10 May 1984
"The first result of all that beavering away in the studio with musicians from all over the shop that David Sylvian's been up to for the last several months, and one that suggests he's been spending his time well."
— Dave Rimmer
A big part of what I'm trying to do with this blog is to grow to appreciate each Single of the Fortnight or, failing that, to understand why the reviewer picked a record I don't really rate. This wasn't something I had in mind when I first got this up and running sixteen months ago but it wouldn't be long before I had to confront it: Charlie Gillett's co-SOTF of Jon & Vangelis' "State of Independence" and The Birthday Party's "Release the Bats" was the first time I found myself with no interest at all in the critic's pick, yet I managed to sufficiently apologise for it as the only numbers — with the obvious exception of that week's cop pick — I could see opting for. At least him from Yes and the "Chariots of Fire" guy were looking towards a yuppified eighties progressive rock; and that other fellow (the one who would one day be Nick Cave from Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds), he was busy morphing punk, glam and murder ballads into what would soon be dubbed 'goth rock'. I may not have liked them but I understood what they were trying to get at.
Not so much here, however. Drafting in an impressive roster of sessioners — former members of Japan, current collaborator Ryuichi Sakamoto, Can's Holger Czukay, folk bassist Danny Thompson, a string of accomplished jazz cats — David Sylvian seemed to have something big in store for his first solo album, perhaps even an eighties equivalent of Astral Weeks. Now, I never got round to listening to the rest of the Brilliant Trees LP that resulted so well done, David, for crafting a possibly stupendous masterpiece of art rock; judging by the lead-off single, however, it may well be boring, difficult to connect with and rather pointless (though it could be one of those ones that holds together well in spite of the duffness of every single track). Quite what Sylvian was aspiring to with "Red Guitar" is uncertain: is this a serious statement of the world's crumbling societies, like "Invisible Sun" by The Police? A song of loneliness and despair? Just an idle boast about red guitars? Who knows and the material doesn't intrigue me enough to bother trying to figure it out. (Dave Rimmer admits to not understanding it and he likes the bloody thing!)
Though contemporaneous with the new romantics and new pop, David Sylvian and his former bandmates Japan took pains to point out that they had nothing to do with chancers like the Spandau Ballet and Duran Duran and the like. Others, they claimed, dressed up to play the part but they were the real deal. (Such is a level of earnestness I've never been comfortable with in pop music, especially coming out of Britain where they really ought to know better) Simon Le Bon and the Kemp brothers and Boy George cared what we thought but Sylvian didn't. He doesn't care that "Red Guitar" means nothing to me and probably didn't care that Rimmer thought it so brilliant. And, with that, maybe I do understand, even if I don't care to admit it.
~~~~~
Also Reviewed This Fortnight
Sade: "When Am I Going to Make a Living"
Rimmer's SOTF runner-up is probably the best of the bunch on offer (sorry Wham!, while I don't agree with his nibs that "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" is third-rate Shakin' Stevens, it's not a particularly good record, even if if made George Michael a force all over the world). An anti-Thatcherite record that really matters — it deals with real people's struggles rather than just looking to poke fun at the Iron Lady — this is a helpful reminder that virtually everyone longed to be upwardly mobile in the eighties, just very few knew how to go about it. ("We're hungry for a life we can't afford": does any single lyric capture eighties angst better?) Sade's work always had far more depth than the yuppie dinner parties she would soon soundtrack but that was a world she longed to be part of. A tremendous talent was blossoming but one mostly for those damn upwardly mobile.
A big part of what I'm trying to do with this blog is to grow to appreciate each Single of the Fortnight or, failing that, to understand why the reviewer picked a record I don't really rate. This wasn't something I had in mind when I first got this up and running sixteen months ago but it wouldn't be long before I had to confront it: Charlie Gillett's co-SOTF of Jon & Vangelis' "State of Independence" and The Birthday Party's "Release the Bats" was the first time I found myself with no interest at all in the critic's pick, yet I managed to sufficiently apologise for it as the only numbers — with the obvious exception of that week's cop pick — I could see opting for. At least him from Yes and the "Chariots of Fire" guy were looking towards a yuppified eighties progressive rock; and that other fellow (the one who would one day be Nick Cave from Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds), he was busy morphing punk, glam and murder ballads into what would soon be dubbed 'goth rock'. I may not have liked them but I understood what they were trying to get at.
Not so much here, however. Drafting in an impressive roster of sessioners — former members of Japan, current collaborator Ryuichi Sakamoto, Can's Holger Czukay, folk bassist Danny Thompson, a string of accomplished jazz cats — David Sylvian seemed to have something big in store for his first solo album, perhaps even an eighties equivalent of Astral Weeks. Now, I never got round to listening to the rest of the Brilliant Trees LP that resulted so well done, David, for crafting a possibly stupendous masterpiece of art rock; judging by the lead-off single, however, it may well be boring, difficult to connect with and rather pointless (though it could be one of those ones that holds together well in spite of the duffness of every single track). Quite what Sylvian was aspiring to with "Red Guitar" is uncertain: is this a serious statement of the world's crumbling societies, like "Invisible Sun" by The Police? A song of loneliness and despair? Just an idle boast about red guitars? Who knows and the material doesn't intrigue me enough to bother trying to figure it out. (Dave Rimmer admits to not understanding it and he likes the bloody thing!)
Though contemporaneous with the new romantics and new pop, David Sylvian and his former bandmates Japan took pains to point out that they had nothing to do with chancers like the Spandau Ballet and Duran Duran and the like. Others, they claimed, dressed up to play the part but they were the real deal. (Such is a level of earnestness I've never been comfortable with in pop music, especially coming out of Britain where they really ought to know better) Simon Le Bon and the Kemp brothers and Boy George cared what we thought but Sylvian didn't. He doesn't care that "Red Guitar" means nothing to me and probably didn't care that Rimmer thought it so brilliant. And, with that, maybe I do understand, even if I don't care to admit it.
~~~~~
Also Reviewed This Fortnight
Sade: "When Am I Going to Make a Living"
Rimmer's SOTF runner-up is probably the best of the bunch on offer (sorry Wham!, while I don't agree with his nibs that "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" is third-rate Shakin' Stevens, it's not a particularly good record, even if if made George Michael a force all over the world). An anti-Thatcherite record that really matters — it deals with real people's struggles rather than just looking to poke fun at the Iron Lady — this is a helpful reminder that virtually everyone longed to be upwardly mobile in the eighties, just very few knew how to go about it. ("We're hungry for a life we can't afford": does any single lyric capture eighties angst better?) Sade's work always had far more depth than the yuppie dinner parties she would soon soundtrack but that was a world she longed to be part of. A tremendous talent was blossoming but one mostly for those damn upwardly mobile.
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