Tom Ravenscroft's music blog

An afternoon tuned in to Britain's greatest nostalgia station.

Angel Radio, based in Havant in Hampshire, is apparently the UK's favourite nostalgia station and is run by older people for older people. Several of the team are over 80, most are over 60 and all are volunteers. I was told about it by an 87-year-old man who seemed to have rather trustworthy tastes and so spent an afternoon while in Portsmouth tuning in.

The vast majority of the music I hadn't heard of, mainly I suspect because they only play music recorded before the 1960s and though I do have a love of early jazz and blues I am not informed enough that I could muster enough music to fill a whole station. In a constant scrabble to hear as many new things as possible you can forget that new to your ears doesn't have to mean new to the world.

I like the idea of getting excited about discovering a new record that someone else got equally excited about hearing 70 or 80 years previously. For someone who hasn't spent much time listening to old music, some of the music on Angel could turn out to sound as innovative, new and inspiring as anything you might hear on "new" music shows, such as the ones I try to put together myself each week on 6 Music.

Tom Ravenscroft's radio show is on BBC 6 Music every Friday at 9pm

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Why Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes were a real horror couple

BBC Radio 4's My Muse sees Kathryn Williams explore the eerie side of Plath's life.

The first in a three-part series in which artists describe the figures that have most inspired them (Mondays, 4pm) followed the English singer-songwriter Kathryn Williams as she went, first, on a pilgrimage to Sylvia Plath’s grave and later to a favourite spot of the poet’s atop Parliament Hill. Williams has written an album devoted to Plath and we heard bits from it – but those weren’t the moments that conjured up the poet. It was when Williams approached the grave in Heptonstall, West Yorkshire – and thunder clapped from nowhere as she reached the headstone (with its inscription from the Chinese: “Even amidst fierce flames the golden lotus can be planted”) – that this story really got going. “It’s baking hot,” she croaked, “and there’s thunder behind me!”

Occasionally we heard Plath herself reading from poems, talking in that Katharine Hepburnish way, a way you can’t quite believe she spoke in actual life, oddly decelerated and lustrous, slowing into a relentless and deeply uncanny imperiousness. Then, just as Williams visited the bench on Parliament Hill where Plath sat wretchedly after a miscarriage in 1961, a rat ran past her feet. “Wow! Look! What is going on?” By now both presenter and programme were deep into the boding mood that Plath can put you – the sort of mood where you’re bound to meet a million portents and omens. Someone mentioned a woman who thought she saw a picture of herself in the newspaper one day . . . and only after some time did she realise that it was Sylvia.

A more spooky Plath-Hughes ­experience you couldn’t make up. Both poets, masters of the harbinger. Sylvia pulling the worms off her body (“like sticky pearls”) after coming to, following a childhood suicide attempt, lying in a nook under the ­family house. Ted with his horoscopes and his dreams, recalling the howling of wolves in the aftermath of Sylvia’s death (London Zoo was just down the road from him). They were the great horror-writing couple: it is an abashingly real element, vital to their appeal. “Need”, “want”, “an addictive pull”, “moon” and “sea” – those were the sorts of words Williams used in speaking about Plath, in her kind and curious Liverpudlian voice, and with her songwriter’s noticing eye. 

Antonia Quirke is an author and journalist. She is a presenter on The Film Programme and Pick of the Week (Radio 4) and Film 2015 and The One Show (BBC 1). She writes a column on radio for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 25 August 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Cameron: the legacy of a loser