— Johnny Dee
This blog's unofficial look at all things indie in '92 resumes with shoegaze, a subgenre I had very little to do with back in the day. Alternative acts often lack charisma once you get past your Stipes and Morrisseys but even by this modest standard, the shoegazers were low on the showmanship. Looking like you'd sooner be wiping saliva off the faces of the elderly for a living than being in this wretched pop business was precisely the point: you want a star, then listen to bloody Seal.
Shoegaze never seemed like much of a genre per se. Fans and critics praised it to the hills but they never managed to make it seem appealing. I once bought a copy of My Bloody Valentine's seminal album Loveless because I felt like I ought to but it remains unplayed to this day (unless whoever ended up with it decided to remove the shrink-wrap and give it a go themselves). Why did I even bother? All anyone ever did was tell me how important it is, no one ever bothered with how good it is to listen to. On the other hand, groups like Lush and Ride were much better than shoegaze enthusiasts led us to believe. Just as The Jesus & Mary Chain had always been much more of a pop act than indie credibility obsessives would like to think, the better shoegazers seemed content to have a go at all sorts of styles.
There are many great mysteries in pop but few are as puzzling as the one surrounding the two singles that were selected to promote Ride's second album Going Blank Again. One of them is an absolute delight: a chiming slice of jangle pop that generations of boring old power pop bands could only dream of crafting. The other is a much more difficult affair: an uncompromising eight minutes of toe-tapping noise which is ultimately rather forgettable. One of them is an obvious single, the other would have struggled in the format even if it had been edited down to half its length. One came out in advance of the album, the other only after Ride's fanbase had snapped it up on CD and cassette. One of them did rather well for itself on the charts, the other barely registered. How the less commercial, more avowedly "shoegaze" "Leave Them All Behind" fared far better than the irresistible "Twisterella" is beyond me.
The one thing "Leave Them All Behind" has going for it is as a statement of intent. As on-the-nose as The Stone Roses' "What the World Is Waiting For", it was meant to affirm Ride's place above their shoegaze competitors. The fact that they had already gone about proving their superiority with a succession of top notch E.P.'s and a fine debut album Nowhere was evidently not enough. In a subgenre that happened to be defined by musicians who didn't appear to be arsed, here was a band that really seemed concerned about what everyone thought of them. (Many were surprised when Ride guitarist and songwriter Andy Bell eventually became bassist of Oasis at the tail end of the nineties but it's likely he had an ego to match the Gallagher brothers)
The members of Ride and their inner circle considered "Twisterella" to be a potential breakthrough for the band but it ended up being held over because Creation Records head Alan McGee did a backflip or something when he first gave "Leave Them All Behind" a listen. It was eventually released as a potential springtime hit. Johnny Dee was convinced ("a record that just bursts into splendid life like fireworks in the midnight sky") but the reception was muted elsewhere. Perhaps the inkies had become turned off by Smash Hits' newfound interest in the band. (Sian Pattenden was similarly enthusiastic towards Going Blank Again, stating that it explodes the myth that Ride are a bunch of malcontent youths and describing it as a "right poppy affair") Indeed, it's even likely that they're own studenty fans had reservations towards this far more upbeat and hook-filled direction. The BBC wouldn't even play it. Under the circumstances a solitary week in the bottom of the Top 40 really isn't all that bad.
Of course it deserved better. "Twisterella" is an absolute banger, a candidate for single of the year. Ride members Andy Bell, Mark Gardener, Steve Queralt and Loz Colbert (is it just me or were there a lot of indie musicians called "Loz" back then?) were all first rate players and the quartet meshed so well together. Queralt's bass playing is hardly noticeable on those early E.P.'s but here it is full, driving and even a little bit funky. Colbert was the era's preeminent drummer and this is an excellent example of why he stood out from the pack: he's as steady as Charlie Watts, as pounding as Budgie and as willing to fly off in whichever direction he pleases as Tony Williams. Bell and Gardener were only just starting to make their marks as songwriters, not above pinching from others but with a talent for sounding wholly original. Sure, "Twisterella" sounds like The Byrds if you really think about it but being caught up in such a brilliant song leaves such dull analysis in the dust.
Fortunately, the band soldiered on this new beat group path when they could have easily reverted back to their indie safespace. The overlooked Carnival of Light album pushed them further towards The Beatles — which in turn nudged Andy Bell a little bit closer to Oasis — even as it alienated them from their once loyal following. Power pop is frequently used as a crutch for groups who are too timid to explore so it's nice that it helped lead Ride out of their own stylistic dead-end. And if you don't like it? Go find yourself another band who can't be arsed.
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Also Reviewed This Fortnight
Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine: "The Only Living Boy in New Cross"
Camp, tasteless rock with hints of Slade, Meat Loaf, Madness, ZZ Top, Billy Idol and music hall, Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine never really became the institution they seemed destined to become. Maybe they were too much of an indie rock Right Said Fred for their own good. In any case, "The Only Living Boy in New Cross" is their most endearing moment. Dee reckons it's just a copy of earlier hit "After the Watershed" but I don't really hear it myself. It's a credit to Jimbob and Fruitbat that they were able to use time-tested references to wrestling and crass lyrics about "butchered bakers and deaf-dumb waiters / Marble Arch criminals and Clause 28ers" in what turned out to be a poignant song about the AIDS crisis. (U2's "One" went one way with this serious topic, Carter went another). Fantastic when I was fifteen and just as good now, though I can't quite put it over "Twisterella".
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