Rob's Amazing Film Collection - Part Six: Blue Velvet to Bowling for Columbine

 

Do you still collect physical media? I bet you don't. Why would you clutter up your finite living space with Blu-rays, DVDs and the like, when streaming exists? You can just pluck films and music from the air, like the 21st Century Techno-God you are, and leave that shelf space for something more useful. Spice jars, maybe, or the hollowed out skulls of your enemies. 

Well, I still have those shelves full of films and I tell you what - they still bring me pleasure. There's something about seeing those titles, arrayed proudly and - of course - alphabetically that makes me glad. There's a kind of archeology to it all, these layers of the past, each one rooted in time and experience, that gives me pleasure. 

This series of blogs is a slow excavation of those layers - looking at the films in my collection and asking... why did I buy this? When did I last watch it? Actually, have I ever got round to watching it? Are these, in fact, mostly films that I borrowed off other people and is that why so many of my friends are annoyed with me?

Let's take a look at this little selection...

Blue Velvet

I love David Lynch, and recently my household had a little 'Lynch' season - charging through most of his films and all of Twin Peaks, and then sitting staring nervously round the house in case any of it turned into a demon. He's a director with a very distinctive flavour, David Lynch, and it really helps to be in his particular groove when watching his films. 

Blue Velvet is among the more mainstream of his works, but it's still a dark, weird beast that you wouldn't want to be watching when your mum walked in. I've never loved it, exactly, but I want it around. It's like one of those blue cheeses you taste and then kind of retch, and twitch a bit, then go back for more. 

The Boat That Rocked

I don't know why I own this. It's not particularly good. I think maybe it was a big deal when it came out, and sometimes it's good to watch those films to see what's going on. 

In retrospect, this is like someone precision tooled a film to reflect the particular sensibilities of an era. The narrative seems to have been constructed in order to create cool clips for the trailer. The cast is like an algorithm was tasked with finding 'cool actors of the early 21st Century'. Bill Nighy, Nick Frost, Rhys Ifans etc. All fun actors and good in their own right, but here cast more as a kind of shorthand - "Hey, you liked other films with these guys in. Please like me by extension". 

It's not easy, though, to like anything that's going on here. On one hand this feels like a middle aged man's idea of what it is to be young and free, and it all seems a bit desperate to be cool and irreverent. On the other, the sexual politics have dated terribly - a celebration of men treating women like prizes which is obviously terrible now, but probably should have been flagged as suspect then too. 

And then there's the end, where the spirit of Dunkirk is invoked to create a happy ending where some sex pests are rescued from a deserved drowning... it's like a satire on everything that would become wrong with the UK, except played in earnest. 

Bodies, Bodies, Bodies

A charming, unpretentious horror that does a few clever things and doesn't outstay its welcome. I got this because my brother recommended it, and it was actually cheaper to buy the disc than it was to rent it from Prime. 

I fear that this will become a fair amount of my collection - things I bought simply to watch once. And then they sit there, on the shelf, landfill waiting to happen. Will I watch this again? Probably not. Dare I throw it away and admit that I'm part of the reason the Earth will eventually be a dead, radioactive pit of toxic slime? Also no. 

Bonnie and Clyde

Ah, we're back in 'DVDs I bought when I was teaching film studies' territory. This was a film I'd reference constantly when discussing the Hollywood New Wave. Bonnie and Clyde was one of the cool kids who, along with Easy Rider, The Graduate and Night of the Living Dead, swaggered into cinemas in the late 1960s and said, "Get out of here, you squares! We're here to shake things up in ways your tiny minds simply wouldn't understand! Also we are smoking cigarettes!"

I've not actually watched this more than once. I've watched the first five minutes loads, when showing classes how cool it was to watch Faye Dunaway pout and punch the headrest of her bed, and how this kind of thing provoked cinema audiences to instantly leave the cinema and protest the Vietnam war. 

I should probably watch the rest of it again, some day. I couldn't tell you a single thing that happens after that. It's a bit like True Romance, right?

Boogie Nights

This was a massive deal when it came out in the 90s. Empire magazine was all over it. The huge success of Tarantino's films was a tide that lifted all boats: auteur directors were big news, and it just so happened that there were loads of them making really interesting films around this time.

As a relatively new film nerd, I was very up for being told where to go and what to see. There's a lot of films, and only so much time, so any threads were gratefully followed. Paul Thomas Anderson was one of the new messiahs of the era, according to the world's leading film mag, so who was I to disagree? Plus, they mentioned, there was tons of nudity. Well. As I say, I was there for the auteur directors and no-one can prove otherwise. 

Revisiting this film, it's very impressive, but not as focused as Anderson was to become in later films. He's clearly going for a Scorsese/Altman thing, and though he's good at that, it feels more like someone trying to remake Goodfellas than it does someone with their own vision. The structure is a bit lopsided, and there's a weird diversion into a sort of heist towards the end that suggests a lack of confidence in the material. 

All that said, it has the sort of amazing ensemble cast and a period soundtrack that we take for granted now, but was less usual then. 

Borat

I like this, but I'm not sure why I own the DVD. This is more the sort of film that I'll enjoy when it comes on TV, and I'm desperate not to go to bed, because then sleep comes and the day has won and one day I'll be dead. But I am unlikely to ever actively decide to pick the DVD off the shelf, so why is it here?

I wonder if I was teaching documentary making at some point, and thought that this would be a fun way into the subject for bored teenagers? If so, I bet it spectacularly failed, and they all looked at me like I was an idiot. 

It's funny and smart, though, and the joke has sustained pretty well. The sequel was great, wasn't it? 

Borg Vs. McEnroe

I was bought this as a gift, I think, presumably by someone who wanted to punish me for being an inattentive friend throughout the year. "Here's how much time we've spent together recently - I've bought you a film about sport as if that was a good idea."

It's not a bad film, at all. It's just that I don't care about tennis, even one tiny bit. And further to that, I've no interest in expanding my horizons to start caring about it. I have a number of obsessions and I'm pretty happy with them, so no thank you to new areas of life experience. 

I've definitely watched this film, but I could not tell you a single solitary thing about it. I bet they play tennis, and probably it's based on a real thing, and I imagine there are some excellent performances by some good actors, that get to the heart of the human experience. It probably transpires that, even if you don't like tennis, you could learn something about the universality of the existential struggle to be better, and how the real struggle isn't against our earthly opponents, but the darker angels of our souls. 

Well. Joke's on you, because I can get all that while watching John Wick. And even though I can't remember anything about this film, I bet ten thousand pounds that Borg doesn't beat McEnroe by sticking a pencil through his head.

Bottle Rocket

This is Wes Anderson's first film, I think. I will have bought it in an act of completism, after realising how much I loved Tenenbuams and Rushmore etc. It isn't as good. You can see bits of his later style poking through - a symmetrical composition here, and set of labelled plans there - but the whole thing is a bit nothingy and Owen Wilson has stupid hair.

I still like the idea of owning all the films by a certain director. But this noble aim is problematised by those directors either a) occasionally releasing a film I hate so I resent buying it or b) releasing so many bloody films that I simply can't keep up. Come on, directors. Either release exclusively good movies, or have the decency to die.

Bound

I've only seen this once, and it must be over twenty years ago. I bought it for one reason only, which was that it was directed by the siblings who made The Matrix and at that time The Matrix was the coolest movie anyone had every seen, ever. 

I got together with a friend who'd also enjoyed The Matrix, This doesn't narrow it down as everyone back then loved The Matrix, and spent all day every day quoting The Matrix and dressing like people from The Matrix and occasionally trying to run up walls like they do in The Matrix  except we all fell over and hurt ourselves. But the cool thing about it was that even though we all liked The Matrix, we all felt we had our own special, personal connection to the film, and that it had spoken to us on a direct and individual level. 

Anyway. She came round, I stuck on this film. It soon transpired that it wasn't much like The Matrix. This wasn't the story of super cool people doing amazing fighting in a cyberpunk environment. It was the story of sexy people, doing sexy things, in a seedy environment that probably smelled of sex and maybe rubber. 

It was a profoundly uncomfortable viewing experience. My choice of film suggested that I was engaged in some kind of covert seduction technique, whereby I put images on the screen and then nodded encouragingly. I felt the need to keep shouting things like, "Oh, I wasn't expecting this film to be full of women tying each other up!" Which I don't think helped. 

The Bourne Identity / Supremacy / Ultimatum

I own these films because they are ace. They are smart and interesting, and they changed the shape of action cinema forever. These are the films that the James Bond series looked at, and said, "Oh no! My fight scenes look like some old women mildly disagreeing with each other about the weather!" And then instantly stole the whole rough and ready aesthetic for Casino Royale. 

However, my favourite thing about them is how the different instalments are named. 

As you will have seen, I like to keep my films ordered alphabetically by title. This brings order to a chaotic universe and also makes them easier to find. But problems arise when you have a film series. Take, for example, Christopher Nolan's Dark Knight Trilogy.  There's Batman Begins, up with the B films where it belongs. And then its sequels, The Dark Knight and The Dark Knight Rises, languishing away a couple of shelves down. It doesn't work, does it? Would it have killed him to call the first film The Dark Knight Begins? Or title the sequels Batman Gets On With It and Batman Calls It A Day?

You see how hard my life is? But, look at the lovely old Bourne films. It's as if they were designed for me. Not only to they have the good grace to all begin with the same word, but the sequels appear in alphabetical order! You beauties!

One small thing, though. You can't have Albert Finney and Brian Cox in the same film series, playing similar characters in different films. Too confusing! Who's going to keep track of that?

Bowling For Columbine

Finally, for today. A film that I absolutely loved at the time. I watched it loads, and agreed with it loads, and shouted about it to everyone who would listen. It felt like a well argued, funny and interesting polemic that really got to the heart of the horrible events post 9/11.

This felt like an essential film, in the mid naughties. Has it held up? I haven't seen it for a while, but I would imagine not. Michael Moore's blunderbuss approach to things is fun to watch but it can be quite overbearing. He's not one for subtlety. I kind of liked that at the time - you needed to make a loud argument to combat the shameless rhetoric of the pro-war lobby. This movie, full of cartoons and jokes and big, loud visual essays, really hit the spot and shaped a lot of my approach to the situation. 

But nowadays it all seems a bit much. Noisy, oversimplified, cartoonish arguments have become the fundamental currency of online discourse, and the joke doesn't seem so funny any more. And the concerns of 20 years ago seem almost quaint - it's hard to feel as incensed by George W's antics now we've seen so many other charlatans in power.

Will I watch this again? Yeah, probably, one day. But less as a call to arms, and more as a document of times gone and not coming back. 

So there you are. Here are some films I own, and why. I hope you feel enlightened. 

Should you wish to look at other amazing examples of films I own, you could click here...

Previously: The Beyond to The Blues Brothers

Next: Box of the Banned to A Bridge Too Far

Paths of Convenience

 

I didn’t drink yesterday

Or the day before

No-one can say I haven’t tried

So I’m allowed to drink tonight

The evening shifts around me

Bright yellow ribbons

Light through a smeared lens

The people around have that look in their eyes

That says I’m talking too loud

And making too little sense

And I know, I know

I’m overcompensating for something

That I get less considerate as the night draws on

That I planted in shallow soil

And now the crops are all failing

A lad with bad hair is at the bar

And he’s depressed, maybe

Or just thinking hard

Like Spock trying to mind meld with himself

His fingers digging into his face, drilling holes

Perhaps he’s a poet

Or perhaps it’s a pose

And there’s a girl who’s missed her calling

As a kid’s TV presenter

And her mates all seem to respect her

Despite the lack of self knowledge

And the mindset that hasn’t moved on 

Since she finally found some people who’d listen

Back at college

Every one of these people a careful collection

Of well rehearsed quirks 

And paths of convenience through social convention

And part of me knows that’s not all they are

But I’ve got to find somewhere to stand

And I’ve no other plan

And nothing else works

I make a mental note

To write this all down

A note that will be lost 

In a wind that will scatter the leaves

As I order another drink

And let it all bleed in

The merry go round

The lights and the music

And the slow constant spin

Of another lost evening

Nope-enheimer

 

Well hello. Fancy meeting you here. 

Did you see Oppenheimer? The Christopher Nolan film, not the real life bloke. It seems likely that you did. It was one of those films that everyone sort of had to see, for some reason. Even people who couldn't be bothered with films went to see it. 

It was like in 1997 when my parents went to see The Full Monty, even though they hadn't been to the cinema since the dawn of the moving image. Such was the buzz about the Sheffield based strippers, they shook off their cobwebs and shambled down to the multiplex to stare at the big screen and marvel at how things had moved on since "Train Arriving at Station".

I didn't like Oppenheimer very much. Putting me in opposition (oppensition?) to most people, it seems. You all loved it, didn't you? You people! Loving things, as if that's cool or something. 

Anyway. It annoys me that I didn't like it. I want to like things, and I'm generally inclined to find the positive in things. So why didn't I like this thing? Let's find out together. Here's my reasons for not liking Oppenheimer. And yes, I'm quite likely wrong about all of it.

It was too long

Before the film had started, it had already annoyed me. Three hours? That's too long, for almost everything. Even something amazing will pall if you do it for three hours. Eating a Curly Wurly. Singing along to the chorus of 'Live it Up' by Mental as Anything. Watching the little glow run around the title in the opening credits of "Cheers". All great experiences that would be rendered terrible by going on too long.

Some films do justify a hefty run time, of course. Blade Runner 2049 is nearly three hours, and I bloody love that. Nolan's own Inception is fairly long - also great. And one of my favourite films - Paul Thomas Anderson's Magnolia - is over three hours. Over!

So it was possible for Oppenheimer to surprise me, and pull off the same magic trick. "Ta daa! I was worth the run time!" But it didn't. It started to tell its story, then wandered off to tell a whole bunch of different stories. Then it had some new characters talk about the story we'd just been told, except now in black and white. And then it looked at its watch and went, "Well, that's three hours. Guess I'll arbitrarily stop now."

A longer film often betrays a lack of discipline in the writing. Focus, people. Focus.

A boy enjoys some falling frogs. 

Just one of many reasons to sit through three hours of Magnolia.

Nalon Rehpotsirhc.

Yeah, that was annoying to read wasn't it? Well that's because, rather than just writing Nolan's name out forwards, like a normal human being, I decided to put it backwards for no reason. 

Part of my irritation with this film is that I used to love Christopher Nolan films. My first viewing of his second film, Memento, remains one of my greatest ever cinema experiences. I can remember the thrill as I slowly started to see what he was doing with structure, and marvel at the complexity and brilliance of the way he was manipulating time. 

A few years ago I would have said that he was one of my favourite directors. I loved the way his films played with narrative, and made us reconsider concepts like motivation, causality and responsibility. He used cinematic storytelling in brilliant, exciting ways and there was a real thread running through his work that was distinctive and - to me - incredibly engaging. 

Recently, though, it's all started to feel like this narrative approach is less his signature and more like a sort of catchphrase. Like he can't tell a story without cutting it into chunks and throwing everything up in the air. What was once a powerful and integral part of his message is now a gimmick that everyone, including him, seems to expect.

Memento: Coherent. Focused. Under two hours. Tattoo that on your wrists, Nolan.

I, the Contrarian

As I mentioned above, I don't like not liking things. A self-reflexive concept that Nolan would probably enjoy. 

I'm often suspicious when people loudly claim that they don't like a popular thing. You know the kind of behaviour. You'll get something that there's a generally positive buzz about. Sherlock (the TV show). Coldplay (the popular music beat combo). Football (the horrible, boring activity). Stuff like that.

And there they are - the professional contrarian, preening themselves like a peacock and harrumphing to the world that, actually, they most certainly don't like it. Or never watch it. Or whatever is the opposite of what everyone else is doing. Because they, you see, are a dangerous, cool minded thinker. 

Don't get me wrong - it's fine not to like stuff.  As you may have gleaned from the above, I don't have much time for football. But it's not a personality trait, and I certainly don't need to leap in when other people are enjoying it and make sure they know how different and dangerous I am.

All of which is to say... I'm suspicious of my own dislike, here. I knew, before I went in, that everyone was coming out of this film saying it was amazing. Admiring it seemed like a foregone conclusion. What if my dislike is not based on a critical appraisal of the film at all, but rather a subconscious desire to stand apart - to be that iconoclast who sees things for how they really are?

You see, that's why Nolan's earlier films are so good. They present characters who seem to be noble and well motivated, and then undermine them through narrative revelations, challenging that most basic of human beliefs: that we know who we are and why we do things. 

I guess there's some of that in Oppenheimer too. Maybe if it wasn't so bloody muddied by all the extra pointless detail, then I'd have seen it. 

"Dear everyone who likes football. I won't be watching, because I don't like it. It is important that you know this for some reason."

Oh, so worthy

Not all my reasons for disliking this film are fair, as you'll have seen. And this last one is possibly the least fair of all: I don't like it because it's so very, very Awards Friendly. 

I'm writing this before both the BAFTAs and the Oscars - both events where Oppenheimer might sweep across the board, destroying everything that lay before it like... well, you know. And for some reason that annoys me. 

It's not that it's a film without cinematic merit. There are some amazing visual ideas in there, and only a fool would argue that Nolan is a bad director. The sequence of the bomb test is incredible, and there's real power to the scene where Oppenheimer visualises the flesh-shredding effects of his work on the faces of those he knows. 

But that's not what's going on with these nominations, I don't think. Plenty of films have demonstrated this kind of innovative, cinematic flair, and failed to get so much as a mention. No, what's being rewarded here is the importance of the subject matter. The atom bomb. The Destroyer Of Worlds.

And I sort of get that. This is a super important subject, and people should know more about it. And it's a timely tale, of how our actions are part of a wider tapestry, of accountability and consequences. I can see why that's a message that needs shouting out in the current political climate. 

But we're not rewarding essays here. This is about film. A visual, kinetic experience that engages us on a primal level. The message is part of that, yes, but it should arise from the storytelling, and that storytelling should be cinematic. The importance of the message is not an excuse for failings in those other areas. On the contrary - if your message is that profound, focus yourself in the bloody telling of it.

I am very here for the universe where this wins all the awards. But I bet it won't.

So there we go. Like I say, I'm probably wrong about everything. I might well watch the film a second time and go, "Hey, you know what - I missed so many things and actually this is ace. " But if I do, I'll leave this little rant as it is. 

One thing Christopher Nolan's films have made me think about - his earlier, funnier films - is the way we can never be fully sure of where we stand. Our beliefs and opinions don't spring from some pure, righteous source within us, born of rigorous logic and self knowledge. 

We're subject to past experiences, unconscious prejudices, the people around us and the things we read... millions of things that nibble away at us every day, altering our perspectives in ways we don't even see.

The people who are most dangerous are those who are sure of what they think, and won't be budged on that opinion. Maybe the real destroyer of worlds is not a bomb, but rather, that state of being where we are utterly certain of the rightness of our own opinion.

Yeah?

Yeah?

Nah. It was that bomb. Did you see it go off? Try arguing with that on social media.

I Made You a Mixtape - September 1994

 

You know music, right? That ethereal, drifty magic that wanders through our lives, giving meaning and focus to our every emotion? Well.

Imagine if you could take that elemental, uncontrollable force and stuff it onto a 90 minute cassette tape. That'd be amazing, wouldn't it? You could play it whenever you want. In the car, as you're driving people about. In the kitchen, while they're trying to read a book. You could even take it to someone else's house, eject their stupid boring music, and insist that everyone enjoy yours instead. 

Reader, you'll be delighted to know that, once upon a time, it was indeed possible to do this and - better - I did it. For years and years I created dozens of mixtapes: thrilling collections of the tunes that I considered to be the greatest ever written, for all the world to enjoy.

The actual tapes are long gone, of course. But that doesn't mean you can just run away, shouting, "Oh well never mind then". Because I kept meticulous lists of their contents and, because I love you, I am recreating them here. On the internet. With notes!

This is a tape I made in September 1994, when the world was younger and thinner and had more hair. You can find the whole thing on this playlist, starting at track 132. Or you can just click the videos as you read along. Or make up your own tunes in your head. It's a free country.

Here comes track one!

Joke - I'm Laughing - Eddi Reader

Eddi Reader is in the charts sporadically at this point in time, in the wake of the beautiful 'Patience of Angels'. That means that her singles are a regular feature in the Holy Well that is the Our Price Bargain Basket. I am still working minimum wage at this point, so my taste in music is defined primarily by "How cheap is it?", with "Does it have any artistic merit?" a distant second.

This is lovely, though, isn't it? Very nicely produced and shimmering with feeling. This bodes well for the rest of the tape; anyone listening will probably assume they're in for a lovely, soulful time.

Fergus Sings the Blues - Deacon Blue

Well I'm very sorry. Things have instantly taken a turn and now everyone is angry with me. Where did the delicate sounds of the lady go? Why is this slightly plasticky pop happening to me? 

I'll be honest, I still do very much enjoy this song. I don't love it - it's a bit staccato and there's something quite flat about the production that undermines the whole 'massive soul sound' thing they're going for. But there's a joy to it that I can't deny and their melodies still stick in my head for ages. 

I never said I was cool, alright? I mean, what would have been the point?

One - U2

As if to prove the whole 'not cool' thing, here comes some pretty solid evidence.

Achtung Baby has been a constant supplier of songs for my playlists for quite a while by 1994. It has taken a while, though, for me to include this, maybe its most famous track. Because, even though it's a song I very much like, it has never really felt like mine. 

I think it's down to ubiquity. There are some songs - Bohemian Rhapsody, Vienna, the majority of Beatles songs, that kind of thing - where you hear them so often that it becomes impossible to feel proper 'ownership'. Why would you ever decide to play them, when they are always on anyway?

Which matters here, I guess, because these playlists are always meant to be expressions of my personality. For better or worse, when I play these at people, I am saying, "Here's me, rendered through a carefully sequenced playlist of other people's creations." 

What does "One" say? Nothing, really, except that I like that song that most other mainstream people like, and which will probably be on the radio anyway if we turn the tape off. 

Running Down a Dream - Tom Petty

Someone in the shared house I live in in 1994 must own Full Moon Fever on CD, because there's a lot of Tom Petty on these mid 90s playlists. I wonder who I have stolen it from? Probably Andrew. His tastes are even more mainstream than mine, if you can imagine such a thing.

Tom Petty always felt kind of vibrant and exciting when I was young, and that feeling lingers now. I've never been particularly carefree or wild. I played guitar, but I did it like I did everything else - overthinking it and rarely able to really cut loose. So it was exciting to imagine making music this free and seemingly uncomplicated.

The open roads and wind-in-your-hair freedom of this seemed a long way from the grey skies and rain-darkened brick of Yorkshire, and I guess that's why they sold songs like this to people like me.

 Birdhouse in your Soul - They Might Be Giants

Now we're talking. Simply one of the most delightful pieces of music ever. A bouncy, madcap ride full of thrills and nonsense. So melodic and full of life that it accidentally made TMBG a 'pop act' for a while, despite them being a very long way away from being anything so humdrum.

Unlike a lot of songs on this mixtape, 'Birdhouse' has remained a part of my life. It peeks out at various points through the years, exploding with sunshine and joy for a few minutes and then darting away...

...hearing it on the car radio in the early 1990s and thinking, "What is this?"...

...bouncing up and down at their gig in Vancouver (that's right, Vancouver - I'm basically James Bond)...

...singing it at open mic spots and seeing that most coveted of reactions: people would never have predicted this in a million years, but are delighted beyond measure when they realise what it is...

...and more recently, howling along to it in the kitchen as we all chopped veg and prepared dinner. Pure joy and the uncanny ability to remember the most peculiar lyrics. Filibuster indeed. You scamps, They Might Be Giants. You scamps!

Happy Worker - Tori Amos

You remember the film 'Toys'? No - of course you don't. No-one does, and with good reason. It's a weird little Robin Williams film that doesn't seem to have the first clue what to do with itself and makes little impact, beyond everyone going, "What was that, and why did anyone make it?"

Except. The soundtrack is amazing. Well, sort of. Like the film, the soundtrack is a peculiar beast that doesn't quite hang together. But, also like the film, it contains some really interesting ideas. Like this overblown Frankenstein's monster of a track. 

My love of film is still properly developing at this time, and I am fascinated by Toys and its soundtrack. Why is it so glossy and joyful in all its imagery, but so sad at its core? Why do the songs sound like they've watched me dancing and tried to write music that would fit? And why is there nothing else like this? How can you develop a taste for a genre if there's only one thing in it?

Anyway. Here's the song. I'm so sorry. Or, you're welcome. Whichever.

Tears in Heaven - Eric Clapton

And now this! It's like I'm trying to catch people out. Imagine listening to this tape back in the 90s. Maybe I'm driving you somewhere, and so you're forced to politely listen along. You'd be terrified. What if my driving choices were like my music selection? We'd be going off a cliff any minute.

Anyway. Here's a song, and you know the song, and you have your opinion of it. Clapton has done himself no favours recently and it's hard to look at him without bringing a certain degree of irritation to the table. But this was massive at the time, and though it's certainly saccharine, it's about his dead kid so I'm inclined to allow a certain latitude.

At the time, I was super into this song. This was, if I remember correctly, the first big MTV Unplugged thing. Hard to appreciate now, when literally every song that ever existed has been stripped down and acoustified for a bank advert. But back in the mid 90s, where young Rob is sitting on his bed, surrounded by CDs and blank cassettes, it's a big deal. So let's leave off him, eh? He's enough to deal with, what with that haircut.

I've deliberately linked to a slightly fuzzy copy of the MTV concert, rather than the much cleaner 'official single' version. That's where this song comes from, for me. I watched that MTV concert with my dad, again and again. I'd never been into Clapton, but repetition really burned this into me, and made it special in a way it might not have been otherwise.

Real Gone Kid - Deacon Blue

Again, all I can do is apologise. You deserve better. 

But, you know what? I still sometimes stick this on a playlist, and though people might look a bit "What?", we'll still all have a perfectly pleasant time, and find ourselves humming bits of it later on. It's perfectly decent pop. It's not 'Stuck on You by Huey Lewis and the News' decent. But it never hurt anyone.

Can't Do A Thing To Stop Me - Chris Isaak

It's very hard to know what my thinking is here. Apart from "I liked Wicked Game by Chris Isaak, and I saw he had another album out, and so I bought it because Radio 1 has, frankly, left me behind, and I have no idea how to make musical choices any more."

Musically, it's OK, Nice and drifty. Lyrically, well... I'm not sure you'd write a song like this now. It feels just a little bit stalkery and obsessive, and the sort of thing that someone might write to you shortly before you had to start googling 'restraining orders and how to get them'. It's up there with 'I Drove All Night' as a song to which the only answer is 'Please stop doing all the things you are doing and seek professional help."

Keep Talking - Pink Floyd

This was the big single for Pink Floyd in 1994, so of course it's here. It's unintrusive, well produced stuff, but not massively interesting. 

On the occasions where I've owned an electric guitar over the years, I've found this quite fun to play along to. Not in a "I studied what they were playing and tried to emulate it" kind of way. More in a "I worked out what key it was in and thrashed excitedly about through a distort pedal, until someone asked me to please, please, please, for the love of God, stop."

October - U2

Here's something you'll never get with a Spotify playlist: the fear that you're getting close to the end of the tape, but without any real way of measuring exactly how close. It's the nearest most of us will ever get to the Russian Roulette scene from The Deer Hunter, and I'll not have anyone tell me it's any less thrilling. 

Here, therefore, is a very short song by U2. It's quite decent, and harks back to a time when they didn't feel the need to make every song epic. If they wrote it now, rather than coming to a soft, sweet end at 2.20, it would, instead, explode into a frenzied mass of guitars and fireworks and international politics. 

Depending on You - Tom Petty

And so we end side one, with another slice of affable, jangly guitar pop from Tom Petty. There's a kind of unpretentious charm to it that was probably undermined, on the original tape, by it suddenly cutting out half way through. Sorry Tom.

Cover My Eyes (live) - Marillion

Side two introduces itself with this: a B-Side from a Marillion single. So we're all annoyed now, aren't we? You, because you hate Marillion at the best of times, and now here they are in an even more ramshackle form.

And me because they've released a single where the B-side is a live track. Boring. Literally the only reason for buying a CD single from an album I already own is the prospect of some new material on tracks 2 and 3. Live versions always felt lazy. Write some more songs, you musicians! It's your main thing!

Luckily, I really like this song, and have fond memories of howling tunelessly along to the "Way-ay-ay-ay-ayyyyy" bit at their concert a couple of years previously. So I tolerate their betrayal. As they knew I would. They're not dumb - they know that anyone easily irritated would have parted company years ago.

Not Alone Any More - The Traveling Wilburys

Another legacy from listening to music with my dad. I visited home less and less frequently at this point, and so there was a certain warmth to the music that made me think of being there. 

September 94 sees us entering the second year 'out of university', and so Wakefield is less 'the place you stop for a bit while you work out what to do' and more 'maybe the place you just live now'. University is odd - you live in one place, but 'home' still means the town where your parents live. In retrospect, these years saw a slow transition away from that. 

I probably would have still called my parents' house "home" at that point. But I would have been lying. Here, in the shared house where we argued about washing up and stole each others CDs, was where the heart was.

I'll Never Fall In Love Again - Deacon Blue

Now then. Having been quite rude to Deacon Blue earlier, I have to confess to being very fond of this. I mean, it's an amazing song in the first place, so I guess a lot of the credit goes there. But I really love this version. 

I think I'm still working my way through the Deacon Blue best of CD at this point. I've used the obvious big hitters - the singles I recognised from the radio in the late 80s - but now I'm discovering the slower, less obvious songs, like this one. 

This may even have been my first real exposure to "Never Fall in Love" in any form. That seems mad, but I suppose that's how things went, in the world before streaming flattened everything out. If it wasn't on the radio, and your parents didn't play it, you had to sort of reverse engineer your music knowledge through stuff like this.

Or maybe hang out in much cooler circles than I did. That might have helped too.

Dirty Day - U2

Ha. You thought you were safe from U2, didn't you? You thought - he's done "One", that should have satisfied him. And then there was that weird little piano bit at the end of side one. Surely no-one is dumb enough to think anyone else wants to hear anything else. Certainly not a slightly half-arsed track from the tail end of their more experimental follow up album.

Well, that just shows how little you know me. Or would have known my 23 year old self. He loves U2, and he plays them all the time, and he reads books on them, and if you stand still long enough he will bob up to you and try to engage you in conversation about them. 

Doctor Who wasn't on in the 90s, you see. So what else was I meant to do in lieu of a personality? 

The Wrong Band - Tori Amos

We're heading to that part of the tape when my choices basically admit, "Oh no - I don't have enough songs to fill a 90 minutes cassette!"

Nothing wrong with this, though. It's Tori, and it's lovely to hear her voice and imagine her beautiful, elfin face. But it's an album track, and it has precisely zero resonance for me. Sorry, future historians. 

No-One Can - Marillion

Now I've been pretty self-effacing so far, trying my best to recognise the narrow and relatively conservative nature of my younger self's tastes. 

But I'll hear nothing bad about this song. Yes, it's a very basic piece of radio friendly, MOR pop with nothing you might call an 'edge'. If it was a pair of scissors, they would be safety scissors. If it was a curry, it would be the one your dad would eat, albeit suspiciously. 

But I absolutely adore this song and for this reason: it sounds nice and it makes me happy. Great chorus. Lovely guitar sounds. Lush keyboards. These are things I've neither tired of, nor grown out of. 

In a more just world, this would have got loads of airplay and everyone would have loved it. But then I'd have just been here complaining that everyone jumped on the bandwagon and it doesn't feel special any more and what has happened to the magic of Marillion? So I guess it's for the best. 

Lady Writer - Dire Straits

Ha ha. You thought I'd gone as mainstream as I could, didn't you? Well in your face, you lovely reader. I had this waiting for you all along. 

People are kinder to Dire Straits now than they were in the 90s. It would be impossible to be less kind, really. I think they existed in that 'Sting/Bono/Live Aid' kind of orbit that seemed to represent everything that was wrong with music back then, and became a target for everyone who wanted to prove how hip they were. 

Fair enough, I guess. I can see it. But I still like this, and would happily put it on a playlist now.

Chocolate Girl - Deacon Blue

I'm not sure what this song is about, but it sparked a certain resonance for me, back there in the mid 90s. I had a girlfriend, but I was not treating her very well. Not quite as badly as the guy in this song seems to treat his partner, but not far off. 

I was very close, at this point, to ending that relationship. I think she knew it, and her sadness was evident to everyone in our social circle. Quite why she was sad I don't know. You've heard the kind of music she had to put up with. But the heart wants what the heart wants, I suppose, even if what it wants comes with a side order of Marillion and Dire Straits. 

Another Time, Another Place - U2

Amazing. Another U2 song. Have I no shame? 

This is a good one, though. Right back from the first album, with spikes and edges and shot through with a wide eyed kind of wonder that still appeals. 

I had a dream, years before even this mixtape, which this song soundtracked. In it I met a girl. She knocked on the window of my attic and invited me to play on the roof in the evening sun, running across the tiles. And I loved her, but all the time I knew she was going to die, because the dream had started with the moment of her death, before flashing back to the beginning. 

So this song has always made me think of that. A weird, sad dream from when I was a teenager. Interpretations welcome.

Jigsaw - Marillion

Oh, I really am going to break up with that girlfriend, aren't I? This hasn't found its way here by accident. A massive song about saying goodbye.

Marillion, in their early days, were all about the break ups and the sadness. Losing love sounded epic and heroic and sort of weirdly nourishing. I do wonder how much I brought about disasters just to have something approaching the feelings these songs evoked.

Anyway. This is also here because my mate Ian - the reason I was into Marillion in the first place so blame him - was getting married. And I was his best man, and so I was due a gift from him. What did I ask for? Well, the same thing anyone would ask for  - the first three Marillion albums on CD. 

The girl I finished with is pretty happy these days, by all accounts. 

Handle With Care - The Travelling Wilburys

We're near the end here, and boy you can tell. We're basically using up whatever tracks we can from CDs we used earlier. That said, this is a great song and a smarter man would have put it way sooner on the disc. I am, as you will have noticed, not that man.

The guys in the Wilburys seemed impossibly old at the time. They seem so very young, now. 

Twist and Shout - Deacon Blue

Ending with this is a bit like saying, "Thanks for coming - please never come back." What am I thinking? 

Anyway, that's the end of this tape. I hope it's given you a valuable insight into the kind of fun you could have had if you hung around with me in the mid 90s. 

If you enjoyed this - and there's surely at least a statistical possibility of that - then you could go back to visit some similar writing about what I was listening to on the previous tape, in Summer 1994. Link here.