Volume 13 Side One - Stone Roses, Teenage Fanclub, Revolver, Chapterhouse, Slowdive

Year of Release: 1991
Formats: Double LP/ Cassette/ CD

We're about to enter a brief period of thin gruel for the Indie Top 20 series, and I'm unsure how much of that could be blamed on the series new compiler Tim Millington, or the state of the British music scene at the time.

For make no mistake, the spotlight was largely off British guitar based music at this point, even here at home. Grunge was beginning to slowly pull itself out of its mouldy cigarette butt infested bed, and within a matter of moments it would become the dominant alternative cultural force in the UK. But it's not as if our homegrown bands were putting up any kind of a fight - our assortment of uncharismatic shoegazing bands and faintly miffed indie pub bands just didn't carry the same alienated cultural message. Indie Dance could realistically have promised us some more goodness, but The Stone Roses were embroiled in a long-lasting legal dispute and unable to record, and the Mondays had largely gone to seed. Without those two lynchpins being active, the scene buckled and weakened.

There are some fantastic tracks on "Volume 13", but there's also more to criticise than usual, and I'm afraid the contents do accurately reflect my memories of this period. Things started to get interesting again quite quickly - though it felt like an age to live through it - but for the next couple of LPs, we're going to find ourselves struggling slightly.

Also, it's hardly an important point, but this is possibly also one of the worst sleeves for any LP in the series. It looks more like a flyer advertising the opening of a new local organic greengrocers than anything else. As Tony Barron of Reeves and Mortimer's "The Club" sketches might have said: "Pears are irrelevant to concept of indie hits".

1. Stone Roses - I Wanna Be Adored (Silvertone)

The first track, straight off the bat, is from a group who had been inactive for some time at this point, embroiled in a legal battle with Silvertone Records which would ensure they didn't release any new product until 1994. Putting this two year old track right at the front of the LP rather than an exciting new band or a big sound from an established indie group does, it has to be said, feel a bit desperate.

Still, it wasn't as if it hadn't only recently charted. "I Wanna Be Adored" was the first single released without the Roses permission, plundered from their debut LP in the hope that Silvertone could make some more money out of the group while they "relaxed". At the time, we had no idea whatsoever that it would be the first of many plundering missions the label undertook, and within months "Waterfall" and a shockingly bad edit of "I Am The Resurrection" (where the group sounded as if Reni had been replaced by a toddler thumping on some shortbread tins and a cowbell) would also be singles, followed by remixes of "Fools Gold", a B-sides compilation, an A and B-sides collection, a Remix album, and on and on it went. Given that they were only on Silvertone Records for one LP and a small brace of singles, it's staggering just how much the label managed to stretch and repackage the contents of their vaults.

Of all the releases, "I Wanna Be Adored" felt the most excusable, partly because it had already been issued as a 45 in the USA, and partly because the UK B-side "Where Angels Play" had never been officially released until this point. So for our money, we got a very pretty, delicate B-side in return for not terribly much money, and few people had any gripes about it.

We're not here to discuss "Where Angels Play", however, but its evergreen A-side which has become something of an alternative FM anthem in the years since. It was actually the oldest Stone Roses song to find a place on their debut LP, having been a feature of the group's live set since their earliest days, and as such is slightly uncharacteristic of the rest of the contents. As a first track it's a bold bark of intent and its slow, steady build does an exciting job of preparing you for the rush of the rest of the first side, but it's hard to imagine it being anywhere else on the album and fitting in comfortably. The dark, echoing basslines it opens with still have an epic gothy tone to them, and feel like something The Mission could have written. John Squire's chopping and chiming guitar spins things back into a more Roses orientated direction, but even then there's a strange, echoing, rockist darkness to the track the rest of the LP largely avoids. Even "Shoot You Down" is brighter and bolder sounding than this, and altogether less cavernous.

Still, it was and remains one of the group's more appreciated tracks, and crossed over to audiences they may not otherwise have reached. In Essex, I noted with interest that stray bar-dwelling goths could be persuaded to sway about a bit to "I Wanna Be Adored" in a way they wouldn't do for "Waterfall" and certainly not "Fools Gold".
"I do like that track of theirs," an older Siouxsie and the Banshees fan said to me once. "You know, 'I Wanna Be A Dog'".



2. Teenage Fanclub - Star Sign (Creation)

Teenage Fanclub had by this point established themselves as the Great Hopes of British Alternative Rock, which was a pity as the group lacked the hunger and ambition to really compete on the global stage. When the group also signed with Geffen in America, they could probably have celebrated in any location they chose - in reality, they signed the contract in their local fish and chip shop. And so it would continue.

One listen to "Star Sign" is enough evidence for why everyone was getting so excited, though. It's a pounding, punching piece of rock music with a Byrdsian melody upfront and Big Star styled guitar lines behind, sounding as bright and hopeful as Slade at their most optimistic and as heavy and hard as the US grunge bands rising up at this point. In fact, it sounds as if it should have been an enormous hit outside the indie charts, so rammed is it with chiming hooks - but for some reason it only settled at number 44.

The B-side was a bizarre and popular cover of "Like A Virgin", and mutterings emerged from critics and label bosses alike about a huge album the band were about to release. By the end of the year, "Bandwagonesque" would become a much-wanted Christmas gift for indie kids everywhere. My copy got played to death and still sits on my shelf today, occasionally pulled down for relistening, and I can recall visiting the houses of friends and acquaintances and seeing their copies sat by the side of the stereo as well. For an LP which only climbed as high as Number 22 on the national charts, it seemed to be everywhere in my social group for awhile. Sadly, while the group have sustained moderate success to this day, a release of theirs would never be greeted with that kind of mania again.



3. Revolver - Heaven Sent An Angel (Hut)

Revolver had it all. Press. Endless features on "The Chart Show" and evening radio. A contract with Hut, who were essentially just a boutique label reporting to Virgin Records. And yet not a single one of their records, to the best of my knowledge, entered the national Top 100.

This either has to be considered extremely unfortunate or a symptom of the group's mediocrity, and I'm afraid in my opinion it's the latter. Revolver looked and sounded the part, being a bunch of cute kids big on atmospheric guitar soundscapes. They had the major label backing. What they lacked were tunes which stood out from the pack in any way whatsoever.

Debut "Heaven Sent An Angel" is probably their finest effort, yet still sounds like something which consists entirely of an admittedly good guitar riff the group were clearly in love with, vocals which follow the guitar line very closely, some atmospheric meandering, and nothing else. It's early nineties indie at its laziest and most generic, and it's staggering that anyone took it seriously. It's also absurdly tough to write about - there's so little of interest actually going on here that it's impossible to find much to say at all. I can only conclude that Revolver were a jammy bunch of buggers in the right place at the right time who failed to capitalise successfully on their luck.



4. Chapterhouse - Precious One (Dedicated)

That said, Chapterhouse were responsible for one of the worst gigs I attended during the period - 45 minutes of men flicking and thrashing their long hair around to bits of effects pedal fiddling as they desperately struggled to approximate the sounds they had created on vinyl. They came back out for an encore even though nobody was much enthused about them doing one.

Fortunately, they're not so bad on your stereo, and in fairness to them they were playing at a club with  a horrible PA the one time I saw them. Somewhat bafflingly, though, "Precious One" is taken from the popular "Mesmerise" EP, whose lead track provided them with their largest hit. Presumably the rights to obtain that were too expensive?

"Precious One" is a soft and buttery track which has a similar blissful quality to their club staple sound "Pearl" without having the same amount of drive. It does sound like a quintessential example of the shoegazing sound in retrospect, being filled with layers of intricate detail and a distinctly foggy, hallucinogenic feel. It's never going to be hailed as the group's defining moment, but as a mere B-side it proved that some of the early hype Chapterhouse experienced wasn't totally unreasonable. After all, if they were throwing songs away which were this luxurious, they must have had moments of pure genius up their sleeves.



5. Slowdive - Catch The Breeze (Creation)

In case you were wondering, Volume 13 really proves that mid-1991 was Peak Shoegaze - the scene was utterly overrun with pie-eyed groups singing about being hypnotised, or watching dolphins, or flying about, or feeling the breeze against their faces. Honestly, anyone would have thought there was a huge fucking Donovan festival going on that year or something.

Slowdive were highly inspired by My Bloody Valentine and were also signed to Creation Records alongside them. Unlike MBV, though, Slowdive didn't experiment on their audiences to ascertain the psychological effects of extreme decibels, or record anything as occasionally terrifying as "Loveless". Most of their music was ponderous, deeply stoned sounding, and rich on atmospherics. "Catch The Breeze" isn't their finest single in my view - we'll catch up with that later - but does give a firm impression of where the group were at stylistically. Tumbling Nick Mason-esque drum patterns meet gentle melodies, Rachel Goswell's angelic, breathy vocals, and a closing melody which constantly reaches for some kind of blissed euphoria.

If you were being unkind, you could argue that (here in particular) they were an indiefied Clannad at best. Then again, if you were the Manic Street Preachers, you would argue that they were "worse than Hitler", which is harsher still. Certainly, there was something slightly retrograde and lacking in modernity about Slowdive - interviews revealed a band from comfortable backgrounds who had very little to say for themselves, and musically they sounded like a cosy, fuzzy sonic duvet at a time when Britain was a somewhat troubled country. If you're wondering why shoegazing bands from very middle class backgrounds were so frequently derided at the time, you have to understand their position in the context of the times, and also the backgrounds of many of the music journalists criticising them. Against the Poll Tax riots and a decade of seemingly unending and occasionally outright spiteful Conservative rule, they seemed docile and complacent, content with their position in the world. While they were hardly all emerging from the Thames Valley and other Home Counties areas to soundtrack some kind of enforced medication time, to many music journalists who had been versed on punk rebellion, they seemed uncomfortably close to an indulgent hippy past we were supposed to have been "saved" from. These all seem like ridiculous reasons to criticise a group's music in retrospect, possibly because they are.

In reality, a lot of material they recorded has stood the test of time extraordinary well, and perhaps sits more comfortably in the present day than it did in 1991. "Catch The Breeze" may not have been asking much of the listener other than to take a chill pill, but that's hardly much of a sin, and it still sounds sumptuous in places, which is what actually matters. We can hardly be expected to spend every minute of our waking lives being furious at the world, can we? (Cut to: Rik the People's Poet glaring furiously at my words on a computer screen and hissing "Hippy!"). 

Volume 12 Side 4 - Catherine Wheel, Moose, Levitation, Miranda Sex Garden, KLF

1. Catherine Wheel - She's My Friend (Wilde Club)

Great Yarmouth's Catherine Wheel were often regarded somewhat sniffily by the indie kids who sulked around my particular corner of the college common room. If My Bloody Valentine were the unquestionable innovators of shoegazing, and Ride had the melodic aggression and Slowdive the woozy pastoral atmospherics, Catherine Wheel felt a bit plastic and commercialised for some. The fact that the lead singer Rob Dickinson was the cousin of Iron Maiden's Bruce Dickinson and they signed to a major label as quickly as they could caused suspicious eyebrows to be furrowed too.

Truth be told, though, I genuinely liked - and like - the fact that Catherine Wheel brought a much lighter, frothier sound to the scene at this point in time. Compared to My Bloody Valentine some of their singles are effectively the early nineties equivalents of Status Quo's "Pictures of Matchstick Men", but for what it's worth, I love that single too. I enjoy it when pop collides with more underground ideas.

"She's My Friend", their debut single, enters the fray cautiously without too much in the way of frilly melodies. It's heavy on distortion and effects pedals, and has a sledgehammer guitar riff running through its core, but the sweet and pie-eyed nature of the vocals lift things up and stop them from becoming too rockist. It's seductive and psychedelic, seeming to have one foot in the shoegazing scene and the other in the recent Madchester past. It's closer to Blur's "She's So High" than My Bloody Valentine's "To Here Knows When".

We'll be meeting Catherine Wheel again and will have another chance to discuss them, but what is notable about the group is how they managed to forge a career way past that of any of their contemporaries, issuing their final LP in 2000 and even managing a string of mid-placed Top 75 singles until that point. Cult success in America and a willingness to adapt their sound as times moved on both acted in their favour.



2. Moose - Jack (Hut)

"We almost laughed..." "Jack" introduces itself abruptly on your stereo with the vocals, the rest of the band jumping in as if lead singer Russell Yates has surprised them with his sudden need to burst into song. The rest of the track swirls and snarls itself into a state of giddiness while Russell's indifferent delivery makes him sound like the indie Bernard Black.

The term "shoegazing" was apparently coined based on what one live critic witnessed at an early Moose gig, where Russell sellotaped the lyrics to some of the group's songs on the floor and sang most of the set with his head bowed, motionless. It wasn't meant to be a badge of approval, and indeed the term was thrown around somewhat disparagingly to start with before it became considered a "movement". As an attendee of many of the gigs by groups we're going to encounter over the next few entries, I can verify the fact the fact that whatever the value of the recorded work, a lot of these bands were spectacularly tedious live, and had tendencies to regard acknowledging audiences as being an unnecessary extra task. If you didn't have a full-time job and saved up money to go and watch bands play live as often as you could, it stuck in the craw when you effectively witnessed a rehearsal on stage behind an invisible glass wall. Some groups were far worse than others - and we'll get on to that - but in general, the scene didn't really make you feel as if it was a great time to be alive and of legal age to be let into gig venues. At least at the height of C86, there was some comradeliness with the other groups on the scene. At this point, the bands were often shambolic and aloof with it, which brought a frostiness to the party nobody really wanted. (The Manic Street Preachers bemoaned the scene's lack of obvious stars. Personally, I'd have just settled for more David Gedges or Andrea Lewises who actually possessed the ability to communicate something to an audience).

I never did catch Moose live, however, and only have rather critical live reviews to go on. On vinyl, they often packed a punch and delivered some of the movements more touching ballads as well. If Tindersticks had changed direction completely and reported to their local guitar shops to purchase a variety of effects pedals, there's a chance they might have ended up sounding a lot like Moose - sombre, reflective, a bit fragile but also giddy sounding. "Jack" rattles along confidently but has small, almost unidentifiable drops of moody Country music in its bones too - and as Moose's career went forward, they would begin to emphasise that aspect of their sound more.

For now, though, they were the quintessential cult shoegazing band, issuing critically praised records very few people actually bought.



3. Levitation - Nadine (Ultimate)

Strange as it may sound now, The House of Love were expected to be one of Britain's most successful alternative rock bands at the tail end of the eighties. Nobody talked about how it might happen, and everyone assumed it just would. Their early singles "Destroy The Heart", "Christine" and "I Don't Know Why I Love You" were all bordering on genius, and with Guy Chadwick's gift for weaving haunting and moody melodies and Terry Bicker's talent for creating unexpected and enchanting fretboard work, they seemed certain to go a very long way.

Sadly, however, Bickers lived up to his surname and was the source of endless bickering in the group and apparently "erratic behaviour". His relationship with Chadwick in particular was notably tense. In the middle of one argument, he began chanting "Guy Chadwick is a breadhead!" repetitively while burning banknotes under the irate singer's nose. He was thrown out of the group not long after, for which Alan McGee berated a hurt and demoralised Guy in a phone call with the words "You're nothing without him! Do you understand me? Nothing!"

McGee may have been short on tact, but he wasn't wrong. While The House of Love recorded some good singles after Terry Bickers' departure, it was apparent that they were never going to scale any creative heights again. And Bickers, cut loose from the sensible framework of Chadwick's melodies, took the opportunity to form Levitation and go full-on batshit with an occasionally almost proggish noise. As is often the case with creative divorces, nobody really came out on top, least of all the record buying public who were given two "quite good" bands as opposed to one who might genuinely have occupied the space The Stone Roses instead squeezed into.

Levitation's output often walked a tightrope between sheer psychedelic nonsense (albeit often entertaining nonsense) and strokes of the familiar Bickers genius. Just when you thought the group were going to hold on to a promising riff and build a straightforward epic single, they had a tendency to veer off in bizarre directions, often guided by Bickers inventive guitarwork. That their output has become much loved by some isn't in dispute, but for me it often feels too indulgent to connect.

"Nadine" was the lead track off their debut "Coppelia" EP, and is one-and-a-half minutes of blissful, flowery contemplations almost worthy of Donovan with a subtle, almost sleazy easy listening brass backing and occasional outbursts of noise. Anyone thinking Bickers possibly had a shot of becoming some kind of indie king had their expectations destroyed almost as soon as this burst out over the airwaves of evening Radio One - it's likeable, but a truly baffling opening statement of intent. And so it would continue.



4. Miranda Sex Garden - Gush Forth My Tears (Mute) - vinyl and cassette only

Although it has to be said, Miranda Sex Garden were almost as baffling an inclusion to the indie pantheon as Levitation were. Originally consisting of a female trio of madrigal singers, their first LP "Madra" was entirely a cappella, and made the group sound like something John Peel might have signed to Dandelion Records circa 1973.

Instrumentation was introduced to their sound after that release, and while they played with a full paintbox of possible sounds - often incorporating industrial, electronic and ambient textures into their mix - they never quite fitted in anywhere. "Gush Forth My Tears" is one of their most commercial moments, and while the Internet is being no help at all, I'm fairly sure it was briefly used by British Airways on a television commercial which (provided I'm not having a total memory failure) boosted its visibility a lot further than relying solely on airplay might. It also has a twittering, insistent electronic production which at its best almost recalls some of Ann Dudley's work with Art of Noise. It's a genuinely beautiful piece of work which is unexpectedly touching in places, and could perhaps have become a minor hit had it received enough support at the time.

I caught Miranda Sex Garden supporting Spiritualized on tour around this point, and while my memory is weak for most live bands of this period (as we've established, many of them were dreary) I can still visualise that gig to this day. The sight of women clad in black singing madrigal songs to grinding guitar atmospherics is something you struggle to forget.

Perhaps inevitably, some of the members eventually moved on to form the Mediæval Bæbes who had considerably more success, selling hundreds of thousands of LPs with a traditional sound not always terribly far removed from Miranda Sex Garden's origins.



5. KLF - Last Train To Trancentral (Pure Trance Version) (KLF Communications)

Like most KLF singles, "Last Train To Trancentral" came in a number of styles, flavours and guises, some seemingly limited to a bare hundred or so white labels, others the subject of more substantial limited edition runs.

This, the original "Pure Trance" version of the track, was limited to 2,000 copies and was barely really noticed on its original release in March 1990. Unlike the original versions of "What Time Is Love?" or "3am Eternal", which were sparse, repetitious floor-fillers, this is much more melodic and ambient in tone, dropping much more intricate and fluid synthesiser sounds into the mix - at some points, in fact, it comes close to aping the most dinner-party friendly moments of Jean Michel Jarre without quite crossing the line into eighties frothiness (perhaps Guru Josh had been dripping advice into Drummond and Cauty's ears).

Despite its relative complexity, it does still sound very sparse up against the final Stadium House mix, which was arguably the KLF's peak achievement on 45, and also less atmospheric than the elements which were utilised on "Chill Out" a mere month before. In common with a lot of less familiar KLF remixes or versions of their best-known work, it's likeable and curious sounding, but ultimately just leaves you hungry for the real deal. "Last Train To Trancentral" in this form is a pleasant and enjoyable journey, but in other forms it scales mountains.

Still, in those pre-Internet days if you hadn't been fortunate enough to buy one of the 2,000 copies of the original version of this single, this volume of "Indie Top 20" was your only hope - and at the time, I was grateful for the chance to have this on vinyl in some shape or form.

Volume 12 Side Three - Curve, Throwing Muses, Kitchens of Distinction, Buffalo Tom, Manic Street Preachers

1. Curve - Ten Little Girls (Anxious)

While Curve emerged on the music scene seemingly from nowhere in 1991, both Toni Halliday and Dean Garcia had a long history. Both had previously played in the group State of Play together, who ran up a £100,000 debt producing two flop singles and a flop album for Virgin. Toni Halliday went off to attempt a solo career, which had a slightly higher media profile (though Record Mirror somewhat sniffily referred to her as "another pretty blonde in a leather jacket") but didn't really catch the public's imagination either. While her solo records weren't awful, they were also distinctly unmemorable, slick late eighties pop fare.

Given all the above, when Garcia and Halliday reunited for Curve in December 1989, nobody expected fireworks. Both had enormous talent, but neither had really successfully utilised it outside of a "session musician/ voice for hire" context, and certainly neither had managed to produce anything of particular note while working together. At the time, then, Curve were a huge shock. Toni Halliday re-emerged with jet black hair, pale shining foundation and thick mascara, fronting a rumbling juggernaut of Garcia's soundscapes. There were those who suspected the entire situation was contrived - a last-ditch attempt by two flop musicians in their late twenties to obtain credibility and a mainstream career by stealth. The fact they were signed to Dave Stewart's Anxious label did little to assuage these critics.

The first single "Ten Little Girls" doesn't sound as if it could possibly have been created in a cynical way, though. Garcia clearly took to the foundations of the track with an acute precision. It feels like a finely sculpted piece of industrial noise, smoothed and sanded into softer and more peculiar shapes. While other groups of the era tried to jar the listener with an onslaught of noise, "Ten Little Girls" contains a richness of detail. From the howls of feedback to the rattling rhythm track and rumbling basslines, to Halliday's varied and evolving lyrics and vocal contributions, it manages to feel aggressive and urgent without losing its impact forty or fifty listens down the line. Halliday's voice is also being used to brilliant effect here. Outside of a pop context, it's softness can be made to sound dangerous and threatening. Even the added rap, which was normally a horrible early nineties mistake on indie records, works well here, contributing an added aggression.

Curve became music press icons very quickly, appearing on numerous front covers, aided partly by the fact that Toni Halliday was (let's be honest) not unattractive. My teenage self was fascinated by her looks and neurotic lyricisms, as indeed was just about every heterosexual and bisexual boy at college.

Given all the above, the world should have been their oyster, but as we'll go on to discover, Curve's sound, while sounding fantastically new and startling at first, rapidly became familiar. And while they made frequently marvellous records, all were niche sounds which lacked obvious pop melodies and didn't sit easily on "Top of the Pops"; although they would eventually appear on that show.



2. Throwing Muses - Counting Backwards (4AD)

Next to Curve, Throwing Muses sounded almost conventional in this track sequencing, but obviously they're not. "Counting Backwards" is yet another example of them weaving a hook-ridden pop tune around a quirky and unusual structure. There are moments around the chorus where it almost finds a Talking Heads styled groove, only for the track to slide back into a tumbling rhythm pattern and peculiar howling guitar lines.

With each progressive LP release, the group were steadily reaching more people. When we first met them on Volume Three of this series with "Cry Baby Cry", they were a seriously cult concern, sounding rough around the edges and faintly out of step with the era. As time progressed, however, their eccentricity became a beacon for numerous fans who recognised that Kristin Hersh occupied an intelligent and uninhibited arthouse approach not easily found in late eighties and early nineties alternative music (outside of Sugarcubes records, anyway). They had few rivals, and "Counting Backwards" is an example of an immediately memorable single with beautiful spikes and angles attached. They were now moving away from the world of inky fanzines and into the glossy pages of Q magazine.



3. Kitchens of Distinction - Drive That Fast (One Little Indian) - vinyl and cassette only

With lyrics seemingly taking on the topic of the early stages of a love affair where the conditions and seriousness have yet to fully establish themselves, "Drive That Fast" is simultaneously joyous and paranoid sounding. Whooshing past in a giddy rush, it's elated one minute then cautious the next ("I would never wish this much on you") and the group are asked to keep up with Patrick Fitzgerald's dual emotional state.

It's a lovely take on those early feelings, and utilises a similar roar of guitar effects pedals and multi-tracked ideas to Curve on track one - meaning that this could have more ideally sat as track two. By the end, you're still not quite sure what the romantic conclusion is. The outro is giddy sounding, but sounds equally drunkenly paranoid as loved-up and excited. Fitzgerald sounds as if he has stepped on to a merry-go-round without really giving the option any forethought, and now it's spinning far faster than he expected - a thrilling ride, but if it stops suddenly, he'll be face-first into the gutter with cuts and bruises, and possibly worse if the landing is particularly poor. The thrill wouldn't exist without the danger, but the danger can never be completely eliminated from the thought processes.

While the lyrics are also a simple series of thoughts rather than philosophical musings on the condition, they do have a unique quality by considering the dangers faced by the other half. Quite unusually and generously for pop music, they recognise that two people are facing peril by another possible failed and demanding relationship, not just the singer. The concern expressed is distinctly un-rock and roll and lacking in decadence, and offers to protect the partner rather than view them as a complication.



4. Buffalo Tom - Fortune Teller (Situation Two)

Following the epic sludge of "Birdbrain", "Fortune Teller" was actually something of a let down. A piece of countrified lo-fi, it stumbles along its own particular dirt track occasionally bumping into grungey bits of fury and distortion on the way - but never once really making a coherent case for itself. It's only charm seems to lie in its slightly rugged innocence. Without much in the way of direction, a chorus, or an easily relatable theme, it lurches drunkenly from one segment to the next as if they're inconvenient obstacles and arguments. Frankly, a single it ain't. It's barely even a B side.

Future efforts would be considerably more rounded, and "Fortune Teller" seems to have been the moment Buffalo Tom waved goodbye to any underground roots they had to create better crafted records - and by the sounds of it, that wasn't a bad thing at all.



5. Manic Street Preachers - You Love Us (Heavenly)

"You Love Us" takes the thrilling rush of "Motown Junk" and marries it to a much poppier melody, edging the group that bit closer to the mainstream American rock sounds they admired. Still, while those fiddly, flashy guitar lines did initially seem irksome, "You Love Us" is almost the equal of their Heavenly debut, marrying ridiculous arrogance - whoever heard of a band demanding "You Love Us" in such a direct and obvious way and expecting to be taken seriously? - with an energy which sounds as if it tore the recording studio walls down.

While The Manics seemed surprised by the levels of vitriol spat at them from some quarters, they were clearly doing everything to create a clear dividing line between those who would these days be called "haters" and their fans. "You Love Us" acknowledges both their problem and their attraction with the hasty line "You love us like a holocaust!" and dares listeners to step forward into their camp. It seems like a spectacularly silly gesture, of course, because it is - but then it's tapping into the roots of rock and roll rebellion, only this time the "squares" were the university educated stoners listening to bands like Slowdive, while the hip Manics fans were teenage kids in search of something, anything, remotely glamorous which articulated their frustrations.

To cap it all off, the track finishes with an unashamed steal of Iggy Pop's "Lust for Life" riff, before spluttering suddenly into feedback and confusion and finally nothingness.

This is the last time we'll meet them for the purposes of this blog. After such a shameless display, they promptly signed on the dotted line with Columbia and got ready for superstardom. Far from achieving overnight multi-platinum success, though, the group would embark on a long and wearisome journey which destroyed one member and left the others sounding prematurely haggard and world-beaten by the time they reached the summit. Whether you prefer the young, spunky Manics, the early Columbia era Manics or the sombre but successful and well-fed Manics is, of course, a debate which has kept the group's forums aflame for many a moon, and one which is too complex to go into here... though I may as well add my ha'penny opinion into the mix by briefly saying that "Generation Terrorists" is one of the most disappointing LPs I've ever bought (even containing a neutered and inferior version of this track) and stacked up next to that, "Everything Must Go" is an absolute masterpiece, even if it reached a broader audience Manics fans felt less comfortable sharing air with.

Volume 12 Side Two - Saint Etienne, Candyland, New FADS, Bridewell Taxis, The Hoovers

1. Saint Etienne - Nothing Can Stop Us Now (Heavenly)

When we last met Saint Etienne on volume 10, most listeners probably had a sense that they were going to be another here-today gone-tomorrow bedroom DJ act who only had one or two good ideas in their system. "Only Love Can Break Your Heart" was an extraordinary cover, but one which could easily have been a happy pop accident.

"Nothing Can Stop Us Now" clearly indicated that Wiggs and Stanley had equally bold, big ideas in their arsenal. Using the (uncredited) intro to Dusty Springfield's "I Can't Wait Until I See My Baby's Face" as its central hook, it somehow ends up sounding like it belongs to 1991 but every era prior to that, too. The sample itself may stem from 1967, but the way it's utilised here makes it sound as if it originated from a piece of bouyant, optimistic mid-seventies disco (puffing flutes alongside funky grooves were, after all, the staples of dancefloor monsters like "Do The Hustle"). Throughout, Sarah Cracknell's vocals sound part indie, part Debbie Harry - as their career progressed her voice would find softer, subtler tones, occasionally oddly akin to Jackie Lee, but here it's pure sass.

Throughout, the creeping bassline and swinging rhythms make you feel as if you're strolling down a city street with the sun on your face listening to Philly soul. It's a beautiful ball of influences and ideas which never fails to lift me up a little, and ensured that Saint Etienne became a key group to watch; while they were never really considered Britpop (except in very early Select magazine articles about that movement) there's no question that their early nineties releases used retro influences in an intelligent and successful way which laid the foundations for that scene to emerge.



2. Candyland - Fountain Of Youth (non-fiction)

While they seemed to be marketed as an indie-dance act, there was something very fishy about Candyland. Those strident, slickly produced grooves, chiming keyboard noises and soulful vocals didn't really make them sound 'indie' so much as the rightful heirs to Living In A Box's success, only with Housier beats tacked on. And obviously, "Non-fiction" was the subsidiary label to Fiction Records, who were in turn part of the Polydor group.

I don't really want to start an argument with any musicologists about how 'alternative' this sound is or isn't, but "Fountain Of Youth" certainly sounded like a possible pop hit in waiting, which might be how the group found themselves sneaking on to radio playlists and programmes like "Wogan" to promote the single. Filled with swagger and House-styled keyboard riffs, it makes the right moves and has exactly the right production for a mainstream 1991 smash, but ultimately isn't enough of a Tune. It had enough oomph behind it to nudge into the National Top 75 - though only just, at number 73 - but the fact that it's a single hardly anyone ever talks about today (if they even actually remember it) is rather telling.

When the Non-Fiction label (ostensibly created to break new bands) was wound up as a project, Candyland were moved over to the main Fiction Records label, where they staggered on until 1993 - but this was their biggest selling single.



3. New Fast Automatic Daffodils - Get Better (PIAS)

Everyone's favourite lo-fi baggy arthouse creatures employed the services of Martin Hannett for this single, and it became one of his last commercially issued productions. The original video (not available in full online) features a bedraggled and disturbed looking Hannett being ferried around a studio in a wobbly and unstable shopping trolley, an experience he apparently didn't want to go through and found terrifying - numerous friends of his have come forward since and said that the treatment of the video directors and band towards him was both disrespectful and ghoulishly mocking at this final point in his life.

In the group's defence, it's possible they had no idea at all how uncomfortable Hannett was or how close he was to death (after many years of drug abuse he was clearly not a sharp or happy individual anymore, but he was still an in-demand producer with a lot of other work in the pipeline). They did, however, talk about how he managed to 'decommercialise' this track, resulting in something which sounded closer to an album track than a single.

There's no question that "Get Better" has dimensions to it that were non-existent on previous New Fads recordings. The swooping guitar noises, the fact that the driving rhythms are pushed front-of-centre, the way the vocals sound agitated, battling with the other elements around them - it is actually exactly what you'd expect a Hannett produced New Fads single to sound like, so quite what they expected is anyone's guess. For all that, though, while "Big" and "Fishes' Eyes" had space and air between their grooves, and stretched out contentedly, "Get Better" is claustrophobic and panicked sounding.

It's not either party's greatest work, but it is something I'm glad I got to hear. It also signposted a possible road the New Fads could have journeyed down as the Baggy Party came to a close - but their next big moment of exposure came with the single "It's Not What You Know" which bemoaned their marginalised status over the occasional chops of angrily thrashed guitars.



4. Bridewell Taxis - Don't Fear The Reaper (Stolen)

Bridewell Taxis had numerous fantastic and under-appreciated singles in their catalogue, so the fact the only other track of theirs we're going to discuss besides "Spirit" is this cover of the Blue Oyster Cult classic is unfortunate. Indeed, even at the time music critics were quick to cock a snook at this single, feeling that an indie take on the cowbell-infused track wasn't something anybody had actually ordered. However - whisper it - I actually quite like this version.

It came out at a point where many indie bands were scoring rogue hits with covers of classics, the biggest smash of which was undoubtedly Candy Flip's shameful "Strawberry Fields Forever", a record which does get raved about online now, but frankly I don't care if I never hear it again. It was increasingly being seen as an opportunistic move, an attempt to launch whole careers off the back of other people's good work which, as it happened, very seldom actually paid dividends.

Then there's the minor issue of the tastes of the early nineties - "Don't Fear The Reaper" was, as cover version choices go, inadvisable. Most bands at the time were idly whacking on funky drummer loops and wah-wah guitar to bog-standard covers of sixties classics to gain psychedelic cool points. The excesses of seventies adult rock hadn't really been explored yet, for the simple reason that music critics were still surprisingly sniffy about that era.

Given these walloping great facts, then, you could be forgiven for wondering what the case for the defence actually is. Primarily, I would argue that "Don't Fear The Reaper" is actually a really good song, but Blue Oyster Cult's original version of it has multi-tracked vocals so limping, anaemic and lifeless they sound like two lovers committing suicide by slowly drowning in porridge. Suffering from the worst kind of clinical seventies over-production, there's no emotion in the rendition at all, and a lot of nastily fussy guitar lines far too high up in the mix (and if you're reading this and shaking your head, you should probably be aware that I'd be happy to throw even worse insults at some album Pink Floyd did called "Dark Side of the Moon").

What The Bridewell Taxis did was create something which is definitely rougher, with squeaking organs where the guitars would normally be, a slightly harder, more agitated vocal, and some brilliant subtle use of brass which reminds me of the Salvation Army band on a weekend. It's a much more pleasing version which is more foggy and autumnal, but still manages to add some grit into the mix. And well... you can't deny that the driving riff was always a good one to start with.

Your mileage may vary, however, and you may feel that the ghostly sounding Blue Oyster Cult original sounds faint and defeated because that's precisely how it's supposed to sound. Public opinion would obviously be on your side.

As for the Bridewell Taxis, they collapsed not long after this single, and a new line-up emerged under the name of The Bridewells - but by that point, the momentum had been lost.



5. The Hoovers - Mr. Average (Produce) - vinyl and cassette only

Back when I had a college radio show in Essex absolutely nobody listened to, I sent my details off to a variety of record companies in the hope of blagging advance promo copies of singles, which everyone completely ignored apart from bands on local labels. No surprises there, then. Amazingly, though, Liverpool's The Hoovers - who were signed to The Farm's Produce label, and doubtless got my details after I tried to flatter The Farm by telling them they were my college's favourite band as proved in a scientific poll - regularly got in touch. Not with promotional copies or even TDK cassettes of their work, though, just small fanzines chronicling their lives and activities, and occasionally hand-written letters asking for on-air plugs. It was a lovely piece of grass-roots indie promotion which revealed a band with a sense of humour who didn't really have the budget to produce anything more ambitious. I was left with the notion that if I ever met The Hoovers, I'd probably like them as people - and that's not a bad impression to leave rookie DJs and promoters with. So many bands are ghastly little shits, after all.

Unfortunately, "Mr. Average" is really nothing special. Lyrically mocking the life of a nine-to-fiver, it has a beefy, confident rhythm section, but lacks anything distinctive, exciting or memorable otherwise. The song managed to pick up John Peel airplay and the group received positive reviews in the music press at this time, so obviously bigger and better people than me disagreed with my assessment, but the track has since become so obscure that I've had to upload it to YouTube myself.

This single featured on the band's "Tied Up and Tickled" LP which was released in 1992, but that became the band's final release.

Volume 12 Side One - The Charlatans, The Wendys, The Dylans, Spirea X, Spacemen 3

Year of Release: 1991
Format: Double LP/ CD/ Cassette

A new dawn. Volume 12 of "Indie Top 20" launched with a new sleeve design, a new compiler (Tim Millington, not Chet and Bee) and no individual sleeve notes for each track but beyond that, not the sense that much had changed. Despite having the mysterious Millington on editorial duties, any number of the acts on "Volume 12" would have slotted neatly on to a previous volume, so very little seemed to be afoot.

"Volume 12" is occasionally referred to as the LP with an overload of shoegazing acts, but in reality there's a broad enough mix here. A few baggy bands get to have their final moments in the sun too, and it's a fair reflection of what was going on during the strange summer of late period baggy and high water mark shoegazing. Grunge had yet to break through in any meaningful sense, and while that would in time go on to become "the enemy" of all self-respecting British indie bands - if you were Damon Albarn, anyway - most of the early 1991 outrage was directed at those blasted middle-class shoegazing bands, so much so that Nicky Wire was moved to comment that Slowdive were "worse than Hitler". Tsk. We didn't know we were born, I tell you.

1. The Charlatans - Happen To Die (Dead Dead Good)

While a one-sided promotional copy of "Happen To Die" does exist, in reality this was best known to the public as track four off their "Over-Rising" EP - an effort which had the altogether jauntier and bouncier title track as the first sound off the grooves, which would have made a much more convincing opening track here too.

"Happen To Die" begins with mournful organ chords, the usual distinctive, high ended Charlatans bass playing sound, and an unlikely announcement from Tim Burgess: "Don't give me that disease/ I can't find my way out". Oho. Like "Then", then, it's another example of the band at their darkest and moodiest, showing a sensitive and woebegone side that casual listeners of the group are probably barely aware exists.

There's a slightly weak production here, though, and the whole thing sounds as if it could have done with more time in the studio oven - while the bass runs and the rhythm patterns are enticing, the song itself never seems to quite scale the heights it should and almost feels like a live run-through in places. The ending in particular seems uncertain, awkward and as if the loose threads hadn't quite been tied up yet.

After this, the "Indie Top 20" series takes the confusing and inconvenient step of ignoring The Charlatans for some time, meaning we miss out on "Weirdo", the fantastic and largely forgotten "Me In Time", and "Tremelo Song", all of which knock "Happen To Die" into a cocked hat. So it goes.



2. The Wendys - Pulling My Fingers Off (Factory)

The Wendys were probably some of the most unfortunate bastards ever to grace the back-end of the baggy scene. Not only did these Edinburgh boys move to Manchester just as the scene started to fade, they also signed to Factory Records, who were in serious financial trouble at the time. I'm tempted to say that they might as well have recorded their debut LP "Gobbledygook" and left most of their copies on a garden wall somewhere - it probably would have had more exposure that way (to the elements if nothing else).

They've often been highlighted as Madchester failures since, but in fact a lot of their work has a very intricate atmosphere, a moody, chiming soundscape somewhere between The Roses and The Bunnymen. "Pulling My Fingers Off" is a great example, combining a jingle jangle melody with dark rhythm patterns and morbid, absurdist lyrics. It doesn't make an immediate impression, but over subsequent listens slowly worms its way into your brain, nagging away with its warm, intricate sound. The single that preceded it, "The Sun Is Going To Shine For Me Soon" is equally rich and rewarding.

Inevitably their goose was cooked when Factory died a death, and they've found themselves relegated to the footnotes of the era since - but they still had enough respect and enough of a following to reform in 1999 to release the "Sixfootwingspan" LP.



3. The Dylans - Lemon Afternoon (Situation Two)

I've been waiting a long time to write this entry. Way back in August, when I published the first ever proper entry on this blog, I wrote about Sheffield's One Thousand Violins. Guitarist Colin Gregory of that group joined The Dylans, who we are only just talking about now - six months later in blog time, but over four years in real time.

Like The Wendys, The Dylans frequently found themselves ducking critical flak for being a vaguely Madchestery band existing outside of a socially acceptable time period for that kind of noise, in much the same manner that provincial psychedelic pop groups releasing singles in late '68 and 1969 were often greeted with music press sneers.  Now that such considerations of what's a hot sound and what's not have faded away as we take a backwards view from our rear view mirrors, it's possible to have a more enlightened view of their work, and "Lemon Afternoon" is genuinely beautiful. Utterly Byrds inspired, unbelievably derivative, and very simple, naturally, but wonderful nonetheless. Taking a droning, repetitive riff, and layering innocent, luscious folk-rock vocals on top, it sucks you into its dreamworld instantly, the shimmering guitars and hypnotic rhythms causing you to jump on the nearest lilo and float downstream.

This is one of those tracks I still play at least a few times a year, and still enjoy hugely whenever the mood takes me. Had it been released a mere year or two before, there's a strong possibility it would have received a much more enthusiastic audience.

The Dylans abandoned their psychedelic sound in 1994 for a harder-edged rock sound, and promptly sounded more relevant but less welcoming. Elements of their 1991 noise, though, including this, "Godlike", "Planet Love" and "Mary Quant In Blue" are all well worth tracking down, and have a warmth and innocence that's immediately compelling.



4. Spirea X - Chlorine Dream (4AD)

Jim Beattie quit Primal Scream in 1988, and two years later Spirea X (named after a Primal Scream B-side he himself penned) were born, with the open ambition to completely outscore and out-perform Gillespie and company. But titter ye not, dear readers, for Primal Scream in 1988 were leather-trousered no-hopers putting out records which could only be fairly described as "quite nice in places, rather dreary in others". Anyone bailing from the group at that point in their careers clearly had fair reasons.

While Alan McGee was allegedly hurt that Beattie jumped to 4AD for Spirea X's material, in terms of success the group's performance didn't match their confidence and he probably saved himself some money. "Chlorine Dream" was an easy Indie Top 10 hit, though, and slots next to "Lemon Afternoon" fantastically well in terms of arrangement - it's another psychedelic, Byrdsian drone which drips atmosphere and warms the heart. Sadly, though, it's not quite as good and doesn't quite stand up to its nearest neighbour - which makes it a slightly cruel, if entirely logical, piece of track sequencing.

Spirea X would release one more single, then the LP "Fireblade Skies" which was critically well received, but didn't sell convincingly. 4AD dropped them in 1992, and they split up in response, leaving Jim Beattie to re-emerge in Adventures In Stereo.



5. Spacemen 3 - Big City (Fire)

By this point, Spacemen 3 were barely a functioning unit. Their final album "Recurring" was essentially a split effort, with Peter Kember taking on one half of the LP while Jason Pierce dealt with the other, making it sound like a "White Album" for the early nineties, with the reverse magnetic force of two egos pushing away from each other while the rest of the group did their best to deal with the situation.

"Big City" was a Kember effort inspired by his visit to a "Rave", and is essentially a very, very Spacemen 3 take on that House party sound. Which means that it's hypnotic as well as squelchy, and riddled with scaling, spiritual church organ sounds as well as incantations (kind of) to get on the dancefloor. It really sounds more like an early nineties take on krautrock than Acid House as a result, and while that may not have been the intention, it does still stand up as a result, whereas a lot of the earliest Acid sounds don't. If there's a problem with "Big City" at all, it's that it's full ten minute version feels unnecessarily lengthy, and could do with at least a few minutes trimmed off its running time. The video edit below is perfect (and this compilation could certainly have crammed an extra track on to its CD version if that version had been used instead).

After this single saw the light of day, Spacemen 3 effectively ceased to be, and Kember and Pierce walked off in different directions to have two very different careers. Kember would continue his droning psychedelic ambitions in Spectrum, whereas Pierce would continue forward with Spiritualized, amassing greater critical and commercial success on the way.