"I found this photograph... tender face of black and white"

I don't head back to my hometown very often these days, but when I do, and I'm in the bedroom where I spent far too much of my childhood, I have had the same ritual over the last six years.

When my paternal grandfather died, we found a cache of old photos in his flat, maybe 100 or so black and white pics. I go through all of these when I'm back. There a lot of him when he was a kid, and it's strange to see the stern old man, made so by experiences of war and personal loss, as a smiling young boy alongside his kid sisters.

There's also a few documents, one of which is my great-great-grandparents' wedding certificate, from 1907. Perhaps appropriately for this time of year (just about!), they were called Joseph and Mary and it feels strange to hold something that symbolises the beginning of their lives together. As I recall, he lived just about long enough to see Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon.

There's also their youngest daughter's wedding certificate. Her name was Jane, born in 1911, and her death in 1989 was my first experience with loss. From the photos, there are plenty of her, as she was close to just about everyone in my family. When my dad lost his mother, she kept him and grandpop from totally falling apart by making sure they actually ate - men of the time being totally unable to cook.

Again, it's a surprise to see the sweet old lady I knew in her younger days, wearing shades and smoking cigarillos. There's a pic of her wedding day too, in 1937.

Cool lady

Getting married in a black dress - fantastic. Maybe it was common back then for all I know, but it seems pretty damn hip to me. She still lived in the house in that pic by the time I came around, and I spent many a happy weekend there and playing in the ruins of nearby Penrith castle with her watching and warning me and my brother not to climb too high up the medieval walls.

What always frustrates me is all the pictures is those with people in whom my father and I have no idea about. Are they relations? Friends? What's the story? I can only wish my granddad had shared when he was alive and filled in the gaps.

I am directly related to somebody in this picture. 

Take this one, for example. Where is it? What's the occasion? Loath as I am to reduce to cliché, but it is tremendously evocative of a world that no longer exists, especially when I consider the people inside are somehow connected to me. Though I go back maybe twice a year tops, Cumbria remains a huge part of me and I think always will. Grandpop's pics remain a reminder of why this is so.

Take a Rocket Ship to Mars

Tags are so often misleading. I love a lot of the Shoegazing bands of the early 1990s: Ride, Slowdive, Lush, Pale Saints... but one band is often lumped in with them, with no real reason beyond journalistic laziness.

Sure, on a casual listen, Catherine Wheel's first album Ferment almost fit in with that. It had loud guitars that droned at moments and Rob Dickinson's vocals could at times be a little dreamy. Yet, there was plenty to separate them from that whole scene, which may explain why they outlived many of their contemporaries and also the relative success they enjoyed in the States that others didn't.

For starters, the band were from Great Yarmouth, Norfolk - hardly rock and roll heartland, and miles away from London or the then-hip Manchester or Thames Valley heartlands. Dickinson at least was well into his mid 20s by the time their debut came out in 1992, having spent time working designing for Lotus prior. Perhaps this prior experience came out in the song Black Metallic, the video for which got some play on MTV and was lyrically written about the love of a car. 

Where the quartet, Dickinson alongside Brian Futter (lead guitar), Dave Hawes (bass) and Neil Sims (bass), had was the ability to properly rock out from the dream status of their contemporaries. It also helped that in their quieter moments, they were guided by Tim Friese-Green, who had helped Talk Talk make some of the most amazing music of recent history. 

The band were huge fans of Talk Talk, and under his guiding hand made a wondrous entrance to the world. I Want to Touch You showed the band could do sexy and the title track put down their abilities to create quiet/loud dynamics. I've long been keen on putting that song on compilation albums for people, chuckling to myself that the innocent receiver will crank up the volume, only to kill their ears at the moment the sonic assault cuts in. 

As they would frequently do, the band toured North America extensively, and perhaps toughened up their musical muscles as 1993's Chrome shoved the band as far away from any perceived roots - though those paying attention to their b-sides including covers of Husker Du might not have been surprised. Producer Gil Norton wiped away a lot of the density of their earlier work in favour of a more, well, metallic sound, though Show Me Mary was a great hit single that never was. 

With the double hit of Ursa Major Space Station and Fripp, the band hit heights that surely blew any competition out of the water - Dickinson sighing that "I'll follow you through time, 'till it's not worth living" over a crescendo of guitars and drums that demand to be heard loud is a frankly sublime moment . That it never crossed over to a bigger audience seems unjust beyond words. 

1995's Happy Days had a very American Alt-Rock edge to it, much more in kilter with bands like the Smashing Pumpkins. Opener God Inside My Head featured some very heavy playing and some uncharacteristic metal-eseque grunting from Dickinson.

At it's best, it was magnificent, as with the quietly fuming Eat My Dust You Insensitive Fuck, the funny Shocking and the hook-filled Judy Staring at the Sun, which featured Belly singer Tanya Donnelly on vocals, and might have done better as a single not for the fact it was about a drug addict. Another single, Waydown got some MTV notice with a somewhat literal air-crash themed video, but mainstream acceptance remained out of reach.

A tendency to place as many "new" songs as b-sides had created a fair old amount of non-album material over the years, and the compilation Like Cats and Dogs was released to warmer reviews than Happy Days. Featuring most pastoral material, it set the tone for the next album, which would turn out to be their masterpiece. They even made Pink Floyd sound good, with a version of Wish You Were Here.

Adam and Eve, out in 1997, should have been "the" album. As usual, it didn't work out that way. Not that they were getting much help - legend says Rolling Stone were all set to give them a high score in the review, only for it to get marked down in the edit. Quite why remains a mystery, as in terms of music in 1997, for me, only Mansun's Six comes close. OK Computer looks like a bunch of teenage angst in comparison, as while both have a hint of prog, Adam and Eve manages to keep things interesting, even when all but two of the 13 songs clock in at over five minutes.

I simply cannot emphasise how essential the album is. If you have an interest in rock music, alternative or mainstream, seek out Adam and Eve now. It is perhaps a complete a piece of work as can be imagined. The entire band is on top form and I can't write anymore than to suggest you go listen to it in one sitting and wonder how you did without it beforehand.

But, when all came down perhaps they knew the chance had gone. It wasn't until 2000 before they reappeared. When the band took up things again, they had dispensed with bassist Hawes and got Friese-Green back in the producer's chair to make Wishville. Sadly, it was a lax effort and not long after, the band went on a hiatus from which they have not yet returned. 

Subsequently, Dickinson released a solo album (Fresh Wine for the Horses) in 2005 but more recently spends his time with his Porsche 911 renovation business in Los Angeles, going back to his original trade. Video footage suggests he looks annoyingly good for his age and takes great pride in his work. On a more musical tint, he appeared on two tracks of the 2011 album These Hopeful Machines by US electro artist BT. 

Wintertime Blues

There’s several reasons I haven’t written anything on here, none of them actually any good.

Or maybe one is, in that I've just been too tired. This seems to happen every year, that I get to December and simply gas out and then head off home for Christmas week, where a few days of being fed by my mother replenishes my energy levels for another ten months or so. It’s pathetic, really, that I still need this at the age of 32.

There was also a fun few hours in hospital a bit ago, where I had a lump of plastic and metal shoved into my chest with no little force. The loop recorder (as they call it), is supposed to take a snap shot of my heart activity next time I have a black out, on the assumption someone I know is around to activate the thing with this little box thing I carry around with me. All I can say is that the process of putting it in may be the most painful experience of my life – but, hey, the girls love a scar. More importantly, a good friend of mine (who I hope reads this) is going through a hell of a lot worse at the moment, which puts my petty moaning into sharp relief.

What I have managed to do is a little bit of gaming, reading and listening to music.

The Last of Us
‘Citizen Kane of Gaming’, according to one review, which is a gross an overstatement as you’ll hear all year, for an experience that is essentially Resident Evil with a higher budget.

To it’s credit, the acting is excellent, especially Troy Baker as Joel, the male lead, and the storyline, although not exactly as amazing as Charlie Brooker makes out, is engaging to the degree that you keep playing through some somewhat atypical survival horror sections to see what happens next. That you spend the game playing as a man driven to amorality by virtue of just trying to survive in a world gone to shit is an interesting slant – especially as he makes no attempt to apologise or feel bad about his actions.

The Last of Us is about a linear a game I’ve played since Final Fantasy XIII (which also starred Troy Baker, funnily enough), which isn’t my cup o’tea most of the time, but it managed to look pretty enough to keep me interested and to it’s credit, the combat sections can provide some cool moments: blowing up a group of four armed-to-the-teeth soldiers with a well-placed nail bomb was a satisfying a game a moment as I’ve had all year.

Solid 8/10 experience for the whole package, but nowhere close to what the hype what have you believe – the game dynamics would get 6/10 from me on a good day.

Grand Theft Auto V
Call me shallow (because I am), but I bought right into the hype for this at the last moment. I had resolved to wait till the price come down a few months after release… but no, I ended up picking up on release and booking the following day off work to put in some serious time.

GTAV doesn’t give you much more leeway in the actual storyline than The Last of Us (bar one choice at the end which gives three different conclusions) but has a stronger perception of choice. Between missions, you’re free to explore a huge city, play games or just get up to the usual chaos you can in these games.

There’s issues with the storyline, in that Rockstar don’t seem to have got a handle on how to write good female characters. Like The Last of Us, there is a torture scene – but here, you have to take an active part rather than just watch. It made for an uncomfortable moment, but that’s the nature of the character you are playing at that time – he’s a complete psychopath with very little in the way of morals or grip on reality.

It hasn’t quite topped Vice City as my favourite GTA title, but it was a rewarding playthrough in any case, with plenty of laughs and moments of total awesomeness. More so than TLoU, it pushes games as a serious form of entertainment by sheer dint of how much it sold in the days after release – can only other medium compare with those figures?

Autobiography by Morrissey
Despite the likes of Private Eye getting all uptight about the sums being thrown around for the rights to this, Stretford Moz’s tome was among the most anticipated books of the year, surely?

As it was, we learn the guy sure can moan. It seems everyone in the world has at some point fucked him over, his mother excepted, or died young, though Elton John, of all people, leaves a positive impression in their single meeting. The details of his childhood are interesting, but there’s relatively little about the Smiths period – the man himself could justify this with the fact it made up only a small period of his life (five years), but it’s the part I would wager the majority of us are interested in. Apparently, he also remains in the dark as to why Johnny Marr quit.

What we do get is almost the same amount of space dedicated to the court case that pretty much put the mockers on the chance of there ever being a full Smiths reunion. Fair enough, it does appear Moz was done over by a vindictive judge, but he goes on, and on, and on. It sets a tone for a downhill slope, as his comeback ten years ago is described in a series of numbers of chart placings and attendance figures at gigs. The revelations of his romantic forays with men and women seem scant consolation for wading through the rest.

Catherine Wheel
I’ve actually made some inroads into writing a piece of this band, who are my favourite musical discovery of the year despite them not having released a note in over ten years. If I can sort my shit out, I'll try to finish my overview of their work.