As 2012 finally starts to hit its stride musically, there are suddenly lots of singles around providing previews of delights to come. After glibly proclaiming the old-fashioned single largely dead sometime earlier in my musings here, I'm suddenly finding lots of bands using just one or two tracks to tease in the weeks up to an album or EP release. What's interesting too is how bands who have perhaps an EP or two under their belts are marking these releases as their 'debut single'. For me this is all good - the idea of new music from an artist you love being something of an event, along with the anticipation it builds can only be a positive thing. So here, hot on the heels of my last round-up of single releases is another one. There is lots to listen to here, and even stuff to see linked below - and you get much less rambling from me in each case too, which can only be a bonus...

Lonely Tourist - I Live Where You Are

One of the highlights of 2011 was getting to hear Lonely Tourist for the first time, and realising with forehead-slapping dismay that while I'd been haring up and down the country seeking interesting new music, here was someone who had been busily hawking his unusual mix of modern-day folk tales, scratchy ballads and wryly observed lyrics not more than a few miles from home. With a self-released album recorded in Glasgow, and some high-profile support slots alongside the regular touring of Bristol pubs Paul Tierney ought to be a much bigger name by now. However, as a second album approaches perhaps things are about to turn his way?

Setting off at his now traditional breakneck pace, on "I Live Where You Are" Lonely Tourist invokes the spirit of Johnny Cash early on with a wonderfully twangy solo guitar. Recording with a full band on this first brand new material for a year, once again this bursts energetically with a tumble of rapid-fire lyrics and half-revealed dramas. The scratchy, skiffly acoustic guitar style fits surprisingly well into this setting and the whole thing cannons along at a satisfyingly breathless tilt. Touching on home with his description of a mood "as black as a winter Glasgow morning", Tierney brings the classic folk song theme of the itinerant hobo right up to date, rattling through a litany of couches, tenements and the vagaries of the rental housing market. Despite it's life-affirmingly singable refrain, this is all about uncertainty - and clinging on to the few solid things in life. Slowing to a pensive halt in the middle, the song builds to a note-bending, spirited wild-west style conclusion. If you're not singing along by now, then I despair of you.

There is an album coming along soon, and Lonely Tourist will undoubtedly bring his humbly simple live show to somewhere near you very soon. You really need to hear this, and whatever comes next...

Lonely Tourist - I Live Where You Are

Lonely Tourist has provided early access to "I Live Where You Are" via a pay-what-you-like deal at Bandcamp..

Where We Lay Our Heads - Bury You

It's hard to tell if Wull Swales is the luckiest or unluckiest musician in Glasgow just now. Having assembled the first incarnation of Where We Lay Our Heads in 2011 and begun to see some genuine success with an EP and some high-profile support slots, things came to an abrupt personnel-related halt at the end of last year. However, picked up and dusted off in the best tradition of impossible-to-repress Scottish bands, the new incarnation of WWLOH has pretty speedily worked it's way to this debut single. Now a four-piece centred on the writing talents of Swales, the band appear to have undergone something of a transformation from the primarily acoustic tracks I've heard previously, and "Bury You" is the first fruit of this new approach.

Opening quietly enough, focusing on Wull's engaging vocals which proudly sport their Caledonian heritage, things take a surprisingly rocking turn as a solid rhythm section kicks in and guitars chug. This is a slow-burning, pensive piece which showcases Alison Cochrane's violin, winding in and out of the song, marking out the rhythm in the verses and soaring dizzily into the choruses. Meanwhile the vocals strike a note just between desperation and sinister obsession, working things up to a crashing ending where a tangle of edgy guitar noise gives way to allow Wull the last word. A masterpiece of dynamics, there are satisfying noisy moments coupled with dramatic silences here, which all fit surprisingly well into the heartachingly desperate minor-key epic. There's no doubting a lightness of songwriting touch here on Swales part, and coupled with a band which seems to understand perfectly how to interpret these songs I've no doubt that this new incarnation of WWLOH has the potential to surpass their previous efforts. And given the speed with which they're operating just now I'm sure they're not going to be standing still, so it's probably wise to catch them in tiny venues while you can.

Where We Lay Our Heads - Bury You

Where We Lay Our Heads release "Bury You" on 19th March, via their Bandcamp and will be taking it on a short Scottish tour with LETTERS, kicking off at The Captains Rest in Glasgow on 22nd March and proceeding to Inverness, Thurso and Skye before heading through to Edinburgh's Wee Red Bar.

Quickbeam - Seven Hundred Birds

Quickbeam were one of a slew of bands I discovered a little while back via by virtue of the ever-surprising Glasgow PodcART just at the right momemnt. On a train trip through bright, wintry countryside this beautifully simple mix of alluring vocals and melancholy traditional instrumentation clicked into place and sent me scurrying off to find out what I could. Apparently named for one of the ponderous, wise old Ents in 'The Lord of The Rings', any sense of whimsy ends there. But the slowed, gentle approach this suggests is an appropriate one - Quickbeam's music is glacial and graceful as much as it is dark and mysterious.

Previewed by a rather special video being promoted with unashamed excitement by Glasgow's emerging Comets and Cartwheels project, "Seven Hundred Birds" is the first single as such from Quickbeam despite a couple of collections of demos which have circulated among those deeply smitten by the band for a while. A plangent bass drum beats the rhythm while a harmonium moans amid spirals of wonderously mournful violin courtesy of recent new member Nichola Kerr. Monika Gromek's vocals are sparing, giving the music room to breathe - but when she sings in her wonderfully understated and gentle way, the atmosphere deepens and the tone darkens. The production and recording of "Seven Hundred Birds" is a triumph too - every gasp from the harmonium captured, silences and spaces preserved to provide a sense of depth and distance - like you're hearing something ancient and reverent. There is a line here where Gromek sings of "a painting that's escaped the frame" - and perhaps that is the best description for Quickbeam? A moment of beauty, briefly and gloriously animated.

Quickbeam - Seven Hundred Birds

You can see the video for "Seven Hundred Birds" here on Vimeo. The single is released via Comets and Cartwheels on 9th April. You can also find the recent teaser "Tide" for download at Bandcamp.

It's a rare privilege nowadays to wake up in London with time to spare. In fact it's been years since I've stayed with no pressing engagement early on, or a mad dash homewards to contemplate. So this felt a bit special. More so because I was in that liminal zone between Clerkenwell and Bloomsbury, the City Widened Lines rumbling just feet beneath me - and by definition the Fleet River not far away in it's anonymous culvert. It was also shaping up to be a bright cold day - the best kind for wandering around the city. I started by retracing my steps to Exmouth Market to survey the devastation I'd witness briefly on Friday night. Regeneration has wreaked a selective kind of havoc here - some buildings remain much as I remember them, shopfronts re-used by new sushi bars and boutique bakeries. Others have developed new, modern frontages with wide doors opening onto the cafe culture outside. There was much less sunday morning detritus than I recall too. However the great loss, the Sandwich Bar wedged into the awkward angle of Tysoe Street had definitely gone. Disappeared behind a hoarding advertising the very regenerative efforts which had swept it away. A union flag still draped in the upper window defiantly. I remember writing about the imagined tribulations of the attractive but always frowning foreign owner as I watched her from across the street in Starbucks, feeling guilty I wasn't spending my money in her establishment. Perhaps too many of us did that?

I pressed on into Clerkenwell Close. Here little has changed, and only the lingering afterburn of last night's chargrilling reminded me just how much this place has transformed into a destination for an evening out. When I last padded the streets, this was beginning - Clerkenwell had undergone its most recent shift from abandoned commercial zone into loft-living and media industry offices. Now it's shifting again it seems. This bothered me less, because this has always been a centre of change - a swirling eddy of people coming into the city and others being thrown out to the suburbs. I wanted to see how the reworking of Farringdon Station was affecting the landscape too, and I was perhaps unprepared for the extent of this. The western side of Turnmill Street was an endless hoarding behind which TfL were working their magic, a new entrance to the railway taking shape slowly. Turning into Cowcross Street, I noticed the entire beautifully tiled building which mirrored the station had disappeared. A new, oddly nude view across the gulf of the track had appeared. The station building remained, dwarfed by the portacabins and temporary structures around the new buildings. There was an access, but it was clogged with builders starting work for the day. I headed for more coffee to contemplate this odd rip in my memory of the area.

Further retracing my steps I decided to head for Euston via Theobalds Road and a walk across Bloomsbury's strange boundary lands. Along Lambs Conduit Street I negotiated clumps of tourists, unceremoniously turfed out of their accommodation at check-out time and wandering with their luggage, attempting sight-seeing where there are few sights of note in their guidebooks. For my part, the walk beside the Foundling Hospital and into Marchmont Street was full of familiar and unchanged sights. The street awake and busy on a Sunday morning in all its multicultural strangeness and incongruous comfort. Passing the inexplicably plush new UNISON building I entered a flustered and busy Euston Station concourse. I had a pleasurable afternoon spin up the West Coast to look forward too, but these downtrodden travellers appeared to want to be anywhere but here. Once again I felt a little guilty to be at ease against the tide.

Last year seemed to end with a mad dash around the country, which of course dried up over Christmas with little prospect of a programme of events beginning until now. Thus, eager to snap up any opportunity of a trip early in the year, I booked myself onto a number of tours the moment they were announced. Today's excursion was one of them - and from it's inception it sounded like a fairly good prospect. Eschewing the early start down south, a respectable time off New Street, a trundle down into South Wales and up the elusive Gwaun-cae-Gurwen branch, then up the Heart of Wales line back to the Midlands - with a brief break at Llandrindod Wells for good measure. However, the snow and rain which began the year soon put paid to the GCG routing, with the track now in poor condition thanks to the weather. It also seems like the trip had proved popular with the normals, as Pathfinder kept the remainder of the timings with a much longer break at Llandrindod. Cancelling wasn't a smart financial move, so I found myself making an uncharacteristically late start from the usual digs in Birmingham this morning. Time enough for a relaxing coffee and some contemplation of the busy scenes in the station before getting some breakfast and heading down to the platform for our train, which arrived on time despite it's long journey up from Eastleigh.

Once on board, noted that there were only a handful of familiar faces, and plenty of rather troubled looking normal folk who seemed to find the chatter among the enthusiasts distasteful. Contrasted this with last weeks equally mixed trip which seemed a little more temperate by comparison. Contented myself with quaffing the free coffee and getting warm again after the chill of New Street's platforms. Once out of the tunnels and past a bottleneck at Kings Norton, we gathered pace via the Lickey Incline and pressed on towards Gloucester and then Newport via the Severn Estuary. The morning was alternating between threatening clouds and pleasant bright spells, and it was good to be skirting the river with 66031 at the front as we headed for South Wales.

After passing through both Newport and Cardiff on non-platform lines we again gathered speed along the South Wales mainline towards Port Talbot. At Court Sart Junction we turned for the Swansea District Line, skirting the city and taking a curve north to Dynevor Junction, now in glorious sunshine. With the GCG branch out of the plan, the one little section of new track for me was the few chains between Grovesend Colliery Loop Junction and Hendy Junction - in other words, the curve from the District Line onto the Heart of Wales. I'm actually certain it must have been in the plan for a previous tour - but since it wasn't inked it was worth considering as new! From here we began the slow stagger up the Heart of Wales, passing increasingly rugged scenery outside the window until we reached the summit at Sugar Loaf among mountains still capped with snow. From here it was a short descent to Llandrindod, which we reached under some fairly bleak skies and dark clouds.

Once off the train, I joined a small bunch of keen types who were walking along the road out of town in order to get a picture of the loco. Despite the bushes being aggressively flailed, there was no clear shot until the train drew forward into the siding north of the platform. Watched as the Fire Tender arrived to water the coaching stock, then walked to the level crossing and finally got a respectable view. Turned back towards town, and skirted the other side of the track, where opportunities for pictures were even more sparse. The next couple of hours in Llandrindod passed very slowly and coldly. It is, I confess, an attractive little town. However, most of it seemed closed today. The only cafes open seemed to be of the rather twee variety, and a decent coffee was out of the question. Circled the town, and found the entrance to the spa and Y Gwalia offices which occupy an impressive former hotel building. The history of tourism here was evident, and persisted in a stream of coaches which seemed to be arriving for a break on their scenic progress through the Elan Valley. Sought refuge in Somerfield, before heading back to the station where half of the train seemed to be waiting, having come to the same conclusion that Llandrindod on a March Saturday afternoon wasn't a great prospect. Noted that the Fish and Chip shop which had done a huge trade on my last visit was already closed. Waited for the train, cold and a bit confused by the purpose of the trip.

The train finally arrived in a complicated flurry of manoeuvres to satisfy the RETB signalling - first passing through the platform and going beyond the stop board, then pulling in again, before drawing up further to let the rest of the train board. It was all managed rather well, but it still angered an elderly chap who expressed his lack of understanding and unhappiness to Mr Paget in no uncertain terms! Once back on board, settled in for more free coffee and the rest of the line to Shrewsbury. Hung from the window a little here before the light finally failed, noting 97302 on the new depot at Sutton Bridge. Soon away into the gloom, around the curve at Abbey Foregate, and back to Birmingham via Bescot. A rather short day by my standards once again, but a pleasant enough trip which kept to time.

I don't want to sound ungrateful or elitist - but I'm still not sure what this trip was for. Over two hours in Llandrindod seemed to alienate more punters than it pleased, although they were happy enough on board the train, watching the scenery go by. The lack of a replacement for the GCG branch seemed to alienate the 'crank' element too. I enjoyed my day - it's a rare event for me to travel the Heart of Wales line, and interesting to see the changes over the past few years - but, it was an expensive way of doing the trip for sure. The year seems to be picking up now, and the dark days of December with it's desperate bookings is a distant enough memory. An outing with the Western beckons, and that's always an interesting experience!

Some days just start out well. Took the usual locomotive hauled set to Weston as per my working-day routine. However, having waved off the locals heading for work, settled in with coffee and a paper to wait for the 08:32 which was to take me all the way to Manchester Piccadilly. Arrived on time, so found my seat in First Class and settled in for the ride. Excellent refreshments and great service all the way, and some cracking weather too which was a huge bonus given the record of recent days off! No great surprises in terms of route, but some more mileage racked up in very pleasant surroundings.

On arrival, made a dash out to the Ian Allan bookshop to grab my 2009 combined volume, before heading down to the Metrolink platforms for the brief trip across town to Manchester Victoria. Time for a coffee and a quick email check before finding my way to the platform. The plan here was to take a couple of trips on the Class 180 'Adelantes' which had relocated here from the south west. Abundantly clear this wasn't happening on the outward leg, as an ailing 142 occupied the platform, getting later and later as staff failed to fix a fault. Finally left a good few minutes down, and by judicious use of Live Departure Boards, resolved to change at Chorley rather than Preston as planned. After a very brief wander around Chorley station and it's immediate environs, headed back to the station and waited in the sun for the next southbound train. 180108 duly produced, and I had the surreal experience of occupying a brief trip in the declassified First Class saloon in a well-used but far too long unit!

Back into Manchester in good time to make the hike from the through platforms to the main trainshed for the afternoon circular route via Glossop and Hadfield. I'd visited Glossop a couple of winters back, and had a pleasant pint or two while wondering how exactly to cover the other bit of the triangle at the rather sad ending of the former Woodhead route to Sheffield. Having done my research in PSUL I'd noted that some of the peak trains did all three sides, and this service duly covered the track calling first at Glossop then reversing to call at Hadfield, then returning to Dinting and rejoining the outward route. In the growing evening gloom with the landscape falling into deep shadow, I realised I recognised the names hereabout from documentary coverage Yorkshire Ripper. A chilling feeling as we sped through some fairly forlorn surroundings back to the metropolis.

Back onto the Metrolink to Victoria to find my accommodation for the evening. This involved a short walk into the city which was still busy with shoppers and commuters. Found Blackfriars Road and headed over the river to the hotel. As I arrived I noted a huge hot pink road sign proclaiming - "Welcome - You are now", and then, with the spatial equivalent of a pause for dramatic effect at the sign's foot "IN Salford". I actually found myself stopping to ponder quite what the sign meant, and confess I still can't quite grasp it's significance. I'd have taken a snap but for the poor light and crowds jostling me on the rather narrow strip of pavement. Thankfully other's have done so. My accommodation was busy, and a single, frazzled operator was manning the desk as I stepped over stags and hens already carousing in the corridor. It was going to be a strange weekend...