1972- Новости

The year 1996 saw the release of Arab Strap’s first single, “The First Big Weekend,” and debut album The Week Never Starts Round Here. Into an underground rock milieu preoccupied at the time with slo-core, math rock, and all things Pet Sounds, the duo of Malcolm Middleton and Aidan Moffat couldn’t have sounded more alien.

In many ways, The Week Never Starts Round Here bears all the marks of a debut: it’s raw, unguarded, and crammed with ideas. It also firmly establishes the particular set-up that would define Arab Strap’s sound over the course of eleven years, with Middleton handling the music while Moffat provides the vocals and lyrics. Even this division of labor—more common to rap music than to the shoegazers and increasingly ubiquitous “collectives” of indie rock—seemed to defy expectations.

The sound of Arab Strap is a distinct brand of existential miserablism. Middleton’s cleverly arranged foundation of nocturnal guitars and rudimentary drum machines provides a canvas for Moffat to relay, in a thick Scottish dialect, his many sloshed, candid confessions. Long before artists like Mike Skinner chronicled the picaresque days of lads getting pissed and getting laid, Arab Strap’s vivid tales of lovers, lager and shame were being broadcast on college stations everywhere.

The Week Never Starts Round Here is an album full of drugged-up kisses and dried up egos; it chronicles the conquests and knockbacks of weekends that last forever, and it does so unapologetically, poetically, and profanely. Indie rock would never be the same.

Adrian Borland and Graham Bailey might be better known as members of legendary post-punk group The Sound, but the two were childhood friends and had been playing together even earlier in The Outsiders, and continued their deep musical rapport as a duo, creating these intense and engaging songs as Second Layer at the same time as their higher profile band output. Following our release of Courts Or Wars, combining their early material, we are proud to reissue their only full length album, World Of Rubber.

Fueled by experimentation in both song construction and recording techniques, the duo leave you enveloped in what The Quietus described as, “a monochrome worldview morbidly obsessed with the dehumanizing effect of war, nuclear weapon annihilation, and the fracturing and negation of the self within an increasingly distorted and technologically mediated society.” Indeed, the goal had been to make each album a concept album, with this to be titled: Second Layer’s World Of Rubber. Alas, this was to be the first and last of those efforts. New detailed liner notes from Graham Bailey shed considerable light on the creation of this cold classic and its immediate aftermath.

Bailey’s inventive construction and deconstruction of various electronics, effects boxes and tape loops form the propulsive base for these songs. Borland’s guitar playing is jagged and unleashed. Above it all is an undeniable sense of melody and Adrian’s distinctive vocals. Soon, they would wonder where Second Layer ended and The Sound began, but World Of Rubber would stand as a document of this fertile period. It would also be a lasting testament to their desire to push the boundaries of their creativity. Dark and brooding the result is what Bandcamp described as “brutally bleak, blank-eyed post-punk that remains chillingly compelling.”

Following a run with Cherry Red Records that featured a potential major label jump, guitarist Maurice Deebank quitting and rejoining multiple times, several pop stardom carrots just out of reach, mixing battles with Robin Guthrie, and a shocking entry into the record charts, Lawrence (just “Lawrence”, like “Cher” or “Madonna” thank you very much) knew he would be making a change with his band Felt. He would be seeing out his plan of ten albums and ten singles in ten years alongside a new partner in Creation Records. This compilation beautifully captures those years.

Creation was beginning a rapid ascent at the time, with Alan McGee serving as its hyperactive mouthpiece and focal point. McGee was all in on the band. “Lawrence achieved pop perfection, a breathless rush of sensitivity and intelligence. It was too understated to be commercial, too art to go pop, too pop to go art—in other words it was a perfect combination of all the music I loved at the time.” McGee was thrilled to have what he considered a real star on the label, and Lawrence was equally thrilled to have such an enthusiastic cheerleader. He funneled that enthusiasm into some of the most focused songwriting of his career, as well as some of his wildest experiments, all of which are on display here.

Lawrence Hayward knew that he wanted to be a pop star as a teen, and he devised a plan to release ten albums and ten singles over ten years to make that dream come true. A particular and determined individual, he would only be known as Lawrence from that day forward. His hopes for stardom would be pinned on his newly formed band, the succinctly named Felt. Soon signed to Cherry Red Records, Lawrence’s achingly cool vocals and the group’s way with walking melodies were evident on their debut for the label, “Something Sends Me To Sleep.” This compilation collects material from Felt’s Cherry Red period of 1981 to 1985, kicking off with that confident start, assembling numerous high points, and closing with their biggest hit, “Primitive Painters.”

This phase of the band is defined by the songwriting partnership and unique interplay of Lawrence and guitarist Maurice Deebank, with Deebank’s stylish and confident playing the envy of many of their counterparts. He delivers a constant string of shimmering hooks that wrap themselves around and over top of Lawrence’s more traditional beat combo song structures, as if trying to fit four songs worth of ideas into a pre-set radio friendly cutoff time. It works wonderfully as Lawrence always counters with a solid bedrock.

In one of many brushes with the brass ring, in 1984 Felt recorded versions of “Dismantled King Is Off The Throne” and “Sunlight Bathed The Golden Glow,” for the newly formed and Warners-backed label Blanco y Negro, in hopes that the band would follow their A+R man Mike Alway to the executive suite. Despite putting forward two of their finest songs, it was not to be. While major label dreams had to remain on the shelf, fans were delighted to be able to hear these beautifully stripped down and more direct versions when this compilation was released a few years later.

By 1985 the Felt roller coaster was something Maurice Deebank was constantly getting on and off of. As Gary Ainge always kept the beat, and Lawrence never lost focus, they were joined by local teen prodigy Martin Duffy on keyboards, filling out the arrangements, and following Deebank’s racing six-string cascades in “The Day The Rain Came Down” you can even hear a tiny hint of the next phase of the band in Duffy’s organ before Maurice swoops to the finish. The newly expanded Felt would then put everything they had into making one of the defining releases of the 80s: “Primitive Painters.”

Lawrence Hayward knew that he wanted to be a pop star as a teen, and he devised a plan to release ten albums and ten singles over ten years to make that dream come true. A particular and determined individual, he would only be known as Lawrence from that day forward. His hopes for stardom would be pinned on his newly formed band, the succinctly named Felt. Soon signed to Cherry Red Records, Lawrence’s achingly cool vocals and the group’s way with walking melodies were evident on their debut for the label, “Something Sends Me To Sleep.” This compilation collects material from Felt’s Cherry Red period of 1981 to 1985, kicking off with that confident start, assembling numerous high points, and closing with their biggest hit, “Primitive Painters.”

This phase of the band is defined by the songwriting partnership and unique interplay of Lawrence and guitarist Maurice Deebank, with Deebank’s stylish and confident playing the envy of many of their counterparts. He delivers a constant string of shimmering hooks that wrap themselves around and over top of Lawrence’s more traditional beat combo song structures, as if trying to fit four songs worth of ideas into a pre-set radio friendly cutoff time. It works wonderfully as Lawrence always counters with a solid bedrock.

In one of many brushes with the brass ring, in 1984 Felt recorded versions of “Dismantled King Is Off The Throne” and “Sunlight Bathed The Golden Glow,” for the newly formed and Warners-backed label Blanco y Negro, in hopes that the band would follow their A+R man Mike Alway to the executive suite. Despite putting forward two of their finest songs, it was not to be. While major label dreams had to remain on the shelf, fans were delighted to be able to hear these beautifully stripped down and more direct versions when this compilation was released a few years later.

By 1985 the Felt roller coaster was something Maurice Deebank was constantly getting on and off of. As Gary Ainge always kept the beat, and Lawrence never lost focus, they were joined by local teen prodigy Martin Duffy on keyboards, filling out the arrangements, and following Deebank’s racing six-string cascades in “The Day The Rain Came Down” you can even hear a tiny hint of the next phase of the band in Duffy’s organ before Maurice swoops to the finish. The newly expanded Felt would then put everything they had into making one of the defining releases of the 80s: “Primitive Painters.”

Red Vinyl

Adrian Borland and Graham Bailey might be better known as members of legendary post-punk group The Sound, but the two were childhood friends and had been playing together even earlier in The Outsiders, and continued their deep musical rapport as a duo, creating these intense and engaging songs as Second Layer at the same time as their higher profile band output.

Combining their early recordings, including the 1979 Flesh As Property EP and 1980 State Of Emergency EP, Courts Or Wars takes its title from the first song that served as the pair’s introduction to listeners. Right from the beginning you are enveloped in what The Quietus described as, “a monochrome worldview morbidly obsessed with the dehumanizing effect of war, nuclear weapon annihilation, and the fracturing and negation of the self within an increasingly distorted and technologically mediated society.” Where The Sound fit snugly next to Echo And The Bunnymen, Second Layer had far more in common with the pulsing menace of Suicide.

Borland’s familiar vocals and sense of melody hold a connection to his other songwriting, but within these songs he takes far more risks in his guitar work to suit the subject matter. What really drives everything is Bailey’s propulsive bedrock, formed by his homemade pre-drum machine rhythm generators, creating an innovative mechanical approach that somehow inserts a jittery neurotic touch that merges perfectly with his electronic layers driven by the wasp synth, various unique effects boxes or tape loops. Adding in Bailey’s own distinctive bass playing, the results feel personal and experimental, pointed and harsh, while also bracingly accessible and covered in dark manic energy.

Over forty years later, these recordings feel shockingly appropriate. In painting a bleak reality and frightening future, there is real desperate beauty here.

Orange Vinyl

Cutting their teeth as teens in a West Bromwich bedroom, The Sea Urchins were nothing like the heavy metal that seemed to fill every bar in the UK Black Country. Fringe haircuts, perfect trousers, suede jackets and infectious tambourines gave plenty of hints as to their youthful ambition, but nothing could fully prepare you for just how utterly spellbinding these songs would be. Compiling their fanzine-only flexi material with the full complement of singles for Sarah Records, Stardust runs chronologically from late 1986 to the middle of 1989, beginning with the singles split for Clare Wadd’s Kvatch and Matt Haynes’ Sha La La, before hitting the first of what would be an even hundred releases from the new label Wadd and Haynes would form - Sarah.

The song that launched a legendary label and defined a sound, a scene, a place and time; “Pristine Christine” still rings out as immediate and magical today as it did on first listen. What a glorious jangly rush racing around the corners of pop’s history! The band would reach such heights time and again over the course of this three year burst. The melancholy swinging folk of “Everglade” and it’s wonderfully yearning vocal; the organ-fueled british invasion garage rock sing-a-long of “Solace”; the playful psych pop of “A Morning Odyssey”; the acoustic sweep of “Wild Grass Pictures”; the perfectly named “Summershine” leaving you with a ramshackle smile out on the dancefloor. All of it is just so filled with delicate humanity, yet somehow absolutely perfect.

As Bob Stanley said about the shimmering ballad “Please Rain Fall” while bestowing it with NME Single Of The Week (an honor also bestowed upon “Pristine Christine”), “think of some variations on the word marvelous and you’re most of the way there.”

In their time, they might have seemed wildly out of step, but it’s not crazy to say that things could have been very different for the likes of Radiohead, The La’s, and Oasis without The Sea Urchins. Liner notes by Television Personalities legend Dan Treacy.

Cutting their teeth as teens in a West Bromwich bedroom, The Sea Urchins were nothing like the heavy metal that seemed to fill every bar in the UK Black Country. Fringe haircuts, perfect trousers, suede jackets and infectious tambourines gave plenty of hints as to their youthful ambition, but nothing could fully prepare you for just how utterly spellbinding these songs would be. Compiling their fanzine-only flexi material with the full complement of singles for Sarah Records, Stardust runs chronologically from late 1986 to the middle of 1989, beginning with the singles split for Clare Wadd’s Kvatch and Matt Haynes’ Sha La La, before hitting the first of what would be an even hundred releases from the new label Wadd and Haynes would form - Sarah.

The song that launched a legendary label and defined a sound, a scene, a place and time; “Pristine Christine” still rings out as immediate and magical today as it did on first listen. What a glorious jangly rush racing around the corners of pop’s history! The band would reach such heights time and again over the course of this three year burst. The melancholy swinging folk of “Everglade” and it’s wonderfully yearning vocal; the organ-fueled british invasion garage rock sing-a-long of “Solace”; the playful psych pop of “A Morning Odyssey”; the acoustic sweep of “Wild Grass Pictures”; the perfectly named “Summershine” leaving you with a ramshackle smile out on the dancefloor. All of it is just so filled with delicate humanity, yet somehow absolutely perfect.

As Bob Stanley said about the shimmering ballad “Please Rain Fall” while bestowing it with NME Single Of The Week (an honor also bestowed upon “Pristine Christine”), “think of some variations on the word marvelous and you’re most of the way there.”

In their time, they might have seemed wildly out of step, but it’s not crazy to say that things could have been very different for the likes of Radiohead, The La’s, and Oasis without The Sea Urchins. Liner notes by Television Personalities legend Dan Treacy.

More than 20 years after its release, Arab Strap’s second album is reissued on vinyl.

Philophobia was recorded on the outskirts of Glasgow in the early incarnation of CHEM19 Studios with engineer/producer Paul Savage & at Cava Studios in Glasgow with engineer Geoff Allan.

Initially released in 1998, it was the follow up to the band’s 1996 debut The Week Never Starts Round Here. Instrumentally ambitious, Philophobia is adorned with sepulchral guitar, trumpet, cello & Scottish rainfall, providing a most beautiful backdrop to Aidan Moffat’s bold lyrical presentation as he articulates experiences most of us are too embarrassed to even think about; confessional, intimate, insightful and hilarious, ‘Philophobia’ remains a literate & musical revelation. ‘Philophobia’ - (from Greek "φιλέω-φιλώ" (love) and "φοβία" (phobia)), is the fear of falling in love / emotional attachment.

Forty years ago, on July 8th and 9th in 1981, a group formed by the splintering of some of Bristol’s essential post punk bands, entered the hallowed studio at Berry Street in London to record their debut single. What would emerge was not only an exuberant post funk classic on the A-side, but also a wildly influential dub workout on the flipside, whose reverberations can still be heard today. Both songs have proven essential in very different ways.

A focal point for the unique punk-funk that was coming together in Bristol as the bridge from the 70s to the 80s arrived, Maximum Joy was formed by Glaxo Babies multi-instrumentalist Tony Wrafter and 18 year old vocalist and multi-instrumentalist Janine Rainforth. Soon they drafted in additional Glaxo Babies in the form of drummer Charlie Llewellin and bassist Dan Catsis, along with guitarist John Waddington, fresh from The Pop Group. The group set about making a one-of-a-kind mix of funk, punk, pop, jazz, dub, soul, afrobeat and reggae; creating a brilliant charge of danceable tunes wrapped around elastic basslines and complex percussion, punctuated by melodic horns and stabs of guitar, all of it highlighting Rainforth’s naturally enthusiastic vocal style.

Bursting at the seams, “Stretch” feels like it can barely be contained within the studio walls. Rainforth delivers a vocal performance that can only be found within the freedom of someone recording their first ever single. I’m not lying when I say there isn’t another song that sounds quite like it. The group’s love of funk is evident on “Stretch”, but the heavy influence of dub and reggae from their surroundings shapes the moody skitter of “Silent Street”. Here, the sing song vocals seem to drift across the heavy late night air. The two songs are wildly different, yet both could only have come from this key collection of players. Paired with the likes of The Pop Group, The Slits, The Raincoats and the On-U-Sound collective, Maximum Joy still stands out as a unique voice in the movement.

Y Records head Dick O’Dell would join the sessions and give the release a warm home in the UK while legendary 99 Records in New York took on the US release since Maximum Joy made perfect sense being equal parts ESG and Liquid Liquid. This 12” has been a staple for DJ’s in the know since day one.

The Jesus & Mary Chain picked the perfect time to make this record. Their sonic assaults and industrial pop could’ve only taken them so far. Proving that they were capable of making more intuitive and subtle art, Stoned & Dethroned positions the underlying desperation of the Reids’ music in a different light. Previously known for feedback-drenched pop songs and gothic surf / blues storms, The Jesus & Mary Chain followed a successful year of touring in 1992 (including a slot on the second Lollapalooza tour) by entering the studio to record an acoustic album. The sessions were the first time that principal members Jim and William Reid had embarked on a recording with a full band since their incendiary debut, but the results could not have been different. Though the hooks were still there, Stoned & Dethroned emerged with a calmer, almost folk / country-tinged sound. Any feedback appears as hazy atmospherics rather than pain-inducing squeals. The sound of the album nobly approximates the drugged swagger of the classic early-’70s Rolling Stones records, but with The Jesus & Mary Chain’s uniquely foreboding lyrical perspective.

“This is another new one off the greatest album ever made. It’s called ‘My Kingdom.’” Rock and roll arrogance has never hemmed so close to the truth as this Ian McCulloch introduction to “My Kingdom” during the 1983 A Crystal Day concert special. Not only were Echo & the Bunnymen aware of the instant classic status of their latest LP, but the grand, majestic and fluid nature of Ocean Rain made it clear that the band had indeed set out to make “the greatest album ever made.” Ironically, despite all of their work and focus, this masterpiece sounds like it was simply handed down from the gods. Following the more rock-oriented material on their first albums, the songs on Ocean Rain were a departure. The aim was to make something “conceptual with lush orchestration, but with a twist.” With their success using strings on tracks like “The Back of Love” and “Never Stop” providing confidence, the band employed a 35-piece orchestra for Ocean Rain. Guitarist Will Sergeant would later describe the finished recording as “windswept; dark and stormy.” The Scott Walker / Love inspired string arrangements, unusual instrumentation, inventive recording techniques and McCulloch’s abstract and bewildering mysticism all added to the unique and timeless quality of the album. A statement of purpose by one of the elite bands from the ’80s underground, Ocean Rain includes several of the Echo & the Bunnymen’s most adored recordings and some of the best songs from the era. “The Killing Moon,” “Silver,” “Seven Seas,” “Crystal Days” and the aforementioned “My Kingdom” continue to mesmerize a new generation of post-punk romantics, and the band’s influence can be heard in the grandiose spectacle of groups such as Arcade Fire and British Sea Power.

Porcupine is Echo & The Bunnymen’s most profound and personal album from their early period. Weathering band turmoil, rejections from their record company and spans of songwriting drought, the group emerged with a passionate and compelling set of songs described by vocalist Ian McCulloch as “coming to terms with the opposites in me.” Following their fourth Peel session in early 1982, the band chose Ian Broudie, leader of The Lightning Seeds and co-producer of Echo’s 1980 album Crocodiles, to produce Porcupine. While the album includes both “The Back of Love” and “The Cutter” (two of their most upbeat and successful singles), most of the material was fairly introverted and autobiographical.

Unfortunately suffering negative reviews upon release (including a misguided hate-piece in the NME), Porcupine has since become a gold standard for both the band and British underground rock from the ’80s. It’s also simultaneously their most retro album and their most forward-looking. The production is full of guitar effects that must have set the mind of Kevin Shields onto the path to My Bloody Valentine’s own masterpiece, Loveless.

In addition to the “The Cutter” and “The Back of Love”, Porcupine includes songs such as “My White Devil,” “Heads Will Roll,” and “Porcupine” that transcend and enlighten to this day. It’s an essential album from one of the most influential bands of the post-punk movement.

The Gordons crashed upon the do-it-yourself scene of early 1980s Christchurch with torrential force, self-releasing two foundational planks of the vibrant New Zealand underground. Future Shock, a three-song 7-inch released in 1980, is a wild-eyed rampage, as staggering as any feedback-addled punk then being recorded at Southern Studios. The Gordons LP, which followed in 1981, matches the abandon with motorik churn and livewire dissonance, evoking New Zealand antecedents as divergent as This Kind Of Punishment and the Dead C. Brought together on this release, they’re a noise-rock landmark anticipating fans such as Sonic Youth.

Flying Nun Records, the storied Christchurch label and symbol of the island nation’s rich independent music scene, re-released The Gordons and Future Shock together in 1988 following the formation of Gordons outgrowth Bailter Space, which frontman Alister Parker founded with Clean drummer Hamish Kilgour. Bailter Space, which would also come to include founding Gordons members Brent McLachlan and John Halvorsen, settled on a droning shoegaze sound, drawing comparisons to Dinosaur Jr. and the Pixies. The Gordons and Future Shock, however, represent the trio’s unreformed id, as startling today as upon release.

Before fronting classic post-punk group The Sound, Adrian Borland was a Wimbledon teenager enamored of Iggy Pop and the Velvet Underground. With friends, he formed The Outsiders. In 1976, they home-recorded Calling On Youth, a searching full-length that straddles nihilo-punk argot (“Terminal Case” and “I’m Screwed Up”) as well as smudged glam balladry (“Start Over” and “Weird”). Its release in 1977, on the group’s own Raw Edge label, with Borland’s cityscape abstraction on the cover, marked the first independent punk full-length in the United Kingdom.

The Outsiders, featuring bassist Bob Lawrence and drummer Adrian “Jan” James, were punk in the moment before punk cut ties with solos and five minute songs. (Close Up, released in 1978, is more streamlined.) Like the Saints or Crime, they still trafficked in rock ’n’ roll. Calling On Youth, though, announces Borland as more than a precious teenage bandleader. The nervous introspection, wiry leads and negative space that he would refine solo and in The Sound, Second Layer and Witch Trials glistens throughout Calling On Youth, beckoning rediscovery.

A focal point for the unique punk-funk that was coming together in Bristol as the bridge from the 70s to the 80s arrived, Maximum Joy was formed by Glaxo Babies multi-instrumentalist Tony Wrafter and 18 year old vocalist Janine Rainforth. Soon they drafted in additional Glaxo Babies in the form of drummer Charlie Llewellin and bassist Dan Catsis, along with guitarist John Waddington, fresh from The Pop Group. The group set about making a one-of-a-kind mix of funk, punk, pop, jazz, dub, soul, afrobeat and reggae; creating a brilliant burst of danceable tunes wrapped around elastic basslines and complex percussion, punctuated by melodic horns and stabs of guitar, all of it highlighting Rainforth’s naturally enthusiastic vocal style. They immediately took their place on the rosters of influential labels like Y and 99 with iconic debut single Stretch, as the band had clearly captured something special.

Entering 1982, Kevin Evans had replaced Catsis as Maximum Joy set out to make what would be their only full length LP. Recording at Berry Street and The Lodge with producers Adrian Sherwood (On-U-Sound legend), Dave Hunt (Flying Lizards, Pigbag, This Heat) and Pete Wooliscroft (Kate Bush, Talk Talk, Peter Gabriel, OMD, This Heat) the band would mix practiced grooves with imaginative improvisation. The results were absolutely jaw-dropping.

Station M.X.J.Y. kicks things off with Dancing On My Boomerangand promptly sets forth the blueprint for bands like !!! and The Rapture to capitalize on nearly twenty years later. In fact, those bands can only dream of the mix of driving percussion and spectral shards of guitar that Maximum Joy has clearly already mastered. Do It Todayannounces itself immediately with Rainforth delivering a looping and infectious vocal melody that the others dance around playfully, as handclaps keep the stomping groove intact, leaving a dancehall hit for outer space circling your turntable.

If you ever wondered what it would sound like if ESG and The Slits combined forces, Let It Take You There has the answer for you. Llewellin periodically delivers a cascade of marching band percussion while Waddington’s classic R&B riffs are transformed into a slithering snake trying to keep pace with Evans locked in groove as Rainforth’s singsong vocals are reduced to whispered echoes. They close out side one with the delicious slab of pop that is Searching For A Feeling. Clearly pronouncing the band’s intention to find the positives in a dire time for England, they look to rally those around them to focus on making real change in the face of opposing voices via one of Rainforth’s most delightful deliveries.

Side two sees Wrafter stretching out on Where’s Deke?, showcasing what had already been obvious, as he is the band’s secret weapon, often coloring each tune with his horns, sometimes in several styles just seconds apart. He underlines that feeling with the raucous and bouncy Temple Bomb Twist, before they hit a straight groove in Mouse An’ Me, like a dub infected Train In Vain. Well, if The Clash had ever allowed themselves to properly lose their minds on the dancefloor.

A funky afrobeat flute and guitar battle breaks out (way cooler than it sounds) before Rainforth rallies the troops to not only fill up the disco, but also the surrounding streets in political resistance to Thatcherism via All Wrapped Up. It is entirely genuine and their activism has none of the menace of the others in their scene, but rather a feeling of sharp optimism amongst this danceable masterpiece. It is that optimism that always set Maximum Joy apart, and makes their grooves all the more irresistible today.

Sadly, the upward trajectory of the band was cut short as Rainforth left the group, and soon afterwards seemed to stop making music altogether. The reasoning seemed destined to remain a mystery, until earlier this year when she gave a brave interview to The Guardian where she revealed that an assault by someone in the industry caused her to retreat entirely from music for nearly three decades. Luckily, Janine has embraced music once again, and she refuses to let the magic that was Station M.X.J.Y. be lost as well.