I Want Music AND Pictures

Heard any good TV recently? If you have, chances are it was courtesy of those kind people at the BBC. Thoughtful, interesting music programming may be seen by some as a niche interest, but is it really so eclectic and unprofitable that the only broadcaster willing to create any is also a public service?

This week, Later… with Jools Holland began its 2493rd series on the BBC. For those who haven’t seen it, it’s a simple format, where five or six artists in a studio play a number of their tracks interspersed with informal interviews and a sprinkling of archive footage. Great lengths are taken to promote a laid-back ambiance, with celebrities (i.e. probably whoever was hanging around Television Centre that evening) drinking non-branded lager and looking like they’re enjoying themselves.

I enjoy Later… with Jools Holland and watch it most weeks when it’s on, but let’s not kid ourselves, it’s not really very good. The show’s commitment to diversity is admirable, but the screen time is allocated on a fame and success basis. That sounds fair enough, and it’s probably the best business strategy, but it meant that this week, Paul Weller’s stodge-rock being phoned in took centre-stage, while Gogol Bordello’s thrilling spectacle was almost an afterthought.

However, the opportunity to see musicians live on TV is never a bad thing, and the artist choice is fantastic compared to Jools’ awkward presenting and interviewing acumen. In the most recent show, whilst interviewing Paul Rodgers, best-known for his work with Free and recently of Queen, Jools’ opening question was, “Are you still enjoying everything as much as always?” Not exactly Frost and Nixon – it’s hard to believe that Holland has been fronting music TV shows since 1982.

If you want to look outside the tired format of Later… for decent music programming, the answer – as usual – is BBC4. They make great use of the vast BBC collection of live performances and their recent …Britannia series was riveting, as they told the story of different musical genres (prog, blues and synth-pop) and their rise to prominence in the UK.

However, other than that, it’s slim pickings. You can point to the seemingly ever-growing number of music channels on satellite TV, but these are something different altogether. At best, they’re a jukebox and at worst, little more than an advert or misogynistic soft-pornography for teenagers.

So, why is this? Admittedly, only the BBC have the vast swathes of historic live footage, but no commercial broadcasters seem to be willing to take a punt the same way Channel 4 did with The Tube in the 1980s. As far as I can tell, the only music programs on these channels today always seem to have the word ‘Vodafone’ or ‘T-Mobile’ rather conspicuously in their title. True, this doesn’t lead to a lack of quality in theory, but it certainly seems that way in practice. Oh, and don’t even think of mentioning The X Factor as an example of music programming on a commercial TV station. Regardless of whether you love it or loathe it, it’s got about as much to do with music as a ham sandwich.

This is where the hastily cobbled theory comes together. Although many TV stations make documentaries, they are often mass-market (of the celebrity or shocking real-life, I-was-born-with-two-faces variety) or more highbrow, which in relation to the arts means sculpture, painting, classical music and film. Pop music falls between the cracks, as it’s a mass-market commodity (everyone likes music in some form) but keen interest in it and its history is relatively unusual (not that many people would want to watch a 90 minute documentary about the introduction of electronic music to the charts; more fool them). All this means that pop music documentaries and programming aren’t profitable – not weighty enough for the intellectuals yet too specialised for the average viewer.

Of course, there may be a plethora of other, more valid reasons, but it seems a crying shame either way. In the modern world, where you can download the entire back catalogue of any artist at the click of a button and people are able to discover music a generation before their birth with ease, there are stories to be told and film to be seen. Surely there is an appetite and an audience for these tales, as well as people hungry for live performance and interviews. Maybe one of the commercial broadcasters could take a gamble on producing a show such as Spectacle, where a handful of artists perform, then talk about their career and inspirations with Elvis Costello. Since Costello seems pretty busy in the States these days, maybe we can get someone else to front the UK version – Mark E Smith anyone?

Whilst writing this article, I discovered that Spectacle has actually been aired on terrestrial TV in the UK. The first series was shown on Channel 4, with each episode aired once and only once, at around midnight. This from the channel that brought us a special program just to give the UK its first full-length viewing of Michael Jackson’s Thriller video? This may be a losing battle…

Sleep Mountain

The Kissaway Trail - Sleep Mountain

released 8 March 2010 on Bella Union

The problem with an artist or scene becoming unexpectedly popular is that in its wake, a host of inferior imitators inevitably spawn. After Nirvana broke through in the early 90s, it appeared that anyone wearing plaid in Seattle could get a record deal. More recently, the success of Britpop led to many a lame duck, and the legacy of Coldplay and (albeit, briefly) Travis going stratospheric at the turn of the Century would appear to be Snow Patrol and similarly pallid “indie” of that ilk.

With all this in mind, please welcome The Kissaway Trail: Denmark’s answer to Arcade Fire. Well, that is, if “answer” means “infinitely substandard version of”. On Sleep Mountain, The Kissaway Trail’s solution to a lack of inspiration is apparently to ask themselves what Win Butler would do, and ham-fistedly attempt to replicate it. Unsurprisingly, such an approach does not a good album make.

From the very beginning of track one, SDP, it becomes clear that The Kissaway Trail have their eyes and ears firmly set on the boxes labelled “anthemic” and “soaring”. As well as Arcade Fire, there are shades of Frightened Rabbit as SDP gently chugs along, always threatening to break into something more attention-grabbing but never quite doing so. Aside from a momentary change of pace and some bells, there really is nothing worth remarking on. Unfortunately, that seems to be a fair summary of Sleep Mountain in a nutshell.

The vocals on Sleep Mountain are somewhere in-between Tim DeLaughter and a eunuch being strangled underwater. The lyrics are little better, full as they are of half-ideas and meaningless phrases. Perhaps this is too harsh on a band who don’t have English as their first language, but lines such as Beat Your Heartbeat’s “If you could change your heart, if you could change your words, if you could change, never like they say” are, frankly, laughable, and more suited to The Eurovision Song Contest.

To give The Kissaway Trail their due, they’re not shy when it comes to incorporating a multitude of instruments into their songs and they occasionally have their moments. The start of New Year recalls Doves’ Snowdon and cute glockenspiel is well utilised on Friendly Fire. At times, Sleep Mountain could be the work of a more mundane Grandaddy, or perhaps a restrained Polyphonic Spree (if you can imagine such a thing). Alas, all the bands which are reference points or potential comparisons are far more interesting and multi-dimensional than The Kissaway Trail.

In fact, it wouldn’t be an enormous surprise if it were the case that Sleep Mountain had been created by focus group. The Kissaway Trail could have a large whiteboard in the centre of their headquarters, which just has the word “epic” in the centre. Sadly, Sleep Mountain would probably be better if it had been designed around the word “Eric”. For the most part, the songs featured here follow a strict formula: slow start, add vocals, remove most instruments for sensitive vocal harmonising, embellish with a few frills, then repeat for about three minutes longer than your listeners’ attention span. The main exception to this is the percussion, where the drummer seems to be the only band member interested in doing something different. That is, unless you count the album’s only unexpected chord change and a 12/8 time signature in Philadelphia.

Sleep Mountain isn’t entirely unenjoyable; its two main crimes are that it’s too safe with its simple chord patterns and unimaginative riffs, and that it’s too in thrall to the records that have inspired it. It could do with a large dose of urgency and inspiration, and even then that would probably only be enough to mildly pique your interest. Listening to The Kissaway Trail is an ultimately hollow experience and one that seems pointless in a world where there is so much better music in existence.

Volume Two

She & Him - Volume Two

released 5 April 2010 on Double Six

Zooey Deschanel is an extremely beguiling character. As an actress, she seems to portray the sort of girl that’s incredibly easy to fall in love with and has wide eyes that can look right through you. Witness her as dreamy and unfathomable Summer Finn in Marc Webb’s (500) Days of Summer and this phenomenon will surely become apparent to you too. However, this may be simply an example of the phenomenon known as Manic Pixie Dream Girl,

whereby film and literature personas are specifically tailored to appeal to young men. I’m a young man, I’m being manipulated and I’m not sure I care.

Anyway, the more astute amongst you will have noticed this is meant to be an album review rather than a thesis on stars of the small screen. In some ways, to bring up Deschanel’s career as an actress at the very beginning of this article is unfair; She & Him’s début album, Volume One, was an extremely accomplished record of retro-pop, easy to warm to and hard to forget. The fact that Deschanel competently handled lead vocals and wrote the majority of the songs earned her the right to have She & Him considered a serious band in their own right rather than a vanity project. She succeeded where many before her have failed miserably and removed any doubts over her capabilities with aplomb.

On the other hand, to mention Deschanel’s day job is very apt when discussing her music. To an extent, all lead singers are actors playing a part in their aim to entertain, yet Deschanel seems to display this more nakedly than most, as well she might given her chosen profession. In fact, it appears that Volume Two could well be the first aural manifestation of Manic Pixie Dream Girl; the melodies are sugar-sweet, there are addictive hooks in abundance but Deschanel’s voice takes centre stage. Her vocal range is perhaps too limited to take on some of the notes she gamely attempts, but the straining to reach those extremes, the slight cracks in her voice (often reminiscent of PJ Harvey or Björk), the enthusiasm and her resoluteness in dealing with some of the in-song protagonists could well have been created to appeal to young men. I’m a young man, I’m being manipulated, and I’m not sure I’m going to fall for it this time.

In She & Him, the Deschanel persona is one of a down-home good-old American country gal, who everyone likes and wishes well. Volume Two often conjures an image of an awkward frontwoman shuffling from side to side whilst nervously clutching the hem of a blue-checked cotton dress. If that picture doesn’t work for you, the other comparison that springs to mind is that of Sookie Stackhouse in the HBO seriesTrue Blood - the girl that everybody loves and no-one quite understands. This act of the ingénue is cultivated by songs of regret, loss and defiance that are perky, full of great harmonising backing vocals and above all, cute. If you think this could get pretty wearing over an entire album, then you’d be correct.

Ironically, repeated listens to Volume Two reveal that the real star of the show is Deschanel’s co-conspirator, M Ward. His thoughtful, considered and imaginative production prevents the album becoming an amorphous sickly mass and when he lends his reedy vocals to Ridin’ In My Car, the welcome change in tone (as well as the Phil Spector-style heavy echo of the percussion) leads to the best song of the collection.

Where Volume One was strongest was simply the quality of the songs (try getting Why Do You Let Me Stay Here? out of your head in a hurry), yet there’s something sadly lacking about Volume Two, and what previously sounded like finely-crafted homage is now often more like impotent pastiche. It certainly has its moments though, the juxtaposition of simple piano, pop hooks and slide guitar makes In the Suneminently likeable, Lingering Still has a pleasing semi-Hawaiian sound, and the bouncy cover of Skeeter Davis’ Gonna Get Along Without You Now is more infectious than the bubonic plague in a 14th Century sewer.

Deschanel clearly knows how to write a song, and it would appear she’s a disciple of The Beatles - witness the chord changes on Over It Over Again or the intro to Don’t Look Back, which is similar to The Beatles’ own In My Life. Unfortunately, the often banal and occasionally clunky lyrics (“running away from you is like running a business” - ouch) mean that She & Him have a tendency to come across like an inferior Rilo Kiley circa More Adventurous. M Ward’s sweet pedal steel and astute instrument choice can only support Volume Two so far, and it’s thanks to him that the album doesn’t end up sounding like the cast-offs from the soundtrack of Grease. Authenticity isn’t the all-encompassing core of good songwriting that some critics may have you believe, but on the evidence of Volume Two, She & Him are too often on autopilot and too intent on playing a part.

Have One On Me

Joanna Newsom - Have One On Me

released 1 March 2010 on Drag City

Let’s get this straight out of the way. Joanna Newsom is probably the most divisive artist of the 21st Century; she provokes a stronger reaction than Obama’s Healthcare bill with a side order of Marmite on toast. On the surface, it’s easy to see why she would rub people up the wrong way - a baroque harp-playing prodigy singing modern-day madrigals in a voice which is equal parts Kate Bush, Joni Mitchell and a melismatic pixie princess on helium. However, if you can’t see past any of this, then more fool you, as you’re missing out on something astonishing, especially where Have One On Me is concerned.

Just in case you weren’t aware of this yet, Have One on Me is a touch longer than your average record; in fact, it’s over two hours long and comes packaged as three CDs, each containing six tracks. Assimilating such a large amount of music may seem arduous and it’s true, how often do you get two hours to do nothing but listen to a record? Yet as well as this album being entirely engrossing on a standalone play, it’s also rich and imaginative enough to reward casual listening, where you can perform a lucky dip anywhere amongst the eighteen songs and be rewarded.

Have One On Me opens with Newsom gently forming a single word, “easy”, which sounds almost comically arch considering the complexity and technical skill of the songs that follow. Straight away it’s clear that she takes great care in her vocals and considers her voice to be as important an instrument as any other. As previously mentioned, the singing of La Newsom can be an acquired taste for some, but you’d be hard pressed to find another artist in 2010 who can express so much through just their vocal cords. The restraint of Easy, the rousing chorus of Good Intentions Paving Company, the animalistic yelp towards the climax of In California, the shimmering and arresting Ribbon Bows - the variety is both admirable and completely beguiling. When Newsom coos “in your arms” with such warmth and longing onNo Provenance, it feels as if she’s singing directly to you, causing an involuntary shiver. If you’re not entirely ensconced in the world of Newsom at that point, you might want to be calling the emergency services and checking your pulse.

Even more extraordinary than the utterly mesmerising vocals is the astonishing attention to detail that has gone into the playing and recording of this album. It sounds ridiculous to suggest that not a note is out of place in an LP that tops the two hour mark, but it’s true. Newsom’s harp playing is bewitching, transforming an instrument that is mostly plagued by cartoon celestial connotations into a thing of otherworldly beauty, perfect for the songs it frames. At times, it appears that Have One On Me is the missing link between pop music and classical. We may be talking harp, horns and flutes rather than guitar, bass and keyboards, but the songs retain an irresistible accessibility, with more hooks than a JM Barrie convention.

Have One On Me defies convention and categorisation. Joanna Newsom is primarily earmarked as a folk artist, but this album is packed with such myriad styles, it’s impossible to pigeonhole. There’s straight-up singer-songwriter fare on the stylish ‘81, the barely-there instrumentation and perfectly judged light swing drumming of Occident, the Spaghetti Western giving way to bar-room blues of Soft as Chalk and the 1920s glitz and glamour reminiscent of old Hollywood of Autumn. Newsom manages to inhabit these songs and styles with such aplomb and conviction that it’s simply breathtaking. It’s also expertly sequenced, so the pace never drops and you remain enraptured for the duration.

After a breathtaking two hours, Have One On Me closes with the fluttering Does Not Suffice - potentially another irony-tinged nod to the sheer breadth of the album. Even at this late stage, there’s invention aplenty and a refreshing refusal to conform to type, with its flourishes that sound somewhat Gaelic and gothic simultaneously. It’s not a remarkable track in the context of the album, yet it is a significant one; a tender lament replete with a heavy sense of nostalgia. It’s as if Newsom recognises what an achievementHave One On Me is, and she’s just as astonished as the rest of us. The album experience is now complete and although it’s been hard work for her (and an all-too-rare feast for us), she’ll actually miss it now it’s gone. It’s unlikely that Joanna Newsom will be able to make an album as broad in scope and texture as Have One On Me again. This is a career-defining piece of work, and she’s completely earned her right to spend the next five years knocking out four-to-the-floor crowd pleasers. It’s not going to happen though, is it?

Summarising Have One On Me in a word is an impossibility, but the most apt is probably “absorbing”. If you hold the belief that the best albums inhabit their own space and time, and draw their listener into that world for their duration, then Have One On Me is fit to stand alongside the finest examples of the craft. It’s difficult to predict legacies for new albums without sounding like a misguided merchant of hyperbole, butHave One On Me is so enrapturing, so imaginative and so delicate, that it feels safe to say that in five or ten years time, you’ll go back to it and discover brand new things - whether they be the meaning of a song you’d never fathomed before or a simple amuse-bouche of a beautifully constructed oboe phrase.

Enough with the florid prose, please, buy this album. Don’t download it, buy it on a physical CD, hell, buy it on vinyl. Get rid of outside distractions, remove any white noise and give Have One On Me the full attention it deserves as one of the finest albums of this, or any, year.

The State of British Indie in 2010

I’ve got a bone to pick with the BBC Sound of 2010 list; it’s an embarrassment. The idea is that music industry insiders pick their top tips for the year ahead, who’s going to make it break through and make it big. These “insiders” are either fit to give Nostradamus a run for his money or they know something we don’t - namely which artists are going to have obscene amounts of money thrown at them by their labels. For those of you too lazy to click links, the top three on said list are Ellie Goulding, Marina and the Diamonds, and Delphic. Woo-hoo! Go UK with our unknowns sticking a finger up at the man and proving that talent triumphs over all. Well, except that Ellie Goulding has already won a Brit award, Marina and the Diamonds are already having their album advertised on prime-time television and Delphic sound like an anaemic Klaxons. The 2009 list wasn’t much better - with the Brits in the top five being Little Boots, White Lies, La Roux and Florence and the Machine (henceforth to be known as Effluence and the Latrine). All massively hyped during 2009, all successful, all unimaginative and in the case of White Lies at least, pretty much forgotten already.

Now, aside from a worrying fascination with “quirky” 80s-influenced female vocalists, there’s nothing wrong with producing a list that tells you who to look out for (like you could ignore them anyway). The problem is that by holding these people up as the leading lights of the UK music scene, there’s the potential to make UK music into a laughing stock whilst besmirching the good name of indie.

Ah, indie, how I love thee. I don’t know about you, but to me indie means The Smiths, it means Morrissey flouncing around on Top of the Pops with a gladioli betwixt his thighs, it means DIY, it means the halcyon days of the NME, it means C86 and it means an attitude. It obviously meant some of these things to people with some marketing nous, as it’s now been turned into a mainstream commodity. Tell most people you like British indie, and they’re likely to assume you mean something like Coldplay (signed to Parlophone, owned by EMI) or Snow Patrol (signed to Fiction, owned by Polydor). How can these acts be indie if they’re not on independent labels? Surely that’s the very definition of indie? This anodyne commercialisation of indie-style music has its own term which was coined by Andrew Harrison of The Word magazine – “landfill indie”. Acts like The Wombats, Scouting for Girls, The Fratellis (currently on hiatus, thankfully) and The Kooks who seem to think Oasis represent some sort of musical year zero. This reached a ridiculous climax earlier this month when Kasabian – a facsimile of Primal Scream (themselves a facsimile of various 60s bands these days) were chosen to début the new England football shirt... at a gig... in Paris. No, really, it happened.

While, indie in the 21st Century doesn’t seem to mean what it used to, the spirit of indie still lives on. Though indie artists had something of a reputation to tend towards the shambolic, their fans were fiercely loyal. With the rise to prominence of the Internet and social networking, anyone can now get their music out there, thus continuing the legacy of the DIY ethos. Arctic Monkeys (Domino in the UK) built up a large amount of support from steady gigging and the use of MySpace and the blogosphere is constantly abuzz with tracks and demos from indie bands.

if you take away the meaningless label of “indie” as a particular style of music, there are some fantastic UK bands doing their own thing on independent labels. I’m not particularly patriotic, despite being as English as Hugh Grant (well, except with more of a farmer’s accent), but from The Beatles onwards, the UK has a fantastic record of producing new and exciting music, far in advance of what can be expected from a country so small.

As a quick example, why not glance at No Ripcord’s Best of 2009 list? Sure, it’s pretty US-heavy, but there’s a lot of love for Wild Beasts (Domino), The Horrors (XL), Future of the Left, Camera Obscura (both 4AD) and The xx (Young Turks). I haven’t even mentioned Rough Trade yet, with its embarrassment of riches, including Belle and Sebastian (former holders of the unofficial title of the indiest band in indiedom), Aberfeldy, Super Furry Animals and The Fall. Indie festivals were started by Belle and Sebastian in 1999, with the Bowlie Weekender event at Camber Sands, including The Delgados, The Divine Comedy, The Pastels and Teenage Fanclub. Fast-foward to 2010 and the rudeness of indie’s health is evidenced by Belle and Sebastian returning to curate Bowlie 2.

My argument could just turn into a list of artists at this rate, but that’s just because there’s so much to get excited about. Undoubtedly, the grand high priest of UK indie was the dearly-missed John Peel, who famously attempted to listen to every recording he was ever sent, and could fill his quixotic radio broadcasts with a smorgasbord of eclecticism. If he were still here today, his show would still be full to bursting with new music as it always was, bands who have been inspired to write and perform, wishing to be part of the grand heritage of UK indie – a heritage which continues to this day.

So, forget the naysayers, ignore Delphic, Effluence and the Latrine and their ilk. Indie is alive, kicking, breathing and in excellent health. Dig a little deeper and you’ll find out for yourself - you could well be some time.

...And Then We Saw Land

Tunng - ...And Then We Saw Land

released 1 March 2010 on Full Time Hobby

You know what? You can’t beat a good -tronica from time to time, can you? First there was electronica, obviously, and then it seemed you could put beeps and effects over any style of music and hey, you had a new style of music and a handy suffix to define it! Good old -tronica. We all know indietronica, but then, what next? Metaltronica? Jazztronica? Sadly, landfill indietronica seems the most likely.

Anyway, Tunng can be thrust into the pigeonhole labelled “folktronica”. It’s a genre name that produces an involuntary sceptical reaction, since the natural, unplugged nature of folk music doesn’t lend itself even to electricity a lot of the time, so folk and electronica appear unlikely bedfellows. So, what are Tunng? Are they mavericks fearlessly melding together two distinct styles to make something greater than the sum of its parts, or are they just folkies strapping on some bells and whistles in an attempt to appeal to a larger audience?

On the evidence of …And Then We Saw Land, it could be said that it’s a little from column A, and a little from column B.

When Tunng are good, they’re very, very good, and they’re rarely better than they are on opening track, Hustle. Electronics fade in, before giving way to a piano riff, which in turn yields to acoustic guitar, school music trolley percussion, uplifting banjo and jaunty drums. It’s an absolutely gorgeous start worthy of any album, and chances are you won’t even notice the maudlin opening lines: “When I come home, you won’t be there anymore”. It’s almost impossible to stay still whilst listening to it, resistance is futile and you’ll be stamping your feet, swaying to the off-kilter rhythm, or both in no time.

You’d be forgiven for forgetting the whole use of electronics debate at this point, but as …And Then We Saw Land progresses, Tunng run out of ideas and it’s as if the unusual sounds and squelches are merely an attempt to disguise the fact. Admittedly, the sounds aren’t as self-consciously kooky or try-too-hard as on previous albums, but more often than not, a dash of electro adds nothing to a mediocre folk song.

Really, …And Then We Saw Land only serves to prove that Tunng are a less inventive British Sea Power with short attention spans. The tracks are all pleasant enough individually, but lack cohesion as an album, and inspiration often runs dry. The clattering, driving percussion that proves effective to begin with, ends up becoming something of a chore and a lot of the songs threaten to go somewhere without ever really doing so.

In fact, as an analogy, The Roadside may be symptomatic of the pros and cons of …And Then We Saw Land as a whole. It’s got a pretty, acoustic bed, nice male/female vocal interaction and a good use of harmonies. However, it’s merely diverting than gripping, and the drum machine fills feel forced, as if Tunng have a strict electro-on-every-track policy. Oddly enough, like most tracks on the album, it sounds oddly familiar, maybe like a cover of a track you’ve only heard once before, even though Tunng aren’t especially derivative.

If you’ve got this far, two things to mention. Firstly, thanks for reading, it’s much appreciated. Secondly, it’s worth pointing out that despite the mostly negative comments, …And Then We Saw Land isn’t a bad album, it just doesn‘t grab you. The amount of new music being released on a weekly basis is unfathomable, so you need something to make people come back for even a second listen, let alone listens three, four and beyond. If you hear …And Then We Saw Land, chances are you’ll think it’s a fairly decent album. Then, an hour or so after listening to it, you won’t be able to remember what any of the songs sound like. Then, you’ll probably forget you ever heard the thing. If ever a track were selected by your mp3 player’s random function, you wouldn’t guess who the artist was straight away, but you’d enjoy the track, but probably not enough to give the album another proper go.

And in the end, that’s Tunng’s downfall. A nice band with some nice ideas and some nice songs, but nice isn’t really enough.

The end for 6music?

I’ll say this straight away - I love the BBC and can forgive them practically anything and I gladly give them £142.50 of my hard-earned cash each year. To be honest, the fact the BBC house volumes and volumes of live sessions played for various incarnations of the John Peel show is plenty value for money. Thanks to the BBC, there is the only program on music worth watching in the UK (Later… with Jools Holland, which admittedly, has the misfortune to feature Jools Holland and his dubious interview “technique”), fantastic documentaries and archive footage on BBC Four, iPlayer and the programs of Charlie Brooker. So yes, the Beeb (that term that only journalists ever use) have plenty of Get Out of Jail Free cards to make up for abominations such as The Persuasionists, Miranda, My Family and the baffling continued success of Fearne Cotton and her Radio 1 show.

However, this time, they’ve gone too far…

On 2nd March 2010, Director General Mark Thompson announced a radical shake-up of the BBC and how it will be run, with one of those initiatives being the closing of digital-only radio station, 6music. The story of the proposed closure of 6music (along with the BBC Asian Network and BBC Switch) was leaked to Rupert Murdoch’s The Times newspaper - more of which later - and led to an impassioned response from 6music listeners.

For those not in the know, 6music is an alternative radio station committed to bringing a wide mix of old and new pop music. During the day, it plays it fairly safe - though earlier today I heard Blondie, Roxy Music, Public Enemy and a live track by The La’s all within half an hour - but by night, it’s prepared to go a bit more experimental. You can hear funk, soul, avant-garde, dance and anything in between. Sounds great, right? So why close it?

The strategic review states that the BBC needs to do fewer things better, which sounds like a reasonable business strategy to deliver quality content. However, the report goes on to say that 6music “delivers relatively few unique listeners”, “competes head-on for a commercially viable audience” and various other phrases of meaningless business speak 2.0 that can reduce a man to unconsciousness at fifty paces. If you know what it means for radio stations to “deliver unique audiences”, then answers on a postcard please, but I’m prepared to take issue with the assertion that they are “competing for a commercially viable audience”.

On that note, I shall say this… of course they are, what an absolutely stupid statement to make. Hey, guess what, these people who are listening to a radio station with no adverts could, in fact, be listening to a different one that had adverts instead. That’s true of 6music and it’s just as true of any other BBC radio station.

But perhaps I’ve misinterpreted that statement. Perhaps it means that the 6music listeners could find an alternative on commercial radio that would better suit their listening requirements. Well, to that I say… no they couldn’t. In the mix of music it plays, 6music is pretty unique among UK radio stations (despite apparently not having enough unique listeners) and commercial stations would be unlikely to take such risks. Commercial stations that claim to serve up a wide range of alternative music, like Xfm and NME Radio, actually play it remarkably safe and give the nation a diet largely subsisting of landfill indie. In fact, Radio 1, the BBC’s flagship radio station, has the most obvious commercial alternatives, with stations such as Heart, Capital and Virgin having similar playlists.

Now, this is where it starts to gets confusing - there appears to be no commercial reason for closing 6music. The annual budget for 6music is a relative drop in the ocean - maybe even less than the annual salary for some of the BBC’s biggest names. Mark Thompson has said that funds are being moved to boost the overall spend on programming - which I’m in favour of - but there are plenty of better ways to do that than sink the good ship 6. The recent Winter Olympics in Canada was extensively covered by a large crew on site, and I’d imagine the spending on reporting for the upcoming World Cup in South Africa will cost a few bob.

Even more bizarre is that another of the BBC’s new manifestos is to provide “inspiring knowledge, music and culture” which would “bring music to new ears” - something which is well in line with the vision of the first Director General, Baron Reith, who believed broadcasting could educate the masses. But if the BBC want to meet such a target… well, they’re pretty much already meeting it. You see, they’ve got this station called 6music which is really great and, oh…

I’m no political expert (cue audible gasps of surprise), but there may be some element of government involved too. As previously mentioned, the story was broken by a newspaper owned by that paragon of virtue, Rupert Murdoch. Mr. Murdoch is the kind of man who thinks of nothing but a way to make a quick buck and is to culture what Kanye West is to modesty and humbleness. Murdoch is extremely anti-BBC, but the primary reason for that is because they have a guaranteed income and stop him making money. He wants to charge for The Times Online and has voiced his opposition to the BBC often. He’s also extraordinarily wealthy and oh, did I mention he owns Sky TV and is a leading investor in satellite television? With a General Election in the UK months away and a victory for the Murdoch-supported Conservatives looking likely, the state of the BBC is becoming increasingly important. The Tories have a history of privatisation and have already made a section of the BBC a commercial entity when previously in power. Sure, I’m a bit of a hippie leftie, but it seems the BBC is shooting itself in the foot before the seemingly inevitable change of power even happens.

This is a sad announcement for lovers of music, lovers of radio and lovers of quality programming. It’s also a sad announcement for the marvellous history of public service broadcasting but all is not yet lost. These measures, although strongly recommended, are not yet definite - the final decision goes to the BBC Trust and there are signs the BBC may be backing down in the face of overwhelming support for 6music.

So, you can still play your part. The strategy review can be read and commented upon until the end of May at https://consultations.external.bbc.co.uk/departments/bbc/bbc-strategy-review/consultation/consult_view. Air your views, say what you love, say what you hate but I’m practically begging here - please, BBC, save our 6.