Day 100. One Hundred Scouse Songs. (10/4/19)

Here's how this started. I published day 50 and our kid said "What? Nothing by The Icicle Works or The Bunnymen or the Teardrops or Wah!"

And I thought, "Right, day 100: 100 songs by Scouse acts. And try not to make it all the obvious ones. So I slaved. For bloody ages. And  scoured my record collection, CD collection, iPod, the depths of YouTube, the corners of the internet. And I worked my arse off until I started getting close to the magical 100.

At which point I thought, "Why not add the videos as well, so everybody can hear them?"

Because I'm an idiot.

So, here you go: one hundred songs by scouse acts that I think you should hear. No rhyme or reason, just what came to me. Some have personal stories attached, some are just bloody great, some are oddities that I didn't realise I had but obviously loved when I bought them. Some are obscure, some are obvious. Nothing is definitive.

They're all worth your time. Remember, though, I'm of a certain age, these will be of a certain time. This century isn't going to get much of a look in.

And I'm seriously never doing anything this daft again.

(Quick kind of legalese note: I don't own the copyright to any of these recordings or images, I'm only sharing them to spread some beauty into the world. Trust me, I'm not making any bloody money off any of this. Need to say that because I know the artists are making bugger all out of Youtube.)


The Icicle Works - When It All Comes Down. The original on 12" vinyl. The single between albums. Between 'The Small Price of a Bicycle' and 'If You Want To Defeat Your Enemy, Sing His Song'. The next sound. A bit rockier again, a bit more Neil Young, long and epic. First heard it at a free gig at The Pier Head. I was always a bit disappointed that the next album was that bit glossier. There's a re-recording from '92 that's a bit cleaner, doesn't have the grit of the original. And that opening guitar riff is just gorgeous.



Dead or Alive - It's Been Hours Now. Tribal drums, goth vocals, echoing guitars. Nothing like the band who recorded 'You Spin Me Round (Like A Record)' Not something you could dance to. Not easily. From the days when Pete Burns was truly terrifying rather than tabloid inches. I bought my copy at the time of release. So long ago that the London contact detail on the sleeve is an 01 number. It's signed on the back by Pete. I only realised this last year.



Faction - Jamaica Day. I'm not sure I know anybody else who owns a copy of the Faction album. With the possible exception of a couple of people who were on it. Recorded across 4 days in December 80 and January 81, released on Inevitable (INEV06 if you're into catalogue umbers as we used to be). Reg Redmond and Nicky Hilton, who, if memory serves, were members of Pink Military with the help of Pete Wylie, Joe Musker and Alan Peters. This is a tape loop of congos and burbling synth. Wonderfully unsettling. I've loved that sole Faction album for 38 years, can't see that changing.

Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark. Not OMD, very important distinction that. It indicates the first four albums, indicates weirdness, darkness and off kilter pop rather than shiny top 40 stuff. Not big in America, not on film soundtracks. Organisation is a hell of an album. Five years back I raved about how beautiful Stanlow is, considering it's a love song to an oil refinery. Here, now, I'm telling you that the first track on side two, The Misunderstanding, is brilliantly dark eighties. Lots of found sounds, no chorus. God they were great live. Love that album, love the feel of the sleeve. Is that weird?



Shack. So much obvious stuff, so many stone cold classics. So let's avoid them all and talk about a B-Side. 'Not Afraid Of Loving You'. John singing. Assume it's John writing. A beautiful slice of acoustic guitar and strings. Better than most people's entire careers. So it's on a B-side. You can wallow in this. I put it on the radio show once. Because I'm that elitist. I'll be coming back to John, Mick and the Paleys again. It's unavoidable.



16 Tambourines. Saw them live a fair few times before they were signed. A place in Cumberland Street, absolutely rammed, too small for the amount of people on stage let alone the audience. The album has that end of the eighties feel, where you can tell that the label possibly wanted to make them a new Deacon Blue, but the songs are great. Baby There Is Nothing Going On has a chorus to kill for. and there was a song they never released called Take The Money and Run that I could probably still sing you the chorus to now. Thirty years on. How the hell did that happen? Sure it was only about a fortnight ago. (Here's Bathed In The Afterglow though)




The Beatles. Got to have some Beatles, haven't you? And it's all so obvious. You can't get obscure with The Beatles. They're so incredible that people who don't think they like them know the album tracks. There's literally no other band that happens with. Play Queen album tracks and the world wanders off, bored. Let's go with 'You Really Got A Hold On Me' because it shows that, in the very early days they could take songs that would have been fairly obscure and make them their own. Everything about this, the opening piano, the twanging guitar, the harmonies, just has more edge than Smokey Robinson & The Miracles' original. Again, not many people you can say that about. The Beatles. Just better than everybody else. There's a hot take for you.



The Real People. We all know that Oasis took everything they did from The Realies' template, don't we? I'm giving you Believer because it's the single after the debut album and should have been massive. But wasn't. I saw them at the Duchess of Your in Leeds the week this came out. I went wearing the Believer T-shirt our CBS rep (hello Ian De Whytell) had given me. the band, as I recall, didn't even know they existed. We were gigging the Firehouse in Bootle at the same time they were apparently playing there as Jojo & The Real People. Never saw them. Missed out there. Would have been a good thing to tell people. (I've just found their version of One By One, later recorded by Cher - of all people - on YouTube. Doesn't sound like they later sounded.)



Cook Da Books. Digsy. As in Digsy's Dinner. Honest to god, all Oasis did was hang round north Liverpool. Digsy and Owen Moran. Wouldn't Want To Knock It is nice, shimmery mid 80s pop. The album apparently came out briefly. In France. I was talking to a mate. He's got it. Which is more than the band can apparently say.



Original Mirrors. The first album, from 1980, is bloody wonderful. Massively pure pop. That Kim Wilde definitely heard before recording Kids In America. It's Ian Broudie from The Lightning Seeds and Steve Allen from Deaf School. It has both pedigree and future. It's boss. The second album? 'Heart Twango & Raw Beat' has a really nice Peter Saville cover and is massively, massively disappointing. Muddy production on songs that are hugely inferior to their predecessors. Apart from Dancing With The Rebels which was far too catchy and wonderful to ever trouble the charts. So it didn't.




The Lotus Eaters. First Picture of You. If you're going to be a one hit wonder then it may as well be with a song that's so bloody gorgeous that it basically sounds like summer for an entire generation forever. This is Newquay in 1984 and always will be. It just shimmers with heat haze, beauty, regret, loss and love. Perfect.



The Wild Swans. The Wild Swans are the most perfect band ever created by human hands. They're about nobility and warmth, strength in adversity, the path toward beauty and hope. They're melancholy and triumph. If the house were burning down and I could save one piece of vinyl it would be Revolutionary Spirit/God Forbid. As an object, even the cover is the most perfect thing ever. As a song, supposedly recorded in mono accidentally by the great Pete De Freitas, it soars above everything you've ever heard. The moment when the drums kick in? It's a whipcrack. It's an invitation for an audience to go mad. The audiences were never the size they should have been.



Let's be obvious here - Care Flaming Sword. Perfect pop. The Wild Swans' Paul Simpson and the soon to be Lightning Seeds' Ian Broudie. Fairly sure radio two have played this a lot over the years. One of those songs people think was probably a hit but, mystifyingly, wasn't. There's this oboe-y sort of sound which is just lovely and a middle eight that's better than most songs of the eighties. Obviously an epic chorus.



Shall we talk Lightning Seeds then? They seem to be forgotten by history. A couple of single remembered, a bit of Match of the Day music and that England song (which is genuinely the second best song about football ever) but in the early 90s they were as pop as pop gets. Broudie'd just throw out these little masterpieces with seemingly no effort, bright and shiny but with an always melancholy heart. All I Want, go for All I Want. Three minutes of joy. "Cardboard men are strong but paper can be torn." Lots of 'aah-aah' backing vocals.



It's Immaterial. Going for their only big hit (Driving Away From Home) would be really bloody obvious. But sod it. Let's do it. Give the Dead Man's Curve mix a spin. More harmonica, more organ. "You know, I'm convinced we can make it, I mean, after all, just look at it, it's only Dead Man's Curve." Mythic.



Benny Profane. Saw them support the Bunnymen and KLF. At a small club on Marsh Lane. A social club, I mean. The kind of place your nan and grandad used to drink mild in. If we're continuing the theme of transportation to destinations that scream danger, which we are for the moment, then Skateboard to Oblivion probably serves as a warning of some kind. But feels like James Dean transplanted to 1976 leaving everything else in his wake. Which doesn't sound problematic at all.



Am I rambling yet? Jesus, we're only 17 in and the only person who insisted that this should be one song per band was me. I honestly have no idea why I do these things. I think they're a psychological exercise - see how much mental torture I can put myself through. I'll repeat bands. I must, there can't be that many, can there? I'm not doing Atomic Kitten. That'd be weird. But I'm not making notes. Probably should have made notes. That would have been professional. Bunnymen then? Something you wouldn't expect? King of Kings. It opens the Flowers album. Which you didn't buy. It gives Will chance to phase and flange, Mac the opportunity to point out that Jesus acknowledges that Mac is better dressed than he. And it has melody and groove. Which, let's be honest, isn't always something that you accuse this century's version of the Bunnymen of possessing. Sad but true. Acts get old. They'll have weaker moments at times. But, when it all comes down to it, they're still The Bunnymen and always will be. Which is better than being most other bands. And Flowers is a cracking album.



Ian McNabb. J just came in and said "Have you got Liverpool Girl in yet? Because you need to. So here it is. A relative of Understanding Jane in its Ramones style pace, a perfect description of attitude and sass with a breakdown that takes you to Cream for an E or two. And it's got handclaps. Handclaps are great. "She's always got an answer for the immature dwellers of the chip shop door."



Another Ian, then. Ian Prowse. I get to cheat with Ian because he's got two bands and solo stuff. Doesn't half help, that. Three entries. Saves me thinking of two other bands. Pele. Pele were possibly the closest to being the big pop break through, back when there was a record business. Raid The Palace snuck a massively anti royalist statement into an upbeat fiddle driven tune. So catchy I was convinced it had gone top 40 until about 30 seconds ago. Wikipedia says no. But you can't always trust Wikipedia. I'm happy living in a world where this was a hit. Massive live.



And I'm moving straight onto Ian's other band, Amsterdam. It would be easy to go with Does This Train Stop On Merseyside which, the story goes, made John Peel cry. And it's as Liverpool as any song is going to get. In a very good way. But I've talked about that here before so - Joe's Kiss which is a tribute to the loss of a hero (Strummer) and a reassessment of where you are in life to a cracking guitar part.



Marshmallow Overcoat Traffic Hug. I walked into The Cavern one day in the mid eighties. A lunchtime session. I know what I was wearing. Stripy navy T-shirt, sunglasses. Prescription sunglasses. So I could see, like. Dead 60s. But the band on stage were much more 60s than me. The guitarist was tuning up by playing Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now. While it was in the charts. So this makes it 84, doesn't it. Being able to play a song while it was in the charts? A Smiths song? I'de genuinely never seen this done. And then they started playing and I had no idea what was going on. There was a cello. They were definitely Velvets influenced, because we all were, but there was something else going on. And they had a name I wished I'd thought of. I didn't realise it had already been used by a band from Tucson. This track doesn't sound like they did that day but it's on YouTube so there you go.



Speaking of being 'dead 60s' there's always the band of that exact name: The Dead 60s and their debut single Riot Radio. Unusual for Liverpool in that they were clearly very ska influenced at the turn of this century. Also a bit of The Clash going on there. Which is always a good thing. Saw them support Morrissey at the Royal Court. For me, they didn't have a great deal more that was as striking as the single but they were more fun than Moz.




The Remo Four Peter Gunn. Yes, it's a cover and it's a really obvious tune but trust me on this one. I've spent a lot of time in the mid 60s in the last couple of years, surfing YouTube while writing, and this comes up over and over again. And it's always a joy. The guitarist is going al Hendrix at the same time as Hendrix is starting to go all Hendrix. He's slinging his guitar round, he's showing off, he's letting you know that he knows how good he is, how far ahead of his times he is. He's the cockiest get you've ever seen, and it's justified. Somewhere there's an alternate universe where everybody reveres Colin Manley.



And the reason that I've been wandering around the mid 60s? The Liverbirds. A show on The Liverbirds that lets people know there was a band of that name long before Carla Lane appropriated it for the TV. And that they were boss. Go for their version of Chuck Berry's classic Too Much Monkey Business because it's better than the version The Beatles did on the 'At The BBC' album. Genuinely. Raw and thrilling. You're going to hear more about this.



The Room. Shirt of Fire. What a bloody tune. What a guitar part. This is for our kid because the taped version we had from Whistle Test was played and played and played until there was basically no tape left. Luckily god invented YouTube. I was stood by Dave Jackson in a bar the other week. I was star struck. You pick the people you believe are stars. The stars you choose when you're young remain stars forever.



I found myself on a stage in London a couple of years ago (long story) asking Edgar Jones (also Edgar Summertyme) about the pedal he was using to make his acoustic guitar turn into a Hammond Organ. As you do. Weed Bus by The Stairs is obviously the great undiscovered BritPop classic. A tune that everyone in Liverpool knows but the charts didn't discover. "It's the 147 and you know you're in heaven". Literally a song about skinning up on the top deck of a bus. Two minutes long. Classic. And Edgar's a lovely bloke.



So we may as well have something from one of Edgar's solo identities: Edgar 'Jones' Jones (and the Joneses if I recall correctly), from the album 'Soothing Music For Stray Cats'. Noel Gallagher loves this album. Sometimes Noel is right. Listen to the whole album but specially Do Doh Dontcha Doh' where Edgar turns from the lead singer of a different dimensions Rolling Stones into Louis Armstrong fronting a doo wop/Jazz hybrid that turns a representation of scouse dialect into a dance craze. Or something. Blissful.



And we're into the repeating ourselves stage. And the going for the obvious stage. But I've got put this in. Because sometimes things just pop up and remind you of how bloody spectacular they are. The Killing Moon just came up on YouTube. And that kind of thing, heard when you're not expecting it, just reminds you of how bloody immaculate The Bunnymen were at their peak. For four years there, there was literally nobody that could touch them. They were the best live act on the planet by about a million miles and they were throwing classics out at a rate of knots. And they knew exactly how good they were and were happy to tell the entire world. Which is about as scouse as it gets.



Which takes us into the Crucial Three detour. You can't talk Liverpool music of the eighties without talking about the three main drivers, the three biggest pop stars: Cope, McCulloch, Wylie.
I remember seeing Better Scream by Wah! Heat on the wall of Tudor Records in Walton Vale. A faceless figure in a room. Slats letting in light. All dark grey, white and light blue. Paper sleeve inside plastic bag. It's 1980 so it's near to this other 7" single - a slash of red, a slash of yellow, a slash of blue. Seven Minutes To Midnight. Both still sound legendary. But the guitar chords that open Better Scream? Obvious and easy and perfect. Sounds glorious 40 years on. I'll never not love hearing those chords.



Copey. Choosing The Teardrop Explodes' Reward is really obvious, isn't it? But it's the sound of a sixth form trip to Paris in 1981, the week the first space shuttle took off and let us all know we were heading to a bright new future that never happened. The argument at the time was, "Which is better, Treason or Reward?" We never figured out the answer. We didn't really need the question. Reward is genuinely being played at my funeral: all the talking's done, the box is ready to go, the curtains are drawing. And the trumpets start. I'm going out to a fanfare. (Bonus fact: the Teardrops covered Better Scream, Wah covered Copey's Screaming Secrets. Which the Teardrops never actually released. Solo track much later. Peel sessions for both. Look them up.



The 25th of May. There was an EP I had in the early 90s. Think it might have been a white label. Damned if I can remember what it was called. Thought it was sound though. In its stead, let me point you in the direction of F.T.R.T.V - it stands for 'Fuck The Right To Vote' and sounds as angry as a record made while Thatcher was introducing the first versions of poll tax and imposing clause 28 should. They wanted to be a scouse Public Enemy and this is suitably 'Bomb Squad' influenced. Some pop their other stuff sounds a little dated now, kind of on a Jesus Jones tip, but this stands up wonderfully. The album was called Lenin & McCarthy. Which is obviously boss.



While The 25th of May were embracing hip hop we were mostly looking in the direction of The Real People and Rain. And if we're talking Rain then it's pretty bloody hard to get past Lemonstone Desired which I know I've banged on about before. But it's great. From the chopping guitar that kickstarts it to the soaring vocals of the chorus to the perfect middle eight. It's yet another scouse song that was just three years too early for Oasis. Or just early enough to show Liam what he should be doing if you want to look at it that way. Which we do. Scouse bands, just way ahead of the rest of the world at all times. "My brothers, you were one."



We've not even spoken about The La's yet have we? Not spoken about how I'm permanently perturbed by the apostrophe. I genuinely have no idea whether it should be there. I'll admit to the fact that my initial opinion on The La's (as a member of a band who were gigging round the same time) was "we're better than them". We probably weren't, in fairness. My initial reaction to There She Goes? "Bit too Byrdsy that. Bit obvious. Not as good as Way Out." Which is also a stance that was revoked over quite a short period of time. But that first version of Way Out is really bloody special. (I've just found a live version of what became Cast's great debut single All Right by The La's. If you remember me posting that on Facebook then you know when I wrote this bit. This is seriously how long I've been working on today's. Not doing this again. It's ridiculous.) (And a great version of Doledrum with better vocals. YouTube's really good isn't it? Bootlegs all over the place)



Let's call Cast's Alright number 34 because it's a bloody great pop song. One of the most wonderfully weird things of the last few years is I've actually come to know some of the people whose records I've bought over the years. They are, each and every one, absolutely lovely people. The eighteen year old me would have never believed the position I find myself in sometimes.



So let's talk Aviator. Pete Wilkinson ex bassist of Cast. And the Red Elastic Band. And The Bunnymen. And the list really goes on for ages. But we'll have a solo track. Could be one of many but I'm going for Henry's Place from the OMNI album. Dark, driving psych with that kind of Velvets thrum to it and an insidious melody. But I can't find that on Youtube so here's Desolation Peaks live on Redmen TV.



Since I've managed to hit this century, let's continue that trend: Professor Yaffle spent ages being Liverpool's best kept secret. And then they put out a debut album. A double CD. That just kept selling. No longer a secret, it suddenly became a battle to get tickets to their gigs. Let's talk about Sometimes because it was the first song I ever saw them play live, supporting Michael Head at The Florrie in the Dingle, my mate Simon Mason reading the part of the song that's originally a sample of Dennis Hopper reading Rudyard Kipling's 'If'. When I was putting together the playlist to play before the premiere of the Michael Head concert film that I produced (because I did that and sometimes feel like it was a dream) I put this track on it, because the audience would know it, love it, appreciate it. I sat it between Joni Mitchell's Coyote and Love's 'Maybe The People Would Be The Times Or Between Clark and Hilldale' and it fitted. Because it's that good.



Which naturally leads us to Michael Head and The Red Elastic Band's double A side 7" single, Velvets In The Dark/Koala Bears as both songs are in the concert film (and rarely played live now despite being quite gorgeous), me and Si basically bonded over a shared love of Velvets and I ended up making promo films for both. Limited ability on my part but they exist. There's a twenty year old me walking down County Road carrying his copy of The Pale Fountains' Pacific Street just after buying it, about 35 years ago. See if you can catch up with him, ask if he fancies making a concert DVD and a couple of videos for Youtube for the guy that wrote that album. See what he says. ("What's a DVD? What's a YouTube?' one would imagine)





Still talking about me. Because this is my blog and I can talk about anything I want. I volunteered to help at Sound City a few years back. Got to see Edwyn Collins talk, bumped into Wayne Coyne of The Flaming Lips, had a quick gab, as you do. But mostly, stage managed the acoustic stage at the conference. Had that Gerry Cinnamon on me stage. Quite popular that lad now. But not scouse. She Drew The Gun rocked up, quickly realised that I didn't have a bloody clue what I was doing on the mixing desk if there was more than a guitar and vocal and were kind enough to help me out. And then played the kind of set that just blows you away when you're stood watching from a distance of three feet. They played Poem and the only reaction you can have when you first hear that at close quarters is "Thank Christ there are people writing about politics in pop, why isn't everybody doing this?"



Returning to the subject of musicians I know who are dead sound - Mel Bowen has the right political views and a beautiful grasp of melody. He's got a John Martyn thing going on. Which is one of the highest compliments in music. There's an album due. For now, check out the Every Day's A Holiday EP. There's a song he played live about a year ago, supporting the Yaffle, and it was astounding. I can't remember what it was called and you can't get it but, trust me, I'll point you at it when it's out. Right now? What Have We Become?




Let's go way back. Let's hit the sixties again. Because that's basically where I always end up. Wimple Winch. I've spoken about these in the past. Rumble On Mersey Square South. A bit of psych/freakbeat that I first heard on a Kid Jensen (or Mark Goodier) show, decades ago, when Wylie guested and turned up with all this great music. Including this. Just found it on Unearthed Merseybeat Vol 1 from the excellent Viper label. The temptation to just take the next 20 from this CD is massive.



John Head 1967 (or Revolution). There's this album by John Head, brother of Mick, guitarist in Pale Fountains and Shack. It doesn't exist. It was never released. There is literally nobody in Liverpool that's heard it or has a copy. And if there were they would all deny it. So if you asked them how they knew any of the songs they would point you at the loads of live versions on Youtube. Wistful vocals, delicate acoustics, lovely pianos, gorgeous melodies.



Staying in the same area then: Shack Black & White. Mick and John on vocals, if it were only a song it would be marvellous. But then this guitar solo breaks in. Recently found its way into Red Elastic Band Live sets ('recently' being a relative term in these things - last three years?). It could go on for an hour building and dropping and swirling round and it still wouldn't be long enough.



Since we're going backwards through the Head brothers - Pale Fountains' Jean's Not Happening. Too guitarry for the eighties but all over the Max Headroom show when it came out.



TOP. Or T.O.P if you want to find them anywhere. She's Got All The World. Like the rest of 1991's indie singles it sounds like a very 1991 indie single now: drums are a bit funky, guitars are a bit sixties, melody sounds a bit dreamy, verses a bit hushed. It's groove more than song once it hits the middle but, you know, it's sound and it sounded great at the time.



Ex Post Facto Oceanic Explorers. Lived at the bottom of the road that Chris and Geoff who were in my first band lived in. That's the kind of thing that makes you believe you can be a pop star. Despite the fact that Ex Post Facto weren't pop stars at any point. 1980s overwrought synth grandeur. Glacial, we probably called it at the time.



Deaf School. I've never really got Deaf School. I've got mates who love them but it never really lands for me. Bit too arch, bit too knowing, bit too obviously comedy pop. I'm getting messages on that one. Probably in the next half hour. Swear to god, point me in the right direction and I'll keep trying. What A Way To End It All is good though.



Big In Japan Nothing Special. From the 'Y to Z and Never Again' EP. Ste Beb had that. The first thing ever released on Zoo. Because he went to the Eric's matinee shows. I didn't, I hadn't been sacked from my paper round for playing baseball with stink bombs and other people's copies of the Echo. (I'd forgotten that until then). Big In Japan basically start that whole scene. And they give us future members of Frankie Goes To Hollywood, Siouxsie and The Banshees, The KLF and Lightning Seeds. Which is a decent record for one band to have.



Modern Eon Euthenics. Thirty nine years on and I still love this album. Very 1980, very Cure. That's a bloody good thing. "They're playing chess all day and no-one seems to care". Not a clue what that's supposed to mean, genuinely don't care. Keyboardist Bob Wakelin was also a bloody stunning graphic artist. I loved his work at Marvel though he was world renowned for his computer game covers. Lost far too young.




China Crisis. Yes, you remember the pop years, the chart hits, King In A Catholic Style and all that. Which is great. But African and White with its tinny drum introduction followed up by what might be a simulation of a talking drum is a hell of an introduction to a band, hell of a statement for a first single. And then Christian is as weird a single as Japan's 'Ghosts'. I took 'Christian' back to the shop twice because I could hear this weird squeaking sound on it. It's supposed to be there. I'm a bit dim sometimes.



Faster Kittykat (Play, Play) by Mr Ray's Wig World, Think our kid worked with one of the band. Even if he didn't, something insistent and loud that takes a band name from Goodfellas and the single name from a Russ Meyer film will always be a wondrous thing. Plus, there's an explosion in the second verse that may have just destroyed my ears for all time



Dr Phibes and The House of Wax Equation's Hazy Lazy Hologram should have made the band bloody huge.  Instead their story is one filled with tragedy and sadness but leaves behind some majestic pop and massive guitar.



Hambi & The Dance Too Late To Fly The Flag. Hambi was one of those figures who you knew was absolutely legendary in Liverpool. But never quite made it anywhere else. Let's be honest though, being a pop star in Liverpool is better than being it anywhere else. I was never taken by the album (picked it up for a pound a few years ago) but this single was a little blinder, all swirling early eighties pop with lovely indie guitar stylings.



Back in 1988 I'd have absolutely denied any liking for Up and Running's Johnny and Marie. The band were far too big locally for my liking, loved by everybody in town, the band you'd go and see on a Saturday night for a guaranteed good time. I was working in HMV Lord Street. Sold loads of the Live At Lime Street album that saw the band pack out the Empire under their own steam. I was in a band so I couldn't acknowledge this feat, I could only resent it. Bands have never been any different, we all envy each other. You grow out of that nonsense in time. So, when Johnny and Marie came out and it was obvious that, here, it was going to outsell the rest of the top 10 on its own I took against it. All this despite the fact that I was dealing with the band's Alex McKechnie a lot for the shop and he's a genuinely lovely bloke. Jealousy is a terrible thing. This is a great singalong pop single. Ian Prowse does an excellent version. That the next song that comes up after it on YouTube is Deacon Blue's Dignity is apt and actually rather lovely.



Reid Anderson. What would be the point of having a page like this if you didn't include your mates? I'm going with We Would Have Noticed The Moon as it doesn't soundtrack anything I've done in film or stage so I'm not biased to it, it's just bloody gorgeous. Piano and vocal only, theme tune to a short film that also stars Reid, seriously just check out everything he's done. Call this a completely biased advertisement for a frankly excellent songwriter. (And one of those moments where YouTube fails you so here's his theme from the Western play 'The Barn Swallows' - The Heart Of A Riding Man:




Virgin Dance Are You Ready (For That Feeling)? Did you like The Lotus Eaters' First Picture Of You (which we've already established is the greatest one hit wonder of all time)? Then you're going to like this. Acoustic guitars, keyboards, soaring vocals and the feeling of an eternal summer. Sounds like you think being in love is going to sound before you've actually ever been in love.



The Reverb Brothers Someone's Selling Off The Country from, I think, 1986. Their first single Ain't So Sorry had been a kind of rockabilly thing but this was a smoky jazz number about the way we were being ripped off by a shitty Tory government getting rid of everything that was worthwhile and added beauty to the lives of the normal people. Sounds weirdly timeless now. "Someone thinks they've got it all worked out but can't work out what to do about me." Tories. Scum. Always have been, always will be.



Tell you what. This is a ridiculous idea. 100 scouse songs? Who came up with that one? The finish line seems about a million miles away and I'm sure of two things - 1) I'm going to run out of bands and songs way before 100 and 2) I'll have missed some really obvious act. I'm fairly sure I'm going to hit desperation point soon. I'm going to resort to obscure B-sides, so if I suddenly start extolling the virtues of Rachel Built A Steamboat by The Teardrops, don't be shocked. It's either that or mention that I Wanna Hold Your Hand is actually quite good on the whole.

And with that he heads to the loft, picks out a 7" singles box and pulls out a handful of what he hopes are really obscure tracks. First up:

Personal Column Ignorance Is Bliss. Proper old fashioned paper sleeve, clearly hand stuck. No image. White sleeve cut into quarters by thin black lines. Title of A and B side on front. Band and contact details on back. Contrast Records. I could give you the address and postcode but I suspect it's somebody's house. Political pop from Marc Vormawah who's still out there fighting the good fight. A bit of Wah!, a bit of keyboards, jangling and insistent. Liverpool musicians making a stand against society. Still bloody wonderful.



Some Detergents Moderne Problem. Honest to god, I couldn't have told you anything about this and I haven't actually listened to it since 1982. The 7" gives nothing away. Which is as it should be. YouTube tells me it had plays from Peel and Janice Long, two DJs you could always count on for utmost support of Liverpool music. Apparently the project of an ex Dalek I Love You member. It's a bit dreamy. There's a drum machine, an acoustic, a synth bit. From the days when I bought everything there was. It's really nice. Would sound great with the lights out. Wake Up from the same EP has a kind of off kilter funkiness going on.



Which makes now a good time to talk about Dalek I Love You. Their album Compass Kum'pas starts with a song called 'The World' which commences with the line "This is a song about the world" and ends with "That was a song about the world." Which is boss. (The first time I listened to this album I was eating a bag of Thorntons' toffee that was actually quite sickly. Whenever I listen to the album - once a decade or so - I can taste that toffee. It's not a pleasurable way to experience a nice album)



Black. Colin wasn't always about the romantic ballad and the synth pop classics. Go back as far as you can (I think) and Human Features is a driving number by a very scouse style band released on the Rox label. Again, literally no detail at all. The past is a foreign country, we don't tell people stuff. Moved on very quickly from this to WEA put out (a re-recording of) the incredible More Than The Sun. Didn't sell, got dropped, returned with Wonderful Life which is as great as you'd want anything to be. When I lost my dad, I wrote something on the blog, shared it on Facebook and Colin sent me a really lovely personal message. We didn't know each other in the real world but he took the time to do that. A clearly lovely bloke and a terrible senseless loss.



The Bamboo Fringe. Dorian Grey. We're getting better at detail on sleeves now. I know this is on Probe Plus, I know the band members' names. I love the fact that the contact details contain an 051 number. It's a nice little synth pop song which I remember loving at the time. Which may be damning with faint praise. These lads got a single out, I never managed that. Googling Bamboo Fringe gets you nowhere though.



Two People. This is The Shirt. I had to check that I remembered correctly, that this was a single by a Liverpool band. It is. "This is the shirt that she wore when it was good good good." How's that for a chorus that sums up remembering a love affair that went wrong and remembering how great it was at one point. Mid eighties, glossy indie. Big pop chorus. Still got a soft spot for this to the extent that I could sing the chorus before I put the record on the deck. Mark Stevenson and Noel Ram, if you're out there, I salute you.



Steve Roberts. Have I done 16 Tambourines yet? I think I may have, I think I'm becoming delirious. Never doing another list again, ever. Going with Steve Roberts solo. From Speke To Waterloo is just a trip returning from South Liverpool to North, travelling the edges of the river. That's what it seems to be about. But it's more than that, it's the geography of your love for family and home. And it's lovely.



The Tambourines then. The band that came after 16 Tambourines. From the late eighties polished pop to the early nineties and that guitar band revival that we needed. The point where everybody who was worth listening to went a bit Beatley again. The next sixties revival. Sixties revivals are always worthwhile. You're So Beautiful embraced that kind of late 66/early 67 Fabs sound to quite wonderful effect. And if anyone's going to do the Beatles thing then it should be us.



So let's talk Beatles again, shall we? The darker corners. One of the most wonderful examples of just how bloody incredible the lads were is the fact that even people who think they don't like them know their album tracks. They know the things that were never singles as part of their birthright, quite possibly believing that they were singles all along such is their familiarity. So, if you want to go obscure you head into the Yellow Submarine soundtrack and pick out a song where George is complaining about the fact that he can't be arsed writing anything meaningful because the money will go elsewhere, specifically to the publishing company that owned John and Paul's work. After all it's Only A Northern Song.



I'm trying to get to this century, honest I am but I keep finding myself in the previous one. That's where  spent most of my life. I mean, even the newer bands are there. The Coral still feel like they started five minutes ago but even things like She Sings The Mourning which ties together Can, Faust, Floyd and sea shanties is 14 bloody years old. Any idea how time works.



Whereas The Mel-O-Tones' fabulous primal blues wall of noise voodoo masterpiece I Walked With A Bugs Bunny Bendy Toy is now nearly 35 years old. We're further from that than that single was from the birth of rock'n'roll. How do you deal with that concept.



Seriously, is there anyone that's made it this far? If you have, I salute you, your tenacity is a beautiful thing. The Boo Radleys. Got to have some Boo Radleys. And I've spoken about Lazarus at length in the past so I'm going for another track from Giant Steps (the album OK Computer would love to be as clever as) - Rodney King (Song For Lenny Bruce). I don't believe the title has any relevance to anything but titles don't have to. My band once had a truly great song called The River Plate. Meant nothing, sounded great.



Go on then, indulge me. Vanilla Beserk The River Plate. "With your dignity stripped you've lost your pride, you've seen that you're wrong and I know that inside your utmost regret at the things that you've done has pattered the ego you built yourself on."  I love that lyric. I didn't write it. Only ever played it live once. 10th of March 1986, The Firehouse, Bootle. Probably the best set we ever played. It's on Mixcloud. About half an hour in. Listen to it, make me happy.

https://www.mixcloud.com/SongsTheyNeverPlayOnTheRadio/vanilla-beserk-the-firehouse-100386/

Had the radio on in the car this morning, taking Matt to school. Just happened to be playing Pure by The Lightning Seeds (I know, already done them, not bothered). It's easy to forget how bloody perfect a pop song Pure is. That nagging, insistent keyboard phrase, the acoustics that double speed under the chorus and snap under the verses. The trumpet sounds. The guitar solo that sounds very, very like Love Vigilantes by New Order. I remember hearing it on the radio for the first time ever, in my mum's kitchen when I still lived at home, with literally days before I moved out to a new career in a new town. I remember walking into a room in Pink Studios in 1985 while we are recording an abandoned demo and interrupting Ian Broudie as he mixed a Lilac Trumpets track. Hurried apologies with this song so far in the future.



The Beatles again. Probably could have done 100 Beatles songs. Would have been quicker. Less work. After taking Matt to school I went for a run. Listened to a  podcast. I'm working through the I Am The Eggpod podcasts and this morning's was David Quantick talking about The White Album. Chris Silker played me a cassette of The White Album in 1980, telling me it was their best album. I didn't get it. Too much messing round, too fractured, too few safe spaces where you knew you were only seconds away from the next famous bit. It was years before I really got it. The twentieth anniversary CD releases. 87. It's an album that tells you about itself bit by bit. And the remastering and remixing reveals more with each fresh version. The 2009 stereo job showed us that Martha My Dear was actually a really good song. Last year's remix though? That gave us something new. That gave us these four lads still in there twenties in the room with you, up close and real. Revolution 1
becomes a band sitting with you, Lennon whispering in your ear, George scalding the place with lead lines. Long Long Long though? That's something else. That's eerie and lost, that's George lamenting and then exploding into the chorus. And then this ending just piles up on top of you and you're not sure what's happened but it's devastating. The Beatles: fifty years on and they can still surprise you with just how bloody good pretty much every single second of their career was.



Another one where I put in a song that a friend is responsible for. It's a song I know the story behind, in as much as knowing that it arrived fully formed and is one of those things we always hope for when we're creating, something that comes from somewhere that isn't you. The Cold Explodes' Violet Springs is a haunted, haunting, waltz from a dark dream world. It's from their debut album. It's their only album as the next, which I've heard enough of to know it will be equally beguiling, is under a new identity. Think Radiohead and Talk Talk. If you're fans of those, you'll get this. This isn't bias, this is just the fact that the last few years have seen me meet some ridiculously talented people who also happen to be dead sound.



The Stands. Part of that Bandwagon scene that grew up round The Coral and The Zutons. Two excellent albums, Horse Fabulous and All Years Leaving. Think I picked up All Years Leaving for 99p in the Home & Bargain (yes, its actual name is Home Bargains, but not in Liverpool it's not). When This River Rolls Over You is lovely Dylanesque country pop.



Skyray. It's Paul Simpson from The Wild Swans and Care. It's from much later. It's light and airy and it has that same sense of infectious melody but it doesn't depend on vocals in the same way. It's the best way to set out your stall, it's called Skyray Is Love and it's bloody lovely.

And if we're talking about Paul Simpson (and honest to god, I could do it for hours on end, I've met him a handful of times, he's lovely, I turn into a gibbering fan boy. To the extent that I've told him I turn into a gibbering fan boy. I probably shouldn't admit these things to the world.) There's his 'Man In A Burning Anorak' album. I don't think Jesus Loves Me has that captivating melody as always, has a lo-fi feeding back guitar solo and holds despair. "I don't think Jesus loves me, not sure that you do anymore." That's a chorus that. Equally catchy and desperate.

And if you can find those last two on Youtube you're doing better than me.

The Chants. The band that should have been world famous. The band that became The Real Thing. Look for the self composed Baby I Don't Need Your Love. It's got that late sixties Northern Soul swing. Should be on compilations the world over. Not sure it is. £300 for a copy of the 7" apparently.



I know it's a cliche when you're talking about The Real Thing to say "Yeah, obviously You To Me Are Everything is a work of genius but have you heard Children of the Ghetto? You need to hear Children of the Ghetto." You need to hear Children of the Ghetto. Socially conscious soul of a Curtis Mayfield level.



Seriously? Nearly forgot The Fernweh. Honest to god, my head's cabbaged. Their self titled debut is only the best album of last year by about a million miles. It's a piece of work that genuinely could have been made anytime between 1967 and next year and would still sound both perfectly in time with the times and completely outside them at the same time. It's kind of psych, kind of prog, kind of beat group, kind of pop, bit of Can, bit of Faust. Go with either opening track The Liar which lets you know all about the world you're entering, Is This Man Bothering You which is a hell of a title and a truly great single or Brightening In The West which hurries in on a riff that feels like the Floyd wrote it the day after Lucifer sam. Listen to the whole thing, it's an actual album.



And while we're on great titles, albums of the year and things I'd accidentally nearly forgotten: Half Man Half Biscuit put out a blinder this year. No-One cares about your creative hub so get your fuckin' hedge cut. As witty sharp, punky and Fall-esque as ever, the title comes from the track Every Time A Bell Rings which isn't overly complimentary about the middle classes. Or the film It's A Wonderful Life. Thirty odd years after knowing Nige from rehearsing in the same building, I finally saw HMHB live. One of my mates captured a crowd photo from the pit in front of the stage. In the middle of it is me, absolutely beaming. Best photo ever taken of me.



Billy Fury. Wondrous Place, obviously. As perfect as pop gets. It just stands there and smoulders at you, all imperious and covered in gold lame. I saw Sound Of Fury twice; once at The Playhouse, once at The Empire. It's informed a hell of a lot of a play you'll see soon. Billy was, for a while, one of the greatest pop stars we've ever had.



Bear with me on this argument, you may disagree, you may cite movements but... the last time pop was truly brilliantly dangerous, the last time the biggest band in the world were also the most vital, the most controversial, the most exciting, was 1984. And it was Frankie Goes To Hollywood. For those not born at the time, those who grew up with the legend, you missed out on the anticipation. The joy of watching Relax climb the charts after Mike Read (who had actually seemed quite sane up until that point) had his on air meltdown refusal to play a song that was clearly somewhat slightly sexual in its nature, was almost infinite. But waiting to see what they would do to follow it up was something else altogether. Images that appeared militaristic in their intensity, those T-Shirts, the idea that 'Frankie' possibly about to become the biggest band on earth at this point 'say "arm the unemployed"' was amazing. They weren't suggesting military service as Tories of the time were, they were demanding insurrection. They took the sound of impending nuclear holocaust, a Spitting Image impressionist who'd later turn up in Red Dwarf, a symphonic tone, a Moroder-esque backing track played by band, a multitude of remixes designed to sell the song over and over and over again and ensure that they remained at number one for the entire summer by becoming new and interesting and compelling every single bloody week and they created Two Tribes and I don't care how good you might think it is, it's better. Seek out every mix, you'll be better for it.



The Searchers. When we think of 12 string guitars we think of The Byrds. And then we think of the fact that George Harrison inspired them to go for that sound. And we need to think of the fact that The Searchers (reputedly) inspired George. Reclaim their cover of Jackie De Shannon's When You Walk In The Room from the Sunday lunchtime oldies channels. These lads twang and jangle at the same level as their more prestigious peers.



And if you want your pop a little more on the edge of chamber pop but still jangling - The Merseys' Sorrow. If you're my generation, you grew up on Bowie's version, and The Merseys aren't responsible for the original (I've just found out that's by The McCoys of 'Hang On Sloopy' fame) but their take is perfect. Short, snappy, does its job then goes, sticks some trumpets in the middle. What more do you want from pop?



84.  Back to The Wild Swans. Because Gideon Coe played this on his excellent 6 Music Liverpool special. It's a B-side that gave the title to a thoroughly wonderful album. This is a spoken word paen to a lifestyle, a time and place, and the Bunnymen's brilliant drummer, the late and much missed Pete De Freitas. It's about one winter, The Coldest Winter For A Hundred Years



I don't own anything by Pink Military. I've no idea why. Don't think I actually heard anything by them until this last week. This despite the fact I already owned a Big In Japan single and I loved the Faction album. But I bought the 45 EP by Pink Industry and loved it at the age of somewhere round 20. Just listened to Is This The End again for the first time in probably thirty years (there was a long time with no turntable and they hadn't invented YouTube for most of that). And it still sounds great. And it still sounds like something an angst ridden 20 year old would be listening to.



I always regret having missed the entirety of that Bandwagon scene that sprung out of the Zanzibar in the mid nineties. I was in my mid thirties, a father, felt that the whole thing was for other people. I was in a phase where I'd decided that I was too old for gigs and might as well give up for good rather than be the old bloke stood at the back. Until my friends Geoff and Yvonne made me go and see Soundtrack Of Our Lives and my mate Si insisted that I go to an NME tour night with Andrew WK playing that made me realise I was still able to enjoy dumb rock'n'roll. Here's one of the bands I missed completely. I have, in fact, only just heard this for the first time. The Bandits. Take It And Run. It's smart, wish I'd paid more attention. (Also enjoying their cover of 'Guns Of Brixton')



Same scene then. Returning to Edgar Jones. Somewhere between The Stairs and Edgar Jones & The Joneses come The Big Kids. Here's I'm Bored. God I'd have adored this if I'd been paying any bloody attention. Never believe you're too old. The joy of the way we consume music now? New music just means music you've never heard before (nicked that concept from David Hepworth). This is bloody marvellous. Makes me feel like I'm nineteen, makes me want to start a band.



This as well. This would have made me form a band. Possibly a different band to the one above. I'd have definitely wanted trumpets. A prime slice of scallydelic mariachi. Which may even be a genuine sub-genre. God, to have been twenty back then. Must have been one of the best things ever. We had a whole new Merseybeat happening and some of us didn't realise. (Video appears to have cost about 30p) Here's Oh! When The Sun Goes Down



Gomez. We having Gomez as scouse? We extending all the way up to Southport? Might as well, the place is full of lids nowadays. And there's the great scene from One Summer where Ian Hart shows up in Southport fair. ("I know him, he's a knifer!" and it's all downhill from there). Easy to forget how fresh Gomez sounded back then. Whipping' Piccadilly still sounds boss. So, Southport. Yeah. Don't think I'll get away with putting in any Marc Almond though.



Let's go for 'people who've worked for me at some point'. You know when people you work with have a band? Obviously if you work in HMV that experience is magnified a thousand fold. And once again, if you're old, you never quite get round to seeing them. But then you have access via YouTube to everything that's ever existed and you realise that going to see Flamingo 50 live would have been a pretty damn decent night out. Here's First In Line shot in one take at the Krazy House. Went the Krazy House once. They played Bon Jovi's Living On A Prayer and the whole room went off. So I left. Seriously not taking that kind of shit.



So my Saturday lad turned out to be a pop star. Pretty cool that. Kieran Shudall may be the most famous person I've ever employed. (Second is Ceri who played keyboards for The Bunnymen for a while. Never quite got round to employing Timo Tierney. We've discussed this one. Think he's forgiven me now.) Here's Circa Waves with Times Won't Change Me. I like this.



Mention of Timo means I have to talk about The Tea Street Band, which J recently pointed out to me, has to be a play on 'The E Street Band'. Somewhere between New Order and classic dance music but with actual guitars, I've got to know most of the band a little bit at times over the last few years. All dead sound and make a hell of a noise live. Let's go with Only Love off their second album because it's catchy as hell and there's a great trippy video.



Which means we need to move backwards to the band that The Tea Street Band came out of. I knew of The Maybes from working with Timo's sister , and from the fact that their name was appearing all over walls all over town for a while. You could feel the momentum building, you knew they were going to break through. And then didn't. For whatever reason. Again, I missed all this. Again, I regret it. Promise is the moment that they start to become the next band, while Talk About You is prime Mersey pop. Shall we have both? Why not, the world's better for both being in the same set and this is my page and I can do anything I like.





And while one side of The Maybes goes one way, the other side goes the other, in the shape of singer Nick Ellis who goes solo, goes acoustic and releases three increasingly excellent albums based round his ever circling melodies, hypnotic vocals and a guitar style that pops and plucks. This is Impractical Ideas from the 'Speakers Corner' album. Liverpool loses one great act, finds two more from the remains. Decent deal that.



Nearly there. Six to go. Let's indulge me and make the home straight easy. Six absolute blinders who will never age and will always remain imperious, always remain the songs I'll go to when I need to know why I love music. Let's not care about the fact that they're really bloody obvious. Things become really bloody obvious because they're great. And because they continue to speak to us.

Strawberry Fields Forever is blindingly obvious. But it is, along with The Beach Boys' Good Vibrations, the greatest achievement we're ever going to see in the invention of what a group can do with sound. Everybody that follows owes a debt to the work that was done on this. Two versions of the song, in differing keys and tempos, "I like this bit of this but I like that bit of that. Can you stick them together for us George?" Of course he can't, it's impossible to do that. So he invented the future. Yet again. The Beatles and George Martin, both inspiring the other to greater heights every time they walked in the room.



The national anthem of Liverpool. Wylie's Heart As Big As Liverpool. The song that should be played at the end of every Liverpool game instead of this weird insistence  someone has on playing The Standells' 'Dirty Water (yes I know why and yes I love The Standells but we seriously have our own stuff. "When all the lights go out forever somewhere near the end of time, the noise will pass and the dust will settle and you'll be on my mind." I honestly don't think there's a more beautiful opening lyric in music. (There's an official video but it's the short version, you need the full version)



What was better? Reward or Treason? It doesn't matter, they're both masterpieces. This is the sound of the summer I was sixteen, the sound of the summer between school and sixth form, the summer you're completely free but aren't old enough to do anything. This sounded to my sixteen year old ears like nothing else that had ever been made. And still does. Pure joy shining through every groove.



The other song of that summer?  The other song that changes your life as soon as you hear the opening riff for the first time? The track that opens the debut album that you'll obsess with until the second the second album comes out? The song that tells you you want to be in a band, preferably THIS band? Rescue, obviously. Still my favourite band of all time that isn't The Beatles. 80-85? Nobody on earth could touch these lads. (Here it is from a gig that I was at which happened much later. And which is now nearly as far away from where we are as it was from when I first heard the song.



"We'll be as we are when all the fools who doubt us fade away." That's a chorus that. That's the chorus of the first song played at the first gig I ever took my new girlfriend to. We're still together thirty three years later. The song is still bloody marvellous. Tinges of Scott Walker. Should have been bloody massive. Wasn't. As most things that should be bloody marvellous aren't.



And to end? This. The greatest artistic step forward ever made by any band. Possibly by any artist in any medium. I'll argue that one forever. In 1963 they're making She Loves You. By December 1965 Lennon is taking lyrics from the Tibetan Book Of The Dead, they're spooling tapes around Abbey Road, they're turning guitars into seagulls and John wants to sound like a monk on top of a mountain. Two years. Two years that took.
The Beatles, ladies and gentlemen. The best thing there will ever be. Everything else stands in their massive shadow.