I buy Fall records when I come across them.
It reminds me of the arguments of my youth that they were anti-music and shit. This opinion was always guaranteed to elicit the best responses from the floppy haired overcoat wearers in my audience.
Secretly I was fascinated by the guttural amphetamine driven vocals of Mr Smith and his beat group. I had secret tapes of them hidden amongst the Hatfield and the North and Henry Cow albums. Stupidly I was not able to recognize the connection of course I also had not discovered John Cooper Clarke by then either. Not that that is the connection. It was really the single minded commitment to an art form or was it anti-art.
For a brief moment we fell out. Well I became more interested in Americana. It’s easy to do when you live here and let’s face it Mark E. Smiths particular type of Mancunian invective is not exactly popular in the good ole US of A.
This afternoon as Thanksgiving or the national day of mourning for some drew to an end and the neighbors unleashed their particular celebratory arsenal on my ear drums I was reminded of the Fall. It was something to do with the constant gunfire and the cloud of blue gunpowder smoke rolling across the creek.
It was time to get confrontational with myself it seems. Everyone went to bed and zombie shows didn’t call to me.
So I went for what is apparently their most accessible album. The Infotainment Scan. Still it’s full of grumpiness and vitriol although the musics a little more together. And there’s the cover of Lost In Music to get all groovy to. It’s a paranoid feast of danceable grooves man. Well you can dance if your an angry amphetamine driven Mancunian.
Somewhere along the way it drove the sound of gunfire out of my brain.
It’s also on some lists as a good album. Even one you should listen to.
I often wonder if those floppy haired overcoat wearers are still listening and getting all morose still. I should be less judgements I suppose.