Posts Tagged 'Music'



Why I’m a Trendsetter


My sister with Pete Doherty, three years after telling me how awful he is.

Okay, so I haven’t actually set any trends, but I’ve noticed a fair list of items, fashions, objects, which I sported to much mockery from family and friends, and which subsequently became ubiquitously popular; from the F.R.I.E.N.D.S pencil-case which I was the first to have and later became the favoured pencil-case of every girl in the year, to the desire to wear skirts over jeans or trousers, which my mother told me made me look ‘a lesbian’ but which, following the Spice Girls girl-power era, became a fashion staple for a couple of years in the mid-nineties.

This isn't me, I'm just illustrating the trend.

I don’t wish to sound like I think I’m some stylish trendsetter, because it couldn’t be further from the truth, but I just find it curious, sort of like when you’re reading a book and the word you’re reading is said aloud in the room or on television, at exactly the moment you read it, it’s a strange peculiarity.

An example is Jack Wills.  Now, I’m not claiming that I invented Jack Wills.  No, that was the ingenious work of Peter Williams and Robert Shaw in Salcombe, Devon, back in 1999.  However, long before I knew anything about Jack Wills or had even heard the name, my family used to call me scruffy and weird for wearing tartan pyjama bottoms and chunky knit jumpers.  I used to love nothing more than coming home from college, or later, work, and settling down on the settee in comfy pyjamas and a jumper, it’s just so cosy.  Now, Jack Wills charges £49 for what they call ‘Loungepants’ but are essentially very well-made, high-quality tartan pyjama bottoms designed to be worn during the day, as loungewear.  When I first discovered Jack Wills, walking into their shop in Chester was like walking into my own mind.  I felt they’d captured every idiosyncratic thought I’d ever had about an outfit, and made it reality.  Does this mean I’m a genius?  I think, more probably, my predisposition for wearing pyjamas in the daytime was shared by a great many other people, mainly students, to be fair, and this was noticed and capitalised on by Jack Wills, who have since made it extremely popular.  Nevertheless, at the time, it felt like they’d stolen my thoughts.

My next point of conjecture, good people of the jury, is The Libertines.  Now, this point is more personal, but still serves a purpose.  Back when Pete Doherty and Carl Barat actually played together, before they broke up and reformed for a lucrative festival deal, I loved them.  They were the epitome of everything I worshipped about music, and their songs were good, too.  Some years later, when my sister reached that age when teenagers start forming their own opinions about music, I tried, as a big sister, to make suggestions.  I was desperate for her to experience what I had experienced, feel what I felt.  The Libertines had been broken-up for years, their music was never played, not many people ever mentioned them, they’d faded into musical memory.  I wanted to show my sister the wildness of those early gigs, when they’d line people up and tattoo Libertine across their arm.  I wanted her to hear the music that was full of passion, energy and poetry.  She refused.  Still not quite over the break-up of her beloved Busted, but never into McFly, she said the Libertines were junkies, dirty and refused to listen to a single song.  Fast-forward two more years.  My sister began going out with boys who loved the Libertines, and so began listening to their music and very quickly warmed up to them.  Nowadays, she knows more lyrics to their songs than I do, is a personal friend of Pete Doherty, goes to parties at his flat, has been photographed in Elle and Grazia walking down the street with him, has been in a taxi with him, has Libertine across her arm, which was drawn by Pete himself and then tattooed over.

My sister in Grazia with Pete Doherty.

My point is, I begged her to listen to them, and now she’s more of a Libertine than I am.  So, does this mean I started a trend, if only in my sister?  I think so.  I have very similar stories for the films Withnail & I, the film (coincidentally) The Libertine, and Sylvia Plath.  She always resists but concedes in the end.  Also, The Smiths, but I can’t take all the credit for that one.

My sister at Leeds, wearing a Libertines jacket to see the long-awaited reformation.

Libertine

Back in, probably around 1997, I was the first person in my year at school to have a mobile.  To be fair, this is probably less to do with the fact that I’m a perspicacious mogul and more to do with the fact that my Dad was flogging moody phones that topped up £10 every time you turned them off and on again.  Still, I started the trend for mobiles at my school, in one way or another.

So, you see, my point is not that I began trends and influenced people, more that I had a desire to wear, listen to, or do something, which later became very popular.  Back in 1990’s Runcorn, I longed for a vague ‘something’ which I couldn’t define, which involved loving good music, wearing floral dresses, a sort of mixture of 80’s, 70’s, 60’s, something cool, vintage, old-fashioned, and which later developed as a little trend we know as ‘Indie’.  I was indie before I even knew what it was.  Growing up, we wore tracksuits, listened to whatever was number 1 in the chart, bought our cd’s from Asda with the weekly shopping, went to McDonalds, and didn’t really think about anything else.  I had a tingling; an itch which was finally scratched when people started talking about indie.  I’d come home.  Just like, I suppose, all of us.

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My Interview with Fyfe Dangerfield.

Stepping away from his role as Guillemots front-man and mastermind, Fyfe Dangerfield released his stripped-down, soulful debut solo album Fly Yellow Moon. Vikki Littlemore questioned him about going it alone…..

Taking a side-step from his role as lead-singer and mastermind of The Guillemots Fyfe Dangerfield has revealed his first solo album; an exciting combination of uplifting romance, moving self-expression and over-flowing with musical finesse.
Dangerfield’s emotional investment in the album is unmistakable. ‘Barricades’ in particular, holds the same combination of vulnerability and strength so powerfully embodied by Jeff Buckley. Fyfe was inspired by Buckley years ago when listening to his classic album Grace, and is not unhappy with the comparison.
Chatting as he tackles the aisles of his local supermarket, he still managed to be hypnotically charming, interesting and markedly passionate about music, Fyfe discussed the unconscious effect of his influences, from Jeff Buckley to The Beatles, and a new, more liberating way of working.

“He was incredible, you can’t be that annoyed about being compared to someone who’s amazing. The whole record [Grace] is amazing. It’s never a conscious thing, but when you listen to something a lot, it can’t help but find a way out. I don’t really tend to make a point of referencing things, it happens naturally. This album was so much fun. We did most of it in a five-day session and it was just the best week. It felt quite liberating; nearly everything was the first take. The best moments happened quickly, when people didn’t know they were being recorded. I suppose it’s like life; you’re funniest when you’re not trying to be funny, most attractive when you’re not trying to be attractive.”

He is also eager to quash any doubts about the future of the Guillemots; “It’s not instead of doing stuff in the band at all, it’s as well as, it’s not in competition or anything like that. It’s just something I fancied doing. It’s exciting’.

I ask whether he’d be on stage alone and how he felt about flying solo, and while he is confident he is slightly apprehensive about venturing out on stage without his band mates, “It’s a bit scary, doing stuff by myself. I’m just trying to relax about it and just play music. The recording part I just love, the live part is scary. I’ll be standing on stage on my own, maybe a couple of string players, depending on how I feel.”

Work is beginning imminently on a new album with the Guillemots and his experience working on this solo project will transform the way he works with the band, going from a precise and carefully constructed sound to something more natural and organic. Discussing the creation of Fly Yellow Moon, Fyfe described the freedom and enjoyment he felt in a less pressurised process; “This record is more straightforward, more stripped down. It was quite nice to do something where you’re not so bothered about the sound; I just really like the songs. It was strangely liberating. There was no pressure to do something unique, that’s not like anything else around, spending ages on one sound. It was quite a change, totally different.”

The album is a mixed bag. While some of the songs have the emotional vulnerability and vocal poeticism of Buckley, others are joyous and celebratory and have an epic grandeur.
His voice, too, has varying qualities on each track. It often holds something of the haunting potency of Morrissey or Liam Gallagher; something indefinable in the voice which seems to reach out to the listener and take them somewhere else, sending a shiver down the spine. The voice matches the record’s diversity though, and is often much more exuberant.

When deciding on the order the tracks would appear in, he was advised not to begin with ‘When You Walk In The Room’ because of its opening, but he felt instinctively that it was right; “I’m learning as I go on that it’s important to be stubborn and when to be stubborn. Quite a few people thought that starting the record with ‘When You Walk In The Room’ was completely wrong and I was making a really bad mistake, because the first thing people hear would be me screaming when I was drunk, but I knew it was the right thing to do, and I’m really glad I stuck to my guns.”
The songs on offer are of a personal nature being written in the euphoria of a relationship, which has now ended. Everything on this record comes from Fyfe, lyrics and music; “In the band we just get into a room and play and record it. For this record, a few people have listened and made the odd suggestion, like; “that line’s shit”, that kind of thing.”

Returning to Buckley and the intimate connection with the music, I asked how Fyfe feels about sharing such personal emotions; whether it’s a reluctant or willing impartment; “It’s not reluctant. I don’t think of myself as a confessional songwriter, music is just my way of making sense of things. Music is just always what I’ve done. I tend to write things which sound quite emotional, I wish I didn’t. The music I like listening to is often instrumental, or more abrasive. I write in this style and it would be false if I tried not to be like that. It is personal but no more personal than the first Guillemots record.”

He explains the scrutiny involved in the process of finding the right people to form the Guillemots; “It just sort of happens. I always hoped and felt it would. I think I’ve worked for it, it wasn’t easy. I’m not that young, the first Guillemots record came out when I was twenty-six and I’d already spent years trying to get to that point. When I was trying to find members for the Guillemots; listening to three guitarists a day, a few times a week, I knew none of them were right. You know in your heart of hearts it’s not a final thing. You just know. I came to London to assemble the band when I was twenty-two. It’s a personal thing, playing in a band, I’m very particular. When you find the right people, you don’t need to think ‘maybe this might be right’, you just know.”

On hearing how, at twenty-two, Fyfe had moved to London and formed the Guillemots and brought the band together, I ask about his thoughts on the British music industry and found him surprisingly secluded in his creativity and not overly concerned with the business itself; “I’m not as in touch with the industry. I don’t really spend a lot of time thinking about it”.

I mention the current debate concerning programmes like The X-factor and the influx of new reality pop-stars to the industry; “‘X-factor is an entertaining programme. Since the fifties there’s always been that kind of music and market around. It’s a funny time in the industry at the moment; the internet is what really turned everything on its end. We’ve come into the industry in a period of change really; it would have been interesting to come along in 1994 in the heyday of Britpop, at a time when the industry was celebrating itself. Things were very different and no expense was spared.”

It’s clear that the music itself is Fyfe’s primary concern, rather than the politics and economics of the market. Music is something inherently deep within him, a permanent light at the end of a tunnel.

He describes how he’d heard his parents playing The Beatles and concentrated his efforts on trying to reach high enough to play the piano, when he was still too small; “I just concentrate on music; I don’t think too much about the business side of it, it’s not my department. Music is what I’m good at, it’s always been what I wanted to do, very much so. I never had another ambition. I don’t know what else I would have done, maybe worked in a bird sanctuary. I can’t remember ever wanting to do anything else.”

“There was always a piano in the house growing up; I was always trying to reach high enough to play it when I was a kid’.” I ask whether his family had encouraged him; “My family have been great, they’ve always been very supportive. It makes a big difference.”

Trying offering constructive advice for anyone wanting to follow the same path, he offers clear but tentative words; “Be honest with yourself, make sure you’re doing what you want, not trying to do stuff to be successful. You often get waylaid by business and end up chasing your tail. Discover your own style. You need to be enjoying what you do. I’m no expert but a combination of persistence and being honest with yourself. It’s easy to get caught up in being commercial. We found it in The Guillemots. It’s difficult with radio; it’s insanely difficult, crazy. When I make music, I want to make something that’s going to reach out to people, I don’t really think an awful lot about the popularity thing, like if I’m doing something melodic, I write the music I like. Unless you’re desperate to make it and be successful. If you want to get something played on Radio One, for example, there’s a definite sound at the moment. It’s just trying to do yourself justice, writing something you like. You can’t really get too caught up in it, you just think about how it sounds and whether or not you like it.”

A classical composer and former teacher, Fyfe’s deep-rooted relationship with music is simultaneously tender and expertly executed. His approach is one of passion but precision. It’s clear he carefully crafts his songs with a purpose, and says that sometimes ‘you want to make music that will really take people out of themselves’.

However, the invigorating experience of creating his solo album in a five-day almost-extemporization, has instilled him with a new feeling of liberation and his future work, individually and with The Guillemots, will be a less pressurised, more relaxed and spontaneous process. The next Guillemots album will have much less pre-construction prior to recording; the band, he says, will; ‘more or less play live, just play live and record it’, rather than the previous process of carefully constructing and labouring over every detail and minute sound.

He feels Fly Yellow Moon has the most conventional sound of anything he’s done; “It’s been the most straightforward record, in that I’ve been thinking the least on this record about what people are going to think. That wasn’t really on my mind that much at all. It’s the least thought about record, in those terms.”
Indeed, this record does feel somewhat unburdened. From the primal, drunken, cry at the beginning of ‘When You Walk In The Room’, to the delicate and naively adolescent, but beautiful, ‘Firebird’. The sincerity in Fyfe’s voice and his lyrics is complemented beautifully by the intricate acoustic guitar on the more gentle tracks, while the livelier numbers are fortifying and exuberant.

Some of the tracks, ‘High On The Tide’ in particular, capture the same dramatic energy and atmosphere, vocally and melodically, of The Smiths, Morrissey and James, but still maintain their own authenticity. ‘She Needs Me’ has a Michael Jackson beat and triumphantly happy vocals. Both in tenderness and energy, the lyrics, music and voice are effervescent.

Fyfe illustrates the depth of his passion by suggesting that he would be completely unable to divert his concentration to anything else; “I don’t drive but if I did, I couldn’t drive and listen to music, I’d just crash because I’d be listening to the music.”
He doesn’t have a strict plan for the forthcoming year but is certain it will involve music; “[I’ll be] doing a few gigs, start recording the next album with the band. A year full of music.I’m doing what I want to do. As long as I can keep playing music, I’ll be happy’.

Can You Feel It?

We were told at Michael Jackson’s memorial service that his favourite song was Smile. Personally, I find it difficult to believe that a man with the undeniable musical ingenuity, the passion and soul that Michael Jackson exuded in every note and every movement, a man so inherently connected by some primal, inner force to the music he devoted his life to creating, held above all other music a song written by Charlie Chaplin, a song whose only really remarkable merit is the admirable and touching sentiment;

When there are clouds in the sky, you’ll get by
If you smile through your fear and sorrow
Smile and maybe tomorrow
You’ll see the sun come shining through for you.

But, what can one believe? We are flooded daily with a deluge of conflicting and tenuous information based on the most spurious sources and motives. Was Michael Jackson, one of the most prolific, talented and influential artists of all time, so struck by the sanguine candyfloss of the song’s lyrics, which are admittedly very sweet , that this cheerful little number replaced every other song in history as his favourite? All the soul and technical achievement of musical history, the great artists and number one hits? Are all the dancefloor fillers, poetic lyrics and bone-shaking beats discounted in favour of Smile? It’s possible. However, perhaps this is all part of the myth and image that we are supposed to believe, a sort of Father Christmas figure and we’re not supposed to lift the beard. Does someone want us to see Michael Jackson as a sweet, childlike elf, dancing around Neverland to Smile and being moved by the chipper motivation? Why would it be inconceivable for the public to believe that this musical giant, genius and god, this man who created Billie Jean, Smooth Criminal and so many others, might have had a more mature and frankly musical taste in music.
Watching the footage of Michael performing at the 1995 MTV Awards, for a few seconds I thought the screen was showing stilted frames or somehow distorting the recording. I then realised that I what was seeing was a human being in full reality. Many people have performed what is known as ‘the robot’. Some have done it well, some less so, some have been outstanding, but they have always looked like a person performing as a robot. Watching Michael Jackson feels like watching a machine. It feels more than human, too perfect to be human, and yet somehow merging clean precision with dirty, animal imperfection and magnetic sexuality, polished and raw at the same time. His performance was flawless but the man and powerful humanity glimmered through in the hint of stubble on his chin and the wildness of his hair, something in his hips, something immaculately mechanic and simultaneously deeply human.

I find it so hard to believe that the music he listened to and was influenced by wasn’t something with more substance and soul than Smile. The song is very nice but surely the person who created the songs Michael did would need a stronger fuel to feed his fire. It would be like filling a Land Rover with extremely watered-down petrol, it wouldn’t be strong enough. Surely someone with so much music and beat running in their blood and bones, someone who could dance like Michael did, would need something stronger?

Futile conjecture is indeed futile, but illustrates something greater. Do we accept what we are told too easily? Shouldn’t we question information with discernment and less susceptibility? If we learn to be more sceptical and less easily manipulated by the media and those controlling it then perhaps people higher up and people running the country will have less power over us as a nation.
If we accept manipulation of the consumer in music, we accept it elsewhere, and manipulation can come in the form of substandard. I, for example, forgive Amy Winehouse her shambolic breakdowns on stage because of her proven talent. Artists like Amy Winehouse are genuine and real. They write the songs they sing, about their own experiences, and when they sing those emotions are vivid in their voice. Bands that play their own instruments are able to create something; completeness and a sincerity which is missing from bands that sit on stools and sing somebody else’s lyrics. Why do so many people, young and old, proudly state their musical preference as, for example, Westlife; a group of admittedly good looking young men who wear either identical or co-ordinating outfits (usually suits), mine to their own plastic, inoffensive, anodyne voices singing songs that have been covered by every band to come along for the past thirty (or more) years? The only word to encapsulate bands like this is ‘nice’. They look very nice and have very nice voices and are certainly very nice themselves. I can half-forgive (though reluctantly) the teenage girls who swoon and daydream over the polished, chiselled features and squeaky clean image, but I cannot understand the appeal for grown adults and wonder seriously whether the appeal is musical or simply matinee idol infatuation. Music should not be perfect or polished but raw, sensual and unafraid. For me, music is a human voice which demonstrates the life it’s lived in its imperfection and inimitability, a voice that doesn’t hide pain and the exertion of life. Lyrics that tell their story poetically and beautifully, and rhythm and beat that make you want to move, that speak to the body.

Watching Michael Jackson in 1995 was to watch a demonstration of physical transcendence. The music in that instance served more as a backdrop to the dancing but was in any case outstanding, but that performance was a master at their very best. Billie Jean is one of a small collection of songs which have this elusive power I have been attempting to define. The beat makes the body pulse and urge to move. You can’t help but want to dance. Do people really feel this when they hear a Westlife song? Two songs by Dusty Springfield, for example; Son of Preacher Man and Take Another Little Piece of My Heart are among the songs which urge me to sing, though none of the notes will be right, but they have this power.

Whether it’s live performance or listening to a cd, music has to make you feel, even change. If Westlife is what elicits that experience then who am I to argue?

Music to Feed The Soul

Music to Feed the Soul

Vikki Littlemore

Watching the footage of Michael Jackson performing at the 1995 MTV Awards, for a few seconds I thought the camera was showing stilted frames or somehow distorting the recording. I then realised that what I was watching was a human being in full reality. Many people have performed what is known as ‘the robot’. Some have done it well, some not so well, some have been outstanding, but they have always looked like a person performing as a robot. Watching Michael Jackson feels like watching a machine. It feels more than human, too perfect to be human, and yet somehow merging clean precision with dirty, animal imperfection and magnetic sexuality, polished and raw at the same time. His performance was flawless but the man and powerful humanity glimmered through in the hint of stubble on his chin and the wildness of his hair, the knowledge and experience in his hips, something simultaneously immaculately mechanic and deeply human.

There are artists who create the trends that others follow and true originality rarely occurs, even when it seems to. Even when people appear to be unique and original their originality can often be traced to somewhere far back, to someone who did it first. There are however rare artists who change how people feel about music, how people perform music and what music means. To all the ten year olds buying Justin Timberlake’s albums and concert tickets, he is almost certainly original. To them his style of dancing and the titled trilby hat are no doubt trendsetting and cutting edge. I remember only too well being told by my parents (both music lovers) that they’d seen it all before whenever I enthused in raptures about the latest one hit wonder in the number one slot.

Music is something powerfully personal, something we dance to in our bedroom when no-one can see us and one of the few things in life that we are able to choose for ourselves. When we are begging our parents for the latest trainers so that we fit in with our friends at school and struggling with the dilemma ‘all my friends are smoking so I should’, no-one tells us what song to listen to when we go home after school or what album to spend our last ten pounds on. Music is one of life’s rare choices. We form our decisions based on how specific music makes us feel. It’s one of the only things in life that one can make ‘my thing’, to have ‘my band’ and ‘my song’. It is profoundly our own. The songs of Oasis and Liam Gallagher’s voice for example, though I don’t particularly rate them as technically extraordinary, will never lose an almost mystic quality able to transport me instantaneously back to the 90’s and my teenage years like a sepia photograph, and will always ‘do something’ to me which I will never succeed in confining to words. Cold breath on the spine doesn’t begin do it justice. The last few seconds of Feeling Good by Nina Simone, no matter how many times I hear them, will never cease to take my breath away, and the way I feel about these pieces of music is something personal and unique. It may be similar to the experiences of other people, but never quite the same.

As someone who forgives Amy Winehouse her shambolic breakdowns on stage because of her talent, I find it impossible to understand the appeal that manufactured music has for so many people. Whether you enjoy her music or not, artists like Amy Winehouse are genuine and real. They wrote the songs they sing, the words are written about their own experiences and emotions and when they sing those emotions are vivid in their voice. Bands who play their own instruments are able to create something; a completeness and a sincerity which is completely missing from bands who simply sit on stools. Why do so many people, young and old, proudly state their musical preference as, for example, Westlife; a group of admittedly good looking young men who wear either identical or co-ordinating outfits (usually suits), mine plastically to their own pre-recorded, inoffensive, anodyne voices singing songs that have been covered by every band to come along for the past thirty (or more) years? The only word to encapsulate bands like this is ‘nice’. They look very nice and have very nice voices and are certainly very nice men. I can half-forgive (though reluctantly) the teenage girls who swoon and daydream over the polished, chiselled features and squeaky clean image, but I cannot understand the appeal for grown adults. True music should not be perfect or polished. It should be raw, sensual and unafraid. Another story altogether is the reason for people stating their musical preference as ‘dance music’, that I cannot understand.

I suppose it would be hypocritical to claim that music is a choice and then condemn those with different opinions to my own, but the clue (as they say) is in the question. How does one define music? For me, music is a real, human voice which demonstrates the life it has lived in its imperfection and inimitability, a voice that doesn’t hide pain and the exertion of life. Lyrics that tell their story poetically and beautifully, and rhythm and beat which makes me want to move, which vibrates and speaks to the body. Whether it’s live performance or listening to a cd, music has to ‘do something’ to you, has to make you feel, even change. If Westlife is what elicits that experience then who am I to argue?

Watching Michael Jackson in 1995 was to watch a demonstration of physical transcendence. The music in that instance served more as a backdrop to the dancing but was in any case outstanding, but that performance was a master at their very best. Billie Jean is one of a small collection of songs which have this elusive power I have been attempting to define, the power to ‘do something’. The beat makes the body pulse and urge to move. You can’t help but want to dance. Do people really feel this when they hear a Westlife song? Two songs by Dusty Springfield; Son of Preacher Man and Take Another Little Piece of My Heart are among the songs which urge me to sing, though none of the notes will be right. Certain songs make me want to sing and sing loud and have a power to fill me up from head to toe with an energy, a power, something indefinable. This is what music should do. It shouldn’t be ‘nice’ and safe, it should challenge the listener to a fight and win.

Music should have power, whether it’s the words, the beat, the voice or the instrumental performance, music should make you want to talk about it, to dance, to sing, even cry. I find it difficult to understand why there is such a place in society and in the music business for the manufactured music and android ‘bands’ which are evidently popular but in my opinion definitely not music.


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Sylvia Plath said; "Let me live, love and say it well in good sentences". My aim in life is to find things and people to love, so that I can write about them. Putting words together is the only thing I can see myself doing. This blog is an outlet, and I hope you enjoy reading it. Please feel free to comment on posts, or contact me by the special e-mail I've set up (vikki.littlemore@live.co.uk) with your thoughts.


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The New Remorse, Oscar Wilde.

The sin was mine; I did not understand.
So now is music prisoned in her cave,
Save where some ebbing desultory wave
Frets with its restless whirls this meagre strand.
And in the withered hollow of this land
Hath Summer dug herself so deep a grave,
That hardly can the leaden willow crave
One silver blossom from keen Winter's hand.

But who is this who cometh by the shore?
(Nay, love, look up and wonder!) Who is this
Who cometh in dyed garments from the South?
It is thy new-found Lord, and he shall kiss
The yet unravished roses of thy mouth,
And I shall weep and worship, as before.

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Music I Love (In no particular order, except that The Smiths are first)

The Smiths,
The Libertines,
The Courteeners,
Nina Simone,
Oasis,
Pete Doherty,
Gossip,
The Kills,
Amy Winehouse,
Arctic Monkeys,
Rod Stewart,
The Doors,
The Rolling Stones,
Etta James,
Babyshambles,
T. Rex,
The Jam,
Morrissey,
Guillemots,
The Kinks,
Jack White,
The Deadweather,
David Bowie,
The Winchesters,
The Cure,
Kaiser Chiefs,
The Kooks,
The Twang,
Kings Of Leon,
Pulp,
Blur,
The Housemartins,
The Ramones,
James,
Robots in Disguise,
The Klaxons,
Kate Nash,
The Raconteurs,
Regina Spektor,
Aretha Franklin,
Stereophonics,
The Contours,
Dirty Pretty Things,
The White Stripes,
New York Dolls,
Yeah Yeah Yeahs,
The Clash,
Style Council,
Velvet Underground,
The Horrors,
The Cribs,
Reverend and The Makers,
The Subways,
The Wombats,
Foals,
Elle S'appelle,
The Troggs,
The Beatles,
Echo and the Bunnymen,
Florence and the Machine.

Olive Cotton, Tea Cup Ballet, 1935

Olive Cotton, Tea Cup Ballet, 1935

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Will it ever be alright for Blighty to have a Queen Camilla?

One less tree from our window each day


Vikki's bookshelf: read

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
1984
Twilight
Of Mice and Men
Pride and Prejudice
The Hobbit
The Da Vinci Code
Lolita
Tipping the Velvet
Wuthering Heights
The Picture of Dorian Grey and Other Works by Oscar Wilde
Bridget Jones's Diary and Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason
Irish Peacock & Scarlet Marquess: The Real Trial of Oscar Wilde
The Peculiar Memories of Thomas Penman
Moab Is My Washpot
The Bell Jar
The Other Boleyn Girl
On the Road
Brideshead Revisited
Revolutionary Road



Vikki Littlemore's favorite books »

Share book reviews and ratings with Vikki, and even join a book club on Goodreads.

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