Silence is suspicious. So wrote Michel Foucault and so thought I as I was faced with the terror of completing my journey to work sans-iPod following its removal from my person by a drooling troglodyte with the kind of face Im used to seeing on the side of a milk carton or a late-night Panorama special. Subsequently, I was unable to immerse myself in the comforting soundtrack of death-jazz speedcore and became intensely jealous of others (seemingly the entire Aberdonian populace) blissfully unaware of my trauma, lost in the grasp of their own shuffled playlists. Whats so compelling about what theyre listening to that they dont feel the need to engage with the rest of us anyway? What have they got in there thats so great? Well, for one thing, something to talk about should they wish to submit a review to their local music mag. So Ive no new discoveries to share with you, no overlooked finds, no hidden gems from the dark recesses of Fopps second-hand section. Or do I?
Friends, readers, Country fans (actually, you lot can go get some taste first and a decent deodorant), lend me your ears for mine have just been opened to the magical sounds of Stagecoachs Route 59 and I must share with you this experience. Stagecoach have been plugging away at this particular audio-schematic for longer than my pet elephant Babar can remember and those years of experience reach their zenith in the re-release of this comprehensive compilation.
Track 1, Foresterhill Road, begins, unassumingly enough, with the comforting buzz of a bus engine and intermittent bursts and squeals of grinding pistons. The mechanical rustle of what could be some homemade percussion instrument (none of the instruments are listed in the sleeve-notes - a barren strip of paper adorned only by a list of track-titles and the date of purchase) accompanies the unintelligible chatter of childrens voices as the track plays out within 180 seconds.
Rosemount Place takes up where track 1 leaves off, the droning engine-noises gradually giving way to a vast range of found sounds and musique concrete. Recorded on location, the sounds of the local Grampian wildlife (a mishmash of harping seagulls and the yowling grunt of an indigenous creature known as the ned) are captured imaginatively and field recordings are employed and re-employed throughout the audio-journey.
Three tracks (or stops) in and Im beginning to wonder exactly where this whole thing is going, a question duly answered by, Gilcomston Steps which, at over 11 minutes, forms the real meat of the album. The caw-cawing of gulls and neds comes to a halt and is replaced by the exhaust roar of back-firing engines and sub-woofers blaring out a muffled, jungle beat. This combined with a couple of (uncredited) male vocals muttering about local council inadequacies create the curious impression that Radio 4 has set up broadcasting nextdoor to a pirate garage radio station.
The best thing about the whole trip is each time Ive given it a spin (and it does bear repeated listening if you can bear the pungent smell of the packaging) Ive heard something different. Not only do different sounds and noises come to the fore each time but the record is staffed by a constantly revolving cast of musicians all orchestrated by the appropriately-named Conductor. Throughout the album,
The Conductor utters a repeating verse of Where to? in a semi-spoken drawl half way between Tom Waits and James Yorkston, creating an incessantly questioning, searching ambience. The barely discernable answers take the form of a string of names taken from the titles of other tracks on the album.
Briefly interrupting these droning grumbles, a listless female vocal can be heard on Rosemount Viaduct la-la-ing the kind of pop tune that makes me want to cut off my balls just to save future generations from also having to endure it. Its not an unpleasant addition, however. Its the sheer range of these contrasting styles that encapsulates the befuddling ambition of Stagecoach in putting together this collection. Indeed, initially the record is somewhat of an over-indulgence in its attempts to cram so many usually incompatible genres onto one disc. Attempting to fully describe the range of influences covered herein is as overwhelming as arriving at Pompeii with a bucket and spade. Suffice to say its an experience likely to encourage repeated listening for the attentive listener.
The album clocks in at under 30 minutes in all but is put on a Buddha Machine-like continuous loop from 7:04 to 11:30 daily. To sweeten the deal, the whole caboodle is released free of lawyer-bothering copyright restrictions and is available for a measly 8-0 of your silver pennies. To tell those of you who havent yet realised that there isnt going to be an album recommendation at the end of this, I see it as an obligation - nay a duty - to share with you this most wondrous and beguiling of compilations. Go out, my friends open your ears to Stagecoach.
Tracklisting:
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Foresterhill Road 2:59
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Rosemount Place, 0:30
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Skene Square 1:04
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Gilcomston Steps 11:26
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St Andrews Street 2:55
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Blackfriars Street 2:43
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Rosemount Viaduct 3:00
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Union Terrace 1:41
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Bridge Street 2:32
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Victoria Road 1:50
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