I think it’s best to start this blog by expressly stating that I am not ashamed of listening to Radio 4. Although on some occasions one does have to genuinely question whether the station’s producers are earnestly trying to create the most knuckle-bitingly boring program ever conceived by man (cases in point: ‘Farming Today’, ‘Tales from the Ringroad’ and ‘Plants: From Roots to Riches’), there is, for me, no more soothing and edifying soundtrack to life.
Considering this, it will come as no surprise to learn that I am an avid fan and regular listener of the iconic, inimitable R4 classic, Desert Island Discs. As a self-confessed music junkie, the concept of the show has always appealed – famous and/or revered guests pick eight pieces of music that they would take with them to a desert island for the rest of their life, (if such an incredibly specific situation ever occurred) and justify their reasons for choosing them. At first this seems a fairly straightforward endeavour, after all, who doesn’t harbour a deeply personal and private relationship with certain music? However, the more I mulled it over the more I realised that selecting just eight would require much more than a simple scroll through my Spotify playlists.
For a start, there are so many complex factors to take into account – if you are to listen only to these songs for your entire life of tropical solitude, presumably you’re gonna want something a bit uplifting and punchy. So no prog-rock. And with only natural moonlight and coconut milk a-flowing after dark, hardcore trance is not ideal either.
In all seriousness of course, I understand the real intentions behind the superficially palm-strewn facade of DID – to learn about the individual guest on a level that only music can unravel. To choose just eight pieces from the melodic patchwork that makes up a life however, each must fill a deep and profound space in the soul. Each must come entangled within a complex embroidery of memory.
With this in mind, and because I can’t wait any longer for Kirsty Young to get in touch, I decided to narrow down my own Desert Island Discs. WARNING: This gets self-indulgent pretty quickly.
- Golden Lady – Stevie Wonder
It’s not exactly unusual to love Stevie Wonder, but oh sweet lord I do. Like many of my peers I’m sure, I grew up with second-hand Stevie exposure, as my parents bunged on his various albums and compilations whilst entertaining guests/driving/doing the ironing, and his effortlessly smooth, silken voice combined with soulful beats were too much for me to cast aside as predictable ‘mum music’.
Selecting just one Wonder-tune to inject some soul into my desert island existence was easy. The first time I heard Golden Lady, aged 10, I couldn’t help but stop whatever I was doing (probably decorating the dog with breakfast cereal) and allow myself to be transported into another, timeless age. It’s the kind of song that has you at hello, the very first beat ensnares you and allows you to drift away on an ocean of harmony – simply put, it's one of those rare pieces of music that won’t allow you to feel anything but bliss upon listening to it.
2. Desireless – Eagle-Eye Cherry
Along with Stevie, my childhood musical experience was heavily populated by another kind of wonder – namely the ‘one-hit’ variety. In a patented manner he still employs to this day, my dad purchased the entire album of little-known, Swedish/Native American stunner Eagle-Eye Cherry, after hearing just one of his songs.
As much as I was vaguely indifferent to the introduction of Eagle-Eye’s album Desireless into our household music collection at the time, it only took one listen for me to fall for his lyrical storytelling, folk rhythms and copious tinkling piano keys. In contrast to the simple-but-effective chord progression and heartfelt lyrics of his only hit Save Tonight, the title track above is an instrumental, 6-minute piece, beginning with a lone piano and meandering through trumpet solos, tribal chanting and bongo drum ecstasy. It’s fair to say this track saw me through many a moment of introspection during my mid-teens. I also, somewhat misguidedly, felt that it gave me carte blanche to consider myself a prophetic, early-hipster, music aficionado – whilst my peers were drooling over members of NSYNC, I was journeying through Eagle-Eye’s alternative rhythms, deep into the heart of sanctimonious musical snobbery.
3. Talkin’ Bout a Revolution – Tracy Chapman
My earliest memory of Tracy Chapman (something we surely all must have), occurred when I was about 7, and deeply confused as to she could sing in such a profoundly low octave.
Racial tension and segregation, ghettoisation and governmental corruption are not overly child-friendly themes, but when sung with Tracy’s trademark yearning, soulful emotion, they awakened within me a humble reflection that grew more potent as I grew older.
Talkin ‘Bout a Revolution (apart from a grammatical nightmare) is a song of communion, shared hope and change on the horizon that has as much relevance today as it did when Tracy wrote it. Short it may be, but its message is truly timeless.
4. Universally Speaking – Red Hot Chili Peppers
When pushed on the issue in the past, I have claimed the Chili Peppers as my favourite band of all time. To be honest, I can’t explain just what it is about this thrashy, slap-bass fuelled, chaotic sound that has hypnotised me since the very first time I heard Zephyr Song in my best friend’s parents’ car.
Mastering the every lyric of their eleven albums became my life’s ambition for a significant proportion of my teen years. This ambition was only fully fulfilled when I finally saw the Chilis live a couple of years ago, as I bounced around with boundless joy, screaming the words to both old and new songs, nigh-on possessed, worshipping at the alter of Anthony Kiedis.
Universally Speaking, with its throbbing beat, twanging lead guitar and minor key is so overflowing with angst, longing and desire that it cuts through any pretence and straight to my soul. It feels as though John Frusciante is playing the lead line on my own heart-strings. (I did warn you about the self-indulgence).
5. If You Got the Money – Jamie T
At first listen, irreverent, faux-urchin Jamie T’s If You Got the Money hooked me in with its stripped-back guitar line and anthemic refrain. Cheeky and lighthearted though it is, this song features what I think are some of the best and most profound lines in modern popular music – ‘I spend late nights tryna pick up love off the floor where the other brothers leave it be, though its stuck hard down, its like chewing gum’/’should tell your girl more often that loving, is all about doors unlocking‘.
This song means a lot to me as, for some unknown reason, it helped me to make friends and bond with fellow travellers I met in multiple countries when I set off from the safety net of state school into the (sometimes all-too) real world. My being word-perfect on the song’s entire rap was a fun party-trick that sparked friendship, laughter and companionship in a way that only music can, spilling out into the still silence of a Costa Rican jungle at sunset, filling the void of a bus journey through Chile, and echoing through the caps of The Remarkables on a mountain hike in New Zealand. Jamie T’s lyrics have danced around the world with me.
6. This Modern Love – Bloc Party
A darkly melodious channel for my teen angst and turmoil, Bloc Party’s trademark, deadly cocktail of poetic malaise, brutal social commentary and searing percussion has provided a soundtrack to many a soul-searching moment of reticence for me. As you can imagine, its usage as such came into its own at university, as a backdrop to my ungraceful forays into romance, solitude and, on a much more practical level, essay deadlines.
This Modern Love‘s duet-like melody and yearning lyrics are best enjoyed alone, in the dead of night, walking in the shadows of streetlights, I found. There’s something about the atmospheric emptiness of a darkened street that amplifies the song’s graceful swoop from grand romantic ideals –‘You’ve been trying to reach me’/’I’ll be yours’/’You told me you wanted to eat up my sadness’, to the bare, gritty reality of fledgling attraction – ‘Do you want to come over and kill some time?’ and ending with the simplest of human needs – ‘Throw your arms around me‘. Basically, it's achingly beautiful.
7. Vultures – John Mayer
John Mayer is my Personal Jesus of polished, note-perfect music, fusing just the right amount of raw emotion with restrained, refined musical beauty. For me, Vultures has this more so than any of his songs, along with one of the sexiest guitar riffs I’ve ever heard.
A perfect musical middle-ground, this song has provided the easy-listening backdrop to countless mundane, exciting and serenely blissful tableaus of my life, but nothing beats cranking it up on sunshine, roof-down summer drives. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to resist those opening chords.
8. The Heart Remains a Child – Everything but the Girl
Finally, a piece of music that features almost entirely on account of its lyrical beauty. This obscure album track from 80s/90s two-piece Everything But the Girl epitomises everything I love about the band – Tracey Thorn’s liquid voice, effortless percussive progression, and the messy, angsty, tempestuous portrayal of a love that transcends its role as album-muse (Tracey is married to her fellow band member, Ben Watt).
I mean, who can’t relate to the line ‘I dreamed about you again last night – you never have the same face twice. I always know its you, but you’re always looking better than you really do‘. I think at its core, the song affirmed for me something I already knew – ‘years may go by, but I think the heart remains a child’.