It's around this time of year that Railtour operators seem to turn their attention to the South West, and when we become a destination rather than a starting point. This has it's advantages - in that some tours can then be picked up at sensible times of the day, fairly locally. Of course it also means lots of tours are mostly jollies for 'normals' - trips to the Eden Project, or steam-hauled excursions. Neither of these being of particular interest to me, it was good to see this trip appear. It did eventually fall prey to it's ambitious itinerary, and as predicted the Moorswater branch with it's very little used connection from the mainline at Liskeard was a casualty. The requirement to detrain, bring the stock into the short branch platform and re-embark proving a hugely time consuming task and interrupting the now very well used local service. How about letting the passengers stay on around the tight curve? No way it seems! So a tiny section of connection and the stub to Moorswater are now the most significant bits of track undone west of home I think. In any case, I'd decided not to take the late start and make more of a day of this trip. Some judicious planning and a decent advance fare meant I could get to Cheltenham Spa comfortably by getting the first train to Bristol as usual. This was populated by a young family with two screaming babies they didn't seem keen to shut up. Not sorry to get off and get breakfast at Temple Meads, but then amazingly they decided to travel in the same 'Quiet Coach' as me on the 07:00 service. I can imagine that didn't go down hugely well later in the trip. I however hopped off at Cheltenham, changed platforms and waited for the tour to arrive. Having done some checking online, I'd noted there were only two Class 37s on the train due to poor availability. As I boarded, I noticed the usual moaners were already complaining about the route and loco issues. I kept an open mind at this point, and sat back to enjoy the day. After pick-ups at both Bristol stations we sped south, coming to a grinding halt just outside Highbridge as we caught up with a local stopping service. Some slow running to Taunton, but we'd kept time. Not taking the booked operational stop at Exeter St. Davids put us roughly half-an-hour ahead and we arrived at Plymouth for an extended break in the sunshine. Chatted and watched the front loco run around to give us a top and tailed formation for the branch to Parkandillack, which had replaced Moorswater as the Cornish target. Once underway, I relaxed and even snoozed a bit - I didn't need the branch, but I was keen to see it's strange china clay related moonscape once again. The weather began to cloud over and rain began to spit down, but that just added drama to this very queer area with its pits, piles of white dusty soil and huge quarried absences.
We headed back along the branch and onto the mainline, pausing briefly to collect stocks of excellent pasties from Pearns of Par. Then, a little short of Bodmin we began to slip and stutter. With just the front loco hauling ten coaches and a dead Class 37, the greasily damp rails were proving a challenge. The driver coaxed the train as far as he could, but with time slipping by, the decision was taken to fire up the rear loco. We were soon away and heading back into a damp Plymouth for more loco changes. Here, the 37s both returned to the front, and 66156 which had come up from St.Blazey was tagged on the back. This would draw us back from Heathfield, and ensured that the vast majority of the tour was still 37 hauled despite the lack of a third loco. The run over the South Devon Banks was swift and sure, and only about 14 late we crept into a much sunnier Newton Abbot. Here, after a bit of a wait, we took the branch curving north around the racecourse. The bed of a former canal owned by the GWR appeared immediately beside the railway - with evidence of locks, long since dry but still to be seen. The branch reminded me of the Buckfastleigh line - a near neighbour - with its tree-lined climb towards the moors. The log loading area was very evident - with piles of freshly cut trees waiting for next week's train. Teigngrace station followed, and then more evidence of the canal which petered out before the platforms at Heathfield. Clearly substantial and mostly intact, the recent First Great Western charter allowed passengers out here! Almost unheard of on a modern-day railtour, but perhaps the reward for enduring those Class 142s on the trip? We pressed on though, through the station and onto the run-round loop used by the timber train empties. We came to a halt at a point where the driver reported the remaining rails disappeared under water! It was pretty close to the end of this once very well used line, and an excellent result.
Returning south, several folks disembarked at Newton Abbot for London-bound services, and left us to have a quiet and very speedy non-stop run to Bristol in the evening sunshine. We halted at Parson Street Junction to allow 66105 and 001 to take the High Output Ballast Cleaning train onto the Portbury Branch, the possession being opened and closed for the works train to pass. Then we slipped into Temple Meads where I hopped off. Some folks dashed for the late-running 19:53 home, but I'd planned to linger for my usual 1C27 which meant I got to watch the storming departure of our train northwards for Crewe, roughly at its booked time. I settled down for a coffee and a peaceful run home. It had been a successful day, and despite the changes to the plan I'd got new track, an unexpected new Class 66 and had an interesting and relaxing day out. That, after all, is what it's all about.
It's a difficult question for the musician at the grass roots, and one probably best avoided much of the time: am I in this for credibility or success? It would be interesting to speak to some of today's giants who set out as bratty NME-bothering nobodies and now stalk stadiums, and to ask at what point the motivation flipped for them - if indeed they feel it ever did? It's always going to be an uncomfortable concept though, and I suspect that sneering claims of authenticity and credibility will always be held over people who are making it work in the business. So I said some fairly dismissive things about Alex Cornish once - I don't think I sneered but I did imply perhaps that he was less than sincere about what he did. But on "No Shore", Alex's third album, there is enough genuine sincerity evident to keep the entire music business afloat just a little while longer while us cynical bloggers get over ourselves. And if it's authenticity that we're really seeking, it's worth noting that Alex records the majority of this work at his home in Dunbar. Aside from some technical wizardry and instrumentation which isn't readily knocking around the house, he also appears to plays the majority of the instruments on the album. There's no shortage of songwriting craft on show here, and anyone who doubts the commitment or the talent here needs only to watch the recent Song, By Toad house gig where Alex performed a remarkable set with a string quartet in an Edinburgh living room. If Alex Cornish is in any business, it's the business of making sure the world gets to hear his songs, and I'm sure that's ultimately the reason every musician does this isn't it?
As if to prove this point, "Rely" sweeps in with a touch of the epic. Ushered in by pensive drums and piano, soon the sparingly used and never overbearing brass section begins to shimmer around the song, returning to give the ending a touch of New Orleans. On both this and the initial "Storm To Pass" Alex's vocal delivery in this rich, dark musical setting immediately reminds me of Mark Eitzel - he sounds almost defeated, but then stretches to reach near impossible notes. There is something utterly compelling to me in listening to an artist striving to deliver a song like this, and any pre-conceptions I had about this record already begin to crumble. Next, piano, reverb soaked vocals and a delicately plucked guitar outline the plan for "Open Your Eyes". This is a tune, and particularly a storming chorus which any of those huge stadium monsters would kill to get their hamfisted mits on, but in Alex's hands it remains a personal and simple effort - heartfelt, on a human scale, and never straying even close to the dangerous territory of self-importance.
There are however a couple of points on "No Shore" where I lose track of things a little in the dizzying array of musical riches on offer, and despite a promising cascade of piano at the outset, "Skyline of Paris" perhaps isn't so engaging and disappears into the background as a result. But the mood is restored by "Keep Focus" which adds a shuffling beat to an expansive ballad, driven by an insistent piano line and shored up with dramatic strings. It's clear by this point on the record that Alex Cornish has mastered the art of writing melodies which linger in memory long after the song has finished - and there are points in my day when I find myself re-running the hooks from "No Shore" in my head. This has to be some sort of mark of the success of any collection of popular music. Adding weight to this theory, "Always A Way" introduces a touch of radio-friendly country to the proceedings, but despite its evident accessibility and potential to reach all kinds of audiences who probably don't read down-at-heel music blogs like this, it remains one of the most interesting vocal performances on the record. The lyric appeals to me too, an age-old tale of a search for a sense of place, which manages to evoke the damp and blustery east coast of it's origins somehow. This will be a controversial viewpoint I'm sure, but at the outset "Breathe Slow" could be a Meursault song. There is something about it's echoing, sweeping vocals and picked banjo and guitar which suggests a not-so-distant kinship, despite the musical approaches employed being poles apart. The whistling mid-song plays a cruel trick by referencing "Always On My Mind', which gives me a weird but not by any means unappealing mind-picture of Neil Pennycook and Willie Nelson maybe one day sharing a stage.
Whatever this record is, it's far from background music - as the majority of Alex's songs here compete hard for your attention and refuse to let the listener off the hook without even just a little emotional engagement. Music designed to for easy listening depends on as little complexity as possible in order to exist just outside the concious attention of listeners, and this is far from that in the sense that it is layered with beautifully executed instrumentation, and full of engaging hooks and twists. The fact it is delivered with such polish and panache is, in itself significant. After all, there are two ways to approach the DIY ethic - by embracing and delighting in the rough edges, the pops and the crackles and letting the music stand as a document of the process, or of making the best of what is available and producing something which belies its humble origins, beating the big guys at their own game with solid hard work. Both are valid, and I never fail to be amazed at what musicians achieve on their own terms nowadays. But Alex Cornish has selected the latter and doesn't let the resources available to him limit his vision. Maybe after all there is something deeply subversive and ultimately very punk rock indeed about a guy recording in his house reaching the Radio 2 audience? If you love well-executed folk pop, have an ear for a tune and recognise a great voice then its worth giving Alex Cornish your attention. You've nothing to lose except your preconceptions, and plenty to gain. If someone as stubborn and old as I can get over myself fairly publicly, then I'm damn sure you can...
"No Shore" is released on 13th June via Bellevue Records. You can find it on Amazon too.
Alex Cornish - Breathe Slow
ALR07 Day One - Chasing Tiny Branches 19 years ago
Posted in Railways on Saturday 9th June 2007 at 8:26pm
There have been times during the planning of this trip that I've wondered how sustainable these week-long forays into the wild are. After all, following a good few years effort and a great deal of cash, I've covered massive amounts of the British railway network. The stubs and tails that remain are tricky - and I've left them either because they're awkward to get at, or because I've lacked sufficient interest in the past when there have been greater goals to seek out. Alongside this of course is the chase for rare track - diversions and railtours take up more time in an effort to cover the red lines in 'Baker'. So this trip is something of an experiment - mixing the odd here-and-there bits of new line with old haunts done in new, interesting or just rather idiosyncratic or illogical ways.
Equally experimentally, I set out on a Saturday. These trips have always begun on a hopeful Monday morning, the whole network at its peak for me to explore. However this has left the Sunday for the end of the week - with its closures, diversions and relatively poor service. Again I've explored different ways of handling this - going home and then back out as a 'bonus day', or just finding convoluted and unusual ways to get home. This time, I'll finish on a Friday - but not by going home, but all being well on a positioning move for an excursion on Saturday. Its going to be an expensive week which will naturally beg the question 'why?' from many of my acquaintances and colleagues. I've tried to answer that before, and never quite succeeded - certainly at least, not to their satisfaction.
Up early then, still feeling the effects of the two-week long cough and cold which won't seem to go away. Very little voice and a nagging cough which will surely see me chucked out of the quiet carriage! Decided on the first one out of Highbridge for comfort. This allows me to get breakfast and settle into things at Bristol, before the trip kicks off proper. Sleepy ride to Temple Meads, leaving a chance to find a quick bite to eat and coffee. Feeling quite unusual - mainly due to the effects of the cold, and partly the dizzying and at this point, almost daunting idea of nine days of solid rail travel. The 07:29 arrived on time, destination Glasgow - but for me this went only as far as Preston. Could easily have continued a tradition of sorts and gone straight to Scotland, but that was another twist to this trip. Quiet and easy ride in First Class. No at-seat service as it's the weekend, but nice to be comfortable nonetheless. A fairly extended wait at Preston for the short hop to Lancaster. Flagged a Pendolino ride and got the next Barrow-bound 185 instead. Stunning sunshine in Lancashire, as I crossed the platform to the 156 bound for Heysham Port.
The Heysham branch receives a very sparse service, and only continues to exists as a result of the ferry traffic from the Isle of Man. The branch is operated very unusually, as it splits into two parallel single lines at Bare Lane. Both go to Morcambe, but only the southerly of the pair turns south again from the terminus to the port at Heysham. The port itself is much like others I've visited by rail over the years - rather run down and slightly desolate in appeaance. Toyed with a photograph of the unit on the buffer stops, but dissuaded by the security team - who despite appearing extremely young and rather inexperienced, were both ever-present and apparently up for a fight! The Port Authority requested that the train was held as the ferry was late. We only realised it had arrived when an endless stream of motorcyclists started pouring from the earth beside us, where a ramp from the ship reaches ground. A murky and clammy day was developing outside, and Heysham Power Station was surrounded by a threatening haze of steam. Not sorry to leave Heysham.
Back at Lancaster with two minutes to spare before the Manchester-bound 185. Made it to the platform, trying not to gasp and splutter too much in front of the composed and serene crowd of young ladies present. Found a seat in the thankfully well air-conditioned 185 and collapsed for a while. Time for some quick shopping at Piccadilly before boarding another 185 for the trip across the Pennines via Standedge Tunnel. Interesting to find myself seated next to a table of First Keolis' staff on this train and able to listen in on depot gossip. Never did find out what the strange sulphurous smell was in the tunnel however! A swift cross-platform change at York finds me in what is apparently a travelling birthday party. A group of twenty-somethings off to Newcastle to celebrate had started early - and it was hard not to get caught up in the infectious good-humour of these smart and pretty young people - even if as some commented, it's not really the way to behave in First Class.
Arrived at the impressive station at Darlington with only the vaguest idea of which direction to walk to the hotel. Like all towns where the station is a way from the centre, a strange mix of ethnic take-aways and endless barricaded newsagents lined the route. Eventually found myself beside a still river which was rather pungent in the heat. Recognised this from the map, and dodged through the cool green churchyard. The town itself wasn't unpleasant, and a wander later confirmed a mix of old and new buildings with some impressive public open spaces and a fair mix of retail opportunities. There was though, an air of desperation around the place. Saturday nights are probably the same all over England, but here the gangs of screeching girls and brawling blokes seemed more edgy somehow. I turned in early and watched the fun from my hotel window instead.
Out of work relatively early in blazing sunshine and a pleasant breeze. Wandered to the shops, popped home to get the camera, and made my way to the station in time for the early running 0Z37 convoy to the South Devon Railway.
I always intended that when the weather got better, and if I was around, I'd try to get some pictures at my local station - today was my first proper chance!
Lost::MikeGTN
I've had a home on the web for more years than I care to remember, and a few kind souls persuade me it's worth persisting with keeping it updated. This current incarnation of the site is centred around the blog posts which began back in 1999 as 'the daylog' and continued through my travels and tribulations during the following years.
I don't get out and about nearly as much these days, but I do try to record significant events and trips for posterity. You may also have arrived here by following the trail to my former music blog Songs Heard On Fast Trains. That content is preserved here too.
