(Vinyl Love is a series of posts that quite simply lists, describes, and displays the pieces in my growing vinyl collection. You can bet that each record was given a spin during the drafting of each corresponding post.)
Artist: Spiritualized Album Title: And nothing hurt Year released: 2018 Details: standard black, embossed morse code on cover
The skinny: Many of you know by now that I’m a pretty big Spiritualized fan, my favourite of their albums still being 1997’s “Ladies and gentlemen we are floating in space“. So I was pretty eager to get to listen to this latest, the eighth for the outfit, ever since I heard this album was a sort of return to 1997 form. I’m currently on the third spin through and I’m just letting it wash over me. It definitely sounds better on my turntable than on my iPod and it’s definitely Spiritualized. Perhaps I’ll have a more concrete opinion after a few more spins…
When we first moved to Ottawa in 2001, my wife Victoria was working for Rogers Cable, having transferred there with her job in the company’s call centre. After a couple of months, though, she ended up quitting the job when she found it too much with the workload that her studies demanded. It was good for her in the long run but we took a hit financially for a while and we lost the benefit we received of discounted digital cable service. I may be misremembering it now but I feel like we had every channel known to humankind for the low, low price of free. Of course, we couldn’t afford such luxury on my own meagre salary, so the cable service was cancelled completely when she left the job.
One of the channels I discovered during that brief period was the Edge channel. Connected, I believe, to Toronto’s alternative rock radio channel, it played more music videos than the traditional MuchMusic was doing at the time and of the specific type of music that often appealed to me. And it was here that I first heard the song (and watched the video for) “Stop your crying” by Spiritualized.
I knew that a new album by the band was forthcoming, of course. I had been hotly anticipating it since I fell hard for their third album, 1997’s “Ladies and gentlemen we are floating in space”, and in the four year interim, had gone back to purchase and play and replay the previous two. Jason Pierce, meanwhile, had sacked the majority of the band after the “Ladies and gentlemen” tours, enlisted new players, and brought in over a hundred other hands to help record the new album. For “Let it come down”, he moved away from the shoegaze and space, towards a different wall of sound created by symphonic elements: horns and strings and choirs.
The aforementioned video for the song matches the mood and flow of the song perfectly, starting with Jason Pierce seemingly standing alone on a stage during the song’s quiet intro and punch-to-the-gut opening lines. “Nothing hurts you like the pain of someone you love. There ain’t nothing you can gain that prepares you enough.” Then, the lights come up, revealing a stage full of musicians for the exuberance of the chorus lines, while Pierce remains still, singing, oblivious to the other players on the stage, still alone. And he does this throughout, even at the end, when the orchestra is trashing the place and their instruments, he is focused on delivering his message of love and hurt. The video is cut with stills showing images of Pierce and members of his band at intimate moments, suggesting that each of them (and really, us) are all dealing with personal demons and angst. And Pierce, at the centre of this whole storm, wants to take all of our pain away. So great.
For the rest of the Best tunes of 2001 list, click here.
At some point during my second or third year in Ottawa, my youngest brother Michael came up to visit for a weekend. I’m pretty sure it was at the suggestion and financing of my mother, who had already been moved up to the NWT for a few years. Him and I were ten years apart in age, which meant by the time he was just reaching his teen years, I had already moved away from home to go to university. I didn’t really know him, though it never occurred to me at the time.
Michael came up by Greyhound bus. If I remember correctly, he caught the bus in Oshawa, a milk run route that wends its way through Peterborough and a host of other towns on the 7, a longer, more arduous trip than the express run between Ottawa and Toronto, one that Victoria and I were already sick of taking. He slept on the couch during his stay with us in that one bedroom basement apartment in Vanier but on the plus side was able to sample some of Victoria’s already fine cooking. I took him to see all the pertinent sights of our fair capital (at least, as I knew them at the time): parliament hill, the Byward market, the Rideau canal, Sparks street, the original D’arcy McGee’s pub, and of course, the Elgin Street Diner for poutine.
One of things I always remember about that visit is that his backpack was packed with more CDs than clothing and I remember thinking on that if we lived closer, we’d probably get along just fine. During the final night of his stay, we played each other selections from our CD collections, taking turns swapping them in and out of my five disc carousel. I don’t remember everything he played for me that night but a few have stuck with me: Oasis’s “Stop crying your eyes out” single, OK Go’s self-titled debut and Black Rebel Motorcycle Club’s debut “B.R.M.C.” (You knew I’d get here eventually, right?)
Not exactly the minute he put on the opening track, “Love burns”, but the moment the miasmic intro faded and the raunchy strumming started, the drum flourish, and ultra cool vocals, I said to my brother: “This sounds like The Jesus and Mary Chain.” Yes, indeed. Give it a listen and I’m sure you won’t disagree. It’s noisy and aggressive, it’s leather jackets and sunglasses, it’s edgy and raw. And it’s this last that fit it right in with the garage rock movement that was taking off at the time. I loved it and went out shortly afterwards to get myself a copy of the album. Check it out.
For the rest of the Best tunes of 2001 list, click here.
My (life in) music lists 