A lot of 1970s cinema was a reflection of the decade itself: grim, cynical, violent, with very few happy endings. It was also the era when I started going to the pictures seriously — meaning without parents and not to see some Disney or Ray Harryhausen movie — so my initial grown-up cinematic education was in films like Taxi Driver, Apocalypse Now, Eraserhead, and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I first saw all of those in my late teens, mostly at late-night showings in small art-house cinemas with my schoolmate Martin who had an old Mini that made coming home from the movies at 2am a lot easier.

Our favourite haunt was the Paris Pullman cinema in Fulham (long closed now) which showed a late-night double bill of cult movies every weekend that attracted the sort of night-owl crowd of punks, hippies, insomniacs, film nerds, and other reprobates who you imagine would be up for seeing both The Exorcist and Dawn of The Dead after the pubs had closed. It was a shabby but friendly little place and, despite the “No Smoking” sign on the wall, the air was always thick with the smoke of cigarettes and other, um…substances. If we didn’t fancy what was showing there we usually ended up at the Scene cinema on Wardour Street (also closed) which showed a double bill of Taxi Driver and Midnight Express that must have run for about 10 years. We never got tired of going to that.

Like most young men with pretentions and a sense of intellectual superiority we loved these films because they were edgy and gritty, often taboo and morally murky, which at that age you think is more “real” and meaningful than mainstream culture which seems fake and plastic — and not cool — in comparison. Plus, there was violence and the occasional naked woman, that’s always good.

Now you can pretty much see any film you want, whenever you want, in the comfort of your own home, there’s no need to check Time Out every week to see what’s on and then sit in a musty, dark room with a bunch of strangers. But that convenience probably won’t give you the same illicit thrill I had as a teenager being in a little fleapit cinema in the wee small hours watching Robert DeNiro shoot some guy’s hand off, Linda Blair doing obscene things with a crucifix, and whatever the hell was going on with those baby chickens in Eraserhead.

I lost count of the amount of times we saw Taxi Driver back then and it’s the defining film of that era for me, not least because of its terrific Bernard Herrmann soundtrack with that gorgeous saxaphone which just reeks of seedy urban jungles and late nights in dark rooms.

Download: Main Titles – Bernard Herrmann (mp3)
Download: I Still Can’t Sleep/They Cannot Touch Her (Betsy’s Theme) – Bernard Herrmann (mp3)

Whenever I went to Piccadilly Circus in those days I was more worried about the drug dealers hanging around Eros than I was pickpockets.

Amazing colour film of London shot way back in 1927, though apart from the red of the buses the only colours in evidence seem to be grey and brown.

London still looked a lot like that until fairly recently. For most of my life St. Paul’s, Westminster Abbey, Tower Bridge, and every old building in the city were that same dirty, sooty colour and I think they all look a bit fake now since they’ve been cleaned up, as if the “real” buildings have been replaced by Disney versions.

I did like reading a book on the Tube but now I’m no longer in London I have to make do with reading books on the Tube like this lovely-looking series of 12 books Penguin have put out to celebrate the Underground’s 150th birthday. Each one is about or inspired by a single Tube line with the authors taking a variety of approaches — historical, personal, humourous, political — to capture the meaning and, er, pyschogeography (big word!) of the system that binds the city together. I don’t think I’ll be shelling out for the whole boxset but to start I’ve ordered the ones about the lines that mean the most to me personally: the District (home), Northern (work), and Piccadilly (clubbing). Though I am intrigued by what Paul Morley has to say about the Bakerloo Line.

Download: Man On The Tube – The Passions (mp3)

This is from The Passions debut album Michael & Miranda which I wasn’t crazy about at the time (think I sold my copy) but its very 1980, nervy indie jangle sounds really good now. It appears to be out of print which is a shame, I guess they didn’t get “rediscovered” during the recent post-punk vogue.

Wonderful article here about the long-standing Gardners’ Market Sundriesmen shop in Spitalfield’s Market whose owner in the 1960s used to design and print his own greengrocer’s price tags using type that he’d hand-drawn (beautifully) himself. I hate to say they don’t make them like that anymore but in this case they really don’t make them like that anymore.

Besides the lovely typography and the warm glow you get from thinking about the care this man put into his work, the names of the produce sound almost like poetry to me now: Ripe Williams, Dunn’s Seedlings, Rome Beauty, Cox’s Orange Pippins, and conjure up childhood memories of the ruddy-faced fruit and veg sellers at North End Road market in Fulham calling out their wares and prices in thick working class voices trying to entice the passing housewives to buy. Which makes it all sound like some rosy Victorian Mary Poppins fantasy but thankfully that’s one thing that they still do.

Download: Apples – Ian Dury (mp3)

It was a major oversight on my part not to include Katy B’s On A Mission in the list of my favourite albums of 2011 because it was one of the best dance albums I’ve heard since Madonna was in her pomp. Hopefully one day she’ll find it in her heart forgive me.

Now she’s back with a four-song EP called Danger which is terrific and you can download it for FREE from her website. This video is another of those “out on the town” jobs that Londoners can play spot-the-location with, though judging by the Brick Lane sign a lot of it takes place in the East End which was far from being a trendy destination when I lived in London. I did my first year of art college in Whitechapel and back then Brick Lane was almost Dickensian in its squalor and Docklands was a wasteland.

I just discovered the wonderful British Record Shop Archive, a vast compendium of Britain’s (mostly) long-lost record emporiums. The site could do with some design help but, basic though it is, just going through the London section set off a fireworks display of memories in my brain from seeing many of the places in Fulham I did my early record buying: Beggar’s Banquet, At The Hop, and even Harry Hayes which I’d completely forgotten about even though I bought a lot of records there (turns out Harry was a well-known jazz musician.) Those have all been closed for years now but thankfully On Broadway is still in business though they’ve moved from their original location, I bought most of my Northern Soul collection in there.

Other places that stirred the old memory pot were Cloud 7 in Putney where I joined The Pretenders fan club which had just been started by a bloke who worked there, and even Virgin Records which, in the pre-Megastore days, was actually quite the hip place. I remember going in the Notting Hill branch when Never Mind The Bollocks came out and they had racks of the sleeve everywhere and all over the windows which seemed like the height of dangerous rebellion at the time. I’d also forgotten that Biba had a record department.

Even now I can remember the interiors of these shops and in many cases the actual records I bought in them (I bought my copy of All Mod Cons at Harry Hayes), I’m sure you’ll all find some place that will make you go “Ah!” too.

This was on the b-side of Boys Don’t Cry which I’m pretty sure I bought at Cloud 7.

Download: Plastic Passion – The Cure (mp3)

And while we’re in a nostalgic “where did it all go?” mood (which we usually are here) you’ll also find much to enjoy at London RIP.

I imagine there must be a huge sense of deflation going back to work in London this post-Olympics Monday. I wasn’t even there and think it’s been an extraordinary couple of weeks. We actually won things!* Lots of things! There weren’t any major cock-ups! It didn’t rain every day! That really wasn’t very British was it? We put on a massive global event and it goes off spectacularly? I could feel the happiness and pride from over here. Call it simple-minded, flag-waving sentimentality if you want but I’d rather be on the side of joy than gloom.

Maybe it will all be forgotten a week from now and we’ll go back to being the miserable buggers we usually are, but let’s enjoy the glow for a while.

Download: Games Without Frontiers (Massive Attack Mix) – Peter Gabriel (mp3)

*Is it just me or did no one really care when the GB football team got knocked out? Maybe it was because we’re so used to football letting us down on the international stage that we just shrugged our shoulders and moved on. It was nice not to need football when there was Mo and Jess and Wiggo to cheer for instead.