SONGS THEY NEVER PLAY ON THE RADIO
6. SPACEMEN 3 : In the church of the poisoned mind.
PART 1
MY OCD, hypochondria, and poor mental health have meant the last few months have been hard. In retreat I was initially submerged in other people's mixes and nostalgia, but lately I've hidden in the cassette world of my own fucked up late teens.
Acid house was strange to me at first. I loved a lot of the music but hated the tribalism and easy fashion. Peers who generally wore suits on nights out disappeared to shit places like Blackburn, dressed like an ill-fitting Bananarama, after sitting tripping in the pub for an hour, hiding in their walk-man's.
Not folk I could relate to in any way. What was being conveyed in Off-Beat magazine and the music press about all the love and unity wasn't corresponding to my actual experiences. When I finally began tripping, I was on a far higher plane. My music was much more potent and everything in society was going to change. The Spacemen 3 had taken over much of my life. I stopped attending church coz in all truth; I felt I was receiving communion through their music. I didn't like Revolution all that much, but loved the soft gospel washes and fuzzy drones that got bolder and bolder, becoming fully realized songs on Honey and Lord Can You Hear Me?
To counterbalance the seriousness, I'd still play the clown and fuck myself up. Hence, my entry into the club. I was very lucky that a shop existed called Musicworld in my local town that seemed to stock everything. So much Spacemen related back catalogue was bought there. Glass originals no one had gone near. I wasn't in a proper mental state to venture out to Eastern Bloc on many occasions. Their re-work of Red Crayola's Transparent Radiation is simply majestic. Moving the psychedelic centre of the universe to Rugby is no mean feat. Hats off!
Consequently, there's a lot of sadness stirring as I reread the lofty pretentiousness of my late teens, made manifest in these notebooks that accompany the cassettes. It's not unsurprising to learn that covid has meant I have had time to scrawl through these notebooks and listen to these cassettes. For someone uneducated, I was both deeply angry and analytical. I dropped out of school late so still had a bit of brain I guess. I was furious that the Stone Roses were sweeping everything aside, as I sat on the floor, in the Hacienda, zoning out to the Spacemen 3. The Monday club was far livelier the week before when the local band played, but not as brilliant.
I was devastated at missing what was to be their final show at the Reading Festival. They were on Friday afternoon and my coach was late. I was in a right state watching New Order later that night. Think I had the Stooges in my headphones at some point. Their interviews along with fellow West Midlands icon Lawrence's were my favourites coz unlike Morrissey, whose cleverness was selfish, they were turning me onto music that changed my perceptions forever. Unlike many acts, re-working covers punctuate throughout, and, looking beyond classic albums, meant I was constantly in charity shops through their pre-internet heydays.
According to my notes, I was very angry with the management at work. I'm guessing their biggest crime was being alive, as I was in part responsible for sending my own father (a manager), to an early grave. This was possibly why I fucked myself up. I identified with the Spacemen 3, and Mudhoney, and had a cordial relationship with Paul Smith, who managed Blast First records. They always responded to my letters, admittedly in the Spacemen's case only when I bought something. Sonic Youth in contrast, were like acid house luminaries. Very sharp and imposing characters.
I was also very shy, but so desperate to feel a part of something. Looking back, not fitting in at all, has done me no great harm. When I play these cassettes, they sound very eclectic still. A lot of US imports, ambient, and nearly always a Spacemen 3 track. Jack Barron, Dele Fadele, Everett True, John Robb and Simon Dudfield were my portal in. Snub TV was all I watched. Over and over.
I hated Andrew Collins for slating Sonic Boom's Spectrum LP. Making a prison out of records and drugs was also what I was doing. No wonder I was angry at the criticism levelled at him. There was no doubt that he had taken over Brian Jones as my guru, and both led me to make some shockingly bad decisions in life.
PART 2
RECURRING WAS a one sided LP as far as I was concerned. Uncharacteristically, I even bought a CD to hear their Mudhoney cover of When Tomorrow Hits. An almighty version. Big City fittingly became a clubland smash at the century's end when after all I got was ridicule for namedropping them constantly throughout the 90s. Jason Pierce, with his more commercial songs, split the band I loved. Spectrum was a conciliation.
Their debut Soul Kiss was astounding and made that year's Reading Festival headliners, the Inspiral Carpets, organ derived pop, sound utterly childish. I stayed in my tent in protest when the Inspirals were playing, but did venture out on the Sunday to watch Spiritualized. I was hyper-critical. Noting that the sit down gig had no energy. By contrast, I saw Spectrum at the International play a mesmerizing Friday show to a packed audience. Albeit, by being billed as Sonic Boom. The pre-show music, which included Julian Cope's unheralded but brilliant My Nation Underground, created a lot of energy.
By 1994's second long player Undo the Taboo, they kept in step with so much subtle techno I was playing, yet remained a cult. I997's Forever Alien sort of makes that explicit. Its first two sides share some resemblance with song structures of the past, but the last sides are far more experimental, signalling Sonic's road ahead.
These albums are truly mind-blowing and are all way ahead of their time. I was angry with Pierce and wasn't reconciled until I heard Ladies and Gentlemen. I think him getting fucked over by Richard Ashcroft gave me the closure I needed. I even began playing side 2 of Recurring and was blown away.Attending the Spiritualized Sunday show at the Hacienda (shortly before its closure), seemed fitting, but I was still a bit disappointed in support Spring Heel Jack. They seemed too stylized, and I recall being sober enough to watch Tiger Woods win his first masters later in the evening. Not something I was capable of doing in 1989. I even ditched the lifestyle and went back to my local parish church.
I was so overcome with emotion when I realized all the great music I've been turned onto by wonderful people still sounded magical straight. Still does.
