Dream Machines book launch covers the entire history of everything (and talks about cassette tapes for a bit)

The Manchester launch for Matthew Collin’s new book Dream Machines: Electronic Music in Britain From Doctor Who to Acid House^ was an ambitious affair.

The launch was held at the Louder Than Words festival^ on 16 November 2024. It attempted to cover every beat of electronic music history, from post-war experimentalism to the rise of techno. In a 90-minute event, this mission was doomed to failure, but that's okay – we had a jolly good time attempting the impossible.

On the panel, Matthew was joined by Graham Massey from 808 State, DJ and rapper Aniff Akinola, and member of Quando Quango, Hillegonda Rietveld. A bunch of sonic superbrains, wrangled by question-master and host Ryan Walker.

There was love for Daphne Oram. They discussed Barry Gray’s puppetry electronica. There were mentions of Cabaret Voltaire and Human League, of course. Respect for the “untutored electronics” of Hawkwind, the first band Massey saw live.

They highlighted contrasts too. The opposing tones of the cold Kraftwerk and the sensuous Stevie Wonder. Electronic music as being simultaneously music of the people and music of the avant-garde. And despite bleepy music breaking into the pop charts, they discussed the outsiders and the mavericks of electronic music culture. “I love it, and I love you,” said Collins.

Remember cassette-swapping culture? They touched on how the advent of cassette players fed the hobbyist scene, as people explored new sounds on their own terms. Indeed, Akinola said his childhood was devoid of pop music because of his parents’ religious beliefs, yet the family still had a top-end Aiwa cassette recorder because his mum wanted to record her pastor’s sermons.

And the huge, huge importance of dub music. “It was a new way of experiencing music as a listener,” said Matthew. “It changed everything.” 

Dub wasn’t easy to produce during its earlier development, said Akinola. “We had it harder in the old days, because we didn't have sound systems that physically assaulted you!”

What else? The list is long. I think it was Rietveld that mentioned using an LFO wobble as a rhythm track. They chatted about Malcolm X samples. About learning to cut tape as an editing technique. Blacktronica and West London broken beat. Gary Clail and Adrian Sherwood. The influence of StreetSounds compilations. “Voodoo rage” becoming “voodoo ray”. Mantronix using scratching samples at the Hacienda, much to the chagrin of other DJs in the room. Larry Heard’s “brutal electronics” arriving in our ears seemingly without origin. 

As you'd expect, the Roland TB-303 came in for praise. Its unexpected rise as an acid machine happened because people ignored its original intention as a bassline instrument.

Explained Akinola: “Its sonics are close to a saxophone which is near to the human vocal range. So it’s almost speaking to the human consciousness. This is why I think it was such a popular instrument, when it was used in the wrong manner.”

It was a proper Manchester event, with old Hacienda ravers present in the audience. Just before the launch, Akinola and Massey realised they had gone to the same secondary school, Burnage High. I didn’t say anything. I was a Parrs Wood lad.

As I'm a former bookseller, let's do a proper plug for the book. Dream Machines is "a paean to all the originators and early adopters of electronic music", according to Stephen Mallinder. '"A perceptive and highly entertaining breakdown of the crucial development of some of the most innovative music of my dreams," says Martyn Ware.

You can buy the book from all good bookshops^ and some evil websites.

Further Fats: Chosen Words – R is for Rhythm (2010)

Further Fats: I too am a book killer – the Manchester Central Library book disposal (2015)

Ultimate 90s number one: Things can only get Doopier

As I write this latest instalment of the Ultimate 1990s Number One contest, the world seems to have gone to hell in a handbasket. Which is a phrase that is thought to have originated from the practice of guillotined heads that land in baskets, as featured in an 18th century book by Winslow Ayer about civil war. Thanks, Wikipedia.

So with that bloody backdrop in mind, let's turn our attention to the painfully trivial task of deciding, of all 1990s UK number one singles, which was the bleepiest banging tune. Here are the latest contenders in this never-ending chart battle. Of the 120+ featured so far, only 15 tracks have made it through to the next round.

The contenders

B*Witched: Blame It On The Weatherman  |  Billie: Because We Want To  |  Boyzone: When The Going Gets Tough  |  Boyzone: You Needed Me  |  Chaka Demus & Pliers: Twist And Shout  |  Cliff Richard: The Millennium Prayer  |  D:Ream: Things Can Only Get Better  |  Doop: Doop  |  Puff Daddy and Faith Evans featuring 112: I'll Be Missing You  |  Robson & Jerome: Unchained Melody / White Cliffs of Dover 

God's number one

In a 2010 blog post about Christian music, I described Cliff Richard's The Millennium Prayer as "stripping the charts of all that is good and holy". This belch of Satanic nonsense paired the words of the Lord's Prayer with the tune of Auld Lang Syne, with all the grace of a vicar performing a baptism on roller skates. The song must be exorcised from this competition, like wot they did with that spinny head girl in that Tubular Bells movie.

 

Now, I'm not saying Boyzone are Beelzebub: that's for you to decide. Two of Boyzone's six 1990s number one singles appear in this selection. One is a Comic Relief cover of a Billy Ocean song, and one prevented Geri Halliwell's Look At Me from getting to number one. So mixed fortunes. But they have no place in a bleepy banger contest.

Not a massive tune

Here is another clutch of singles that I will gladly eliminate from this competition.

Despite versions by the Beatles, the Isley Brothers, the Tremeloes and Salt N Pepa, Chaka Demus & Pliers is the only group to get Twist And Shout to the top of the UK singles chart. Its one redeeming grace is that it knocked Mr Blobby off the top spot.

I described Unchained Melody as a "massive tune" in a March 2024 edition of Ultimate 1990s Number One. However, a cover of Unchained Melody by two blokes from the TV series Soldier Soldier that, incidentally, made Simon Cowell a millionaire cannot, on any level, be described as a "massive tune". Robson & Jerome? Nope.

In the video for B*Witched's Blame It On The Weatherman, the inoffensive songsters fanny about on a soggy juggernaut. In the week this topped the charts, Underworld's Push Upstairs made a brief appearance at number 12. Underworld should have been number one. They weren't. I blame this on the B*Witched women.

Time crime

The next two tracks are bangers. They are bangier than an old banger driven by a sausage which is also known as a banger.

Is Billie Piper a better Billy than Billies Joel, Ocean or Bragg? Yes, because she went and did time travel with that phone box doctor guy who wasn't a real doctor. The music video for Because We Want To had Billie prancing about in a UFO, which is way more impressive than a Tardis. Anyway, definitely a banger. But not bleepy.

Sting sued Puff Daddy after the rapper ripped off The Police for the Notorious BIG tribute I'll Be Missing You. This is not Mr Puff's worst crime. The lyrics are appalling as is his clunky rap flow. Also not his biggest crime. He prevented Bitter Sweet Symphony from getting to number one. Also not the biggest crime. Somehow, the song is still a banger.

Is it the best thing?

This leaves us with two chart-topping acts with electronic music credentials. But are they banging enough to get through to the next round of this competition?

The Dutch duo Doop had a massive smash hit for their electro swing take on the Charleston. Their follow-up singles appropriated easy listening and ska. The video for their single Huckleberry Jam had a fart joke. Nothing good came from Doop by Doop.

And finally, you can walk my path, you can wear my shoes... After its release in early 1993, D:Ream's Things Can Only Get Better took a full year to reach number one in the charts. It then lingered in our consciousness for years thanks to New Labour. However... 

Their debut single U R The Best Thing is a better song, with Cunnah's breathless vocal delivery (Cunnah pictured above). If that had been the single under consideration here, they'd be straight through to the next round. But Better? It's almost a banger, it's almost bleepy. But not quite there.

No-one makes it through to the next round of the Labour leadership conte-- er, I mean, Ultimate 1990s Number One. Shame. And I didn't even mention Professor Brian Cox.

More Ultimate 90s number ones 

Fat Roland's blog: happy 20th birthday

At the risk of raising your heart rate until your eyelids burst, I’m happy to announce that this blog is 20 years old today.

On 13 November 2004, in a post titled ‘Fat Roland’s blog’, I wrote 49 simple words heralding a new series of “blogs”, by which I probably meant “blog posts”. Blogging made sense: I'd spent much of my life as a journalist (see picture). And the rest, as no-one has ever said about any blog ever, is history.

On that same day, BBC weather bods promised the coldest night of the year. The Strokes and The Libertines dominated the front page of the NME. And it was the end of the Wu Tang Clan’s Ol’ Dirty Bastard, who died at far too young an age, as did John Balance from Coil.

Meanwhile, in my metaphorical basement, I was tapping away on my metaphorical typewriter. Early blog posts featured my under-developed thoughts on X Factor, Bill Drummond, Sandi Toksvig and, er, the Formula One driver Takuma Sato. A lot of it wasn’t that focussed.

In 2009, I decided to take my blogging seriously. Have you had one of those friends that suddenly becomes a knitter? They’re clacking out scarfs like a machine? This was me and blogging. I went from 50 to 140 posts a year, pledging to myself that I would post at least every three days.

My blog posts became more interesting. Speculation about Aphex Twin's new album. Guides to the Mercury Music Prize. being silly about The Prodigy, my bestest Warp tracks. critiquing Michael Jackson. An ill-advised pretend letter to James Blunt. A fake Autechre album leak. My sacking as a DJ and my debilitation from a stroke. Gaining MC Hammer and Barack Obama as readers (!) thanks to this post and this, or at least the people who run their socials. It has been quite the ride. 

I won’t bore you with the rest of this blog’s history, so here’s a precis of all the things my blog has led to. Think of this as a montage sequence, like wot they did in the A-Team. 2010: win blogging awards. 2012: become columnist for Electronic Sound magazine. 2014 and 2015: win awards for my spoken word gubbins. 2016: quit my day job to earn money from literature and performance. 2022: blog is infiltrated by the deep state, who use it to control your 5G. Okay, I made that last one up. I owe all of this to my bloggerising.

This blog still limps on, like a decrepit family cat that plops around the house in places you least expect. The site's view counts once reached the giddy highs of ten-thousand-plus, and have since dropped to the hundreds. A Blogspot page flattered by some Photoshop design is not "where it's at". I'm very much okay with that: it's a humble home but it's my home.

I asked ChatGPT to write me a tribute to blogging. A heart-warming paragraph extolling the joys of web logs. Here is what the AI came up with:

Blogging is a beautiful, chaotic celebration of personal expression. Whether it’s crafting whimsical rants or profound musings, each post offers the joy of connecting with the unseen. It's an archive of thought, a playground for creativity, and a space where ideas grow at their own unruly pace. Long live blogs!

And now, here is that same text rewritten by me, but with key words replaced with electronic music artists and/or animals.

Blogging is a beautiful, chaotic Sweet Exorcist of personal X-Press 2. Whether it’s Tomcrafting Whildchild rabbits or profound Mu-ziq, each polecat offers the Joy Orbison of Kon Kan-ecting with the unicorns. It's an armadillo of thought, a Playgroup for creativity, and a Spicelab where ibexes grow at their own unraccoony Plaid. Daddy longlegs LFO blogs!

Jeez, that was rubbish. Aaaaand that's how blogging works.

Pictured: Me (right) working at a newspaper in the mid-1990s. Cheeky news man Tristan Freeman on the left. Photo by Mark Waugh^.

Further Fats: Hammer time for Fatty Bumchops: how to blog properly (2011)

Further Fats: Blogging highlights 2004-2014 (2014)

Lunar tunes: Jon Hopkins sends his music to the moon

Not content with flattening audiences with his massive bass frequencies, Jon Hopkins will now attempt to destroy the entire universe by sending his music to the moon.

You see, Nasa have this box of memorabilia called the Lunar Codex, in which is stored tens of thousands of artistic creations. It's like the Blue Peter time capsule, the only difference being it's not in a garden, and its sodden contents won't be scowled at by a tortoise.

The Hopkins tune Forever Held will be one of the tracks rocketed to the moon as part of the Lunar Codex. The string sections on the track are by Ólafur Arnalds out of Kiasmos, so it's a double-whammy as far as I'm concerned.

It's a great track to choose. Forever Held is the kind of airy panorama that Hopkins is so good at, and the strings are truly moving. If anything, it's going to make any passing aliens blubber with emotion, their extra-terrestrial tears finally granting the moon that elusive liquid we've been hoping for. 

Nasa's Creative Director Erica Bernhard has made a visualiser for the track, which is just a fancy way of saying video. This will also be included in the capsule. She says Hopkins' composition "asks us to consider our place in the universe and our responsibility to the planet." No pressure, Jon.

It's not the first time Nasa have dabbled with dance music. Earlier this year, they hosted a 'Kennedy Under The Stars' techno party, which included a resident DJ in their Rocket Garden, a miniature golf course which had their colossal Apollo Saturn IB rocket instead of a lighthouse, and circus acts dressed up like the Blackpool illuminations.

This sounds amazing, so if the Kennedy Space Centre wants to invite me to the next one, I'm well up for this. I will dress up as Buzz Aldrin or a xenomorph or something, and if you're paying for my travel to Florida too, I'd like to go in a rocket please.

So well done, Jon Hopkins. Your music is venturing to the moon, trundling down and up craters like a disco Wallace and Gromit. Don your space helmet and watch the video for the track^.

Further Fats: The devil has all the best IDM: Jon Hopkins (2010)

Further Fats: Watching space from inside papier mâché (2016)

No Bounds Festival 2024 – a review

I spent the weekend at No Bounds Festival in Sheffield, marvelling at the splendour of the city's cathedral and revelling in the raves held in its grubby old factories.

This was my second trip to the festival. You can read my review below. What I didn't include is I treated myself to a hotel room with a proper veranda, I trilled with delight when I crossed its spooky Cobweb Bridge, and I had a smashing time having a pint with my mate Lee.

Also you can see me in one of the photos on the Electronic Sound website. See if you can spot me. It's like Where's Wally with emphasis on the wally.

I sit at a picnic bench in the cold night air. Surrounding me is a cluster of industrial buildings, and inside each of these is a rave. Dirty techno rhythms pulse from inside, and the windows dance with colour. In the relative peace of this outdoor smoking area, a student called Chris joins me and exchanges pleasantries. He tells me about the DJs he has seen here and the DJs he wants to see. In turn, I preach about the strange sounds I heard in the cathedral, and I ask if he is going to chapel on Sunday. He does not flinch. This is No Bounds Festival. It is no ordinary rave...

Continue reading my review on the Electronic Sound website^ – including the stunning full photograph by James Ward featured above

Ultimate 90s number one: The Steve Miller Band ruins everything

Pull up a chaise longue. You're just in time to suffer through the latest edition of my Ultimate 1990s Number One competition.

This is a blog series in which I attempt to wheedle out the best number one single of the 1990s, and handful of chart-toppers at a time. Only the ultimate bestest tunes will go through to the final. 

My twin judging criteria are (a) is it bleepy and electronic, and (b) is it a banging tune. I don't really show my workings-out. Rather, I just waffle until we all lose interest.

Let's take a peek at the latest batch of contenders.

The contenders

Bryan Adams: (Everything I Do) I Do It for You  |  Cornershop: Brimful Of Asha  |  George Michael and Queen with Lisa Stansfield: Five Live (EP)  |  Kylie Minogue: Tears On My Pillow  |  Manic Street Preachers: If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next  |  New Kids on the Block: Hangin' Tough  |  No Doubt: Don't Speak  |  Shaggy: Boombastic  |  Steve Miller Band: The Joker  |  Vanilla Ice: Ice Ice Baby

You must be joking

Let's start with some excellent humour. Steve Miller Band?! Yeah, he certainly should be. Banned, that is. See what I did there? That is clever wordplay; the kind of linguistic acrobatics you've come to expect from someone who uses a big hardback dictionary as a pillow.

Steve Miller. Steve flipping Miller. There he is in the photo above. In a 2021 blog post, I said The Joker was "one of the worst songs ever written". In another 2021 blog post, I described the single as "one of the worst singles of all time" and "I want this song to die". This sounds like I've only formed this opinion in the last few years. Quite the contrary. My loathing for this song has been burning within me since the beginning of time.

For a start, the lyrics are naff. He "loves your peaches". And "lovey dovey, lovey dovey". He loves smoking and he's a "gangster of love". If he talked like this on a first date, I'd walk straight out of the Greggs without warning.

What's with the wolf-whistling guitar? I know the song is partly based on a song penned in the 1950s, but surely we can leave lazy sexism in the past. Nobody wants to listen a guitar sound like it's winking at you while rubbing its crotch. Gross.

And another thing. The Joker stopped Deee-Lite from getting to number one with Groove Is In The Heart. This is the worst injustice that has happened in the history of humankind. Yes, I see you reaching from your dusty hardback book of historical disasters, but you know I'm right. Steve Miller made Towa Tei sad. And nobody should make Towa Tei sad.

Also. Yes, there's more. Also, The Joker is roughly the same age as me. Not the exact month, but close enough that we'd probably share a birthday cake. I cannot accept the fact that there is something the same age as me that is as annoying as me. That is not acceptable. Steve Miller makes me ill-er.

Everything's ruined

Oh great. Thanks to Miller, I don't have enough time to properly cover all the other songs in this list. Sorry, George Michael, there are barely any column inches left to let you know that I found your Queen covers somewhat dull. And no, Kylie, I haven't got the energy to explain that your Imperials doo wop cover was one of your weaker hits.

Miller has also robbed me of the opportunity to opine, at length, at the blandness of New Kids On The Block. Or to explain, in a patient but forced voice, that nobody really likes Vanilla Ice's Ice Ice Baby, especially when Uncle Kenneth is drunkenly slurring the wrong words at Sunday night karaoke. Mr Ice should have stopped when he said "stop". in that bit of the song where he says "stop"

What's the point

I've still got that Steve Miller song on loop in my brain, each annoying guitar lick a razor blade to my ear drums. There are two epic songs on this list that I would be impressed by, but The Joker has bled me of all hope. Those songs are...

In July 1991, a month after Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves landed on cinema screens, Bryan Adams' theme song (Everything I Do) I Do It for You shot an arrow into the number one spot of the UK singles chart. It stayed there until Halloween, when it was overtaken in the charts by U2, 2 Unlimited and the comedian Vic Reeves.

And in a just world, the Manic Street Preachers should have scored a string of number one successes by the time that If You Tolerate This... topped the singles chart. It's a big anthem, for sure, although marked a blunting of their once-cutting edge.

Both are epic bangers, but they're not bleepy enough to continue in this competition.

What a joke(r)

This leaves us with a few final singles to talk about – if I had time, that is [glares at Steve]. No Doubt were ten years into their career when Don't Speak dominated the charts. A veritable banger with pop credibility. Meanwhile, Shaggy's Boombastic is the only song to have topped the charts containing the lyric "don't you tickle my foot bottom". Which is silly song-writing but not as ridiculous as Steve Miller and his space cowboy carbuncle.

This brings us to the only electronic music-adjacent tune in this selection. That is Cornershop's tribute to the Indian film industry, Brimful Of Asha. The song got to number one in the form of its remix by Fatboy Slim. Sadly, it's not bleepy enough to continue in this competition. Which is a shame because Cornershop tracks like the 16-minute jam Spectral Mornings are a dancefloor delight.

So nobody wins this round. Do you know who I blame? Steve Miller. Steven Haworth Miller. Miller and his band which is called the Steve Miller Band. Cheeky rapper Enimen might be on a one-man crusade to revive Millers career with his recent Miller-sampling single Houdini). But honestly, Stevie-boy has ruined this blog post, and possibly this blog, and possibly the entire universe.

I guess WE'RE the joker, amiright?!

More Ultimate 90s number ones 

Brothers gonna work it out: my short story in 'The Book of Manchester'

I have fiction news, so please unfurl your FICTION NEWS banner and tie each end to a lampshade. Ready? Here goes. I have a short story featured in 'The Book of Manchester', an anthology coming out on Comma Press.

Comma have a long history of releasing city-specific fiction anthologies. Their locational muses have spanned Shanghai to Sheffield, Cairo to Coventry, and Gaza to, er, goodness-knows elsewhere. There's loads of them, but this one is special in a way: Manchester is their home city.

The blurb for the book talks about the city's industrial past, its music scene, and – in themes that are perhaps more relevant to this book – the homelessness that is skyrocketing as the same rate as its new towers, and the "struggles of ordinary residents navigating a city in dramatic flux".

My story is called 'Ten-Two Forty-Four', and I wrote it during the fog of my stroke recovery last winter. The tale of two estranged brothers is threaded through with the discommunication and illusory nonsense-bobbins I experienced as a result of my medical emergency. Not that it's a story about strokes, but the elements are there.

Because the way this story came about was kind of painful and personal, and because this feels like a literary reset of sorts, I'm publishing under my real name Ian Carrington. The full list of writers featured in the book are (deep breath): David Constantine, Tom Benn, Pete Kalu, Brontë Schiltz , Sophie Parkes, Ian Carrington, Shelagh Delaney, Mike Duff, Mish Green, Okechukwu Nzelu, Reshma Ruia, Yusra Warsama, and Zig & Zag. I lied about that last one.

Because you are special, due to the fact you still read blogs, you can read the opening bit of the story below.

You can order the book from the Comma website^. Meanwhile, everyone's beloved and/or baffling writer Fat Roland will continue, of course, on this blog and in Electronic Sound and on various comedy stages hither and thither and where-iver.

Ten-Two Forty-Four excerpt

He turns up looking like a drowned rat or a soaked ferret or some other crappy animal dragged through piss that had no business being on my doorstep. The rain drips from his hands and his nose and whatever appendage that had not been chopped off by the torturing scum that had been holding him. For a moment, I say nothing despite all the things I had been planning on saying. Something about not trampling into the carpet or not sending me a postcard or some other witticism that, in truth, I am too afraid to say... (continue reading by buying the book^)

See the Book of Manchester launch event (Contact Theatre, 7pm, 12 October 2024, tickets £12 / £10)^

Charley says you should always trust a scheming pussycat

 

In summer 1991, the electronic dance music act The Prodigy had a top ten hit with Charly. It led a craze of telly-sampling rave hits, and started a long career for the Prodge who went on to have ten more top ten singles.

The iconic miaowing cat sample was taken from a series of public information films made in 1973, with the titular cat being voiced by DJ and presenter Kenny Everett.

This much we know.

However, I am hear to tell you that Charley the cat from the original films was, and I'm sorry to say this, a bad cat. (Yes Charley, not Charly. For some reason, the Prodigy, ahem, dropped the e.)

That's right. Charley the cat was a bad, bad cat. Here's why. Let's go through each of the Charley films produced by the government's Central Office of Information.

Charley film 1: Falling in the Water

Charley the bad cat leads a small boy away from his father during a fishing expedition. While showing off, Charley the bad cat jumps over a puddle and falls into a pond. Charley the bad cat ends up freezing wet and wrapped in a towel, spoiling everyone's day.

Charley film 2: In The Kitchen

In the family kitchen, Charley the bad cat is startled by a pot of over-boiling water and the fatty spit of frying sausages. Charley the bad cat then walks out of the room, directly behind the legs of the family's mother, who is chopping vegetables with sharp knives, probably. Dangerous.

Charley film 3: Matches

While playing with alphabet blocks with a small boy, Charley the bad cat dives onto the table and scatters everything everywhere. During the mayhem, he pushes a box of matches towards the small boy, who proceeds to reach for the matches, presumably for arsonistic reasons. At the end of the video clip, Charley the bad cat and the small boy walk off, leaving the matches scattered on the table.

Charley film 4: Mummy Should Know

After doing handstands carelessly in a back passageway, Charley the bad cat prevents a small boy from hanging out with his friends. Instead of socialising with his peer group, the small boy is forced to go to the park with his mum while Charley the bad cat eats a fish, no doubt stolen from a fishmonger on the way to a park. 

Charley film 5: Charley's Tea Party

While tearing around the house with inconsiderate abandon, Charley the bad cat claws at a table cloth. Charley the bad cat tugs the cloth so hard, he brings the table's contents crashing to the floor and destroys an entire tea set, a loaf of bread, and a plate of cod. I suspect this is a metaphorical and literal swipe at Jesus's feeding of the five thousand with loaves and fishes. Charley the bad cat ends up badly scalded, and appears to have torn up the tablecloth to use as bandages.

Charley film 6: Strangers

As a small boy is playing on the swings in a local park, a very nice stranger offers to show him some puppies. Charley the bad cat pulls the boy back and, not for the first time, prevents the boy from making friends with someone who's not a cat. Charley the bad cat is rewarded for his gaslighting with a big juicy fish, while the friendless small boy has to make do with an apple.

So there you have it. The Prodigy launched their lengthy career on the back of a manipulative moggy who seemed intent on destroying the social life of an innocent child. Public information films? Feline red flags, more like.

Watch out, Custard our of Roobarb and Custard. I'm coming for you next.

Further Fats: The Prodigy's Invaders Must Die: tingly breakdowns and a trouserful of fun (2009)

Further cats: You can watch all of the Charley films, and much more besides, in the National Archives^

Charley illustration: Fat Roland

Being boring: I am not blogging about the Pet Shop Boys, honest

After seeing them on their greatest hits tour, I decided to write another Pet Shop Boys blog post. Something about the best Pet Shop Boys singles. The greatest moments of the Pet Shop Boys, that kind of thing. Top 37 sexiest Pet Shop Boys deadpan glares.

And then the blog post lay in my drafts gathering dust. Because who cares about my opinions on the Pet pals? They're great. Of course I think they're great. Whoop-di-doo. And the Pope is catholic and Bear Grylls poops in the woods. Big deal.

The idea seemed as appealing as a live stream featuring Elon Musk talking about crypto. Or Elon Musk talking about woke. Or Elon Musk talking about anything.

So I deleted the whole thing. You won't be able to read my waffle about Steven Hague's extended remix of Love Comes Quickly, which lets the caramel smoothness of the original overflow like an exploded sweetshop.

And I binned my enthusings about the Always On My Mind / In My House mash-up that felt utterly subversive because I didn't think you were meant to do that to number one singles back then.

No will you get to appreciate my thesis about the 2021 Russell T Davies television series It’s A Sin, with Olly Alexander playing a troubled Tory-boy. What thesis? That if you really squint, like proper squint so your eyes look like bum holes, you can see that series as part of the extended PSB It's A Sin universe, as if it's an extension of the 1987 number one single itself.

I would have published something really inspirational about the tracks Vocal from their Electric album and The Pop Kids from their Super album offering a meta-narrative about the PSB musical universe. Or something about the rich place-building of Suburbia and West End Girls?, the latter full of shadows and shady street-life. 

And there's the financial cynicism connecting 1980s singles Rent and Opportunities (Let’s Make Lots Of Money), and how that kind of narrative is not present in their later singles. Or the geopolitics of It's Alright. Or the themes of love in the almost-but-very-much-not rhyming So Hard and Heart. And is Domino Dancing about love or lust?

Is Electronic's Getting Away With It a Pet Shop Boys single? Are we allowed to include that too? How about Eighth Wonder's PSB-penned pop banger I’m Not Scared? Dusty Springfield's Occupy Your Mind? Where does Neil-Chris end and the rest of the universe begin?

And you'll never get to read my ramblings about the singles in which vocals are secondary. Such as the Clothes Show theme tune In The Night (Arthur Baker remix) where people of a certain age remember the tune but not the words? Or the emotive instrumental Axis which provided such a thrilling opening to their 2013–2015 Electric live show?

Nah. You don't get to hear my bland blatherings about how important I think the Pet Shop Boys are. Can someone please press the 'delete draft' button? Thank you.

Further Fats: 14 'til I die: remembering the teenage me's music habits (2020)

Further Fats: Pet Shop Boys create their own magical dreamworld at Co-Op Live (2024)

Ultimate 90s number one: It's getting, it's getting, it's getting kinda hectic

Here is the latest episode of the Ultimate 1990s Number One series. Of the 206 singles that topped the chart in the 1990s, I pick a group of ten(ish) and decide which ones go through to the Ultimate grand final.

I'm judging each track based on how much of a banger it is, and how much of a bleepy electronic treat it is. There are eleven contender's in this latest group. Which will be top of the pops, and which will be, er, flop of the plops?

Let's go.

The contenders

The Chemical Brothers: Setting Sun  |  Chesney Hawkes: The One And Only  |  Culture Beat: Mr. Vain  |  Eternal featuring BeBe Winans: I Wanna Be The Only One  |  Gabrielle: Dreams  |  Geri Halliwell: Mi Chico Latino  |  Manchester United F.C.: Come On You Reds  |  Peter Andre: Flava  |  Ronan Keating: When You Say Nothing At All  |  Snap!: The Power  |  911: A Little Bit More

Christian flashbacks

I remember selling BeBe Winans albums back in the distant days when I worked in a Christian bookshop. These flashbacks alone exclude Eternal from progressing further in this competition. Geri Halliwell's first solo number one single prevented Alice Deejay from getting to the top of the charts, which is unforgiveable. And there's no way I'm letting a football song proceed in this contest, despite Manchester United F.C.'s Come On You Reds technically being Status Quo's first chart-topper for two decades.

Songs to forget

There are three more tracks that can be easily dispensed with. In the waning months of their career, 911 finally scored a number one single with a sub-Steps ballad called A Little Bit More. I would rather have had a little bit less. Incidentally, 911 started off on an independent label, and their debut single Night To Remember was funded by a guy who ran a chain of opticians. There's a joke there somewhere, but I can't be bothered to write it.

I once interviewed Peter Andre for a magazine. He was fairly unmemorable, which also sums up all of his 1996 number one singles. And I know it's a cheesy dance classic, but Mr Vain by Culture Beat is a silly song. It's a pity this was producer Torsten Fenslau's big hit, and not something under his moodier Out Of The Ordinary alias.

Too many Chesneys

The next three tracks that I am chucking out of this competition are, without question, bangers in their own way. Well. Maybe not Keating...

No-one remembers the 1991 film Buddy's Song in which Chesney Hawkes starred alongside the shotgun-wielding Boon star Michael Elphick. However, they do remember his colossal hit The One And Only, which was written for him by Nik Kershaw. Did you know that jazz trumpeter Chet Baker's real name was Chesney? Now you do. Don't tell anyone.

Dreams by Gabrielle prevented Haddaway's What Is Love from getting to number one. I'm not sure what I feel about this. I suspect Gabrielle always covered up her right eye because she had a tattoo of Haddaway on her eyeball.

If I had to choose between listening to Ronan Keating's When You Say Nothing At All and having my nostrils bulldozed by a gun-raddled James May from Top Gear, I would choose Ronan. Just. But only just. 

For Chris' sake... 

That leaves us with two tracks, both chart bulldozers intent on flattening your ears into, er, little ear pancakes.

In 1996, The Chemical Brothers achieved their first number one single with Setting Sun. Although previous single Loops Of Fury should have been number one. And Life Is Sweet before that. And Leave Home before that. And all the stuff they did as the Dust Brothers. When Radio One DJ Chris Evans played Setting Sun, he immediately stopped the track, saying it was too much for his daytime listeners. What a banger.

Some records hit so hard, they form craters in the landscape of my musical upbringing. One single with such pockmarking power was, well, The Power by Snap!. By topping the charts with their debut single, Turbo B and his buddies denied The B-52s and Candy Flip their best and only chance at scoring a number one UK hit. And what a single it was. Discordant, robotic, soulful and uncompromising, The Power taught me that you could be defiantly weird and still achieve commercial and critical success. Another banger.

Both Setting Sun and The Power go through to the final of Ultimate 90s, mainly because if I met either track in a dark alleyway, they would definitely duff me up. This competition is, in the words of the Snap! track, getting, getting, getting kinda hectic. Stay tuned for future instalments.

More Ultimate 90s number ones

Bleepy chart treats from Sammy Virji, Calvin Harris, Sonny Fodera & Rudimental

Sammy Virji – If U Need It

Not that new a track from this UKG producer, having being released some time last year. It's currently bobbing around in the very lowest reaches of the UK top 100. Nice use of the Prince-style "U" in the title – I assume that's the reference, and not my A-Level maths result.

Calvin Harris / Ellie Goulding – Free

Another collaboration from these two. This piano house banger made a noted debut in Ibiza earlier this year. The track is yet to break the UK top 30. I can only assume Harris has annoyed the chart gods somehow.

Sonny Fodera – Somedays

This London-based EDM producer is building up a string of collaborative hits. At number 14 and threatening to break the top ten. He hot the top ten last year with the pretty similar-sounding Asking. Pretty good work for a guy named after a hat.

Rudimental & Karen Harding – Bring Me Joy 

A deliriously happy banger from the Rude boys, fronted by former X Factor contestant Karen Harding. Ten weeks in the chart and it's at its highest position of, er, number 63. Maybe we're just not in the mood for joy these days. Sigh.

[All these tracks are new entries or risers in the current UK singles chart, dated 30th August 2024]

A short short story about the Oasis reunion

Noel holds up the Gibson in his fat hand.

"What is?" blurts Noel.

Liam sighs a heavy sigh. "Not again. It's a guitar."

Noel licks the fretboard. Pulls a face.

"Guitar," says Liam, slowly. He points at the instrument. "Gui-Tar."

Noel bites a chunk out of the body of the guitar. Tries to chew. "Taste like sponge," says Noel, He reaches for the HP sauce.

"Sorry about this," says Liam as 28,000 fans tap their watches in the drizzling cold.

Happy birthday, Fat Roland (i.e. me)

It's my birthday, so I'm going to write a blog post about absolutely nothing at all, and you're going to read every word and be thankful for it.

I share my birthday with Howard Marks who wrote Mr Nice, the book that Jez is perpetually reading in Peep Show. I also share a birthday with Fidel Castro. I think this means I probably should be arrested for peddling all sorts of naughty substances.

I share a birth date with Alfred Hitchcock. Very pleased with that one. Also with Feargal Sharkey. A bit indifferent to that one. And also with singer-songwriter James Morrison. Crikes, this is getting duller with every sentence.

I am exactly the same age as someone called Eric Medlen, a Californian racing driver who was fairly decent at drag cars. He was also, according to Wikipedia, a champion calf roper. I reckon I could loop a string around a bullock. Dead easy.

My birth date is shared also with Stuart Maconie, he of Radcliffe and Maconie fame, and author of Pies And Prejudice, The Pie At Night and also some non-pie related titles. It's a special delight to share a candles day with another music journalist, so many happy returns to Stuart.

All of which is meaningless, of course. I have no time for astrology, even though I have the best star sign (the one with the lion). Apparently the constellation Leo is something to do with a mythological Greek lion called Nemean that had fur made of solid gold and a brother that was a dragon. Which is true for me too, which is nice.

I should finish with some wisdom, gained from my many years on planet Earth. Um. Don't be an idiot. Be nice to vulnerable people. Fight the fascists. Don't eat more than 12 eggs a day. Be kind to yourself. Embrace every moment, or don't if you need to chill out instead. Always eat more than 12 eggs a day.

Ultimate 90s number one: Not even better than the real thing

Hello blog idiot. Welcome to my ongoing Ultimate 1990s Number One series. I've not posted an Ultimate 1990s for a while because needed to take a break. I holidayed in faraway lands, swam in tropical seas, spaceshipped through distant nebulae, popped to the newsagents for a Twix. And now I'm back.

Each track featured in this series scored number one in the UK singles chart at some point between 1990 and 1999. I'm judging each one on a pair of criteria

(a) is it a banger, and 

(b) how bleepy is it? 

Only a select few will make it through to the grand final, in which I will anoint one of them as the ultimate 1990s number one single

Here are ten more contenders, out of a total of 200-and-something. Cue dramatic lighting change and serious theme music.

The contenders

Aqua: Barbie Girl  |  Blur: Country House  |  Cher: The Shoop Shoop Song (It's in His Kiss)  |  Elton John: Sacrifice / Healing Hands  |  Maria McKee: Show Me Heaven  |  Michael Jackson: You Are Not Alone  |  Stiltskin: Inside  |  Tony Di Bart: The Real Thing  |  U2: Discotheque  |  Vengaboys: Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom!!

Not fantastic 

Right from the off, let's axe Aqua and vanquish Vengaboys. These are silly songs for idiot-brains. Aqua would have us believe that being made of plastic is a desirable life goal, while Vengaboys insist on spending the night together "from now until forever". I would rather faceplant onto a rabid hedgehog.

Both are iconic singles, in a way. But do you know what else is iconic? The black death. Genghis Khan. The meteorite that annihilated the dinosaurs. Love Island. They may be bangers if you like that sort of thing, but I'm going to move on before another vein pops in my forehead.

The Shoop Shoop Song is terrible. Betty Everett's 1964 original US hit had its charm, especially with an endearingly shonky xylophone solo. But the Cher version lacks pizazz. It didn't make me want to shoop once, never mind twice.

We can also dispense with Jacko's You Are Not Alone. It's one of his more pedestrian singles, and prancing around in a loin cloth in the video did nothing to pep up this pop flop. It's not even his best single with "alone" in the title.

Now we've got rid of the worst ones, let's do some slightly less worse ones.

Commercial break

Do you want to buy this rusty nail? Go on, you really want to buy this rusty nail. It's hewn from the finest rust and, er, nails. Twenty bob and this rusty nail is yours. Please buy my rusty nail. I have children to feed. They don't know it yet, and they're not even my children, but this bucket of raw eggs isn't going to eat itself. [flashes up a premium rate phone number that asks for your bank details]

Nobody wants a commercial break in the middle of a blog post. Which brings us to Stiltskin's Inside, a grunge dirge written especially to sell Levi's jeans. Lead 'skinner Peter Lawlor went on to write music for BBC One idents and the Olympic games. This makes him the rock music equivalent of Siobhan Sharpe from the TV show Twenty Twelve.

And now let's look at Blur, Elton John and Maria McKee. Which is a nice coincidence because those are the exact three people that always turn up to my Christmas dinner uninvited.

Country House famously won the Blur vs Oasis battle of 1995. Britpop's crowning moment overshadowed was actually a very bleepy chart: top ten singles that same week included tracks by Clock, Corona, JX, and Original (I Luv U Baby). But no, we had to watch Damon and Liam duke it out in the Let's Pit Our Weakest Singles Against Each Other championship of 1995.

And now to Elton John. Sacrifice topped the UK chart three decades apart, which sounds impressive until you realise PJ & Duncan achieved the same feat with Let's Get Ready To Rhumble. And actually, the latter success of Sacrifice was in the form of the interpolated Dua Lipa collaboration Cold Heart. Nobody, absolutely nobody, remembers Sacrifice's AA-side partner, the gospel stomper Healing Hands.

Pansexual country pop queen Maria McKee is busy saving greyhounds in Tijuana. Not a sentence I thought I would write when I woke up this morning. But it's true: check her Instagram. As for the song, Show Me Heaven is a belter of a single, and deserves accolades alone for knocking Steve Miller Band's The Joker off the number one spot. Miller hasn't featured in my Ultimate 90s list yet. Just you wait. I'm so angry about it.

So well done Blur, Elton John and Maria McKee for your various contributions to number one-dom in the 1990s. And to Stiltskin for, um, selling jeans. But you can all get lost because none of you are bleepy enough for this competition.

Disco balls

We've sifted, sorted and sieved, and now we're down to two very different hot singles. Both of them are can lay claim to being bleepy dance music hits. But are they bangers?

Disco glitterball U2 arrived on the scene with Discotheque. The group had already transformed their image into postmodern leather daddies on Achtung Baby. This was a further transformation, and it arrived hot on the heals of Paul Oakenfold remixes, Batman soundtracking and Pavarotti partnering.

I will defend Pop-era U2 until the day I die and/or am kidnapped by the Illuminati. But actually I think Discotheque is one of their weaker singles. The whole Pop project didn't live up to Achtung Baby or Zooropa. 

AND ANOTHER THING. For the Leeds gig on their PopMart tour, U2 chose Cast to support them. This is unforgiveable. Other support acts on the tour included Ash, Longpigs, Skunk Anansie, even Rage Against The Machine. And there we were, being rained on, listening to Cast. Sad times indeed.

And finally, there's Tony Di Bart's The Real Thing (Tony pictured above looking sultry next to U2). A bathroom salesman from Slough has brief success as a Europop singer. It's.... fine.

Sorry to flatten your flan, but I don't think we have an out-and-out winner from this selection. None of these songs will be going through to the Ultimate final. Frankly, this whole thing was disappointing, and I'm now going to spend the rest of my day listening to Cast.

More of the Ultimate 90s number one

Pet Shop Boys create their own magical dreamworld at Co-Op Live

I visited Manchester's new mega-arena Co-Op Live to see a double-act called... [looks at notes]... the Pet Shop Boys. Have you heard of them?    

Dreamworld is the Pet Shop chaps' first ever greatest hits tour, which seems remarkable considering how long they've been farting out hit singles. And Dreamworld itself seems never-ending - the tour debuted in 2019, three prime ministers ago.

They were fabulous. Of course they were. Hit single after hit single after hit single. There is no point in listing all the songs here, suffice to say that the longest track title of the set was Where the Streets Have No Name (I Can't Take My Eyes Off You), and the shortest track title was Rent. Is this helpful information? Probably not.

The concert began with Suburbia, a low-burning minor-key understatement of a track, and ended with Being Boring, a low-burning minor-key understatement of a track. Pet Shop Boys are forever on brand: even the track-listing is deadpanning us.

Some songs know they're good. They've got a glint in their eyes. Not that songs have eyes: that would be weird. Opportunities (Let's Make Lots of Money) had pompous energy. Jealousy was songwriting perfection. And how adorable was the carefree way that Neil threw away the final lines on What Have I Done To Deserve This?, as if he was at a karaoke night after a long day at the office. Big up Clare Uchima too, a perfect vocal foil throughout. 

It's A Sin has had a resurgence recently, helped by Olly Alexander's role in the TV series of the same name, and Alexander's band Years And Years warbling the tune at The Brits with Elton John. No surprise, then, that the song was the most triumphant moment of the gig. Also "Pet Shop Boys: It's A Sin" is an anagram of "Is it honest pop abyss?", which is a question we should all be asking ourselves.

A month previously, the Co-op Live was forced to delay its opening concerts after construction work got delayed. I did keep an eye out for men in orange jackets frantically welding bits of the building, but there was no sign of its earlier teething problems.

Is it a more intimate venue than, say, the Manchester Arena or the Etihad? Yeah, the layout is cleverly designed to mimic a smaller capacity. Is it Manchester's best new venue? No. Factory International's characterful Aviva Studios wins this one easily. Although it needs to bed in a little more, the Factory place has way more heart, as opposed to Co-op's cold boxiness.

A penultimate thought: The support act was some DJ bloke playing classic dance music tunes which we had all heard a million times before while his logo displayed on a big screen in endless uninspired permutations. Do better, concert planners.

And a final thought. If the Pet Shop Boys are pet shop boys, which one is on the till, and which one is looking after the animals? Answers on a postcard etc etc.

Further Fats: This is a review of an Aphex Twin gig (2011)

Further Fats: What was your first concert? (2019) 

Jez-Clackers and Groovy Andy are unlikely farm friends

You know that Jeremy Clarkson guy? The punchy old car bore man? Apparently he's got a television show about being on a farm, which is called Clarkson's Farm because he's called Clarkson and he's got a farm.

I wouldn't normally post about Jeremy Clarkson's farm. I have a negative-level of interest in learning about that Top Gear twerp muck-spreading or cow-bothering or whatever it is people do on farms.

But on series three of the programme, I notice that Clarkson has got a new friend. He's called Andy Cato, and he's an expert in sustainable farming. Something to do with regenerative planting, biodiversity, carbon storage, elephant taming, and similar green goals. Wait. Not the elephant taming: ignore that.

Andy Cato is better known as a member of Groove Armada, the electronic dance popsters famous for hits like Superstylin' and I See You Baby, at least one of which is about unnatural movements of human bottoms. They were dubby and fun and not quite as good as Basement Jaxx but we liked them anyway.

This is, of course, really annoying. Because this gives Jeremy Clarkson credibility in the electronic music community. We must now take J-Clark seriously, as if he was the third member of Erasure or the fifth member of Kraftwerk or the 493rd Aphex Twin (he gets secretly replaced twice a month, ssshhh don't tell anyone).

When Johnny Rotten started advertising butter, some people scoffed, but I took it very seriously. I ate only Country Life for six months. I bathed in the stuff. It was endorsed by a music legend, so it must've been good for you.

I suppose I'd better get into farming. Adopt a sheep; move into a one-bedroom combine harvester; brandish pitchforks at passers-by. I don't want to do it, but I want to be friends with Jez-Clackers and Groovy Andy, as they will be known from now on.

Goodness knows what'll happen next. Boards Of Canada opening up a tea shop? Fila Brazillia flogging tractors? Mint Royale running a countryside B&B where the residents go mysteriously missing but no-one complains because he sells special "meat" out of the back door when the police aren't looking? Honestly, any of this could happen.

Now excuse me while I write 20,000 words on how Jeremy Clarkson is the next Delia Derbyshire. [jumps balls-first into a thresher]

Picture: Wildfarmed / BBC News

Further Fats: Meet the Yamaha GX-1, the tractor's natural nemesis (2019)

Further Fats: It's got a cow as a logo (2022)

Banjo beats 'n' techno treats: oh my goodness, it's The Grid

What's your favourite kind of grid. Electricity? Drainage? Ordnance Survey map reference? Cattle?

My favourite grid is the electronic music duo The Grid, comprising David Ball out of Soft Cell and all-round knob-twiddling genius Richard Norris. You might think that cattle grids might be better at keeping cows in the correct field, but I've heard rumours that Ball and Norris are excellent bovine wranglers.

The Grid first dropped into my life with A Beat Called Love in 1990. This was a slice of sunny electronic pop that sat neatly alongside equally cheery popsters The Beloved. Its parent album Electric Head came out six weeks before Big Life put out The Orb's Adventures Beyond The Ultraworld, so this was pioneering, like when Hannibal built Stonehenge out of elephants or something.

Their second album 456 had big-name guest spots, with featured acts including Robert Fripp, Zodiac Mindwarp and Yello's Dieter Meier. They even had Sun Ra talk about how he liked the sun for a track called Face The Sun. You can't get sunnier than that, unless US emo band Sunny Day Real Estate decide to drive a Nissan Sunny into the heart of the sun.

Their 1993 single Crystal Clear remains one of my bestest favourite choons. It's so trippy and glistening and dubby and whoooah, and I still play it about 900 times a day. Alex Gifford plays Hammond organ on the track. Alex went on to form the Propellerheads, who famously turned Shirley Bassey into a big beat star on History Repeating.

Most people will remember The Grid for Swamp Thing, a banjo-jangled novelty techno track that hit the top ten singles chart in 1994. It was denied further success because it had the misfortune to be releaed during the dark reign of terror that was the eternal chart-topping snoozeathon Love Is All Around by Wet Wet Wet.

The Grid appeared on Top Of The Pops something like eight times. Often dressed in white, often doing silly dances, and not taking anything too seriously at all. It's worth looking them up: 1994's Rollercoaster may only have slightly scraped the top 20, but the performance is brilliant fun.

Let's finish this with a recommendation. Richard Norris's book Strange Things Are Happening reveals all about his (mis)adventures in music, and outlines the extraordinary career of a guy who has dabbled with but stayed pleasingly beyond the boundary of the mainstream. If I'm feeling egotistical, this blog piece will be headed by a photo of me meeting Richard at the Manchester launch of his book.

Other Griddiness to get you giddy? Their 2018 album of Moog meanderings One Way Traffic. Their debut single Floatation, which you can read about in Electronic Sound^. Richard Norris's Music For Healing series^, alleviating anxieties month by month. Or just stare at a cattle grid for half an hour and wait for it to become a musical genius.

Further Fats: Charts in crisis: here's why there are so few number one singles (2017)

Further Fats: A Full On Guide to Full On: Megatonk's Belgium and Frendzy's Can't Stop (these are real tracks, honest) (2020)

Just Stop Oil and The KLF: from protest paint to pyramid schemes

Just Stop Oil have thrown orange paint at Stonehenge, making the ancient stones looks slightly prettier than they were before. A BBC reporter said the paint attack left onlooking tourists "slightly bemused", which is how tourist look anyway, so I don't know how they spotted the difference.

The stunt was designed to highlight the UK's continuing reliance on fossil fuels. Personally I'd knock down Stonehenge and chisel the monuments into stone wheels so we can all drive around like Fred Flintstone.

A bit of colourful powder paint is not the greatest threat Stonehenge has faced. Let's not forget K2 Plant Hire, an organisation set up by art popsters The KLF for the specific purpose of demolishing the historic landmark. Yes. Demolishing it. With bulldozers and everything.

The band decided that their stone-crushing plan was unworkable. Something to do with the landmark being too close to military airspace so it would be too difficult to use helicopters to put Stonehenge back together again. You think I'm joking, but I'm not.

There is photographic evidence of the KLF up to no good at Stonehenge. Have a look at the 25th June 1988 edition of the NME. On the cover, you will see the KLF – known then as The Timelords – hanging out at the 'henge. In the foreground of the photo? Gary Glitter dressed as an evil magician. Yoinks! Lock up your grandmother and your children!

The demolition plan inspired a story Bill Drummond wrote for the 1998 short story collection Disco 2000. The story, called Let's Grind, or How K2 Plant Hire Ltd Went to Work, tells of an attempt to purchase the Rollright Stones, a less impressive structure somewhere north of Oxford. Tom Baker once shot a Doctor Who story there called The Stones of Blood, all about alien druids and stuff. 

Incidentally, as a protest against the costly and then-pointless Millennium Dome, K2 Plant Hire also promised to build a "People's Pyramid", which would be free to access and open to all kinds of abuse.

"Climb it, paint it, polish it, eat your sandwiches on it or chip it away. It will stand for as long there is any of it left," promised K2 in a statement on their website, while appealing to the public to donate bricks.

The KLF's arty agitations seem to chime with Just Stop Oil's various attempts at paint-throwing and supergluing and tomato soup tomfoolery. Remember the KLF's National Theatre paint daubing? Maybe the JSO gang need a hit single or two. Pop on some horns and prance around on Top Of The Pops. Hang out with Gary Gl-- actually, no, scrap that. Bad idea. BAD IDEA.

Further Fats: Blowin' in the wings: why protest songs should return to centre stage (2009)

Further Fats: The KLF will rise again, and they may or may not go "baa" (2017)

Further Fats: 

400 words about Global Communication's 1994 album 76:14

Global Communication's second album 76:14 turns 30 years old today, and here’s why we should be tying up the bunting in celebration of this ambient classic.

Actually, I don’t need to convince you how important 76:14 is. I’m telling you. You’re going to have to take this as fact. Open your gob and swallow my fist of truth.

Ambient music was cooking on gas by 1994. The Orb's Adventures Beyond the Ultraworld had come out several years previously, and acts like Aphex Twin, The Future Sound of London and Scanner were flinging open all sorts of doors of perception in the wibbly house of ambient.

But Global Communication’s album, as mouthy Americans would say, “hit different”. The looping synthesis, the chattery vocal samples, the woozy pace. The whole thing was a digital fever dream – and it was as catchy as heck.

Its biggest moments? The tick-tocking grandfather clock adding weight to 14:31. The satisfying clunk-click of 9:25’s trip hop – incidentally, a track that was originally intended as a Sun Electric remix. The driving electro of Tangerine Dream homage 5:23, all powered by chords so soupy you could stand your bread soldiers in them. The grand finale 12:18 and its imaginary choristers.

The album feels like Detroit techno in slow motion, although its influences are broader than that. GC’s Tom Middleton had a classical music background and knew his way round a cello. While Mark Pritchard had twanged guitars and played drums in rock bands. The album arose from a Chapterhouse remix project, although the initial spark for their collaboration came after listening to Peter Gabriel’s soundtrack to Martin Scorsese’s film The Last Temptation of Christ.

The best thing about 76:14, and why it needs to be ranked alongside Brian Eno, Steve Roach and Tangerine Dream, is that this is an ambient album that demands your attention. It’s not background music for ironing, washing up, grouting or whatever it is that you get up to on a Sunday afternoon. You sit and listen to this album. Listen, and listen some more. Distractions be gone.

I would encourage you to listen to the whole thing in honour of its 30th ambient-versary. 

We didn’t even get to talk about the timecode track titles. Hey everyone, the track titles are how long the tracks are. Clever, innit. Will that do?

I give this album 10:00 out of 10:00. Happy damn birthday, Global Communication’s 76:14.

Further Fats: Oh to be torn up by wolves and fed, bit by bit, through an old lawnmower (2008)

Further Fats: It is my duty to inform you of this Selected Ambient Works anagram (2019)

Ultimate 90s number one: Everyone's got a gun – but Keith's got matches

Here's another instalment of my blog series Ultimate 1990s Number One, wherein I sift through every UK number one singles of the 1990s. Most will get rejected, while a select few golden nuggets will shine. The criteria? Bleepy bangers. The best electronic chart toppers.

Let's go!

The contenders

Ace of Base: All That She Wants  |  Armand van Helden featuring Duane Harden: You Don't Know Me  |  Blur: Beetlebum  |  The Offspring: Pretty Fly (for a White Guy)  |  The Prodigy: Firestarter  |  Rednex: Cotton Eye Joe  |  S Club 7: Bring It All Back  |  Spice Girls: Mama / Who Do You Think You Are  |  Take That: Everything Changes  |  Take That featuring Lulu: Relight My Fire

The Visa Cash App RBs of pop music

Let's throw some of these tunes straight into the waste disposal. The Spice Girls and Take That are coming in strong with several smokin' bangers, and Lulu's guest spot on Relight My Fire is one of the '90s top pop moments. But they're not right for this list.

Sometimes I think that Take That and Westlife are worst band names in pop music. But lo and behold, here comes S Club 7. An absolutely terrible name. There's currently a Formula 1 team called Visa Cash App RB. This band's name isn't far off that level of awfulness. The song's pretty uninspiring too. 

Fans of The Offspring's insipid skater-bro playground punk might be surprised to learn the band had been releasing music since the 1980s. Pretty Fly For A White Guy transformed them from a genuinely interesting punk act into sniggering Beavis & Butthead college pop plonkers. Terrible. Instead, go and listen to their scrappy debut single I'll Be Waiting from 1986 instead. 

Gun nonsense

"Beetlebum," sings Mr Blur on Blur's Beetlebum. "What you've done, she's a gun, now what you've done, Beetlebum." A moving tale, I'm sure you would agree.

"His eyes was his tools and his smile was his gun," sing Rednex on Cotton Eye Joe. "But all he had come for was having some fun."

Why is everyone turning into guns? Neither of these songs make much sense. At least Blur had a tonne of credibility. Have you listened to that Rednex album. the one with the band members being urinated on? Possibly one of the worst albums in history. If you want some proper novelty banjo techno, get The Grid's Swamp Thing on your record player.

Anyway. Ignore the Rednex. And apologies to Blur, but you're not bleepy enough for this 90s chart-topper contest. 

Popping off

As with previous selections, I've sifted out the runts of this litter and now we're left with the prize puppies.

Produced by powerhouse music clever-man Denniz Pop, Ace of Base's All That She Wants is clearly a banger. The band brought dinner table reggae pop to the masses, and shifted 600,000 units in the UK. The single released boasts bhangra and piano house versions of the track. Neither sounded very bhangra or piano house-y.

Next up it's the only solo number one single for US producer Armand van Helden. (He later hit the top spot when he made Bonkers with Dizzee Rascal.) The track is a sample factory, using an old 1970s soul hit by Carrie Lucas, Jaydee's classic Plastic Dreams, and even a clip from Dexter's Laboratory on its extended version.

And then we have The Prodigy's Firestarter. When this hell-raise of a track topped the charts in March 1996, commercial dance music was about to pop off. Underworld's Born Slippy was ready to break through having scored a minor chart place the previous year, and the Chemical Brothers were firing up their rocket pants and aiming for chart domination. Dance music was about to be EVERYWHERE. But Keith Prodigy and his silly hair was there first.

Of course The Prodigy go through to the final. There was never anyone else. The guy starts fires, for goodness' sake. He'll incinerate your brain. Well done, the Prodge.

More of the Ultimate 90s number one

Eurovision 2024: A giant egg, demon wolves and too many ooohs

I'm not a huge Eurovision buff. Cheesy makes me queasy, and ballads are a ball-ache. But I did watch Eurovision 2024, so here are some unedited thought splats about the whole thing. In alphabetical order by country, so like a proper dictionary and everything.

The following content is adapted from my Twitter account, or as we have to call it now, my X account. Not every country is included here, for humanitarian reasons. And I was significantly more enthusiastic about the UK entry on the night, but I've watched it back with a sober brain, and I've dampened down my excitement.

Here we go...

Bit of old Armenian folk vibes. I'm off for a cup of tea. What am I saying? I don't even drink tea. I'm off to slurp up something I spilled down the back of the sofa. Back in a bit. 1/10

We Will Rave? Right, Austria, I'm paying attention. Lasers! Banging beats! Techno synths! Massive build-ups! Acid squeaks! Shouting out Eurovision! DRUM N BASS! I want all 26 entries to be like this, please. A grand closer. 10/10

Croatia. I recognise this. Baby Lasagne's got layers. The Prodigy meets Billy Idol meets Rammstein meets Bring Me Edelweiss. Utterly stupid, very singalong, and everything that Eurovision should be about. We're cooking. 9/10

Shout out to all the Cypriot comedians I have the pleasure of regularly working with. The #Eurovision2024 entry is a bit of banger. She's really clapping back at that ex. Love this deep production, nice and chunky. Not bad at all. 7/10

Big up to Estonia and everyone in it right now. Crikes, this is like the Baha Men on a comeback with the Happy Mondays. A shouty, loose mess, but not necessarily in a bad way. Is that the guy from V Sauce? 3/10

Oh Lordi, it's Finland. Emerging from a giant egg is a win for me. Very Europop and pretty forgettable. Decent chord change. There he is, flapping his floppy disc about all over the place. 4/10

France. Not keen on a ballad. But this is dramatic. Will his voice cope? Here goes... [watches the performance] Respect to the guy. Went for the notes, nailed it. Unless he was meant to be two octaves higher: not heard the song before. Anyway, well done bloke in white, you gave it everything. I'm sure it's a very good ballad. 7/10

Sorry Germany, there are too many lumberjacks posing as emotive songsters. The charts is full of them: it doesn't twiddle my tassels. Catchy chorus, though. Are things meant to be on fire or is he an arsonist? 2/10

Here's Georgia and their fire goddess. Another super catchy pop anthem. Why would you NOT perform with a super catchy pop anthem? That said, I think I will forget this in five minutes. Yargles, that is a LOT of fire. I hope everyone's hair gel is okay. 6/10

Greece bringing the TikTok vibes. And the dancehall vibes. And the banghra overtones. And some digital mayhem thrown in for good measure. This is the opposite of monotone: it's like a paint factory's electrocuted. Yikes. 7/10

Bambie Thug has turned up. Phew. Oh yes, I've heard Ireland's before. A Jekyll and Hyde of a track, with the darkness and the sweetness. Feels like a novelty 1990s number one single. The screams. The techno breakdown. Great. 9/10

Italy just make me want to listen to another specific similar-sounding track, the name of which escapes me because my brain is full of this super average entry from Italy. [And then, a few minutes later...] Stromae! That's it. It just made me want to listen to Alors on danse. 5/10

Now it's Dons performing for Latvia, also known as Judge Rinder's S&M brother. Look at him, all carbon fibred up. I can see this one doing quite well. Ballads don't excite me too much, especially with chord swoops like this one. 4/10 

Good old Silvester Belt and their nose. They used to work in a beauty salon. They seems like the kind of person who worked in a beauty salon. They're giving Troy Sivan and the beats are giving Paul Van Dyk. Excellent work, Lithuania. Big and bouncy but a lamination of lovely melancholy. 8/10

Luxembourg are back in the contest. Only country that rhymes with Bella Emberg. Are those real cheetahs? Should we be running? This is pretty... okay Shakira fayre. To be honest, I'm just concerned about being mauled. 5/10

Norway are bringing epic with an extra epic hat on with the word EPIC written on it. I feel like they're summoning a horde of demon wolves from the pits of the underworld. Great guitar game. That was... A LOT. 7/10

Another snoozefest, this time from Portugal. Sorry for being negative, but we're at the slog bit of the running order, and we really could do with some hardcore rave or liquid drum 'n' bass right now. 1/10

Where are we? Oh right, Serbia. This is a snoozathon. It had better kick off. Waiting. Still waiting. I feel like it's going to kick off. No? It didn't kick off. Not for me. 0/10

Time for Slovenia, who are giving male nudity (although not that much - I went to Kylie's Aphrodite tour, and that was a flesh Christmas). Too waily. Make it stop. Ouch. Nope. Not for me. 0/10

Woah Spain, what is going on? Sassy dancers. Drum fills. A keytar. Bottoms?! It's as MOR as heck under the glitz, but it's got shouting and dramatic chord changes. 6/10

Sweden sounded like Olly Alexander but looked like Ant & Dec. Standard pop EDM fayre with chunky production. Went right off them when they said "Make some noise". 6/10

Nemo (pictured) is definitely giving fishy for Switzerland. It's very musical theatre, but I'm down for this. Thoroughly pop, decidedly queer, gloriously refreshing. I swear he was going to fall of that bucking bronco disc. What a star. I hope this wins. 10/10

I wasn't into Ukraine's poppy goth plod vibe. Too many "oooh"s. Never trust anyone who ooohs a lot, in song or in conversation. The rapper look like they could rap their way out of a fight, so they were good. 3/10

Time for the United Kingdom. How is Olly upside-down?! This staging is next level. I want to be in that weird spinny room with those men. That voiceover bit is deliciously Pet Shop Boys. Big up Olly's cats Fanta and Sprite who, sadly, might have done a better job with singing in this performance. 5/10 

Further Fats: Bert And Ernie Bumper Car face mask Euro fury (2012)

Further Fats: I'm too techno to be Brexit (2017)