BEATS OF LOVE 

108. Father Stephen Doyle

MY LOCAL parish priest deserves my warmest well wishes and thanks as he sadly retires his post from ill-health. Despite the bad apples and the church's systemic failure to toss them out, the vast majority of priests still do a great service for their community. 

I first fell under Father Stephen's spell when he regaled his congregation with a warm sermon about his calling. He was young, like myself when his father died, and the dark episode convinced him to walk into the light towards the priesthood. I had some instant respect for him because of this strength of faith. All I could do was fumble around in the darkness. 

His candour and wit always temper a stiff-necked conservatism. I was privy to a lighter side of this character whilst being instructed for our wedding, when he regularly had me and the missus in teary fits of laughter. And a deep pragmaticism discussing our tribulations with the home office when I found strength through his guidance. When the health service was reluctant to assist. Later, whilst the missus was converting to the faith and in regular consultation with him, she always came home smiling despite being given a massiv, great big book to read. And that is the important thing. Despite his staunch conservatism, he still spreads joy. 

He even injected his dry wit into my mother's funeral prep when I was skirting around the houses, refusing to tell him that in all truth she was probably agnostic. His eyebrows raised playfully when he thought the word liberal was a bit of an understatement for her. Then the look of sheer relief when I told him she'd had the last rites. He loves music and sat disapprovingly as I was culling hymns from the folk mass for our wedding that I used to enjoy back in the early eighties. Unsurprisingly, during the pandemic and without his musicians, the church was full of Gregorian chanting. It was brill and so utterly Father Stephen. 

I will miss his high mass, even with the incense peppering my eyes, because it always felt like entering a sacred, timeless space. His theological sermons, which skilfully balanced cautionary warnings with brilliant stand-up comedy, did more than just entertain me; they challenged my thinking and re-shaped how I view faith. Even his long, unfashionable Eucharistic prayers became anchors of deep reflection in my week. I will miss them deeply because, in a changing world, they probably won't come back, but the impact of those moments will stay with me forever.

BEATS OF LOVE 

107. Thousands Are Sailing by The Pogues

CANCER AND my OU studies hit simultaneously, splitting my life into a clear before and after.

Before that, my identity was clear-cut: a far-left Roman Catholic, but thoroughly English. Case in point: choosing to watch Frank Sidebottom instead of The Pogues at Reading in 1989. While I knew I had Irish and Welsh roots, they felt entirely foreign. That changed with my studies, which have completely resurrected my distant past and rewritten my present.

My grandmother and her Irish mother and my aunt (taken into the home after her mother died) all lived with my grandfather. A Heyside native, surrounded by family. During the Depression, they all had to make the walk from Shaw to Chadderton for their state handouts. Two of her brothers died. Two of the seventy-six million who perished in those two wars. She, like me, was a cancer survivor. Yet, retaining dignity and containing sorrow, she remained a pivotal part of the church community.

Despite being highly intelligent, my grandmother was thrown into the mill at fifteen. It partly explains why her children were so keen to iron out their Irish and Welsh ancestry and progress up the social ladder. Selflessly, she propelled them forward. Remaining the beating heart of my mother's life, she missed her son dearly when he relocated. When she had a big jackpot win, she gave half back to the church and split the remaining half amongst her two children. Keeping nothing for herself. I can only imagine what a great example had been set for her. Even in death, kicking against the hospital bed posts with the pain of kidney failure, she was defying the odds.

This mighty song understands transformation through hardship. Sung with warm grit and deep kinship to Philip Chevron’s poetic lyrics, it speaks to me through this remarkable woman, the daughter of those we casually call refugees.

 BEATS OF LOVE 

106. Danger Dub by Panda Bear / Sonic Boom

I DEEPLY regret letting my dark moods and false ideas about authenticity drive me to be numb during my free time. It took my focus away from my true passion: my love for music.

Many albums I listen to feel incomplete or overworked. I see the problem, but I cannot fix it. Luckily, Adrian Sherwood is producing this record, and he fixes it. Giving it space to breathe. 

I have struggled to connect with Animal Collective records ever since the masterpiece that was Sung Tongs. That album balanced troubled Brian Wilson-style harmonies with genuinely thrilling experimentation. By the time they toured Feels, however, those same vocal arrangements just started grating on me.

I felt the same resistance toward the Panda Bear and Sonic Boom collaboration, Reset. On paper, their equal partnership promised so much, but the final product felt too constrained by its own pursuit of perfection. It is a frustrating listen: tracks like Danger are packed with brilliant hooks and clever 1950s vocal samples, yet the overall result ends up sounding a bit too artificial and saccharine.

Thankfully, Sherwood reinterprets the project and, whilst retaining the vocals, he isn't afraid to chop them up and create something looser, less constrained by concept and, on this track, especially upbeat. I'm in skank heaven coz those brilliant hooky moments are captured, but thankfully, with less coherence and fresher sounding instrumentation. It repudiates the notion that a new psychedelia has to sound futuristic. It simply doesn't, it just needs to be creatively exciting. 

I also regret that such an optimistic vibrancy wasn't around decades ago. Perhaps my moods wouldn't have been so dark.