So, back from holiday, hundreds of emails to catch up on in the old inbox, new releases by Yusuf Azak and The Savings and Loan to prepare, and what do I spend my morning doing?  Yes of course, fannying about in the Oxfam Music Shop across the road.  The fucker is cunningly positioned right inbetween the Post Office and nearest bank machine, and our front door.  Bastards.

Anyhow, Jamie, the manager of the shop, was rather oddly introduced to me via email by Vic from Muruch, which is a music blog based in the States.  Did I mention that the shop is literally over the road from our house?

I promised Jamie a little while ago that I would donate five of every Song, by Toad Records release to the shop, for him to sell on behalf of Oxfam.  I said it, but over the course of this year, I haven’t actually done it, which is not unlike an awful lot of promises I find myself making at the moment.  Today I finally decided to stop prevaricating, and nipped home quickly to bring in five copies of every release this year, so if you want to buy a Song, by Toad Records release and would rather support a starving child than an evil entertainment company, then that’s the place to go.

And of course, being a second hand music shop, I couldn’t just leave it there, could I.  Oh no.  I rifled through no more than the new stock and the valuable items and inevitably ended up coming away with a small handful of new records.  Had it not been for the fact I had to get back to work I could have happily stayed in there for the rest of the day picking through music I never usually listen to, like the old jazz and country and classical stuff, giving it a spin on the record player and seeing what I liked the sound of.

I’ve long been a typically greedy internet music collector, in the sense that I find I have a compulsion to have a copy of pretty much everything I like, meaning that my music collection now extends to close to a Terabyte’s worth of files.

The old ‘too much music’ adage never really scored much traction in my mind, because I always took it as an assault on choice.  People tend to riff lazily on that particular argument when they are bemoaning the fact that any tiny little shitey band can now record and release an album, and they have no capacity to process all that information.  In short, they seem to be upset that the major media corporations are no longer able to tell them what to do, and oddly affronted that the finding of good music has now become an active rather than a passive way to spend one’s time.  Fuck these people, is what I say.

Where the ‘too much music’ argument does strike a chord, however, is when it is targeted at something slightly different: not at the issue of choice, but the one of sheer quantity.  As a friend of mine quite rightly points out, it is simply impossible to process the amount of information with which you can so easily swamp yourself these days, if you download all the music you ‘want’ to listen to.  It is just downright impossible to properly absorb that much data in any meaningful way, and this is why I like vinyl, and why I shop for vinyl the way I do: small labels and second hand shops.

What I like about this approach is that it puts a particular slant on a collection.  It ceases to become ‘everything I’ve ever enjoyed’, which is kind of what my digital collection is, and becomes something a bit different.  There are weird Frank Sinatra 7″s, some old ragtime things I would never usually listen to and bought just because they sound nice on a scratchy record player, a Ghostbusters 12″ glow-in-the-dark picture disc (oh yes!), and a few obscure releases by bands I have taken a chance on but who have subsequently gone nowhere and split up.  Throw in a couple of classics by the likes of Dylan, Tom Waits, The Band and Leonard Cohen and a couple of cheesy 80s pop classics bought exclusively for drunken late night playing, and you end up with a collection which is full of surprises, even for me.

Most interestingly though, it is a collection which has been shaped by more than just my own taste, but also by internet impulse purchases, drunken eBay overspending, and the chance of what happens to be available for a couple of quid in Avalanche or Oxfam.  The very fact that you can’t always get what you want (yes, that’s in there too – boom-tish!) makes the collecting itself a fun thing to do.  With digital music the actual act of tending your collection ceases to be enjoyable, because it is simply mechanical and the outcome is pretty certain.  With a physical collection the process of collecting pushes back much more, which makes poking around in record shops for something someone else has tired of for whatever reason a hugely enjoyable thing to do.

Ghostbusters Theme

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Bob Dylan – Romance in Durango

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FOUND, like many in Edinburgh, have become more than just bands whose music I enjoy, over the last couple of years they have become a group of guys I genuinely consider to be friends. Consequently, it’s not just a mere journalist’s satisfaction at being vindicated that I feel when they achieve success, such as with Cybraphon‘s Best Interactive Thingy BAFTA last year, it is that really heartwarming feeling you get when people you really like have good things happen to them.

So, umm, something which I am only just getting round to announcing because I have been on holiday is that FOUND signed to Chemikal Underground the other week.  I think they went out and got shitfaced afterwards too, actually, according to Facebook, and so might they well.  Chemikal kicked themselves into life with the Delgados (who founded the label and, to the best of my knowledge still run it today), Mogwai and Arab Strap, a fact which gave them, pretty much in an instant, just about the three biggest indie bands in Scotland on their roster.  Even in the relatively short time I’ve been writing this blog they’ve released albums by Mother and the Addicts and Aidan Moffat which will probably count as two of my favourite albums of the last decade, not to mention the debut albums by Emma Pollock, The Phantom Band and the fantastic Lord Cut Glass record.

The label celebrated its tenth birthday a little while back, clearly established as just about the best label in the country.  Only Fence can really touch them in Scotland, I think, and not many more in the rest of Britain.  So yes, FOUND have most certainly landed on their feet there – congratulations lads.

The album itself will be out some time in the Spring.  I myself have been sitting on it as uncomfortably as one might a bowl of scorpions, twitching to play songs on the podcast or radio show and knowing that the band would fucking kill me if I did.  That’s the trouble with being in this position – exercising discretion is rarely a blogger’s best quality.  I’ve even resisted the temptation to pop a couple of the new songs they performed at Haarfest (and which I happened to film) up on the internet, just in case everyone involved would rather I didn’t.

Anyhow, erm, congratulations to FOUND and just as soon as I can start playing this stuff I promise I will.  It’s really good (sorry, I know that probably doesn’t help).  What I have managed is a Toad Session version of Vincent Gallo, which is on the record, and a version of Anti-Climb Paint, which is also on the record. This version is from an EP which was knocking around a little while ago, recorded under the name of Haggard the Listener Group. It is essentially FOUND, I think, but hopefully this is not considered to be letting anything untoward out of the bag, so you can be trusted to enjoy it safely.

Haggard the Listener Group – Anti-Climb Paint

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Serendipity struck for Woodpigeon at End Of The Road this year, when fellow Canadian act Timber Timbre were delayed on the way to the festival, leaving a vacant slot to be filled on the site’s main stage, the Garden Stage.

Frontman Mark Hamilton was the only Woodpigeon to make the trip over from Calgary for the festival. Fortunately, however, he has a ready-made backing band waiting for him on these shores in the form of our very own Eagleowl – the two band’s origins are entwined with each other following Mark’s time spent living in Edinburgh a few years back – and the collective heroically stepped into the breach.

The band had performed the previous day on another stage, and – during a barnstorming set – had covered Withered Hand‘s wonderful No Cigarettes.

I was looking forward to a repeat performance when I heard about them covering for Timber Timbre, and thought it might be a good idea to film the song this time.

The video quality’s not exactly High Def because it’s only from my little Sony point-and-click instant camera, and it’s a bit shaky in places because - well – it’s me filming it; but it’s not too bad all things considered.

Sorry, this is the best I can do.

Tuesday 14th September - Skullflower, Fordell Research Unit, Noma and Scrim at Banshee Labyrinth

Wednesday 15th September - The Vaselines at The Bongo Club

Thursday 16th September - Naval Cassidy and Usurper at The Roxy

Saturday 18th September - The Last Battle album launch with Matt Norris and Burnt Island at The Roxy

Saturday 18th September - Kid Canaveral and Night Noise Team at Sneaky Pete’s

The Sunday Supplements were supposed to be the opportunity for people other than myself to chip in to Song, by Toad. Basically, it was supposed to make the site more interesting and to make this a bit less like my own personal carnival of tedious navel-gazing.

Mrs. Toad and I have been away in China for a couple of weeks now though so, with huge thanks to Martin, Bart and Dylan, the site has been in other people’s hands for the last little while, so I suppose it makes a degree of sense for me to be writing the Sunday Supplement for a change.

I’ll write a longer, more in-depth post when I get back, but for now I figured I might chip in with a few pictures and five quick things I have learned about China in the last week or so.

In terms of pictures, I have been utterly obsessed with the ridiculously addictive Hipstamatic app for my iPhone, which basically just vintageifies your pictures and makes them look a million times cooler than your mere photographic skill alone might allow. I’ve uploaded a rather excessively large gallery of them here, for those of you who are interested. Some of them really are very cool though, although I am not sure how much credit I myself can take for that; not much I suppose.

Anyhow, five quick facts about China for you…

1. Beijing is shit, and it doesn’t care.

Despite hosting the (shit) Tiananmen Square and the (boring) Forbidden Palace, two of China’s best known landmarks, all trace of concession to tourists both foreign and domestic dissipates within a street of these places.

Even the hutongs, which flank the Forbidden Palace East and West and are fascinating islands of old fashioned life in the middle of a modern city of fifty million inhabitants, are entirely devoid of curious wanderers.

Basically Beijing is a gigantic, buzzing centre of commerce and industry and doesn’t give a fuck about being picturesque or easy on the senses. It’s busy, it’s got its own shit going on, you won’t be impressed and it doesn’t care a fig for your lack of enthusiasm.

2. The Chinese will not touch the floor. Ever.

Laying newspaper out on the floor of a railway station to avoid the arse of your jeans touching the floor may seem a little over-precious, but it is at least understandable.

On the overnight train to Guilin, however, our fellow passengers would go to all sorts of extreme lengths to ensure that when they climbed down from their bunks it was to step straight into a waiting slipper rather than, shock horror, the actual floor.

They must have thought we were right mucky fuckers, hopping down without a care and fishing about for our shoes afterwards.

3. The Chinese Make the Best Fried Chicken Anywhere, Ever.

I haven’t tasted your country’s local fried chicken recipe, but I can absolutely guarantee you that you are at best scrapping over fifth place in the Worldwide Chicken Hall of Fame. All the top four places (at least) are occupied by the Chinese.

Yesterday our chicken had star anise and a cinnamon stick in it. Today there were about fifty dried chilis on the plate with it and a fistful of Szechuan pepper, one of the most wonderfully fragrant spices known to man.

And always garlic. Lots and lots of garlic. Fucking delicious.

4. ‘No Sweat’ Pace

When we first got here we quickly became frustrated by just how incredibly fucking slow everyone was, walking along the street. I myself amble along at a far from urgent pace, but over here I felt like was rattling along at a brisk march.

A week of pouring sweat later we finally began to understand why they walk so slowly. And we quickly mended our ways.

5. Chinese Massage is Fucking Torture

I don’t kid myself I’m some sort of hard man, but I have never been so badly beaten up by a teenage girl before. Fucking hell. I have no idea who the fuck does this for enjoyment, but Chinese massage is excruciatingly painful.

Some people would say that it ‘releases the tension’ in tight muscles, but I am calling total bullshit on that. Just because it is an incredible relief when someone stops inflicting unbearable pain on you does not mean you are being cured of anything, it’s just nice that the agony abates from time to time. I am not believing any of that ‘releases tension’ bullshit until I’ve seen some graphs, dammit.

I am no fan of the limp, half-arsed rub-downs administered by orange ladies from Livingston which pass for massages in Scotland, but Christ, I swear I have never been so close to punching a pretty four stone waif in the face as I was at two o’clock this afternoon.

Having weaselled out of our Fresh Air show yesterday because I was too busy trying to get Loch Lomond sessions edited and generally ready to go away on holiday, so Ruth missed out on her weekly opportunity to take the piss out of me, which must have been a shame for the poor lass.

Anyhow, we decided to remedy this by recording a podcast for publishing while we’re away, so Ruth came round with a CD of twenty songs and we bumbled our way through an evening chattering nonsense (as per usual).

We’re a teeny-tiny bit short of cutting edge new tunes for this week, but I think we can live with that for a week, eh.  As Ruth would insist, her choices are all better than things I would have chosen anyway…

Toadcast #139 – The Comfortcast

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01. Animal Magic Tricks – Pinkening (05.04)
02. Eurythmics – Love is a Stranger (11.21)
03. Iron & Wine – Upward Over the Mountain (19.11)
04. Mountain Man – Mouthwings (25.54)
05. Yo La Tengo – Take Care (28.04)
06. Fred Astaire – Top Hat, White Tie & Tails (35.42)
07. Gomez – 78 Stone Wobble (41.43)
08. The Everley Brothers – Be Bop a-lula (49.21)
09. Edith Piaf – Non, Je ne Regrette Rien (51.37)
10. Pulp – The Boss (Demo) (58.23)

Bloody hell.

This time last week I was typing out a Friday Five and planning a couple of quite weekends before Away Game at the end of the month. I was thinking about maybe shopping for camping supplies.

In an odd turn of events, however, as you read this I’m standing in a field in Dorset at End Of The Road with M’So, the ‘Glowl and whichever other reprobates have shown up.

(As I actually type this it’s the day before yesterday at around 4pm. Weird, huh?!)

Anyway, it’s five time for you lot. Remember to delurk, and don’t worry if you don’t see your message pop up straight away, someone will get around to approving it soon enough.

1. Nicest surprise you’ve ever had.

2. Most fun you’ve had setting up a surprise for someone else.

3. What’s your dream road trip?

4. Have you ever had an unexpected turn of events that turned out okay in the end.

5. Pledge to do something you hadn’t planned this weekend. Tell us what it is now, then come back next week and tell us how it went.

Prefab Sprout – Life Of Surprises

Bob Dylan – Things Have Changed

Grizzly Bear – Plans

New Order – Shellshock

Carter The Unstoppable Sex Machine – Panic

Song, By Toad is going to be on cruise control for a few days while Matthew continues his oriental expedition and the rest of us embark on our own expedition to Dorset for End Of The Road.

What that means to you, dear reader, is that it may be a little slow to get a response from the Song, By Toad offices if you decide to get in touch; and if you’re a new commentator you might not see your comment straight away, because someone has to manually approve comments from new people to check you’re not a spam-robot, a troll or Chutters.

Don’t let that discourage you though as someone will swing by to check the in-tray every once in a while. (Incidentally the same thing applies if you put a lot of weblinks in your comment)

So look after the place while everyone’s away. Don’t make too much of a mess and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.

Jerry Reed – Eastbound and Down

Much to the surprise of several midland-based illegal betting syndicates, the annual Mercury Music Prize was last night awarded to dour navel-gazers The Double-X at a darts-tournament-themed presentation ceremony in London.

However, the misguided brummie gangsters were not the only ones to get a fuzzy reception on their crystal ball, as pointed out last night by Slackdad on these very pages following Matthew’s accurately dismissive review of the Londoners’ debut album almost a year ago.

Nevertheless, much as it balks me to stick up for Matthew, I do still think his review was pretty much spot on at the time; and remains so a year later.

What Matthew didn’t take into account last year was the music industry establishment’s fear of appearing “out-of-touch” or “un-cool”, which I believe was the main reason the nu-goth ™ outfit was given the prize.

As the traditional music business with its rigid regime of pigeon-holed genres fragments, and the fault lines that divide the artistic and creative side of music from the light entertainment side widen, the moguls holding the purse strings at the record companies and the corporations that sponsor events like the Mercury Awards are finding themselves in a state of fitful panic.

The XX didn’t win the award because theirs was the best album of the year, or even on the shortlist. It wasn’t. Theirs was simply the best image for the Mercury Awards to adopt for a year. The right image was important to them this year in particular, following the cultural vanishing act performed by last year’s winner – urban act Speech Debelle – as soon as the twenty-grand prize cheque was cashed.

The XX have had a year to establish themselves on the festival circuit, and have tickled the underbelly of the charts if not exactly set them alight. So the Marketing Director at Barclaycard can sleep relatively soundly, safe in the knowledge that their sponsorship investment should continue to pay off for at least a few more months.

I bet last year Barclaycard were left thinking they could have just spent twenty-grand down the pub for all the good Speech What’s-Her-Face did for them.

So, by that token, surely Paul Weller or Mumford & Sons should have won. Barclaycard can, quite literally, take them to the bank, can’t they?

Well, perhaps not. A completely safe-as-houses bet such as  represented by those acts would have highlighted last year’s fuck-up instead of quietly sweeping it under the carpet. Media pundits and bloggers would have leapt all over it, claiming that it was a cynical attempt to associate the Mercurys with a successful act for purely business purposes.

I didn’t catch the whole awards show broadcast on the TV last night, but – like the witness to a crime – I saw enough. The live performances largely illustrated what a poor shortlist had been compiled.

The Mumfords delivered a sample of their well drilled live-set which was more than adequate to steal the show from the sample I saw. I’m sure you can catch carbon-copies of Villagers in the back room of pubs at open-mic nights up and down the country. The lad simply doesn’t have a ring of quality about him, and looks like he’s being pimped about by handlers trading on his doe-eyed shyness and funny haircut. I Am Kloot were clearly very competent songwriters and soulful performers, but somehow put me in mind of Chris De Burgh.

Corinne Bailey Rae and her band just embarrassing. She started off by showing us some hesitantly picked arpeggios she learned in her first guitar lesson that morning  (she’s not there yet but she’ll probably get the hang of it in time); before her backing band came struck up. Well, I don’t know which phone-in competition they’d each individually won to get the chance to play on stage at the Mercurys, but you’d think someone would have given them the chance to practice together first.

After that we watched as the token jazz trio from the shortlist warmed up by playing three different songs at once. It was certainly intriguing, but it would have been nice to see their actual performance. At least their sense of rhythm was better than Corinne Bailey Rae’s band. (Having said that though, Matthew’s sense of rhythm is better than Corinne Bailey Rae’s band.)

So for another year we’re left with the bitter aftertaste of music being misappropriated for the sake of corporate media-grabbing, and the unpleasant sticky residue reaches even the fringes of the music scene as the Mercury Awards flaunt their ill-deserved “edgy and independent” image in the music news headlines. How depressing.

Any predictions for the Mercury Awards 2011 then?

The Blue Aeroplanes – Mercury

As I have mentioned many times on these pages, Lach has been in Edinburgh this Summer to host an Edinburgh version of his legendary New York anti-folk open mic night, the Antihoot, as well as his own one-man show The Day I Went Insane.

There are some videos of Neil from Meursault and Yusuf Azak performing live at the Antihoot here, and those of you who probably read this page far more regularly than you should do may also have noticed the fact that Lach was also kind enough to guest on the Fresh Air radio show I do with Ruth.

Given that the CD players weren’t working, so neither Lach nor Ruth could play their song choices, and the fact that we ended up almost exclusively chattering rather than interspersing much music I suppose you could say it wasn’t the snappiest show we’ve ever done, but we have since recorded a far more disciplined (well, okay, slightly more disciplined) Toad Session with Lach, and we have these rather good videos from his Fresh Air Session too.