Four Albums That Make Me Smile

When I conceived the idea for this post, I had a long list of albums by the likes of The Rolling Stones and Neil Young. David Bowie, The Slits, Hole and Whitney were on there too. But as I started to write, I realised I wanted to share albums with a story attached, a memory, and not just my favourites (which is a tie between Revolver and Abbey Road, by the way). Records that pull you out of the here-and-now and snap you right back into a different phase of your life, the way catching a whiff of a certain perfume on a passing stranger does. So out went Exile on Main Street and Harvest - that last one hurt a lot - and in came this nostalgia-inducing quartet. Look, no Beatles!

1. Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Cole Porter Songbook - Ella Fitzgerald
I'm a night writer, for sure. I used to spend a lot of my nights in the library - not for the books, of which there were surprisingly few, but for a quiet place to write without distraction. I'd usually sleep all day, and then walk to the library, a few streets away from my grubby flat, at about 10pm. It was almost always raining, and so I'd turn up with a tangle of black curls on top of my head and eyeliner dripping down my cheeks. I probably looked like a ghost from a Japanese horror movie.

My routine was always the same: I'd grab myself some coffee from the Starbucks machine in the corner, then find the most secluded desk, preferably a booth. I liked the first floor best because you could eat and drink there. The rules became stricter on each floor - you couldn't eat on the second, but you could drink as long as it was from a bottle with a lid. Absolutely no food or drink permitted on the third. As long as the first floor had coffee machines and a vending machine stocked with toffee cookies, I was all good. Unfortunately, the rules on noise also increased by floor, and so I was on the loudest and most unregulated. No matter, that's why earphones were invented.

As soon as the dinosaur of a computer had turned on, I'd pop on some music. If I needed to get into a certain mood to write, I'd pick something more specific (The Shining soundtrack is excellent for horror and dread) but otherwise I'd set up Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Cole Porter Songbook on Youtube, and get to work. To this day, the album still reminds me of those rainy, carefree nights.

2. Ultraviolence - Lana Del Rey
I remember hearing this and thinking, here is a future classic. I'm 85% sure Ultraviolence will come to be regarded as a masterpiece of modern times, and it makes me feel pretty damn smug to have called it. I hadn't expected much. I wasn't a Born to Die fan, and Paradise was merely good (though I loved Ride, and Gods & Monsters and American were decent). I didn't even like Ultraviolence when I first heard it. It was slow and boring and all the songs sounded the same. And then one day, I just got it. It's an incredible throwback to the Sixties and Seventies, when albums were a thirty five minute experience and not just a collection of singles. Not that Ultraviolence is without its standout tracks; Shades of Cool is the greatest, weirdest Bond song that never was, and West Coast was the best single of 2014.

With this album, Lana has proven not only her fantastic voice, but her ability to use it to manipulate the listener, evoking any damn feeling or mood she wants. At times she is whispery and vulnerable, purring with affected sensuality, at others slow and dripping with braggadocio. To me, this is what makes a great singer - it has nothing to do with vocal range or hitting the high notes. Her vocal delivery tells as much of the story as her lyrics. And I love characters in pop music. From Prince to Gaga to Bowie, they just make an overplayed game more interesting.

3. LA Woman - The Doors

Liverpool isn't much like Los Angeles. God knows why this album brings me back to wandering the streets of Scouseland at night. I listened to it on my midnight wanders, sure, but I also listened to the I Love You, Beth Cooper soundtrack and Drake Bell. So why does LA Woman yank up memories of traipsing to the Tesco Express round the corner for pizza, red wine and cans of Monster, before spending the night locked in my shitty room, alternating writing and staring at the walls I'd turned into huge mood boards? (Not mentioned: paranoid Google searches of 'can you OD on energy drinks?' at 3am.)

Something about hearing Jim Morrison growling DRIVING DOWN YOUR FREEWAY and Ray Manzarek hitting those keys livens me up from the inside. My brain associates The Doors with nervous, rampant energy and manic creativity. They sort of induce a caffeine-like effect on my system. That's the kind of focus their music gives me; it increases productivity, enhances concentration and energises my soul. To be honest, I probably could have left the Monster on the shelf at Tesco and saved myself a couple of quid and a few hours worth of anxiety. Oh, and yes, energy drinks can kill you. And yes, I'd consumed a potentially fatal amount of caffeine. RISIN', RISIN'.

4. In Utero - Nirvana
The ugly, elitist side of me considered skipping this one from the list. It seemed too obvious, and there are so many fake fans out there. You know who I mean: the ones who buy smiley-faced Nirvana t-shirts at Forever 21, tie a flannel shirt around their waists and call themselves a 'huge fan'. The ones who think it's super-cool Kurt killed himself. I really don't want to be lumped in with these people. But you know what's lamer than pretending to like a band for the cool points? Pretending not to for the cool points. And so In Utero enters the list.

I was always a casual Nirvana fan, but it wasn't until my first year of university I really began to listen. I'd spend my days either sleeping or exploring the city after lectures (or during - my attendance record wasn't the best), and by night I'd either write or get out on the streets to listen to music and people watch. I like the vibe of night better. People are different. I was living just off Hope Street, and opposite my flat was the Metropolitan Cathedral. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I'd climb up the stairs in front of the cathedral and sit at the top. You could see the whole city from up there. I'd drink 45p cans of knockoff Vimto and watch the night fall over Liverpool. Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge on Seattle came on shuffle, and for the first time, I really heard the lyric 'I miss the comfort in being sad'. and yet it was exactly how I'd been feeling for years, ever since I 'trained' myself not to be depressed. This might seem a strange reason for inclusion on a list of albums that make me smile. But in that moment, high up above Liverpool and as physically alone as you can be in the city, I felt that someone else knew how I feel.

People talk about pain and depression as if it will make you some great artist. As if your work will be infected with originality and a special rawness. As if depression is okay because it has an up side, too. But how can art ever be raw when depression dulls the depth of feeling until I'm no longer capable of expressing myself at all, artistically or otherwise? I think that's why I latched on to Nirvana so hard after that night at the Met. Kurt was singing these things and expressing everything for me, because I was unable to do it myself.