paul capewell’s blog

You’ll know by now that I am a huge fan of reminiscing (whether it’s good for me or not is a completely different story).

Five years ago doesn’t sound like such a long time on paper. But when you sit down and start to think about what you’ve done in that time, where you’ve been, who you’ve loved, lost, loved again, met, missed… It all starts to add up. Five years ago I was in Auckland, New Zealand and a record had just come out.

That record was Love Is Hell pt. 1 by Ryan Adams.

I had been anticipating its release for a couple of weeks but had no idea what to expect as far as the music went. Since leaving home in September of that year I had been listening to music on my wee 10GB MP3 player non-stop and had fortunately copied my mum’s(!) copies of Heartbreaker and Gold. (Yes, with no shame whatsoever I admit that it was through my mother that I got into Ryan Adams.) For one reason or another, on some random bus journey, Heartbreaker bore its way into my skull, my consciousness, my very being.

The rest, as they say, &c…

Love Is Hell pt. 1 came out November 3rd 2003 but being in NZ, I was trawling Marbecks, Real Groovy and Sounds amongst others to find a copy and kept going home disappointed. At some point in the next week or so I found copies in Real Groovy but I knew that the US pressing had no bonus tracks and that the international versions had two. Finding only the US pressing I showed remarkable restraint and left it on the shelf.

That lasted until November 13th or 14th when I ended up buying a copy from Real Groovy on Queen Street. I didn’t have a CD walkman (see MP3 player above) but the hostel I was staying at, in Parnell, had a CD player for anyone to use, and luckily had computers to use. I still remember not hearing Love Is Hell pt. 1 first, but reading it.

Because of the time of day, or how busy the hostel was, or whatever, I remember retreating to my bedroom, lying on the top bunk to the right of the window and just sitting reading the lyrics book.

The lyrics, like the monochrome artwork, were dark, grey, cold. I loved them. Even though I hadn’t heard the music, the lyrics still spoke to me. I could tell they were special.

I remember hearing the EP for the first time through headphones and being genuinely blown away – as I still am to this day – by the beautifully crisp production which is at once warm and full and then again cold and sparse. Jangly guitars, pounding drums layered and layered. But that wasn’t the whole of it – one of my favourite things about the whole EP are those tiny little half-sounds. The delicate plucks or wobbles or reverb or whatever. The mistakes, almost. Though no part of me thinks there are any mistakes on that EP; it’s just too flawless.

I have another distinct memory of lying out on the picnic bench in the hostel’s front yard. I was on this bench in the driveway, by this quiet road in one of Auckland’s most beautiful suburbs. I could see the aging white-painted wooden slats that made up the hostel itself, the pure blue sky above me, the patchwork of concrete that made up the driveway and the quaint attempts at artistic flourishes set into the concrete in the form of half-mosasics. All around me was the constant buzz of cicadas and the trees, too numerous and exotic to mention, all waving gently in the breeze.

Of course I now realise that for such a sunny, glorious, warm memory to be attached to the kind of music found on Love Is Hell pt. 1 is ridiculous! It is a cold, wintry record. But I cannot help where I first heard it, where it first attached itself to me. Every time I sit down and listen to it, some part of me is sucked away to distant Parnell.

Anyway, like I say, it’s been five years and my love for this EP, and indeed for Ryan Adams, has not diminished one bit. Whenever I’m asked to rate his albums, Love Is Hell (the album including pt. 1) almost always goes at the top. Indeed when I made a recent mix CD to help introduce a friend to his music, the first 9 tracks were the first 9 of the album, in order.

I would say I’m going to write a post in a month’s time about Love Is Hell pt. 2 coming out but I have to sheepishly admit that after Love Is Hell pt. 1 and Rock n Roll, I was initially disappointed in pt. 2 and neglected it rather a lot. Of course as I say, I now love the album (pt. 1 and pt. 2 together as originally intended) but I think it took until I heard the ‘album’ proper to really ‘get’ pt. 2.

For me, Love Is Hell pt. 1 will always remain an incredibly important record and the memories of the week leading up to and weeks following me getting my paws on a copy are indelibly printed into my very being.

But don’t get me started on the five years between then and now…

…hell, I’m awful at multi-tasking. Some homework I’ve had since last Tuesday to do is sat on a pile on my bedside table. Underneath it is unread supplements from Saturday’s Guardian. Underneath that is a book I’ve read a third of. Underneath that is a book I’ve not started yet, but planned to. Underneath that is a sometimes-book I have for dipping in and out of. Underneath that is a book I’ve read a third of and was due back to the library today (fuck). Underneath that is another occasional-book.

Open in my browser’s tabs are wikipedia articles on: Hollow Earth theory, the deepest borehole in earth’s history and numerous articles relating to Antarctica, the South Pole, and many of the early heroic explorers.

This afternoon and evening I have read Robert Falcon Scott’s journals (available online from Project Gutenberg amongst others) from his ill-fated expedition to the South Pole. Skimmed them, sure, but the December 1911 – March 1912 entries I read in full. Before now I only knew the story, and had only seen the final page (or facsimile thereof) so, in a way I knew it was going to be grim reading, but those final weeks were incredibly dire. Succumbing to frostbite, contemplating suicide, awful weather, running out of fuel (with which to both cook and melt ice into usable water)… All sorts. Horrendous. And heroic. They made it to the pole, but they never made it back.

Diaries are important. The likes of Pepys and Scott keeping diaries with the level of detail that they do so that the likes of me can read them at my leisure is incredible. Of course in Scott’s case, he was documenting something utterly unheard of. Pepys’ entries are more on the personal side but still see him caught up in or reporting on huge moments in London’s history including fire and plague.

*****

My cold is what’s kept me roombound and reading today. I don’t feel too horrendous but still very much groggy and bunged up. I’ll see how I’m feeling tomorrow morning. This morning it took me several hours to not feel absolutely rotten and I unfortunately have a 9am lecture. Fortunately I know in advance that that lecture is being taken by a guest speak and is on general time management. Anyway. I’ll see how I feel.

*****

The PULP website remains offline tonight. The waiting game is very boring. Please, Blogger, if you’re reading this, my other blog IS NOT SPAM. Thank you.