(Last year, the world celebrated the 20th Anniversary of two landmark albums – Nirvana’s “Nevermind” and Pearl Jam’s “Ten”. Retrospectives were written, songs were remastered, and even a documentary was released. These albums were good, but weren’t a big deal to me at the time. The albums that would change my life would come much later: the period of 1992 to 1994.
This is the first of a series I’m going to call “20 Years Ago Today”, where I write about a life-changing album on the exact date of its 20th anniversary. Unfortunately, there is no record on the internet that shows the exact release date of Shelleyan Orphan’s "Humroot"; all we know is that it was released in 1992. Just so we could start the ball rolling on this series that no one will give a shit about, let’s just pretend that it was released on this day, 20 years ago. Thank you.)
"Meron po kayong The Sundays?"
"Ano?"
"The Sundays?"
"The Sundies?"
"Hindi po, Sundays. Linggo."
"Ah wala. Wala kami nun."
I had this exchange with probably around a dozen salesladies from Odyssey, Radio City, and some other record bars whose names I can't remember anymore. This happened from 1991 to 1993; that's two full years of puzzled looks, mispronunciations, embarrassment, and hopelessness. I would eventually get a CD of The Sundays' "Blind" in 1994 and "Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic" in 1995, but those couple of years before remain unforgettable for their sheer strangeness in retrospect: I was basically obsessed about my favorite band of all time at a time when it was still impossible to get a hold of non-mainstream music, when the term "Hard to Find" was still applicable to music, when obsessing over music was still akin to being into mysticism.
I've only heard of four Sundays songs during that period, so they were basically this tease that, at some point, began to feel completely unreachable and uanttainable. But by early-1993 I already owned Shelleyan Orphan's "Humroot" on tape, whose cover art made the salesladies at Odyssey SM Annex giggle when I took it to the counter. That summer, Shelleyan Orphan was the girl-next-door, the real, tangible, down-to-Earth girl who talked to you while you obsessed over that beautiful goddess at school who didn't even know you exist. "Humroot" was my summer fling, the girl that helped me take my mind off the great love of my life who was still unavailable in local record bars.
This seems to be the perpetual curse of Shelleyan Orphan – they were and always will be "the other girl" to The Sundays' childhood sweethearts of the critical establishment's collective memories. They were always "the band that kinda sounds like The Sundays" even though they were there first. They didn't even sound anything like The Sundays: Jemaur Tayle's Baroque arrangements meandering over Caroline Crawley's purry girly voice is a spectacle that was unheard of then until now.
Because they provided me with the soundtrack to my summer of '93, the songs in "Humroot" forever fills me with images and vague memories of summer: of long road trips to Ilocos, of stacks of books accumulated from the recently-concluded schoolyear, of blissfully still and uneventful Holy Weeks where there was nothing to do because the world still knew how to stop then, the smell of late-afternoon sweat, the color of the sky projected against the bed sheets hanging on the clothesline.
No one remembers Shelleyan Orphan. No one talks about them – not snobs, revisionist snobs, hipsters, or anti-hipsters. You won’t be able to find any torrents of “Humroot” or their second album “Century Flower”. They weren’t hip to listen to then, and they sure as hell not hip to listen to now. And because they’re as ignored today as they were in 1992, “Humroot” literally transports me back to the summers of my youth. Shelleyan Orphan remains a personal memory, an extension of myself, or rather, a remnant of my old self, untouched by the radical ways in which the world has changed.
20 years have passed and music is now easily accessible, easily discovered, easily shared. Which is great because who wouldn’t want to hear as much good music as physically possible? But in the world I grew up in, everything isn’t supposed to be easy and not every experience can be shared to everyone. The nature of true beauty hasn’t changed; it’s like an old cassette tape that will forever be priceless because it’s un-rippable, un-streamable, and un-downloadable.
4 comments :
Funny, I just Googled "Shelleyan Orphan Humroot release date" because I knew the 20 year anniversary had to be close, and I came across your webpage. It's one of those albums that seems to capture memories. It will always hold August and September 1992 in amber for me.
I bought this on CD back in '92 after reading a review in Rolling Stone that mentioned members of the cure involved in this album, Boris Williams and Porl Thompson. I've moved so many times since then, I completely lost track of it. Cuts like Burst, Muddied Up are stuck in a tiny, tiny corner of my brain. Thanks for this post.
just found helleborine in a dollar bin somewhere and it rules! love bands that no one remembers, not the hipsters or the anti-hipsters. they're so good tho!
I remember them! Used to go and see them around London. They were a wonderful band - great vocals, usually had an excellent band (because Shelleyan was really just Jem and Caroline) - once or twice saw them with a hurdy-gurdy player. They were a unique and lovely act who always made you feel happy. And of course the last three tracks on Humroot are one of the best chunks of music you will ever hear - spine tingling stuff - you should have heard 'Superhighway' live. Wherever they are, I'll love them forever (and I'm a 58 year old bloke!)
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