Ides of Space10. Ides of Space – There Are No New Clouds (2001, Better Looking)

It’s probably no surprise to you, if you’ve known me longer than a couple of years, that this record would make it so high on my list. This was maybe my favorite record in high school (the last year of it, anyway), and my passing it along to Eric was arguably the beginning of any shoegaze tendencies you may notice in Old Radio or have noticed in any of the half-dozen other bands we’ve been in together over the years. In fact, this was the first album described as “shoegaze” that I really connected with, and it opened up the whole genre for me. This even predates My Bloody Valentine in my musical timeline; I came to them late.

If you haven’t heard of Ides of Space, you’re not alone; they were a semi-hit in their native Australia, but didn’t make a huge splash in the States. Their story is familiar, but nonetheless prodigious: they formed very shortly before a battle-of-the-bands-type competition, gave themselves the name Firehosereel, were dismissed from the competition, and suddenly returned as Ides of Space with a deceptively mature, measured indie-shoegaze sound. Patrick Haid’s voice, never rising much above a whisper and always double-tracked, is buoyed by rollicking ’90s-alt-rock guitars, their sound punching in somewhere between Dinosaur Jr. and Chapterhouse. Their distorted guitar tones drape themselves over choruses like warm blankets of fuzz, and sparkly synth lines and chiming guitar leads evoke images of Tokyo at night, all blurred lights and you’re looking up, dizzy.

Ides of Space: forefathers of the picnicgaze genre

I’ve listened to this album on airplanes, landing as the sun is coming up; I’ve listened to it wandering lonely through the rain in Boston; I’ve listened to it on long drives down dark roads, half-asleep; I’ve listened to it alone in my bedroom—many bedrooms, in each place I’ve lived since I moved out of the house—and with each listen I’m filled with a kind of brimming optimism, a silly, little kid-ish hope that I’ll do something great one day, soundtracked by this album that feels like my own.

Although technically a compilation of two EPs, this thing plays like a concept album. Lyrically, even after so many listens, I find new things to love. Haid’s stories are somewhat vague in places, a shroud of mystery hanging even over lines I could sing in my sleep. On “Keep Writing,” Haid sings, “We almost knew each other once, it was a shame. You moved a million miles away. And floating in between the lines there is a game that neither one of us could play. But in the evening hovering around a sound, the time was never there and you were never found.” There’s something so heartfelt in those lines, and vague as they are, a story is told even in those few words. When you examine the overall lyrical themes on the album, too, it’s no wonder it struck me so hard when it did: the two biggest concerns of Haid’s seem to be childhood and the art of writing. Those two subjects appear in nearly every song, sometimes both in one. The childhood theme is especially interesting; Haid seems to have a keen grasp on what it was like to be a child, how to articulate that, and throughout this album he’s lamenting the fact that childhood has mostly gone (“We could play this tragic teen game, and hate each other for being the same”). Between references to Alice in Wonderland and drawing fantastical pictures, there’s one of my favorite lyrical passages on the album, from “Random Noise Generator,” a moment that perfectly captures Haid’s sense of childlike awe:

“In the deep well, in the fine line, where there is never time for books or games or silly names, the only flowers are on your dress, and I know all the rest is hidden under dolls and smiles. So take your path and I’ll take mine, and when me meet again sometime, tell me of dragons and poets and unicorns, fighting and flying or trying. I’ll wait to hear it all.”

I always imagined he was singing to a younger sister, someone leading a different life, telling her to never stop being a kid. It’s good advice.

Click below to listen to “Random Noise Generator.” It’ll make you feel young again.