Old New Yorker ad of the day

This one is from late 1964. I'm really taken by the illustration. Plus, the Citroen DS is just the best car in the world, ever.

Hypothetical mixtape: January 2014

Just like the Commonwealth Law Reports, we like to sneak in a playlist that is drawn from the same calendar year in which it is published, in order to pretend that we aren't actually as far behind as we, in fact, are. And will no doubt continue to be.

"Dave Allen at Large", by Alan Hawkshaw. You don't often think of TV theme tunes as actual songs. But they are. This one always makes me want to pour a glas of whiskey and light a fag. And I don't even like either of those things.

"A Walk in the Black Forest", by Klaus Wunderlich. Speaking of 1970s British television: "And now, a walk in the black forest." (Bonus: album cover of the month. Eat yr heart out Barry Morgan.)

"Pico", by Lowell Fulsom. Instrumental as anything.

"Keep on Dancing (feat. Marvin Gaye) (Makossa & Megablast Extended Disco Version)", by Parov Stelar. That's quite a title. Almost as long as the song itself. Which (the song) is more Chic than Chic, more "Random Access Memories" than "Random Access Memories". It even kicks into a Moroder thing three minutes in. How good is that?

"Bang a Gong (Get It On) (Radio Edit)", by Witch Queen. Does anybody know anything about this? It looks and feels like a product of the disco heyday, but it also somehow gives off a vibe of being too good to be true. What's that, Skip? There's a 10-minute version? Be still, my beating heart.

"Flow Coma (Remix by Afx)", by 808 State. Munted beats and fractured vocals. We find ourselves in the land of the Aphex Twin, who unexpectedly had a big year in 2014. But this is well before all of that. My guess is that Factory Floor may have once been well into this song.

"Fall From a Height -- The Field Way", by The Honeydrips. Swedish goodness, from 2007. The interesting thing is, listening to the song from this distance, how instantly recognisable it is as the work of The Field, even at that early stage in his career. Dude clearly knew what he was about.

"Silly Crimes", by The Tough Alliance. More Swedish goodness. More instantly recognisable sounds.

"The Brae", by Yumi Zouma. *Sigh*

"Too True to be Good", by Dum Dum Girls. The song title may be too clever by half, but the song itself has ringing guitars and a fine chorus, and the not-so-distant echoes of Siouxsie and the Banshees are a nice touch.

"I Miss Your Bones", by Hospitality. Whereas the title of this song is only disturbing if you stop and think about it. Insert your choice of overused post-punk adjectives here: spiky? Check. Angular? Okay. Oh we go meccanic dancing.

"Love", by Beck. This month's Beck song is a John Lennon cover, thrown together for a Valentine's Day concept album available only from a well-known global coffee emporium. The Hard Rock Cafe of lattes. The song is not so distant in tone from his "Morning Phase" album, which, in my book, is a good thing.

"Facing All the Same Tomorrows", by Vernon Wray. This is the kind of song you would expect Beck to cover. It is a real heartbreaker, from the brother of Link. (That there's a Link link. (Sorry.)) Stunning.

"Losing True", by The Roches. I never heard a Roches song that didn't stop me in my tracks. I think it's the sophisticated and/or complex minor-chord vocal harmonies. And is that Robert Fripp I hear? (Small Things for Small Minds Department: the Roches work on me the same way as Kate & Anna McGarrigle, whom Nick Cave used to striking effect on "No More Shall We Part". And Cave enlisted Fripp to do his thing on the Grinderman song "Heathen Child" (heard to best effect on its big (or at least longer) brother, "Super Heathen Child"). Nick Cave and me, y'know, it's like we're the same person. Or something.)

"Help Me Lose My Mind (Larry Heard Fingers Chillout Mix)", by Disclosure. I didn't quite get the whole Disclosure thing. Maybe I was asleep for the five minutes during which they were huge. This, though, is stunning. The vocal track has been removed from the (relatively) cluttered backdrop of the original, and given room to stretch out and breathe. It needed that.

"Covered in Writing", by Eluvium. This sounds like Pachelbel's "Canon" with all of the frilly bits stripped out. And that means it also sounds like the second side of Eno's "Discreet Music" but without the wonky out-of-phase timing (the idea behind which always struck me as better than the reality).

2014 is not 1964. But perhaps it could have been.

A device that lets you watch television programmes on a small screen while you are out and about? Hmmmm. I think I have one of those in my pocket right now.

(From the New Yorker, 7 November 1964. Right click to open in a new window to enlarge.)

"We check the charts / And start to figure it out"

It's December, so let's do this thing.

Ten of the Best

Last year's list was ridiculously long. This year, we can narrow it down to a comfortable ten. This is not to say there aren't other worthy records out there, whether it's the ones that require further digestion (Flying Lotus, Actress and Andy Stott, I choose you!), or the ones that can't be obtained in Canberra for love or money (The Juan Maclean and David Kilgour, I choose you!). But these are the ten albums that have resonated most with me over the course of the year, the ones that keep generating that itch that needs scratching. And, like the amplifier in "Spinal Tap", this list of ten goes up to 11.

"Morning Phase", by Beck.
"Our Love", by Caribou.
"High Life", by Eno - Hyde.
"Becs", by Fennesz.
"Held in Splendor", by Quilt.
"Atlas", by Real Estate.
"Entropicalia", by The Soundcarriers.
"They Want Your Soul", by Spoon.
"It's Album Time", by Todd Terje.
"Vermont", by Vermont.
"All Kinds of You", by Ryley Walker.

The one from 2013 that missed the cut but would have been a shoe-in

"Rival Dealer", by Burial.

Best new old music

"Volume 3", by The Cleaners from Venus.

The songs

"Rain", by Jimmy Tait, because it gets me where I live.
"Lights On", by FKA twigs, because it gets me where I, um, er, uh, ah, erm, it just gets me.

The book

I tend to react badly to novels about music (Nick Hornby, I choose you -- not!), but not this time. "Telegraph Avenue", by Michael Chabon, gets it exactly right. (Whatever "it" is.) It may not have come out this year, but I'm a slow reader.

The film

In any other year I would be saying "The Grand Budapest Hotel", but Jim Jarmusch's "Only Lovers Left Alive" is very special. Can we have both of them? (Shout-outs to "A Most Wanted Man" and "Calvary", while we're at it.)

Song of the day

"Faith in Strangers", by Andy Stott.

This is a difficult one. Andy Stott's last album, "Luxury Problems" (them's the best kind of problems), was perfect in almost every way. His new album, "Faith in Strangers", runs a little harder on the abstract/experimental/oblique axis. Me being a primarily meat-and-spuds kind of guy, I am finding it a bit difficult to get my teeth into. In large measure, I can admire it a lot more than I find myself liking it. At least, at this early stage.

It is an album that has an interesting structure. (Like Nicolas Jaar's "Space Is Only Noise", with which it might have quite a bit in common, it is difficult to decide whether it is a collection of songs or one contiguous song comprised of various not-always-cohesive parts.) It starts off very impressively. The first track, "Time Away", is beatless and held together (to the extent that it is held together at all) by what sounds like a ship's foghorn. It is not quite like anything else I can think of. If Brian Eno did an album entitled "Music for Fog-bound Container Ships", it might sound like this. (Actually, that is an album I would like to hear.)

The second track, "Violence", drifts ominously (perhaps it's that title?) with the fleetingest vocal fragment and a very John Foxx-like synth motif until the first beat of the album (preceded by an even more ominous pulse) appears nine minutes after you first pressed play on the CD. And this is a "dance" album? (No, it most certainly is not.) But the beats build into a most unholy sequence of overdriven piledriver bludgeoning, which is bound to set off false readings on any nearby seismometer.

From there, if I'm being honest, my attention starts to drift somewhat. (This, I'm certain, is a criticism of me, not of the album.) But I was dragged back into the room with a start by the title track. It starts with a deep bass pulse. A very appealing skittering cymbal program kicks in next, joined by a simple snare pattern I may even have been able to write myself, whereupon an actual bass guitar emerges, unbelievably conjuring the precise sound, and feel, of the third Cure album, "Faith" (which will always be the Cure album for me). Alison Skidmore, the singer who made such a mark on "Luxury Problems", returns here, delivering, from a distance, something that sounds remarkably like -- gasp! -- a song. And that's all there is to it, really, but it is so striking as to leave one speechless.

Which leaves the final piece, "Missing", which takes the album out with waves of abstracted synths and the most ghostly, oppressive (and yet lyrical as all heck) double bass I think I have ever heard. (This could also be on the above-mentioned hypothetical Eno record.)

It is, clearly, an album that is going to require work. But you know how sometimes you can just tell that, even though you don't quite get what is going on yet, the effort is going to be worth it? So I can't at this stage include it in my albums of the year (coming soon!: be still your beating heart), but it might well land high up in an albums of the decade list. (Though I'm not sure which decade.)

Hypothetical mixtape: December 2013

December 2013. It all seems so far away.

"I Want To Fly", by Brown Eyed Girls. You can call it K-Pop if you want to. Or you can just call it Pop. But you can't deny the lush seventies strings, or the liquid electric-guitar line that appears around the one minute mark and reappears from time to time thereafter in a rather satisfying manner.

"All You're Waiting For (feat Nancy Whang)", By Classixx. Has there ever been a time when the words "feat Nancy Whang" weren't a 100% selling point? What are you waiting for? Also, there is a new Juan Maclean album out there somewhere (although not, as yet, in Canberra record stores: c'mon guys, you are throwing money away).

"Calls (feat Jill Scott)", by Robert Glasper Experiment. On Blue Note (it says here), if that means anything anymore. Perhaps this is a throwback to nineties "acid jazz". Perhaps it's a nod to Yesterday's New Quintet. Perhaps there's even a tiny bit of Flying Lotus's DNA in here. Whatever: every time I hear that electric piano my heart breaks a little. No, I can't figure that out either.

"Walk With Me", by Memoryhouse. Well, obviously I like this. What I don't get is how it landed on Sub Pop. Mudhoney they ain't. Memoryhouse are a band (if you can call two people a band) (from Canada, no less) who were tossing gorgeous songs onto the Internet three or four years ago. Whatever they had then, they still have.

"Where The River Goes", by Amplifier. There sure is a lot of fine music out there that one is simply not aware of. Turns out Amplifier have been plying their trade since 1999, and yet this is the first I have ever heard of them. The good people at Discogs label it "prog rock". I don't know about that. It is, in large part, straight-forward alt rock, but there is something about it that transcends its genre. I think the seventies harmonies help. (This is a six-minute song. You just know it is going to explode at some point. It does. And when it does, it's a ball-tearer. Actually, if you had to guess which of these songs was on Sub Pop, it wouldn't be the Memoryhouse.)

"The Garden Of Poppies", by Ryuichi Sakamoto featuring Robin Scott. In which we continue the recent tradition of having at least one YMO connection in these playlists. Come for the intriguing drum patterns and tasty synth washes. Stay for the chord change.

"Like A Fool", by Robin Gibb. High Eighties Style at its highest.

"Face Dances, Pt 2", by Pete Townshend. How many hit records can you name that are in 5/4 time? Okay, "Take Five", that's a given. "Living In The Past", by Jethro Tull, a song I can never entirely get out of my head. And this. Also: what is Townshend singing in the chorus? "Face dancing tonight"? "Face into the light"? I'm sure Denis, our resident The Whovian, knows.

"Night Nurse / Version", by Gregory Isaacs. Speaking only for myself, I'm not such a fan of JA music made after about 1979. Something about the higher sound quality and/or digitalisation of the rastaman sound rubs me the wrong way. But of course there are exceptions, and this is such a fine song that it would be mean-spirited of me to quibble with the sound. Notable -- see also "Don't You Want Me" -- for the way the singer writes himself into the song.

"Lightning Flash (Weak Heart Drop)", by Big Youth. This is what I'm talking about. Reggae from 1975. (De)constructed using cardboard, string, elastic bands and sticky tape, and all the better for it.

"All Because (I'm A Foolish One)", by Al Green. Clearly, I don't know enough about Al Green. All I have is received knowledge: smooth soul singer, found God. These pieces of (mis)information didn't prepare me for this: a few more screams and it could be James Brown. Wokka-wokka guitar, nimble organ lines, horns: you know it.

"Hey Joyce", by Lou Courtney. This is actually one of the first songs I found on the Internet all those years ago, once I figured out what the right mouse button was for. But I misplaced it at some stage. So this is like the return of an old friend. (Hi, Phil!) I think they might call this Northern Soul, but what would I know? Maybe it doesn't do a whole lot over its two minutes and forty-five seconds, but I reckon if you heard it on the radio you would have no reason to change the station.

"Dead", by Carolyn Sullivan. Singing as acting. At least, you would hope that Carolyn Sullivan didn't actually feel this way when recording this song: "I wish I was dead". Hoo boy. Meanwhile a Hammond and a saxophone float along underneath, as if the deed was done and they were bearing her mortal soul towards the heaven she no doubt deserves. Kick-started, too, by a drum track that's ripe for the sampling. [Editor's note: these last three songs are from the estimable Clifton's Corner, appearing occasionally on Aquarium Drunkard. Thanks, pal.]

"Introduction 2 Dance", by J.V.C. F.O.R.C.E. Early hip hop is the hip hop for me. Before things got all, you know, nasty and stuff.

"Deutscher Girls", by Adam And The Ants. In which Mr Adam Ant tentatively steps out into the spotlight, in the company of a sprightly tango and is that a triangle? The mystery, to me, is how this turned up on an Editions EG records compilation, in company with such post-punk luminaries (not) as Phil Manzanera, Jon Hassell, Penguin Cafe Orchestra and King Crimson. Was it a misguided shot at contemporary relevance (even though the song was by 1982 already four years old) or a prescient vision of these disparate musics not being differently pigeon-holed in a more enlightened future? (Mind you, there is a song by Eno & Snatch on the same record that more explicitly bridges the presumed unbridgeable gap between the pre- and post-punk worlds. Well, it would be Eno, wouldn't it?

"Human Once Again (Four Tet Remix)", by Grimes. If anyone out there is hankering for a Four Tet song that sounds as if it might be a lost outtake from the burst of creativity that generated "Rounds", look no further. Grimes's wispy vocals are more than just an added bonus.

"Leave That For Memories", by Hoover. A long-haired, moustachioed dude, perched on the edge of a tombstone, staring blankly at, or just past, the camera. It could be Lee Hazlewood, if Lee Hazlewood had an actual singing voice. It could also be, I don't know, Tim Hardin, or Phil Ochs, or the Nilsson of "Everybody's Talkin'". They knew how to make records in those days.

"Caught Away", by Oasis. Aw heck, I don't know. Just listen to it. (It seems to be still available here.) This is not that Oasis.

"Door To Tomorrow", by Beyond The Wizards Sleeve. Those four BTWS EPs left a permanent mark on those who were exposed to them. These guys are inveterate tricksters, and as such it is difficult for outsiders to separate the fact from the fiction. We can tie ourselves up in knots or we can just bask in the richness of the backing vocals and George Martin (with or without the "esque") strings.

"Soft Wind", by Orchestra Gary Pacific. It is probably reasonable to assume that, just by reading the band and song titles, you have a fair idea what this is going to sound like. You might not be entirely correct, though: at the very least, the funky-drummer break sounds like something Hydroplane could have isolated, looped, and worked their own magic around. The rest of the song doesn't sound like that.

YouTube of the day

"Mary Mountain", by Quilt.

You already know how I feel about the Quilt album. Now here's a chance to watch the kids themselves in action. They seem to smile a lot. Hippies.

Hey daddy-o, I don't wanna go down to the Basement (Tapes)

A couple of weeks ago in the New Yorker, Sasha Frere-Jones had an admirable go at parsing the "Complete Basement Tapes" (possible alternative title to the article: "The Basement Tapes: Their Part in My Downfall"). You can read that article here.

This is not the first time Dylan has appeared in the magazine. Ellen Willis wrote at least a couple of pieces during her stint as its rock music critic. And Nat Hentoff wrote one of the magazine's "Profiles" on him in 1964. Hentoff followed his subject around during the recording of "Another Side of Bob Dylan", although the article itself seems not to have appeared until a month or so after the album was released (if Wikipedia can be trusted). Well, things moved more slowly back then. Presumably Dylan, as interview subject, did his usual amount of dissembling: it would be interesting to know what the fabled fact-checking department made of it all.

The Hentoff piece was reprinted in the book of interviews "Dylan on Dylan", but my preference (pathetic as it may be) is to read New Yorker articles in situ, typed using the actual New Yorker typeface, and in their original context, i.e., surrounded by magazine ads of the period. (Like, uh, "Go ahead, be a narcissist". Woah.) Anyway, I made a PDF of it, and you can get that from the Dropbox, at least for a little while.

You're welcome.

Song of the day

"Tempus Fugit", by The Cannanes.

From one Australian legend to another: the Cannanes pay tribute to the big guy.

It's a shame that He didn't live to hear it. But given that it was written and recorded on the occasion of his death, well, that starts to get a bit weird, doesn't it?

Song of the day

"Second Chance", by Caribou.

The new Caribou album, "Our Love", is another advertisement for listening to music on compact disc on a home stereo system. (While either of those thing still exist.) It contains the most sumptuous, perfectly wrought sounds you could ever expect to hear. (For any Snaith fans who were put off by the jagged edges of his recent output under the Daphni moniker this should come as a welcome surprise.) It also might be the best album of 2014. And it does all of these things without drawing attention to itself.

What it also is is a demonstration of a unique planetary system, made up of Dan Snaith, Kieran Hebden and Jeremy Greenspan. These three individuals seem to be in permanent orbit around each other, sometimes drifting out onto distant arcs, sometimes crossing paths in close proximity for a fleeting moment, for a remix of one another's tracks or just for the purposes of cross-pollination.

From time to time, other celestial bodies wander into their orbit, one of whom, Jessy Lanza (responsible for one of my favourite albums of last year, which just happened to be co-written and co-produced by Greenspan), provides vocals on this song. And what a song it is: in a slightly alternate universe it could be a diva-pop smash; most of the elements are intact. Melody has long been at the forefront of his work (see, in particular, the psychedelic-pop splendour of the "Andorra" album) and this song takes those ideas to the next level. But, perhaps unsurprisingly, it isn't played entirely straight: note the synthesisers that wander slightly out of tune, as if to remind you what you are listening to, and so that you don't get too comfortable. Still, it is, on reflection, rather a long way from "glitch-pop".

Song of the day

"Walk On By", by The Stranglers.

Following on from our most recent dispatch, today we were reading a list on The Groanydad web site of "the 50 best covers". Aside from being immediately struck by how many great covers aren't on that list ("Life Is Life", by Laibach; "I Heard It Through The Grapevine", by The Slits; "The Model", by Snakefinger; "The Model", by Big Black ... we could go on; we won't), we were drawn to number three. Did we know that The Stranglers had tackled "Walk On By"? If we did, we had long forgotten.

In retrospect, maybe we shouldn't have been as surprised as we were by "Golden Brown" and "Skin Deep". Any supposedly "punk" band that: (a) had the vision to take Bacharach and David and play it straight (and long), and with a complete absence of punk subversion, attitude or (perhaps) irony; and (b) could meanwhile sound exactly like themselves, was clearly capable of anything.

Song of the day

"Skin Deep", by The Stranglers.

This morning in the background we have been listening to a random selection of UK top 40 songs from the 1980s (thanks, Darren; you have no idea the extent to which your hard work has added to our boys' broader education).

I always stop what I am doing when I hear this song. There is something simple but compelling about it, whether it's the excellent use of 1980s synthesisers or the astounding feat The Stranglers pulled off by going from "No More Heroes" and "Peaches", via the extraordinary "Golden Brown", to songs like this.

The other thing about this song is how much Hugh Cornwell's voice, at times, is a dead ringer for David McComb.

Hypothetical mixtape: November 2013

Back again for another month's worth of web trawling. As is the norm, almost 12 months out of date, but whatever. We're trying.

"Ochansensu-Su", by tricot. If Tortoise suddenly, and inexplicably, morphed into four Japanese (post) rock chicks, this is what they would sound like. Because Tortoise plus Japanese rock-chick vocals would be, like, hell yes.

"Far Away From You", by Sachiko Kanenobu. Also from Japan, this time from 1972, and, more precisely, the "sunshine pop" corner of the 1972 yard. Which possibly explains how it appeared as a reissue on Melbourne's own Chapter Records label, although even so it doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me. Produced by Harry Hosono, because what would one of these playlists be without at least one nod to YMO?

"I Like You", by Katy B. This song gets off to a slow start, such that you might not give it the time of day if you were a person of little patience. But stick with it: the chorus is an understated pop wonder. Well, I think so anyway.

"I Could Be Happy", by Altered Images. On the other hand, if you are going to hold someone like Katy B up against the might and majesty of Altered Images, she is going to be found wanting. That's just the way it is. This is the superior-in-every-way seven-inch version. It cuts to the chase.

"Running To The Sea", by Royksopp. Latest word on Royksopp is that they are packing it in. That's too bad: a couple of the songs on their recent collaboration EP with Robyn are right up there. In the meantime, this is one of a number of stray songs that they tossed into the atmosphere a while back. It sits on something of a goth tip, which, I have to say, suits them.

"Melody", by Blonde Redhead. There is a hint of the gothic, as well, in this mesmerising piece of mysterious pop from the always reliable Blonde Redhead, from a few years (and albums) ago. They happen to have a new album out, which was given the Pitchfork seal of harsh disapproval. But we all know, don't we, that a negative P4k review isn't always an accurate reflection of how things really are.

"How Long", by Lipps Inc. You probably know Lipps Inc for "Funky Town", but that is most likely the sum total of your knowledge. But -- surprise, surprise -- you also know this song. It was written by Paul Carrack, and was a hit for a band called Ace back in the mid-seventies. (I had thought, when I was hearing it on the radio back then, that, given the electric piano and the rich harmony vocals, I was listening to 10CC. Or maybe Little River Band.) It was covered, if memory serves, by an Australian group called Scandal, during the Countdown era (this is impossible to Google). Still, it was a surprise to me to learn that Lipps Inc did a version too, although upon hearing it I immediately recognised it as the backing track for an early Kompakt klassik, "Timecode", by Justus Kohncke. (Which, in turn, I learned about through hearing Marit Bergman singingthe Pet Shop Boys' "Rent" over the top of it. Layers. Upon layers. Upon layers.)

"Projektions (Gabe Gurney Factory Floor Remix)", by Girls Names. You could sneak this onto a compilation tape of Cabaret Voltaire songs circa "Just Fascination" and only the most attentive would ever notice the difference. A welcome nod to an underappreciated era of a significant band which also serves to underscore the continuing importance of Factory Floor. 

"Break My Love", by Nicolas Jaar. This is probably included here for the sake of completeness (there can never be enough Nicolas Jaar music in the world; this track snuck onto a compilation album put out by his label, but doesn't seem to be otherwise available). But I do love the way the track opens up after its first minute of hesitant synths. Is it my imagination or is this faster than most of Jaar's music?

"Black Savates", by DJ Steef. Otherwise known as "Planet Caravan", by Black Sabbath, given the re-edit treatment and turned into a lesson in beachside dance music bliss. (Like I would know.) DJ Steef is, apparently, a "mysterious Frenchman". As if there were any other kind. Note the distant echoes of the "Dirty Edit" of Sylvester's "I Dig You".

"Icct Hedral (Philip Glass Orchestration)", by Aphex Twin. "You are pulling my leg", I said. But you weren't. And it is. (It's pretty impressive, too. Maybe not the precise mid-point between "Koyaanisqatsi" and "Selected Ambient Works Volume II", but it sits somewhere along that line.)

"Song Of Bliss", by The Khalsa String Band. Trends in music can operate unfairly: some music that is created at a point in time when that style of music is out of fashion gets lost in the (bum's) rush. It is plausible that the only reason we don't all have this song on the mix tapes we have been making for our significant others over the past 40 years is because it can be easily dismissed as Hippie Music, and the world of 1973 had no place for such things. (If Marc Bolan had continued with Tyrannosaurus Rex beyond 1970, we may never have heard of him, either.) Whereas, detached from the world of 1973, this is quite simply a beautiful song, and there should always be room for one of those.

"You Can Do Magic", by America. We think of them as one hit wonders. (But what a hit.) If this is an example of what lies beneath "Horse With No Name", pass me a shovel: it's time to start digging.

"Lay Low Day", by Don Muro. It might be churlish to note that "More Than A Feeling" was a hit record the year before this song appeared. But you cannot help but recognise the former at both ends of "Lay Low Day". On the other hand, maybe that's what makes this such an appealing song. (And, to be fair, large parts of the rest of the song are from somewhere else entirely.) Credit, too, to Don Muro for, or so it would appear, playing all instruments in what sounds like a professional rock-band performance. Could one person really do all that? And, if so, why have we never heard of him?

"My Kind Of Woman", by Mac DeMarco. It's not from the 1970s, but doesn't at all feel out of place after a bunch of songs from that decade. The melody line is worth a thousand words.

"Clear The Air", by Jacco Gardner. Similarly, this cat is making the music of 20 years before he was born, and I'm darned if I can detect the seams. This is possibly the most gorgeous song of 2013. Or 1967.

"Black Roses", by Escondido. If you put Mazzy Star into a lead-lined box with Calexico and shook the bejeezus out of it, then inserted a small hole at one end, attaching a filter so that only the purest goodness could seep out, this is what you would find in the specimen jar. It's as close to magic as science will allow. (As recommended by known hipster David Lynch in Mojo some time back. Mojo may be a magazine largely populated by hacks and yesterday's rock writers, and it may be statute-bound to include The Rolling Stones, Dylan, The Beatles and Led Zeppelin on the cover at least once every two years, but it is still worth flicking through. You just never know.)

Song of the day

"This Evening So Soon", by Bob Dylan.

Dad died 25 years ago today. I've written about him, and about that day, before. I don't need to go over any of that ground again. But, being an only child, I do have to mark the occasion, because nobody else is going to.

How about we limit it to one memory: a memory that only recently worked its way up to the surface.

Dad and I were at the farm, working. I don't know what we were doing, probably something like digging post holes, repairing fences, or mucking about with water pipes or tanks. It was a still day. The blue sky stretched all the way from one horizon to the other. At some point we both thought we could hear, far off, what sounded like a lawn mower. This made no sense. The only house close enough for the sound of a lawn mower to carry to where we were was our own, and mum wasn't the one who mowed the lawn. We stopped what we were doing and concentrated on where the sound was coming from, until one of us noticed a tiny dot in the sky over to the east. As this tiny dot gradually increased in size, so the sound of the lawnmower gradually increased in volume. Time passed, and it continued to head in our direction, until eventually we could see what it was: a person flying an ultralight, quite literally a lawn mower with wings. We watched, stunned, as it buzzed its way over our heads and off to the west, where, eventually, we lost sight of it, and the sound faded away to nothing. I don't imagine either of us said anything. More likely, we just looked at each other and got on with the job at hand.

It's a good memory, because it involves just the two of us, working together out in the paddocks, which is how I like to remember the time I was able to spend with him.

Today's song, by Bob Dylan, has nothing to do with any of this. But it is about somebody called "Old Bill", and I think of dad whenever I listen to it. Dad, I don't think, would have thought much of Dylan. He was more of a Bing Crosby kind of guy: technically correct crooners who didn't do anything too fancy. (I doubt he would have thought much of Sinatra, either.)

Dylan being Dylan, the song cannot be found on either Soundcloud or YouTube, but you can listen to it on a page of Bob's official web site, if you can find the "play" icon. (Hint: it is not drawing any attention to itself.)


...


The other thing that I have been dwelling on is that I am now only 13 years younger than dad was when he died. I have been in my current job, and living in the same house, for 15 years now. It doesn't feel like a long time.