I sometimes wonder if I’m working in the wrong business. These nagging doubts and worries play on a man’s mind. As Editor of TLOBF, my inbox gets constantly bombarded with emails from bands, labels, PR agencies asking me to check out “the next big thing”. The problem is, I’m not interested in “the next big thing”. The reason I got into this was not for kudos or to be famous for finding the next Spice Girls. Oh no. It was, and always will be, about the music. I don’t care if a band or artist is 18 or 80, as long as the music is great, original, exciting and connects with me, then I’ll shout about it.

A couple of weeks ago a group of like-minded individuals, all of whom met via the wonders of Twitter, and some of us who’d never met in person before, headed to the rather surreal surroundings of The Barbican to see The Necks. For those of you who haven’t come across these guys, they’re an Australian experimental Jazz-trio with an average age of around 50. They played two, 45 minutes sets of such brilliant, improvised music, I’ve been in shock since. They never play the same set twice. Each time they head out on stage they have no idea what form the set is going to take. They don’t even know which of the trio will start the next set. It’s not just their ability to understand and develop music across a random theme, but it’s their technical skill as well that astounds. That one evening has cleared my musical palate, it allowed me to break free of the reins of the here and now. It also confirmed one of my long time beliefs that there’s vast swathes of music out there I’ve never heard, and I’m going to love.

So what’s this got to do with the title “Consumer Power”? Well, I hold another long-term belief that the consumption of music has become the number one goal. The prevalence of music blogs, download sites and, basically, the revolution of the mp3, has made it so much easier to hear and consume music. The recent arrival of the “blog-aggregator” Altered Zones by the Pitchfork stable has only served to confirm this. Whilst some quarters are calling this a great way to hear about new music, which it no doubt is, its reliance on clichéd paragraphs and lots of free downloads, in my mind, just serves to confirm my point.

There’s been plenty said about the lack of quality music journalism recently. Certainly, The Quietus seems to be the last bastion of this (we can’t compete with their established journos and phonebook), but this ability to download and absorb music so easy almost makes writing about it pointless. Why read when you can hear? Listening can be a much more passive experience whilst reading requires time and patience – something the 21st Century seems to be lacking.

I’m probably coming across like the bitter, twisted and prog-rock obsessed old bloke that I am. But, if we want to establish a music scene, something that lasts and isn’t lost the next time your internet connection goes, we should get behind and support young artists for the long haul. Don’t over hype and over saturate with dozens of remixes and interviews. Before we proclaim an artist to be “this generation’s X”, give them some time and space. Read Gold Panda’s twitter feed and among the random pictures and one-liners, you can see an artist who’s obviously exceedingly talented, but one who’s now very nervous about releasing an album to the maddening crowd. Give these artists time and space to develop. Let the natural swell of live shows, low-key EP’s and singles create their own momentum, don’t try and force the issue.

It’s not easy, and it’s a fine line between supporting an artist and hyping them. However, the bottom line is easy: it should always be about the music. If it’s good, it will outlast everything else.

I read with interest in Word magazine this month about the Leisure Society’s recent concert and the rise of “Kindie”, and also the review of Sing Me To Sleep: Indie Lullabies on this site. The concept behind these projects seem to be somewhat akin to indie music Sunday School for our children, bringing them up with a strong musical sensibility, spurning all that is evil (i.e. The Wiggles). So in the way a Sunday school will teach our children about the genealogy of the Old Testament, the preaching’s of Jesus and moral conduct, these Kindie nights should teach how Punk begat Nu-Wave begat Britpop, how Morrissey writes really wonderful lyrics, and why Kasabian are best left alone. And no, I don’t think Morrissey is like Jesus. He’s more of a John The Baptist.

I have a vested interest in this, having spawned two pre-school children, a daughter who is nearly three and a son who is barely one. My daughter’s musical repertoire stretches from both verses of “Ring-A-Ring Of Roses” to that modern classic “Five Little Monkeys Jumping On The Bed”, but that’s as far as it goes. She is just as likely to sing along to a Radio 2 jingle as anything else, which she often does to our continual amusement. My son is doubly useless, only capable of going “buu buu buu” if he hears the music to Peppa Pig. Harsh, but true.

I have a rosy dream that one day I will sit with them as wided-eyed teenagers, 12” vinyl, cassettes and CD’s sprawled over the carpet, delighting them with Senseless Things b-sides and dazzling their minds with shoegaze EP’s. They will flick through the pile of records, their inquisitive minds asking me more about this wonderful looking Pop Will Eat Itself album, and as I play it they will squeal with delight. But I have a feeling that this is unlikely to happen. So far, all I know is that if I play Strawberry Jam in the car, they usually fall asleep. There was a brief burst of excitement the other day when Teenage Fanclub came on the radio and my daughter exclaimed “its daddy’s music!”, but that is all.

Part of the problem is that I rarely listen to music in the company of my children. Modern technology has shrunk the tools of amplification so that I rarely listen to music outside of my car or without headphones. When I was a child, there was only one apparatus for music in our house, the massive chunky hi-fi in the lounge. This room also housed the only other source of entertainment, the telly, and if my dad was listening to a record, this was switched off. Therefore, I had little choice but to sit in there and listen as well. He had questionable tastes (well, he liked Leo Sayer), but I clearly remember the thrill of actually listening to Sergeant Pepper for the first time, not just as background noise, and feeling intimidated and somewhat frightened by the orchestral swell of A Day In The Life. My dad would let the needle stick on the groove playing the nonsense sounds that end the album, and I would dutifully get up and put on another record.

Something else that has changed in my relationship with music, that had an effect on me as child, is the association with product. I don’t display any CD’s or records – they are all in boxes, stored away. The few CD’s I purchase don’t stay out for long, as I immediately put them on my laptop and pack away the physical item. There is little musical flotsam in my house for my children to pick up and enquire about. Again, as a child I would study my dad’s album sleeves, spending what seemed like hours pouring over the cover of ELO’s magnificent Out of the Blue, or that War of the Worlds album. There was a sizeable rack of vinyl under the hi-fi and I would idly flick through them, pulling out choices to play. These vessels of music, and the experience of sitting with my father listening, got me initially interested and emotionally attached to music. Itunes kills this stone dead. What tactile pleasure could anyone receive flicking down an electronic list of band names and titles, devoid of artwork? Very little I’d say.

“Kindie” then is an interesting proposal, but can it really work. Can we really ‘force’ our likes and dislikes onto these unique characters and personalities. I am sure every mother and father has faced the failure of trying to get their child to appreciate a TV programme, book or film they loved in their youth, facing the realisation that it is the child who decides what they like and don’t like, not the parent. Children I think realise instantly when they are being force-fed something, often liking the very thing you’d think they would hate (Q: what is my daughters favourite Disney, A: dreadful The Rescuers, for heavens sake).

Maybe there is another problem. Often parents who force their children to Sunday School end up with God-hating teenagers. Maybe there is a risk of the same happening with music, that they associate it with their parent and wish to rebel. That they become Owl City fans just to spite their guardians. In the end, maybe the whole exercise is futile. As with most parenting endeavours, maybe it is more down to the satisfaction it gives the parents rather than the appreciation from the children. None of us really know how our children will turn out and lets face it, the musical stars my children will possibly worship are more than likely currently still at middle school, banging out Frog Went A’Courting on a glockenspiel in double music.

What is important though about these child friendly concerts and everything that goes with it is that it gives parents and children the chance to spend time together, something that should never be underestimated. So we shouldn’t get hung up on whether Timmy prefers The X-Factor or Krautrock, or whether little Jocasta truly appreciates the nuances of Bowie’s Berlin trilogy. What really matters is that we get to spend time with our children, enjoying each others company, sharing experiences that could lead to common interests and passions that allow us to share together throughout our lives. And hopefully I’ll fondly remember this article in twenty years time, when my son gets the Bon-Jovi logo tattooed on his bum.

It’s disaster time, and the stars are out. Having now heard the appalling single for Haiti, I can firmly say that it is a song I never wish to hear again. But that does not mean I disagree with the principle of the song. For the millions of people that watch X-Factor and relentlessly buy shoddy covers of classic songs because some schmaltzy kid down on his / her luck sings it with a broad enough appeal, this is their way of donating.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Yes, the DEC appeal is easy enough to donate to ( Text “GIVE” to 70077 to donate £5 to the DEC for Haiti), but without the shock factor of horrific images to complement a parade of stars mugging themselves for camera, there are few other ways to tap into a specific audience. Having worked for a DEC agency on DEC appeals myself, I know this well. Whether it’s for a food crisis in Kenya, or a tsunami in Thailand, an earthquake in Pakistan, Great Britain’s populace thrive on celebrity endorsement of tragedy. This fascination predates Live Aid, which is often perceived as the iconic moment of song and politic meeting.

Click here to view the embedded video.

George Harrison’s 1971 ‘Concert For Bangladesh’ was, for me, a defining moment. I was born in Bangladesh; my family lived through that war of independence and it is that war, in part, which is responsible for me being in this country. Harrison’s song ‘Bangladesh’ may not be the greatest track ever written in the world, but it was, at least, an original composition. The concert was an original event – split into eastern and western music: something I’ve not seen since. Strange, really. Where were the concerts for Pakistan and Kenya? The massive appeal that followed the Boxing Day tsunami of 2004, while tragic, could only be in part due to the disasters proximity to Christmas and the fact that Thailand is such an incredibly popular Western tourist destination.

But Haiti is different. Already one of the poorer countries in the world, it does not thrive on tourism and does not have the infrastructure to cope with this present disaster. Really, where does have the infrastructure to cope with natural / man-made disasters? Remember the number of songs that came out post 9/11? Can you remember any of them? No. And yet ‘Feed The World’ is unforgettable. Perhaps it was the sheer weight of media and people power behind it, or perhaps it’s because it’s got a catchy chorus.

Click here to view the embedded video.

We cannot underestimate the power of music in situations like this. Yes, it can ultimately be a politically facile form and we may be stupid to suggest otherwise, but Simon Cowell has, at least, put together a group of popular artists willing to appropriate themselves for a nation. Forget about the cynical PR opportunities this offers; this country simply operates on a shallow, media personality level. Who’s going to buy a hardcore punk song for Haiti? Who’s going to buy something they’ve already got on CD from ten years ago just to make a point? (Oh, a few thousand idiots) Who’s going to sneer at the people doing something to help people in desperate need?

It’s the people who have never known times of great need, pain, war or devastation. It’s the classes that know better than everyone else. Yes, read your papers; nod, digest. Watch the TV and be moved by what you see. It’s good to do something. I am pleased that people are donating to the DEC. I am pleased that people are, in their hundreds of thousands, buying the Haiti single. ‘Everybody Hurts’, though deeply patronising and musically uninventive, fits the current popular music category.

As I write this, my wife is on a plane to Haiti as part of the DEC’s relief effort. She’ll be sleeping in a tent in a garden for a couple of weeks while working with the staff on the ground there. I admire her for that, and I know thousands of us would want to do the same: to just do something meaningful. And that is why we buy. Because that is all we have left to give. In this digital, consumer-oriented, media-driven frenzy, all we have left are our wallets and bank balances. Money equals care.

There are thousands of worthy causes in the world. You can look at any of the individual DEC member agency pages and see that. You can look out of your window and see that. No matter how you perceive its artistic credibility, to rubbish any attempt to make the world a better place is simply to rubbish the generosity of humanity.

Click here to view the embedded video.

When anyone asks me what I do for a living, I tell them that I criticise people for what I can’t do myself. I can’t write or perform music and I can’t play Rugby League. But yet I write on both these subjects, and criticising people for doing these things infinitely better than I could myself is my way of paying the rent. Call me a professional hypocrite…

Getting paid to write about music sounds ludicrous in itself, John Peel once wrote about being on the radio, “I’ll laughingly call this ‘my career’”, because the concept of simply playing music and being paid to do it was (and still is), quite frankly, too good to be true. Peel couldn’t even do it well most of the time, playing the wrong tracks at the wrong speeds. And it’s the same with writing about music and (just about) keeping the wolves from the door – there are probably a million worse ways to get by in life.

What Peel could do that I can’t though, is have any sort of affiliation with what people like. Peel introduced me to some of my favourite artists: Maher Shalal Hash Baz, Shitmat, Bearsuit. I’ve introduced people to probably nothing. When I put on gigs (increasingly rarely), I put on people I think will be a massive draw because I love them, then they turn out to only be attended by supportive and slightly pitying friends. When I talk to people who know much more about music than I do and discuss what we’re listening to they say ‘Rat-who?’ or simply, ‘you think the Dent May album was the best of last year? You’re fucking insane.’

Both these statements have been made to me by people I respect in the last week or so, and playing an experimental electronic library and Middle Eastern DJ set at New Year when all people wanted to dance to was Echo & the Bunnymen and Joy Division records was extremely depressing. Nobody seems to like the records I love, and music fans are becoming wise to the lack of taste of the humble music critic (thank you very much free downloading and Spotify).

It works both ways. Personally, I hate LCD Soundsystem’s Sound of Silver, it’s by far my most detested record of, well, pretty much my entire life. And I simply don’t understand the incredible love and affection given to Fuck Buttons’ Tarot Sport or The XX. These records are neither original nor interesting – all have been done before, and infinitely better.

But what do I know? The increasingly redundant music scribe… You can all go to Spotify and see that I’m (probably) wrong, and that the Dent May record is just a warbling nonce with a ukulele, and that the best music in the world isn’t made by Adam & Joe. I’m just a simple man, with exceptionally simple tastes… I like something that makes me smile more than something that a muso says is ‘atmospheric’ or worthy of the term ‘soundscape’, and I like the idea of a six foot something white man from Swindon ‘doing hip-hop’ in squats more than the latest ‘cool’ band on the scene in Shoreditch.

So asking my opinion on anything is probably slightly worthless. Nonetheless, I’ve been asked to write this column to talk about forgotten gems, and amazing independent record labels, and music I love.

It’s always a tough one, and the question ‘who are you listening to at the moment?’ usually gets a bit of a shrug and a mumbled ‘Ratface’. As he’s the only person who I’ve ever felt has been criminally overlooked. He does hip-hop, but it is punk. He’s an absolute phenomenon live and now, after about three years of DIY releases, he’s started to get some attention from small indies. He featured on the awesome Brainlove Records compilation Fear of a Wack Planet at the end of last year, and I think (read: hope) they might be doing something with his new material this year.

Entirely home produced, he’s probably the best producer barely known outside of Bristol at the moment. I’m kind of fed up with his music now after having it on loop for so long, but I always forget that nobody knows who he is, and they should, even if they hate him.

Myspace.com/ratfacemuzak

Record to buy in February: Maria & the Mirrors – ‘Omar’ (single on download and 7”, released on Parlour Records on 8 Feb.)