The news of the death of an artist you admire, particularly when you hit a certain age, becomes something of a norm. Hard to chew, yes, but ultimately easy to swallow. The cruelty of the death of Carey Lander however has been an incredibly bitter pill to swallow.
I fell pretty much fell for Camera Obscura in 2006. I had asked for some recommendations for new music on a Teenage Fanclub message board and someone had simply posted a picture of the sleeve of Let's Get Out of This Country. Whether on whim or out of impatience I'm not sure, but I took a train to Manchester that very day to buy the LP. I've been in love with the band ever since. They have not only been the soundtrack to my life (crushes, true love, heartbreak, important train journeys, house moves, shit days at work. All that stuff) but something much much more vital than that.
It's 2008 and I'm sitting in front of my grief counselor after the death of my dad. “What do you really really like Shaun” she asks “what's your passion? What excites you?”. The question goes into my ears almost comically simplistic but by the time it reaches my brain it actually scares me. I don't know. The grief, so over powering that all my energy and thoughts are spent on actually getting up every day, dressing and eating something. I realise in that instant the grief has robbed me of my personality. You know when they say '(S)he's not been him/herself since”? This is what they are on about. I think for a good five minutes, rooting around the corners of my brain trying to remember what I like, what I'm passionate about, what makes me me.
“Music” the word sounds concrete. Real. “I like music”
When I went to watch Camera Obscura up and down the country between 2008 and 2009, I thought it was some kind of mid-life crisis, some daft boyishness or some sort a reclamation of the glory days, but looking back I see it for what it was. It was rehabilitation into being a functional, thoughtful human being again.
I fell so hard for the band there was even a bungled attempt at promoting one of their gigs in Shrewsbury. Always on the backfoot, the gig would prove to be about a year and half to early for the towns taste and was deflatingly poorly attended. It did however give me the opportunity to see the band behind the scenes, both figuratively and literally. Camera Obscura have had a problem of being seen in some quarters as dour. “I love their gigs, but why don't they just smile” or some such nonsense would set my teeth on edge. Who says that every band have to be the Monkees between songs? Would such a pathetic comment be made if the singer was male? To anybody who have though the band were miserable, I would like to tell you two little stories, both from the Shrewsbury gig.
The first is of Carey doubled up in laughter holding a two pint bottle of milk. The rest of the band were puzzled at what was so funny. It turned out the venue (and this really sums up the place at the time) had provided (presumably as per the rider) two types of coffee, four types of tea, a bag of sugar, a jar of honey and a two pinter of milk. Only no kettle.
The second was when I was walking up to the venue pre-sound check with a case of leads or some such nonsense when I saw my favourite band in the world cadging a fag break, back dropped by Shrewsbury prison. Whilst Gav made a rollie, Carey kept doing rasperries on a giggling Tracyanne's cheek. It was moment so oddly intimate I had to back track and take a route over the Dana instead.
With respect (and love) to Tracyanne, Gav Kenny and Lee, Carey was always my favourite. Not only an incredibly talented musician (the keys on the latter verses of Keep it Clean still (still) give me gooseflesh) but ultimately an adorable, intelligent human being. I loved the way her ankles would twist when going for the high notes, her unashamed bookishness (I discovered many a novel through her recommendations) and her love and respect not only for making music but being a part of Camera Obscura. I remember reading a rumour about the title of a then unreleased Camera Obscura LP and sensing a scoop, published the erroneous title on my blog. I received a very very polite yet very very firm bollocking off Carey, something along the lines of only believing the band themselves and the magic of waiting and seeing.
A genuinely funny person, I loved her deft skills of deadpan and self deprecation and I'll miss an adorable human being who's music brought delight and escape to thousands and thousands of people and who stayed true to the cause to the very, very end.
It feels bitterly, bitterly cruel to write about a life ending so young, but Carey Lander found what she really really liked, what she was passionate about and what excited her about life and chased it. It would seem churlish, wouldn’t it, not to do likewise ourselves.