Travel Marmot - Adventures in overlanding, travel and music

October 11, 2026October 11, 2026

Do You Remember Your Last Time?

A little learning is a dangerous thing
Alexander Pope

Sure Alexander Pope was not talking about overlanding in Africa when he wrote that, largely misquoted, line.

Mainly because overlanding trucks had not been invented in 1709 and that is a long way to carry a bright yellow sedan chair or horse and carriage through largely unexplored territory.

Probably be less time spent on visas.

Last time… if anyone is interested

Multiple overland trips are not uncommon – have travelled with others who have spent time on the road with Oasis Overland (my wife is heading off on her second) and other companies.

But not sure how many others, crew apart, have tackled the Trans Africa experience for a second time. Albeit 12 years apart.

Plenty of time to have forgotten an awful lot of details and for a great deal to change, but that is where, to misquote, “a little knowledge” comes in to play.

Sure, past experience has been a help in planning – although attempted to stuff far too much kit into my bags before checking them in for the flight to the UK at Sydney airport tomorrow.

And knowing something about what lies ahead has erased a lot of the worries which lurked ahead of heading to Africa for the first time – coping with that much camping, especially bush camping, for starters.

But that “little learning” has planted one other concern in my head and made a vow to myself – determined not to be that “on my last trip…” bloke.

Over the course of three overland journeys, have travelled with about 80 people and all but a small handful would be delighted to sit and catch up with over a few beers. And probably only one would avoid as enthusiastically as they did me on the trip (running out of a hotel reception and hiding behind a van).

But there have been a few characteristics that made a few stand out. Some good, some bad.

There has been the wannabe tour leader (and some who thought they would do a better job than the crew), the ones who question everything (“why don’t we have tea towels?”), those who have devoured every guide book and those who have no idea where they are.

End of the line – the final team shot from 2015 in front of some old structure

Those who have not read a word of the pre-trip information, those who have memorised it and question any diversion from the suggested itinerary, those who aim for Michelin-starred food over a fire in the middle of nowhere and those best left on washing-up duties.

The tent whisperer – one look and their tent is up securely or down and rolled up perfectly into its bag – and those who will still be asking for help on the final day in camp (took a pop-up mossie tent for a reason).

Those who remain glued to the truck’s charging station on the truck, some who will learn where everything goes on the truck and those who will have no idea right to the end.

Some fall into more than one category and add to the experience – these are the people who share so much and form memories based as much on each other on what you see and do along the way.

But one regular annoyance does spring to mind – one traveller who joined the trip and started far too many sentences with “We do things differently in INSERT HOME COUNTRY HERE…” or variations on a theme.

Should have stayed there then. This is Africa.

He was on the wrong trip for him and it drove me mad – had a similar experience with an ex-housemate from the same place who moved in, took up residence on our sofa and spent her time hogging the television and telling us how much better things were back home.

My eventual response is not for repeating in public.

And it has all left that determination not to be the bloke who starts each sentence with “On my last trip…” or “We did it this way…”.

There will be times when can help out. And if people want to ask questions, will answer as honestly as possible, certainly some of the practical stuff.

Although how much have actually remembered is questionable.

Been trying to remember a few of the meals we rustled up in cook group.

One of our groups christened itself Team Potato after serving up meals based on the humble spud for three meals – mountains of mash for an evening meal (complete with couple unmashed for the person who had a thing against mash), repurposed into fried potato cakes for breakfast with potato salad for lunch.

Did a chicken noodle soup a couple of times and a pasta/potato bake involving burying pots in the fire, but no memories of the details.

Nor of exactly how one cook group served up their shopping which consisted entirely of 159 eggs (they dropped one).

Retreated very much into a sous chef role in South America – having somehow been pushed into a lead role by avowed non-cooks for a while in Africa, which would have been my choice of category to start with – and happy to do the same again.

Especially with the shopping.

My expertise is also unlikely to be wanted – and pretty much totally avoided, to be honest – in the daily struggle to roll the tent into its bag.

Married the first tent mate who was half decent at it.

Happy to help out where needed – either practically or sharing advice when needed – but do not want to be influencing people’s decisions based on my experiences.

Making no secret that have done this before and it will be nigh on impossible to avoid sharing a few tales from the road. A few involving a night in jail, giving something up for Lent and a mop spring to mind (from a purely casual bystander’s point of view, obviously) for sharing around the camp fire.

But definitely do not want to respond to anything that happens by looking back, comparing and contrasting.

And do not want to influence any decisions on whether people sign up to do one of the optional activities.

There are many will do again, some will decide once is enough, others can see myself doing this time having opted not to 12 years ago. If people ask if something is worth doing, will give honest answers, but everybody’s trip and wishlist is different.

Enjoyed some things last time which others complained about. And vice versa.

One new excursion this time round has already been raised by others. And promptly dismissed from my possible list. But look forward to hearing all about it.

And there are places and experiences – can think of one bush camp in particular – which worked well as surprises, so do not want to spoil that experience for anyone else.

On a day-to-day basis, each tour is run slightly differently. Knowing how things worked in the past has been a help in preparing – if not packing, still fairly useless at that – but it has to be a guide, not a strict set of rules.

This is a whole new experience, a whole new set of people setting out on brand new adventure, one to dive in and shape together.

So will be trying to avoid being that guy. Harking back to how we did things last time as if it was the only way forward.

Mind you, last time we…

October 7, 2026October 7, 2026

Not Gonna Kill You to NYC’s Like A Graveyard

Not Gonna Kill You to Nothing But A Blur From A Bullet Train

Either side of my last bout of travelling, it took pretty much exactly three years to get through tracks beginning with I on the A-Z journey through my musical collection.

From the tail end of my genius/ill-informed (delete according to how rose coloured the glasses are looking back on the whole idea) notion to write a blog post a month.

Over the course of 1,098 tracks, headed off around South America, met my wife, got forced home by Covid and into lockdown, spent a couple of years in a long-distance relationship, proposed and moved to Australia.

By contrast, the end of N is looming into view – probably down at the end of this post, barring getting carried away and writing too much – little more than a month after starting.

It helps this section is relatively short. Just 547 tracks.

It also helps it has coincided with the nearest have come to that daily writing plan. A distinct entry for every day has made progress on the A-Z. However brief it may be.

This entry, which started on track 10,346, leaves just another 93 to go before the end of the letter (not including the latest edition – Mary In The Junkyard – which has not been added to the tally calculations yet and will not be until we have finished N. It is easier that way).

The latest section from Angel Olsen to Lambchop (who appeared twice in a few tracks) threw up a wide of tracks. Pretty sure neither Eddie Fontaine nor David Vandervelde will be appearing anywhere else.

The National (Not In Kansas, complete with couple of top-class REM references), Ryan Adams (Note To Self: Don’t Die) and Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever – adding to my wife’s theory that bands in my collection have silly names – with Not Tonight were among the standouts.

Which were topped by two in particular.

Like Messrs Fontaine and Vandervelde, The Willard Grant Conspiracy first popped up on an Uncut magazine free CD. Unlike them, did not end our acquaintance there.

How could you after hearing Notes From A Waiting Room? It is not a happy song – many would argue you could say that about a lot of the music which catches my attention. But it is beautiful, heartfelt, moving and always makes me stop and fully appreciate every moment before it disappears.

But clear winner of track of the day and another Travel Marmot plaudit for Phoebe Bridgers – this time as one third of Boygenius.

Not Strong Enough is more than strong enough to lift the accolade and – Me And My Dog apart – the best thing the three of them have produced together and among Bridgers’ finest work.

Which is high praise indeed.

Nothing But A Fool to Nothing Lasts Forever

Dua Lipa will not be appearing in the musical journey from A-Z. Apparently she is very successful but has made no impact on my consciousness.

Could not tell you one of her songs or recognise her. Can vouch for that, have failed to do exactly that in the music rounds at pub trivia.

But that changed as guessing Dua Lipa – as well as the Australian comedy series Kath and Kim – helped our plucky little team of two finally beat larger competition to win.

It took a tie break – getting nearest to the seating capacity of the Sydney Opera House in a certain configuration – and not sure who was the most surprised. Scrap that, it was us.

Everyone loves an underdog tale. Leicester winning the Premier League, Hereford-Ronnie Radford and the invasion of the Parkas, Manchester City against the rules…

Well, maybe not that one.

We have been going weekly for more than three years. It was one of the first places my wife took me in Canberra, restarting her regular attendance which dates back much longer.

And in the penultimate week before heading off on our travels, we made the leap from our usual spot in the bottom half of the top 10. Usually out of 30-plus teams, so we hold our own.

Two of us who know about sport, geography (handy as they tend to be multi-pointers), literature, most TV and music of a certain era, but not so much about music from the last 10-15 years, science and comic books and their film spin-offs. Which come up regularly.

Two of us against much bigger teams. Who do not have the disadvantage of half the team not knowing anything about a lot of the Aussie culture questions. And do not have the spotlight turned on them every time they “pander to the Poms”.

We also have a tendency to collapse from promising positions.

It is not, however, our first victory at trivia.

Each set of 10 questions is followed by a prize game – the first three securing shots for the first team, represented at the front by one person each, to answer a random question which have won on a fairly regular basis.

(Quick update on that – won the final shot prize on our last night for knowing the Corbillon Cup was contested in table tennis).

Knowing random rubbish pays off.

The final game is a mass game of heads and tails, the last person standing winning a tray of shots before having the opportunity to answer a tough question for the jackpot prize – rolled over each week from people taking the opportunity to buy one point each round.

It can add up, going unclaimed for weeks.

We are, generally, pretty rubbish at a total game of chance, going out in the first couple of tosses.

Once reached the final two, but was polite and changed when the older lady on the next table made the same choice. Which should have stuck with.

Normally bow out early and nip to the loo – been in the pub for a couple of hours by this point – and one week came back to find my wife one of few people still standing.

She only sat down after refusing to tackle the winner’s question, sending me up in her place to face the task of naming the renowned violinist who represented Thailand in skiing at the Winter Olympics.

Vanessa Mae is better known for many other things, but popping up in my head from the clutter of random rubbish swirling around in it will always be the most well-known in our house.

After winning us a few hundred bucks – pretty much the only time in three and a half years have handled Australia cash.

Not sure too many of the latest artists in the A-Z from New Order to Echo & The Bunnymen will be appearing as musical questions at trivia (although pretty sure New Order have at some point in the past).

Not expecting The Moldy Peaches, My Bloody Valentine, Father John Misty, Marissa Nadler or even The Wedding Present are on the radar of whoever sets the questions.

Same with Bright Eyes, who nearly claimed track of the day just because Nothing Gets Crossed Out seems apt amid the lists running my life in preparation for Africa.

But in the end, it goes to Nothing Lasts Forever by a band who might just crop up to annoy the young quizgoers.

And they need all the help they can get to beat us.

Nothing Lasts Forever to Nothing’severgonnastandinmyway(again)

Countdown over, farewell handover sent, logged off for the final time and work is finished. For a year – or longer, depending on how long it takes to get a job when we get back from Africa.

Followed by a quick Friday session in a surprisingly quiet gym with, to be honest, a selection on the A-Z which did not do much to mark the occasion

The opener from Ian McCulloch won track of the day 24 hours earlier and was juggling some less than inspiring options before the closing offering from Wilco took the honours.

Notion to Now That I’m Older

The local radio station in Canberra spent last week running a poll entitled The Rock Games – 32 acts drawn together in pairs, the winners progressing to the next round en route to crowning the “ultimate champion”.

In a staggeringly unimaginative final, Queen beat AC/DC (a little bit of local support propelling Acker-Dacker, as they are known down here, to the final showdown).

Milking it for all they are worth, the risk of Queen greeting you when you turn on the car is enough to make someone avoid doing so for the next year.

There are no shortage of unpopular opinions floating around nowadays, social media giving them a platform to amplify and be met with a vociferous backlash in a world where everything has to be black and white. No shades of grey allowed.

But rarely can the backlash have been so vocal and pretty much unanimous than that which met my opinion of Queen on the first night of our overland trip around South America.

How to win friends and influence people.

Saying he dislikes Queen may be the statement which finally gets the Maga base to stop backing everything Trump blurts out.

People were not that bothered about my verdict on Coldplay.

Neither Queen nor Coldplay appear in the A-Z journey – pretty confident of saying that without looking – which saw a Sunday afternoon saunter from Kings of Leon to Sufjan Stevens.

That is not debut album Kings of Leon. This was Kings of Leon as they descended into over-produced, radio tedium with musical and fashion makeover sucking any interest out of them.

They kicked off a not particularly interesting selection so track of the day goes to Babies by Pulp.

Not part of the A-Z, but was on the gym video screens when the headphones briefly came off to listen in to some random guy as he went from person to person offering advice on what they were doing wrong.

Listening to Queen. Possibly.

Now That You’re Gone to Nowhere Man

There is a temptation to suggest this section of the A-Z was going Nowhere fast.

But in reality, soundtracking the final tackling of a gym circuit before my entry fob is rendered useless at the end of the week, we are careering towards the end of N.

As predicted way back up towards the top of this post.

It was a solid, if unspectacular, journey from Ryan Adams to The Beatles (twice each) with The Smiths making a decent bid for track of the day with Nowhere Fast.

But that honour goes to Ride with Nowhere as the shoegaze revival goes on.

Saw the then buzz-gathering indie newbies in January 1990 (thanks Google) at Gloucester Guildhall, one of the Friday night Banana Club gigs which usually put three bands on each month and we headed to religiously.

Remember little about the gig. Do remember accosting a couple of members of the band at the bar afterwards and, possibly, tried to get an interview. Despite not having a pen, paper or any journalistic credentials at the time.

We have all come a long way.

Nowhere Special to NYC’s Like A Graveyard

We started in N Dakota, we end the relative sprint through N in NYC.

Having started the final leg of the journey Nowhere Special (Matt Berninger, an early contender for track of the day in a section with few real standouts), we stripped down to be Nude (Radiohead) and crossed the Nullarbor (Lower Plenty – no, nor me).

Crossing the vast Nullarbor Plain of Western Australia – 745 miles, about 90 of which is one straight line road – is on the bucket list. If only to play the golf course dotted along it, consisting of holes at existing courses and standalone ones etched out near the roadside at irregular intervals.

Closer to what used to be home we headed to Portishead (Numb, another contender) and ticked off a few Numbers (Radiohead again among them) before rolling into NYC for a closing selection rounded off by The Moldy Peaches.

And among them was NYC by Interpol.

One of those bands have never really warmed too, but do like this one after it wormed its way onto an American road trip playlist.

So track of the day wraps up in the N tracks in the Big Apple.

Onward to O… eventually.

September 29, 2026October 2, 2026

No Voodoo to Not From Where I’m Standing

No Voodoo to Non-Stop

One cold day in my teenage years, headed off on the train for a day on a university visit.

Remember it being bitter, wrapped up in the standard uniform of the time – fingerless gloves, Dr Marten shoes (not boots, could never get on with them) and a long overcoat.

Maybe it was the magical coat “borrowed” from my grandfather, with the extra deep pockets handy for hiding pint glasses, which somehow was long on me, despite being a good deal taller than him. Unless had already lost it a party.

Oddly, remember a fair few details of the day, but not which university it was. Probably Coventry. Maybe Leicester and its paternoster lift. Somewhere that was a decent train ride from Gloucester, but close enough to get there and back in a day without spending hours waiting at Bristol Temple Meads.

Which remember about several university visits.

Also remember little about the university – did not go to either one, nor my first choice Cardiff. Nor anywhere, in fact, after spending most of the sixth form trying to coast through on as little work as had got me comfortably to that point with good enough grades.

But do remember one person who coloured in the day and still comes to mind whenever a certain band is mentioned or comes into my world. Which is even rarer than they did nearly four decades ago.

As was my habit, would have picked up the latest copy of the NME and travelled up on the train getting inky fingers, devouring it and listening to George Best by The Wedding Present on my Walkman (or suitable alternative brand).

Would almost certainly have read about the band and the album in the NME and been persuaded to hand over some of my Saturday job earnings to buy the cassette. Which was pretty much worn out, to be replaced by a 10th anniversary CD version as time and technology moved on.

And the coolness of that album sleeve never diminished.

On arrival in some Midlands city, the prospective students were split into small groups and given a tour of the campus, informed about student life and the course (some variant of English) and, at some point, fed and watered.

At which point, we had a chance to sit down and chat, four or five blokes from different places, all probably a bit nervous about the prospect of this place and these people – or others like them – becoming our world for the next few years.

Except one, self-assured bloke who rather dominated the conversation. Not by how much he said, but what he said and the confidence with which he said it. And dismissed most of what his fresh-faced (if slightly spotty) companions had to offer.

(Reading that back, can hear it said in the voice of Rik from The Young Ones. Which is probably apt. That was part of the soundtrack of my life at the time.)

Inevitably, talk turned to music. Think there was one guy who had not really explored beyond the charts, but two or three of us found some common ground in what you would expect from wannabe students, indie guitar bands you might hear on John Peel and read about in the NME.

But our self-appointed expert squashed any ideas of finding something to bond over, dismissing Peel, the NME or any other source of finding good, new music. And the music itself.

The bands he liked were better. More edgy. Something we had not heard of and definitely would not get.

The musical equivalent of one of those people you come across whenever travellers meet up and insist they have done it the genuine way, getting to know the locals and savouring the full experience, while the rest of us are merely tourists, ticking off the must-dos and must-sees.

Probably just before they ask for a lift (happened to me in New Orleans from a bloke who “could not” tell us how he made money to travel and had criticised my traveller credentials for having a hire car. On a road trip.) or email the Bank of Mum and Dad for some extra money to help them find themselves ahead of heading back to become this very person on the cusp of university life.

Or, in his case, waiting on a chilly Midlands railway platform with the only remaining member of our little group, dismissing whatever band was on the cover of the now tatty NME sticking out of my coat pocket or whichever artist had come up in conversation.

But he did, finally, go beyond “you would not have heard of them” and mention one of his superior bands – Pere Ubu. Who had not only heard of, but had heard and was able to reply with “oh… well, they’re OK, s’pose”.

He, of course, countered with they needed studying and understanding. Or drivel to that effect.

And they were OK (even my limited teenage exposure, which has hardly grown since). As they still were when Non-Alignment Pact became the second of three Pere Ubu tracks in my collection to pop up in the latest section on the A-Z journey through it, which took us from Allah-Las to part of the Hamilton soundtrack.

Highlights included Nocturnal Me by Echo & The Bunnymen – from possibly the greatest album ever made which, probably, was also among the cassettes soundtracking that train journey – Pixies (No. 13 Baby as we headed out of the No songs, sort of), The National (Nobody Else Will Be There) and Ryan Adams with two versions of Nobody Girl which are about four minutes apart in length, plus Nobody Listens To Silence.

Maybe our friend from way back then does. If he thinks it is cooler than what the rest of us are listening to.

Pere Ubu sparked this distant memory, but he has long been my archetype of a musical snob. Which hark back to every time my wife uses that term while looking at me.

One last job – track of the section. Easy winner. Nobody’s Twisting Your Arm, in this case from that 10th anniversary edition of George Best.

Teenage me was right all along.

Non-Zero Possibility to Northern California Girls

Music to soothe an aching back. The trip from At The Drive-In to Camper Van Beethoven soundtracking a few jobs being ticked off the to-do list.

The Vaccines popped up with Norgaard, which made it onto a couple of playlists a few years ago and briefly sparked thoughts they might be ones to watch, while Billy Bragg made another of his regular appearances with North Sea Bubble.

But clear top track of the day was North American Scum by LCD Soundsystem – one which should probably be listening to while on world news duties at work.

“Don’t blame the Canadians” indeed.

Northern Exposure to Not From Where I’m Standing

Have mentioned before, my back’s old habit of giving way in some form or other around Christmas – more than once while getting up from the table on the big day.

So regularly did this happen, my osteopath’s receptionist took to ringing me up just before the festive break to book in an appointment as soon as they returned.

It was invariably needed, with a ski trip to whichever budget resort a pair of us had chosen to kick off the new year. When they are even cheaper.

Have not skied for many years, in that January slot for even longer after graduating to the even cheaper option. A press trip or two each season.

And with the change came a downturn in seasonal back issues. Which became far more random – and, thankfully, infrequent.

But old habits die hard… a bout of travelling is on the horizon and my back – faced with sleeping on an air mattress on the ground for a year – has opted to have a say.

That or overdid it at the gym.

Whatever the reason, at some point during a session with my personal trainer, the back which thought had recovered from a brief bout of grumbling, decided it wanted to be centre of attention again.

Nursed my way through the session, but by the time had gone home, had a shower and sat down to put on some socks – the arrival of warmer weather not yet allowing for full-time abandoning – standing straight again was not as easy as it should be.

No receptionist was ringing to help out, online booking doing the job and the osteopath at least had me able to stand up straight.

The gym, however, had to wait for a few days and with work taking centre stage – if only for a few more days – so has the musical journey through my collection from A-Z.

And both were worth the wait, the gym completed largely in one piece – if not exactly in top gear – and several contenders for track of the day on the journey from Cheatahs (bit of a surprise, think Hotline TNT-style guitar fuzz, if that makes any sense) to The Wedding Present, through the North to Norway and on to Wales and into the Nots.

Cornershop took us to Norway, and further afield, with their cover of Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown), alongside two versions of the original by The Beatles while a string of tracks pointing to a compass point included Northern Skies by I Am Kloot.

Listened to the album from which it came for the first (and start of the second) time on a bus from Manhattan to JFK Airport at the end of my first bout of lengthy travelling.

Billy Bragg supplied a track from one of his lesser-known periods – to me at least – with Not Everything That Counts Can Be Counted, while five-odd minutes of Nosedive improved the chances of Man/Woman/Chainsaw appearing high in the end of year lists. Top song.

Described somewhere as “if Arcade Fire made All My Friends” and that sounds about right.

The Welsh came from Nos Da by Bill Ryder-Jones and some Manic Street Preachers (Nostalgic Pushead) and a band who harked back to those days in Cardiff and a friendly receptionist.

Above a shop down the end of our road, so we were told, was the office of Super Furry Animals. Singer Gruff Rhys would occasionally be spotted in pubs. The Manics as well

He is very tall and hard to miss, certainly more so than the members of Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci who my housemate got very excited about across the bar. He was also usually wearing a big parka.

Super Furby Animals was a rejected headline for a story about the then much sought after toys, purely because the editor had never heard of the band.

A chief sub once rejected “There’s something rotten in the state of Denmark Road” in a story about potholes, because he had no idea where the quote came from. Still seething about that one.

Which is a long-winded way of bestowing track of the day on Northern Lites.

September 22, 2026October 2, 2026

No Cities To Love to No Thoughts

Quick explainer. Feel the need to give some form of background for anyone stumbling across this looking for posts about overland travel in Africa. They are coming, promise.

In lieu of any travel to write about on a travel blog, set out on the journey from A-Z through my iPod. There are rules to follow and 12 years in, we’ve reached N and – as we pick it up – track number 10,268.

And in the middle of short, sharp diary entries of each day’s listening which has the dual aim of rattling through some tracks and the posts keeping track without finding the time and inclination to come up with full-length posts.

No Cities To Love to No Feelings

It is, as near as makes no difference, a year since started up a conversation with a personal trainer in the gym and started some rather more organised exercise than just what caught my fancy that day.

Which was usually the path of least resistance.

Twelve months on, not sure what is most surprising – that have kept going this long or that it has taken this long for my back to become an issue.

It has grumbled a few times. Pretty much anything that involves bending over will normally do that, but have become used to that over the years. Learned how to handle it.

Not bending over for starters.

Any pain and lack of movement has been largely shortlived, a few customary aches and pains apart, and nothing that has lasted much beyond getting home and having a hot shower.

Until last week when, having pushed an updated programme probably a bit too much, the familiar problems standing up or moving from certain positions flared up.

And, to a lesser extent after a well-scheduled visit to the osteopath, still exists but has thankfully recovered enough for a return trip to the gym and the A-Z – shortened by dropping a couple of weights which were deemed unlikely to help too much.

A couple of other machines had to be rescheduled, mainly thanks to the guy who spent half of the programme lounging on the leg press bench playing with his phone.

And having left without replacing his weights to sit on the next machine on my schedule and spend more time on his phone with no visible exercise, returned at the end of my three sets and complained that he was coming back to use it.

Not sure my response was as accommodating as he might have hoped.

All that interrupted a truncated musical journey from Sleater-Kinney to Sex Pistols, who rounded things off with three versions of No Feelings and are not too far off reappearing.

Low – one of those bands held in much greater reverence by other people – popped up twice with No Comprende and No End but were never really in the running for track of the day.

No Dark Things by Echo & The Bunnymen – not one from their top tier – looked like taking the honours but were edged out by No Fame by Robert Forster.

Who gets his moment in the spotlight. Just not sure if qualifies as any form of fame.

No Fun to No Matter What You’re Told

There were a couple of main reasons for changing from longer posts to shorter, diary-style entries on the A-Z musical journey through my iPod.

The practical point was to rattle through a decent chunk of tracks and a few regular posts without having to find too much inspiration and, most importantly, time to write the more considered. longer version.

Posts can be kicked around in my head for weeks before actually find time – and drive – to actually write it. To say nothing of the need to marry up posts and listening. Which is sort of key.

But the other consequence is shining the light on the less-heralded tracks.

Album tracks, forgotten gems and one which have simply slipped by unnoticed and form great chunks of my musical collection, but rarely get mentioned against the regular artists and songs which have provided the broad strokes to colour in my life.

Which is exactly what we got on the latest day’s selection from Sex Pistols to Broken Bells.

The Pistols soundtracked all of an opening circuit at the gym, notable for my back holding out (touch wood as the evening goes on) and a bloke clogging up a weight station, bench and surrounding area to do exercises which could be done anywhere.

But he would not have such a good view in the mirror in any other spot.

Missed punk and the Pistols when they were front page news. Was six when Anarchy In The UK was released, so not really the target audience.

They certainly made a huge impact but, whisper it quietly, those early incendiary singles apart, were they actually any good? Certainly next to their contemporaries The Clash.

Three versions of No Fun rather made my argument. As apt as it was for the circuit, it smacked of the origins as John Lydon as the comic strip caricature he has become.

Behind him, Wolf Alice (No Hard Feelings) have somehow largely passed me by, despite at least one trusted view rating them highly. The same can also be said of Spiritualized (No God, Only Religion).

British Sea Power (No Lucifer) were another band who missed their chance to grab my attention as the album was among those stuck in my car’s multi-CD changer while Superchunk were listened to – on a cassette bought while at college in Cardiff, if memory serves – but largely forgotten until a recent return, which included No Hope.

It did have some hope of being track of the week, but that came down to a choice of two.

Have not heard No Good Time by Graham Coxon for so long, had to check who it was between stretches. From 2004 apparently, so would have missed the guess the year question at trivia. Even the point for being a year out.

But Matt Berninger’s No Love did enough late to get some love and grab the plaudits.

No Medecine For Regret to No One Else

They may be half a world apart, but things are not that different in the UK and Australia.

In both countries (and many others, probably) it is perfectly possible to catch multiple episodes of Friends without even trying.

Can be harder to miss it, played on a loop that heads straight back to the start once Rachel has got off the plane. Or, in a much wiser move, stayed on it – as has happened a few times on Aussie TV when the longer final episode was cut short to fit the time slot.

No matter how much or how little you watch, one thing is clear.

Ross is truly awful. Amazed anyone got off an elevator, let alone a plane, to be with someone so toxic, self-obsessed, jealous, whiny, manipulative and… this list could go on.

Need a break.

Just 15 tracks from Mogwai to Weezer through a slightly hesitant – and wonderfully quiet – gym session.

The Stranglers let us know what happened to Leon Trotsky – who popped up back in the L tracks as well – while we had visits from Turin Brakes (No Mercy), My Bloody Valentine (No More Sorry, twice), The KLF (No More Tears) and British Sea Power (No Need To Cry) adding to a growing theory that some bands write songs with similar titles.

Given the way they tend to come in clusters.

And track of the day… no real stand out, but let’s go for Elliott Smith and No Name No.5.

No One Fell Asleep Alone to No Reason To Cry

My wife’s views on my music selections are mixed. There is a fair amount of indifference, a few wrinkled brows and a decent amount she now recognises and even admits to liking.

And then there are those which pop up and are quickly followed by a demand to skip, usually accompanied by a less than favourable review.

Fontaines DC are “too shouty”, Idles are instantly dismissed, Deafheaven have become shorthand for what will not be acceptable and At The Drive-In are met with distaste.

And then there is the song which popped up on my phone when left a playlist running during a shower.

My head emerged from under a towel to her holding the phone and demanding to know “what is this rubbish?”. She might not have used the word rubbish, insert your own version of what she might have said, but fair to say she did not like it.

Track of the day in the latest Sunday gym selection from The Handsome Family to The Go-Betweens is the answer to her question – No Pussy Blues by Grinderman.

No Reply to No Thoughts

No surprises about track of the day from a post-work Monday afternoon in the gym.

There was some good stuff on the road from The Beatles to Cloud Nothings – Husker Du (No Reservations), Beastie Boys (No Sleep Till Brooklyn) and This Is The Kit (No Such Thing).

But Radiohead produced the pick of the bunch. No Surprises.

September 11, 2026September 11, 2026

New Seeds to No Cities Left

New Seeds to The Next Untouchable

There are moments my wife looks at me with a mix of despair and total lack of understanding.

One of those moments , she would say, when she is reconsidering her life choices – a phrase which goes the other way when she comes up with something so Australian that things are lost in translation, even in a (vaguely) common language.

She gave voice to that look when reading the last blog entry and discovering my insistence on listening to the end of each track, even if there was a chunk of silence to sit through.

But those are the rules. To do anything else is just not cricket.

Would make some crack about Australians not grasping that concept but probably not the wisest of moves. And, hands up, have broken the rule a couple of times when my patience just ran a little bit too thin.

Thankfully, no such bouts of silence to deal with through a decent chunk of tracks from Boards Of Canada to Cajun Dance Party, through a gym session and an afternoon soundtrack at home on a day off, through the News, into a New Year and onwards to a fairly lengthy stay in New York and whatever came Next.

There were multiple appearances by Lankum (The New York Trader and Newcastle), The Breeders (three versions of New Year), Elbow (New York Morning and New Morning) , Michael Head (Newby Street and The Next Day) and The Sex Pistols (two appearances for New York) and a few contenders for track of the day.

Jason Isbell’s New South Wales would have been appropriate – as sat with just some kangaroos between us and the ACT border a few hundred yards away – while Ryan Adams would, at one time, have been a stronger contender with New York, New York (two live versions adding to the original).

But it came down to a choice of two that share the crown – New Test Leper by REM (from their last great album) and LCD Soundsystem’s New York, I Love You But You’re Bringing Me Down.

Niagara to Nietzche

Short, sharp gym circuit equals short, sharp stretches of music – just nine tracks from The Wedding Present to The Dandy Warhols, the opening one twice and two barely topping the one minute mark (Sonic Youth’s Nic Fit and Nicaragua Nicarguita by Billy Bragg).

But it managed to throw up two track of the day contenders, Nick Of Time by Sebadoh coming up on the outside from a largely forgotten album which lived in my car’s CD player for a few months.

Nice try, but not enough – it was always going to take a lot to shift Radiohead from top of this particular pile.

So (Nice Dream) is the pick of the day. Great track from an even better album.

Nigel Hitter to Night Mail

By contrast, a longer selection sweating through half an hour uphill on a gym bike produced fewer candidates from Shame (band a former travelling companion raved about, but not ones that have sparked my interest) to Public Service Broadcasting.

And it was that closing track, courtesy of keeping the music running until got home, that took top honours.

Public Service Broadcasting definitely ones that have caught my interest. Many times.

Night Of The Living Baseheads to Night Terror

There is a meteorological phenomenon in Canberra known as fake spring.

It does, to the surprise of a remarkably large number of people back in the UK, get cold in parts of Australia. The capital, notoriously, is one of them.

It is not the same as winter back home – it does get light and, having dropped to around or below zero overnight and early morning, it will largely reach double figures as the day warms up.

But they build houses out here to cope with the summer heat, not the winter cold, so the layers stay on until spring comes around. Officially on September 1.

The weather in the build-up to September has improved markedly. It has still dropped close to zero with the odd ground frost overnight, meaning a quick blast of the office heater has been needed to kick off the day.

But last week or so, the sun has largely come out, the layers come off and the temperature has started pushing 20C.

The Canberra locals, however, are not getting too excited. Fake spring usually has a sting in its tail.

Just as the winter clothes are put back in the wardrobe, shorts start to see the light of day and people wander outside without a jacket, fake spring is replaced by the return of winter. With hayfever.

Reducing the number of days of perfectly warm and pleasant before the onset of hotter than the sun.

It also coincides with magpie swooping season.

A week or so of rising temperatures has been replaced by a more autumnal Saturday of constant showers and strong winds, forcing a switch of plans for a weekend off and a fairly new experience.

Maybe Saturday morning in the gym is the way forward. It is quiet, few people clogging up apparatus staring at their phones for the length of an entire workout and the issue of kit not having been put back where it should have been over an unstaffed period is not an issue. Yet.

It brought a fairly short section of songs – this was an extra short session before the return of my personal trainer from injury on Monday – from Public Enemy to Laura Marling as we continued the journey into Night.

Not two common musical bedfellows.

But one of them took the honours as track of the day – from a musical genre which if not exactly rare in my collection, is certainly outnumbered by boys with guitars.

And it was not the woman with a guitar.

Night Time to Nimrod’s Son

Good things come to those who wait. While sweating through the first session of a new programme from empty gym – courtesy of an early finish at work – to a selection of familiar afternoon faces and some new ones.

And had to wait for too much to write about as the A-Z took us from The XX (when they briefly seemed cool and probably still are, might have been me who has veered away from any brief flirtation with coolness) to The Japandroids.

That last entry (The Nights Of Wine And Roses) was in with a shot as a left-wing selection as track of the day, but things finished strongly as we made it through the Night. And the closing trek on the treadmill.

Fugazi kicked things with Nightstop. Not a band go back to often and have too much from their back catalogue, but always welcome visitors.

REM are far more frequent visitors and took things in a slightly different direction with Nightswimming. Followed by Jason Isbell’s version, from his album of Georgia songs following a promise if the state backed Joe Biden in 2020.

Not his strongest, but much, much better than the alternative. Which seems apt.

And rounding things off in the post-gym visit to the supermarket next door were two versions of Nimrod’s Son by Pixies.

Was singing along quietly to a bit which probably should not be sung out loud in public when trying to dodge two guys attempting to stop me and elicit some form of donation.

The same guys who had said no to a couple of days ago. And came up just short of having to explain to two blokes what no means. Which is worrying.

They certainly did not seem to understand it from somebody shaking his head, with headphones on and clearly trying to make a beeline past them – both on the way in and out.

Nearly used one of the less than polite words from the Pixies.

Probably need a dip to calm down. Possibly after dark.

Nina + Field Of Cops to No Anthems

Appears a couple of days of glaring, attempts at avoidance and simply saying no has had the required result – the charity guys in the supermarket taking two steps forward, starting to speak and then opting against it.

It is not the collecting for charity that is the problem. If it was for the RNLI, would be there like a shot. Sort of on a par with Paddington and David Attenborough in the pantheon of British institutions.

Who could possibly have a problem with them?

The issue is the relentless badgering and complete refusal to accept some people just want to do their shopping, get out and make their own decisions where and when to donate money. And who to.

One poor elderly gentlemen made the mistake of being polite and acknowledging their advances the other day. And was pursued into the pharmacy.

No matter how many times he said No.

Which gave us three song titles (Fontaines DC, Ryan Adams & The Cardinals and The Wedding Present) on the latest stretch from Cameron Winter to Sleater-Kinney.

Soundtracking a new circuit in the gym – which appears to have tested a few different muscles, given tonight’s soreness – it was a solid enough selection, if lacking in real highlights.

Track of the day? Could have been Nine Million Rainy Days by The Jesus & Mary Chain, but rolled back to early Drive-By Truckers and Nine Bullets.

Which probably should not be the reaction to charity pushers.

No Bad News to No Cities Left

This blog attempts to be environmentally friendly so, in that vain, time to recycle a gag about ending this post on a negative.

And it is going to be hard to find too many positives for a while as No songs keep us company for some time to come – all 198 tracks.

The final day of the week on a new gym programme – proceeded by giving my notice of leaving, helped by the lack of opportunities to transfer any membership to Africa for the next year – proved a relatively short one.

Just nine tracks – a couple of them fairly lengthy – from Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy (the subject of the chat-up line, not mine, “do you want to come back to mine and listen to miserable music?” while we are recycling stories) to The Dears.

None of the nine really stood out as track of the day.

It could have been No Big Sizes by The Shirehorses, a spoof on Radiohead’s No Surprise on a duo which included a former member of The Fall.

But Marc Riley and his former radio partner Mark Ratcliffe played far better music on Radio 6. Ratcliffe and his later partner Stuart Maconie would soundtrack many evenings in my Cardiff kitchen and later afternoons when really should have been doing something else.

Lambchop made a late bid with No Chicago (complete with the type of silence we came in on), a list of cities missing out the eponymous American location until the last line. Rather like listing a band’s tour with No Canberra. It is only the capital.

But let’s go with No Bells On Sunday by the Mark Lanegan Band.

You can decide if that is ending on a positive or a negative.