Covid-19 update

Monorail Music is continuing to follow Scottish Government advice with regard to Covid-19. The shop is now open, however with limited hours and a maximum capacity of 4 customers at one time. We are also able to offer a limited online service which now includes shipping three days a week. We are still running on a skeleton staff so please be patient when ordering and communicating with us. Thanks for all your continued support from everyone at Monorail Music.

Bob Stanley and Pete Wiggs present

Occasional Rain

Ace

Released: 26th May 2020

2xLP£24.99 Buy Now In Stock. Dispatched tomorrow.
CD£11.99 Buy Now In Stock. Dispatched tomorrow.


It’s the day after the 60s. You turn on the radio and there is news about John leaving the Beatles – or will Paul be the first to jump? There is insecurity and uncertainty. The rain filters into the post-psychedelic, pre-progressive sound; in times of upheaval, you always notice bad weather.

“Occasional Rain” is the sequel to Bob Stanley and Pete Wiggs’ highly successful “English Weather” collection (“Really compelling and immersive: it’s a pleasure to lose yourself in it” - Alexis Petridis, the Guardian). This is the sound of young bands experimenting in a period of flux, feeling for a new direction, exploring jazz and folk – as many songs are led by mellotron, piano and flute as they are by guitar. Lyrically, there are two themes that crop up regularly: the search for a home that isn’t there anymore – the certainties of the optimistic 60s, the physical reality of terraced streets – and the rain. For the former, there’s Cressida’s gentle, keening ‘Home And Where I Long To Be’, while Duncan Browne’s shape-shifting ‘Ragged Rain Life’ feels like a decent summary of Britain in both 1970 and 2020.

“Occasional Rain” puts the era’s bigger names (Traffic, Yes, Moody Blues) and the lesser known (Mandy More, Shape Of The Rain, Tonton Macoute) side by side. Like
its predecessor “English Weather”, it evokes the turn of the new decade, a beautiful state of fuzzy confusion, and the feel of a wet Saturday afternoon at the dawn of
the 70s spent flicking through the racks, wondering whether to buy the new Tull album or maybe take a chance on that Christine Harwood album in the bargain
bin (go on, you won’t regret it).