Polly Jean Harvey

PJ Harvey's White Chalk is genius with a dark heart.

As the tracks unfold, Jude Rogers finds herself acting as Polly Jean's agony aunt while listening to her wailing like a Kate Bush from hell on perhaps the saddest album she's ever heard

Friday September 21, 2007
Guardian Unlimited

1. THE DEVIL

0.10 Out on the wild and windy moors, Polly Jean Harvey's made another album. And even though we're used to her darting madly between different worlds - as a gothic, red-frocked goddess one moment, a squalling noise-botherer the next - White Chalk is still quite a shock. This opening bang-bang piano figure is like The Supremes' Baby Love - or Amy Winehouse's Back to Black if you'd rather - put through a bone-white filter.

0.59 And here's another strange thing. We generally know PJ for her belly-deep vocals, full of fire, blaze and brimstone. This tiny, nervous voice seems to come from someone else entirely. "The devil wanders into my soul," she sings. Her high register is like a tense infant's, and the shaky zither that accompanies it only heightens the tension.
1.39 But here's her roar. "Come! Come! Come here at once!" It's the call of a spoilt child, a terrified soul and an impatient lover all at once. Yet a sad girlishness seeps through, Polly's Phil Spector-style backing vocals sounding like ghosts from another time, tapping Kathy-like on the window.

2. DEAR DARKNESS

0.10 Here's the joanna again, its high notes sharp and icy. Thinking through Polly's catalogue, her music has rarely placed its focus on the ivory keys. In the early 1990s, on Dry, Rid Of Me and 4-Track Demos, Polly's sound was all about the guitar and how to make it bare its teeth. 1995's To Bring You My Love was about orchestral swampiness, and although parts of Is This Desire?, Stories From The City... and Uh Huh Her played with gentler textures, there's never been this sort of delicacy - or frailty - to Polly's sound before. This riff rattles like the sound of quivering teeth on a cold winter's morning.
0.27 "Dear darkness, dear darkness, won't you cover, cover me - again?" What a sad, sad phrase. It makes you worry for the girl.
1.13 But, fret not, she's got company - long-time collaborator John Parrish, singing backing vocals in his warm, soft tenor. Although the words that emerge from his mouth - "around the throat of the one I love" - aren't the most warming, I grant you.

3. GROW GROW GROW

0.46 The piano winds and whirls as Polly treads through mystical groves in heavy boots. This sounds like a Lewis Carroll story - curious and curiouser.
2.21 "Teach me MUMMY/How to GROW!" It's a wide-eyed and terrifying phrase. Hounds Of Love-era Kate Bush would be a good reference for this stuff, if Bush's spookiness wasn't always surrounded with sweetness and playfulness. As Polly's vocals wheel and wail, sweetness and playfulness are very far away.

4. WHEN UNDER ETHER

1.41 You may have heard this song already. It's Polly's new single. In it, deeper piano notes pound, the ceiling moves in time, and "the mind is alive/Conscious of nothing but the will to survive". It's so ridiculously chart-unfriendly that if it bothers the hit parade, Satan's working at the BPI.

5. WHITE CHALK

0.16 White chalk hills will rub Polly's bones and stick to her shoes here. I want to put a fez on, Tommy Cooper-style, and go "don't go on the hills, then!" But that would be inappropriate.
2.27 "Dorset's cliffs lead to the sea/Where I walked our unborn child in me". Unborn children have cropped up in Polly's music before, on 1995's Down By The Water most memorably, a period when Polly was not at her happiest. This album so far suggests the same. John seems to have disappeared too, so she's not got company. And our girl's not referred to home so vividly before, making it a reference point for such deep, engulfing sorrow. The twin echoes of the place Polly was born, and the ancient carvings of the past make this title track even more heartbreaking.

6. BROKEN HARP

0.16 "Please don't reproach me for how empty my life has become." I am starting to think that this is the saddest album I have ever heard. There's the way Polly's voice is crushing itself willingly, then there's the sheer weight of the lyrics. This record belongs to a different musical world than Joy Division's Closer, say, but it shares a similar mood - a horribly candid exposure of agony and despair. It reminds me of Wuthering Heights the novel much more than Wuthering Heights the song - it teems with details of overwhelming desolation, rather than floaty theatrics.

7. SILENCE

0.23 Funnily enough, though, this song, called Silence, has more blood in its cheeks - plus a brisk, soft, shuffling drumbeat, and a more vivid bangy piano.
1.41 Although Polly's singing, "Though you never wanted me/Anyway." At least there's an element of anger in her voice, which is the first step towards dealing with heartbreak. It is. (Although, yes, I should stop trying to be Polly's agony aunt and carry on being a heartless music critic.)
2.22 "SIGH-LENCE...SIGH-LENCE...SIGH-LENCE!" You tell them, Pols! You TELL 'EM!

8. TO TALK TO YOU

1.25 This is a song about Polly missing her grandmother. Her voice has skirted that dangerous line between affecting tense soprano and strangled kitten so far, but for the first time here, the cat seems to be winning.

9. THE PIANO

0.15 "Hit her with a hammer, teeth smashed in, red tongues twitching, look inside her skeleton". Nasty stuff. Still, if you look behind the horror movie imagery, here's a great metaphorical description of Polly's relationship with her baby grand. She bangs and she crashes, letting the keys shiver and flame. Tori Amos thinks she's like this, but she hasn't got half this talent.
1.26 "Daddy's in the corner, rattling his keys. Mummy's in the doorway trying to leave." This family's degenerating quicker than the Addams.
2.06 "Nobody's listening - Oh God, I miss you, oh GOD, I MISS you." That's decided it. This is the saddest thing I've ever heard.

10. BEFORE DEPARTURE

0.33 "Farewell my friends, farewell my dear ones." Now this is playing like a suicide note. And I've run out of tissues.

11. THE MOUNTAIN

3.10 "In my own heart every tree is broken. The first tree will not blossom, the second will not grow, the third is almost fallen since you betrayed me so." The zither shivers, Polly wails like she did on The Dancer, the last track of To Bring You My Love, and White Chalk stops as it started - suddenly, sharply and inconsolably. Twelve years after she first wandered into the territories of loneliness, Polly's found the heart of darkness - and she seems to have found her genius there too.

IN CONCLUSION:

Imagine the saddest thing you've ever heard, then douse it in tears, swathe it in heartbreak, and drop it into the seventh circle of hell. Yes, it's that moving and, also, marvellous.

Guardian Unlimited © Guardian News and Media Limited 2007

Sir Richard Branson

Never mind the high street: Branson sells his Virgin Megastores.

Sir Richard rids himself of the business that brought him to public attention in the 1970s

Owen Gibson, media correspondent
Tuesday September 18, 2007
The Guardian

Sir Richard Branson yesterday severed his last remaining link with the high street, offloading his Virgin Megastore chain at a time when record shops are under unprecedented pressure from the internet and supermarkets.

The sale of 125 stores throughout the UK and Ireland to a management buyout group for an undisclosed sum marks a final retreat from the music industry after more than 35 years.

After setting the company up as a mail order business in 1970, Sir Richard opened the first Megastore in Oxford Street, London, the following year and founded the Virgin record label in 1973, selling millions of vinyl copies of Mike Oldfield's Tubular Bells.

The Virgin brand - which has been attached over the years to everything from trains to credit cards and wedding dresses to vodka with varying degrees of success - will disappear from store fronts from November to be replaced with the name Zavvi.

Fresh start

The new owners, led by the Virgin Megastore managing director Simon Douglas and finance director Steve Peckham, promised to safeguard all 2,500 jobs and overhaul the stores to compete more effectively in the iPod age.

Mr Douglas said the name change gave the group the opportunity for a fresh start, saying it would concentrate on providing an independent alternative to the "corporate" HMV and develop ways of appealing to new generations of music, games and DVD buyers.

"Most of my generation know all about Sir Richard Branson and what he has achieved in music," he said. "But it's an opportunity to reach out to people who now associate him more with his other businesses."

He admitted the music market was "under the spotlight", partly blaming the release schedule for this year, but he remained confident that the store could battle the combined threats of digital download stores such as Apple's iTunes, costcutting by supermarkets and the devaluation caused by piracy and free CD covermounts.

"There is still very much a place on an increasingly homogenised high street for an independent entertainment specialist that puts customers, product, service and personality at the top of the agenda," Mr Douglas said. The new name was a "modern and independent take on the word savvy".

Sir Richard had previously pledged to overhaul the Megastores for the digital age, introducing instore downloads and other innovations. But a spokesman for Sir Richard's Virgin Group said the Megastores were increasingly an "anachronism" in the company's portfolio, with other Virgin stores around the world already franchised to new owners. The company contributed only 5% of the group's UK turnover in 2006.

Under its "branded venture capital" strategy, Virgin is increasingly looking to float its businesses or sell stakes in them to joint venture partners. In addition to his airline, train and communications networks, Sir Richard has put the Virgin name to personal finance, health clubs and space tourism.

"Our most recent investments have also included renewable energy and clean technologies, in line with the group's desire to become one of the world leaders in that field along with sustainable transportation and travel," he said yesterday. "In the last six years we have been withdrawing from entertainment retailing, which is no longer viewed as core to the group's future."

V2, the record label he set up after selling Virgin Records to Thorn EMI, was sold to Universal last month. By that time the label, home to the Stereophonics and Patrick Watson among others, was 95% owned by Morgan Stanley with Virgin retaining only 5%.

Virgin Media, the cable group in which Sir Richard is the largest shareholder, will soon launch a high-profile TV channel called Virgin One. The company, which is embroiled in a bitter regulatory row with BSkyB, is up for sale and the chief executive recently departed but Sir Richard is expected to retain his stake.

Virgin Media and Virgin Mobile will retain their concessions in the new Zavvi stores under the terms of the deal.

Mr Douglas said he was confident the chain had a bright future despite the pressure on all high street entertainment stores from the rise of internet shopping and digital downloads, as well as the increasing activity by supermarkets in the sector.

Smoothie bars

Famous names such as Andy's Records, Tower Records, MVC and Music Zone have disappeared in recent years and the Fopp chain lives on in just six locations after being rescued by HMV.

HMV, under pressure from the City to rebuild collapsing sales, last week unveiled a bold concept store featuring a wider range of entertainment products, smoothie bars and internet terminals designed to lure shoppers back to the high street and encourage them to spend more. If successful, it will be rolled out nationwide.

But, despite criticism from analysts who said they were too slow to react, industry bodies insist the death of the high street record store has been exaggerated. "The fact that the management has been able to secure funding for this deal shows the robust prospects for entertainment retail," said the Entertainment Retailers Association's chairman, Paul Quirk. "The computer games and DVD markets are buoyant and even in music, despite misguided predictions that somehow record stores are finished, 90% of sales are still on physical formats."

According to ERA figures, in 2006 specialists accounted for the biggest slice of the music market with 46.5% of CD album sales by value. Supermarkets had 25%, high street multiples such as Woolworths and WH Smith 12.2%, the internet 11%, mail order 2.5% and others 2.7%.

The rise of Sir Richard

1950 Born in Shamley Green, Surrey

1970 Launches the first Virgin business - a mail order record store

1971 First Virgin Megastore opens on Oxford Street

1973 With Nik Powell, Branson launches Virgin Records. One of its earliest releases is the prog rock instrumental classic Tubular Bells by Mike Oldfield, which sells more than 5m copies. Other signings include Tangerine Dream and Faust

1977 Amid huge controversy, Virgin signs the Sex Pistols after they had been sacked by EMI and A&M. Other successful acts through the 1970s and 1980s include Genesis, Simple Minds, Janet Jackson, Phil Collins and Human League

1979 Opens flagship Virgin Megastore on Oxford Street, which remains the world's largest entertainment store.

1986 Virgin Group floats, funding expansion into Birmingham, Brighton and Dublin

1988 Sells 67 smaller shops to Our Price for £63m

1992 WH Smith takes 50% stake in Virgin Retail. Sells Virgin Music Group to Thorn EMI for $1bn to fund expansion of Virgin Atlantic

1994 Virgin Megastores and Our Price merge

1996 Launches V2 label, home of the Stereophonics and Moby

1998 Virgin Group buys back Our Price from WH Smith

2004 Takes ownership of Tower Records brand in the UK

2006 Launches Virgin Megastore "store of the future" in Manchester

2006 Sells V2 Records North America for £15m

2007 Sells Virgin Megastores to management

Guardian Unlimited © Guardian News and Media Limited 2007

The Streets

Hip to the beat of the Streets.

Rob Fitzpatrick uncovers the contents of a successful Streets tour

Saturday September 8, 2007
The Guardian

"I had Rohypnol on Friday," says Fulham-born rapper Elliot Example Gleave. "It was a mistake - someone spiked me - but I still lost my wallet and woke up with a headache.

Example has just returned from a five-night tear-up across Scotland with his colleagues (the Mitchell Brothers, Professor Green and the Streets - there were 32 people involved) from Mike Skinner's Beats label. "I'd planned to be really well behaved," he says. "But the whole tour was pretty blurry to be honest."

A rolling, full-on party, one without recognised start or end times, a Streets tour is one that, however out of hand it gets, is always immaculately dressed. The shows, from the "pilled-up craziness" of Dundee to the "bouncing nutters" of Edinburgh, were all (in Example's words) "completely amazing. I got used to waking up stinking of cigarettes and beer, but I never got used to arguing with people who stole my breakfast cereal. But the crowds made every hangover worthwhile - every Scottish person I've ever met has been fucking mad. And I mean that as a compliment."

Originally intended as a one-date warm-up for the new Streets album, the tour grew when Skinner decided he wasn't going to finish it in time. "I'd been working on it for a year and I didn't know what I was listening to anymore," he says. "I needed a holiday - I thought this would be a great way of getting away and having a good time."

Skinner's tour diary reveals his desire to provide Johnny Drum Machine with a suitably vast and luxurious armchair, his enjoyment at lumbering the crew with extra soft furnishings and the quality of each evening's "crowd surf". Example's notes are full of the desire for quality, nervous-system soothing comfort food ("I opted for a chicken and ham calzone from some classy Italian deli, nutritious breakfast smoothie..."), mixing his album on the tour bus and securing stage wear on the cheap. Sounds lovely, but there must have been bad moments?

"Someone stole my bunk's duvet one night," moans Example. "Although that might have been my fault for only getting to bed at 5am."

And why were you going to bed at 5am?

"Well," he says. "On the first night a girl came up to me backstage and handed me a packet with 20 pills in it."

Add this to some of the team's enthusiasm for a tour tipple known as "H2E" and you begin to understand why DJ Professor Green wrote in his own diary how, "a smell of destruction lurks, just waiting to rear its ugly but familiar head".

"I needed another holiday after that," Skinner admitted. "There were levels of madness that shocked even me," offers Example. "I've been eating healthily and running every day. I've now had two complete weeks off. Apart from the Rohypnol, of course."

· Example's What We Made album is out Sep 17

Guardian Unlimited © Guardian News and Media Limited 2007

Euros Childs

The year of the dragon.

Where do you go after Gorky's Zygotic Mynci? Jude Rogers talks to former frontman Euros Childs about how glad he is to be Welsh

Friday August 24, 2007
The Guardian

As the most restless musician in Wales bounds on to the stage at the Green Man festival, the sun dips behind the Brecon Beacons apologetically. It dips for someone whose music predated the psychedelic folk revival by over a decade, and who, next week, is about to release his third album in 18 months. Tonight Euros Childs is playing at home. And at 32, 16 years after his career began with the recently departed Gorky's Zygotic Mynci, his mission is still relentless. In nine words from behind his clompy keyboard: "More pop music for all of you - in Welsh!"

Euros Childs is to thank for making Welsh-language pop music respectable, thanks to the records Gorky's made through the 1990s. But, he says, while Gorky's were seen as pioneers, the truth is just that they were the first Welsh language band to be widely noticed. "In the Welsh language community, things had always been happening," he tells me after he has played. "It's like people talking about Club Underage and how it's a revolution for young people. Not in Wales, that's been happening for years." Two weeks ago, he played the National Eisteddfod - the week-long, annual arts and music festival that stages contemporary music alongside clog-dancing and recitation. "Every year, there's 600 teenagers blind drunk and singing along, and loads of them go on to make music. That's what modern Welsh-speaking culture is like, and we are part of that ourselves."

Euros (pronounced Eye-ross) Childs was born in Freshwater East in Pembrokeshire ("a tiny, very English-speaking seaside village with no shops, only pubs") in 1975. There were no local record shops, but local charity outlets were full of old classics and obscurities at pocket money prices, and the curiosity of the teenaged Childs gave him an unconventional pop education. "I feel bad for kids brought up being fed the Beatles, I really do," he says. "Because when we started making music in 1991, we were hearing them for the first time. And we were writing stuff fresh after that buzz of excitement."

Gorky's recorded their first Radio Cymru session, released their first cassette, Allumette ("20 copies, £25 in the bank") and did a set for S4C, in that order, in the year they formed, 1991. The next year, they signed to Welsh label Ankst. "All the supportive networks were there if you were a good Welsh-language band." By this stage, they were listening to John Peel, getting into older bands like Soft Machine and Faust, and Peel duly gave them their own session in January 1993.

How did that attention feel at 18? "It was brilliant - more than anything because it was exciting to know we could get that when our stuff was going against the grain." In the last days of grunge, when alternative music was about fuzzing Fenders and three-chord doomalongs, Gorky's were writing crazy folk songs about talking sheep, oil spills and peanut dispensers on acoustic guitars and analogue synthesisers, cramming as many ideas and time signatures as possible into two-minute songs - much better versions of the stuff Devendra Banhart would be garlanded for 10 years later. They released 1994's Tatay and 1995's Bwyd Time (it means Food Time) very quickly; inevitably, they were big in Japan briefly. And as the 90s wound to a close, they were signed to a major label, Mercury, and suddenly Welsh music was booming. Super Furry Animals had a top 10 album with Welsh language compilation Mwng (Mane), and Catatonia had a bilingual triple platinum No 1 album with International Velvet. Its title track's chorus ran: "Every day that I wake up/ I thank the Lord I'm Welsh."

Looking back, was this separatism helpful, or did it make Welsh a novelty? "I'm not sure. But you do get a sense now that people outside Wales know about the Welsh language because of the success of the Furries - our Celtic comrades in the cause of siarad cymraeg [speaking Welsh]." Gorky's, too, were on the brink of commercial success when their 1998 single, Patio Song, was made Simon Mayo's Radio 1 record of the week. But it stalled at No 41, and Gorky's went on to set a record for having the most top 75 singles in the charts (eight) without ever making the top 40.

Given your ambition, do you wish it had made it? Or do you wish you had changed things? "No, not at all. Our first rule when we started was to not let anyone change what we were doing. Even when we were 16, people tried to mess about with us, and we said no. Because what's the point in watering down what you're doing? There's plenty of people who don't want to hear music that's copying other stuff - and this way makes you much happier. It's obvious, really."

Gorky's later albums were more nostalgic and reflective, until last summer, a few months after Euros Childs and bassist Richard James released their first solo albums, the band split up. "In a weird way, it was in keeping with our spirit for the band to finish and the solo stuff to star, rather than to die a slow death." Why was that so important? "Because a band should be a band. They shouldn't make a record, do a tour, not see each other for three years, then regroup, make a record, do a tour ... a band should be full-on, making stuff all the time, not worrying about pension plans, not wanting to dilute things."

Since the break, Childs' work-rate has soared. He has made three albums in 18 months - Chops, Bore Da (Good Morning) and The Miracle Inn, "because the songs just kept coming" - and has worked with others. His songwriting also became jauntier: The Miracle Inn's title track, a six-part suite about his teenage years, sits alongside a melodic, adolescent love letter, Over You, and a cheeky glam-rocker, Horseriding, which sounds like the work of a perky, pubescent Chas and Dave.

But given he is now in his 30s, isn't it natural to think about those pensions plans occasionally - or even about growing up? Childs shakes his head energetically. "Oh, no. I just enjoy working on a loop - the next album, the next album, the next - then it all starts again." He laughs. "That's full-on!"

· The Miracle Inn is out on Wichita on August 27

Guardian Unlimited © Guardian News and Media Limited 2007

Von Bondies news

Von Bondies Prepare For New Album.

by Paul Cashmere @ Undercover - August 21 2007

Von Bondies

Von Bondie's last album 'Pawn Shoppe Heart' was released on 2004. Fans will get the follow-up in early 2008.

The new Von Bondies album is called 'Love, Hate and The There's You'. The album was produced by Rick Parker (BRMC), Peter Katis (Interpol) and Butch Walker (Hot Hot Heat).

All songs were written by singer/guitarist Jason Stollsteimer.

'Love, Hate and Then There's You' is the third album for Von Bondies. The first record 'Lack of Communication' was an indie and then the band signed with Warner for album two.

The band will play songs from the new album this Friday in New York.

Drummer Don Blum said " Real quickly: New record finished. Out in early 2008. We're proud of it. But we haven't had a chance to play a show in quite a while. Sure, a proper nationwide tour is in the works for later to support the new record, but we wanted to get out and play at least one show sooner than that".

"So we've set up a special New York City show for Friday, September 7 at the Mercury Lounge on Houston Street" he says. "It'll be an early show, which means we play at 8:30pm sharp. It'll be a chance for you to get reacquainted with us and hear some of our new material. You also get the chance to ask us questions, such as, 'How have you been, Don Blum?'

and 'Don Blum, we really like you!' and 'Don Blum! Don Blum! Don Blum!' Spock out."

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 7:
THE MERCURY LOUNGE - 217 EAST HOUSTON, NYC;
8:30 PM SET TIME

THE VON BONDIES:

Jason Stollsteimer - vocals, guitar
Don Blum - drums
Alicia Gbur - keyboards
Matt Lannoo - guitar
Leann Banks – bass

Madchester and Tony Wilson

Stars attend Wilson funeral.

Fred Attewill and agencies
Monday August 20, 2007
Guardian Unlimited

Mourners carry the coffin of Tony Wilson at his funeral.

Photograph: Matthew Lewis/Getty Images


Friends and family of Tony Wilson, the legendary Manchester music impresario and founder of the Hacienda club, gathered today to pay their respects at his funeral.

Mourners included musicians from famous bands that he had made famous as co-founder of Factory Records in the 1980s.

The Happy Mondays frontman Shaun Ryder and New Order's Peter Hook and Stephen Morris were among those arriving at St Mary's Roman Catholic church in Manchester city centre to say farewell to the man dubbed "Mr Manchester".

Richard Madeley and Judy Finnegan, with whom he worked at Granada Television in the 1970s, also attended the private service.

Members of the public gathered outside to pay a silent tribute.

The Salford-born journalist, a leading light in the "Madchester" scene of the late 1980s and early 1990s, died on August 10 from a heart attack, aged 57. He had also been receiving treatment for kidney cancer.

Through Factory Records, Wilson produced bands including Happy Mondays, Joy Division and James, and he is credited with helping to kickstart the cultural revival of Manchester.

Steve Coogan, who played Wilson in the 2002 film 24 Hour Party People, a semi-fictional account of his life, paid a warm tribute to him today.

"I'm working in Hawaii right now. There's a warm breeze, the sun is shining and the sea is turquoise, but I wish I was in Manchester and I wish it was raining," he told the Manchester Evening News.

"It should rain, because today the older brother for a whole generation of creative, bold, innovative people is gone."

During the past year Wilson was in the news as the NHS refused to pay for a £3,500-a-month drug that doctors had recommended after chemotherapy failed to beat his cancer.

Members of the Happy Mondays and other acts he had supported helped to pay for the treatment.

Educated at Cambridge, Wilson began to make history in the late 1970s when he championed punk while hosting Granada TV's regional music show So it Goes, showcasing the Sex Pistols among others.

By 1978 he had founded Factory Records and taken on Joy Division, who later became New Order. The label built up a cult following and at the end of the 80s found itself the centre of a youth culture phenomenon.

The Hacienda, the iconic club largely financed by the label and founded by Wilson, became a hub of the burgeoning dance music scene.

Paul Ryder, a guitarist with Happy Mondays, said: "I would still be working at the post office if it wasn't for Tony. He was the one that gave working kids like me and Shaun their chance."

Guardian Unlimited © Guardian News and Media Limited 2007

Robyn

There's a new songbird on the block.

Peter Robinson signs up for Robyn's new pop revolution.

Saturday August 18, 2007
The Guardian

Less than 12 months ago, Robyn's fanbase in the UK amounted to 217 hardcore pop enthusiasts, many of them bloggers. Most remembered her from her 1998 No 8 hit, Show Me Love, at which point she was a teenage pop warbler whom RCA were attempting to sell as a Britney. The hardcore busily blogged to each other about Robyn's continuing career in Europe, and subsequent albums called things like My Truth. They admired her independence when she left Sony to do her own thing, and when she released her fourth album, Robyn, her rebirth as the perfect 21st-century popstar was complete. But the prospect of another UK release, or any success over here, seemed unlikely.

Now she is No 1 in the UK pop charts proper. Partly because With Every Heartbeat, a collaboration with Swedish producer Kleerup, is one of the singles of the year - a four-minute, pocketsized emotronic symphony with the same captivating quality of Can't Get You Out Of My Head and a heartbreakingly sober lyric of regret and hopelessness. But as anyone will tell you in these difficult pop times, coming up with the song can be the easy bit, and selling it is where things get tricky.

Behind the scenes, With Every Heartbeat is No 1 after one of the most perfectly executed launches of recent times. Without having misrepresented or misled, it is a masterclass in having allowed record buyers to believe that a pop song by a popstar is actually a dance track by an indie auteur.

The campaign began nine months ago with a low-key EP release and some small, barely publicised gigs and a well orchestrated word of mouth campaign, hitting the indie tastemakers and DJs like Radio 1's Annie Mac. Robyn was seen as a survivor of the big, bad, late-90s pop explosion, a woman who stuck two fingers up at the majors in order to run her own label. Like Annie, she was the popstar it was alright to like, with a fierce DIY spirit. Robyn performed With Every Heartbeat live in the UK for the first time at London's Being Boiled on November 30 last year and it was released in Sweden at the start of 2007, but in the UK a further low-key single release followed. It missed the Top 100 but was again important in building up a credibility which meant that Jo Whiley, one of radio's most influential DJs for breaking new artists, would have no qualms about hammering the song, which she did. Soon, in a shrewd move, despite all the talk of having left major labels to pursue her own creativity, Robyn was in fact shopping herself around to majors again once her stock was high, and two months ago she signed a joint venture with Island.

Crucially, that was only half the story. The other part of Robyn's pincer-movement assault on the Top 40 was an astute club plot and a brilliantly well-selected package of remixes. Robyn has used her personality to gain credibility in some quarters and her potential facelessness to hit the club kids, coupled it all with an irresistible pop hit, and is No 1. Easy. Now just watch someone else try the same thing and get it all wrong...

Guardian Unlimited © Guardian News and Media Limited 2007

Edwyn Collins

'I was dead - and I was resurrected'.

Two years ago, a stroke left Edwyn Collins unable to walk, talk or even play the guitar. Now he's got a new album out. In his first interview since his illness, he tells Simon Goddard how he taught himself to be a musician again

Friday August 17, 2007
The Guardian

There's a noticeable spring in the step of the security guards at Inverness airport on an otherwise gloomy April lunchtime. All becomes clear when Girls Aloud clatter their way out of baggage reclaim to face a few Highland paparazzi, here to snap them as they arrive for a local radio awards ceremony. Amid this excitement, nobody pays attention to a onetime million-selling pop veteran sat mere yards away in departures.

Three of Girls Aloud weren't yet born when Edwyn Collins first reached the British top 10 in February 1983 with Rip It Up, as the frontman of Scottish post-punk pioneers Orange Juice. A decade later, Collins - long since solo - scored his biggest triumph with 1995's irresistible A Girl Like You, mixing femme-fatalism with Wigan Casino soul to create a global hit that changed his life.

Yet those who fail to recognise Edwyn as he awaits his return flight to London can perhaps be forgiven. The sculpted Eddie Cochran quiff of his pop stardom days has gone, replaced by a short, thinning haircut barely concealing a curved scar above his left temple, left by the surgeon's knife. He eats a sandwich with his left hand alone: his right is clawed in a fixed fist. When he stands up to begin boarding his flight, he limps, propelling himself slowly with a walking stick. It's a sight that could seem pitiable, were it not so miraculous that he's even here.

On Sunday, February 20 2005, Collins collapsed at his home in Kilburn, London. After being rushed to hospital, he was diagnosed with a brain haemorrhage. Five days later, after suffering a second, he underwent a high-risk operation. The neurosurgeons succeeded, only for him to then contract MRSA, which meant the titanium plate they'd inserted in his skull had to be first removed then restored. It was six months before he was finally discharged. Barely able to speak or walk, he faced a gruelling rehabilitation programme with no guarantee of recovery. Two years later, his astonishing progress speaks for itself. "I was dead," he says, philosophically, "and I was resurrected."

Weeks after our chance encounter in Inverness, I'm sitting with Collins in his spacious living room, the few stuffed birds in glass cases, a couple of stray guitars and a Bob Dylan Bootleg Series boxset suggesting a bohemian eccentricity. This is his first official interview since his haemorrhage. In that time, he's undergone intensive speech therapy to combat dysphasia - a neurological side-effect hindering his ability to communicate. The Collins of old was a fantastic orator, one of those rare interviewees who spoke in eloquent sentences and whose mastery of language was a dream to transcribe. Cruelly, his dysphasia means he now speaks in fractured bursts, pausing between individual words, sometimes fighting to remember a phrase that's eluding him.

Collins knows this interview isn't going to be easy for him, though we've known each other for more than a decade. In 1995, after seeing a puppet video I'd made at art college dramatising the life of 60s record producer Joe Meek, he invited me to direct the Meek-themed promo for his next single, If You Could Love Me (it flopped, unlike its world conquering million-selling follow-up, A Girl Like You).

Ten years later, in January 2005, I was the last writer to interview him before his brain haemmorhage. We'd spent the afternoon at his West Heath studio in London, where he'd reminisced at length about Postcard records - the legendary Glasgow label he had co-founded in 1979 with Alan Horne, and which set a template for the next decade of bleeding-heart indie jingle-jangling. He also spoke fondly about the album he'd just finished, recording, which he was considering calling Home Again. He looked well, if (in hindsight) a little puffy, and was as gregarious a host as ever. Like everything else that occurred in the months before his hospitalisation, he has absolutely no recollection of that afternoon.

"I can't remember," he smiles. "The first thing I knew was waking up in hospital and, good God!" His voice rises in theatrical disbelief. "I've had a stroke! Not me," he stutters. "It's impossible. Not me!" His voice calms. "First I couldn't talk. First I couldn't laugh. I had to learn to laugh again. I've had to learn to live again. I'm learning to understand this situation."

The cause of Collins' stroke was high blood pressure. He'd been experiencing acute headaches for weeks beforehand, trying to numb the pain with painkillers, though nobody made the connection. "It's mad, I know," he nods. "It's scary for me, my stroke." He becomes emphatic. "This is hard for me. This is so hard. Language is all in my head and I'm having to recognise the words. And, I'm having to talk. And, I'm having to communicate. But I'm getting there."

In spite of his dysphasia, his speech loosens and heartening glimpses of both his humour and his rich vocabulary begin to shine through. Discussing his weekly therapy commitments, he mentions his acupuncturist. I ask if that treatment helps. He arches a quizzical eyebrow. "Hmmm," he grimaces. "Debatable. But I must persist in that matter." His thirst for art and music have sped his ongoing recovery, frequently dumbfounding his support team of speech and physiotherapists.

A skilled draughtsman, like his art lecturer father, after his discharge from hospital he learned to draw again using his left hand, developing a ritual of copying a different illustration each day from nature books. His first effort, of a wigeon duck, was crude and childlike, but over time he recovered his ability. He shows me his most recent sketches, taking particular pride in his guillemot drawing. "I'm getting good," he says, smiling, and he is. I ask to see today's picture. It's of a leaping dolphin, the same animal that graced the cover of Orange Juice's 1982 debut album, You Can't Hide Your Love Forever. I pointing this out to Collins, who chuckles. "So it is."

It was ironic that Collins' hospitalisation during 2005 coincided with a renewed interest in Orange Juice, following Domino records' compilation of their early Postcard recordings, The Glasgow School. Critically lauded, it was a timely reminder of his band's legacy and continued influence on the band's Scottish heirs, such as Belle & Sebastian and Franz Ferdinand. However, Collins' own feelings towards the distant past are surprisingly unsentimental. "Some Orange Juice is OK," he ponders. "Rip It Up is, well, all right. But it's over with," he says firmly. "It's finished. On to the new."

"The new" is Home Again, his sixth solo album, recorded before his stroke but mixed and completed 18 months later with the help of his studio partner, engineer Seb Lewsley. It's a beautiful record, stylistically encompassing the gamut of Edwyn's career, from the white-soul disco of You'll Never Know, with its shades of vintage Orange Juice, to the wistful acoustic title track. Yet it also possesses an at times unnerving undercurrent in the wake of all that's happened. On the opening country-dub One Is a Lonely Number, Collins sings: "If life breaks your heart/ You needn't fall apart/ 'Cos you've still got your mind/ Which will serve you in kind/ If you're true to yourself." Asking him to elaborate on the song's meaning, he merely says: "It is me."

Then he sings the first verse a cappella. Throughout our conversation, he breaks into song often, suddenly delivering note-perfect blasts of A Girl Like You and Orange Juice's gloriously lovelorn debut single, Falling and Laughing. His speech may have changed but, as he is clearly eager to demonstrate, his singing voice, like his distinct gulping laugh ("Hurgh! Hurgh! Hurgh!"), has survived intact.

A handful of Home Again tracks have already been available for the last year on the MySpace site Collins' 17-year-old son, William, set up for him. MySpace continues to provide a vital source of encouragement, allowing Collins to communicate with fans directly through blogs dictated to his partner, Grace. "It's very important," he says, excitably. "It's my life. It's my joy. Blogs are great. It helps me enjoy life again."

Perhaps most surprising, though, is a complete absence of anger or frustration. He speaks of his stroke with pragmatic acceptance and of the future with an unflappable optimism. Rehearsals have already begun for a handful of shows in the autumn to promote Home Again, and he strongly believes that "in a couple of years" he'll regain the use of his right arm so that he can play guitar properly. "I hope so," he says. "Well, I'm praying." In this respect, his spirited determination to overcome all that he's been through is humbling to witness. "The show must go on," he beams.

Before we finish, he wants to play me a brand new song he's written. He shouts for William to fetch his vintage 1949 Gibson acoustic. Collins grasps it by the fretboard, then instructs me to "do this bit". Since he can't use his right hand, it's my role to become his strumming arm. So I lean behind him and start a basic rhythm. A breezy melody emerges as Edwyn changes chords. "I'm searching for the truth," he sings, "searching for the truth/ Some sweet day, we'll get there/ Some sweet day we'll get there/ In the end." He stops, letting out another hiccupping laugh before picking up his beer. Whatever he was searching for, Edwyn Collins smiles like a man who may have already found it.

· Home Again is released by Heavenly on September 17.

Edwyn Collins' blogs are at myspace.com/wwwmyspacecomedwyncollins

Guardian Unlimited © Guardian News and Media Limited 2007

Happy Mondays

Former Happy Mondays Star Pays Tribute To Tony Wilson.

by Daniel Zugna - August 15 2007
photo by Tim Cashmere

Shaun Ryder of Happy Mondays

Former Happy Mondays drummer Paul Ryder has paid tribute to the late Tony Wilson, describing the Manchester music icon as a "patron saint" for the city.

"Everything I've got in my wonderful life now I owe to two people: Mr Derek Ryder Senior, and my other dad, Anthony H Wilson," Ryder said.

"He took a chance on a bunch of lads in a band, gave us his faith when everyone else was telling us we were rubbish, and catapulted us with his enthusiasm into the heart of the phenomenon that was, and to some extend still is, Madchester.

"The fantastic city of Manchester is the way it is today because of him, his vision, his energy and his fearlessness. To say he will be sorely missed is a serious understatement.

"Manchester has just lost its Patron Saint – but I'm certain St Peter will have had him on the guest list, and I can just imagine him wafting past him saying, 'Thank you, darling'."

Tony Wilson RIP

Music legend Tony Wilson dies.

Staff, Manchester Evening News
Friday August 10, 2007
Guardian Unlimited

The music mogul Tony Wilson has died aged 57 following a heart attack.

The former Factory Records boss had been diagnosed with kidney cancer last year, and had been undergoing treatment in hospital in Manchester.

Wilson founded the famous Hacienda nightclub and was one of five co-founders of Factory Records, which produced bands such as New Order and the Happy Mondays during a period in the eighties dubbed 'Madchester'.

Born at Hope hospital, Salford, he went to De La Salle Grammar School, Salford, and studied english at Cambridge before beginning his TV career as a trainee with ITN in 1971.

He was a reporter and presenter on Granada Reports and went on to present So It Goes - the music show that first aired punk bands.

He also worked on World In Action - Granada's flagship current affairs programme - and Flying Start which showcased new businesses, as well as After Dark, a late night discussion programme on Channel 4.

Besides presenting, he helped to organise the annual In The City festival in Manchester which attracts musicians and critics from all over the world.

And Steve Coogan played Tony in the film 24 Hour Party People, a semi-fictional account of Tony and Factory Records.

More recently he has presented XFM Manchester's The Sunday Roast show and two BBC GMR shows, Ground Rules, a one-hour sports show, and Oxford Road Station, a Saturday lunch-time show.

His family were too upset to talk last night but wanted to thank staff at the MRI and Christie who have provided "fantastic" care for him over the last few months.

Professor Robert Hawkins, his doctor at Christie hospital, said: "It's very sad. He died as a result of something unrelated to his cancer. His cancer was responding well to treatment but obviously did contribute to his poor health".

Guardian Unlimited © Guardian News and Media Limited 2007