Brian Bilston is one of the UK’s most popular poets. He has teamed up with Amelia Fletcher, Rob Pursey and Ian Button of The Catenary Wires to release an album Sounds Made by Humans on Skep Wax Records. A couple of years ago, word reached Rob and Amelia that Brian had been spotted wearing a t-shirt of their other bands (Heavenly) at one of his shows, and was a big fan of their music. Given that they, in turn, were fans of Brian’s poetry, introductions were made, friendships were formed, and Sounds Made By Humans took shape. The album isn’t a set of readings with musical backdrops: it’s a collection of songs, where words and music have become completely intertwined. There are verses, and there are choruses.  There is no ‘riffing’, no improvisation. In many ways, Brian’s poems are already like pop songs: brief, direct, and witty; sometimes poignant, sometimes biting and political; but always economical, and always accessible. Rob took thirteen of Brian’s poems and created melodies and arrangements, which are then played by a full band, with Ian Button on drums and Fay Hallam on keyboard. Sometimes the words of the poems are sung by Amelia or Rob. Sometimes they are spoken by Brian. Sometimes both these things happen at once. This is a pop record where the poetry and the music are equal partners: sounds made by humans in perfect artistic alignment. Brian Bilston and The Catenary Wires will be performing song-poems at selected UK venues in November 2025.

What He Says: “Way back in prehistory, mixtapes were known as compilation cassettes and used by early hominids to woo potential lovers into caves. Scholars have long debated the effectiveness of this strategy: some point to the rise and eventual domination of homo sapiens to argue that the compilation cassette was, in fact, a critical factor in the growth of that species; others cite the lyrics of this song as evidence that it was a flawed and highly ineffective tool, resulting only in heartbreak and disappointment.“

“The lyrics here are about a sliding doors moment, of the kind which no longer occur in the UK because hardly anyone can afford to travel by train any more, and the few who still try to do so find their journey has been cancelled due to a shortage of drivers. But the gorgeousness of Rob Pursey’s guitars on this song takes me back to a Golden Age of Rail Travel, where trains would generally get to where they were supposed to be going, at roughly the right time; and who knows, you might even chat to somebody on the way, somebody who gets your life back on track.“

His Mixtape:

Jeanines – Any Day Now

Ninety-four seconds of glorious jingle-jangled gorgeousness. One thing I’ve always loved about Jeanines is how they are able to pack so much into so little space. Their songs are like  tightly-written poems with not a single superfluous note or beat or word. In fact, one might argue there’s a good case for no pop song to be no longer than two minutes (twenty seconds, if it’s one of Ed Sheeran’s).

Bill Callahan – Riding for the Feeling

Bill is allowed to ramble on for as long as he likes, though; not least because sometimes riding for the feeling can be the fastest way to reach the shore. Now I don’t really know what that last sentence means but when he sings those words, I’m there with him in his melancholic wistfulness. In contrast to Jeanines, Bill always conjures up a sense of expanse: wide, rolling grassland stretching into the distance, the vast sky dipping down to meet it. It must be because he went to school in Knaresborough.

Gil Scott-Heron – The Revolution Will Not Be Televised

This has got it all: poetry, pop and politics; humour, anger and irony; history, self-knowledge, vision; pulsing bass, funky drumming and, of course, flighty jazz flute. To my ears, the music and the message both remain fresh today, although that’s not to say I wouldn’t like to hear brand new songs of revolution and resistance; god knows we’re going to need some.

Lloyd Cole and the Commotions – Charlotte Street

I didn’t have any poetry books at home when I was growing up so the next best thing was song lyrics. Rattlesnakes was an album I’d listen to again and again. I loved the music but it was Lloyd’s words which got me hooked: “She said, “Do you know how to spell audaciously?”, I could tell I was in love.” I was in love with the girl who lived at the end of our street so I would time the blasting out of that LP for whenever she walked past our window. Occasionally she would look up at me and smile. At the time, I took as an encouraging sign that she not only liked me but Lloyd Cole and the Commotions, too; in recent years, I have come to realise she was smiling at me out of pity.

The Magnetic Fields – Reno Dakota

On the subject of genius lyricists, Stephin Merritt is someone I always come back to. As unfashionable as it may be in modern poetry, I’ve always admired anyone who can turn a rhyme or two, particularly rhymes which are clever or funny or unexpected. This one has Dakota, iota and quota; back and alack; recluse, excuse and ruse, amongst others. It’s the attention to detail I most love here, though. Precisely how blue are you feeling? Why, that would be pantone 292 if you really must know.

Erland Cooper – Holm Sound

On 27^th of every month, I head out with friends to a local gig. We’re rarely spoiled for choice and, as a result, we often find ourselves watching a procession of mildly underwhelming singer-songwriters or curiously-hyped guitar bands. But we do sometimes unearth a treat; and so it was that I encountered Erland Cooper. I should have hated everything about that night: it was situated in a church; it was ‘civilised’ and mannered; it was bordering on the pretentious. Fortunately, the music was beautiful: his compositions shining in their sparsity, quietly humming with humanity.

Allo Darlin‘ – My Heart is a Drummer

There are not enough songs which mention asthma inhalers. It is noticeably absent in the works of Bob Dylan, Elvis (whether Presley and Costello), and the Beatles while even Bowie fails to reference much by way of respiratory aids. You would have thought the 1986 smash hit ‘Take My Breath Away’ would have tackled the topic head on but, again, Berlin remained mysteriously silent on the matter. That Allo Darlin’ do mention such a contraption is not the main reason I have chosen this song, but it does appear to be the one I have ended up writing about.

Cocteau Twins – Cherry-coloured Funk

I find it difficult to listen to songs when I’m trying to write myself: the words coming out of my stereo get all tangled up and confused with the ones floating around in my head. Thanks then to Liz Fraser and her words which are not words, allowing me to listen to their shimmering, ethereal* universe while cracking on with the day job.

* Please note it is compulsory to use the words ‘shimmering’ and ‘ethereal’ in any piece of writing which refers to Cocteau Twins.

Sounds Made By Humans is out now on Skep Wax. Look Here for more information on Brian Bilston.