One of my tasks for this year is to listen to More Music. My Spotify end of year Wrap was pretty shoddy, with “just” 8,839 minutes listended to. Less than a week. For me, that is awfully low – I think the highest amount was about three weeks, which was during Covid when there was less than nothing else to do. Therefore, it was the aim of 2026 to crank those numbers up to 11.

Music is, and always has been, my happy place, my safe space. My parents used to have the radio on all the time, background noise for our domestic lives. As they were the grown-ups, my role was to listen to their choice of musical likes. Dad, being Irish, played a lot of Irish bands – The Dubliners, The Wolfe Tones, and various compilation albums bought from Mandy’s in Willesden, which catered purely for the vast diaspora that populated the area. Mum liked her pop music from their era, so I grew up listening to Rod Stewart, Hot Chocolate, ABBA and whatever else Capital Gold sent over the airwaves. A small transistor radio, won in a school raffle, was my own personal window in a non-parentally curated playlist, introducing me to John Peel, Janice Long and the drifting signal on Radio Luxembourg.

Moving to Watford at 15 meant I had to commute to school for the last year of my GCSEs. The small shop at Carpenders Park station provided me with my first taste of musical independence every Wednesday morning, when the NME and Melody Maker would arrive. It was the one day of the week that I would head into school early, so that I could make sure I got the copies fresh from Mr. Newsagent’s pile of papers. I would devour all the reviews, and would bring my walkman in just in case there was a free tape on the cover of either of them. This was a new world for me – I would never hear bands like Thousand Yard Stare or Throwing Muses on my parent’s radio station, so I had to take Taylor Parkes’ word for it that they were the future of music.

Upon entering the Sixth Form at school, my musical education ramped up considerably. By now, I had fallen for the Manic Street Preachers, The Beautiful South, Belly and had been introduced to The Frank & Walters, The Senseless Things and Carter USM. Woolworths in Carpenders Park was visited every weekend to see if ANY of my New Favourite Bands had become popular enough to infiltrate the charts. Indie music started to suddenly become radio friendly and almost popular. Blur and Suede were starting to bother the charts – the early awakening of what would be classed as Britpop – and us long-haired indie kids were now in fashion. Almost.

Not long after I left the Sixth Form, packing myself off to a Youth Trainee Scheme at a big tour operator, following my mother’s journey into travel and tourism. I went with one of my friend’s who I had abandoned for a working life to my first proper gig. Clarification: I had seen the Beautiful South the previous year at Wembley Arena (the “0898” album tour). That is a proper gig, innit? Well, yes it absolutely is, but it’s Wembley Arena. I had also been to a one-day festival in Finsbury Park to watch the likes of Carter, Belly, the Frank & Walters etc, play a gig in support of fledgling pirate radio station, XFM. And that is more than proper. But also a festival. Not a gig. And so, in November 1993, me and Ricky went to the Mean Fiddler in Harlesden to watch our latest indie crushes, Sidi Bou Said. We swooned over the crashing melodies, nodded our heads (as other people appeared to be doing), and clapped at the end of each song along with everyone else, the gig-going etiquette not quite in our natural instincts. We watched, but barely gave much thought to the unsigned band from York who opened the evening.

Shed Seven, the York band who were playing their first gig in London that night, went on to become rather good. They did a joint-headline tour the following March with Compulsion (an Irish-fronted punk band), and we went to that as well. By now they had released a couple of singles, and were starting to garner indie-press attention. “Change Giver”, their debut album was solid enough, featuring their hit singles to date (“Dolphin”, advert-friendly “Speakeasy”, “Ocean Pie”, a single that beat Take That to the Christmas Number One slot. In Thailand). More gigs were attended, including one in Camden where my mate managed to obtain one of Alan Leach’s drumsticks, and I got Rick Witter’s signature on a t-shirt purchased at the gig, thus kicking off my addiction to merchandise stalls.

Having had a chart-hit of an album in 1994, they only released one single the following year. “Where Have You Been Tonight?”, a stomping, riff-heavy song charted – keeping their chart-placing streak going – and then….nothing. It wasn’t until 1996, officially the Britpop era, that their sophomore album dropped. “A Maximum High” was released on April Fool’s Day. I can’t say for certain nearly thirty years later, but if I didn’t purchase it on the day of release, then it was definitely in my possession by that weekend. By the time the album was presented to the world, a number of songs were already live-set favourites. “Where Have You Been Tonight?” had been a staple for the previous twelve months, as had album track “Lies” following its inclusion on an NME compilation the previous summer.

Were Shed Seven Britpop? Did it matter? Over this time, indie-guitar bands from England were The Thing To Be. Oasis and Blur had gate-crashed everything, including the evening news, and others had leapt into their slipstream. Menswear, Northern Uproar, Cast, Seahorses all sought to follow on the coattails of the more successful class members. The Sheds, having been formed pre-Britpop – part of the desparately monikered New Wave Of New Wave alongside Compulsion, These Animal Men and Elastica – they already had a fanbase, loyal and defensive of their more frequent kickings in the weekly musical press, but the sheer vastness of Britpop just swallowed them up and dragged them along.

For my mind, I still think “A Maximum High” is their best album. Whether this is Best Years Of Your Life bias, I couldn’t completely say. They were always a band who liked to start with a big hook, and “Getting Better” is almost a dictionary definition of this, a growing crescendo before Paul Banks unleashes a dirty rock-tinged riff, and Rick leads us towards a bouncy, mosh-pit singalong “It’s Getting Better All The Time” chorus. One thing they could never be accused of is not being able to write a catchy tune. “Magic Streets” follows, and doesn’t let up on its bounciness and bombasticness, Rick confidently declaring “I’m as big as the universe” on probably the best non-released track on the album (caveat to follow in a bit).

Missing the monster opening hook? No problem, here comes “Where Have You Been Tonight?”, another shout-along-athon, radio and mosh-friendly, and so long after its original release, a nice familiar, sweaty comfort blanket. After this, the change in pace is slightly jarring, but mein gott what a song. “Going For Gold” is, was, and always be, as close to flawless from that era as it’s possible to get. A slower paced, gentler track, it was (and to date still is) their highest ranked chart song. Beautifully written, with simple sway-along lyrics, it would need a heart of stone not to melt when Rick opines “I look to me my only friend”.

Relatively normal service is resumed on the following track “On Standby”. A quiet “Will you stay on standby?” gives way to crunching guitars over Rick singing “Because I need another alibi”. Another strong charting single – one of five in 1996, the only band to achieve this feat. After this, “Out By My Side” seems almost whimsical and playful, a song I can only describe as one I could skip down a path to. Considering the guitar heaviness of the album, as was the fashion at the time, what follows is still one of the best things I think that they have ever committed to vinyl (or CD or cassette). “Lies” originally featured on an NME compilation in 1995 (hence my earlier caveat about “Magic Streets”), and was already a stalwart of their frenetic live sets. The piano opening somehow sits perfectly on the album, but once the piano gives way to another crunching guitar riff from the heavens, Rick declares “I’ve seen tomorrow and I know whose to blame”. The song carries on, marrying atmospheric piano with choppy guitar, culminating with Rick ending “I’ve got this feeling / That it won’t last long”, as the piano tinkles to a ending.

“This Day Was Ours” follows as another romp through indieland, as album filler of the highest order – there were arguably another three or four singles that could have been pilfered from the album, this amongst them. “Ladyman” wasn’t one of them, the only song on the album that I just could not get on with, despite it following much the same formula as the others tracks. “Falling From The Sky” was a song that actually sounds better now, thirty years later and in the context of their output since 1996 (it would not have sounded out of place on “Better Times”, one of their most recent albums), before “Bully Boy” careers onto the scene with one final hurrah for the Big Guitars and Bouncy Chorus. Another mosh-pit friendly tag-line of “I’ll fight you to the death”, shouted in the jolliest way ever. The closer, “Parallel Lines” his the brakes hard, a more blissed-out song, slowly coming down, before rising again to Rick repeating the introductory point of the album “getting better” until the end.

This was probably the commercial high-point for Shed Seven, though it’s been fun reconnecting with them in recent years with their latest few albums. Live, they are still just so fun – Witter has always been a perfect front-man, and now with added repartee between songs. “A Maximum High” was a perfect album for the mid-90s, and showcased what made Shed Seven so enjoyable: big riffs, simple, singalong songs, and undisguised fun. They were never really cool enough for the arched-eyebrows, carefully manicured bands who populated most of Britpop, and were treated as mascots of the scene by the Camden-centric music press. For those of us who – puts on smug hat – knew better, it didn’t matter what Simon Price, Everett True et al thought. And 49 year old me is rather grateful for 17 year old me getting to a gig early to watch an unsigned support act from York. Well done teenage me.