas. And the fifteen-minute walk up the hill until I could be in my room setting the record player up felt like the longest walk ever.

But this is not me looking back to 1994 with nostalgic feelings - it was a pretty grim year, really. It's just that the other morning I was up early and with 'Give A Little Honey' in my head so I put Striving for the Lazy Perfection on the record player and for some reason I had the exact same reaction I had 15 years ago when I sat down to listen to it for the first time: utter confusion.

The sweetest, guiltiest, sincerest, sexiest confusion. It started from the vaguely religious cover and slapped me properly with the first song, 'Obsession No. 1': something to be afraid of, something to worry about, something that made me want to close the door in case my mum walked in and heard how fast my heart was beating. The last time I'd heard from the Orchids was when that wonder of a single called 'Thaumaturgy' had come out about 18 months previously. I was so taken aback by that that I didn't want them to release anything else because there were not enough hours in the day to listen to 'I Was Just Dreaming'. But I was still desperate to see what they would come up with next because I almost knew where this was going. Almost. I didn't expect it to be so forceful.

Everything about this record shouts sex. Whispers and repetitive beats and suggestive lyrics. It's strange. I don't want to call it sensual or anything because it's not one of those shagging records that put you in the mood but then why do I always feel awkward listening to it with other people in the room? It's sexy but lonely and dark. And it's not just that. Most of the people I know who like the Orchids prefer to ignore this album and dance to 'Apologies' and 'Defy the Law' instead. But for me there is no greater, more consistent, more breathtaking record than this in all of Sarah's output. There is no 'Sarah sound' and this record proves it because it's a soul/ambient/rock/indiepop record that messes with your brain and your musical expectations to such a degree that it doesn't matter anymore and you can just sit there and listen and get swallowed by the fragility of 'Prayers to St Jude' and the irreverence of 'A Living Ken and Barbie' and the defiant heartbreak of 'A Kind of Eden' and yet it's still The Orchids, still five blokes from Glasgow, still unbelievably pop.

Striving for the lazy perfection. Striving for the lazy perfection. God, I could say those words until my lips dissolve. What a perfect title.

One day everyone will understand.

The Orchids, 'Welcome to My Curious Heart' (mp3)

We like your coat!

Last night I was in the pub with Dave waiting for Ian to show up. When he did, he pulled the stool, sat down and said "Fucking hell, this is worse than ever before". He didn't even say hello. Our marathon stroll down memory lane (five days is a long time) included Dave getting up and doing a John Travolta dance, Ian pulling the festival programme out of his bag and going through the schedule, and me grabbing my double vodka with both hands and downing it in one.

We were talking about Indietracks, by the way.

I miss Indietracks so badly. It hit me on Wednesday night that that there's so much perfection and randomness in spending three days in the middle of nowhere under banners that say 'indiepop festival' that it's impossible to not need help to get over it. Anyone's got any drugs? DJ Polar's disco in the loco shed on Sunday night was the most unexpectedly amazing thing that had ever happened to me. I've seen many radiant, pop-happy faces in the last few years but that sense of losing yourself in the disco lights and the unfamiliar sounds of La Casa Azul and what felt like a 15-minute remix of 'Honolulu Superstar' by Helen Love, surrounded by the most incredible people - oh man, I wanted to kiss everyone, and maybe I should have done. I'd be surprised if there was anything purer than that moment. It had nothing to do with anything, it was happening regardless of life.

And when we started walking out of the deserted festival site, the last people to leave, like last year, and I saw that Elefant backdrop on the main stage, suddenly that weekend we'd just had came together. All those disparate things, the happiness and the anguish, and feeling lost and drunk, crying as you watch your friends triumph on stage or as you watch them flailing their arms around, the trains, the glitter, needing a cuddle, needing the loo, dying for some food, passing the vodka around, believing in impossible things... From 1993 when Luis used to send Elefant mixtapes out with every order to 2009 when I'm saying goodbye to a quiet field way past midnight looking at that stage - well, it turns out this is a loveletter, not a festival. You know how you fall in love and everything is perfect and you want to put it all down on a piece of paper so that it becomes more real? That's how I understand Indietracks now and it makes a lot more sense.

Sorry, I just need to lie down. Where is our tent again?

Why stuff is important, part 2: Rough Bunnies

If I could build a time-machine (it's just laziness that stops me), I'd go back to before the Rough Bunnies' proper website disappeared and read and re-read that brilliant bit in their news section that said "Sorry you can't buy our cds anymore - Anna's mum's computer broke down and we lost all our music". I was crying and laughing at the same time because I was thinking, well, I can't buy them which is shit but ha! what a way to go. And so they went.

Last night I came back from the pub, tipsy and rain-soaked, and put Inside Riot on who are my Ramones. They play and play and play, relentlessly and with determination, some average songs, some songs that make the world absolutely bloody beautiful but every single one of them gave me a reason to smile and feel defiant. That's because they symbolise to me everything that's fantastic about indiepop and thinking about that makes me feel invincible every time.

Doing things, engaging, having strong principles, making an effort, not being scared to hug some people and tell some others to fuck off. Those things are even more important than the music. Do you see what I mean? Not the music itself but the idea of the music. This is not some cute art project that you take on, study thoroughly and then present to the world for consumption and admiration. This is the way in which we live our life and the music is a result of those things. It's also the reason we get together but it comes second. No, first. No! Second! First! What I mean is, if you put a gig with great bands on, see that's not necessarily a popshow. If you play some great records, see that's not enough. It's important that all this is done within a context. Some people say 'scene' is a dirty word but our scene was created out of sheer urgency. Like Jamie said, it's something we need to do. It's important that we do it randomly and without a plan and without fear. That perfection which comes out of randomness and panic about the end of the world, or half the bands cancelling on you, or the Guardian getting indiepop wrong again, that perfection is impossible to create. It just creates itself from our faffing around, and we get to live it if we are lucky. The same way Rough Bunnies did their music! The same way that 'What a World' came to be.

Read about Rough Bunnies/Inside Riot here. Read it, go on - it's great.

Edit on 24/9/09: My friend D uploaded every single Rough Bunnies/Inside Riot/The Flame song he's got for everyone to enjoy. Here: http://tinyurl.com/roughbunnies. Do it. Do it now.

Podcast #10: The joy of pop

We have Indietracks and we have Bristol and we have trains that take us there and harbours to sit by, and we have cups of tea and cheeky bottles of vodka, and so everything that's impossible and heavy and scary gets drowned in those and the joy of pop.

What? It's true.

You can download the new podcast here (38 MB)

Tracklisting (33' 38")

Henry's Dress - Definitely nothing
First Base - I'll be your hangover
Vanilla Ride - Rocket bicycle
The Mayfair Set - Desert fun
Standard Fare - 15 (Nothing happened)
The Hi-Life Companion - Jenny and Bill
Cheap Red - Unlucky in love
The Wendy Darlings - Eleasy
Love Dance - When you're with him
Stars of Aviation - Herman Dune slept on my floor
The Specific Heats - Are you for real Mehgan O'Neill?
South Ambulance - Davy Crockett
Figurine - pswdstdum

A lifetime of pain dramatically punctuated with occasional ecstasy

London can be horrible. If you’re not feeling too good and life has taken a funny turn or two, it can be an almost unbearable place to live. It’s always packed, hasty, rude and stressful but most of the time I can forgive it because it gives me thrills that I can’t imagine ever getting anywhere else in such quick succession. But carrying a heavy heart and an anxious head around in rainy, dirty bus stops and crowded trains is enough to make me think of impossible moves around the country and an easier life that I’ve no idea how to even picture.

But can I really complain when my hair smells of almond?

Devine & Statton - Ugly Town (mp3, 6 MB)