Another month or possible two, another Vinyl Club, and another reminder that four people can hear the exact same music and come away with completely different opinions. Which is probably the point. Or at least that’s what we tell ourselves while arguing over records in the middle of the afternoon like the middle-aged men we now officially are. No snacks this time either. Bryn clearly conscious of my triathlon training. Either that or Kelly was otherwise occupied.
This month’s theme was Favourite Second Album. Chosen because of the old music industry myth about the “difficult second album”. The idea that a band spends years writing their debut, then suddenly has six months, a nervous record label and a mild cocaine problem to follow it up.
Some rise to the challenge. Some disappear forever. Some become Radiohead.
The setting was once again Bryn’s increasingly impressive record room. Every time I go there it looks more like a cross between a record shop and somewhere a Bond villain would interrogate people about first pressings.
Bryn opened with Tapestry by Carole King. And honestly, there’s not much room for sarcasm here because Tapestry is one of the greatest albums of all time. Not “great for its era”. Not “important historically”. Just flat-out brilliant.
You forget how many massive songs are on it until they keep arriving one after another like some sort of musical machine gun of quality.
Tracks played: I Feel the Earth Move · So Far Away · It’s Too Late · You’ve Got a Friend
Verso’s View: Warm, effortless and somehow both huge and intimate at the same time. One of those albums where even people who claim not to know it actually know half of it by accident. A proper masterpiece. Also mildly annoying because it immediately put pressure on the rest of us.
Then came my pick. Sunshine on Leith by The Proclaimers.
Now, I know what some people think about The Proclaimers. Usually people who’ve only heard I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) seventeen thousand times at weddings and on coach trips. There’s also the football thing. They’re famously Hibernian F.C. fans and I support Heart of Midlothian F.C.. Apparently this means I’m not supposed to like them. I say grow up. If football rivalry stops you enjoying good music then you’re probably taking life far too seriously.
But Sunshine on Leith is a genuinely brilliant record. Funny, emotional, working-class without trying too hard about it, and completely unpretentious.
Tracks played: I Met You · My Old Friend the Blues · Sean · Sunshine on Leith
Verso’s View: There’s sincerity in these songs that most bands would kill for. Sunshine on Leith as a song still has the power to make a room go strangely quiet. Also probably the only album of the afternoon where you could imagine half the tracks being played in a pub just before someone starts crying into a pint.
Jimmy then arrived with The Bends by Radiohead.
Now then.
I do not like Radiohead.
There. I said it.
People talk about them like they’re musical prophets descending from the heavens carrying important messages about modern life and alienation. To me it mostly sounds like someone sighing emotionally near a photocopier.
And before the music snobs start sharpening their keyboards, I’d genuinely rather listen to Queen. Possibly even Pink Floyd. And I’ve spent years taking the mickey out of Pink Floyd fans for looking like they know seventeen different types of lentil.
Tracks played: Just · The Bends · High and Dry · Fake Plastic Trees
Verso’s View: I understand that they’re talented. I understand that people adore them. I also understand that after about fifteen minutes I started mentally planning at least five different ways to kill myself. High and Dry is decent though. I’ll give them that. I’m not completely dead inside.
Finally, Coxy brought Modern Life Is Rubbish by Blur.
Which created the unusual situation where I spent a good portion of the afternoon wondering whether I was the problem.
Because Blur are another band I just don’t really get.
Now to be fair, I absolutely loved the whole Britpop phenomenon from the moment when Suede released their eponymous debut and suddenly every indie kid in Britain wanted a parka and an attitude problem (I definitely had one of those, maybe! I was definitely Oasis with a massive smattering of Pulp and a healthy side order of Ocean Colour Scene. Blur were obviously a huge part of that era, but they always felt like the clever kids at the back of the class while Oasis sounded like the lads who’d turned the gas tops on for a laugh during science lessons. I know which side I naturally drifted towards.
Blur have always felt slightly too pleased with themselves for my liking.
Tracks played: For Tomorrow · Star Shaped · Blue Jeans · Chemical World
Verso’s View: There were moments I liked. For Tomorrow has a lovely sweep to it. But overall I still came away unconvinced. I suspect Blur are one of those bands where people are scared to admit they only really know the singles.
Closing Verdict
Another excellent afternoon. One masterpiece. One deeply emotional Scottish classic. One band that makes me question my tolerance levels. And another that still leaves me slightly baffled.
Which, in fairness, is exactly what Vinyl Club should be. Nobody agreed on much. There were strong opinions, unnecessary sarcasm and at least one point where somebody probably said “you just don’t understand it” about Radiohead in the same tone people discuss fine art.
The difficult second album?
Turns out arranging and surviving Vinyl Club is harder.
Next meeting will be sometime in June if we can actually manage to agree on a date like functioning adults. Bryn has already promised to get the BBQ out, which means there is now genuine pressure on the British weather for once.
