BEATS OF LOVE 

71. Time Has Told Me by Nick Drake

THIS YEAR has taught me an awful lot and profoundly strengthened my faith.

Walking away from family and a close friend is private. While outside opinions will inevitably twist and distort the truth, I choose to leave the rights and wrongs to a higher power.

I know the emotional fallout of this year will linger, but I take massive comfort in the relationships that survived and healed. The Missus' sharp, perceptive observations were a beacon, drawing those who remain closer together through a shared understanding of what has been happening for years. Time will tell my side of the story.

This internal struggle is why Nick Drake’s music resonates so deeply with me now. Written when he was just 21, his songs showcase an odd maturity and a beautiful disdain for convention. His lyrics wrap themselves around my experience, proving that we can find solace by embracing both the beauty of solitude and the imperfections of companionship.

Faith in the future is all we have. I am deeply grateful for the magic of his music, a troubled soul turned wise sage, which continues to teach me how to heal and nudges me toward tomorrow.  

BEATS OF LOVE

70. Cold Blooded Love by Thee Hypnotics

READING GEORGE Orwell's Diaries has been illuminating. 

Other than more cleanliness, the conditions that define today's society are pretty much unchanged. The false dominant narratives propagated by the right wing press still cut through, and wage slavery is still the norm. What surprises is the man behind the persona. A man who passionately loves gardening. A man we wouldn't know existed had he lived to write his autobiography and burn his diaries. 

He despised the artificiality of mass consumerism, yet carefully cultivated a public image to market himself, a paradox that is nearly impossible to escape. We all do it, particularly musicians and those of us shaped by them. Thee Hypnotics were a formidable live rock act whom I saw twice, but their obsession with Iggy Pop and the MC5 ultimately reduced their image to something derivative and dated. In 1991, legendary producer John Leckie, still weathering the fallout from working on Lawrence's magnum opus, produced their second studio album. I was entirely unaware of this. Reflecting on the period, frontman Jim Jones told Shindig :

"In the past, I’d said to people, ‘You know that BIG Phil Spector reverb… well….’ and they’d give you a tiny bit. When I said this to John he swamped the album in it…. woahhhh. He’s a proper producer.”

Forgiving bands a retro or naff public image and instead evaluating the music as a separate entity gets to the essence of what Balearic Beat is all about. Leaving no stone unturned to unearth woozy music with warmth. Music a bit like this. 

Ignore the title and get lost in the earthy organ, then let those seductive slide guitar motifs work their magic. There's even a female backing singer low down in the narcotic mix too. It feels pretty epic, but in truth isn't all that long, and marks a quantum leap for a band totally unrelated to the word lounging. 

Ultimately, Orwell and Thee Hypnotics shared the same dilemma: navigating the gap between public image and private truth. While society remains as shackled by fake narratives and wage slavery as it was in the 1930s, this track offers the ultimate escape hatch. By ignoring the band's retro posturing and letting the music exist as its own entity, you find the exact warmth and depth the Balearic spirit searches for. It is a magnificent, narcotic way to kill time in the 21st century.

  

BEATS OF LOVE 

69. The Hacienda: The Club That Shook Britain documentary

MY FATHER passed away suddenly less than a fortnight into my first ever job. Exploiting my naivety, the staff-trainer adopted the role of boss and made my confusing life even more confusing by ordering me about and making unreasonable demands. Even scolding me for crying a couple of days after my father died. It took me an age to fathom that he wasn't actually my boss. Moving on from my ordeal took even longer.

However, the reason this guy still bugs me is that back in late 1987, he taped house music off the radio and then in 88 drove his car to go clubbing at the Hacienda. The apex of its mythical heyday. Whilst all the while raving about Debbie Gibson. As if I was ever going to go clubbing there...

(I did eventually, but I didn't like it much.)

Architectural Review 1982

These latest talking heads promised much, as Kath and Soo are great. John Robb was always lurching about town and is normally a reliable raconteur, but he's obsessed with making punk the main driving force of this story. Nobody's expecting a Free Trade Hall BBC documentary soon.

Other than Mike Pickering, who let go of his ego to reminisce, the other pop stars took up far too much time over emphasising their part in its backstory. The following sentence covers it; Factory owners and cult band New Order attempted to recreate NY's Funhouse in the rainy city by introducing diverse nights and acts in their club-space, that often looked even more massive and impressive when it was less than half full, which it often was.

Sure, it started in a gym in London, but the Ibiza inspired acid house phenomenon properly took off here. As Soo rightly states, its historical significance was only far-reaching because the pioneering Hot night and E helped change clubbing attitudes in the UK forever. Once the shenanigans were first exposed in the media, people all over the country suddenly wanted to dance and hug one another. Dance alone, dance with friends, dance with family, or, as was often the case, with new friends. Few of us could stretch to 25 quid for an actual E, but by simply being in Manchester, we became less predatory and more relaxed with one another. And, more inclined to dance under the influence of far cheaper drugs.

Peter Walsh

It truly had a trickle down effect and people at its epicentre like Jon Dasilva remained warm and humorous, influencing the next generation whilst even finding time to entertain folk like myself.

Everyone I got to know in the nineties through clubbing had some link back to the Hacienda. Evoking my move to a new school when, upon my arrival, the class was told a pupil's sister had sadly died. There was something bonding between these folk, so I could never begin to fully understand. Looking back, I like to blame that workplace bully for making me miss out on the Hacienda's peak. But the truth is more complicated. The club was quickly over-hyped, a target for a cynical music press, and as an impressionable teen dealing with monumental grief, I was always unlikely to step through those doors back then.

I do still hold a grudge against him, though, not just for his cruelty, but for delaying my initiation into a music that should have been my escape. When I did finally make it to the Hacienda years later, the myth didn’t match my reality. Yet, seeing how that era bonded an entire generation, much like the shared, unspoken grief of my school days, I realise its true legacy trickled down to the folk I eventually met in the nineties. He might have stolen my timing, but he couldn't steal the music's ultimate impact on my life.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/m001dsm0/the-hacienda-the-club-that-shook-britain