Unrequited Love with Workers in the Service Sector

In Glen David Gold's magnificent story 'Carter beats the Devil', the titular magician Charles Carter visits a fortune teller whose sole revelation is the name of the woman of his dreams - Sarah. It's a name that never leaves his mind. A few years ago I had a similar experience...

Don't look at me like that, I only went to keep a friend company, and quite frankly the lady in question certainly couldn't muster abilities to trouble either James Randi's proffered million or Tim Minchin's offer of his left leg, piano and wife. She did tell me about a man called 'Steve', who is supposedly destined to be the great love of my life. 'Steve'. It's hardly an auspicious name.

All that preamble brings me in a roundabout way to my point; Teitur Lassen and his songs of love yet to come. Teitur is a singer/songwriter of the fay variety, who is out to pluck heartstrings with his plaintive voice. Chances are you'll have already heard one or two of his songs on some film or another; yet despite wit and craftsmanlike skill, not to mention artistic accolation from the likes of Rufus Wainwright, the Faroese singer's profile is woefully low in the UK.

Don't be mean - his Gran made him that jumper.

Teitur may be an unabashed romantic but his music is far from being a boring dirge of fragile emotions. Fourth studio album 'The Singer' is full of grand ambitions, breezy soundscapes and a cavalcade of interesting arrangements that flow alongside heartfelt writing. It's music with deep pauses that allows the sighs to escape.

As for my story, since my visit to 'Gypsy Rose' I've only ever met one Steve; Steve-the-Barman, who worked all the hours under the sun at the pub at the top of my old street. Upon whom I had a hopeless, not to mention paralyzing, crush. It was all I could do to stop myself breaking things out of nervousness as I tried to force out the odd word. Then I found out he had a girlfriend. So much for destiny anyway.

• Catherine The Waitress
• Start Wasting My Time

The Blue Blue Bluegrass of London

I have a confession - I quite like country songs. Sorry. I like the melodrama, the unabashed heartache and alcoholism. Hell, I have a not very secret, and not at all ironic, love for Dolly Parton - great woman that she is. Admittedly most country music is a bit of a guilty pleasure for me though; there's only so much you can take of yearnin', cheatin', or dogs dyin'. Not to mention the pungent evocations of leather and spilt whisky that have proved a bit too corrosive for any lengthy musical exploration - but very now and again I have found someone who is a bit special , someone who holds my attention...

The Barker Band hail from London, which is a bit of a shock, not because all Londoners must play plinky-plonky pianos, sing about "Mother Brown" and do 'nuffick else, but rather because all that hokey Americana has managed to survive a transatlantic transplant with no ill effect. A cynic may get the impression that this six piece outfit is playing at being cowboys, but that's utter nonsense. These guys mean it with all their hearts, and they're not alone - British country is small but tenacious. The Barker Band is stronger than just a genre though.

The Barker Band is a a bluegrass outfit with everything you could wish for: fiddles, banjos, a sound full of wide skies, sad eyes and bags of soul. The band's fourth album 'Sorry For The Kissing' came out last year and gathered quite a bit of critical acclaim for its blend of upbeat tempo bluegrass knee slapping, wistfulness and longing. It's a bit different and well worth a listen. And since they've had support from 6Music and Steve Lamaqc in particular, I'll just crowbar in a reminder to 'Save 6Music'.

Anyway, here's a wee sample;

• Cheating Heart
• Make Him Stay
• Die Tonight

The Other New Worlds We'd Discover

I could write so eloquently about ...

No, that's not true: I could write so much about the myriad of shattered memories that scattered into the air when I put the wrong song on today- they hung around like dust in sunlight, a halo of broken dreams picked out about my head, or drunken bats clashing into each other, etc, etc. That sort of poor prosy lyricism could continue for a tediously long amount of time, all I can say in my defence was that it was a song that bit down hard and elicited a choking response.

It's all Josh Ritter's fault. Damn you Ritter, damn your poetic lyrics that puncture like tattoo needles, damn your sensitive new album, and damn, damn, damn my own stupid self for being such a soft touch that one song can make my heart feel like chipped pottery.

If you're not aware of Mr Ritter then you're in for a treat; he's a folky gem from Moscow, Idaho with dazzlingly beautiful lyrics and quite a few natty tunes too. 'So Runs The World Away' is his

fifth studio album: it isn't bad at all. In fact the sheer amount of emotional charge he manages to pack in reminds me of why I love music, and just how expressive a good song can be. I'm head over heels for him.

A melancholic Josh Ritter is the voice you wished you possessed when you find yourself hemorrhaging aerial recollections of loss, resignation and beauty -the voice of the tales of one too many, though whilst you're busy sliding down that bar, he's poised, charming and totally disarming. And yet with the sudden spin of a coin, his tunes can switch to peels of jubilation: resounding hope, triumph and shining lights abound. Sincerity and heartfelt earnestness are his hallmarks throughout.

Sadly this ability to turn on a sixpence creates a fault line that undermines 'So The World Runs Away'. Ritter's shift in mood oscillates a little too wildly, and for once doesn't seem to be deftly managed. The changes in style are choppy and slightly chaotic, but if you're only going to unpick it all and stick it in a playlist then maybe the arrangement is ephemeral anyway. I'm probably being old fashioned in complaining at all. It does sound a little unpolished though.

What does work however is the quixotic balladering: Josh Ritter continues to create folksie songs that sound like they've existed in the ether forever. They're perhaps a little disenchanted, and quite a bit tougher than second (and sublime) album 'Hello Starling', but then there's been an odyssey of wandering in between the two. 'The Curse' (quite Cohen-esque), 'Latern' and 'Another New World' are the perfect accompaniment for the ghosts that waltz at the back of your mind. The tender reaction they provoked was worth its weight in gold.

Ritter writes that he is living a charmed life, and though the life of a professional musican may be a story he has at times fallen out of love with, he's still going strong and still creating wonderful songs - that alone makes my heart beat a little faster.

Whilst I go exorcise some demons, you can hear the whole album here, which is rather nice, eh? And here's a free mp3 of 'Change of Time'.

Where Did You Go...

Hola!

There's been somewhat of a hiatus here at 'Fun Things' but there you go. Real life ticks on, what with weddings (an actual fun thing in Aberystwyth!), illnesses, madness, watching the Rex Harrison's career killing Doctor Dolittle (very eccentric, but it wouldn't be Easter without it), snooker, and lots of time spent at other coal faces. Here I am again though; let's speedily shake hands, and it's very nice to see you.

Now that's all over, let's press on to business. Last night I had the pleasure of going to Clwb Ifor Bach, Cardiff to see 'The Bluetones' - yes, obviously they're still going. There's even a new album out on May 24th too.

Come on, there's no heart you can't melt with a certain little smile... is there?

I had my fingers crossed for a jolly time: I hoped for a band that were adjusted to their slip from the 90s limelight, good music, and for a bit of nostalgic indulgence. I remembered the Bluetones fondly as a sparky set providing lilting pop with an audible smile. They formed part of the soundtrack for a great slur of selective teenage memory; a time that was always sunny summer, with trips to Cardiff to buy cds, making mixtapes, festival going, a time in fact when I was actually generally pretty miserable - probably due to nasty sunburn from all those balmy halycon days.

Back then The Bluetones were in the second tier of Britpop, not huge, but catchy and infectious, popping up everywhere, and slogging along even when the bubble burst. They never quite lived up to their early promise but they were always around, all whilst clad in some form of denim.

I have a quite a bit of affection for Britpop in general, but I'm not a diehard fan weeping over copies of Select; I like The Bluetones's greatest hits, but I've not really kept up with their slighter returns. So I must confess that, alas, I had an ulterior motive to going last night. Bobbing away to the hook-heavy blast from the past were bound to be people my own age, people who sang 'Alright' on bikes, who were once naive enough to have clearcut views on Blur vs Oasis, people who Luke Haines wouldn't piss on if they were on fire. People who *must* be around the same age as me, and surely one of them must be mildly attractive and worth talking to....

How does the adage go; man makes plans and God laughs?

The gig itself proved to be rather lovely, which sounds a little twee, but thanks to a mix of old sing-a-long favourites and slightly darker, but still frightfully pretty new songs I had a delightful time. Lead singer Mark Moriss was engaging, everyone on stage looked to be enjoying themselves, and the crowd were friendly too -mostly couples though. Smug ones. The old songs you know all about, most of them have featured on the 'Teachers Series 1' soundtrack, but as for the new...

It's a shame that The Bluetones have slipped off the radar, as their newer offerings demonstrate a rather interesting progression; refinement rather than reinvention, and pure pop rather than jaded carping. They're not ashamed of being the less than cool cousin gamboling behind the bigger Britpop kids, and why should they be? The band have always managed to mask the slightly sinister, even downright heartbroken with upbeat melodies and Moriss's indefatigably chirpy voice: as their concert t-shirt says, they've been 'shitting hits since '96' (you've got to love the irony) so theirs is a skill pretty much honed to a tee. The newer material is both fine and at times poignant, and all the more charming for its utter lack of world weary cynicism, which struck me as rather unusual.

Long story short it all worked well, a good time was had and there was even a wee moshpit for 'If', which has to be the most bizarre bounce arounds I've ever been involved in, and in heels too. Yes it was those ones....

Ow.

Here's a Bluetones selection including 'Head on A Spike', which features Julie Andrews's niece, no really! Moriss observed that it "would have got into the charts if any of you bastards had bought it". But he's not bitter.

• Marblehead Johnson
• Head on a Spike
• Slack Jaw