Amorphous Androgynous, "Tales of Ephidrina"

This blog celebrated twenty years (!) this past January.  Even though I've been really terrible when it comes to introducing and completing a new series of posts (reviewing every Eurovision winner TBC, I promise), I'm going to be optimistic about this newest idea.  To commemorate the 20th anniversary of the blog, I'm going to write a series of reviews/thoughts of albums that I haven't heard in over twenty years.  These are not first time listens, but rather, albums that I already know (or knew) quite well but as far as I can recall have not heard since the year 2000.

I have the first three albums lined up and they are not albums that I heard once or twice, never really understood or appreciated, and am coming back to revisit over twenty years later.  I listened to them quite often during the 90's, but somehow they fell through the cracks and then somehow you blink and it's twenty years later.  I may have heard some of the songs here and there, but have not listened to the complete album during the life of the blog.

"Tales of Ephidrina", released under the Amorphous Androgynous moniker, was a not so secret side project of techno pioneers Future Sound of London.  There was a time, before I truly accepted CD's, that I bought techno mostly on vinyl but also, on rare occasions, on cassette.   Seefeel's "Quique" and Autechre's "Incunabula" were two of the other techno-esque albums that owned on cassette and listened to regularly at the time.  On principle, because I felt silly paying for the same thing twice, I didn't repurchase hardly any of my old cassettes on CD.  I finally caved and bought the 2CD "Quique" reissue several years ago (so technically not a repurchase), and found "Tales of Ephidrina" for cheap (five Euros) on my recent trip to Hamburg (I still don't have "Incunabula" on CD). 

In those days, the opening track "Liquid Insects" was one of the most progressive pieces of club music I'd ever heard.  At a time when IDM was still an original concept, this kind of track was the album's drawing card for me -- a long, drawn out intro, intricately layered samples and field recordings, Detroit-ish eye on an a glistening technological future, but still rooted in early 90's rave.  As the cliche went, it was the type of then-emerging style of techno that worked equally well at home as in the club (although I never heard it in a club and have no clue if it ever got much play in clubs).  Twenty seven years later, I hear this track a lot differently.   Now it sounds as though FSOL simply recycled the template for their earlier classic "Papua New Guinea", by slightly altering the delicate breakbeats and rumbling bass, and replacing the chanting with birdcalls. It's still very good, but not the world-changer that I once thought it was. 

"Tales of Ephidrina" was recorded at the same time as their later classic "Lifeforms", which departed completely from a club-oriented vision and birthed the idea of the two-hour bedroom-listening modern electronic opus.  In hindsight, with both albums well in the rear view mirror, the similarities couldn't be more obvious.  The broken beats of "Swab" are an interlude that serve to ease the listener into the idea that the dancefloor is about to be left far behind.  "Mountain Goat" brings the album to a very different headspace.  There's a dichotomy between the whirring electronic blips that rush by and between the speakers, and the gentle strums of acoustic guitar that slow everything down to a lazy afternoon's snail's pace.  It takes its cues from the KLF's "Chill Out" for sure, but also anticipates the fusion of abstract electronics and the wistful dreamlike melodies that Fennesz would master on "Endless Summer".  There would be more of this to come on "Lifeforms" and today it's the style that connects with me more than anything else on the album.

Elsewhere, fifth track "Ephidrina" seeks out a vague space between the chill out room and the 6AM post-rave vibe, and "Auto Pimp" tried to out-quoth "Quoth" (i.e. Polygon Window") with its clanging, propulsive beats and ultra-repetitive hooks.  "Pod Room" ends the album on a wonderfully down note, slowing acid house down to a squelchy 110 BPM crawl before giving way to a dense flurry of weird alien noises.

At a time when the idea of a long form techno album was still a work in progress, and many techno acts struggled to escape whatever niche they'd been pigeonholed into, "Tales of Ephidrina" presented something very different to the norm. Most of its tracks can't be called techno at all, which was entirely the point.  By the time "Lifeforms" was released a couple of years later, the term "modern classical" was being thrown around in all seriousness to describe it, at least for the beatless experimental parts.   "Tales of Ephidrina" isn't a great album, but certainly did its part in helping to expand the boundaries of 90's electronic music.

RIP Andrew Weatherall

I know this is late, but I couldn't let this one pass ... Celebrity producers have been around for decades, often upstaging the acts they produce.  Andrew Weatherall was the first such producer that I was aware of and admired.  His groundbreaking work with Primal Scream in the early 90's shifted the goalposts of two genres.  Indie rock bands, with the exception of several bands on Factory, weren't looking to dance music for inspiration.  Weatherall dragged them there.  Notably, he also had a hand in Factory's late 80's success with his remix of Happy Mondays.  With Primal Scream laid down a blueprint for the fusion of rock and dance that cast a long shadow over the whole of the 1990's and beyond.

After years of wearing out "Screamadelica" and hearing its greatest moments in heavy rotation on radio and in clubs, I was sick of hearing "Loaded".  Great art, no matter how original, loses its luster after overexposure.  Fortunately, an extended hiatus is often all that's needed to restore its power to be great art again.  A little while ago I heard Outkast's "Hey Ya" on the radio for the first time in years and was blown away all over again.  Fifteen years had passed and nobody had caught up to them -- if "Hey Ya" hadn't existed and suddenly appeared on the radio today, it would be every bit as arresting.  I had the same reaction when "Loaded" was played on the radio as a tribute to Weatherall after his death.  Take the best bits from a mediocre rock track, loop it to infinity, craft a boombastic groove, and ride it to club domination -- such an absurdly simple idea, yet so difficult to pull off.

If classic albums are your barometer of greatness, then his contributions to "Screamadelica" are undoubtedly his most timeless achievements.   His Sabres of Paradise and Two Lone Swordsmen projects are well worth checking out as well, and in recent years I've come to consider One Dove's "Morning Dove White" (produced by Weatherall) as a downtempo indie-dance masterpiece nearly equal to "Screamadelica".

Weyes Blood, "Titanic Rising"

I get it, I really do.  It's rare to hear an album that sets out such a lush, gorgeous mood and can sustain it song after song.  The music billows and floats with a relaxed ambience that's found in peak Kate Bush and very little else.  Natalie Mering's vocals are a cross between Karen Carpenter and Joan Baez, soothing to the extreme, gentle above all else.  She has a voice you can listen to for hours, she can sing to an audience of thousands yet make person feel as though she is singing to them and them alone.   The album is usually classified as "baroque pop", which is the usual catchphrase for chanteuse-based music with string arrangements in a somewhat unconventional pop structure (i.e. beautiful, sweeping melodies but without obvious hooks and big choruses).  It definitely checks off all those boxes, but avoids the studio excesses that can alienate some listeners who prefer music that could have been conceivably been recorded in a studio apartment, rather than a big budget studio.

I think that Weyes Blood's music stirs the same emotions for her fans as Beach House's music does for me.  And this is where I get confused.  I don't hear what definitively separates "Titanic Rising" from many other vaguely lo-fi, ambitious-sounding indie pop records past and present.  Seeing how Lana Del Rey's album also finished near the top of many critics' lists, I sense a trend.  Both look for inspiration from classic song styles of yesteryear (when life was supposedly simpler) and project a contrarian mixture of optimism and cynicism. If they sing about love, are they being sincere or is all love simply doomed? It's a sign of the times, where life is fairly good overall but many people are convinced that we are on the inevitable downslope toward something immeasurably worse.  It's a good attitude to have for an artist in many genres.  But is the music really anything special? 

Peter Hook, "The Hacienda -- How Not to Run a Club"

This is the first book written by Peter Hook in his three part autobiographical series, albeit read by me in reverse order. 

The Joy Division book didn't add much to the mountain of literature already written about JD, but as a series of picture postcard memories of his time in the band, it was fine.

The New Order book is probably the only essential one of the series, not least because the band rarely gave interviews and hid behind their music for most of the 80's.  The book confirmed that all the rumours were true (nobody at Factory had a clue what they were doing, the members of New Order generally despised each other), but it was still surprising -- and engrossing -- to read about it in such detail. 

The first part of this book is true to the subtitle -- "how not to run a club".  Opening the Hacienda was a visionary act by a bunch of inspired, supremely talented people.  It was also an act of horrible mismanagement and astoundingly bad financial decisions.  Both sides of the coin are outlined by Hook, and I was under the impression that I was in for a downer of a read, full of spite and bitterness.
But once the club reaches the peak of its popularity, the tone of the book changes to one of pride.  It becomes a love letter to the club that Hook clearly still misses very much -- so much so that he opened a new club in 2010 after vowing never to get involved in one again.  Hook gets to brag about what the club meant to people, and how they helped reshape dance culture.  The Hacienda's final years were plagued by violence, shady dealings and dwindling attendance.  I never realized there wasn't a big closing party like the one depicted in "24 Hour Party People".  The club closed down pending a renewal of their licence that never came.  Nobody knew it would be their final night at the time it happened. 

In the end, the book's message is one of positivity -- the experience of running the club and being at the epicentre of an entire culture was worth it for him in the end.  Right before the club closed, Hook recalls a meeting with his accountant where he was asked if he was doing it for his ego or for his wallet.  Of course, it was for the ego -- being a club owner and having a place to go was meaningful for him.  He'd long since known that it was a titanic waste of money and any pretense of the Hacienda as an investment was long since gone.   

Music in Hamburg

All the best stores in Hamburg seem to be in or around the neighbourhood of Sternschanze, northwest of the city's downtown.  This helps explain why I'd never been to any of them until now.

Slam Records has an impressive selection of rock and jazz vinyl, which is clearly the store's calling card.  In the CD section there are plenty of second hand bargains to be found for surprisingly cheap.  Google's description calls it "unassuming", which is accurate based on the graffiti that adorns its outside walls and the colourful yet scruffy display of records in the window.  Zardoz Records is closer to a boutique shop, featuring more contemporary electronic music and a strong indie selection.  It's easy to see why it's considered a "one stop" type of store according to its reviews online.  But the best hidden gem in Hamburg may well be Rekord Musik.  Ignore the blinding whiff of cigarette smoke by the entrance and the oddball, wizardly-looking staff/clientele.  This store has one of the best selections of second hand electronic music I've ever seen.  The quantity isn't huge, but almost everything in stock is a minor classic.  In this genre, albums and compilations from the 90's and 00's are their specialty.  The back room had an eye-opening rack of 90's dance records as well. 

The musical epicentre of Hamburg these days has to be the Elbphilharmonie.  It's exorbitant cost -- over 800 Million Euros -- is something of a running joke among Hamburg residents based on my last two visits to the city.  Its unconventional look -- shimmering waves of glass plopped on top of a red brick warehouse -- also takes some getting used to.  Entrance to the plaza level (~ 35 m) is free, and gives you a taste of what the building has to offer.  Once I saw the building from close up, walked around inside, read more about the architectural concepts behind the building, it all seemed a lot more impressive then it did on my first glance two years ago from the port. 

B-factor revisited

Eight years ago, I looked for a common thread that connected critically acclaimed albums.  I felt there was were two "sweet spots" in an act's career, a window where they were most likely to hit their critical peak (unrelated, perhaps, to their creative peak).  The result was the "b-factor" (admittedly a horrible name), equal to (# of years since the debut album + 1) x (# of albums).

The conclusion?  Critical accolades are most likely for a debut album (b-factor=1, always) or for b-factors in the 15-35 range.

And now, eight years later?  Let's extend the chart from the post eight years ago, using the #1 albums on Pitchfork's year-end critics polls as an example:

Year	Artist	Album	"Years"	"Albums"	b-factor
2019	Lana Del Rey	"Norman Fucking Rockwell"	9	6	60
2018	Mitski	"Be the Cowboy"	6	5	35
2017	Kendrick Lamar	"DAMN"	6	4	28
2016	Solange	"A Seat at the Table"	14	3	45
2015	Kendrick Lamar	"To Pimp a Butterfly"	4	3	15
2014	Run The Jewels	"Run the Jewels 2"	1	2	4
2013	Vampire Weekend	"Modern Vampires of the City"	5	3	18
2012	Kendrick Lamar	"Good Kid, M.A.A.D. City"	1	2	4
2011	Bon Iver	"Bon Iver"	3	2	8
2010	Kanye West	"My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy"	6	5	35
2009	Animal Collective	"Merriweather Post Pavilion"	9	9	90
2008	Fleet Foxes	"Fleet Foxes"	0	1	1
2007	Panda Bear	"Person Pitch"	8	3	27
2006	The Knife	"Silent Shout"	5	4	24
2005	Sufjan Stevens	"Illinois"	5	5	30
2004	Arcade Fire	"Funeral"	0	1	1
2003	The Rapture	"Echoes"	0	1	1
2002	Interpol	Turn on the Bright Lights"	0	1	1
2001	Microphones	"The Glow Pt. 2"	3	5	20
2000	Radiohead	"Kid A"	7	4	32
1999	The Dismemberment Plan	"Emergency and I"	4	3	15

Four out of the eight albums fall squarely in the 15-35 range.  Solange's situation is clearly unique, but this is the kind of scenario I was referring to when I wrote about the number of albums likely needing a higher weight that the number of years since a debut.  Critical fatigue sets in after a certain number of albums, more so than the number of years that an artist has been around.  The same would apply to "Black Messiah" by D'Angelo (and the Vanguard), with a (19+1) x 3 = 60 b-factor.

I wrote that megastars can skew the statistics.  Take Kendrick Lamar, with three #1 albums.  Which is most representative of the kind of critical peak we're trying to identify?  The first one?  Just the ones in the 15-35 range?  All of them taken together?  I'm still not sure.

So the original b-factor reasoning is holding up fairly well ... or is it?  There are competing trends as well.  Let's look at the Pazz and Jop #1 albums over the same twenty year period:

Year	Artist	Album	"Years"	"Albums"	b-factor
2018	Kacey Musgraves	"Golden Hour"	5	4	24
2017	Kendrick Lamar	"DAMN"	6	4	28
2016	David Bowie	"Blackstar"	39	25	1000
2015	Kendrick Lamar	"To Pimp a Butterfly"	4	3	15
2014	D'Angelo and the Vanguard	"Black Messiah"	19	3	60
2013	Kanye West	"Yeezus"	8	6	54
2012	Frank Ocean	"Channel Orange"	0	1	1
2011	Tune-Yards	"Whokill"	2	2	6
2010	Kanye West	"My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy"	6	5	35
2009	Animal Collective	"Merriweather Post Pavilion"	9	9	90
2008	TV on the Radio	"Dear Science"	4	3	15
2007	LCD Soundsystem	"Sound of Silver"	2	2	6
2006	Bob Dylan	"Modern Times"	44	32	1440
2005	Kanye West	"Late Registration"	1	2	4
2004	Kanye West	"The College Dropout"	0	1	1
2003	Outkast	"Speakerboxxx/The Love Below"	9	5	50
2002	Wilco	"Yankee Hotel Foxtrot"	7	4	32
2001	Bob Dylan	"Love and Theft"	39	31	1240
2000	Outkast	"Stankonia"	6	4	28
1999	Moby	"Play"	7	5	40

Dylan broke the scale with his late career resurgence, and David Bowie releasing "Blackstar" and dying in the same week is a confluence of events that might never be repeated. Megastar Kanye West had four #1 albums, thereby explaining the relatively high b-factor for "Yeezus". 

I see two possible changing trends.  First, between the two lists, there hasn't been a debut album at #1 since 2012. However, Pitchfork's list has three sophomore albums in the '10's, and one could argue for lumping together the debut and sophomore releases as the works of new, emerging artists.  In that case, they are faring as well as ever, it seems, albeit less so over the past few years.

Second, between Mitski, Lana Del Rey, the critical acclaim for albums such as Low's "Double Negative" (b-factor=300) and Robyn's "Honey" (b-factor = 192), b-factors seem to be slowly rising because "established" artists seem to have a lengthier peak than in the past.  A veteran act with more than ten years and several albums in their catalogue would become a "for fans only" enterprise, or at least that's what you'd be led to believe (as a non-fan) based on the perfunctory 6.5/10 or 7/10 reviews for their albums.  Familiarity breeds contempt.  But now, a true creative spike can generate more critical excitement than in the recent path, presumably because critics see more worth in reliable, consistent acts?   On the other hand, more than half the #1 albums from the combined two lists were the third, fourth, or fifth albums from those artists.  Right in the 15-35 wheelhouse for b-factor, in other words.  It will be interesting to see if any of these are real trends in the coming years. 

The only end of the decade list that matters?

With each passing year in the '10's, I became more estranged from whatever passes for the critical albums consensus these days.  In 2009, I scored 2/5 in GAPDY (and was at least mildly interested in the other three) and remained mostly within the loop of the most highly acclaimed music of 2010.  By mid-decade, my top ten lists were mostly filled with electronic music oddities and various experimental projects that hardly anyone else paid attention to.  A quick glance at P&J stats through 2016 (thanks again to Glenn Mcdonald) clearly shows this trend via my collapsing centricity scores.  Or, consider the number of albums in the years 2010-2016 for which I was the sole voter: 1 (notably my #1 album that year), 1, 1, 4, 2, 5, 6.

Tracks lists usually contain a lot of duplication of artists that appear on the albums lists.  A representative track from the most acclaimed albums is chosen, the order is jumbled up a bit to distinguish it from the albums, and you end up with a mostly redundant tracks list that doesn't tell you much that you didn't already learn from the albums list.  

In putting together my 40-for-40 list, I discussed the idea of using my tracks list as a form of autobiography, where the songs don't always match with my "favourites of all time", but signify changing trends, attitudes, and relationships with music and in real life. 

Billboard have taken a similar approach with their "100 Songs That Defined the Decade" list.  They note that the decade can't be summed up by simple catchphrases ("The Drake Era", The Global Pop Era", "The EDM era", etc.).  Instead, the decade consists of countless "mini-histories" and mini-eras, which collectively help to define the music of the '10's.  Implicit in all this is the fact that decade start and end points are arbitrary markers anyway, and cultural labels are always attached after the fact.  All the more reason that ten years can't be summed up with a couple of simple descriptions.

They note that "these [100 songs] aren't our picks for the best songs of the decade, or even the most popular, necessarily -- although a large number of them were widely loved, including by many of us on staff -- but rather, the songs that shaped and reflected the music of the 2010's.  Not all of them defined the decade at its best, but better or worse, it's close to impossible to imagine the decade without any of them."

This is exactly how it should be.  Baauer's "Harlem Shake" was an inescapable cultural meme -- and you won't find a sniff of it on any albums lists.  Carly Rae Jepsen's "Call Me Maybe" was a massive #1 hit and arguably the most successful Canadian single ever.  For those reasons, it belongs on a list like this, even if most of her fans insist that her later albums were far better.  Whether you think her best stuff came later or not, whether you are bored sick of "Call Me Maybe" or still add it to your playlists regularly, there's no contradiction between quality and popularity/impact on this kind of tracks list.  On an albums list you'd choose the best album, thereby ignoring most popular hit by far, and skip over a crucial "mini-history" of the decade.  

Billboard's list covers plenty of different genres, and even if you don't listen to albums in many of those genres (which I don't), you're still likely to know some of their most popular songs.  That still counts on a list like this.  There are plenty of mega-hits, controversial moments, and songs with iconic videos.  They even found room for Rebecca Black's "Friday", and it makes perfect sense that they did.   

Each entry features a write-up with input from the producers, artists, and industry insiders responsible for the track.  Some are interviews from years ago, and some are new and refreshing retrospective looks back at what made each song into what it became.  It really comes off like an essential document of music history, and may be the only published "end of the decade" list I can truly relate to.    

Top 10 Albums of 2019

I wasn't consumed by feelings of grief and misery in 2019, although it might seem that way while scanning over this list of albums.  The past year was not a healthy one for me and many people close to me, but while it was going on, it didn't feel like more bad things were happening than in most other years.  In some years time, I may look back on 2019 and eventually grasp how tough things were.  In that case, these ten albums may reflect my general state of mind more than I'm currently able to admit.

Sure, plenty of people are writing about how the year's best music should reflect the chaotic, allegedly historic times we live in.  In some circles it's automatically assumed that music should be viewed through the lens of the politics of the day.  I think that this generation of fans and critics have subconsciously longed for music to have the cultural cache it did in the 60's, when artists working in several musical genres would unite around the Vietnam War and other world-changing problems.  I have never cared about any of that.  I want my music to reflect my tastes, and whether it deals with "important" subjects is irrelevant.  I don't think I'm a miserable person, although this list might make you think otherwise.  No matter the interpretation (and again, perhaps only years of hindsight will lead me to the truth), this list is a reflection of me, and has nothing to do with current events -- in any country.  

This list is really a party of one, because for most of the year, nothing came close to hitting me in my gut like my #1 album did.

10.  PTU, Am I Who I Am, Trip

Bonkers techno that never feels obliged to play by the most basic of "rules" of the genre -- super short tracks, almost no intros/breakdowns/outros, constant mid-track mood swings between squelching beats and frizzy beatless electronic weirdness.  

9. Barker, Utility, Ostgut Ton

Am I the only one who hears this as an album that continues the work that Philippe Cam started nearly two decades ago?

8. The National, I Am Easy to Find, 4AD

The National invited a bevy of guest vocalists to record with them, and it was a welcome change, even the results don't rank among their very best work.

7. BIG|BRAVE, A Gaze Among Them, Southern Lord

The album's title might suggest a pleasant ambient metal/shoegaze hybrid.  In fact, the shoegaze-y guitar blizzard is the decorative icing for the main course of brutally sludgy riffs and apocalyptic vocals.  BIG|BRAVE are hammerfist, steamroller rock and aren't quite metal in a weird, intangible way, even though their music carries the intensity and heaviness of metal. 

6. Alcest, Spiritual Instinct, Nuclear Blast

Blackgaze as a concept is a marriage made in heaven between two somewhat restrictive genres that compensate each other's weaknesses.  This is easily Alcest's most intense record and arguably their most consistent despite peaking too soon (about three quarters of the way through). 

5.  Amp, Entangled Time, Sound in Silence

The sound of 90's Bristol steadfastly refuses to go away, doesn't it?

4.  William Basinski, On Time Out of Time, Temporary Residence Ltd

Basinski has certainly proven his mettle at being able to memorialize history-making events through serene, loop-based ambient music.  Here he turns his attention to the most challenging and profound physics experiment done in my lifetime.  He not only pays tribute to LIGO's accomplishments by sampling the deep, rumbling pulses of gravity waves, but also beautifies the monotony of staring into the furthermost reaches of space, patiently waiting for something to happen. 

3. Fennesz, Agora, Touch

Fennesz remains one of the few artists whose entire output is a virtual must own for me (inasmuch as I can keep track of everything he's doing).  Yet somehow his albums are always growers.  Much like Autechre, he works in a nearly inimitable style that's instantly identified with him, but still manages to consistently defy convention and surprise even his most hardcore fans. 

2. Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Ghosteen, Ghosteen Ltd.

The fairy tale world depicted on the album cover symbolizes Cave's method of dealing with death by seeking out the light.  Instead of wallowing in grief, he searches for hope through Buddhist myths and other parables overflowing with rich imagery.   Every note means something, thanks to the sparse instrumentation and glacial pace of most of the songs. 

1. King Midas Sound, Solitude, Cosmo Rhythmatic

"Solitude" is an almost unbearably personal glimpse into one man's loneliness.  Unable to deal with the reality of a difficult breakup, he pores over pointless minutiae of their relationship all while borderline stalking his ex, walking on a knife edge between obsession and madness.  The bleak, haunting music is relentless, the mood never lightens, nothing is resolved.  But in some sense, the album is a reminder that these unhealthy fixations are still a form of surviving, and are better than the alternative.   

  

Musical memories of my father

My father was the record buyer in our family.  The shelves in our family room were stocked full of 50's and 60's rock and soul records.  Along with many people from his generation, The Beatles and Motown records were his favourites, but there's a good reason those records have stood the test of time.  His love of classic rock ended with the 60's though.  Browsing his collection, one might think that rock ended after Cream and the Woodstock soundtrack.  I felt that void much later on, in high school, when I had to play catch up in getting into Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, and countless other rock staples.  In fact, my lack of appreciation, and even contempt, for a lot of 70's rock well into the 21st century, is almost certainly related to the lack of exposure through the records we had at home.   

But we had disco.  A lot of disco.  My father used to teach night classes in law at Ryerson University (then a college), and there were a number of record shops in that area in those days.  He'd teach his class and grab some disco albums or 12" singles while he was in the area.  When I think about my earliest musical memories, most of them involve disco.  Donna Summer.  Sylvester.  The disco lessons my mother would teach in the basement, with my father as her demonstration partner.  

The 80's came along, and my father still had his pulse on what was cool.  Long after most of his friends had stopped following contemporary music, my father was inspired by a new, revolutionary way of enjoying music -- via the music video.  There was no MTV in Canada, and Much Music didn't come on the air until 1984.  My father stayed up late on weekends to watch shows that would air music videos, like City Limits, and his finger was glued to the record button on his VCR.  I think this was his greatest achievement as a music fan.  Long before streaming services and the internet, we had video on demand thanks to my father's many sleep deprived nights. He didn't blindly tape whatever they showed either, he only taped the songs he thought were good.  His taste was impeccable.  I had every great video of the 1980's on the tape shelf in our family room.  Song by song, weekend by weekend, his diligent work added up.  He taped dozens of hours of videos over a period of about six years.  Other families had home videos with family picnics on them.  Ours were starring Duran Duran.  

When my parents split up and my father moved out, he left the records with us.  Once in a while he'd ask about them.  Most of them were technically his, either purchased by him or stuff he had before they were married.  He never made a big point about demanding them back though, possibly because when he moved out, he wanted a clean break from things in his former life.  I effectively inherited those records, because I was the only one who really kept listening to them.

I only attended one concert with my father -- the Stray Cats in 1991.  He wasn't a concert goer, and he wasn't a "round up the family and buy tickets to such and such" kind of person.  He didn't buy tickets to this concert either, they were freebees from the managers of the concert hall next to his office, so he took us. Many of the biggest musical acts from 2010 are still big now.  But in 1991, The Stray Cats might have well have been beamed in from another planet.  The music industry had completely turned over since the 80's, and even the megastars would have trouble adjusting (Prince, Madonna, Bruce, and more).  The Stray Cats were awesome that night though, although it was difficult to admit it then.  That was the first and last free show I ever saw there, I never bothered my dad to ask for free tickets even once.  

From then until the end of his life, my father entered into my musical life only indirectly.  He stopped being an active collector for all intents and purposes.  But he was there when my friends and I used his apartment as a home base before and after Suede's first concert in Toronto, at the nearby Palladium on the Danforth.  I have no idea what he was thinking when we returned from that concert, still buzzing and soaked in sweat, babbling about the tiniest concert details.  I crashed at his apartment countless times after staying out late at a concert or club.  

We were not a musical family.  We didn't grow up singing or playing musical instruments, I learned those things in school when I was older.  If my father thought that music was important he might have pushed us to take an active part in it, but he didn't.  He probably thought we'd absorb what we loved naturally, because that's how it was when he was growing up.  So my father was the biggest musical influence I had when I was a little kid.  His tastes were largely my tastes until I was a teenager.  Whether he intended it or not, I learned so much from him.  

2005

Earlier this month, I was binge listening some CD-R's that I burned in 2005 and early 2006.  I've written about late-2003/early-2004 being a transformative time for me, the last stand for brick and mortar music stores as my main source for new music.  I'm only now beginning to appreciate the significance of that 2005/2006 stretch, perhaps as an equally transformative time.

2005 was my peak year, no doubt, for keeping up with the widest variety of new music and criticism. My posting frequency during that time is a clear testament to this.  I listened to about twice as many new releases as I have in a typical year, before or since.  And because I moved in mid-2006, this period had a definitive end point and was extensively archived in the forms of these CD-R's.  

This mini-era was preserved like no other, because with the founding of Youtube in 2005, the growth of other streaming services shortly thereafter, and data storage becoming ever cheaper, it was the end of CD-R's as a preferred medium.  These twenty or so CD-R's now look like lost relics from a forgotten information age.  I carefully handled them and played them as you would a valuable piece of vinyl rediscovered decades later in a hidden attic. 

Besides mp3 copies of albums, I saved a trove of live recordings: lots of Animal Collective, noise artists, some techno, cool rare gems like a "Contino Sessions"-era Death In Vegas gig.  There were also CD-R's of individual tracks that I presumably found via yousendit links and file sharing programs.  Lots and lots of Michael Mayer and Jacques Lu Cont remixes and similarly styled club techno of the day.  This era of techno came to a crashing end for me too, as I stopped buying vinyl and collecting remixes by the usual suspects, and shifted my focus to podcasts and hitting the clubs more often.