In a break with tradition, Jon and I decided to accompany our vinyl listening evening with a takeaway curry instead of our usual pan-cultural snack assortment. Fine Indian cuisine was provided by The Woburn Fort in Woburn Sands and we ducked in to The Gapevine for a drink while they prepared the food.
We left The Grapevine as a crooner picked up a microphone and began, er, serenading the customers. Any temptation to hang around and listen to him presumably belting out big band hits by Frank Sinatra and Tony Bennett (may he rest in peace) over a tinny karaoke backing track was swiftly overridden – after all, there was serious LP listening business to attend to.

The evening’s listening began with The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust And The Spiders From Mars (RCA, 1972) by Davie Bowie. Little else needs saying about this album, so instead of analysing its myriad highlights, I told Jon the story of how my former boss Antony once had a private dinner with Bowie at Montreux.

Next up was Tubular Bells by Mike Oldfield (Virgin, 1973). This LP used to belong to my mum, who bought this when she moved from Scotland to Stratford-upon-Avon, not long before she met my dad in the pub she worked at. I only have affection for Tubular Bells, and I was absolutely obsessed with this LP as a small child. I used to pull all my parents’ albums out of the rack where they stored and pore over them for ages. This was one I studied intently, hoping that one day the mystery of what exactly a ‘nasal choir’ was would solve itself.

The evening being somewhat curtailed by me needing to go and pick up my eldest daughter from work, we managed one more LP before I left – The Shadows’ 20 Golden Greats (EMI, 1977). This LP used to belong to my dad, and was another sleeve I absolutely loved. Playing the album was accompanied by Jon attempting to copy The Shadows’ dance moves, and concluded with us deciding that while they had some pretty brilliant tunes (‘Foot Tapper’ was called out specifically), twenty of them played back-to-back was a little much. A bit like overeating Indian takeaway, maybe…
Our conversation included a brief discussion of Taylor Swift and the Speak Now snafu involving an album including tracks by Cabaret Voltaire and Matthew Herbert finding their way into certain sleeves of Ms Swift’s latest re-recorded release. The night before, coincidentally, I’d spoken to Mal from the Cabs. This may be apocryphal, but Mal had heard that this was a deliberate act of sabotage by disgruntled pressing plant staff annoyed at a statistic that four out of five vinyl albums are bought by people without record players. I find this specific statistic amusing, because four out of five references to music in a typical conversation are about Taylor Swift*.
We also spoke of the sad death of postal orders, Jon’s appearance on Pebble Mill, pre-Amazon mail order shopping, fishing, Milton Keynes’ new four bin household waste solution, and domestic chores.
The highlight of the evening was a duet between Jon playing a harmonica and his faithful canine sidekick Chester howling along in time like a tortured blues singer. Recorded evidence will follow after our sixth JaM Session.
* This statistic may not be accurate, but it certainly appears to be correct based on my own recent monocultural household experiences.
Words: Mat Smith
(c) 2023 Further.






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