Mike Jenkins - Welsh Poet & Author
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FROM TAPEMAN TO i-ADDICTION

5/14/2011

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   This is surely a miracle! A tablet, a screen. A single memory-bank of songs the size of a coin! Only so much more valuable.

   If you'd told me just 6 months ago that I'd be an i-tunes addict, welded to my i-pod as I travel by train, walk or wait at various bus-stops, I'd have dismissed you outright.

   Then I was the ultimate Retro Man, taking with me on any long journey my old and trusty walkman and a bag full of tapes, all mixes made meticulously , in the very best of taste, by Merthyr's Ace Tapeman, Andrew Bartz.

   For years, I actually resisted the move from vinyl to tape, preferring grooved discs with revolutions every minute. But whatever the nostagia, they could easily scratch or warp. Still, casettes were rarely bought.

   Instead, I hopped a stage to cds, still relishing the artwork, booklet with background info and, above all, the lyric sheet. It's certainly true I miss all these with downloading. I like to follow the words as I'm listening and know about the band and songs. You can't replace something made, something tangible.

   Sound quality cannot match the cd, my Prog Rock fanatic friend has told me, yet with a great set of 'cans' I've found that music hitherto listened to on cd has opened up completely on the i-pod, whole layers and subtle background tones revealing themselves. Though it's true my everyday ear-phones let in too much outside noise.

   Of course, I'm aware of the dangers. We shut ourselves off from the cacophony of traffic, but also the songs of birds. We muffle out the shrieks of spoilt children, but also intriguing exchanges of conversation.

   While I've become too easily addicted to getting music online, I'm also fascinated by  the sheer availability of music which I might never have found in shops, or even been able to order.  From surfing the net I came upon two brilliant singer-songwriters, who I'd probably have missed otherwise : Jo Hamilton and Agnes Obel .I got their new albums instantly.

   They are as different as Bjork and Thea Gilmore, yet both have debut albums which are so much better than the highly-rated Laura Marling and the many Kate Bush impersonators such as Florence and the Machine. Hamilton's music ranges from jazzy ballads to songs full of her native Scotland and she has a voice as powerful as Jeff Buckley's ( which I never though I'd say about anybody!). On the other hand, Obel's music is very pared down, but her lyrics are more adventurous and obtuse . Her songs feature her excellent piano-playing, a cello and sometimes a harp. Her version of John Cale's 'Close Watch' is better than the original and her cover of 'Katie Cruel' is by far the best version I've heard (the Fleet Foxes made a hash of it).

   I'm excited by the way I can access Welsh language music, even if i-tunes do describe the highly emotive Gwilym Morus's songs as 'in a funny language'! I decided to revisit Geraint Jarman and download 'Rhiniog', realising once again what a major figure he is in the history of Welsh rock. Not only did he make reggae at home in Cymru, but with guitarist Tich Gwilym he produced a series of records which put him up there with the very best from Wales. Like the Super Furries, he can move from political to personal, from scathing to exhilarating with equal intensity and melody.

   On You-Tube recently I came across 'ice music' after reading a review of a concert in the paper. I downloaded a track, but it ,elted along the wires! Some music cannot be captured online.


                                                 ICE MUSIC

And the band played Ice Music :
they had come from Norway,
were used to interpreting glacial movement.

The venue wasn't cold enough,
so after every number their instruments
had to be returned to the freezer.

Ice bells were melting
as were ice trumpets, not to mention
the unforgettable ice marimba.

But the music was cold only
in the material of instrumentation :
every note a frost fern, waterfall stilled and hanging,

every phrase a caught crystal on tongue
and that voice of sunlight reflected
in a dazzle-dance from a white mountain.

That night I heard the icicles
growing from guttering drip by drip, chime
with cries only the snow could translate.
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