"This is simply gorgeous. Rose and Jill are Strawberry Switchblade and on this, their debut single, they deliver deliciously sad and reflective vocals over some luxuriantly delicate music."
— Peter Martin
It's springtime here in Korea and the cherry blossoms are in bloom. One thing that you soon discover at this time of year is that they don't last long. A week to ten days seems to be the life expectancy of these flowers, although that can really depend on a particularly nasty rain and wind and then all bets are off. Of course, the fleeting nature of the sakura is precisely what makes them so cherished and, so, social media feeds are crammed with photos of the trees and well-placed Korean food trucks do a roaring trade at all the choice locales.
So, that's where I am and maybe it's why I'm finding writing this post about a song with a chorus of "...I hate the trees / and I hate the flowers..." to be so difficult. Sure, I can understand the appeal of staying in all day but that's just because I'm a lazy, directionless bugger, not because I'm agoraphobic. (This song is about agoraphobia, you know) I must say, I had no idea that fear of open spaces could lead to such hostility towards nature so I'm glad Strawberry Switchblade were able to enlighten me. I hope, however, that they weren't also trying to get me to understand the condition since I'm as ignorant now as I ever have been.
Scribe Peter Martin (who, judging from his photos, must be the Hits staff member who most wanted to look like a pop star) is absolutely enchanted by this but I could go either way. Conceptually it works: the very idea of setting lyrics about anxiety towards the outdoors and nature to a lush, pastoral production is a wonderful contradiction and so, too, is the contrast of Jill Bryson and Rose McDowall's bored, deadpan vocals with the wistful instrumentation. Also, there's something intriguing about that chorus: in addition to hating the trees and the flowers, Jill and Rose also can't stand the buildings (particularly the way "they tower over me" they reckon). Trees and buildings, nature and development: they're all same it would seem.
Where it comes up a bit short is the feeling I get that so much more could have been achieved without all that fear. Yes, I am aware that you're not going to eek out much of a song about agoraphobia if you're content to explore the world but in a broader context of pop and creativity and inspiration the whole thing seems far too cloistered for my tastes. It's a good start but they were going to have to get out more.
Still, I can talk: I may get out a bit but what have the trees and flowers and buildings ever done for me?
~~~~~
Also Reviewed This Fortnight
The Style Council: The Style Council à Paris
"One of the most entertaining things about The Style Council", journalist Taylor Parkes considered in an episode of the Chart Music podcast, "was the glee with which they trolled the old Jam fans". Now, he and fellow guest Simon Price and host Al Needham were primarily discussing the homoerotic video for flagship song "Long Hot Summer" but I imagine these tunes messed with the heads of plenty of young English males who wanted the lad who did "Eton Rifles" and "Going Underground" to never change. (The fact that he was already shifting while in The Jam seems to go unacknowledged by many of their fans) No politics, no kitchen sink drama, no motivational truths, just "Long Hot Summer", one of Paul Weller's most poignant songs — one that would join Bananarama's "Cruel Summer" in capturing the lonely dark side of summer pop. The rest of the E.P. is filler with two instrumentals (something of a favourite for Weller and Merton Mick around this time: a year later, five vocal-free tunes would appear on their debut album) and a early take of "The Paris Match" (without the beautiful voice of Tracey Thorn to take it up a notch) but when you've got a career highlight to lead things off it hardly matters, does it?
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