I have got a brother that lives in the US, and my parents loved him quite a bit. We only met during christmas, but once I got out of uni and started working, my dad saved up money to do at least one annual trip to the US and go on holidays with my brother. It usually was during Memorial Day, which is a long weekend but traveling isn’t as packed as Christmas or Thanksgiving.

Since I was a kid, I loved reading magazines, which also was the way I learned English. By mere happenstance, Entertainment Weekly had the big summer issue out on Memorial Day, with the whole summer guide for films. I’ll never hide how much I like movies, whether hoity-toity flicks you see essays on Nebula, or midbudget mindless actioneers like Jet Li/DMX’s Cradle 2 Grave.

While waiting for the flight back to Mexico, I went for the music section of the magazine and jolted down any band that seemed worthy tracking down. Then I saw them: Four women wearing fedoras in muted late 60s colours. I was intrigued. The band: Electrelane.

On a roadtrip to Los Angeles, one I’ve mentioned before, I grabbed a copy of Amoeba’s Records zine. On the staff recommendations section, an employee bemoaned that Electrelane were underrated and was specific about a few songs. A copy of No Shouts, No Calls was on discount so I helped myself. Dreamy, introspective, and strangely muted, the disaffected vocals and intimate music reflected how I felt.

Jump a few months later, I’m arriving to Sheffield and after settling in Endcliffe Village, I trawled the record shops and get discounted stuff, no matter if I knew them or not. Local bands included, of course! I bought the remaining Electrelane albums at Record Collector in Broomhill and as I walked back to my gaff, I passed a charity shop. They had a farfisa synth for 35 quid. I thought I could buy it later. Next day it was gone.

Oh, well.

I loved everything Electrelane released, but for some odd reason, I keep coming back to The Valleys. There’s something eerie and nostalgic in the track. Like a liminal space in the back of your mind, where memories of things that never happen get stored. It feels like a song I heard when I was a child, a song that was already long lost to time in dusty collections. I can’t recall anything sounding like it, and the choral work just takes it to another level.

If you only listen to one Electrelane song in your life, make it this one. And if you see a farfisa in a chazza, BUY IT.

-Sam J. Valdés López