Despite heading into London by train on a fairly regular basis these days, I'm much less likely to find myself patrolling the network with anything like my former frequency. In particular, trips to points north are far less common and my familiarity with some places where I'd once have popped-up frequently has long since diminished. Some things though, never change - and so my first port of call on arriving at Bristol Temple Meads on the first leg of our journey to Manchester was the Customer Services desk. We'd been sold an empty promise - an 09:41 to Gloucester which simply didn't exist. The Filton Four-Tracking works were clearly going to cause us to have a long and fairly convoluted trip today - but I was surprised that it was going to be quite this tricky. As it happened, Great Western's staff sorted things swiftly by passing us on the 09:45 Crosscountry service to Birmingham New Street which took a long, lazy wander out to Swindon then reversed to amble up the Golden Valley Line via Kemble and Stroud before regaining its regular route at Standish Junction. At New Street of course we were left at the mercy of the Train Manager on the next service north - but a friendly and understanding railwayman let us travel in First Class for our troubles. I lazily dozed as we sped north on a route which I'd not travelled for a good few years. We arrived in Manchester a little late but relaxed and relieved to not have been too troubled by the awkward beginning to our trip. A swift tram ride through the busy city centre, basking in unusual bright sunshine, and we were at our hotel for the next two nights. It was good to be back.
Our last visit to Manchester had been on the hottest day of the summer, in a hotel which decided not to air-condition its upper floors. Predictably it hadn't created positive memories and much of the visit passed in a frustrating haze of heat. This weekend was predicted to be warm too but less intensely so, and we were able to get out and explore the city a little. During our stay I took my customary, early morning strolls and found myself approaching familiar streets from a different angle. All of my previous visits had focused on the narrow, north-south axis between Piccadilly and Victoria. This time I found myself crossing my own path and happening upon corners which I'd passed often but never turned. Manchester now, of course is a much changed city - vibrant, busy and cosmopolitan in comparison to my earliest visits. I negotiated the relatively recent Second City Crossing with some confusion, finding trams where I didn't expect them. Finally, and rather remarkably on the anniversary of the last time I stayed, I happened upon the Merchant's Hotel - a grim reminder that things had changed for me, if not for this forsaken hovel which was remarakbly still in business! On Sunday afternoon we wandered the Northern Quarter's busy market which I confess to finding a little dizzyingly busy, but the walk was rewarded with good coffee - first with indifferent service in Foundation Coffee and then in the much more welcoming Takk. We zig-zagged back to the hotel via Piccadilly Gardens, busy in the bright afternoon.
The main event though, and the reason for this trek up north, was the live My Favorite Murder. This has been a frequently heard podcast here for some time, and when tickets were announced earlier in the year, I knew I had to ensure they were secured! A VIP package meant some merchandise, priority entry and seating, and perhaps more nervewracking for both of us, a chance to meet Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark. I'm not great with celebrity - projecting my own thoughts onto them by imagining that they really just want us to leave them alone - but for others, it was the thrill of meeting people who've become heroes of a sort. Their irreverently funny but touching and sensitive forays into true crime have become a defence against homesickness - a little slice of the saner and calmer America delivered via the airwaves. We ate a swift dinner before heading to the Albert Hall - a former church turned concert hall which appeared to be crumbling from within, paint peeling and fixtures wobbling with little concern for modern health and safety rules. The bright sunshine illuminated the art-nouveau style stained glass from outside, giving the whole place a strange glow. While the performers found their 'daytime' show a little odd at first, the venue couldn't have been more perfect. I surveyed the crowd - predominantly female and a defiant mix of geeky types which it was a delight to be part of. I made conversation with a young gent sat next to me accompanying his girlfriend as a birthday gift. We speculated on the murders which might feature - what might be 'too soon' or 'too local' to land well. We played the reluctantly dragged spouses at first, but soon gave in to the admission we were looking forward to this too.
A couple of hours later we stumbled out into the dark of Peter Street, having met the perfectly delightful pair of presenters for a few short minutes. A little starstruck, still laughing at the show we stopped in for a beer before heading back to the hotel where yet again the ever declining Premier Inn brand let us down on customer service yet again. It wasn't going to spoil the day though - and consoled ourselves in knowing that the final night of our trip was being paid for by my talent for complaining. The next morning after a fine breakfast at Friska, a nearby eatery which appears to have made the leap from Bristol to Manchester, we headed for the station to cross the Pennines to York. On our last trip, a genuinely bizarre performance by the staff of Hotel Indigo had resulted in a full refund, an apology and an offer of dinner, bed and breakfast on the hotel in order that we could experience their normal level of service. The trip from Piccadilly brought back memories of long-ago excursions: craning my neck to see what was lurking on Guide Bridge Yard, secretly wishing I could stop off at the fine Station Buffet at Stalybridge and marvelling at the sudden burst into Yorkshire at the end of Standedge Tunnel. We soon found ourselves approaching York in wonderful sunshine, the station gleaming golden in the afternoon light. It was good to be back in a favourite spot.
After checking in - a much less irritating experience this time I'm glad to say - we headed out to catch up with friends at the York Tap. It was good to meet old friends and new, and to see some happy faces too. All too soon it was time to head back for our complimentary dinner. It was - well, better than last time - but still a long, drawn out and rather odd experience. As the restaurant closed around us while we waited for our dessert we speculated that this would probably have generated a complaint if we were paying. After this, we were a little wary of breakfast - but were greeted by one of the best spreads I've ever enjoyed at a hotel. The service was swift and friendly, and the food was frankly amazing. If we'd booked just the excellent room and this wonderful breakfast we'd probably have happily skipped the weird dinner experience. As we boarded the slightly overheated 10:45 back to Bristol I composed my response to the manager of the hotel. We'd had a much better time and a great welcome - but the restaurant was still strange and slow.
We stepped off the train into the usual mess of afternoon delays at Bristol, but feeling remarkably relaxed after the warm trip home. I've known for a long time that travel is good for me - but I'd underestimated how much I needed to escape on the rails like this. The next months - indeed the next week - will be busy and challenging. It's unusual to think of Manchester as an oasis of calm, but that's certainly what it's been for us this weekend.
It's always tempting in a reductionist view of our complex world, to imagine there are rules - and that at some point in the past Edinburgh and Glasgow did a deal. Glasgow got the guitar bands, the downbeat Americana and the indie-pop while Edinburgh settled for the alt-folk or whatever absurd name is being applied this week - and of course that festival. Of course it didn't happen quite as cleanly as this and I suspect there was not really any Faustian pact between Provosts, but there have certainly been remarkably few good guitar bands emerging from Edinburgh in recent times. However last summer the debut EP by Plastic Animals challenged the west coast supremacy, by coupling delicate harmonies and hazy guitars in a strange collision of noise, pop and melody. I remarked at the time that it was the sort of record which harked back to a bygone age of guitar music, at the same time as sounding incredibly fresh. Well, they're back - and I'm happy to report that this second EP by Plastic Animals retains all of the texture and complexity of the first release. But there is something else here - in short, it sounds haunted. Haunted - both in the sense of the gloom which has shifted from being an undercurrent to taking a greater part in the atmosphere, and in the wash of ghostly, sometimes distant elements which make up these five, rather wonderful songs.
This five track EP opens with the distant, sparse "Yellowcraig", apparently and appropriately named for a stretch of unspoiled, windswept coastline on the Firth of Forth, and which couples the familiar nagging, hollow guitar jangle from the first EP to a distant, disembodied vocal. It's all willed back into line via a rumbling bass line which prevents everything from unravelling into the ether, and gives it an oddly sinister edge. The strangeness of the atmosphere is ramped up via weird chirps of distorted tape noise which herald a sudden but sure-footed gear change into the closing section of the song, built around a satisfyingly crunchy guitar with melodies layered over noise to spectacular effect. There is more haunting themed fun with "Ghosts" - musically more upbeat but equally hollow-eyed and strung out lyrically. Focused on a chiming guitar line and half-whispered vocals which unfurl a tale of being unable to shake off a memory. Mid-song, a shimmery, shoegazey note familiar from the first EP is added to the insistent rhythm section as guitars lines tangle and overlay to form a sonically complex mix. A down-shift in tempo heralds an utterly beautiful mess of noise and feedback which ebbs away leaving just an acoustic guitar. It's usually around this point in a review that I realise my efforts to describe music like this are largely pointless - it's just utterly lovely and you should listen to this free download at the earliest opportunity.
If there is a Plastic Animals manifesto, it's summed up by a post on their Tumblr - simply a picture of Bilinda Butcher and the word "YES". This influence is perhaps most evident on the sprawling, distorted "Sundowning". This is a hazy spectacle, sounding blissed out but bittersweet. A gorgeous drone of guitars and vocals which erupts into a sudden, earsplitting squall of noise with what sounds like an overdriven organ drone to my untrained ear, adding an oddly jaunty counterpoint to the vocals which resignedly accept "guess we'll all be dead before the summer". Unexpectedly though a tempo change propels the song into a joyous, anthemic closing section. There are various points on this EP when any sense of a repetitive formula to Plastic Animals' muse is shattered by these impeccably performed shifts of time signature, reliant on the self-assured rhythm section which underpins these hazy and sometimes seemingly chaotic bursts of energy. But the absolute highlight of the EP for me is "Pirate DVDs", kicking off as shamelessly straightforwardly sludgy garage rock with stuttering, urgent drums and distorted vocals. I'd be happy with this continuing, but it all unexpectedly gives way to sweeps of undulating surf guitar and screeds of static. There are more changes of pace and tone in a single song here than in entire albums by some bands, and it's Plastic Animals ability to perform these shifts with jawdropping suddenness but still keep the sense of a song which is one of their most remarkable skills. Whilst there are ideas aplenty here, it never ever feels like stray bits of writing bolted together. As the song winds back into life after a soporific lull its hard not to get swept along with the feedback crashing and echoing around. This track clocks in at an eventful six and a half minutes, but surprisingly commands attention all the way. Finally, the sepulchral "Slow Song" returns to the spectral theme with it's woozy, clamourous organ and distant vocals. There are hints of Grandaddy in the delivery here - and it feels achingly sad, hopeless even. But there is a note of defiance in the lyrics, and something comfortingly narcotic about the droning, fading glimmer of a tune.
There are some bands I find myself mentally willing to succeed, despite realising with some embarassment that I know relatively little about Plastic Animals beyond these two EPs. In a week when there is a huge amount of attention focused on Scottish Music and in particular the list of remarkable albums from the last year, its easy to understate the importance of the EP as a tool for a band to lay out an agenda. Across the five expansive, often lengthy tracks here Plastic Animals accomplish far more than an album's worth of ideas and sounds, once again pinning it all together via a sense of conscious design and thoughtful construction. This is despite the sense that the spiralling, dizzy sounds here are sometimes wayward, threatening to burst free and overwhelm the songs in static and noise. In the confines of a not-very-widely-read blog, it's remarkable easy to fall into the trap of trotting off comparisons and analogues for bands. However, Plastic Animals manage the trick of incorporating back-references to some of the finest elements of guitar music from the past three decades, but remaining resolutely of their own time and place.
Plastic Animals - Sundowning
The "Automaton EP" will be available on June 2nd from Bandcamp. "Ghost" is available now as a free download, and you can watch the video here. By way of launch gigs for the EP, Plastic Animals will play at Henry's Cellar Bar in Edinburgh on 3rd June and The Old Hairdressers in Glasgow on 8th June.
The East Lancs Champion - Day One 16 years ago
Posted in Railways on Saturday 15th May 2010 at 11:23pm
As the very wise Aidan Moffat once sang "It was the first big weekend of the summer..." and as I made my way up to Crewe yesterday, via an uncharacteristic battle at the hotel, I couldn't help but feel that this was something of special event. It hadn't been a fantastic week for railtours, with stalwart operator Pathfinder publishing an entire season's list of trips with virtually no crank excursions and little info on their daytrips to help make a judgement about their value in track or loco terms. So, to arrive at a quiet Crewe station and watch 40145 manoeuvring ready for today's trip was a bit of a reminder that interesting stuff still happens. It's been interesting to watch this trip, ostensibly a joint effort with the DTG - but mainly organised by the CFPS via the irrepressible John Stephens, grow from a notion to a campaign to a reality over the past few months. It only really began to sink in that it was really happening when the stock drew slowly into Platform 5 at Crewe at an absurdly early hour behind 40145, closely followed by the Up Sleeper on the adjacent line!
I'd planned to do as much of the route as possible, to make up for bailing out at Bristol on the return tomorrow. So at 05:20 we set off northwards - exactly the wrong direction for Cornwall - to make pick-ups at Warrington and Manchester Victoria, before taking the line through Denton to gain the route south via Stoke-on-Trent and Stafford. Skirting Birmingham, we headed for a break at International where 40145 was to be joined by the Western. A quick dash upstairs for decent coffee and along to the buffet car for the excellent bacon rolls followed, whilst D1015 - wearing the identity of it's long lost sister "Western Firebrand" - dropped quietly onto the front of the train. Once we were off, any notion of quietness was forgotten as the pair of locos made an impressive racket. A pause on the through roads at Oxford, then around the west curve at Didcot and onto the Great Western Main Line. With the easy grades and straight alignment, the pair on the front really began to stretch their legs and with the sun shining and the bar open, the atmosphere on board became one of easy camaraderie between the unlikely coupling of 40 and Hydraulic followers!
A short wait at Bristol before heading off south once again, on very familiar territory for me! It always seems strange to pass this way on a railtour, but I make a point of occupying a window and watching my home county pass by. Noted some locals out on the platform at Highbridge as we sped past, then settled in to enjoy some of the local cider to celebrate our thunder through Somerset. Two things were now on the minds of most of the tour participants - the classic journey along the sea wall at Dawlish, and the assault on the South Devon banks. We were running consistently early now, and the locos were checked briefly at Exeter before pressing on and gaining speed before the sea wall - a brief concern we'd be held at Dawlish Warren was soon dispelled and we rocketed through the resorts with an amazing amount of people watching our progress it seemed. Next stop Plymouth, where the locos switched to top and tail the train in preparation for the branch lines we'd cover later in the trip. Fully intended to wander off the platform here, but instead enjoyed the atmosphere among the photo taking crowd and got some pictures of D1015 and 40145 in the sun. It had been a long day, and the progress down into Cornwall was a little slower and sleepier as we crossed the ever-impressive Royal Albert Bridge over the Tamar. Found myself dozing slightly in the warm afternoon, feeling for the first time in a while thoroughly relaxed.
And so we arrived at Penzance, pretty much on time after our epic journey from the North West. There was the customary gaggle of photographers at the end of the platforms admiring 40145 which had brought us into the station, so instead I headed off into town to find my hotel, along with a fair amount of the train's other passengers. More 'Fawlty Towers' style silliness followed as another guest was assigned the same room as me. After blustering around the place apparently telling us how it was our fault, the owner soon sorted the problem - not before the other guest - a fellow tour passenger - had submitted him to an impressively withering display of sarcasm however. When the owner said he wished everyone could be as patient as me I explained it had been a long journey. The owner replied, rather enigmatically "We've all had a long journey Sir....". Pondered this curious response as I headed back to the station, via the supermarket, for the evening's entertainment.
The plan was to use the long, light evening to head out to Falmouth Docks. A Western had been here before on the former London through service in the 1970s, but a 40 probably hadn't! Once again we departed on time, with D1015 leading out to Truro. Some curious characters sighted on the platform here, as we reversed with 40145 leading us across the tracks and onto the branch. My first use of the innovative loop at Penryn too, which allows two passing trains to occupying a single platform face. We past one of the frequent units here on this increasingly busy line as we headed down to the coast through pleasant, leafy countryside. At the end of the line, a scramble for pictures at the somewhat deserted terminus. A real sense of pride too, that this tour which we'd backed with our cash and cheques from the outset had made it here to the buffers - and consequently the return trip up the branch took on the atmosphere of a celebratory Beer-ex. As 40145 drew us back into Penzance and passengers scattered either to their digs or to local hostelries to continue celebrating, it was hard not to feel that we'd all been part of a very special day indeed.
And the best part? We get to do it all again tomorrow...
I'd wondered what to do to fill the spare time I'd have at Crewe today. As it happened, I need not have worried. In fact the station was much busier than its been for some years during my visits. Firstly, as I arrived 47727 was waiting to head for the Carriage Sidings with a line up of electric locos painted and prepared for export. Despite making the dash over to platform 12, missed them by seconds. Managed to get a picture of 47727 as it briefly revisited the station on route south.
Class 47s were much in evidence with a large number of Riviera's locos stabled on the Diesel Depot, and 47805 shunting stock - including a generator van and kitchen car destined for tomorrow's tour! Just when it seemed rather like the Crewe station of old, a further Class 47 drew into the station on a Carnforth-Norwich ECS working for a trip tomorrow. After a brief pause, the engine roared into life and took the rake towards Stoke.
A few more light loco movements were topped by the convoy being tripped from Gresty Road to the Heritage Centre for static display at their gala tomorrow. An example of classes 20, 37, 57 and 66 lashed together and after a brief stop, powering out of the station with the 37 leading. If I hadn't such an early start, I might have stayed up for the line of class 57s coming from Wembley. As it happened, it was cancelled and ran very much later. Resolved to see this tomorrow, and to get some sleep.
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.
