Mogwai - Ten Rapid (Collected Recordings 1996-1997) (LP)

Before Mogwai became the band that could hush a cinema or flatten a festival field, they were four Glaswegians figuring out how to make patience sound thrilling. Ten Rapid (Collected Recordings 1996-1997) catches them right there, stitching together early singles and odds from those first two years into a lean, oddly cohesive set. It landed in 1997, just ahead of Young Team, and it still feels like the moment the blueprint clicked. You can hear the confidence of a group that already knew the power of letting a theme breathe, then letting it roar.

The twin pillars here are New Paths to Helicon, Pt. 1 and Pt. 2, a perfect study in symmetry. Pt. 1 rises in slow arcs, each guitar line like a tide pulling at the next until the drums open up and the whole thing lifts. It remains a fan favourite for good reason, a live staple that can turn a room into a shared daydream before shaking it awake. Pt. 2 is the more contemplative cousin, a short, foggy hymn that knows when to leave. Put them together and you get a tidy lesson in Mogwai’s early quiet‑to‑loud grammar, the patience, the payoff, the hint of menace.

Summer appears in its rougher, earlier form, the energy slightly more ragged than later versions, the melody still cutting through the grain. Tuner has that chiming, circular guitar figure Mogwai made their calling card, the rhythm section of Dominic Aitchison and Martin Bulloch holding their nerve until the surge comes. Ithica 27 φ 9 glows at the edges, the sort of track that feels like a walk home past sodium lights, and then the guitars start to claw at the sky. A Place for Parks closes things on a sigh, a neat reminder that this band always understood the value of space.

What ties these recordings together is a feel rather than a uniform sound. The production is unvarnished but roomy, guitars stacked in sheets rather than polished blocks. You can make out the breath between parts, the pick scrapes and the hands moving up and down the neck. Stuart Braithwaite and John Cummings shape the guitars like weather, not decoration. There are hardly any vocals, and you don’t miss them. The melodies do the talking, and when the feedback comes it’s less noise than punctuation.

There’s a bit of mythology around these years, helped along by the band’s early Peel Sessions and the way UK critics clocked them as standard bearers for a new wave of instrumental rock. Listening now, it’s striking how tuneful it all is. Even at full volume, there’s a song at the core. Ten Rapid isn’t a greatest hits set, since the band would go much further soon after, but it is the map that explains how they got there. If Young Team felt like the first big statement, this collection shows the sketches were already sharp.

On a practical note, Ten Rapid vinyl tends to get snapped up quickly when it appears, which makes sense. It’s the kind of record that sits proudly beside the later full lengths because it plays like a piece, not a grab bag. If you’re digging for Mogwai vinyl in a Melbourne record store, you’ll know the thrill of finding a clean copy. And if you buy Mogwai records online, keep an eye on reputable shops dealing in vinyl records Australia wide, since stock can swing in and out without much warning. Mogwai albums on vinyl carry that extra charge, the way the guitars bloom on a decent system, and this one in particular benefits from some room to move.

What I love most here is the sense of intent. These aren’t demos tidied up for completionists. They’re early dispatches from a band that had already found a language. The restraint in the openings, the trust in repetition, the patience to wait for the storm, all of it feels baked in. Put Ten Rapid on late at night, volume set just below the neighbours’ tolerance, and those crescendos feel earned, human, even tender. It’s a time capsule that still breathes, and it remains essential for anyone who wants to understand where Mogwai’s long road truly began.