Blur - 'Blur'

Having listened to this album, I'd thought of something clever to write about it, but then realised that Blur had beaten me to it by calling this album 'Blur'. This is the sound of Blur being Blur without any thematic conceit driving their creativity.

In the battle of Britpop, it was often said that Oasis were The Beatles, mainly because they ripped off so many of their songs. The truth is, The Beatles never really had 'a sound' in the way that The Rolling Stones did. What marks The Beatles out is their restless creativity, which surely peaked with 'Yellow Submarine'.

I'm kidding of course . To quote the late, great Bill Hick's, 'they were so high they even let Ringo sing'. It's hard to know if with their later albums, The Beatles reached a creative plateau, and never fulfilled their potential of becoming the band they could have been. Although according to Alan Partridge, that was the band 'Wings'.

It's impossible for this record not to be swept away by 'Song 2', a mosh-pit anthem for the blipvert generation. So when this comes on, I'm reminded of dancing to it in sweaty clubs in Leeds. And I don't mean just as a punter, but also as a DJ. And I don't really mean dancing, I mean jumping up and down, with my fists clenched and my arms outstretched, feeling every little bit stress leave my body as I make myself one with the heaving mass of dancers, all screaming in unison, WOO HOO!

Catharsis. It feels good.

Eat - 'Sell Me A God'

I love this record so much. It's not just that it's a great record - and it is - but this is one of those records that I looked for for years before I found it. It seems impossible now, in the age of the internet and immediate downloads, but once upon a time, you actually had to hunt out music. You had to go to big cities to find better record shops, or visit record fairs on the offchance of them having what you wanted. Crazy times.

Musically, this is a proto-Britpop record, marking a time between the guitar-scrubbing of Ned's Atomic Dustbin and the swooning, swooping hysteria of Suede. If you've never heard it, you should check it out - you can probably download it for pennies.

This reminds me so much of a friend from Salisbury, Robert, who I worked with in catering for a few years, on and off. He was a rabid Eat fan, and was also one of the funniest guys I've ever known - really clever, capable and sharp, with a great eye for the absurd. He could also play air guitar and drums like no-one I've ever met. We did the adult access course together at Salisbury College, and went our seperate ways at the end of it. I hope he's OK - like many clever, funny people, he had a sort of underlying malaise that suggested he was never comfortable with himself. Maybe education helped him find his niche.

M-Beat featuring General Levy - 'Incredible'

If I told you that this record's USP was General Levy's ability to emit high-pitched sonar-like hiccups while delivering a high-paced ragga chat, you'd do well to be bemused. It's only on the b-side, with a more underground mix, that this kicks into gear more effectively, with cartoony stretched vocals and epileptic drums.

This reminds me of clubbing in Leeds, at Think Tank, late 90s. Hot, trebly, drunk on Red Stripe. The music really sounded like the future - broken, twisted, like the machines had actually taken control. My inability to take it seriously. The hilarity of time-stretched and speed-up vocals - I never understood that bit.

This is a mad record - if you focus on any one element it sounds absurd, but as a whole, it perfectly captures that mid-90s jungle scene. And it's also a right laugh to try and impersonate the General. Altogther now: 'I am de in-cred-HIC in-cred-HIC incredible general BOOYAKA! Selec-selec say HIC HIC HIC say sensaaayshonaaal!'

Dope Skillz - '6 Million Ways'

Mid-paced drum and bass track that sounds a bit like 'Super Sharp Shooter' by the Ganja Kru, but lacks a bit in the inventiveness stakes.

Reminds me of DJing at Dust. You stick this in the middle of a D&B set, and then just as people lose interest, slam into something really rowdy. Top DJ tip there, for nowt.

Not very exciting really. The smell of nightclubs, smoke and drunk teenagers.

Wham! - 'Fantastic'

Christ.

There's a card in Brian Eno's Oblique Strategies pack (you're at a web-enabled device, go and look it up) that says something like 'Take the most embarassing detail and magnify it'. When I started this blog, I knew there were some iffy records on the shelf, and some embarassing stories to go with them, so let's magnify and embarassing detail, shall we?

This reminds me of going to the Downton Memorial Hall discos with my mate Andy. I guess it would have been the last year of school, so this album had already been out for a few years. We were really into the shole psychobilly thing - The Meteors, King Kurt, swamp rock, The Cramps, enormous rock-hard hairsprayed quiffs and huge baggy combats. But like a lot of early teenagers, I guess we hadn't fully committed to it, because I know damn well we were listening to Wham!

I know that because I remember walking home with him after a Memorial Hall disco one night (it must have been summer, because I remember it was still light), and we were having a go at duetting 'Wham! Rap (Enjoy What You Do?)'. I thought we'd given it a pretty good go, but when we got to the end, he said 'you know Zak, there are these things called lyrics - the songs actually have right words. You should check them out'.

Happily I can't remember what I'd been rapping, but that's been a trademark of my music apprecistion over the years - misheard lyrics like you can't imagine. And yes, I'm aware of the irony of a vocalist/MC/rapper who doesn't listen to other peoples' lyrics.

Still, what's even more embarassing is I'm certain I didn't buy this at that time - it's a sneaky retro purchase. Let's just say it hasn't dated very, shall we?

Sex Pistols - 'Never Mind the Bollocks'

Although this is starting to show its age a bit in terms of production, the sneering, bile-fuelled attitude of this record is such that it still cuts a slice across your face with a jagged blade as soon as the needle hits the opening chords of 'Holidays in the Sun'. It doesn't really matter who played the music (there are rumours that at least half of it was done by session musicians), it's a perfect snapshot of a revolution taking place. And if the late Malcolm Mclaren was a svengali behind it, so much the better - I love a bit of situationism.

This reminds me really vividly of my brother, early 1980s. We had a portable tape recorder (they used to call them boom boxes, you know), and he had a tape of this album in it. He walked into the kitchen with it paused, and said 'Listen to this'. He released the pause, and the stanza of 'Bodies' just after the false ending kicked in. 'FAAHCK AND FAAHCK THAT! FAAHCKING IN THE THE FAAHCKHOUSE, FAAHKING BLACKS!' screamed Johnny Rotten. I looked at my brother, secretly envious that he'd laid his hands on this near-mythical (to a 1t year old) artefact from ancient history, but also appalled that he'd decided to play that bit of it in the kitchen, in front of our parents. Incredibly, they didn't notice, and later Jan confessed that he'd made a mistake by playing that - it was just a coincidence that he'd paused it at that point.

I still can't believe my parents didn't notice. It clearly made quite an impression on me.

The Cure - 'Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me'

It's easy to forget what an awesome, world-conquering band The Cure once were. And although they are styled as being a none-more-Goth act, on their later albums, they are closer to vaudeville storytellers than adolescent doom-mongers.

I'm pretty sure I got this when it came out in 1987. It reminds be of being the sort of obnoxious, self-assured Goth-haired teenager that only gets produced in small towns. It's something to do with being so cocooned from the rest of the world that your home town becomes the entire universe. Wanting to be a big fish in a small pond, unaware that you will eventually be released into the ocean. And the ocean is big, cold, and full of things that, as pond life, you can't begin to understand. I think I might have stretched that aquatic metaphor to near-breaking point.

It was unfortunate that Salisbury was a garrison town, because my particular blend of sartorial statement (printed velvet trousers, huge white tail shirt) didn't go down well with the squaaddies in town on R&R - mostly Paras, unfortunately. A shove in the back, and a shaven-headed face asking 'does your mum know you've got her clothes on?' tends to focus the mind.

Happy days.