When the man of many pseudonyms, Heinz Junkins pressed a hand-decorated copy of this album into my hand in a dark corner of The Fleece, he was perhaps a little reluctant to let go of this precious cargo. "I think it's finished..." he trailed off, before disappearing once again into the crowd on a mission to distribute more copies of the disc. It was unclear at this point how, when or in what strange form the album - which delights in the enigmatic title "Yard Is Open" - would surface, so I decided on the idea of a preview so that the few readers who endure my ramblings could get some sense of what was to come. However, after living with the OLO Worms debut album for a good few months now, I'm not sure I'm any the wiser. But the good news is that very soon indeed, you will be able to hear this curious, shifting beast of a record for yourselves, in it's near almost impossible to pin down glory. So I'm certainly not nearly ready to produce my usual screed of glib pronouncements and platitudes about it. Instead I thought I'd present the notes I made on the very first listen to the record. That way, you can perhaps experience with me the sounds, the sights and perhaps even the strange barnyard smells which herald this important milestone in the OLO Worms career... But firstly, the challenge is to figure out what's real and what's a product of your overworked and fanciful imagination. From the very opening seconds, this is a multi-layered, dense recording. Samples of conversation, strange sound effects and unexpected instrumental blarts appear then are gone as swiftly as they arrive. Did you really just hear that - or is it your excited synapses independently filling in the gaps? The OLO Worms inhabit a sort of post-media world, where all of the streams - television, music, and the endless babble of social networks - have melded into a single torrent of semi-consciousness. From this dreamlike tumble of images, snippets and soundbites they manage to extract the most absurd, and sometimes the least consequential - but then they reassemble them into something improbable, often hilarious, and almost always rather beautiful. I've long held that laughter is as relevant a means of appreciating music as any chin-stroking, aridly academic approach - and there are many laughs to be had as this surprising record spins out - from huge belly-laughs to more nervous, uncomfortable tittering at things which are only just in the realms of sanity, there is a sense of humour and genuine delight at the core of this album which shines strongly through. Some may find this difficult - because music has to be serious right? Well, no - you're wrong.
On the opening track "Barnyard", the narrator from Jeff Wayne's "War of the Worlds" seems to have fallen on hard times, and finds himself describing strange post-apocalyptic scenes in a world closely approximating our own. However, he is quick to point out that these were "old times/a wooden time". The shocking dystopian vision of post-modern society inhabiting a farmyard spins out over a swooningly lovely backdrop. Blasts of brass and an angelic chorus of voices fill out the spaces created by a shuffling, baggy beat. It's like Primal Scream meeting J.G Ballard in a shopping centre - probably during 1991-2 when both were enjoying something of a renaissance. Something more familiar but no less remarkable arrives next, in the form of "Back From England" release on a Fence 7" single from 2010. This, I can state almost certainly, remains the only record ever to claim "Dino Freak" as it's primary genre. Whilst no agreed definition for this is recorded, in practice this seems to mean insistently throbbing bass, shuffling woodblock-heavy percussion and sinister, haunted vocals which descend into a distinctly home-counties accented rap at the end. Seemingly random crys of "Mexico 1986!" carbon date these boys and give a hint to some of the formative experiences which underpin the OLO aesthetic. I'm sensing almost-complete Panini sticker albums somewhere in the OLO Worms collective past? I bet they always swapped to get the metallic silver team badges though. Onwards into the unknown once again, and I've found myself scouring social media for the evidence to support the next track - as I distinctly recalled seeing a picture of a sheet of paper with the lyrics of this odd little song scrawled on them - some business about actors who steal tractors? And sure enough, buried deep on Facebook is a lyric sheet for "Ol' Boozy's Chug Thump". The name of this short, demented hoedown has survived the long gestation period of this record, along with the curious lyrical preoccupations. Taking almost as long to complete its fade out to silence as the entirety of the frantic rant lasts, this is a torrent of sometimes painful but wonderfully silly rhymes which dance around the country-lite rhythm playfully. Meanwhile odd sounds rebound around the mix, creating a cartoon-like strangeness. With "Ol' Boozy" safely back in the barn, a tinkling cascade of metallic noise, like the heartsinking moment that house keys fall down a concrete staircase begins the next track entitled "Strays", before a slightly off-kilter falsetto vocal kicks in with a refrain of "if you cut it right off/it starts the slippery slope". Benefiting from the attentions of fellow Fence artist Rozi Plain, this is again rather beautiful. A mildly warped guitar joins along with a shudder of electronic undertow while things develop into something of an OLO anthem. Don't be fooled though, this isn't Coldplay or anything - not unless you played them at the wrong speed and in a different room at least. Then again, it's pleasing to imagine this soundtracking "goal of the month" at some future point perhaps?
Following swiftly, "Barbershop" visits further uncharted - and perhaps advisedly so - waters. It begins with a interview which rivals in significance the Frost/Nixon encounter as Junkins stages a Skype summit with Rebecca Taylor of Slow Club fame. Their meandering chatter spans topics serious and bizarre, Taylor's honest and open northern vowels lulling us into a sense of false security as the music slowly winds into life. Then, with little warning of what is about to occur, a change of pace is signalled by a strange mockenspiel sound and suddenly a slinky, Barry White style groove sets up. This is accompanied by frankly some of the sleaziest vocals I've ever heard. The voice starts shrill then dips furtively and rather lewdly low, before resurfacing as an unhinged bark later in the track. It's mostly all about sexy hairdressing it seems - which is certainly largely untouched territory for pop music. The last words are left for Rebecca, with an animalistic groan of "Hubba Hubba!". I feel a bit grimy after this, to be honest. Cleansing is supplied by the sixth track, "Whacked By Pillow" which is a comparatively downbeat and pensive affair. It skitters in with the sound of a plague of insects, and centres on a delicate acoustic guitar melody which, along with the tinkling of wooden percussion and some tribal beats, provides a backdrop to sinister half-whispered vocals. There is a certain cinematic quality to this, but it would be one of those foreign films - probably impenetrably complex, likely black and white, and certainly with subtitles. Though in what strange language I'd not presume to guess. Stabs of metallic noise and gnarled twists of crunchy guitar add to the atmosphere as the moody bassline climbs towards the song's climax and the OLO's provide a weird collective choral accompaniment. This all coalesces into something pretty spectacular - a slow-burning, dark knot of loveliness in the eye of a sometimes unsettling storm of an album.
Familiar from the recent "Image EP" and previously one of the groundbreaking "Polaroid" projects, the always welcome "Snake" explodes into life via a 16-bit computer sound - probably swiped from the part of the game when you defeat the level boss. Then a waspish, dub bassline stutters and shudders into life with what I can only describe as queer electronic biting and rending sounds punctuating the mix. Meanwhile a choir of voices coincidentally intones the melody from "Stepping Stone" by the Monkees, giving the whole thing a triumphant and anthemic air. Nagging electric guitar shards add to the complicated and heady brew, before the retro computer sounds drift back in while a distant voice states that "There's a circle forming inside of my head..." before asking that age old, but ever important question "Are you a girl?". I can see this one provoking lots of interesting remixes and potentially getting lots of dance-savvy people excited - and if it can get an old duffer like me shuffling around the living room its powers may know no limits. A marine influence permeates the next, very strange song entitled "Flipper". A bleepy, electronic affair which sets its stall out early with "dolphins with laser guns" and the most remarkable chain of rhymes I've heard in some years involving alsatians, crustaceans, mutations, lubrication, fumigation and a host of other concerns too unsettling to mention. Beneath this is another of the absurdly addictive dub grooves which pop up throughout this record, shot through with melodic tumbles of guitar and earwax-loosening buzzing sounds. While thus far it's clear we can attribute many unique attributes to the OLO Worms, I'm moved to wonder if they in fact possess the power to reanimate the dearly departed, because for their next trick on "Curves" they appear to have raised the shade of George Harrison and introduced him to in passing to Galaxie 500 for a shimmery, acoustic drift with military drums and gently melodic vocals provided by Gareth Jones. This is, by OLO standards, a ballad - focused on rockets and relationships. It's a strangely formal musical interlude in a record which is generally unpredictable, but it ably demonstrates that this band is capable of expressing many moods and making really conventionally beautiful things alongside their more avant garde artistic endeavours.
As the album approaches its conclusion there are a couple of very odd, short, discordant interludes - the first of which extols the virtues of a varied diet as it suggests "Eating Every Living Thing" while clanging Beefheart-like guitars echo around the voices and pizza is consumed loudly and gluttonously. The second very short piece delights in the incongruously grand title of "Sometimes I Like To Take The Long Route Home" and introduces a muted trumpet - the sort of thing which signals a pratfall in an Ealing Comedy. It parps oddly for just around a minute or so - its hard to say exactly why of course, but it introduces a sort of nostalgic note to proceedings by evoking black and white films on wet Sunday afternoons. The end of the album proper comes with the pulsing, epic and complex beast which is "Sphinx". The jungle sound effects, twittering electronic noises and almost sub-sonic bassline are merely an introduction to a truly unhinged rap. This song mutates several times during it's course, and is often many things at the same time. I'd urge listening on headphones, perhaps with an another adult in the house - just in case, you understand - you can never be too careful with these things. The next twist brings in echoing, hollow stadium-rock guitars and a police siren which build to sonically uncomfortable levels. When it has reached its almost unbearable zenith it rather unexpectedly becomes a slice of tinny 1980s hair-metal, complete with screamy rock vocals, before ending it's tortured existance with a single stroke on a triangle. In common with much of this record, there is so much going on here, layered in such challenging and unusual ways that it's near impossible to describe in any coherent sense.
It's taken a long time for this collection of songs to come together in the form of an album - and it's fairly certain that before it finally reaches you, the listener, there will be all kinds of strange happenings to ensure it becomes a multimedia event in it's own right. It's important to remember here that the last OLO Worms EP was realised in the form of both a tiny vinyl USB-equipped coffin and a large, cumbersome vinyl cube. And that perhaps is part of the sense of balance the OLO Worms set up - tapping into the torrent of signals which showers all of us, every second of the day, they make damn sure they give something back which is greater than the sum of what they've misappropriated. They are always listening to the weird background chittering which most of us manage to tune out, and whether it takes the form of innovative music or just a picture of lots of cats considering some fishermen, they're tapping into its latent artistic possibilities. In some ways, "Yard Is Open" has benefited from this long, slow public birth via social media - a concept which suits the OLO Worms perfectly with its endless stream of ideas, incongruities and absurdities. And quite apart from the initial oddness of this music and the deliberate attempts to abstract things away from the idea of a traditional 'band', this is a damn good record. There are moments of buttock-clenchingly tight art-pop, absurd rock-outs, perverse raps and lots of curious insights into the strange world of the OLO Worms.
OLO Worms - Curves
The OLO Worms will release "Yard Is Open" on 13th August, and will launch this via live appearance at the Louisiana in Bristol on 10th August and The Old Police Station, Deptford on 11th August. The unsettling but hugely entertaining video for "Strays" can be seen here to give you just a hint of what to expect. In the meantime you can still obtain the digital release of the "Image EP" from Bandcamp, which provides an introductory glimpse into the world of the OLO Worms. The 7" single release of "Back From England" is also still available via Fence Records.
It's my custom here to try to comment on things as soon after they happen as possible, but this weekend has been extraordinary in a number of ways, and the need to get some rest and reflect on a fantastic few days has been welcome. I've tried to recollect the events of the past few days as accurately as possible, and probably included far too many pictures of Western Champion in the process. I make no apology - it was a remarkable weekend...
Day 1 - The Northern Lights
Friday started feeling a little chilly and apprehensive. There were a lot of variables involved in this trip, and lots that could go wrong. In fact I'd probably spent more time and money arranging this than some of my jaunts to the USA years ago! However, my fear that FGW might scupper me at the first hurdle were unfounded, and the 05:49 got me to Bristol in time to queue behind various Pathfinder stewards for coffee and breakfast. The stock was already in platform 5, with 'Royal Skip' 67005 at the helm as had been widely predicted the previous evening. Noted that we'd be at the back for the journey northwards, but some mental calculations based on the timings confirmed this would mean being as close as possible to the loco on the return trip.
An ontime departure followed, and as we picked up along the way it became clear that this was going to be an entertaining trip based on fellow travellers in Coach H. Sat back, enjoyed the decent weather and listened to the banter. It was clear that this trip had brought together a real mixture of people - retired bashers long since off the scene, people with a more current interest, preservationists, indeed given the 'long weekend' format of the trip a good few people had brought along significant others. Settled in for the ride up to Bescot Yard, with a real sense of excitement building as everyone waited for the star turn.
And so, D1015 took over the train. After a smooth, swift loco change we were soon heading north, rejoining the WCML at Bushbury and making very quick progress northwards. It's been four years since I've had the pleasure of a run behind Western Champion and I'd forgotten just how quick and effortless it all felt. Occasionally we were brought to a stand, and even nine coaches from the engine there was an audible growl from the loco and a gust of smoke as we moved away. It was all so effortless in fact that the hours seemed to disappear along with the miles, with neither Shap nor Beattock presenting any problems for Champion. In Quintinshill loop, Dick Unpronouncable set a trend for the weekend by making an announcement about the terrible rail crash of 1915. He repeated his unfortunately disaster-focused commentaries at Bannockburn, Culloden and even a particularly treacherous level crossing at Murthly - which lead to cries of "how many died here then?" every time he announced further points of interest. Once we'd skirted the southern suburbs of Glasgow and worked our way around via Law Junction, Mossend and Cumbernauld, we gained the line north, and began to climb into really wild country. Despite the dire warnings, the promised bad weather hadn't really made an appearance at all - and only in the perpetually grim and forsaken Pass of Druimuachdar did it begin to rain a little during a brief wait at Dalwhinnie.
Soon on our way again, and as we descended from Slochd towards Inverness, the sun breached the clouds and the Moray Firth appeared with the distant mountains in Sutherland bathed in light despite the late hour. There was something quite inspiring about the sight - and fittingly someone quietly, almost reverently, pointed out "bloody hell - a Western has made it to Inverness!". Nobody seemed to want to leave the platform after we'd arrived, with Champion gently ticking over on the buffer stops it certainly felt like we'd all been part of something special. Eventually everyone began to drift off to hotels, pubs and restaurants to celebrate a fantastic day out.
Day 2 - How The West Was Won
After a well-earned sleep in a very nice hotel in Town, wandered down early to do a little shopping and enjoy a coffee before the off. It was strange to have plenty of time to make my way to the start of a railtour for a change, but couldn't resist heading for the station early and found plenty of others had felt the same way. Lazed around in fantastic sunshine, chatting and watching units coming and going. There had been much debate about the arrangements for the trip today, but I'd stuck to my guns on this - Champion would lead the stock into platform 1 or 2 - being the only suitably long ones for the train. It then seemed we'd be propelled back to Welsh's Bridge to take the Rose Street Curve to reach the lines heading for Dingwall. This meant the bonus for me of picking up this otherwise hard to get bit of PSUL track. With this manoeuvre completed as planned we made a cautious crossing of the swing bridge at Clacknaharrie before picking up speed as we headed alongside the Beauly Firth towards Dingwall. Had breakfast on the train, and also sampled a few of the ales on board as we turned west onto the Kyle line. There were a mixture of people on board - some hadn't been this way for many years, others had never ventured this far north. However, as we slowly climbed towards the formidable outpost of Raven's Rock, everyone seemed somewhat subdued by the frankly awe-inspiring scenery outside the train. A brief pause to let a unit pass at Achnasheen before we pressed onwards, hugging the shores of Loch Carron as we descended towards the coast.
Eventually, after a fairly swift run we curved into the terminus at Kyle of Lochalsh under amazing blue skies. An emotional moment here, as those responsible for making this trip possible assembled in front of the loco for an impromptu seminar. The last two days had displayed admirably the fantastic efforts which have been undertaken to keep D1015 in tip-top condition. After the obligatory photographs, the crowds went their separate ways in order to fill a long afternoon stop here. For my part, after exploring the village - something I've not had time to do before in the short turn-arounds between trains - I took the bus over the Skye Bridge soaring high over the narrow straight that formerly required a ferry journey. Spent a little while exploring tiny but attractive village of Kyleakin and actually found myself relaxing and not thinking about work for the first time in a very long time. Instead pondered how tricky it must have been to sustain these communities which relied so heavily on the ferry, now that the bridge takes the traffic flying past them.
Returned by bus to Kyle and had a late lunch sitting on the station platform and reading, while waiting for the stock of our train to be shunted. This was a complex process, involving the entire train being propelled out of the non-preferred platform 2 and into the more often-used platform 1 which allowed the loco to release and run around the coaches. Once reattached, D1015 propelled the train back to the buffers - and ended up making a second attempt due to a problem with the RETB signalling. Joined the group on the road bridge to watch and get pictures of these manoeuvres - which are strange and unusual now in the age of a multiple-unit railway.
As people drifted back to join the train for the trip back, a piper turned up and busked for the the crowds on the station. For the first time though, we were at the front of the train and the only music I was really interested in hearing was from Western Champion's twin Maybach engines as she made the long ascent back to Luib Summit. First though we had a photo stop - originally planned for Strathcarron, but rescheduled to take place at Stromeferry to prevent the train blocking a level crossing. This proved to be a very fortunate choice as, once we'd stopped we were beckoned across the line to photograph the train. It's a very long time since this has happened on a railtour, and it contributed to the sense that this was adding up to a very special event.
Treated myself to a further sampling of ales which had been procured on Skye to replace the stock which had been drunk dry on the outward trip. Some very unusual beers almost unheard of on the mainland too. After a storming, noisy run back to Inverness we again used the Rose Street Curve and backed into the platform. Lots of very happy and slightly sun-burned faces as the assembled crowds dispersed to various venues around the city to celebrate another successful day out!
Day 3 - Taking The Long Way Home
Another decent night's sleep - a rare thing lately - and soon checked out of the hotel and into Inverness early. Always interesting to watch a city wake up on a Sunday, and managed to make myself the first customer of the day at the coffee shop. Joined the assembling crowds at the station, again in glorious weather, and awaited the arrival of our train. Once again propelled in from the yard, with our coach as close to the front as possible. Away on time, and a twinge of regret as we watched Inverness disappear into the distance as the line climbed to Culloden and turned south. Our first stop was after the fairly brief journey to Aviemore. Took the opportunity for a photograph here, where the crowds across the platform managed to persuade a piper waiting for a train south to pose beside the train and play the pipes briefly for us all. The rather bewildered and admittedly hung-over piper explained that he'd played at a barbecue the previous evening and was heading back to Pitlochry. He seemed genuinely bewildered by the arrival of Western Champion and all the activity, but was soon offered a lift to Perth where he could easily double back to get home. He accepted, and this meant that our next brief stop at Perth also included a performance. As we left the station, with an outrageously loud performance by Champion the piper stood at the end of the platform and piped the train on it's way. A fitting farewell to the Highlands!
From Perth we took the Ladybank line, then the little-used link at Thornton North Junction to follow the Fife Circle through Dunfermline, as the more direct route was closed for works. Eventually made it to the very brink of the Forth Bridge, where there was something of a slip-up with the loco and we ground to a halt. After a brief, worrying moment, things were back underway and we thundered over the immense structure triumphantly, arriving only a few minutes late at Edinburgh Waverley. After a short pause here we set off with an explosive departure through Calton North Tunnel, before slowing at Portobello to take the Suburban Lines. Another bit of required track for me as we curved west again at Niddrie West Junction, then took the line from Craiglockhart Junction to Slateford Junction to access the line to Carstairs and eventually the WCML homewards. With the afternoon proving to be very warm, and a good range of beer left on the train, it was a sleepy trip back to the Midlands. Lots of banter, and plenty of congratulations for the team from the DTG and Pathfinder for the successful weekend. It was around this time that people - some of them very old, experienced hands at this game - started to talk about this being "the best railtour ever". High praise indeed.
Hopped out at Birmingham New Street to watch D1015 detach and head off into the sunset. It had been such a spectacular few days that no-one even managed a disparaging comment for 66206 which DBS had supplied for our journey back to Bristol, perhaps helped by this being a particularly rare example of the class as far as passenger work is concerned? Arrived back at Bristol and made the short trek to my base for the evening, tired but very happy indeed. Well over a thousand miles later, and having been blessed with excellent weather, good company and most of all, fantastic running from a fine locomotive, it's easy to see why even the organisers were considering this one of the best ever. This trip will be remembered for a very long time by those of us who made the trek up to Kyle for the first time with a Western!
So, having recuperated and reflected today - was it the best railtour ever? It's hard to say because there are always surprises around the corner. Certainly, there was a palpable sense of history being made over the weekend which added to a celebratory atmosphere. Great weather, a stunning location and fantastic motive power made for a very special event indeed. Trudging back home this morning, feeling knackered and a little bit miserable that it was all over, I came to the conclusion that this will definitely take some beating!
Read that following it's failure yesterday at Newton Abbot, 'Duke of Gloucester' was to move to Barton Hill today for attention. Given that the failure was described as serious, and that we'd heard tails on the way back from Cranmore yesterday of some difficulty in moving the loco, expected it to be hauled back. Set out for the station in blazing sunshine, very different to yesterday's gloom. Met a familiar face and passed the time chatting. The peace and quiet of a Sunday at Highbridge station was soon shattered by 66621 heading back to Fairwater Yard.
A few minutes later, having watched a light in the distance for what seemed like miles along the flat, straight track, The Duke passed under it's own steam - albeit carefully and not nearly as fast as it's passed Highbridge before.
Strange, quiet weekend. Prepared for Monday's first set of Appeal Hearings, and rebuilt GNOME. Fixed Evolution bug with a build from CVS, meaning its collecting local mail once again - amazed that 1.4.0 shipped with such a fundamental bug - even if it did surface in a rather late snapshot prior to XD2 being released. Tidied and prepared for things I won't have time to do next week. FuzzyTheBear prompted me to hack on Denzil some more. Fixed the build system, and set up CVS. Spent some time with Fuzzy encouraging CVS to work, and getting Denzil to build.
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.
