My Top Twenty-One of 2021: #12

My nephew's eldest daughter woke up in the same hospital I'm working in last week, having been spiked in a nightclub. She's in her early 20s, studying to be a nurse at university. She was lucky in some ways because she felt the prick of the needle and ran straight to one of the bouncers who was able to help her to a back room before she passed up.

She's back home now and the police are investigating, but they're not looking for a young man. There were only women around on the dancefloor when she was spiked, and the main suspect is a girl wearing a green dress who left the club soon after. 

This is all new to me. I've heard of drink spiking, of course, but someone stabbing you with a needle? It seems robbery is the motive these days as much, if not more so, than sexual assault... but that doesn't make it any better. J has to wait six weeks now for the results of blood tests to make sure she hasn't contracted anything from the attack. The police advised her to go on social media and report what had happened, to alert as many people as possible to the fact that this kind of thing is going on. I thought I'd do the same. If there are any young women in your family, or acquaintance, please make them aware that this kind of thing is going on.

As if the world isn't screwed up enough right now...

12. Andrew Howie - Pale White Branches

Reminiscent of both Prefab Sprout and the Pearlfishers, the latest album from Scottish music teacher Andrew Howie is a serious work of art.

I've already sung the praises of the long lost 80s bromance of Broompark Drive, but there's much more to enjoy on this record. Every song tells a haunting tale, packed with the kind of observational detail that Craig Finn (see yesterday) would be proud of. 

And then comes Madeleine, a song guaranteed to bring a lump to your throat, with a riff to die for. 

Madeline was chasing rainbows in the car

In the back seat baby tiger tucked beneath her arm

Looking behind-ways and sideways

Queasiness swimming round her head

From the front seat, Daddy

Turns around and says,

Darling look straight ahead

By the time the Bee Gees earworm hits, you'll be reaching for a hanky.

Why wasn't my music teacher this cool?

2021 Contenders: Old Friends

Andrew Howie is a Scottish musician I discovered recently through The Roddy Hart Show. I was very taken by a couple of the tracks I heard, and decided to investigate his new album, Pale White Branches, figuring he was a talented newcomer...

Turns out he's been on the go since the turn of the century, first recording under the name Calamateur, attracting the attention of John Peel and other Radio One evening jocks. A quick look at his discography reveals 21 records to investigate, ranging from acoustic to electric guitar, ambient to electronica. Further study is clearly required, but for now I'll content myself with Pale White Branches, particularly the song Broompark Drive, a stunning remembrance of a long lost teenage friendship from the 80s...

On Broompark Drive

In the summer of eighty-five

Where the crossroads cut

Through our lives

You gave me a home from home

An alliance to call my own

Footprints to follow through

The great unknown

It was a baptism into the American dream

For this middle-class kid raised on state-side TV

With your jam you called jelly, your room called a den

It seems pedestrian now but it was glorious then

You had a digital watch with its own secret PIN

This was cutting-edge tech you could keep phone numbers in

And when you gave me my own in September that year

It was like catching a glimpse of the final frontier

We had late-night sleepovers locked in your room

Reading James Dobson's book page seventy two

And you had to explain with a static silhouette

With your fingers and thumbs against the television set

When I spiked up my hair up and got laughed out of school

I'd come round to your house and we'd joke and play pool

And those cruel little bastards could never compare

To the warmth of your home and the peace I found there

Then your dad got a job back home in the States

And your good-bye gift was this alarm clock that played tapes

And it lay by my bed like a delicate shrine

Until the digits wore out and I lost track of time

Now it's been thirty-five years since we were warmed by that flame

And there have been times when I've thought I should look up your name

But some friendships burn bright and then flicker down low

And there are places and times we just need to let go

Like Broompark Drive

Nineteen eight-five

Where the crossroads cut

Through our lives