Hello, there. I’m Darren, and this is a collection of stuff I’ve written over the years, mainly about music but there’s some other stuff too, such as film, TV and merch. You’ll also find the odd bit of promo for videos and music I’ve made. Thanks for dropping by.
Over the summer I fell for Gunship - a vocal synthwave band formed in 2014 by a couple of the chaps in British rockers Fightstar - and I keep coming back to a track called When You Grow Up, Your Heart Dies - especially its video (see below), which I think is just lovely.
The band don’t appear in it; the visuals are fan-sourced tributes to popular cinema of the '70s, '80s and '90s - those films many of us first watched on VHS or as a bank-holiday treat on analogue telly - while the idea behind the song seems to be pretty much the old Star Wars meme: “Don’t grow up - it’s a trap!” (though its title is a line in The Breakfast Club).
There’s a cool Tubular Bells-type melody, and the chorus is catchy as heck. But for me the best moment comes halfway through, when the track segues into a string of messages from fans, the remit for which was: “…something uplifting, perhaps words you live by, perhaps something that helps you get through troubling times.”
I was stunned by the news, yesterday evening, that Darrell Bath has died. It doesn’t seem possible. Darrell was a constant.
I first stumbled across Darrell in '91. The Crybabys (such a great, ego-popping name for a band) were playing a support slot at the Marquee on London’s Charing Cross Road, and I fell for them straight away. They had it all: the Keef-esque swagger, the dual-frontmen thing, and a bunch of well-crafted songs with lyrics that winked at me. When it came to boozy, Brit-flavoured, good-time rock ‘n’ roll I thought they were perfect, and Darrell soon became a guitar hero of mine.
I hadn’t seen The Blair Witch Project since the early Noughties, so last night I decided to cast a fresh eye over it. It’s always going to be a divisive film, for various reasons, but I enjoyed it upon release, and this latest viewing left me with an even greater appreciation.
So here’s a string of numbered thoughts about the film, because it’s easier than writing a proper review. And, yes, there are big spoilers.
The acting and dialogue (which of course was improvised) are brilliantly naturalistic.
The characters’ moods almost jump cut from scene to scene. One minute they’re raging at each other, the next laughing, without any on-screen making up. It suggests both the passing of time and the ebb and flow of real-life relationships.
The new Last Great Dreamers album landed on my doormat yesterday. It’s the band’s first official live release since their demo days, and I relaxed my three-day quarantine rule for this particular piece of post - it was a mere three minutes before the CD was in the player. In fact, it would have been even sooner if I hadn’t had to peel a sticker to get inside.
I’d forgotten that this gig, at the Buckley Tivoli in October 2019, was a benefit for mental health awareness and suicide prevention. So Marc telling depression to do one (in even blunter terms than that), a few tracks in, caught me off guard and I had a cathartic sniffle. And then, later, came Werewolves, a song that always makes my throat tighten: “Running away from my mind…”
Yep, it’s my biannual plug for The Lemon Twigs, whose new album has spent the last week making sweet lurve to my lugholes.
Their last record, Go To School, was a rock opera about a chimp called Shane. Presumably, the title of their new one winks at the fact that it isn’t - though, actually, Songs For The General Public is just as theatrical and fabulous, darling. And there seems to be a loose concept too (relationships, in various forms).
I blummin’ adore it.
Lemon Twigs reviews tend to reference a bunch of highly regarded pop and rock acts from the ‘60s and ‘70s. To make things simple, though, I’ll just say that if you think Jellyfish are a bit of all right, have a go on the Twigs.
Yep, the 1989 TV adaptation of The Woman In Black has hit Blu-ray. And I’m jolly glad to have it, as the film has been unavailable, in any format, for far too long. I can now retire the, ahem, ‘unofficial’ DVD-R I nabbed from eBay about 20 years ago (amazingly, it still plays).
Based on the 1983 novel by Susan Hill, and directed by Herbert Wise from a Nigel Kneale screenplay, The Woman In Black is a slow-burning British ghost story with a building sense of dread.
It’s not ideal to watch such a film on a clammy August night, but I got straight down to it and enjoyed the experience very much. Alone with the lights off and the patio door ajar, I was suitably chilled - in both senses, thanks to some midnight breeze wafting across my knees.
It’s every young musician’s dream: get noticed, get signed, make a record, get noticed again, and – blam! – fame comes a knocking.
On 14 November 1994, four hopeful, London-based musicians released their debut album. And as they turned on the news, each of them heard the same phrase: “You’re a star!”
Actually, it might have been “Eurostar” – the high-speed cross-channel rail link happened to launch that day too – but it doesn’t matter.
The point is that Retrosexual by Last Great Dreamers was finally out to buy, and the band who’d spent the past year being championed by the high and mighty at ‘Kerrang!’ magazine could get on with the job of being rock stars.