After The Noise
Everything Is Equal
Monday 19 January 2026
The Sound of Fresh Air #1 (2026)
The first thing I noticed when I stepped outside was the raucous smell of dope.
Not exactly the pastoral escape I had in mind, but still — fresh air. Or at least fresher than being inside the machine. I’d been brainstorming all morning, telling myself I should put the machine down. Naturally, I didn’t. I talked to it. Stayed inside it. Got properly absorbed.
So this walk wasn’t optional. It was functional. Necessary.
The dog needed it. I needed it.
Fresh air is the soundtrack.
Have we ever truly considered that?
Everyone assumes you need headphones. Loud ones. Music on at all times. I was that person. Still am, half the time. But today, the walk itself is the audio: footsteps, breathing, distant traffic, the dog snuffling about like he’s investigating a crime scene.
Bowie — our beloved Labrador — has been dictating ideas as I wander, not quite aimlessly, because today there’s a time constraint. I’ve got work. No one’s brave enough to pay me to write this kind of thing. Their loss. Mine as well.
Ow.
The dog’s eating something odd.
Last time he did that, he had a seizure. So now I’m worried — that low-level background worry that sticks with you all day. Whatever it was, it went down in one. Classic Labrador. Didn’t even touch the sides. He’s carefree. Tail wagging. Me? Clock-watching without a watch.
I stopped wearing one because I decided I didn’t need it. Very zen.
Today I decided I did need it.
Couldn’t find it.
Always the way. Usually, when I stop looking for something, it turns up. Not that I need the watch — I just need to keep an eye on the time. Subtle difference.
The brainstorming ate up the morning, but something useful came out of it: eclecticism.
AI can take the credit for the word — fair’s fair — but the idea is spot on. From Charles Bukowski to Cliff Richard. Or better still, just to annoy people: from Cliff Richard to Charles Bukowski.
That’s After the Noise.
Everything sits on the same level. Everything counts. If that bothers you, you’re probably in the wrong place — and that’s fine too.
Fresh air fades.
Work looms.
The soundtrack ends — for now.
Lorde – White Teeth Teens (2013)
Lorde with a silent e. I finally looked it up. Been around for years, still only 29. Don’t people age in New Zealand?
White Teeth Teens — that realm where she sits alongside Taylor Swift and Olivia Rodrigo. A world where, to my ears at least, a lot of it sounds broadly similar.
But similar doesn’t mean bad.
Everything sounds good to me at the moment. Maybe that’s the mood. Maybe that’s age. Maybe it’s what happens when you stop going in armed with opinions and let the music come to you.
This is what young people like — and I’m genuinely glad I don’t hate it anymore. I used to. Or at least I felt obliged to.
They mess about with beats. They sound tortured. They go on a bit.
Three and a half minutes would do it.
Have an alcopop, love.
Stop dating rubbish boys.
I don’t dislike music discovery. I just don’t chase it anymore. I prefer music to arrive unannounced. That’s the joy of After the Noise: music turns up without asking permission.
Still, let’s be honest.
This isn’t changing lives like Bob Dylan did.
Or like The Beatles did.
Or like those records that didn’t just chart — they shifted culture.
I don’t think much of today’s music will land the same way in fifty years. It’s too disposable to reshape anything. But that’s fine. Sometimes one good hit is enough — if it’s genuinely good.
That’s the point.
No hierarchy.
No sneering.
Starlight Vocal Band – Afternoon Delight (1976)
Music remains a thrill because of those “woah, not heard this for years” moments. One just hit me full on as I begin another humdrum week of admin porn (also known as the day gig).
I’m guessing this found its way onto After the Noise: Everything Is Equal via a soundtrack. Which one? No idea — and that makes it better.
As for the Starlight Vocal Band (is there a Starlight Instrumental Band, one wonders), I was instantly transported back to the late 70s. Flares. Punk. Robert Maxwell. The memories came flooding back, even though I was but a nipper.
My research head popped up to say hello:
Were they British? American? Angolan?
Did they make albums?
Are they still going?
Are any of them dead?
The questions remain. I just don’t automatically reach for Wikipedia anymore. That’s self-protection. I’m too busy plotting ideas — like I did in my twenties — and it feels good.
This song, though.
Timeless.
Silvery.
Seventies radio.
An old Grundig glowing in the corner of the room.
I half-expect an old school Radio 1 DJ voice to drift out of it (Stewart, Edmunds, Burnett, Hamilton, Travis) — the reassuring, sturdy kind. Not flashy. Just there.
Brian Hodgson / Delia Derbyshire / Don Harper – No Man’s Land (1972)
A different kind of seventies.
Terrifying music. Early synths. Tape loops. Reel-to-reels. Properly unsettling. You can hear the machines thinking.
I’ve seen photos of Delia Derbyshire’s studio — all cables, tape, intention. And to think she was doing this in the 70s and before. As a woman. In a world where sexism was the default setting.
Imagine the blokes’ jaws dropping when she rustled up the Doctor Who theme instead of bacon and eggs.
If I could go back in time, I wouldn’t want to be a pop star.
I’d want a job at the BBC Radiophonic Workshop.
Pottering about with reel-to-reels all day.
Letting sounds happen.
Experimenting on a weekly salary in a small brown packet.
And letting you smoke in the studio.
Nostalgia lives.
The Clash – Mensforth Hill (1980)
Or Something About England backwards with overdubs (according to Wiki)
I’m a big fan of The Clash. That’s not a casual statement — that’s years of defending the indefensible (and there is much quite indefensible in their repertoire), arguing corners, and sticking up for the messy bits as much as the classics.
It’s a hard job defending Cut The Crap, but I’m impressively able to boast its merits; even the most diehard detractors end up agreeing it’s a masterpiece. (they don’t in reality, only in my world).
If I were ever forced to introduce someone to The Clash — and I didn’t like them very much — I think I’d say:
“You should check out Mensforth Hill.”
It’s bold.
It’s brash.
It’s one of those songs that simply doesn’t give a fuck.
Is it representative of The Clash?
Absolutely not.
Is it representative of anything?
Absolutely not.
And that’s exactly why it works.
We’re obsessed with “starting points” for bands. As if there’s a rulebook somewhere that says it has to be a single, or a classic, or the song everyone agrees on. Why can’t the entry point be the most hardcore album track instead?
This sits on Sandinista! an album absolutely laced with hardcore, awkward, sprawling, no-compromise tracks. And even I — a long-standing Clash obsessive and defender of Cut the Crap (see above) — had never really listened to Mensforth Hill properly before. It was always an afterthought. A weird six-minute thing on side five of six.
Now it isn’t.
Six minutes of backwards loops and echo overdubs that aren’t trying. That’s the key. They’re not straining for art. They’re not begging for meaning. They just exist. That was always the problem with The Beatles’ sound collages — they tried too hard. The Clash didn’t need to try at all.
This track just rolls on, half-conscious, half-accidental, completely confident in its own lack of concern.
And somewhere along the walk, it clicked.
This is turning into my new favourite Clash song.
But, it’ll never win my heart like Dictator always does.
Snoop Dogg, Bee Gees – Ups & Downs (2004)
I was genuinely astonished when Snoop Dogg and the Bee Gees appeared together on the same track listing. It’s one of those combinations that feels impossible until it’s suddenly right there in front of you.
I’ll admit, I was slightly disappointed to discover that the Bee Gees aren’t actually singing with their teeth. That suggests a sample job rather than a full sit-down collaboration. Still, I prefer my own version of events: Snoop Dogg and the Bee Gees gathered around a table, cups of tea in hand, a bit of cake on the side, calmly discussing how the sample will be used.
I’ve always had a sneaking admiration for Snoop Dogg, ever since I saw him on The Word alongside Rod Hull and Emu. Sadly, Emu never attacked him — a missed opportunity, really. You dropped the ball there, Mr Hull. You could have done a full Parkinson-style ambush on Snoop.
Then again, perhaps you knew better. There’s every chance Snoop’s associates might have chased you down afterwards, and nobody wants to be chased by Snoop Dogg. That sort of thing has a habit of getting very messy. And very bloody.
Still, theoretical violence aside, this track has an extremely good beat. That much is undeniable.
END OF LISTENING LOG
The Listening Log 