Sunday Morning Coming Down

The announcement of the Spirit of Talk Talk book from Rocket 88 Books reminded me of early Sunday mornings in various squats of North London in the mid-1980s. Having spent most of Saturday night and well into Sunday either making music or 'serving' behind the bar at Kafe Kollaps and bullshitting with 'customers', there'd always be a few bodies scattered around the communal spaces, chilling and listening to a surprisingly varied range of music.

Because this was before 'chill out' became a recognisable and marketable musical genre, and because we had only record decks and cassette players to provide the 'ambient' sounds, either whole LPs were played, or mix-tapes made up for the purpose of aiding the come-down from whatever chemically-enhanced high people had been on. Oddly, Talk Talk's second album, It's My Life received some Sunday morning plays in the large, brightly lit by sunshine (through four windows facing the Finchley Road) living room above the Burn It Down Ballroom.

That might be considered odd when you looked at the mix tapes that we blasted out in the Kafe or Burn It Down in the hours prior to the come down. They were invariably filled with the sounds of Killing Joke, Dead Kennedys, Crass, Adrian Sherwood's On-U Sound, The Clash, Abwarts, Birthday Party, The Mob, Misty In Roots, Pop Group, Rip, Rig & Panic, Husker Du, Bronski Beat, Sir Joe Quarterman & Free Soul, Gang of Four, The Undertones…

Yet when the smoke cleared and the last body had been heaved out onto the cold slabs of pavement outside, whoever lived in the place would move upstairs for a last drink, toke or joke, just as the sun was making the moon look daft. As would be expected The Velvet Underground, the Stones' Sticky Fingers, Pink Floyd's Saucerful of Secrets and Meddle were regularly heard drowning out the birds and early morning traffic as they grew in volume outside. But we were an eclectic lot, and so Frank Sinatra (Where Are You?), Eric Dolphy (At the Five Spot), Synanthesia, Joyride by Friendsound and Nilsson's Greatest Hits might also be played along with the first Monkees album, Anita Baker's The Songstress, Ready For Teddy or Let's Get It On; each piece of vinyl was carefully placed on the turntable with much effort made to not smear anything on it by the person closest to the stereo and boxes of records.

Alongside all the old stuff though, there were a few newly released albums, records made by people who were our age, and who usually lived very different lifestyles—though there were some by bands that we knew, vaguely. Like The Go Betweens who lived in a block of housing asssociation-let flats in the Oval, or Microdisney, who were regular Saturday night customers at the Kollaps, or Scritti Politti (Songs To Remember was played both in the Kafe and in the morning after). Prefab Sprout's Swoon was a much-loved early Sunday morning sound, as was The Smiths' early singles and The Dream Syndicate's Medicine Show.

These are all records that I haven't heard in years, but they're all so embedded in my memory that I can see, smell and hear each track on every one of them as they would play, in sequence. Spirit of Talk Talk did that to me, and I suspect that it'll do something similar to many other people, too.