musicita

18th May, 2025

Supermarket Shop

As I wound down the precarious single-lane hair pin driveway to the main road there was little noise but the satisfying crunch of the Toyota tyres, breaking the breathless silence like Steph eating popcorn in the cinema. I turned out onto the road, streams of meltwater developing as the overnight freeze began to thaw and made my way to the exit road. In winter there was one way in and out of the resort and if there was an avalanche there was neither. Tuesday morning’s were a mission, preparing for the following week of guests with a 3 trolley mega-shop at the closest Supermarket down the valley. 

I pressed eject on the cassette player in the Rav 4. We shared the pickup with others in the resort and out popped the Foo Fighters. It was the only tape that lived permanently in the cab and whilst I didn’t really dislike them at this point in 2004, this was time alone that allowed indulgence in a guilty pleasure. As someone who was oblivious to the existence of Oasis at their prime during my student days in Manchester (I considered myself to be part of something much further underground and with 50% more BPM), I was about to indulge in an album that following my oblivion to his Gallagher brothers and in the hugely unlikely scenario that I was taxiing Alan Magee down the valley following a particularly debauched ski trip with Bobby Gillespie and Gruf Rhys, surely compel him to throw himself from the moving vehicle into a snow bank.

I tossed ‘The Colour and the Shape’ into the footwell and plugged my 2004 cutting edge second generation iPod into my cassette to iPod adapter, a bizarre artifact linking the accelerating digital future to the analogue past and indicative of a very specific space in time pre-Bluetooth, aux in and wireless connection. The cassette clicked into place, I navigated the wheel of the iPod keeping one eye on the road and pressed play. 

The exit from the resort was a tunnel, dimly lit, wet and narrow. The initial bars of the song began pumping with intensity as I adjusted the volume to 8. I leaned into the steering wheel and pounded with both hands nodding in a cliched eyes slightly shut Vanillacore head pump to the first bars of the intro, before exploding into the light at the end of the tunnel 25 seconds in, a cathartic release from the last 6 days of claustrophobia synchronised perfectly with Chris Martin dropping the first lines of Politik.  …. ‘Look at earth from outer space, everyone must find a place’.  Whilst some saw this album as lacking in originality, ‘music for bedwetters’ etc. , the pick up burst from the gloom of the tunnel into the bright white light, with sulphurous blue skies, meltwater lakes and conifers. There were layers of additional meaning that lifted my soul and softened my shoulders. 

Imagine you’re contained in a walled compound for 6 days and 21 hours of the week. Same people, same faces, tensions, aggravations, same food. Violence.  Even the good things become a chore if there are any. And then once a week for 3 hours you’re free. Fantastically, soaringly, breathtakingly free. You want to leave but if you don’t those that you’ve left behind will suffer unbearable pain and agony. Would you go back? Every week when the world is there for the taking every single time. 

Imagine this scenario but less Shawshank Redemption and more Center Parcs purgatory. The middle class conundrum of the French Alps. Do I return to my girlfriend and the group of 18 exasperating ‘skiers’ we were looking after, or did I drive away into the lowlands and beyond. Just keep going. Exit Music playing through my own self pitying, self indulgent, melancholic daydream.

So each week I left the tunnel and wound down to the Super U, revitalised by the soaringly, hauntingly middle of the road Rush of Blood to The Head. Each week l loaded the pickup with boxes of supplies, turned back up the hill and went again for another week, recharged a little by expanse of the outside world and a lot by the therapy of music that I wouldn’t admit to anyone else I liked.

4th May, 2025

Chase and Status

Pushing fifteen thousand people worshipped at the alter of commercial drum and bass at the O2 in London last night.

Disciples to breakbeat driven, vocal imbued tunes produced by mid 40’s Londoners Saul Milton and Will Kennard, it was a night for all with hipster couples, parents with kids, intrigued 50 year-olds, up for it ravers and everyone in between showing up.  As the duo twiddled knobs behind two huge letters C and S, positioned like Christmas decorations in the driveway of a footballers mansion and either side of the undeniably talented drummer Andy Gangadeen (described at one stage by MC DET as one of the best drummers ever (RIP John Bonham, Keith Moon, Ginger Baker, Buddy Rich)) I must admit that I was soon reflecting that it was all a bit, you know, formulaic and shit.

At this stage I should explain that I’m a disciple to a breakbeat – specifically jungle and drum and bass – with a taste evolving in my mid to late teens as I developed a love for acid tinged techno and hardcore breakbeat tunes growing up around London. After that came a transition through darkside to drum and bass, jungle and intelligent drum and bass as part of a passionate scene maturing in student rooms, houses and legendary club nights in Manchester.

A good mate from back in the day John ‘Smithers’ Smith joined me at the O2 whilst visiting from Quebec where like me he’s been living a mostly jungle free lifestyle for the last 25 years. After a couple of pints of IPA and a chat about life at a bar in North Greenwich, we made our way to our seats ready for C&S to kick off. As I popped in my Loop earplugs we already felt a tinge of bemusement at the frenzy, but distinct lack of intimidation, in the crowd. Flame throwers, firearms and the general threat of gang violence had not been unusual at events we had attended during the mid 90’s (or so we like to think) but it appeared that the most menacing aspect of last night was the potential for extortion via the merch stands.

When the duo took the stage to Smash TV the delirium raised to evangelical levels with the majority of the crowd seemingly overcome by the formulaic beats by numbers. In stark contrast to the early 90’s when the dance move of choice was a THC laced head nod to every 4th beat in the bar, the movement around us was frenetic, unnecessary, stress inducing and took up too much space for the limited width of our seats (yes seats). A couple of times I took an elbow to the ribs from my angular but well meaning neighbour who was very keen to share the experience and hear my thoughts as a legitimate 90’s ‘raver’ which I limited to smiles and enthusiastic pleasantries for fear of pissing over what appeared to be the greatest night of his life. At this stage it must be said if not already obvious, that our cynicism left us clearly in the minority, with the entire Arena looking like a piece of Keith Haring artwork – dancing figures everywhere – unmitigated glee… save the two greying junglists.

Reflecting on the set list, or that which we saw before leaving ten minutes early to avoid the O2 mega queue into North Greenwich station, what struck us was the unsubtlety of each track as they rolled one into the other, initial strings, early entry of female house, ragga or grime vocal build, predictable but premature drop and wave after wave of unsubtle beats and bass. It really did feel like Monster fuelled dance music for the ADHD generation.

The less is more approach of a 1995 Pulp Fiction Alex Reece or Andy C’s Roll On is not something that would satisfy this crowd, but as I began to reflect further it occurred to me that maybe Smithers and I were becoming the equivalent of the 70’s prog rock devotees when the rest of the world was getting into Queen and U2.

On that basis, and with the time and wisdom of someone who was lucky enough to be plugged into a unique and niche period in the history of breakbeats during the early 90’s, the kindest and most rewarding thing to do was to revert to a habit I’ve developed at live music events in the post Covid world. Stand back, look away from the stage and take in the unmitigated joy and euphoria literally dripping from all corners of the massive room. If I didn’t love the music I could at least love the vibe, and if it acts as a gateway for some of these mentalists to some 1994 Ray Keith all the better.

So three tracks before the end we made our apologies, stepped across bemused looking ravers and headed for the exit. Smithers so he could return to Quebec the following morning from Gatwick and a life in IT management, for me a chance to get up fresh and early to walk the dog and cut the grass. All to say that for everyone life moves on. As does breakbeat. For some this was the best night of their lives. For others a chance to recall the best nights of their lives. Either way without the music we wouldn’t have been there.

April 27th, 2025

Good People

We’re handing over control to FAANG Hall of Famers who can’t name their favourite artist, their first concert or recognize Fleetwood Mac. Turning a record label into a Tech driven music company and transitioning a creative hub into a service provider when the heartbeat of the industry remains those with a deep passion for the artists, the music and their product will have one result. The ‘move fast and break things’ approach in the music industry is simply misguided.

For 15 years the question of whether the traditional record label is still relevant has twisted and contorted, but persists as no single artist has the same need or objective. AI has a huge future, socials are a no brainer for marketing, promotion and connection, and the reach that worldwide digital distribution can provide allows fans to enjoy music in all corners of the globe, but physical manifestations prioritising depth and focus over volume mean more to many. 

In the 90’s, when I was a 17 year old trawling the streets of North West London it was the quality of tunes on the C90 in my back pocket that mattered, not the quantity. Today, the needle drops onto Aretha’s classic Soul 69 at the end of the day and my body softens to the pop and crack of my audio setup like an aural campfire. I recognise the identity that my daughter creates in decorating her bedroom walls with the perfection of Jamie Hewlett’s latest Gorillaz album cover. The fingers that scroll mindlessly, endlessly across an Apple screen are the same that awaken when they feel the grain on Neil Young’s Harvest  sleeve or the same eyes that see BRAT green in 12”x 12” as even more subversive but relatable than 2”x4” on a smartphone.

In a constantly wired and available world, physical product created by record labels have the ability to ground a listener and hold focus in a way that can escape the most distracted mind. That’s just  not something that can be delivered via XML and a lossless audio file to Spotify.

What remains surprising is the extent to which the leadership at some major music groups are blind to the variety of opportunities that they’re accountable for.  Whilst vinyl, cd’s and merch sales are in the 15 to 20% range of  revenue generated (itself a meaningful number), the fact that a physical product is a tangible representation of how the company delivers for an artist is overlooked. The investment of time taken to manufacture and distribute a vinyl album compared with delivering the same album to Spotify is different by orders of magnitude.

Physical product delivery involves people and their relationships. It’s materials, distribution, administration, subjective and objective decision making, passion and opinions. These aren’t just delivered  by the artist, A&R or marketing team at the label, but also the back room teams of operational staff who make the release and strategy happen …. and definitely not the stooges who have the ear of the CEO and line up alongside like Bezos, Zuckerberg and Elon at an inauguration. 

Despite lazy stereotypes that even before the Tech Bro’s record labels and their broader music groups were staffed by overpaid trust fund kids leeching off artist micropayments, there are great people remaining at the core. Surviving triple digit headcount reductions driving ‘lean and efficient’ operations supported by ‘world class’ Tech. These are talented, deeply creative, intelligent and committed people, who prioritise their desire to work in an industry that they’re passionate about, whilst living lives with little privilege.

These people have worked their apprenticeships on the job, have grown into bespoke roles, jigsaw pieces in a 1000 piece organisation that no Tech can master alone, and if we’re understanding what they can offer will be around for years to come. They don’t cycle through jobs every 3 years on the way to somewhere else perceived to be better. They don’t talk on high profile panels or appear on LinkedIn  with ex-SME , ex-XL, ex-Domino written after their names. They don’t have an MBA from Stanford. They have a Doctorate in humility, passion and chaos management from Warner Music Group to show for their mastery

These people often have smaller voices but huge impact via institutional knowledge, and pride in their length of service. It’s nothing to be ashamed of to work in the same company for 10, 20 or 30 years no matter what the new world order may make you feel. They wistfully scrunch their brows and reference the multiple prior regime changes who arrive, buoyed by success from elsewhere and the latest expertise but forget their humility. The very same regimes who move on, weighed down only by their severance and ego, leaving the same teams to keep the train running down the track, ready for the next rinse and repeat.

Recorded music operations are complex, niche, inefficient and dysfunctional meaning no single person, team or department will fix this, especially if balancing accountability to the board and Wall Street into the bargain. Spending huge amounts on Tech or using a corp comms team to convince the industry that we’ll be saved by the Superfan is not the answer. The solution is to discover great music and navigate the global chaos to capture a moment in time through passion, creativity and grit. The rest will come with everyone’s commitment, including the 30+ year veterans grinding it out on deck. Tech can help, but the passion and pride of delivering on something that’s exciting, fresh, emotive, meaningful and of the moment will motivate the right team to give their heart and soul whether they’ve been around for 3 weeks or 3 decades.