Panda Bear is listened to in this house

I find myself returning to the ‘new’ Panda Bear album again and again – it’s kind of rolled around my soul for the last month or two or three. There’s something euphoric and utterly bleak about it at the same time. It’s all that cracked beauty that’s getting me – you getting me? I’m not sure how I arrived at Panda Bear – it was through a chance encounter with Animal Collective possibly or a mention in Mojo (oh no) about Person Pitch that probably got me started.

It was either Bros or Comfy in Nautica that did it.

I love that cacophonous sound of digital and analogue breaking down and spinning round and round with reverb drenched falsetto like a future Wilson brother hooked up to Detroit and trance. I still have a whole heap of equipment lodged around the house and in various buildings – old synths, drum machines, 8 track recorders, echo units, drum machines, sequencers and laptops with part finished songs and unfinished beats. I sometimes think I might set it all up and record an opus – you know Wilson meets Detroit.

But Panda Bear got there first. Oh he was way out in front.

I don’t listen to as much electronica as I used to. There’s not much room in the day for beats and bleeps when you’ve the madness of young minds running rings round mine. As I said most of the time electronica is confined to solo car journeys – but I can sneak Panda Bear in on the pretext that the kids love The Beach Boys.

So what to say of Panda Bear meets the Grim Reaper – a title already intriguing –like a hallucinatory dub album with dark over(under) tones. Now hear this! Noah Lennox, a.k.a. Panda Bear, a.k.a. one-fourth of the founding members of Animal Collective, sees it like this,  ‘[as] more comic-booky, a little more lighthearted,” he says. “Like Alien Vs. Predator.”

It has that sci-fi/ lo-fi  - oh why appeal. Within the ‘soup’ there are ever morphing sounds and feels – cycles and loops – textures and tones coursing throughout the whole thing. It was made with the collaborative soul of aka Pete Kember (everyone’s got an aka these days) Sonic Boom. A sonic alchemist from way back when who blended psychotropic drugs with paeans to the almighty channelled through electrical velocity, hum and drone.

What’s strange is that this wholly unique and striking long player is ripped from the heart of those sample packs available for all to use. But it takes a sense of the unknown to transform them beyond the usual and make it unusual, “I got into the idea of taking something that felt kind of common — the opposite of unique — and trying to translate that into something that felt impossible,” he says. The textures for the album came together everywhere from El Paso, Texas, to a garage by the beach near his home in Lisbon, Portugal, where he has lived with his family since 2004. I‘ve put a couple of these stretched out electronic psyche numbers on a compilation for the kids (my kids – that’s who I’m doing it for) and it’s clearly Mr Noah that gets us all going – all nonsense shout outs and something like a ‘big chip on her leg’ – well that’s what we sing.

 It’s electronica sending out viruses to infect the brain.

(won – won – won) Wonderful.

I’m not in the mood for a full review – I just need to get back to writing somehow – somewhere – but I want to put down a few thoughts about ‘Tropic of Cancer’.

 “Some of the songs address a big change, or a big transformation,” And here is the central song about death. That’s the one I keep returning to (it’s on the kids compilation – we sing it together – maaaaaan.)  It’s truly heart breaking – truly heart breaking – with its repetitive sample of harp from The Nutcracker Suite and utter openness about the devastation of losing someone ( you won’t come back – you can’t come back – you won’t come back to it) “It’s sort of marking change — not necessarily an absolute death, but the ending of something, and hopefully the beginning of something else.” All somewhere over the rainbow - but it's a place you don't want to go. Saying that I always felt that song had a sinister edge. A little too much 'survivor soul' in it.

I know Noah keeps on getting compared to Brian Wilson – but you can trace it right back through his Panda Bear work – introspective – open – real. Tropic of Cancer is ‘In my Room’ – an honesty so much missed in this calculating unforgiving modern austere times (perhaps I wasn’t made for these times and nor was Noah) There’s fragility in his words and harmonies that sink into the psyche – it gnaws away at you – like his subject matter.  And he couples this with genuine psychedelia – colouring sound and song in modern ‘far out’ ways.

Panda Bear meets The Grim Reaper and comes out on top. It’s a wonderful long player from a wonderful talent.

You know Wilson’s getting on – Noah’s still young. Let’s book some time for him at Ocean Way Recording, Hollywood.

This is new electric pop and soul

When I was in my twenties – Paul – my brother and Ian – our bassist – and of course friend – used to fantasize about seeing the return of Brian Wilson. Not the Eugene Landy version – although we thought the ‘Brian Wilson’ album was sublime in places – it was just the digital production that was letting us down. That momemt when the keyboard sounds over enhanced or the reverb is too crisp and lacks the warmth [of the sun] we had become accustomed to from repeated listens to Today and Summer Days Summer Nights. 

No we collectively channeled our desire into seeing the real Brian ‘back’. Our late night haze creating the set lists that Brian would sing as Mike Love took a kicking from all of us for stepping on Brian’s [vocal] chords for all those years.  We never thought it would happen though – much like hearing Smile – it was the stuff of dreams.

Those holy grails of pop.

Yes we had bought the Smile t-shirt from Pet Sounds in Newcastle – postal orders duly sent off – we had the artwork – just not the tunes. Well not the real finished item. Somehow we had acquired tapes and bits and pieces of unfinished teenage symphonies to God – mainly from Duglas from the BMX Bandits – a lovely listener and unselfish sharer of sounds all the way from Scotland on handwritten C90 cassettes. He made bleak days in steeltowns somehow seem sunny.

But it happened. Paul and I – unfortunately not with Ian – it should have been with Ian – but he wasn’t ‘on the scene’ then. First witnessing the beauty of Pet Sounds in fourth row seats in a Nottingham hall to finally shaking Van Dyke Parks hand as Smile was aired for the first time in London. And we were there. Witnessing that Brian was well and truly ‘back’.

So Smile was dutifully bought and loved beyond reason. I guess it wasn’t the real Smile – but it was a Smile made with love and [mercy] and affection – it felt like it belonged to Brian and therefore it mattered to us. It wasn’t 67 but it was still breathtaking and ‘out there’.

Blew my mind – phew – with all its good vibrations.

And this got me thinking to all those lost gems – those mythical musical monsters that we’ve heard excerpts and snippets from. Records like the legendary third My Bloody Valentine album – although to be honest they have released four albums but Berlin squalls and Lazy simplicity don’t seem to count in that story. It’s the Creation years – the big bankrupt stories – the perfection and re-re-re-recording of guitars and bends. And now it looks like it will eventually see the light of day – somewhere in Shields sonic schedule we’ll get to final bathe in the bliss of blended guitars and claustrophobic beats.

Then there’s the maverick Maver’s and that second La’s long player – but even with sprinkles of sixties dust on monitors and mixers has yet to be finished. You can find bits and pieces – scattered over limited CD releases and bootleg files that do the rounds on the internet. But it isn’t the album we were meant to – going to hear – it certainly isn’t the record that Lee wants to hear – otherwise it would be here. Now.

But the one that keeps me up at night and would have kept Paul, Ian and me up all night is mention of World of Twist’s second album. The Twist were a wonderful Manchester band of real entertainers and dreamers. They were the future of rock n roll – an acid Manc MC5. Looking forward with an eye on the past. All of that and so much more.

Genuine pop potential. They never made it big. Their first album ‘Quality Street’ is a treat. Popping and fizzing with shock and awe all over its tracks. Except it sounds shit. No bottom end – all treble and no amps turned to 10. They made up for it live though – you forgave everything when they performed. They had it. Simple as that. So even though I often play Quality Street and I’ve written about the Twist before – I stumbled over something at the weekend that blew my mind again.

When Tony Ogden – the lead singer of World of Twist died I was gutted. Paul as ever had tracked down his recent excursions into the studio – most likely situated in his bedroom – and purchased Escape from the Love Machines by placing a tenner in his hand – a tenner that most likely went on hedonism and good times. And I thought there was that returning beauty in songs like Honey and then he goes and dies. Dead. No more tunes. Over. Obituaries written and mention of a second glorious World of Twist album, John Robb rubbing it in that it lived up to all those expectations we had – a Manchester ‘Smile’.

So another trawl through the internet – a hopeful google search and a set of redundant returns. Hoping that one day someone – perhaps the Adge would just put it out there – not looking for a return. And so to Soundcloud – I was looking for something else  - that’s sure fine looking man – something like a Carl Craig mix when a fleeting unguarded moment meant I’d typed the twist into the search facility.

And there it was. Nine tracks – mostly instrumental – but nine tracks of new World of Twist material. Nine new ones. I immediately rang my brother. I asked him to record it – he has his ways and means. I was shaking when I said what I’d found. It’s 2012 and I found the fucking Twist. This was the culmination of what the internet was invented for – that and shifting your old Adam Ant badges [but that’s another story about how I invented social networking and ebay before other people’s minds caught up]

I know it’s not in its final mix and they’ll be no unveiling at the Royal Festival Hall – but this one chimes right up there with sitting and hearing Smile played in it’s entirety by Wilson and friends. It is simply the World of Twist making music that begins to hint at how it should have sounded. It’s an Indiana Jones moment when you chose the right grail – it’s Tony and friends making pop music.

It is as simple as that. I will not describe it. You’ll either get it or you won’t.

There are some things that should never be lost to the masses.  There is no youtube link – this is a soundcloud file.

Play it and listen to it all. 

Sing me to sleep

These northern towns bring you down [down deeper and down] so I escaped them - left the panic on the streets of Humberside and headed for the [in] the city - because there's a thousands things you can say and do there. Oh yeah. But as ever drawn back to my youth - as i nudge ever nearer to forty. So these Scunthorpe streets that we pass down - those tarmac roads and pathways where I stole glances and dreamed of heady romances and kicked off on and passed out in come back to play on repeat in the endless i-player of the mind.

It's funny how your idols let you down - you know all the sayings blah blah blah - never meet/ work/ eat or sleep with them. Not all of them - but most - because ultimately that connection you made was through music - not through talking or sharing - it's all one way. They told you and you responded with gratitude - waiting for the next release or discovering an album by them, an interview - they never searched you out - they didn't come knocking but you joined the gang nevertheless - you swelled their numbers and sometimes you had the swagger to match them. And there have been many gangs I've joined in the name of rock n roll, several that seemed to require an old man's anorak or cardigan as regulation wear.

And i've met a few of them - pressing my nervous hand into the palm of a bewildered Brian Wilson - it should be one of those stand out unique moments - but I'd stood in line in an HMV - feeling odd and out of place - that reaching the man was a blessed relief - because then i could go home. But this post isn't about the Beach Boys.

It was going to be about The Smiths.

You see I was reading an inarticulate interview with the former Manchester miserablist and thought to myself - you're a bit of mug really - and I'd heaped so much adolescent adoration on that old blouse and gladioli that I wished i'd embraced the techno roots that were being carved out before Paul purchased 'Hand in Glove' on 7 inch from Record Village and This Charming Man, the NY remix from WH SMITHS on 12 inch. Actually I say techno roots - i think i was buying various Wham related records at this time.

But by the age of 13 I had seen The Smiths - and all that self pity and sad poetry was given vent in their sound - this band who sang to my heart - and my hair. They used to be concert coaches advertisements in the Scunthorpe Telegraph - you'd wait for Steelbeat on a Friday - the local music scene column and there beside it would be the concert coaches advertisement - so for 10 pound you could go see AC/DC at the Apollo, or in our case The Smiths at Sheffield City Hall.

And I remember catching the coach - Paul and I getting on and the nerves kicking in - as we sat down amongst the older youth of the day - it was the first Meat is Murder tour. James supported and to be honest I think they blew me away more - it was straight down Record Village to order 'Hymn from a Village' the next day. But nonetheless The Smiths were a marvel and a wonder,  a relief from the corporate capitalism I thought was being pumped at me through tinny speakers and mono televisions.

I met Morrisey eventually, despite waiting for him and the rest of the smiths several times in various places. I had been invited down to the Love Music Hate Racism concert at the Astoria - now sadly ripped away to make way for flats - by my then friend Phil Fisk [we fell out because I was lazy] and he was documenting the return of the Libertines - and it was truly amazing concert for so many reasons -Doherty and Barat really do have a chemistry that means you can't take your eyes off 'em. Cheeky.

So that night was wrapped up with passess and access to this and access to that - and quiet pints sipped free of charge and all of that razamatazz. I'd already met Mick Jones in the first 10 minutes of arriving - so I kind of felt that this night would be one I remembered for years to come.

It was just before the Buzzcocks were going to play - i looked up from my pint and there was Morrissey seated with Pete Shelley deep in conversation. And it struck me what a big heed the man had - i mean he is big but his head could match my granny's anyday. Thoughts crossed my mind - this youth from Scunthorpe who had religiously taped every session, every new play by Peel was now in the room with his hero from the past. Yes we had had the whole NME backlash and to be honest I wasn't buying his albums - I'd pretty much stopped after Viva Hate. But it was Morrissey and I thought no matter what I would talk to him.

I waited for the conversation from Pete to dry up - i actually think Steve Diggle butted in - or dragged him off leaving Morrissey and his other friends perched at a table overlooking the stage. I seized my moment - witness tha fitness - leant over and said to him, at the age of 13 I saw Wham and The Smiths in the same year - I think I made the right choice -and  I just wanted to thank you for that.

And that was it - he was pleasant said thank you we shook hands and then continued to watch the concert. All done and dusted.

So here's to The Smiths - a companion for youth and little more. Listening to Morrissey spout his nonsense these days - doesn't rile me - but just makes me lament the days when every word meant something. But sometimes your heroes turn out to a lot thicker than you are.