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No More Songs

Rummaging through a box of cassettes last week, I came across a mixtape I compiled in the late 1980s or early 1990s. It’s called “No More Songs”, after the Phil Ochs song.

Listening to the tape again after many years, I was reminded of the people, places and events associated with first hearing these songs – working at a second record shop in London where some of these songs were on regular rotation; watching Dustin Hoffman in “The Graduate”; seeing a clip of Tim Buckley on “The Monkees” TV show; watching Dustin Hoffman (again) in “Midnight Cowboy”; recommendations from knowledgable friends (notably Big Star, Phil Ochs and Nick Drake).

I can hear some common themes across these tracks. Certainly, there is a river of melancholy running through this music, which may have resonated with my mood at that time. The fact that several of these artists had died at a relatively young age (and of course, several more have passed away since) may contribute to that sense of sad reflection. While many of the songs might be deemed folk music, they aren’t the typical “troubadour with acoustic guitar” that inundates the genre – and they certainly aren’t typical blues-based rock either. If anything, the music is more baroque or chamber pop. There’s an absence of guitar solos, and not many drums either. Even though these singers may not be technically perfect (and they don’t indulge in the vocal gymnastics made popular by TV talent shows), they know how to use their voices, which actually makes them sound more authentic and more moving as a result. The power and beauty in these performances comes from artists who know their vocal limitations, and from the resulting display of fragility.

There’s probably a negative reaction to grunge rock reflected in this choice of songs. Not all grunge was bad, but like punk before it, there were so many pale imitators and wannabes that it made sense to seek refuge and relief from the noise and attrition of grunge. (A similar reaction happened after punk, when artists like The Durutti Column, Prefab Sprout, Microdisney, Young Marble Giants and Everything But The Girl heralded a welcome respite from punk, adopting “quiet is the new loud” as a kind of informal manifesto.)

Some of these songs are mainstream, and appeared in the charts at the time of their release in the 1960s and 1970s – otherwise they are lesser-known but enduring classics. A couple were popularised through cover versions, and many of these artists benefitted from critical re-appraisals and renewed audience engagement via retrospectives, reissues and archive releases. In particular, the influential compendium “It’ll End In Tears” (and subsequent volumes) helped to raise awareness around much of this music.

They all still sound wonderful to me. Here is the track list in full – enjoy!:

Side A:

  1. Buffalo Springfield: Expecting To Fly
  2. The Byrds: Everybody’s Been Burned
  3. Glen Campbell: By The Time I Get To Phoenix
  4. Nico: Eulogy To Lenny Bruce
  5. Tim Buckley: Song To The Siren
  6. Simon & Garfunkel: Sounds Of Silence
  7. Fred Neil: The Dolphins
  8. Nick Drake: Northern Sky
  9. Tim Hardin: Lady Came From Baltimore
  10. Big Star: Blue Moon

Side B:

  1. Big Star: Take Care
  2. Glen Campbell: Wichita Lineman
  3. Nancy Sinatra & Lee Hazlewood: Some Velvet Morning
  4. Tim Buckley: Morning Glory
  5. Fred Neil: Everybody’s Talking
  6. Nick Drake: Pink Moon
  7. Nico: These Days
  8. Tim Hardin: Reason To Believe
  9. Big Star: Holocaust
  10. Phil Ochs: No More Songs

Next week: More unearthed mixtapes

 

End of the road for Lime?

Earlier this month, Yarra City Council announced it was ending a 6-year trial programme for ride share e-bikes, after the incumbent commercial operator, Lime failed to meet the Council’s procurement requirements.

Despite this, Lime continues to operate elsewhere in the State of Victoria (City of Melbourne and the City of Port Phillip), and in other local government areas in Australia (Sydney, Brisbane, Canberra).

Some of the reasoning behind Yarra Council’s decision appears to echo safety concerns and public complaints regarding Lime in other cities around the world, such as London.

These issues include:

  • Riding on footpaths and in pedestrian-only zones
  • Inappropriate “parking” of ride-share vehicles
  • Joy-riding
  • Speeding
  • Tandem riding
  • Riding without helmets (a requirement in Australia)

In the case of Yarra Council, the original 1-year pilot programme had been extended or renewed unchanged since 2020. According to the Council’s website announcement and FAQs, Yarra did not receive any operating fees, and did not have the certainty and enforceability a commercial contract would have provided.

The biggest obstacle in Yarra appears to be Lime’s refusal or inability to take more responsibility for tracking and retrieving abandoned and illegally parked vehicles – which meant the Council has been picking up the cost.

If this is true, then it appears to be incredibly short-sighted behaviour on the part of Lime – and perhaps reveals a degree of obstinacy bordering on arrogance that comes with incumbency (and a degree of ubiquity).

I can’t believe that Lime cannot do a better job of tracking and retrieving its assets – if I was a shareholder, I would be concerned about this lack of financial management and poor corporate governance. If we can track our suitcases around the world with a simple e-tag, surely Lime knows where all its bikes are located at any given time, and identify which vehicles are illegally parked?

Likewise, Lime should be able to do a better job of immobilising vehicles so they cannot be used for joy-riding, or by under-age riders?

I’m sure we have all seen the social media posts of Lime bikes strewn across footpaths, dumped in waterways, or “parked” on bus shelters. Anecdotally, I’ve also seen ride share vehicles lined up outside my local pub – I get that we don’t want people to drink and drive, but should operators be implicitly encouraging intoxicated pub patrons to use their e-bikes and e-scooters instead?

I have also seen branded ride share helmets littered all over the place – I’ve even had them chucked in my garden. Most of these discarded helmets end up in landfill (as confirmed by one council street cleaner I spoke to in Melbourne’s CBD) because once they are damaged, they can’t be used again. (This also points to a lack of asset management and poor financial governance by the operators.)

There have also been increased incidents of accidents and serious injuries involving e-bikes and e-scooters. I’m not suggesting these are only caused by ride share vehicles, but there is no doubt an element of “don’t own, don’t care” when people use these short-term rental bikes. It would be illuminating to measure the percentage of accidents involving ride share vehicles (and food delivery drivers), as compared to privately-owned e-bikes and e-scooters.

I’d be interested to see more data on programme objectives, and whether or not those goals are being met. For example, a common argument in favour of the local ride share schemes is they help to reduce the number of cars on our roads – but again, anecdotally, where I live in the City of Yarra, I’ve not seen any reduction in car traffic in recent years. Other stated benefits are increased local mobility (easier to take short trips from A to B) – but Yarra is well-served by public transport (trains, trams and buses), and no-one is that far from a tram stop or train station. Another aim might be improved public health (less people using their cars) – but if these schemes result in more trips to A&E (and worse), surely that outweighs any perceived benefit?

Going forward, maybe we will see more local authorities take a similar stance to Yarra Council, or at least tighten up the operating licenses granted to ride share providers, and do more to weigh up the pros and cons of such schemes.

Next week: No More Songs

 

Reverb-erations

“This is a journey into sound” reads the sub-title of ACMI’s Melbourne edition of “Reverb”, the London exhibition organised by Vinyl Factory and hosted by 180 Studios in 2024-25.

Spoiler alert: the ACMI show is a heavily edited/remixed/redacted version of the original, and because it was grafted on to the concurrent Rising festival, it feels like the original’s agenda has been co-opted due to curatorial choices.

Overall, I found ACMI’s Reverb a quite underwhelming experience – with the disappointment being compounded by high expectations. For a start, Vinyl Factory described their show as a celebration of “art and sound with [an] immersive exhibition”. 180 Studios called it an exploration of “the lasting impact and influence of electronic music on contemporary art and culture”. Both of which are big calls, and quite different in terms of scope and intent, despite describing the same exhibition.

ACMI’s re-adapted synopsis boasts that the exhibition “explores music’s influence on art, film and social movements, traversing hip hop and rap, house, techno, dancehall and Jamaican sound system culture”. Quite a different purpose to the original event.

For logistical reasons, I understand that ACMI could not simply replicate the London show, and many items were omitted. But given ACMI’s success in bringing “David Bowie is” to Melbourne, their world premiere of Julian Rosefeldt’s “Manifesto”, and the “Light” show comprising works from the UK’s Tate Gallery, it’s a shame that “Reverb” didn’t deliver to the same level.

First, there was only one interactive work, by Carsten Nicolai (aka Alva Noto) – so hardly an “immersive” experience, unless you include the ACMI Listening Room, which served more as a passive audio space and vinyl lounge (albeit a very nice one!).

Second, the only two works that really engaged with and explored the interaction between electronic music and popular culture were: a semi-educational documentary by Jeremy Deller on the second summer of love and the UK rave culture; and an informative and creative account of the Detroit techno scene by Jenn Nkiru.

Third, as much as I enjoy the work of William Kentridge, his video installation of animated drawings seemed out of place and out of context – although it appears this same work was included in the original London show.

Not having had the opportunity to see the original version, direct comparisons are difficult. But it felt like there were huge gaps. For example, nothing about the role of music videos on MTV (much of it electronic music) in shaping the visual packaging of pop artists and how these videos themselves brought a cross-fertilisation of different sub-cultures, fashion styles and musical genres into mainstream publishing, advertising and the broader entertainment industry. Nothing about the technology that helped electronic music to propagate and which led to scratching, remixing and sampling, and also shaped how, where and when we listen to music. I could go on but hopefully the point is made.

Maybe the point is that the original exhibition was simply the source material for galleries and museums to each put their own spin on the impact of music on art and culture, like a series of reverberating events around the world.

But at the very least, surely there should have been a video of Coldcut’s classic remix of “Paid In Full” by Eric B and Rakim? Now that’s what I call a “journey into sound!”

Next week: End of the road for Lime?

 

Accidental Album

A lot of music released these days is just “product”, calculated to maximise streaming algorithms backed by social media engineering and a 24/7 PR machine. Which is why so many new albums feel contrived, manufactured and just part of a conveyor belt production. A bit like processed food on supermarket shelves.

So it was really refreshing to hear David Chesworth introduce his first solo album, “50 Synthesiser Greats” as part of the “Reverb” listening room sessions at Melbourne’s ACMI. (More on Reverb itself next week.)

Originally released in 1979, the music was mostly self-recorded at home, using just a Mini Korg 700S synthesizer, and an Akai 4000 DS reel-to-reel tape deck. By the artist’s own frank admission, there had never been any intention to release the tracks as a record. It was only when he played the recordings to a friend that Chesworth was encouraged to put out an album.

Self-releasing a record in those pre-digital, pre-internet days was not unheard of, although still relatively rare. But thanks to the proliferation of independent labels alongside punk music in the mid- to late-70s, there were enough examples for aspiring musicians to follow. Chesworth’s account of how he made an appointment with a Melbourne pressing plant (“men in white lab coats”), and then came up with the cover design, was endearing and self-effacing. Each step in the production process was just another part of the overall experiment he had begun with those somewhat naive recordings. Yet there was also a benign knowingness behind the artistic experimentation: the deliberately cheesy sleeve artwork, the slightly cryptic album title, etc.

The resulting album is as much a work of conceptual art as it is product of recorded music. A similar thought came to mind when listening to the recently re-released inaugural album by The Durutti Column, an album I have loved since its first release in 1980. Again, something of an accidental album, the music on “The Return of….” had never been intended for release – and was issued without the artist’s formal consent or knowledge. As critic Alexis Petridis wrote in his re-appraisal in late 2025:

“And perhaps the peculiar circumstances of its creation – people experimenting for their own benefit, rather than actively making an album for public consumption – helped forge its distinctly beguiling atmosphere.”

Somehow, you can’t imagine many of today’s pop singers experimenting in similar vein, such is their focus on output.

Next week: Reverb-erations