Last night went through a box of my old records that I intend to sell — more on which very soon. This morning I have been listening to a seleciton of those of which, almost two years wiser, I wasn’t so sure anymore whether I really want to part with them. In the end I decided I was right in most cases. There just isn’t enough time in our lives, or space in our livingroom, to keep records that are kind of okay. And in the best of cases, these records have a vague memory of the summer of 1999 or that autumn of 2001 attached to them. But more likely I had bought them because they were cheap, seemed kind of alright and I couldn’t think of anything else to buy.

Still, it was nice to listen to some of those records again because there is some good stuff among them. Like Gritty Kitty, whose first album I used to love so much during the late 1990s, when I was really into American indiepop and Kindercore were still a nice friendly label, and whose second album was, although not half as good, not a complete disappointment either. Little Neutrino, my favourite track, back in 2002 when I bought the album and now when I listened to it again, vaguely reminds me #Poundsign#. And it’s sweetly geeky too.

Gritty Kitty – Little Neutrino

I find it hard to say something bad about Tall Dwarfs. After all, I named this blog after one of their songs. And it’s nice to see they’re still releasing the occasional record in a very low-profile way, even though both Chris and Alec are well into their fifties now. But their more recent stuff, by which I mean anything of the past 10, 15 years, is a bit of hit and miss. Actually, I discovered after writing the previous sentence, Weeville is from 1990. Which is 18 years ago. But the point I was making was that the record wasn’t so bad after all, so that is alright.

Tall Dwarfs – Pirouette

I remember writing a not-so-positive review of Gypsophile’s Les Profils des Dômes and then having a slightly awkward email correspondence with Guillamme of the band about it. If anyone has his email address, which I seem to have lost, I would appreciate it if you’d send it to me. As this is actually a really good record. One which fits in perfectly with my current fascinations for both slow, quiet music and for French pop. L’Ethiopienne Inuit is such a beautiful song.

Gypsophile – L’Ethiopienne Inuit

And no way am I going to sell that one.

Running to the bus stop to catch the 6.53 bus to Abingdon. The quiet man, who was always on said bus, always reading a copy of the Daily Mail. Riding the yellow bicycle on Abingdon Road which would make a lovely cycling route, were it not for the fact that there is hardly any space to ride one’s bike. The greasy sausages from the fish and chips shop. The local youth, hanging out in front of the Co-op. Warming soup in the microwave. My landlady and all the stories about her friends. Her regular apologies for the noise her children made; even though it was never any worse than the noise young teenagers should make. The three black-and-white cats, who kept trying to sneak into my room. The television in the room, which confirmed my opinion on the lack of interesting programs.

This morning I’ve left my room in Wootton. My landlady and her children are moving out of the house next week and I am only in Oxfordshire for a couple of nights every month anyway, so spending these nights in a B&B will be cheaper. I’ve had good a time there. But I’m not going to miss it.

We don’t see many films. Three last year, at the very most. So in an attempt to have something to say in the favourite films section of our Facebook-profiles, we joined Amazon’s film club. Or whatever it’s called. Two films a month for almost nothing. Rentals that is, but what would be the point of having DVDs collect dust anyway?

In didn’t work out as well as it sounded in theory: we got two films in a row that didn’t want to play properly. It didn’t make us very motivated to watch a next one. But today we used a quiet Sunday for that purpose and watched The Motorcycle Diaries. Which I’m sure you’ve all seen before, but in case you hadn’t: it’s about two friends from 1950s Argentina who make a long journey through several South American countries and who encounter more and more cases of injustice. Which explains a lot if you know that the film is based on the diaries of one of them, who later became more famous as a revolutionary (and whose face now decorates the bedrooms of millions of kids who barely know how to spell ‘revolution’).

But what perhaps impressed me most were the images of South America: the Argentinian pampas, the Peruvian Andes but just as much all those cities. Whose names we never learn, because they aren’t the capitals, but where thousands, or even millions, of people live lifes that are no doubly interesting enough to learn about. Oh, if I had the time and money to go there, I’d have booked a two-month tour of the continent already.

We should just do it to show off our record collections, Orlando had once said, when we were discussing the low attendance of our clubnight and its future. Which was the best possible reason to go on, of course.

There were quite a few people on Thursday night –most of them people who just happened to be at the Phoenix– and they seemed to be enjoying themselves. But I don’t think it made a big difference to them that I played Les Calamités. And Luv’d Ones. And Fabienne Delsol. And Kari Lynn. But to me it did. It felt like honouring these bands that had been on my playlist for such a long time by playing them to an audience, however indifferent it might have been.

Someone requested Felt. We do not get many requests, especially not those we can fulfill so easily; hence I played Penelope Tree. Even though it got in the way of my original plan, which was to play only songs with female singers.

And people danced in the end, when Alistair was playing some more popular tunes. He put a video online, as a proof. Note that it has been edited: it wasn’t me who was playing the songs they danced to. And then I also found a video Simon had put online of La Famille Catastrophe’s performance last month.

In the past, I spent many a Valentine’s Day bemoaning its commercial character, while secretly hoping that a secret admirer –whichever sweet girl that would be– would send me a love letter. They never did of course, quite probably because they didn’t exist in the first place. Thank goodness I’m married now and I don’t have to worry about such things anymore.

But that doesn’t mean we can’t use the day as an excuse to play love songs. Or anti-love songs. Or just songs we love. Like at Exeter Goes Pop!, which is tonight and which is, incidentally, celebrating its first anniversary. So you might want to make it to The Phoenix tonight, where we will entertain you from 8pm to 11pm. It’s free as always, though of course we will appreciate it if you’d write us a valentine’s card.

Pia Fraus hail from Tallinn, so when I went to that town I had dropped them an email. Saying probably not much more than that I would be in town and that I liked their music. ‘Drop by our record shop’ they said. I never did. Partly because I couldn’t find it, partly because I never wrote down the shop’s address in the first place. And it was a Sunday too. It is a shame though, as I didn’t really get to talk to any locals during my two-night stay in the town. It would have been great if I had. Also, Pia Fraus’ music is quite good. The kind of dreamy, poppy thing that would no doubt have been released by Slumberland, had that label been from that Baltic rather than from the Atlantic Coast.

Pia Fraus – Mooie Island (mp3)
Pia Fraus – 400 & 57 (mp3)

Dallas were Estonian too, but had just disbanded when I discovered them in 2004. Someone made me a CD-R copy of their self-titled album from 1999 and sent it to me from Canada; probably the last CD someone ever copied for me, before filesharing made that a thing of the past. It is one of my favourite really-hard-to-find albums –think of Saint Etienne without the disco– and I still play it regularly to date.

Dallas – Twinky
Dallas – Wendy’s Outside

‘Mooie’ is Dutch for ‘beautiful’. I have no idea what it means in Mooie Island, but perhaps there is a reader with a better understanding of Estonian than me who could shine their light on the matter?

The Baltic Way was a human chain formed in the late summer of 1989 –that late summer of 1989– that ran almost 400 miles from Vilnius, via RÄ«ga, to Tallinn. Which, as we know, are the capitals of Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia, more commonly known under the common denominator The Baltic Countries. They weren’t independent countries back then though. They had been, during the interbellum, but then came the second world war, after which they had disappeared off the map and become part of the Soviet Union. Something which no one seemed to have noticed. But by forming this chain, commemorating 50 years of non-independence, the local people wanted to send a signal to the world.

Thanks to sad stories like this, and the fact that there is something very underdog about them, I have had a weak for all three countries for a long time. I visited them in 2004, shortly after they had joined the European Union. I only stayed for a week, and didn’t see more than the three capitals and the Lithuanian seaside town of KlaipÄ—da, but I wish I could have stayed longer. I really liked it there, thought all three countries were really sweet; with Vilnius probably the sweetest town I’ve ever visited.

Jaan Kross was an Estonian writer. Was, because he passed away in December, at the age of 87. It was through an obituary in The Guardian that I first heard about him and started to read Treading Air.

Reading books by local authors –Pamuk for Turkey, Murakami for Japan, a dozen contemporaty authors for England– is an interesting way of getting a feeling for a country; hence it is strange that I had yet to read a book by a Baltic writer. But Treading Air seemed like a good place to start. For on one hand it is a work of fiction: the ‘biography’ of one Ullo Paerand as researched and written by his equally fictional friend Jaak Sirkel. It describes the ups and downs of Paerand’s life and the cleverness he uses to work his way through hard times. At times I found it hard to believe that Paerand never really existed.

On the other hand, the book works well as an introduction into Estonia’s history. For not only does Paerand’s life roughly span the time from the nation’s first indepence to (just before) regained independence, also several actual historical figures play a role in the book: from writers to politicians and sports people. The translator has included a list of these people at the end, which proved itself useful many times. So it was like reading a history book too, something which is never a bad thing in my world.

One of the most impressive parts of the book is set in 1944, when the Germans have just retreated and the Sovjets not yet arrived, and Ullo Paerand is asked by a hastily formed Estonian government to translate a new declaration of independence into English and read it out on the short-wave. More than fifty times he explains how Estonia is a small country with a weak army that wants nothing but to peacefully coexist next to its neighbours. He starts daydreaming of the message reaching Churchill, who could then convince Stalin, who could perhaps…

But no one was listening.

For a while on Saturday night I was wondering what it is in bands like Dýrðin that I like so much. I wouldn’t think that sweet-but-silly-and-very-happy indiepop would suit a socially inept wannabe-recluse like me. But then, without having found a satisfying answer, I stopped wondering. Dýrðin are too nice a band for me to spend their show in melancholy. And, while still standing safely behind the decks, I actually danced a bit to their songs. I thought they were really good: both the songs they played (most of which I knew already) and the professional yet enthusiastic way they performed them. I am glad I was able to add them to the unwritten list of bands I saw live.

DJ-ing was great fun too. We actually had some people dancing, or at least make alcohol-induced movements to the rhythm of the songs we were playing. We’re not really used to that in Exeter. Thanks to all who came down, sorry for all who couldn’t make it. We might come back. And apologies to the Dýrðin singer who requested the two very bands I considered taking, but left home because no one would want to hear that anyway.

There are two mp3s to download –including my personal favourite Bubble Girl– and a full album to stream from Dýrðin’s last.fm page. The photo was taken by Trevor; more here.

I know I’m quite late with the announcement but it’s not like people would fly in especially for the gig. Or perhaps they would. In any case, tomorrow, which happens to be Saturday the 2nd of February 2008, four bands are playing in London. Their names are The Bridport Dagger, Champion Kickboxer, Smokers Die Younger and Dýrðin. I’m especially looking forward to seeing the latter, whom I’ve been following for several years now. Still, I’m not entirely sure if we would have made the trip to London if the good lads from Soup Kitchen, who have arranged the gig, hadn’t asked Exeter Goes Pop! to play some songs between and after the bands.

Unfortunately, life in the West Country is much more busy than one would think, and only two of us –me and Dimitra– will be able to make it. That shouldn’t get in your way of hearing a bunch of fine pop tunes though. Tickets are a fiver at the door –just over a pound per band– and it’s at a club called The Grosvenor, which is in Stockwell, South London. Said door opens at 8pm and you won’t be kicked out until 2am I’ve been told. See you there!