The Smiths: "How Soon Is Now?"

2 September 1992

"It rockets off with the braces of every other effort here, leaving a proverbial "trousers-down" situation in Current Pop Music."

— Sian Pattenden

There's a stiff price to paid from enjoying Morrissey's music and that is having to be a fan of Morrissey. My knowledge of him was minimal growing up in Canada and this proved to be advantageous. It's obvious listening to even his best work that he probably isn't a great human being, which is only confirmed when you come upon an interview with the man. And forget about his problematic views for now, Morrissey is such a antisocial turd that I can't fathom anyone thinking he has any redeeming qualities beyond his considerable talents as a singer and songwriter (and maybe as an armchair music critic).

And this comes from the man's solo career which was already kind of patchy. The Viva Hate album was good enough but 1991's Kill Uncle was poor and forgettable and Your Arsenal from the following year was a supposed return to form that was nevertheless blighted by few genuinely brilliant moments. The only thing by him I treasured was the Bona Drag compilation of singles and select B sides, especially the peerless trilogy of 45's "Suedehead", "Everyday Is Like Sunday" and "The Last of the Famous International Playboys. Just as his old band — more on them soon — put out the popular comps Hatful of Hollow and Louder Than Bombs, which many rightly think are better than their actual albums, Moz's answer to them proved that he was still capable of churning out some wonderful singles even as his LP's kind of sucked.

So strong was Morrissey as a solo artist that his old band was already in danger of becoming an afterthought. Even compared to artists who were much more popular this is difficult to believe. George Michael and Sting may have been superstars but no one had forgotten that they had been launched by Wham! and The Police respectively. "Paul McCartney was in a band prior to Wings?" was a corny joke you'd sometimes hear but no one actually believed it. Yet, Morrissey seemed to have escaped the shadow of the once-mighty Smiths.

Not that I knew much about what he had previously been up to. Sure, I was aware that he had been in a group called The Smiths but I couldn't tell you anything about them. Okay, I knew that their guitarist was Johnny Marr who had subsequently been a member of The The and Electronic. The point is, I didn't know any Smiths' songs and I was strangely uninterested in correcting this lapse of mine.

One issue was that there wasn't much available in the early nineties. The racks of CDs and tapes at some of my regular record shops only seemed to have the horribly-titled Rank, which I discovered was a live album. Their studio albums (the outstanding self-titled debut, the patchy Meat Is Murder, the overrated The Queen Is Dead and the mostly great Strangeways, Here We Come) never seemed available. Though I wasn't to know it at the time, it probably helped that his solo material wasn't a whole lot different to his stuff with The Smiths (albeit mostly of inferior quality).

"How Soon Is Now?" has served in all capacities for The Smiths. It was originally a B side, and even then it was only made available on the 12" of "William, It Was Really Nothing" (whose real flip side has already been written about in this space). It then appeared on the superlative odds and sods comp Hatful of Hollow. American label Sire liked it and had it issued as a single in its own right in the US. Though it struggled Stateside, it would soon come out on its own back in the UK. North American editions of the Meat Is Murder album included it as well. While it didn't exactly set the charts alight, it did manage to appear as part of two separate Top 30 singles and on a pair of Top 10 albums.

It's generally highly regarded; I would imagine that among people who profess to hate The Smiths that it's the exception. Johnny Marr's presence had always been a benefit in terms of their critical reputation: hacks may have loathed Morrissey but they'd still give the group's extraordinary guitar hero his due. Fans of The Smiths also regard it highly, though they may place it just a notch below beloved faves like "This Charming Man" and "There Is a Light That Never Goes Out". But for all the acclaim it has rightful earned, "How Soon Is Now?" isn't the greatest entry point into one the finest groups of the eighties. As the closest they ever came to a stadium rock anthem, it hardly represents their jagged take on good old jangle pop. Morrissey's words are scattered and lack any semblance of a narrative. (Turns out, he just added various chunks of lyrics he had jotted down which explains why the "there's a club if you'd like to go..." section doesn't quite fit)

The Best 1 and Best 2 compilations ended up being flawed (songs like "Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others" and "Nowhere Fast" have no business being on any kind of 'Best of The Smiths' sets) but they got young fans of Morrissey and/or current alternative rock into one of the great indie bands of all time. Those of us who had looked up to Moz were astonished to discover that this earlier period was even better than his solo work; people who didn't care all that much for him could look past his many flaws (and, I dare say, some of their own prejudices in some instances) due to the star guitarist and rather underrated rhythm section that could churn out some sublimely intricate recordings and could even be something of a live powerhouse. At best, the albums were adequate samplers and The Smiths wouldn't be compiled well until 1995's essential Singles, which was my jumping off point into their back catalog.

As Sian Pattenden says, "How Soon Is Now?" exposed just how weak the current pop landscape had become — and this was even the case when it came to the current indie scene. But it also began to expose the weaknesses of Morrissey's own output. Your Arsenal had been tipped to be his best album yet but it suddenly seemed of little consequence when held up against his old band whose brief existence had been all peak. He had spent the first four years of his solo career proving that he could live up to The Smiths only for it all to come crashing down when we finally got to listen to them.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

ABBA: "Dancing Queen"

1992 did produce a number of quality singles but to my mind only five albums from that year are worthy of my time. They are Automatic for the People by R.E.M., Nonsuch by XTC, ABBA Gold, Divine Madness and A Life of Surprises: The Best of Prefab Sprout. Two big takeaways: (a) you can't go wrong if you happen to use initials in your band name and (b) it was a good year for greatest hits packages. (I actually prefer More ABBA Gold myself but there's no arguing with the likes of "Knowing Me, Knowing You" and "One of Us" even if I still don't know why everyone makes such a fuss over "The Winner Takes It All") As much of a classic as "How Soon Is Now?" but with the added feather in the cap of also having been a monster hit way back in its day, "Dancing Queen" didn't quite hit as hard fifteen years later though it did really start to solidify its place as a wedding dance staple just as people were beginning to realise that ABBA wasn't the guilty pleasure they had initially thought.

Pet Shop Boys with Dusty Springfield: "What Have I Done to Deserve This?" / Black: "Wonderful Life"

12 August 1987

"The brilliant thing about the Pet Shop Boys is that they get everything right — memorable tunes, perfect production, intelligent lyrics, excellent sleeves, loads of style and a self-deprecating sense of humour — a very rare combination."

"It's heartening to see someone who a) isn't particularly handsome, b) has a spook-name (ie Colin Vearncombe), c) has no discernible "image" and d) writes slightly odd lyrics, get into the charts purely on the strength of their music, which in this case is very strong indeed."

— Vici MacDonald

March 5, 1988. A fairly typical Saturday. I got up and fixed myself a heaping bowl of cereal which I gingerly carried down to the TV room in the basement. I got in as many cartoons as possible before my parents demanded I get ready to go to my 10:00 AM swimming lesson at the Y. Back home for a quick lunch, I set the VCR to tape afternoon wrestling and then it was back to the Y for basketball. We stopped at 7-11 for a slurpee which I enjoyed while watching two hours of wrestling before the late Saturday afternoon lull. We always ate dinner early because hockey was on at 6:00. I made it through the first two periods of the game, awaiting the bowl of popcorn that my dad always made for us. Once that had been kicked, I was done with my country's national sport and wandered up to the living room. Mum had recently begun listening to the Saturday night Top 30 singles countdown on CBC radio while doing her knitting and I joined her. And this was the night I first heard the Pet Shop Boys.

Neil Tennant worked at Smash Hits for about three years. He had previously been a British editor for Marvel Comics and had also done work proofreading cookbooks and TV tie-in books. Throughout that time, he had been honing his craft as a musician and songwriter and in 1981 he met a young architechture student and amateur keyboard player named Chris Lowe who he quickly partnered with. Being on a top pop mag had its benefits and Tennant's position undoubtedly aided his eventual career in pop, particularly when he went to New York to interview The Police and used the trip to meet Bobby O, the trendy club producer and singer.

Yet, many of his colleagues didn't think much of his budding pop career. They thought the name 'Pet Shop Boys' was rubbish (admittedly, it does take getting used to) and they weren't especially keen on the demos he'd occasionally play them. Nevertheless, Bobby O had produced an early version of "West End Girls", which somehow managed to nab a lowly chart position in Canada, and they would soon be signed to EMI. Figuring that the giddy carousel of pop beckoned, Tennant packed it in with ver Hits and made that unlikeliest of jumps — from pop journalist to pop star.

His former employer would be one of their biggest backers but they weren't initially showered with praise. Tom Hibbert reviewed "Opportunities (Let's Make Lot's of Money)" by expressing surprise that this was a case of "former pop journalist in a case of rather good record shock!!" and compared it favourably to an already passe Frankie Goes to Hollywood. Nevertheless, Ramones and Prefab Sprout impressed him much more. Hibs also gave his thoughts on the reissued "West End Girls" at the very end of 1985. Here, he seems impressed with what they created but doesn't offer much in the way of appreciation or lack thereof. Again, he preferred the not bad/not great sounds of The Lucy Show. Next up, Dave Gahan of Depeche Mode considered "Love Comes Quickly" to be a "good follow up" to their breakthrough hit and reckons it's the second best single on offer (though he also wonders if he should get some revenge on the person who once described "Blasphemous Rumours" as a "routine slab of doom in which God is given a severe ticking off"). Their next two singles, a remix of "Opportunities" and "Suburbia", aren't held in much esteem by critics Ian Cranna and William Shaw respectively before we come "It's a Sin", their first release of 1987. Charges of plagiarism had famously been made by the nauseating Jonathan King but he seemed to have at least one ally in that regard with Tom Hibbert. Enjoying the song, he then points out how much it resembles "Wild World" by Cat Stevens "note for note". (Was Tennant so studious about pop that he couldn't help but copy others?)

So, that's six releases and they've been met with good to middling reviews. Fair enough, there's nothing wrong with that. Respect, though, to the Hits writers for not going out of their way to praise their old colleague The optics of "West End Girls" getting a Single of the Fortnight from a magazine that he'd only just worked at might not have been so good, even though it seems obvious now that it fully merited such an honour. Maybe they were holding out for Tennant and Lowe to craft something that they couldn't ignore. Make 'em earn it.

And earn it they did with "What Have I Done to Deserve This?". Intended as a duet, they had Dusty Springfield in mind and no one else would do. A fortnight earlier, the SOTF had been awarded to "I Just Can't Stop Loving You", a duet that might as well not have been one, which Michael Jackson had failed to recruit either Whitney Houston and Barbra Streisand to join him on. In that case, the lesser known Siedah Garrett guesting was probably for the best but here it's impossible to imagine anyone else being adequate. With Springfield's extraordinary vocals and Tennant's much more limited pipes, you'd think we'd be in for a mismatch but this is avoided due to his refusal to try to keep up. While she glides along with her slightly croaky whispered manner, Tennant does some of his Brit-raps from with some understated singing (one of my favourite bits is "you always wanted me to be something I wasn't" with his voice coming across like a sullen child at the end). George Michael really brought his A game to his duet with Aretha Franklin and Marc Almond would attempt to do the same when he paired with Gene Pitney on "Something's Gotten Hold of My Heart" but if one doesn't have the vocal chops to pull it off then it's best not to bother trying.

It's an irregular duet and an irregular song and one that there was considerable uncertainty about (it had initially been difficult to track down and convince Springfield to join them by which point Tennant and Lowe had gone off it) which is fitting for such uncertain subject matter. Tennant has said that the couple gets back together by the end of the song but that isn't exactly spelled out at any point (the closest is probably in her proto-scatting near the end: "we could make a deal"). If that is indeed the case, then it's an unstable detente that the two have reached. They aren't parallel to one another but going in separate directions. If they do indeed up back together, they'll only end up still not able to get through.

The song was a huge hit all over the world and was only prevented from reaching number one by Rick Astley. Beyond its commercial performance, it represents a turning point for the Pet Shop Boys. Having the cachet of Dusty Springfield as a guest aided their reputation among older listeners and it also helped them as they began to transcend irony. While critics always exaggerated their propensity for "writing pop songs about pop songs", it was a difficult label to shake. But this was a hit single that didn't rely on a knowing wink and perhaps the first time that the public became aware of this other side — and, significantly, their first to fully impress a Smash Hits critic.

March 12, 1988. Another typical Saturday. Cartoons, swimming, basketball, wrestling, hockey. I like music but I am still a year away from becoming obsessed by it (to the extent that it doesn't occur to me to buy the single or album). I don't know the first thing about Neil Tennant, Chris Lowe and Dusty Springfield. I have no interest in girls and heartbreak is completely off my radar. Writing about music — writing about anything — means nothing to me. I liked that song I heard a week ago and wish to hear it again. I was now a fan of the Pet Shop Boys and I remain one to this day. Those other interests of my childhood would all fade away.

~~~~~

"What Have I Don't to Deserve This?" deservedly was Vici MacDonald's pick but it had to share the honour with "Wonderful Life" by Black. The late Colin Vearnecombe had been toiling in obscurity for years before finally breaking through with the hit single "Sweetest Smile". Melancholy, stylish and with a typical soprano sax of the era, it's one to go either way on. While it makes for a nice closer to his debut album Wonderful Life, it isn't overly memorable and doesn't exactly scream "MEGA HIT!". Still, it took him into the top 10 even though it hardly feels like the start of a lengthy run of hits. It wouldn't last

"Sweetest Smile" did well enough but it isn't the song Black is best known for. (One only need look at the YouTube numbers in which his first hit is at close to 750,000 views compared with its follow up at just under 70,000,000) "Wonderful Life" had originally just missed the top 40 but was now back and it managed to equal its predecessor's chart placing the second time round. And it's the big one, the one that should have gotten his brief time as a chart factor going. The only Black song people are likely to know.

I remember once being shown a video in high school about suicide. A very messed up individual had slashed his wrists and was hopelessly trying to outrun the police. The cops soon had him cornered but it took three or four of them to nab him safely before carting him off to the police station. We then saw him in his cell, his wrists wrapped but he had by then calmed down. He said he was glad to still be alive.

There's a bit of that going on in "Wonderful Life". A cheerful sentiment, expressed with sorrow. Only someone who had reached the pits of despair can find joy in a meager life — and, even then, it may not happen. If "What Have I Done to Deserve This?" captures that dreadful uncertainty of a couple clinging to an unhappy relationship, then "Wonderful Life" puts the best possible face on a break up. That vague sense of relief that creeps in among a Niagara of unhappiness.

The song's sentimental connection is poignant enough that its limitations aren't initially apparent. After a while it drags a bit and the chorus gets repeated a bit too much. Rationally speaking, it's a good minute-and-a-half too long. And, yet, when I am in the mood, it can keep going for all I care. The song's refrain becomes a mantra and hammering the point home is its strength.

Black's output was rather up and down. Though not quite musically catholic, the Wonderful Life album manages to combine indie with goth and sophisti-pop and even some very eighties rock. Probably as a result, it lacks consistency. Yet, he got it right with the title track, a song that while still appreciated by many (70,000,000 YouTube views is nothing to sneeze at), ought to be a standard by this point. It's almost as good as the Pet Shop Boys.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Smiths: "Girlfriend in a Coma"

Philip Larkin considered jazz to be either about being a 'Wells' or a 'Gibbon': someone who felt that it was a genre that was always getting better or forever heading downhill. The Smiths are kind of the same: either they started off on a hot streak and then went into gradual decline or they just kept improving right up until the end. I'm a Smiths Gibbon and think they were never better than in their first year or so. "Girlfriend in a Coma" comes right at the tail end of their run ('Smiths Split Confirmed', as this issue's Bitz reports) and seems to show why things weren't as they used to be. Morrissey no longer put the same care into his lyrics and musically it is one of the simplest things Johnny Marr had done to date. The nice melody just about manages to make it seem better than it is and it does all right for itself on compilations but it's probably for the best that they threw in the towel when they did.

The Smiths: "Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want" / Aztec Camera: "Jump"

30 August 1984

"If "Jump" and the Smiths B-Side were A-Sides, they'd be joint Singles of the Fortnight."

— Robert Hodgens

So, let's make 'em A-Sides then, Bobby.

Flipping a single due to preferring the B-Side is nothing new in pop music. Way back in 1958, a young singer formally known as Harry Webb and his backing band — soon to be formerly known as The Drifters — recorded a song called "Schoolboy Crush" which had been intended to be their debut single. An influential TV producer of the time became much more interested in its B-Side and the two songs reversed roles. "Move It" went on to become the first hit for Cliff Richard and The Shadows. Paul McCartney's "Coming Up" had been a success in Britain in its intended, new wave-influenced form but deejays in North America liked the the more conventional version that Wings recorded in Glasgow a year earlier on the other side which went on to top the charts. When Kraftwerk proved too lazy to record a fresh B-Side to accompany their recent single "Computer Love" they stuck a three-year-old cut from their Man Machine album on the other side. "The Model" quickly got the bulk of the radio play and it sent the robot-wannabe's to the top of the charts. If only Bobby Bluebell had had a little more influence, we may well have seen The Smiths and Aztec Camera have sizable hits with their own cast-offs.

Well, probably not. "Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want" is indeed superior to its headline track but it doesn't exactly scream mega hit. For one, it's way too short, finishing up a good thirty seconds quicker than "William, It Was Really Nothing", a song that Bluebell figures will have people complaining of its brevity (though he argues that it's "just the right length" and he's correct). Because of its conciseness, there's not a whole lot to it, just a pair of to-the-point verses and a tidy, little chorus followed by a beautifully memorable instrumental fade-out. It's a brilliant track but one that would have required fleshing out with more lyrics and a longer running time; in short, it would have needed ruining in order to give it any sign of hope for chart potential. Not ideal. As it happens, "Please, Please, Please,..." works as a B-side to be proud of: the sort of hidden flip that fans may cherish and provide a sense that they are privy to something exclusive. In addition, it's a superb way to close out an album — as it did on Smiths collections Hatful of Hollow and Best...I, as well as the soundtrack to the 1986 Molly Ringwald vehicle Pretty in Pink.

The fact that head Smiths Morrissey and Johnny Marr were sticking such remarkable songs on B-sides (the 12" release of "William..." also features the staggering "How Soon Is Now") is indicative of a subtle sea change that occurred during the course of their first year as recording artists. Their early batch of singles culled mostly from their great debut album The Smiths are remarkable. "Hand in Glove", though marred by some misguided echo effects and a pointless fade-in on its original release, is an eye-popping record, a sign that this was going to be a very special band. Now regarded as a classic, "This Charming Man" is full of sleazy jangle pop and some of Morrissey's wittiest lyrics ("I would go out tonight but I haven't got a stitch to wear" being but the most priceless). Third single "What Difference Does It Make?" is now held in low esteem by at least one of its songwriters — did Moz realise that "your prejudice won't keep you warm tonight" might apply a little too closely to himself at some point? — but it's a menacing number, catchy and evidence of what a tight foursome they were. Finally, there's "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now", a stand alone single and signpost for all of Morrissey's self-absorption and self-pity. One could chuckle at a one line, fall in love with him with another and feel like he's speaking for a world of losers and outcasts and nitwits with the whole thing.

But "William..." kicks off a period in which the singer began looking outward and this would set a dangerous precedent. Whether or not it's about his short-lived friendship with Associates singer Billy McKenzie, the song patently isn't about Morrissey (at least not the bulk of it). In the end it doesn't matter too much since The Smiths were still at their creative peak and it's a cute tune with some always excellent guitar playing from Marr but it got the vocalist to start making observations about the world at large and likely played a role in the shell of a man we have today. Had Morrissey just continued to be the self-obsessed curmudgeon we all loved, he would have done us all a favour.

Though not quite in the same realm as Morrissey and Marr, Roddy Frame is plenty gifted himself. Something of a prodigy, he cut his (possibly baby) teeth in Glasgow's famed Postcard Records scene that also produced Edwyn Collins' Orange Juice. Having already made the ultra hip swoon with Aztec Camera's debut album High Land, Hard Rain (query: is it a rule that Scots groups must give such maddeningly Celtic titles to their works?), Frame's pop sensibilities meant they were never going to be simply indie darlings. Chugging along not unlike Haircut One Hundred at their finest — having recently fallen off considerably since Nick Heyward departed in a strop — "All I Need Is Everything" is a delight, buoyant and with hooks not unlike a Motown hit from yesteryear. Bluebell is impressed at a distance, loving Frame's vocal and enjoying the record enough but feeling rather disappointed that it's just more of the same. Listening to it thirty-five years later it's nice to have a little more of the same. Reliable, a jolly good singalong, impossible to dislike. What more could one want from one of UK pop's finest craftsmen?

Such is my esteem for "All I Need Is Everything" that I'm not quite so bothered about "Jump", Bluebell's other proto-SOTF. I suppose it's most impressive as a project: here we have Frame taking Van Halen's monster pop-metal hit from earlier in the year, slowing it down to make it sound like The Velvet Underground's "Sweet Jane" — as the muso Bluebell points out — and imbuing in it some melancholy and grace. The idea of it is stunning but the result is just a pleasant aside. Frame's reflective side had already been ably demonstrated on fine songs such as "Walk Out to Winter" and "We Could Send Letters" but I'm not sure just what doing so here is meant to accomplish. There's little to chew on once the novelty of such a unique cover wears off and they didn't quite pull off making it their own. That said, it's fine on it's own terms even if there's that gnawing feeling that they invented the ironic cover version and, as such, must be punished.

With the revival of the single in the early eighties, it was probably inevitable that there would be an upsurge in the quality of B-sides at the same time. The Jam spent their entire five year recording career crafting brilliant flips to accompany their sturdy run of singles. In the latter part of the decade, the Pet Shop Boys would begin to churn out a remarkable run of pristine B's that resulted in Alternative, a collection of also-rans that manages to be higher quality that most of their very fine albums. It's only right, then, that two of British indie's brightest lights would make their mark on the joys of turning a single over to see what else there is on offer. Plenty, as it would turn out.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Lloyd Cole & The Commotions: "Andy's Babies"

Blimey, Bobby Bluebell has done his due diligence! In addition to flipping over and writing about the B-sides above, he has also given his thoughts on the other side of Commotions' signature "Forest Fire". He must have done so with every single he reviewed, right? Well, no. At any rate, "Andy's Babies" doesn't measure up to either "Please, Please, Please,..." or "Jump" — and, indeed, Lloyd Cole never measured up to the likes of Morrissey and Marr and Frame either — but it is a nice compliment to its A-side. The dramatics of "Forest Fire" are nicely counterbalanced by the grumpy "Andy's Babies". Bluebell seems sure it's a tirade against Cole's bohemian lifestyle — and he should know give his association to the Commotions — but it's hard to decipher for this punter: I just thought it was about some bloke called Andy who had babies who Cole doesn't think much of. As you do.