31 Songs - Song 8

I've been neglecting this particular blog feature of late due to much fervour with other features, including our recent EP Treasure Hunt, which is a shame because I quite enjoy rambling about particular songs even if no one does read said ramblings.  So without further ado, here's some jibber-jabber about some music.  Enjoy!


Song 8 - The Beatles - Octopus' Garden

I love musical journeys.  The joy that comes from listening to an old artist or a particular song, and following the influence through to the modern day era is untold and rivalled only by imparting little gems of musical knowledge onto others; "oh so you like The Horrors?  Well you should really listen to The Cure as well."  For me, every musical journey and all musical education should begin with The Beatles.

I used to be rather passionate about this, getting into arguments about why The Beatles were the greatest band ever, and such like.  Nowadays, the mellowing effects of time have played their cards and I am simply content knowing that whether a person likes/loves/hates (delete as appropriate) The Beatles, there is a 99% probability that whatever tunes they do stick in their ears will have been inspired in some way by Liverpool's finest.

I could have chosen almost any song from The Fab Four to feature in our 31 Songs.  From 'Strawberry Fields Forever' the song from which I have the words "living is easy with eyes closed" etched in ink on my arm, to Harrison's ballad to guitars 'While My Guitar Gently Weeps', to the string led 'Eleanor Rigby', to 'Got To Get You Into My Life' a song which I danced to happily on my wedding day.  Yet I begun this post talking about journeys, and my Beatles journey began with 'Octopus' Garden'.

At least it's the clearest and earliest memory of The Beatles I have.  Later I would learn songs such as 'Yesterday', 'Let It Be', 'Norwegian Wood' and 'Help!' on the piano, but 'Octopus' Garden' stands out as the first song I remember listening to and knowing it was a band called The Beatles.

It was the fault of my childhood friend's dad really.  Aged 10 or 11 along with many of my friends I played for a local boys football team.  Sadly, much like now, I was not blessed with anything resembling talent on the football field.  Rather than standing out though, I was surrounded by a lack of talent.  In the two years we played together as a group, Neilston Boys Club won only one game and later had those three points struck off as the team we beat disbanded after the indignity of losing to us.  Despite this, I enjoyed the camaraderie of playing in a team, and the jovial post match banter we would have.  After most games I hitched a lift home with my friend Jeff, whose father, affectionately known as Big Jeff, was a coach with the team.  Big Jeff, who I now know to be somewhat of a Beatles fanatic, would drive along with the car radio on.  On the rare occasions that the boisterous banter of a car full of 11 years old kids lulled, his song choices would reach our ears.

The one which has always stuck with me was 'Octopus' Garden'.  Far from being The Beatles best song, hell it's not even Ringo's best song, it's a carefree and joyful little number.  Childlike almost and certainly guaranteed to put a smile on any listeners face.  To my mind it rouses an image of a friendly smiling purple octopus, dishing out ice creams to passers by.  Silly, yet fun.

Now I'm grown, the song still stays as a favourite.  There are so many Lennon-McCartney numbers with deep meanings and such like.  'Octopus' Garden' reminds us of the childlike side to The Beatles, and the fun nature of music.  There is also the eastern and psychedelia influences at play in the track, which was prominent in The Beatles music towards the late '60's.  The bubble effect sound was added in by blowing bubbles in water using a straw, further demonstrating The Beatles pioneering of sampling and production.  And further more it shows those who are not necessarily aware that The Beatles were more than just Lennon and McCartney.  And it serves as a brilliant entry point into a musical journey for my own young children. 

31 Songs - Song 7

Song 7 - Frightened Rabbit - 'My Backwards Walk'

Continuing on the '31 Songs' journey it might not be very surprising to regular readers that I've chosen a Frightened Rabbit song as one which means something to me.  What may be surprising is that it is this song.

'My Backwards Walk' is taken from Frightened Rabbit's second album, 'The Midnight Organ Fight', an album so drenched in post break-up emotion that even Sigmund Freud would have a hard time.  'My Backwards Walk' is the heart wrenching admission from lead singer Scott Hutchinson that a relationship isn't working or even worse is over and despite that knowledge not being able to move on physically or emotionally.

The lyrics to this track are like sheer poetry.  Firstly conveying the feeling that one other person has become such a part of your life that you can't think straight without them; "...filling in the blanks and gaps.  And when I write them out they don't make sense, I need you to pencil in the rest".  There's another line in the song, remaining on the theme of drawing/writing, which very simply illustrates that connection we make with an other which can seem, at the time, unbreakable; "I done drawn a line between you and me".

What I particularly like about that last line, is the preceding line which starts the verse, "I'm working on drawing a straight line".  That to me emphasises the effort that the antagonist, and humans in general, put into relationships in order to make them work.  Try and draw a straight line, right now, with no ruler.  It's hard isn't it.  Now think how long you'd have to practice that, the time consuming solo nature of that task, to get it right.  That straight line illustrates the direct bond between two people, straight from one to the other, without any diversions and joins along the way.  That kind of bond takes time and for me the beauty of that line, is that it makes the coming fall even harder.  I also think that this song speaks to men more than women.  Maybe it's because it's lead singer Scott Hutchinson that's singing it, and it is autobiographical, but I think that, for the most part, men have to work harder on relationships than women.  I'm not going to delve into the psychology behind why, maybe it's a primal thing, maybe it's a symptom of the 21st century where we are not in touch with our emotions, but I think the line "I'm working on drawing a straight line" embodies the effort and soul searching that men do to fully commit themselves to a relationship. 

One of the reasons that I am so fond of this song the emotion that so evident drips of every word.  I've talked before about how for music to really strike a chord with us it has to connect on an emotion level.  This song does this with me, but in a strange backwards way.  I'm lucky enough to only have experienced one side of the emotion portrayed in this song, that feeling of love and connection.  Thankfully, I've never had the fall, the knowledge that it's over but that you can't move on (at least not since I was 15, and I got over that pretty quickly).  Yet despite that, it's the ridiculous amount of love that I have for my partner, that I can understand and empathise with the second half of this song.  It almost if you like serves as a warning, a reminder that despite how we currently feel now, things can change and fall apart.  We see it happen all around us, people break up, divorce, grow apart.  Knowing that can happen should be the biggest reason to keep working on drawing that straight line.

Lyrically the direction changes with the second half of the song, as the realisation sinks in that things are not right.  "I'm working on erasing you, just don't have the proper tools" conveys the hopelessness of the task of moving on, and equally that glimmer of hope that the 'straight line' that we've drawn can be erased, although drink may not be the best tool to use!

I love songs with lyrics that are not literal; little clever word plays that upon repeat listens revel their true colours.  My favourite verse in 'My Backwards Walk' is the fifth one, which is full of just that kind of songwriting.  "I'm working hard on walking out.  Shoes keep sticking to the ground.  My clothes won't let me close the door.  These trousers seem to love your floor."  Brilliant isn't it.  The picture in my head is complete.  A girl's bedroom (optional pink wallpaper), a guy standing at the door rooted to the spot, the girl lying on the bed.  His mind is telling him this isn't a good idea, his dick is telling him otherwise.  Cut scene.  Zoom back to the pair on the bed and the faded jeans lying cast off passionately in a last fling of regret.  Whilst the first couple of verses made us picture the emotional connection, those last two lines of the fifth verse are all about the sheer carnal sexual attractions that too often rule.

The last line (last mention of the lyrics, promise!) sums up everything about this song.  "You're the shit and I'm knee deep in it", is as brilliant a realisation about doomed love as I've ever heard.

Musically the song is pretty simple.  A repeated guitar riff underpins the rhythm, and scattered chords play over the top.  There's no need for anything more to be honest, and it's only the last thirty seconds that are treated to the usual higher tempo associated with Frightened Rabbit.

In my opinion one of the true marks of a great songwriter and story teller, is being able to make you feel emotions you've never experienced first hand.  In 'My Backwards Walk' Frightened Rabbit do exactly that.

31 Songs - Song 6

Song 6 - The Flaming Lips - Do You Realize??

It may be the 21st century but there is still a fair share of taboos that exist in polite conversation. For instance I dream of the day that two men can discuss the merits of self fellatio without fear or impunity. One other such taboo is death. Music can be a great ice breaker to these taboos. (I'm no longer talking about self fellatio for the record).

It's something which will happen to us all, sure as Madonna's proposed Malawi school will never see the light of day, we all will meet our end at some point or another. Quite a solemn thought really. No wonder we don't talk about it. But does it need to be that way?

Well no, it doesn't. And The Flaming Lips will tell you why in a way that only they know how.

'Do You Realize??' is one of the most affirming tracks ever made. The juxtaposition of lines such as the soppy "do you realise that you have the most beautiful face" and the dismal "do you realise that everyone you know someday will die" is rivals Morrisey. And it is the latter realisation that is our fear, spawned from the unknown, a throw back to times where religion did put the fear of hell and eternal damnation into the faithful flocks.

Let's face it, we're all probably scared of dying on some level. If you listen to the lyrics in this track Wayne Coyne, for me, turns that fear on it's head with the line "you realise the sun don't go down, it's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round". Wow.

Now I'm not wanting to put words in Wayne Coyne's mouth, what I read from that little couplet is that death is only as real as you want it to be. People we love die, much like the sun goes down. Yet the sun doesn't go away and neither do those who have died. Sounds all a bit circle of life doesn't it? But hey, some moments call for it.

And peppered around this taboo buster are other little dots of genius. From the innocent opening refrain of "one, two, three, four" which is so childlike it helps convey the lightness of the subject matter, to the humongous observation that yes we are indeed floating in space. That for me is almost a near perfect one line dismissal of God, religion and heaven.

Hell I even love the quirky double question marks and the fact that Americans can't spell realise.

The key message behind the song is to enjoy the little time we have in this life, summed up in a nutshell with the line "let the know you realise that life goes fast, it's hard to make the good things last". And if you've ever seen The Flaming Lips live you'll know that they make fun there primary objective. Why don't you?

31 Songs - Song 5

Song 5 - Modest Mouse - Float On

Some songs just put a smile on your face.  When you need it most, whatever may be going on, it's reassuring to know that there's always a song that will turn that frown upside down, even if just for three and a half minutes.  'Float On' by American indie band Modest Mouse is as near to indie-pop bliss as you can get.  It really shouldn't be, but it works perfectly.

A work colleague first introduced me to Modest Mouse around about the time that their breakthrough album 'Good News For People Who Love Bad News' was released, which was mid 2004.  We used to have a small CD player through the back of the fast food restaurant that we worked in, which was loud enough that we could hear it over the din of the fryers but out of earshot of customers.  Usually the person who was in the kitchen area would have first dibs on what was played and Donald and I had gotten into the habit of making mix CD's each week, adding in songs we thought might impress the other.  It was incidentally around this time I started to appreciate the art of the 'mixtape', a la` High Fidelity, but that's a story for another day.

The hour between 10 and 11 was generally the best hour on a Saturday shift.  Having started at 7, put away the delivery and prepped up enough food to see you through to 11, when the first wave of customers would generally appear, it was the time we could put our feet up and properly listen to the music.

From the first kicks of the drum kit and the jangly rhythm guitar, there's a feeling that this song will lift your mood.  Before your cheeks have formed into full dimples, there's a glorious little riff to contend with.  Listening to the music, which is crafted together with such care and attention, conjures up images of a merry little cartoon complete with smiling sunshine.  It's not overly complicated, prescribed in just the right amounts, and underlying is that jangly melody inviting you to sway along with it.  It's a slice of perfect pop, served up with a dollop of cream.

When I say pop, I don't mean the vacant bubble gum variety that too often is served up, I mean pop in the styling of The Beach Boys and Phil Spector.  It shouldn't really work in this sense, as lead singer Isaac Brook, doesn't have the most naturally appealing singing voice.  For the majority of Modest Mouse's work this isn't a major concern, after all their brand of alternative indie isn't exactly tailored to that particular demographic.  Listen to the opening line when it kicks in and you'll see what I mean.  Yet it works, Brook's edgy off kilter vocals make the song sound real rather than empty, the sound of a regular guy just looking for a piece of happiness in amongst the rubble of everyday life.

Lyrically that's exactly what the 'Float On' is about.  To give a direct quote from Brook's himself:

"It was [writing Float On] a completely conscious thing. I was just kind of fed up with how bad shit had been going, and how dark everything was, with bad news coming from everywhere. Our president [George W. Bush] is just a fucking daily dose of bad news! Then you've got the well-intentioned scientists telling us that everything is fucked. I just want to feel good for a day."

The first verse laments about backing into a cop car, and running your mouth off a bit too much, but both things turn out all right.  And you know what, if hitting a cop car can turn out alright, then maybe everything else can too.  But for me it's the chorus, from which the song derives its name that wins me over every time.  "We'll all float on ok", that lackadaisical attitude that no matter what's going on, we'll just float on, and you know, be happy?  And that's what we need reminded of more and more these days.  'Cause even if things get heavy, we'll all float on.  And we will.  'Float On' serves to remind us of that.

31 Songs (A Scottish Fiction Rip Off...) - Song 4

I feel like these days I'm offering an apology at the start of every blog post. It's true I've been rather tardy in my '31 Songs' efforts, but who am I to apologise to you? Okay, you're right insulting the readers never goes down well. Humblest apologies m'lud.

Song 4

The Guillemots - Made Up Love Song #43

From the moment those first two notes hit my eardrum, theres an image. An image so clear and crystal it has become forever intertwinned with this song. The image is a face, the face of my wife Heather. I'm not quite sure how the association began, but through mutual love of the song we chose 'Made Up Love Song #43' by Guillemots as our first dance at our wedding. Whilst discussing it, it was decided upon almost instantly. We knew that we didn't want to go down the route of cheesy cliched ballads, that we wanted something we could dance to, something quirky, something with a bit of life that represented the kind of people we were. Whether or not 'Made Up Love Song #43' does that, I'm not sure, but it certainly was different. One of the best things about it was that it gave me a chance to showcase this criminally under-rated band to others, afterall talking during the first dance at a wedding is pretty much a faux pas.

But more than it being my first dance, it has snuck it's way in to the classic title of 'our song'. The lyrics are nonsensical, yet endearing. "I love you through sparks and shining dragons I do" to me is the beauty of not being able to find the words to describe the how you feel about someone. The song is all about finding beauty in everything around us, about the mundane things "now there's poetry in an empty coke can". You know that feeling when your in love, that makes everything seem like it's from a cheesy 1950's cartoon? That's what this song captures for me. Even dull and grotesque things "burnt out caravan" have beauty when your in love.

There's another reading of the song that I also think holds some water. It's not my interpretation, but I've heard some argue that the song is actually a critique of modern day love songs. Too often we hear wishy washy songs, penned by a pop mogul or faceless writer, and sung by the latest boy/girl group to tug at our heart strings. Pathetic. Devoid of feelings or real emotion these songs could just a well be the nonsense that fills the lines of 'Made Up Love Song #43'. Even the title suggests that this is what it is, a made up love song. Not based on real emotions. As I said, a nice idea if true.

My favourite lyrics however is the second chorus, "you got me off the sofa, just sprang out of the air. The best things come from nowhere, I can't believe you care". This to me sums up how my relationship with my wife began, and the sheer disbelief I still harbour that such a wonderful person would want to be with me. The best things do indeed come from nowhere.

Musically, the song represents what the Guillemots do very well. Singer Fyfe Dangerfield has a pitch perfect voice, which delivers the verses softly, letting himself go in the second half of the song. The final chorus has such power behind his voice it sends tingles down my spine. Done live this is one of the finest vocal performances I've ever seen.

The song starts of with a melodic guitar riff and a simple rhythm tapped out on the high hat. The full power of the band kicks in after about a minute, full drums with a quirky kick, the guitar riffs kicks up a bit and soaring strings fly in between, tying the vocals and the music together. This energy is short lived, as things quiet down again at the 2 minutes 30 seconds mark, as the song fades out. It's part of what makes the song so special, it's such a beautiful piece of music, yet only last for a short fleeting moment.

I've spoke about music and memories before, and 'Made Up Love Song #43' will forever remind me of one person. And despite what may be going on in our relationship, because of the place that song has it has the amazing ability to bring back to the fore all the good things that exist between me and my wife. It's a shining beacon, a lighthouse, which clears everything else away, and makes me remember exactly why I love this person. She got me off the sofa, just sprung out of the air. The best things do indeed come from nowhere.

31 Songs (A Scottish Fiction Rip Off...) - Song 3

I'm a bit behind with my 31 songs feature, so with out further ado, I present song number 3.

Song 3

That music has the power to invoke feelings is a given. In fact it''s probably the reason that so many of us completely immerse our lives in music. Some songs make us happy, others sad. But more than invoking just raw feelings, music also has the power to bring back memories. Combine the two and it often leaves one with a strong feeling of attachment to a song.

Growing up as a child of the 90's, it was impossible not to feel the heavy presence that Brit Pop played over the music scene. One band more hovered more than others and it was Oasis. I was nine in 1995, and as a nine year old it was so easy to be engulfed by the aura that surrounds Oasis' third single from their album '(What's The Story) Morning Glory'. 'Wonderwall' is probably Oasis' best known track. It's one of the few that cracked stateside, and it's lasting effect on British society is evident from the amount of drunk men who think they can sing it at kareoke. It's easy now as a 25 year old to be dismissive of Oasis. They were never that creative, they heavily borrowed without disguising it from numerous sources, and they had an terrible attitude which often overshadowed their music. However despite the doubters and despite the snobbery that sometimes gets thrown at them, 'Wonderwall' is a bloody good song.

From the footsteps, and the groove of the record at the start, to the instantly recognisable chords strummed on Noel's acoustic guitar, to bare honest lyrics there are so many things to love about this song. Firstly the acoustic guitar part, which countless buskers have butchered since, is a thing of absolute beauty. It works so well in amongst the drums, bass and lead, filling the gaps between verses like cement between bricks. It's Noel at work in the background of what really is one of his masterpiece songs, keeping the whole thing tied up together, looking on as his little brother takes vocals. I also love the fact that the verses one and three are the same bar the line "That they're gonna throw it back to you", which changes to "That they'll never throw it back to you". It breeds familiarity even upon first hearing. And what seems familiar seems like something we can love, something we can cherish.

It's the little things about the song that stick as well. The gap at 2 minutes 6 secs which leads to a gloriously simple drum fill. The fact that on the second, "I said maybe..." refrain, Noel provides the vocal returns. It's so infectious that I now subconsciously do it at almost every opportunity. At the end of each line, I find myself singing along. My own personal favourite is after, "But I don't know how", where I think the song is crying out for a "I said I don't know how!" And this leads me to the main reason why I love this song.

'Wonderwall' is perfect, absolutely perfect for sing-a-longs. This is a much more redeeming feature than drunk men singing kareoke. I have spent many a night with my friends singing along to 'Wonderwall' backed by my friend Dave's guitar. Campfires, weddings, house parties, bus journeys, anywhere and everywhere. And yes it was normally accompanied by copious amounts of alcohol, but let's not be snobby. The memories that Wonderwall invokes in me is of good times. Times with my friends, singing together, enjoying what ever night we happened to be on. Which brings me back to memories and feelings.

31 Songs (A Scottish Fiction Rip Off...) - Song 2

Continuing on my bold treck through songs which have left an imprint on my life in some shape or form.

Song 2

LCD Soundsystem - 'All My Friends'

No not 'Song 2' by Blur, but song number 2 in my list. Sometimes songs come along which challenge how you percieve music, and rip up your preconcieved notions of tastes and genres. Back in 2005, I had heard the song 'Daft Punk Is Playing At My House' and had nodded along to the track's beat. Here's my confession though, other than enjoying the track, it made little impact on me. In 2005 I was very much still listening to what I now term 'chart rock' and a small smattering of indie music. Now I'm not going to apologise for that, much of what I liked then I still enjoy today, even if it isn't the most creative or original music. But if I name drop bands like Hard-Fi, Kaiser Chiefs and Razorlight then you can see what my past self was up against.

My musical tastes have always flexed and changed. When I was younger, I was heavily into hip-hop and rap, something I'll touch on later in my 31 songs journey. Hitting my teens I embraced forty years of rock history, delving into the back catalouges of The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Bob Dylan, and so on. And in my late teens I had settled on the kind of bands listed above.

Released in May 2007, LCD Soundsystem's 'All My Friends' was a revelation. I first discovered the song through another favourite band of my at the time, Franz Ferdinand, who had recorded a cover. Listening to that intrigued me to investigate further. As mentioned at the start of this article, I knew who LCD Soundsystem were, but had never really delved into their music. You know that way when you hear a song for the first time, and are speechless? Listening to 'All My Friends' had that impact on me, much like I imagine people must have felt the first time they heard Dylan's 'Like A Rolling Stone'.

The song for me opened up a whole new world of music, not only existing in the present with bands such as Hot Chip, LCD Soundsystem and Air, but also thirty years worth of electronica music including Kraftwerk and Daft Punk. I even revisited music I had heard and liked over the last ten years with a new vigour and appreciation, finding new things in bands such as Faithless, New Order and The Chemical Brothers. Music is like a network of roads. You can follow one particular style or genre from start to end all the way down that road, but all the way along there are cross roads, and splinter roads which take you on a completely different journey. It's part of the beauty of discovering music, and that's one of the reasons 'All My Friends' is a special song for me.

The song itself is seven minutes and thirty eight seconds of musical genius. Crafted to perfection by James Murphy, the song starts with a repeating piano note building in a crescendo. A cymbal crash, then another thirty seconds later. Quietly at first the snare drum sneaks in, and coaxes the rest of the drum kit to join in. This is as simple as the music gets throughout the rest of the song, proving that sometimes, less can be more. And those who accuse the song of being monotonous can quite frankly fuck off. The rhythm peaks and dips, ebbs and flows, and works in a way I never thought I could appreciate.

Lyrically the song strikes a chord with me so deeply that it's scary. As with all songs, the meaning can be interpreted differently by different people, it can be skewed and it can be argued over. Whilst all this is true, I think ultimately 'All My Friends' is a song about the transistion from youth to adulthood. Looking back on decisions you made when you were younger with the hindsight of experience. Some people have commented that it refers to the rock and roll lifestyle, which probably has some truth given Murphy's own lifestyle, but I do think it transcends that, and relates to anyone who has reached a turning point in their life, where they need to grow up.

Some lines in the song sound as if they've been picked out of my brain. "You spent the first five years trying to get with the plan, and the next five years trying to be with your friends again." At age twenty, I became a father. It took a lot of adjustment, a lot of sacrifice, and a lot of effort to try and 'get with the plan'. Throughout that time, and even still now, I would often try to cling back to the freedom I had, and try and 'be with my friends again'.

The other line which I particuarly love is, "It comes apart, the way it does in bad films. Except in parts, when the morals kick in." To me, this represents almost everyones transistion from one lifestyle to another. What you are trying to do, the new way of living, does come apart. You can't help but hark back to what you used to have, and quite selfishly at times almost wish you still had that. And there are times when that wishing gets taken too far. Maybe you go out and get irresponsibly drunk, maybe you have an argument. But the key part is the second line. Because ultimately, at least for me and most people, the morals do kick in. And that's what gets you through. Because you know what the right thing to do is.

I love how I can relate my own life story to this song. I've felt lost at the prospect of seeing my friends out enjoying themselves when I can't. I've felt jealous, bitter and resented the situation. And I've then subsequently felt guilty about the above. But despite everything next line is exactly how I feel, "I wouldn't trade one stupid decision, for another five years of life." Now let me clarify that I don't think having kids was a 'stupid decision', but the point I'm making is that despite it being something which changed my life completely, I wouldn't change it for 'another five years of [carefree] life'.

One of the real redeeming features about 'All My Friends' is despite it being writing by James Murphy, presumably about his thoughts and experiences on the subject, everyone can relate it to their own life. Because everyone will have gone through something similar. At some stage in everyone's life, they have the realisation that their life has changed, possibly their friends have changed, but something somewhere will let them relate to this song. Go on, listen to it. Really listen to it. Let me know how you get on.

Official Video Version

Full Length Album Version

31 Songs (A Scottish Fiction Rip Off...) - Song 1

Nick Hornby released a book in 2002 called '31 Songs', which was an autobiographical journey through the world of music, where Hornby selected songs which had a special meaning for him, and wrote about them and what made them so special for him. It's a book that I read and immediately loved the idea of. Music is made to be shared, it's one of the most fantastically intimate things that someone can do. Sharing a song, is sharing a little bit about ourselves, even if we don't realise it. Each week on the blog, I'll share a song and what that song means to me. Feel free to reciprocate.

Song 1

'Keeping Warm' by We Were Promised Jetpacks

During the summer of 2009 I discovered a band from Edinburgh called We Were Promised Jetpacks. I learned of them partly through a friend who had gone to see them at T In The Park because she knew their sound engineer, and partly through my dad who had bought their debut album 'These Four Walls'. I still find it amazing that my dad knew about them, and heard their music, before me, but I'm chalking that one up to the fact my influence on him and his taste in modern music has been very strong. 

Anyway, I borrowed my dad's copy of the album and it blew me away. A few days later I was in HMV and saw the album on vinyl. £12 and an hour later the LP was on constant rotation on my crappy record player. It remained there for the best part of the month of August. The autumn of 2009 was a busy one for me. My fiance at the time, now my wife, and I were busy planning our wedding in November. I had been given the charge of sorting out the music. I think my wife had allowed me this so as to stop me meddling in other affairs, which was fine with me. Much like Rob Fleming in 'High Fidelity' I agonised over the playlist, listening to countless and countless songs. 'Keeping Warm' would not end up on the list, however the song has a special meaning for me for another reason.

My now brother in law and his girlfriend were expecting their first child, the due date was the 20th November (give or take a day or two), which was a little over a week after our 11th November wedding. Sadly they had already miscarried a baby the year before, and there had been some scares along the way during this pregnancy. So needless to say when she was taken into hospital with contractions in September, there were a few worried thoughts. The baby was born 8 weeks early on 17th September. Having already had two children of my own, I felt strange, because I couldn't imagine what it must be like to have the uncertainty of a pre-mature baby. 

As previously mentioned the album 'These Four Walls' had been on heavy rotation during this time. Given what was happening with my nephew being kept in hospital, the words of 'Keeping Warm' really resonated. The first lines, "The chances of being born, are so slim, so keep warm, so keep warm" were such a lift and it was one of those other worldy moments where it felt like that song had been written purely for the situation my brother in law and his girlfriend found themselves in. I never shared the sentiments with them, although I remember discussing it with my wife, and about how, as a family we should do exactly as We Were Promised Jetpacks advised and "take some heart in being born". 

Thankfully my nephew was absolutely fine and much to the delight of all was the youngest guest at our wedding in November. And indeed over time has "learned to talk, and learn to walk" in his own time. We all have songs which invoke memories of a certain time, and of a certain person, and whilst 'Keeping Warm' does both of these, it sticks with me for more than just the fact it reminds me of my nephew. It stirs memories of my own children, and how I felt as a young father. The line, "making plans that you can't keep, that you've outgrown" makes me think just how different my own life has turned out from how I pictured it. But much like the song, which exudes positive feelings, the way things have turned out for me couldn't have been better. 

But even if we strip back all these thoughts and emotions, the song itself is an outstanding piece of music. Eight minutes and thirteen seconds long, it possess a thing which I love. A building intro. The guitars kicks in after thirty seconds. The guitar teasingly draws out a crescendo. A minute in we can hear the drumsticks tapping together, before crashing down on the cymbals a minute later. The bass saves its appreance until one minute thirty seconds providing an sturdy background to the delicateness which has proceeded. Together the parts of music become the sum of an almighty intro, drum beats and guitar riffs crashing off each other like waves off a cliff, each time producing more ocean spray than the last. Over half of song is dedicated to it's intro. For that We Were Promised Jetpacks should be applauded because despite the length, the intro is neither milked nor unnecessary.

I've discussed much of the lyrical content already, but the conviction with which lead singer Adam Thompson delivers them is another merit of this song. The album as a whole is full of this, and if you ever see the band live you can witness this first hand. I'm sure Thompson must have coughed up a lung some nights given the energy he puts into his singing.

Which brings me to the last great merit of 'Keeping Warm'. I've seen the band three times now, and two of those times, once at King Tut's Wah Wah Hut, the other at the ABC, the band opened with 'Keeping Warm'. For me that is a statement. A statement of a band who right from the start provide a show full of energy, full of intent and full of passion. If 'Keeping Warm' fails to grab your attention then there's little hope.