“I am no purist and as such have little respect for the drooling fetishists who pay a small fortune to own an original pressing of some obscure jazz fusion album. I’m not fussy about formats and spend much of my time listening to music online. However there is no denying that my listening habits have been retarded by the tsunami of free music available on the internet.”
“As a teenager I was keen (and perhaps pretentious) enough to force Frank Zappa, Charles Mingus, and Igor Stravinsky records down my throat until I fell in love with their cacophonous beauty. Now I make rapid fire decisions about the relative merits of a song before the first 30 seconds has played out, thoughtlessly clicking through an incessant glut of free music whilst the full beam of my attention is obliterated by a thousand digital distractions.
CDs were trash, far from the indestructible future of modern listening which they purported to be. They never survived our parties and lacked the aesthetic gravitas to be treated with care. I used to spit on them and rub them on my jeans in a vain attempt to get them to play before throwing them across the room in disgust.
Vinyl demands respect. As much as I loathe to state the obvious, it simply sounds, looks and feels better. A friend recently put on an old seven-inch of “So Young” by The Students, and as the warmth and rich tone flooded the room I resolved to play more vinyl and less Spotify. Records also require the added pleasure of a physical act, feverishly flicking through a second-hand stack in search of something precious, something someone else missed. Then rushing home, setting the needle into the groove and examining the artwork before boasting to your mates “I just got Nebraska for two quid in a charity shop.”
It is an ingrained behaviour, which stemmed from my mother (an Irish fiddle player) who had a first-rate record collection. Bo Carter, Bessie Smith, Hank Williams, The Dubliners—I was immersed in blues, country and folk; the roots of rock ‘n’ roll. These foundations were set, then warped and shattered when my teenage sweetheart (and now dear friend) Luke invited me into his world, where we would spend hours reverently mining his father Gypie Mayo’s cultural capital.
Gypie was the real deal, an incendiary guitar player (he was in Dr. Feelgood and a later formation of The Yardbirds). His house was a rock n roll museum filled with priceless road worn vintage guitars, a library of rock biographies and outsider literature, as well as an extensive V.H.S collection on which he had recorded hundreds of music documentaries. Gypie’s record collection went all the way from avant-garde classicist Charles Ives to Lee Scratch Perry, but the main thrust consisted of 1960s rock and pop music. I cast off my unfortunate Nu Metal affectations, bought love beads and paisley shirts, and explored obscure counter cultural bands such as The Left Bank, Moby Grape, and The Incredible String Band alongside the big players of the 1960’s, Hendrix, Peter Green, The Kinks, and The Doors.
From full-blown love affairs to flings or friendships, I often remember my relationships with people through the music they brought into my life. One ex-boyfriend marked my transition from the lysergic naivety of psychedelic pop to punk rock’s visceral kick when he bought me Fun House by The Stooges on picture disc. I fell dangerously in love with their violent jams. We would drink vodka and Lemon Fanta in my damp basement room and howl with feral glee to Danzig-era Misfits, Black Flag, and Bad Brains, or luxuriate in the elevated sadness of Scott Walker and Mazzy Star, all played on a decrepit Dansette.
When Rob (Candy Darling co-writer and guitarist) and I first met we were astounded by the similarity in our taste. We shared a grounding in early blues and an encyclopaedic knowledge of 1960s music. We vehemently agreed that anyone who didn’t love The Beatles or Bob Dylan needed to re-educate themselves and we seemed to be the only two people on the planet who thought Led Zeppelin were over rated (feel free to send hate mail).
Most of all we united through a passion for bands that display a deep respect and knowledge for the foundations of rock n roll, but also subvert and deconstruct these elements. The undead dissonance of The Birthday Party, The Velvet Underground’s art meets trash gutter poetry, or The Jesus and Mary chain’s washed out dream-rock. Rob also introduced me to Suicide and reignited my passion for Krautrock. These bands alongside countless others have provided a blueprint for Candy Darling’s sound which we are delighted to be committing to pink vinyl due for release 1st September 2014.”
—Emily Breeze
Candy Darling’s debut single, “Money” is released on 1st September on limited edition pink vinyl and is available for pre-order now.
