Oct 13Liked by Kier Proudlove Kureishi, Hanif Kureishi
The first Bloc Party album – Silent Alarm – was ubiquitous in 2005, in a good way. That spartan cover in the CD racks; a near-featureless snowscape; a broken line of bare trees winnowed down to almost nothing at the centre; band logo in gray. It came out on Wichita Records. I had stumbled over the label at its inception. They'd sent me a load of badges which is all you really need to do to buy my loyalty. I don't know who was running Wichita but they had a very good ear and an equally good sense of what would gain traction. They'd put out some excellent records; some that made an impact and launched careers: A few Bright Eyes albums – Fever And Mirrors and one or two that came after. My Morning Jacket's early recordings were released on the label, at least in the UK. There was Brave Captain, which was Martin Carr from The Boo Radleys – a band who surfed the rising and descending swell of Britpop. Also the debut EP by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, who you could tell from the get-go were going to be massive.
I would imagine Silent Alarm was a coming of age soundtrack for a great many adolescents. I was older and unable to engage with the album with that level of wide-eyed commitment and intensity. However, I was a fan of popular music and I listened to it a lot that year. I'd call it post-punk which is a lazy catch-all term, but a good marker if you are trying to describe the general sound to someone: Parred-down, energetic British rock; vocals half-spoken/half sung; a choppy momentum; trans-global rhythms; sinewy-robotic guitars; the occasional nod by the bass player in the direction of Peter Hook. Bloc Party did occasionally remind me a bit of Joy Division, but on a surer footing – not so much spasming blindly under the strobing stage-lights, than planted firmly on the spot staring defiantly into the blinding glare. Another band they were were reminiscent of was the post-punk elder statesmen – Fugazi; that fusion of melody, momentum, and mentality.
I lost touch with Bloc Party's music after their second album. There a great gaps in my record collection where I was unemployed and didn't buy any records.
I am pleased whenever I hear recording artists champion the physical medium – the ownership of music over the rental model that is becoming prevalent and which I believe is a prelude to a lot of media being lost forever. If you care about something, in this case a record, then why allow a streaming service to control your access to it. If you love it, then you need to own a copy; take responsibility for it; engage with it; make it one with your life; a part of your personal biography.
A few days ago, a white bubble mailer was pushed through the letter box. It landed with a slap on the red tiles. I knew what it was immediately and scampered downstairs to retrieve it. Standing in front of the CD player, I tore the head off the envelope. Inside there was a CD – Mariner by Cult of Luna, who are a Swedish post-metal band, augmented on this album by Julie Christmas, who was born on Christmas Day and legally changed her surname to reflect this fact. She is from Brooklyn and was once in a band with perhaps the greatest name of all time: Battle Of Mice.
Still standing before the CD player, I carefully pieced the cellophane wrapping with the tip of a craft knife. I put the CD in the player and I stood in front of it, between the speakers for the duration of the first song which is over eight minutes (the shortest track on the album). There are rituals around music that heighten our appreciation of it and that are now being lost in the race towards convenience.
Smashing interview, adroitly peeling back layers of the artist's creative process. Thanks.
The first Bloc Party album – Silent Alarm – was ubiquitous in 2005, in a good way. That spartan cover in the CD racks; a near-featureless snowscape; a broken line of bare trees winnowed down to almost nothing at the centre; band logo in gray. It came out on Wichita Records. I had stumbled over the label at its inception. They'd sent me a load of badges which is all you really need to do to buy my loyalty. I don't know who was running Wichita but they had a very good ear and an equally good sense of what would gain traction. They'd put out some excellent records; some that made an impact and launched careers: A few Bright Eyes albums – Fever And Mirrors and one or two that came after. My Morning Jacket's early recordings were released on the label, at least in the UK. There was Brave Captain, which was Martin Carr from The Boo Radleys – a band who surfed the rising and descending swell of Britpop. Also the debut EP by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, who you could tell from the get-go were going to be massive.
I would imagine Silent Alarm was a coming of age soundtrack for a great many adolescents. I was older and unable to engage with the album with that level of wide-eyed commitment and intensity. However, I was a fan of popular music and I listened to it a lot that year. I'd call it post-punk which is a lazy catch-all term, but a good marker if you are trying to describe the general sound to someone: Parred-down, energetic British rock; vocals half-spoken/half sung; a choppy momentum; trans-global rhythms; sinewy-robotic guitars; the occasional nod by the bass player in the direction of Peter Hook. Bloc Party did occasionally remind me a bit of Joy Division, but on a surer footing – not so much spasming blindly under the strobing stage-lights, than planted firmly on the spot staring defiantly into the blinding glare. Another band they were were reminiscent of was the post-punk elder statesmen – Fugazi; that fusion of melody, momentum, and mentality.
I lost touch with Bloc Party's music after their second album. There a great gaps in my record collection where I was unemployed and didn't buy any records.
I am pleased whenever I hear recording artists champion the physical medium – the ownership of music over the rental model that is becoming prevalent and which I believe is a prelude to a lot of media being lost forever. If you care about something, in this case a record, then why allow a streaming service to control your access to it. If you love it, then you need to own a copy; take responsibility for it; engage with it; make it one with your life; a part of your personal biography.
A few days ago, a white bubble mailer was pushed through the letter box. It landed with a slap on the red tiles. I knew what it was immediately and scampered downstairs to retrieve it. Standing in front of the CD player, I tore the head off the envelope. Inside there was a CD – Mariner by Cult of Luna, who are a Swedish post-metal band, augmented on this album by Julie Christmas, who was born on Christmas Day and legally changed her surname to reflect this fact. She is from Brooklyn and was once in a band with perhaps the greatest name of all time: Battle Of Mice.
Still standing before the CD player, I carefully pieced the cellophane wrapping with the tip of a craft knife. I put the CD in the player and I stood in front of it, between the speakers for the duration of the first song which is over eight minutes (the shortest track on the album). There are rituals around music that heighten our appreciation of it and that are now being lost in the race towards convenience.
I saw them in concert in Budapest many years ago. Great band.