Back Catalogue

If only all bands were this much fun.

Try introducing someone to the Smiths by playing them Miserable Lie and I guarantee they'll run for the hills the second Moz starts yodelling.

Dear Catastrophe Waitress is the sound of a band who have finally realised how good they are and have just pulled out all the stops without a second thought for how other people will react

A cash reward may exist for the person finding the piece which doesn't use the words “fey” or “twee” in conjunction with the band.

Mr. Dawson required a clear head to contemplate the latter career of Scott Walker. Just the mention of the name made Mr. Dawson wince. Thinking about Tilt, in his condition?

Good lord look at the cover of Stretch (happily reproduced on this now double release). A smiling Scott, an image to freeze the blood of any young poet

Unbidden, the man proceeded to unburden himself of this memory. It turned out that he was the cleaner in the studios where Scott 3 was recorded. He told tales of Wally Stott that beggared belief and can not be repeated here for decency's sake.

Being the last Friday before Christmas, the local gasworks in Great Harwood naturally held its annual staff party in the nearest pub available. And, naturally, it was deemed that – as ever – the party should start with a late luncheon of pies and savouries at two o clock in the Royal public house, Great Harwood, Lancs.

You can just imagine Gruff asking the band; “hey lads, erm... lets do a bad-ass song about an advert featuring a fluffy black chick”.

As was their wont the band once again had a problem with names – with no eye on the future they renamed their first classic album at the last minute from the genius of  “Piss Off You Shitheads” to a load of coloured blocks.

And then it happened – Curtis succumbed to his depression, the band was in tatters and the cult of Ian Curtis began to develop.

When we went to see him playing this album live, a female associate with our group demanded loudly from the audience that guitarist Michael Mooney (and I quote) ‘Stick his plums up me bum!'.

I've been putting this off for a while, as Copey's back catalogue is one that must be treated with reverence, and a shoddy, slapdash piece would not do.

Byrne lays his cards on the table with Now I'm Your Mum. It's a ridiculously upbeat tune and runs through three or four different grooves before it finishes. It's packed with horns and Byrne's falsetto – after all, this is a song about having a sex change operation.

They were having to set themselves challenges and ultimately I don't think Byrne's heart was in it. How much time had he spent with the rest of the band since 1984? You could probably count it in terms of weeks.

 A mate called it punk's Trout Mask Replica. I don't know if that's true, but if it makes people draw connections like that one, you know that it's an essential if challenging record.

I'm sorry Moby, (or indeed, anyone recording at the moment) but, good as you are, you have to admit that everything you've ever done, especially the laid back ambient stuff, pales into insignificance when compared to Seeland off Neu! 75.

And there we have it – the years 77 – 82. These were the most fertile years in the Talking Heads story and they are the ones that stand up to most scrutiny.

There's a case to be made that the whole ‘indie' movement (for good or bad) was born with these recordings.

“It's not that I can't find worth in anything. It's just that I can't find worth in enough.”