Totally Shuffled extract-Sisters of Mercy

extracted from "Totally Shuffled-A Year of Listening to Music on a Broken iPod"


Sisters of Mercy-

Sometimes music evolves in different, unexpected directions.


Jazz to blues to rock and roll.

Country music from blues and Scottish folk music from the 19^th century.

House music from German electronic etc.

Sometimes it’s a picture of constantly shifting sands. But sometimes it just stops dead. A cultural cul-de-sac, a dead end. A mere appendix.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Goth, and specifically, The Sisters of Mercy.

This is a surprise; I’d forgotten that I’d put it on the iPod. It must have been a grim day when I’d downloaded it-music to fit in with the weather I suppose. Sisters of Mercy are one of those bands that the idea is so much better than the execution of the idea. The image that I have of them; and one that had been actively perpetuated by the band is that of heavy, dark, grinding music. A pure behemoth of sound, an unstoppable force. They should be the sound of a glacier moving inexorably through isolated Northern European mountain ranges.

Someone once told me that if the Sisters of Mercy were a car, then they should be a big American muscle car from the 70’s,battered but rumbling noisily along the Highway (with a capital H) at 85 mph. An orange Dodge Charger or a Camero specced up with a firebird logo on the bonnet (sorry, hood) and a huge chromed air intake poking out, sidepipes and tinted windows. Listening to this track-for the first time really- as well as the rest of the album, the Sisters of Mercy sound exactly like a first generation Fiat Panda, but one of those made on an East European production line.

The staggering thing is that despite their doomy, heavy, dark and yes, Gothy image, the Sisters of Mercy sounded so flimsy, so tinny. I did think that it was possibly due to the speakers I was playing them through so I switched to the main hi-fi system, but it didn’t add any depth. Even boosting the bass to the maximum and reducing the treble accordingly they still had the sound of the Fiat. Rattle. It sounded as if the doors were going to fall off at any minute. I could give them the benefit of the doubt I suppose and blame it on the fact that they were attempting to make the sort of music that just wasn’t possible with the technology at the time.

On the other hand, Swans and Young Gods were around, I think, at about the same time and they didn’t sound as if they were backed up by the drum effects from a Casiotone keyboard.

All this is before I moved onto Andrew “Eldritch”. I can just about understand how, as a young impressionable man, he decided to adopt another surname, instead of Taylor, to give some mystery and add to a stage presence. But as a 52 year-old, Andy, maybe it’s time to give it up. He also gave the drum machine a name, “Doktor Avalanche”. Not only is it like having an imaginary friend, but it’s having one with the name spelled purposefully wrong.

I have an enduring imagine of Andrew Eldritch stomping moodily through the rain-lashed streets of Leeds, in his long leather coat, big boots, cowboy hat and all dressed in black. He is passed by an old bloke with archetypal flat cap and mac, smoking a Woodbine. He looks across at Mr Eldritch and shakes his head. I know how he feels.

"Totally Shuffled" here;  

Kindle http://www.amazon.co.uk/Totally-Shuffled-Listening-Music-Broken-ebook/dp/B00CJYZ3CA

Paperback http://www.amazon.co.uk/Totally-Shuffled-Listening-Broken-iPod-The/dp/149495687X

and this is what it's all about....

One track per day for 366 days on a broken iPod. 366 tracks out of a possible 9553. From the obvious (The Rolling Stones), to the obscure (Karen Cooper Complex). From the sublime (The Flaming Lips) to the risible (Muse).  From field recordings of Haitian Voodoo music to The Monkees. From Heavy Metal to Rap by way of 1930’s blues, jazz, classical, punk, and every possible genre of music in between. This is what I listened to and wrote about for a whole year, to the point of never wanting to hear any more music again. Some songs I listened to I loved, and some I hated. Some artists ended up getting praised to the skies and others received a bit of critical kicking. There’s memories of spending too many hours in record shops, prevaricating over the next big thing and surprising myself over tracks that I’d completely forgotten about. But with 40 years of listening to music, I realised that I’ll never get sick of it.  I may have fallen out of love with some of the songs in this book, but I’ll never fall out of love with music.