How did the BBC inspire a classic My Bloody Valentine song?
Although My Bloody Valentine and their leader, Kevin Shields, were stuck in production limbo for much longer than anyone could have imagined when making the financially ruinous Loveless, that deeply maddening period would produce one of the most innovative records ever released. More three-dimensional and sonically substantial than anything of its era, Loveless is an intersection of rock and electronic music and was the perfect way to signal the essence of the coming period.
While most people often concentrate on the incredibly narcotic essence of the 1991 record, and rightly so, this age-old story often overlooks the fact that it is a work of pure genius and that these aspects fed into the masterwork. They’re to be taken as separate strands of the same shimmering cloth.
Not only is every song a classic on its own, but together, they form the unit that is Loveless, which is a partial concept album and an absolute trip. Shields’ thinking on a microscopic level when making it is what instilled it with such depth in production, layering and general songwriting. It is equally as perfect for stoned summer walks as it is for ruminating on the technological stupor of the contemporary era on a rain-beaten bus, staring out the windows at the skyscrapers.
Recorded in a rapidly evolving London, Shields drew inspiration from his surroundings, crafting an album that mirrored the technological advancements of the time. One notable example is found in the glitchy track ‘To Here Knows When’, where he incorporated a BBC sound effects record—a distinctly London touch. The chosen sound? The distant rumbles of a minor disaster perfectly encapsulate the tension and change in the air.
Discussing the bassy disaster in the background, Shields told Tape Op in 2001: “For the low frequencies — there’s no bass in that song — we used a BBC sound effects record, and one of the things was a disaster in the distance, and it’s just the sound of rumbles, or…”
The album showcases depth, with the disaster sample enhancing a track that already features sultry lyrics about copulation, further intensifying the heady but unsettling postmodern atmosphere.
“That’s the main thing that throws people,” Shields also told 20/20 about the BBC sample. “The sound of a disaster sampled and looped all the way through. It doesn’t get past a certain frequency, so it has the sound of a bad cassette, and yet further up, there’s a tambourine on more like a hi-fi frequency, which you wouldn’t get with a bad cassette.”
The idea of including the relatively grim BBC sound was to make listeners feel that the rhythm had gone out of time while also staying perfectly in meter. Shields compared this to the noise of a train in the underground, which has a rhythm but is still dissonant. He revealed that he finds it fascinating what noises people will and won’t accept in life, with the din of London’s complicated rail networks typifying this.
Expressing his innovative outlook, he concluded: “Have you ever heard the tube at Old Street? It’s the most extraordinary screeching sound. All these City people stand around every day, blotting it out. If you put them in a room with this noise, they’d cover their ears, but because it’s escalators, they accept it.”
