Andrew has promised we'll return there, to that vast hall of musical memorabilia in Osaka. It was called the Rock n Roll Museum, for some reason, but it did little to disguise the fact that it was a merch house, a place to purchase Clash pencil cases, mod target tea-cups and Queen belts. I maintain that we only spent a few minutes there, but I'm sure Missy Laur insists we spent hours walking around, fondling every item from every section, from Britpop to Hair Metal. I only wish I'd bought something.

It's rare to get excited about band merch, although I can recall instances where I have marvelled at an excessively priced item at a gig (navy blue tshirt at Coldplay, 2003; light blue tshirt at the Faint, 2004; navy blue tshirt at New Order, 2012). I often bemoan their lack of originality, either the band tshirts are so incredibly large that they can comfortably house 2-3 males (black tshirt at Pet Shop Boys, 2007) or in the case of female tshirts, they shrink and rise up (black tshirt at Bloc Party, 2005).

I like to imagine that there is a marked increase in the creativity of band tshirts. Sure, many of Ben Sherman's licensed Beatles t-shirts still mirror their album artwork but there are also more obtuse references to the band in their collection. My favourite is a print from the opening moments of the film Yellow Submarine: men standing on rooftops, wearing trenchcoats and bowler hats, holding umbrellas. It's only a momentary shot but those who have seen it, know it.

For now, I must pack my bags as I honestly have no time left. I'll pack my various band tshirts, my Beatles, Queen and my favourite Pet Shop Boys tshirt (with the artwork from their 1987 single, Heart). I'm unsure whether Japanese passers-by will recognise such references brandished across my chest, but then, that's not really the point: I get it. But then I have to remind myself that it's not always the point, after all there was that time I accosted a poor Korean girl atop the Capitoline Hill in Rome. I stopped to marvel at her stunning Style Council tshirt and she had absolutely no idea what I was talking about.

I've decided to leave you all with a podcast in celebration of our momentary jaunt to Japan! Also, be sure to head on over to the C&CM Facebook Page to pick up a bonus easter egg! Arigato!

Cassettes & Chocolate Milk: Japan Podcast #43
YMCK - Karee Ta Yo!
The Bird and the Bee - Love Letter for Japan
Ayano Tsuji - Kaze ni Naru
Girls' Generation - Mr Taxi
Pet Shop Boys - Flamboyant
City-O' - Rose of Tokyo
Graham Parker and the Rumour - Discovering Japan
Bloc Party - Secrets
Blur - Yuko and Hiro
Queen - Teo Torriatte (Let Us Cling Together)

Download (65.6 MB)

I had long-been consumed with the confident showman: the thrashing gestures, the throwing back of the head, the sweat and the movements that would otherwise indicate absolute conviction. I contemplated his arrogance, I analysed his appeal. I read journal articles about notions of masculinity and the "semiotics of Robert Plant's bare chest" (no, really). I returned to the same iconic live images, again and again. I never could quite articulate why it appealed to me.

Driven by my motivation to find out why, I set about constructing a radio documentary about the showman phenomenon. In my research efforts, I interviewed the most aggressively narcissistic person of my acquaintance. We didn't even make the five minute mark before he insulted me and I walked out of the interview. However, I did manage to extract something useful out of him in that short space of time. He told me that all expression of confidence is ultimately fake.

Ever since that discussion, I have been looking for that fakeness he was talking about, those subtle indications of doubt. Often, it is a vulnerability that is not apparent within the stage show itself. It becomes apparent in interviews, when a musician expresses a sad wail of frustration that they cannot get a gig at the Marquee. I see it where I had never seen it before, in the lyrics for Queen's In the Lap of the Gods (Revisited). Words that reveal a sadly universal fear, no one believes in what we do.

Fuck Yeah, Freddie Mercury
As a teenager, it would have been near impossible for me to have imagined Freddie nervous and in doubt. He was my perennial showman, the eternal signifier of what it meant to be choc-full of drive and confidence. I suppose you could say that my desire to be driven and confident was the source of my fascination. I can safely say that it's likely that it's this innermost desire that is central to the fascination of many other fans, who eagerly clamour to the railings of the stage to gape at their musician's antics.

Somehow, my fascination with confidence doesn't seem to be as compelling as my fascination with doubt. Many of us may consciously (or subconsciously) desire to possess the arrogant bravado of a cocky showman. Perhaps it's not to the extent that we wish to flounce about stage in a Harlequin leotard, sure, but there is a lot to be said for having faith that there is value in who we are and what we do. I suppose I yearn for those subtle indicators of doubt in those I admire, as a reminder that although these doubts are universal, we are all capable of achieving great things.

Cassettes & Chocolate Milk: Yé Yé Podcast #42
Charlotte Leslie - Les Filles C'est Fait Pour Faire L'Amour
Jocelyne - A La Fin Tu Gagneras
Marie Laforêt - A Demain My Darling
Carole Robert & Improvistas - Le Fruit Defendu
Anne Kern - Tant Pis, Tant Pis, Entre Donc (Come On In)
Stella - Pourquoi Pas Moi
Nino Ferrer - Mirza
Richard Anthony - La Terre Promise
Frank Alamo - Heureux Tous Les Deux
Adèle - Je Ne Veux Plus D'accordéon

Download (38.4 MB)

It's the only cassette we've been playing in the car for some time now. It's a special cassette, in that a facsimile copy of it exists on MiniDisc. It's also special, in that it has survived what could only be described as "chocolate-powder damage", sustained from residing at the bottom of my navy blue school-bag.

It's the tenth year anniversary of this cassette, El's Formal Tape and although I cringe when I am reminded of the unbelievable hype that accompanied this event, I cannot help but feel slightly warmed by the memory of its construction. After all, it was all done at the request of my date, TAFKATC, who insisted it was my task for the evening.

It was an exceedingly important task, preparing a selection of songs for that 15-minute car ride together. On the scarce occasions when we did speak, we only ever bonded over 1980s synth pop... but they were terribly significant conversations and I had the tendency to retain them, as I had the tendency to retain everything.

Again, both myself and my best friend, Missy Laur had to deal with this problem, this scarcity of time issue that tended to pervade every aspect of this absurd (and thoroughly implausible) partnership. Missy Laur and I whinced and made endless lists. We aggressively crossed out song names and with every strike-through came three new "consequential additions". It was a list that was impossible to cull.

Perhaps if the car-ride had been 1,115 minutes long instead of 15, I could have included all the songs TAFKATC was responsible for. All that New Order, Erasure, Depeche Mode, The Smiths and The Cure. But this was my task and my challenge. It was an ordeal to deal with the technological restraints of his feeble MiniDisc and my rickety 90-minute cassette, but I loved it. I would have made more: The Formal Mixes - Volumes 1 to 250.

But now when I drive and listen to this cassette, I am baffled by some of my song choices. Paul Van Dyk's For an Angel? Basement Jaxx's Bingo Bango? Really? Some other song inclusions make more sense, such as the brilliant New Order megamix and Erasure's I Love Saturday from their 1994 album, I Say, I Say, I Say.

It was TAFKATC's objection to the degenerated sound quality of I Love Saturday that sticks out most in my memory of that whole car-ride. You see, Missy Laur and I had dubbed that song from my mix-tape to her mix-tape to my mix-tape (and so forth). It was emblematic, it somehow signified the love and reverence both she and I shared for this song.

Perhaps I was naive in thinking that this kind of connection could have existed for both him and I? Was I mad in imagining such a thing?


Nothing in this world can touch the music that I heard...
If only I could have imagined what would follow, some ten years later. TAFKATC sent me an email with the subject line, FAC, requesting my company to see New Order at Festival Hall. My 15 minutes had been extended to a full 90 minute set and I couldn't help but giggle as we sent texts to each other, dreaming of what songs they should play (and what cover band we'd inevitably form when Barney fails to meet our expectations).

I tend to let my memories slip by when I think of TAFKATC. I am far too embarrassed to acknowledge the youthful flirtatiousness I once had... but then I can't help but feel it still when he looks at me, when he entertains my musings. I don't care to ever forget the moment before the band even started, when he handed me his plastic cup of beer to sip: "You're still 17." He smiled. I could hardly disguise my grin in response. "I'll always be 17."

Cassettes & Chocolate Milk: Funk & Soul Podcast #41
Munk - Kick out the Chairs
Clairy Browne & The Bangin' Rackettes - Love Letter
Billy Paul - Am I Black Enough For You
John Legend - Used To Love U
India Arie - Video
Colonel Abrams - Trapped
Stevie Wonder - Part-Time Lover
Frankie Lymon & the Teenagers - Why Do Fools Fall In Love?

Download (51.5 MB)

It was brought to my attention that the publishers of the 33 1/3 series were accepting proposals for future titles. The premise seemed alluring, yet still somewhat daunting: the prospect of a glossy, soft cover book devoted to the analysis of the style, content and significance of your favourite album. A book that would be definitive in its scope, a book that would have your name printed on the front cover.

As I passed the link onto friends, we laughed and contemplated the albums we would dissect. We offered up the recordings that we knew absolutely, the ones which have become so thoroughly familiar that they course easily through the veins with every repeated listen. Every solo, every harmony, every lyric can be predicted and yet it manages to induce an unassailable rush of endorphins.

But what to chose? Queen I or Queen II? The Great Escape? The Innocents? Friendly Fire? Logic Will Break Your Heart? Mai god, Happy Nation (US Version)! There's just too much, too much...

When I considered what it would be like to assemble a 40,000 word manuscript, I wondered how analysis would alter my pre-existing attachment to a terribly significant recording. Would I feel that same charge, that same rush of endorphins having ruthlessly dissected every aspect of the creative process? Would such an endeavour interfere (or even damage) the personal value of these recordings?

There are resources available to the listeners who are interested enough to explore the history and development of a recording. There are endless interviews with artists, producers, technicians and teaboys. There are sketchy demos on Casio keyboards which trace the development of a single song. In the instance of the 40th anniversary of the Beatles' Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, there are even artists who go about recreating the entire recording process. Same studio, same equipment, same engineer, everything.

Tomorrow Never Knows
Yet to my mind, the recording of an album appears to be a largely intimate process. After all, only few were privy to the goings-on of those small sound-proof rooms in North London, New York City and Gothenburg. We can only get so close to understanding the creative process of another person. That understanding seems to be diminished especially when it touches upon the creation of something that we hold in considerably high esteem.

Perhaps I am alone in my failure to imagine the creative process. The truth is that I love these recordings to such a great extent that it floors me to imagine rehearsals, arguments or lyric sheets. Perhaps it is a foolish admission, but for me, it is as if these songs are so perfect that I cannot even imagine them being conceived. Perhaps if I could imagine it, I could believe and maybe even anticipate that potential that exists in us all: the potential to create something meaningful and significant to a great many people.

Inasmuch as I fear the prospect of growing weary of these terribly important recordings, I cannot help but think that the only way to answer this conundrum is to commit to that one album and start writing. I can only hope that whatever propaganda, knowledge or damage that may result will be worth it, and that my words may be strong, truthful and effective enough to faithfully honour these silly songs which tend to mean so much.

Cassettes & Chocolate Milk: Indiepop Podcast #40
The Stills - Changes are No Good (Grand National Remix)
Eugene McGuinness - Lion
Jay Reatard - In the Dark
Ra Ra Riot - Oh, La
Alpine - Villages
Real Estate - It's Real
Sea Wolf - Black Dirt
Sean Lennon - Would I Be the One?

Download (44.7 MB)

It was my kind friend, Adam of Pretending Life is Like a Song who suggested the proposition: "There's an argument that The Smiths' best song is Back to the Old House on Hatful of Hollow (1984) and their worst song is Back to the Old House on Louder than Bombs (1987)." I was more than willing to agree with him: Hatful of Hollow > Louder than Bombs. There is something remarkable about that acoustic interpretation, the resonance of Johnny's guitar, Morrissey's breathtaking vocal delivery, I'm sure many others would agree. Yet, it surprises me to admit that, because I heard the version on Louder than Bombs first.

You never knew how much I really liked you, because I never even told you - oh, but I meant to.
The realisation made me reflect upon that unspoken tendency to prefer the first version of a song we hear. The "first version" manages to become the more definitive interpretation with every repeated listening. This may occur even though the "first version" may, in actuality, be the more illegitimate. It may be a cover, demo or in the case of New Order's Brutal (2000), unduly sped up and distorted to shit. Familiarity with the "first version" may result in a difficulty to accept the qualities of another version. We come up with irrational pronouncements, like Mito's epic Italo anthem Droid (1982) cannot begin to compare with its cover by Hypnosis (1987): the cover is that much better.

A part of me thinks that musical familiarity has much to do with the subconscious. So often, I find myself inexplicably drawn to specific Italo tracks, only to discover I had heard them years before, included in DJ Zyron's Classic Italo Mix. I recognised Catcall's track, Swimming Pool (2010) during her support performance of CSS, not because I had heard the song on the radio, but because my sweet friend Louise of Eton Mess Life sang it in passing, well over a year before. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that there exists this subconscious desire to find a version, a "first version" in an attempt to obsessively revisit and ferociously defend.

Yet, it is somehow more vindicating to discover a "second version" which far surpasses the first. It obliterates the comfort that comes from musical familiarity, however conscious. Such a discovery suggests that there continues to be a process of engagement, a process of assessing a song on its merits. Sure, it may never be possible to emulate the dizzying high: that initial moment where an interpretation becomes the first and absolute definitive. But, in spite of all attachments, it may be possible to fall in love with a song, over and over again.

Cassettes & Chocolate Milk: Italo Disco Podcast #39
Big Ben Tribe - Tarzan Loves the Summer Nights
Michael Bedford - More Than a Kiss
Hysterical Fit - Come and Make Me High
Albert One - For Your Love (Another Version)
Buzzer - Complications (Moar Cowbell Mix)
Hot Cold - I Can Hear Your Voice
Mozzart - Malice and Vice
Ken Heaven - The Calling

Download (64.9MB)

I always wondered how she knew: "You haven't practiced this week..." It was never an accusation, as such. It was a statement of an undisclosed truth. Perhaps it was apparent that I struggled with unfamiliar fingering or else the passage sounded weak and uncertain. Perhaps it was both, I could never be sure. I only knew of the embarrassment I felt when I disappointed my violin teacher.

I started violin lessons with her when I was seven years old. I remember watching her walk down the front path before my first lesson. I had absolutely no understanding of what was to follow. I wish I had known, in the same way I wish I could have been a child prodigy, a three year old, naturally inclined to bang out Beethoven on the piano. But alas, it was never to be.

I still think of those early days with great affection. I was particularly fond of the rounded corn pad that was affixed to my bow, to ensure my right pinky finger was curved and in place. I also liked the yellow dots, splayed across the fingerboard in a seemingly random pattern. I struggled with some things. I was overjoyed when, after so much practice, I actually managed to pluck a string with my left pinky finger. Years later, I was dismayed to discover that this was a completely redundant skill.

I'm sure anyone who's been there knows there is too much to recall: Gussie G-String and Dora D-String, scales, arpeggios, double stops and harmonics. It would be the greatest thrill for her to affix a silver star at the top of the page, next to the title. It would be the greatest compliment for her to pencil a line across a tick, making a cross, indicating that I had mastered the piece and it was time to move on.

There was this definite sense of progression, being introduced to third position and trying to wobble my wrist in a feeble attempt to do vibrato. She'd cry out: "You're doing arm vibrato! That's so much harder to do than wrist vibrato!" I would later struggle with vibrato as a teenage violinist. As contemporaries could produce a heartfelt wobble on cue, I could only ever tense up and move my finger quickly in a small, uneven shake.

I couldn't help but feel guilty, as my teacher continued to investigate all different types of exercises and methods to help with my "vibrato problem". In all my years of playing, all my concerts, recitals, exams and lessons, I never managed to cure that glitch. Perhaps I never practised enough, perhaps my heart just wasn't in it?

But I must have loved it, didn't I? I did, I'm sure I must have. As I glean these recollections, I can't help but wish that my feelings were more resolute. That I absolutely loved everything associated with playing this instrument, that I was naturally inclined to play it and I was obsessed with it, as I am obsessed with analysing popular music. Everything could be conveniently sincere: the adoration of both instrument and teacher would be unequivocal.

When I convince myself that it was all to satisfy the whims of others, I think of Edward Elgar's Chanson de Nuit. It changed everything somehow, my phrasing, my tone, even my vibrato appeared to be more convincing. It took on the guise of being dark and isolated, much like the freedom and the loneliness that comes from staying up all night.


She insisted that everything came together with Chanson de Nuit, she declared that it was "my song". I had always hoped one song, any song would take on that dimension for me. I could never decipher the nature of my motivation to play, just as I could never determine the veracity of my affection for the instrument. Yet, I ultimately managed to pull off something that is far closer to me than any article I've written or any radio I've produced.

Cassettes & Chocolate Milk: Folk Podcast #38
The Anniversary - Sweet Marie
The Decemberists - Here I Dreamt I was an Architect
Okkervil River - Lost Coastlines
Brendan Benson - Emma J
Emma Pollock - If Silence Means That Much To You
Liam Finn - Better to Be
Wheat - I Met a Girl
The Smiths - Back to the Old House
The Raves-Ups - A Girl We All Know
Per Gessle - I Have a Party in My Head (And I Hope It Never Ends)

Download (56.6MB)

I find it strange when a musician addresses the critics. I can't quite understand why I feel this way, after all, musicians, like artists, are sensitive folk. Surely if their music is unfairly assessed, if their performances are unduly slated or their business decisions duly dissed, surely the musician has a right of rebuttal. Yes? Maybe? I don't think so.

I refer to a time when there was scant information available online about Bloc Party. Of course, there was the stylish and minimal official site which reflected the artwork of their first EP. Typically enough, there were also angry music snobs saying unkind things about the band on Drowned in Sound.

It would be the first instance where I'd witness a band member defending their music. The bassist addressed the indifferent, he implored them to just give them a chance. I thought it a rather desperate move to make, but then as a fan and rather naive music listener, I harboured a belief that the music should be assessed on its own merits. Should it really have to come down to begging?

I was reminded of this instance when it was brought to my attention that Tim Rogers replied to a rather unfavourable live review in the Townsville Bulletin. The complaints were unsurprising: bad sound, sloppy stage show, the needless heckling and the jeers, "I'll be the one your girlfriend is thinking about later tonight!".

Although eloquent, Tim's response seemed pointless and self-satisfied. He assures the writer, Amanda Gray: "I need to make it clear to you my writing has nothing at all to do with whether you think our band is rubbish or that I am a complete tool." He goes on to defend his banter, to explain that his sexual bravado is something of an in-joke, that he finds bad language to be so "bewilderingly exciting".

Flecked throughout is his gratitude to be a professional musician, to have toured the world for twenty-two years, "with this humble self-satisfaction intact". Yet, all this carefully drafted posturing makes me wonder why, if Tim Rogers is so successful and self-assured, why does he feel compelled to even read the reviews of some small town paper? More to the point, what does he get out of addressing the grievances of this one unimpressed critic?

I understand that it is difficult to accept that universality: not everybody is going to like you. I suppose the point I am trying to make here is that you cannot convince someone to like you by obliterating them in an essay about how good you are. Tim, may I suggest that you take solace in the support of those who do appreciate your music and stagecraft. Although the lengthy rebuttals may amuse some, they ultimately come across as needy and insecure.

Cassettes & Chocolate Milk: Mod Podcast #37
The Kinks - All Day and All of the Night
The Drums - Book of Stories
The Pipettes - Because It's Not Love (But It's Still a Feeling)
Francoise Hardy - Il est tout pour moi
Gerry and the Pacemakers - It's Gonna Be Alright
The Beatles - All I've Got to Do
Wishful Thinking - Step By Step
The Jam - Happy Together
INXS - Wishy Washy
The Chords - Maybe Tomorrow
The Monochrome Set - Monochrome Set
The Coctails - Whoopsy Daisy

Download (50.7MB)

I had lived with the frustration of not knowing the artist name or the song title. I had lived with the annoying possibility of not ever knowing. More often than not, such feelings attached themselves to anonymous reggae-pop dance hits of the early-to-mid 1990s. They were never particularly good songs, as such, but they contained a memorable quality which compelled me to seek them out. They sometimes featured on home-made mix tapes, dubbed from the radio. Occasionally, they lived on subconsciously, as thumping drum beats or neverending sustained notes. I only recently realised that I managed to conquer that impossible task: I had discovered the artist name and song title of every lost song, ever.

It was a grand and thoroughly challenging task, requiring hours of painstaking research online. It was sometimes stupidly impossible, having to google and regoogle lyrics which had no semblance of originality: Oh yeah, baby. Occasionally, the song title would feature a spelling mistake, à la Malcolm McLaren's Operaa House, or the song title would be entirely omitted from the lyrics altogether. There could be any number of reasons why these songs became lost. The fact is, we all have lost songs. Songs that haunt and taunt us, that compel us to sing to confused friends in Maths, in the hopes we might one day achieve that moment of clarity.

We thought it would be this way forever, as we would so frequently ask each other, "what was that videoclip where Stalin's face morphed into Thatcher's?" But as time went on and as more people contributed videos, lyrics, questions and answers online, the number of lost songs we were looking for diminished dramatically. Not only that, the application Shazam provided a hassle-free, almost instantaneous service to identify lost songs. Upon discovering my last lost song, Marcella Detroit's I Believe, I couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that there weren't more to be found. Inasmuch as it is intensely satisfying to be able to identify lost pop, there is nothing more exciting than knowing there is more left to be found.


Cassettes & Chocolate Milk: Early 90s Dance Podcast #36
Technotronic - Pump up the Jam
Milli Vanilli - Ma Baker
Snap! - Rhythm is a Dancer
KLF - Justified and Ancient (Stand by the Jams)
Jon Secada - Just Another Day
Janet Jackson - Love Will Never Do (Without You)
Elisa Fiorillo - On The Way Up
The Shamen - Ebeneezer Goode (Beat Edit)

Download (57.9 MB)

"You wouldn't believe this conversation I had with this dude tonight. He was trying to convince me that the Kooks were more indie than the Arctic Monkeys." As soon as he said it, I couldn't help but pull an expression of bemused disgust. It was a baffling thing to consider, the prospect of an actual scale of indieness where some artists rank higher than others. The worst part of it was that I felt compelled to construct a counter-argument, citing the significance of dancingmonkey.com in the early promotion of the Arctic Monkeys. It was a site with white background and black text, featuring a list of links to MP3 demos. It appealed to the idea that the music could speak for itself and the incredible interest generated was achieved independently of record company interference. The Kooks would later post their demos onto Megaupload in early 2006, yet irrespective of the charm of Lonely Cat, the distribution of their demos could hardly be described as a significant landmark in the history of indie music.

When I regained my composure, I asked him how the actual argument unfolded. What became apparent was this person had a completely different idea of what indie meant. Once, the term indie was short for independent, encompassing groups without an affiliation with a record company (or else, groups with an affiliation with an independent record company). However, for this person, the term indie simply meant better. For me, it seemed wildly inaccurate to associate such a loaded term with a single word (and a superlative at that). But then again, I had to consider that for many, the term indie is synonymous with credibility. It is suggestive of being a lone independent artist, creating in retaliation of commercial appeal. The discernible fan, too, is required to maintain a certain degree of credibility. Cultural commentators such as Pitchfork and Flavorwire establish their own credibility by dissecting the term ruthlessly and bemoaning the idea that fashion, cynicism and laziness are killing indie music in 2011.

There are times when a faithful adherence to indie culture can go terribly wrong. The infamous viral video of "I'm Amy and I'm an Indie", from BBC Switch's Are You One of Them? is cringeworthy, to say the least. She comes across as suffering a complete lack of discernment: although she would obsessively adhere to every code associated with indie culture, she would do so without any real understanding of its significance. She would still manage to make some blunders, indulging in music in direct conflict with the indie credos, namely Razorlight and ahem, Ronan Keating. Although she is a rather innocuous 17 year old girl, it is embarrassing to watch her identifying the silly customs of a highly pretentious and highly protective subculture. It is embarrassing to watch her, because her heightened awareness of every nuance of the subculture reveals how indie kids assimilate, silently and without question.


From time to time, I arrest my desire to examine the meaning and currency of this feckless term. I occasionally give up the inclination to argue about it with friends and strangers alike. I even block out the aggressive posturings of the knowledgeable cultural guardsmen. I let all notions of competition and credibility melt away: I listen, smile and dance alone, taking in every moment of breathtaking pop.

Cassettes & Chocolate Milk: Indiepop Podcast #35
Summer Camp - Better Off WIthout You
Serenades - Birds
Andy Bull - Dog (feat. Lisa Mitchell)
General Electriks - Raid the Radio
Asobi Seksu - Thursday
CSS - Hits Me Like a Rock
Body Language - Social Studies (Plastic Plates Remix)
The Mynabirds - Let the Record Go

Download (44.6 MB)

I've been getting swept up in Italo Disco, listening to mixes and compilations, reading forums and living on Discogs. Yet it seems no matter how many songs I listen to, there appears to be tens of thousands of songs to go. It is easy to be overwhelmed by the sheer number of songs produced in this musical era, inasmuch as it is easy to be confused as to why this genre has never been properly analysed or adequately documented. If you spend enough time with it, it's possible to garner an impression of the most significant dancefloor anthems, but much of the my personal enjoyment of this genre is predicated on taste. The act of actually listening to the songs, far removed from its original context, and finding that moment of perfect resonance.

For others, it is the act of collecting Italo records which is the most enjoyable thing. For any noob, detecting what is obscure in a genre full of obscurities is somewhat problematic. However, the knowledgeable Italo collector never seems to have any difficulty in that respect. I've known of their plight for a long time, the risks they take in pursuing vinyl obscurities. In their pursuit of the Holy Grail of Italo Records, the collector would sometimes part with hundreds of dollars in the hope that the record would arrive safe and intact in their letter box. However, the seller's account would duly disappear, along with the collector's money and any hope that the record ever existed in the first place. How I felt for them.

50 Works Project
My search for perfect Italo had largely taken form in MP3 format, so I never had to deal with unscrupulous dealers. However, as my obsession with these songs dramatically increased, I considered how cool it would be to have Dharma's Plastic Doll, Alexander Robotnick's Problèmes D'Amour or Jimmy & Susy's Come Back. No doubt my desire for these records coincided with my longing to hold a club night for the masses, where we would all dance to such songs (imagine, Rose's clip for Magic Carillion). Yet, still cautious and wary of the many horror stories of experienced Italo collectors, I only ever opted to click on the very cheapest records available. I didn't wish to be another casualty.

Ashamedly, my collection shows few signs that I've become so entrenched in this genre. There's a shamefully small handful of records; a Michael Bedford 7", a Den Harrow 7", a Laserdance 12", a Tom Hooker 12", a Fuzz Dance compilation, a ZYX boxset purchased from Stockholm. I still look on Discogs, not only to shop, but to research. For in a genre so free of narrative, it offers much insight into what is rare and valuable. When I have come across one of those records, 1 for sale from €800, I feel compelled to stake out that song and listen carefully. I attempt to assess its musical value and whether it correlates with market forces. It is a great relief to find the song is average at best and any chance of completely surrendering my bank account to this obsession can be laid to rest.

I present to you a podcast that will convert your bedroom into a darkened discotheque from the back alleys of Genova, circa 1986. I hope there, free of any external influence (ahem, aside from my own), you can fall in love with the sound of Italo and its unique pop immediacy.

Cassettes & Chocolate Milk: Italo Disco Podcast #34
Clio - Eyes
Mania - Shine Shine Shine
Mister Black - Monnalisa
Scotch - Pictures
93rd Superbowl - Forever and a Day
Joy Peters - Don't Loose Your Heart Tonight
Swan - Don't Talk About It
Ross - Coming Up

Download (70.3 MB)