My Desert Island Discs

So there I am, stranded on the mythical Greek island of Dyskos, with just my solar-powered Dansette record player, eight precious slices of vinyl, a book of my choosing and a luxury item, happy as a castaway sandboy. 

Before we get to my personal selections, just a brief preamble about the BBC's longest-running radio programme (first broadcast on 29th January 1942). Nearly 3,500 episodes of Desert Island Discs have been broadcast, introduced by its theme tune linked here to put you in the mood: By The Sleepy Lagoon. 

Each week a famous guest would be invited on and prompted by the presenter, he or she would talk about their life, interspersed with eight pieces of music they would choose to have with them if they were ever cast away on a deserted island. The shipwrecked celebrity was also allowed one book of their choice and a luxury item that could serve no purpose as part of their escape plan. The longevity of the programme is a testament to what an inspired format Roy Plomley had devised.

Early episodes were broadcast live and have been lost to posterity, but an extensive archive of the recorded shows exists and many episodes can now be accessed via the BBC's online platform. 

One recorded episode was never broadcast. The BBC thought it had invited the thriller writer Alistair MacLean to the studio, but on the appointed day the head of the Ontario Tourist Bureau arrived with his list of chosen music. Rather than disappoint the wrong Alistair MacLean, Roy Plomley graciously went through the motions. 

The strangest luxury item nomination came from John Cleese who chose to take Michael Palin with him. And the most idiosyncratic selection of music came from Dame Elisabeth Schwarzkopf who chose, among her eight pieces of music, seven of her own recordings! 

Selecting just eight records was an almost impossible task for me, with so many thousands to choose from in my collection built up over decades, so many hundreds vying for a legitimate right of inclusion. As paralysis threatened, I made a trio of sweeping decisions to simplify the task:

1) This would be a rock and roll shipwreck. Alternate founderings featuring classical music or spoken word  recordings might lie in wait for this castaway in future. Who knows?

2) I would only select British artists - so no Byrds, Dylan, Jackson Browne, Jefferson Airplane, Jimi Hendrix, Joni Mitchell, Love, Neil Young, R.E.M, Spirit, Talking Heads, Translator or Velvet Underground.

3) I wouldn't pick more than one record from any given year - sorry 1967 in particular. 

Those criteria helped some. Here are the eight that got into the waterproof crate, in chronological order.

A Hard Day's Night - The Beatles (1964)

The soundtrack of our unshackling, as I once stated in my poem about Beatlemania (read it here: Beatlemania ). The Beatles burst into my life when I was nine. Cliff Richard and Adan Faith had seemed tame, but here was beat music that I could relate to. Armed with a newly acquired transistor radio, I switched on to the excitement of it all and never looked back. We went to see A Hard Day's Night at Peterborough Odeon a load of times. It felt as though a different future had just opened up for us - innocent but magical times.

Season Of The Witch - Julie Driscoll, Brian Auger & the Trinity (1967)

Julie Driscoll came to my attention via a performance of 'This Wheel's On Fire' on Top of the Pops. On the strength of that I rushed out and bought the group's debut 'Open' LP, which doesn't contain the single but has many even more wonderous things. I was fourteen, living in Cambridge, had started dating girls, fancied myself as a bit of a groover. Jools was one of the beautiful people. Season Of The Witch was a sophisticated and jazzy rendition of a Donovan song and quite the trip, man, at eight minutes long.

Fat Old Sun - Pink Floyd (1970)

The Cambridge connection was strong on this one, given that three quarters of the band had grown up in the university city where I went to school and spent my teenage years. I wrote a recent blog about Pink Floyd's origins (read it here: The Tea Set ).I bought Atom Heart Mother as a Christmas present for my steady girlfriend. We used to listen to it in the dark on Sunday evenings, lying on the sitting-room floor in her house or mine, with parents patrolling just beyond the door, so it seemed. Fat Old Sun encapsulates those memories.

Green Tree - Quiver (1972) 

After passing my A-Levels (English, History and Geography) and being offered a place at Warwick to read English, I opted for a gap year, left home, got a job and moved into a shared house with a bunch of like-minded friends in Cambridge. I started painting (couldn't do it for A-level - timetabling issues), read copiously, entertained girls, went to see lots of live music. Quiver were part of that local scene who signed for Warner Brothers and put out two great albums of their English version of West Coast music. Green Tree embodies that positive vibe.

Bright Side Of The Road - Van Morrison (1979)
I was living in London (Hackney) and teaching English and Drama at a comprehensive school. I'd been a fan of Van ever since Astral Weeks a decade before, and had all of his albums, but living in the capital gave ample opportunity to see him. He lived nearby in Holland Park and his tours frequently began or ended at the Hammersmith Odeon or the Dominion on Tottenham Court Road. London in the second half of the 1970s was a great place to live and Bright Side Of The Road triggers so many fond recollections.

Waterfall - The Stone Roses (1989)

I'd left teaching and London behind, was happily married with two young daughters and living in the Shire of Herts. I'd jumped ship into industry, working for Eastman Kodak, and in any free time, I wrote freelance for the music press. I reviewed this album very favourably, concluding: "These four young Mancunians have combined to re-establish my faith in the possibility of a truly popular home-grown psychedelia." And so it was. My daughters particularly enjoyed “She Bangs The Drum”. Their mother and father loved “Waterfall”.

Great Hosannah - Kula Shaker (1999)

In my work life, I was spending quite a lot of time abroad, in the USA and various European countries, implementing new IT systems for the firm that employed me for 33 years. I suspect ultimately it took a toll on my marriage as I was abroad as much as I was at home. I was still writing regularly about music, enjoying a raft of new guitar bands like the brilliant Kula Shaker, and writing songs as well, some of which would end up in the repertoire of the Deadbeats, the band I played bass and sang in.

Put The Sun Back - The Coral (2007) 
The Coral are, in my opinion, the best British band of the 21st century. I've hung out with them, interviewed them, written about them, been to many of their gigs. 2004-2014 was a turbulent decade in my personal life, divorce, another marriage, eventually another divorce and a move up to Blackpool (jewel of the north). The music of The Coral has somehow soundtracked it all in a bittersweet way. And Blackpool enjoyed a year in the Premier League. Put The Sun Back eloquently captures the mood of those rollercoaster years.

If I had to save just one of the above from the clutches of the waves, it would probably be the Van Morrison. (I've surprised myself there.) As for a book, that would be 'The Glass Bead Game' by Herman Hesse. I never tire of re-reading it. And the luxury item? One of those wooden rakes so I can make and re-make a Zen garden in the mythical Dyskos sand while listening over to the eight records stacked on my trusty Dansette's spindle..

That's all folks. I didn't provide links to the songs, but you'll find them all on YouTube. And if you're a fan of these exercises, by all means leave a comment with your own choices of desert island discs. I'd love to read them. S ;-)