The Cure: "The Lovecats"

13 October 1983

"I'm solid — but solid — gone, man. You will be too."

— Ian Birch

In a write-up of her great 1995 career rethink Wrecking Ball, Stuart Maconie makes the case that Emmylou Harris can never not be a country singer, regardless of the material or how it's presented. In common with Ray Charles (who was apparently never not soul), she may dabble in other genres but only ends up countrifying them because she is Emmylou Harris. I can't recall if Maconie elaborated but it may well be best suited to be one of those pet theories music lovers carry around with them no matter what the evidence says. It feels kind of true even if it isn't. Just like when people describe The Cure, who were never not goth.

Coming off of their trilogy of Teutonic bleakness LP's Seventeen Seconds, Faith and Pornography, the group was in chaos with members departing and substance abuse taking hold. Looking to change things up, Robert Smith went about searching for new members and looked towards synth-pop for inspiration. The resulting stand-alone singles, "Let's Go to Bed" and "The Walk", are admirable stabs at something new while not quite managing to shake the goth off. With a brand new stable foursome in place (at least for the time being, this is The Cure we're talking about), Smith had all he needed to go balls-out pop.

Or is it jazz-pop? Or twee indie? (Or do they all fall under the umbrella of goth: jazz-goth? Twee goth? Pop-goth?) Labels aside, this is The Cure at their lightest. While the group was never short of hooks and riffs to plant in the mind, "The Lovecats" is about as addictive as they'd ever sound. Yet, it's very much the sound of Robert Smith in his element. The piano twinkles in sinister fashion, cats poke around the room and the whole thing is not unlike the cartoon-Gothic universe that Tim Burton would create with his superb run of films from Beetlejuice through to The Nightmare Before Christmas. Childlike horror — no wonder this was the first Cure song that ver kids embraced.

"The Lovecats" is where casuals and Cure agnostics go but it seems to be one that committed fans steer clear of. Journalist Zoe Williams considers it "the song that would make you think "Cure" if you don't particularly like the Cure, just as "Creep" makes you think Radiohead even if you don't particularly like them". (She then goes on to describe it as a "song that 29-year-olds now snog to when they go to those theme clubs where you dress up like Britney Spears" while happily reporting that "they aren't short of authentic, hardcore fans") Significantly, Smith and whoever else may happen to currently be members of The Cure recently left it out of their five-song set after Trent Reznor inducted them into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame (which consisted of early indie/goth numbers and a pair of US hits, this being very much the American vision of The Cure, aside from "Friday I'm in Love" which they also neglected to play). This being their first entry into the UK top 10, it was bound to alienate some who'd been there from the days when they were just another home counties post-punk outfit but something would be lost if it were fully expunged from their oeuvre. (I must admit to building a strawman here since no one I know of has ever suggested such a thing, even if there are some who wish they'd never switched course from their goth sound)

Robert Smith looks and sounds the part — even when caressing an adorable kitten — and can never not be goth. Even if he happens to be churning out something as charming and inspired as this little goth-jazz-twee pop gem.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Duran Duran: "Union of the Snake"

Having been picking up steam throughout 1981, '82 and '83, the Duranies were quickly becoming the biggest group in the world and "Union of the Snake" looked set to officially mark their ascendancy. It did well but not quite well enough and the coronation had to be delayed a few months. But what did they expect releasing an obvious third or even fourth single as the kick off to the long-awaited Seven and the Ragged Tiger? I mean, the lead singer couldn't sing very well and many of their records were a mess (often a very catchy mess but a mess nonetheless) but Duran Duran records were never supposed to be so ordinary. It's as if they were beginning to figure out what they were doing and the Chic-meets-Roxy Music sound was never so deliberate. The first big hit from Simon, Nick and the Taylors that no one counts as their fave Duranie song, the luster was bound to come off someday. In any event, they still had that world's biggest group thing to look forward to.

Depeche Mode: "Love in Itself • 2"

29 September 1983

"It's a very moody production and, hang on, did I hear someone playing guitar in there? And some (gasp) real piano? Guys are you OK...? Guys...?"

— Lenny Henry

Dear Mr. Henry,

Yeah, I know how you feel, mate. These singles aren't much fun, are they? Even the good ones. And, hey, I choose to do this blog every bloody week, you got roped in by Mark Ellen when you had far better things to do like Red Wedge tours and being at the forefront of alternative comedy and being a presence in the culture even when you were on hiatus from the telly. I respect your decision to bring in some chums to give you a hand, so much so that I'm taking a page from your "book" as they return to aid this humble blogger.

~~~~~

So, Depeche Mode: what do we reckon?

Delbert Wilkins: They're kinda uptight. They need to calm it down, let the tunes surround them, inhabit them. They're forcing it.

Winston: They're deep, ain't they? They got some heavy ideas.

Delbert: Shut up, Winston! That's rubbish. They're trying way too hard to sound like they've got something profound to say.

I know, right? When I was in high school I knew people who would print DM lyrics in their school exercise books with quotations from "Blasphemous Rumours" as some kind of motivational tool. I liked them, I had a well-worn cassette of Violator but most of their songs didn't mean a whole lot to me. Especially after "Walking in My Shoes" came out which was such a blatant re-write of "World in My Eyes": you can't have a whole lot to say if you have to keep saying the same thing.

Elfreda, the Radio 1 tealady: They look like lovely lads, don't they? I'm not sure I like those leather straps the blond one's wearing; if he's not careful, he could be sporting some of that horrible fetish wear before long.

Not to worry, miss, they really got into Armani suits soon after this.

Elfreda: What sort of horns are those three playing?

Delbert: They're not horns. It's a synth.

Elfreda: A what?

Winston: A synthesizer. A keyboard that has been computer programmed to...

Delbert: Shut up, Winston! It's a sound they created to mimic horns.

Elfreda: Why on earth would they do that? Can't they just play them?

Apparently not. They do a pretty bang up job pretending to though, don't they? Speaking of which, Lenny seemed pleasantly surprised about the real guitar and piano but what if they, too, were produced artificially? Does it take anything away from the song?

Julie: No, of course not. They're so deliciously talented!

Simon: Don't mind her. She fancies both the singer and him in the black shirt with the ginger hair.

Also not a fan of the leather straps, eh? Well, let's get this back on track. Lyrically what do you make of it?

Delbert: The singer makes the words believable. He doesn't put gut-wrenching emotion into his singing which gives extra gravitas to the song.

Winston: He didn't write the song, did he? Maybe that helps him keep his distance. If you're too close to your material, then...

Delbert: Shut up, Winston! The words are all right. What do you have against them?

Me? Nothing. I just can't take them seriously. They use big words which makes everyone think they really have something important to say. And they repeat themselves.

Delbert: Sounds like they're not the only ones guilty of that.

Fair enough. But they're just a pop group like any other. What makes them so special?

Delbert: So, is that why we're here today? To explain Depeche Mode's appeal to you? Well, all I can tell you is that the song's all right. Is that enough?

Sure, no worries. Thanks for helping out, Delbert. Anyone else?

Winston: Depeche Mode hail from Basildon and the new town aesthetic really informs their bleak, industrial dynamic with a passionless wilderness...

Delbert: Shut up, Winston!

So, in closing, what would each of you have picked for Single of the Fortnight?

Delbert: Herbie Hancock.

Winston: MJ.

Elfreda: Oh, that Bruce Foxton's a nice lad, isn't he?

Julie: Bucks Fizz.

Simon: Don't mind her. She fancies David Van Day.

And you, Simon?

Simon: XTC. Jules hasn't fancied any of them since the drummer left.

Is everything okay at home, Si?

~~~~~

Dear Mr. Henry,

Well, that was a laugh. Perhaps I shouldn't have loaded them up on drinks before we sat down for this session. I can't believe how much sherry Elfreda drank.

Best wishes,

Paul

~~~~~             

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Herbie Hancock: "Autodrive"

Here's a jazz great. Was part of Miles Davis' second great quintet and then went on to release some outstanding fusion albums in the seventies. He was still trying to be current well into the eighties as well which is where "Autodrive" fits in. I like that he got the Famous People Players to help with the video.

Delbert: Well hard tune. Well hard tune.

Yeah, you said that to Lenny thirty-six years ago. A lot of repeating going on. Anything other thoughts, Del?

Delbert: Hard then, hard today, hard tomorrow. HARD!

Kind of a waste of his considerable talents, wouldn't you say? Or are you sticking with hard? Never mind. The use of electro special effects was one that helped revitalise Hancock's career but at the price of his innate improvisational skills which barely get a look in here. The tune is present and correct and swims through the mind but the nagging feeling that he's lost his way somewhat diminishes...

Delbert: Shut up, Paul!

INXS: "The One Thing"

15 September 1983

"This is not the greatest song in the world but INXS go for it as if it were their one and only chance of making a record..."

— David Hepworth

Two photos accompanying this fortnight's singles review page. The first is of a young and contented David Hepworth (perhaps he is so pleased because he knows this will be the last time he will perform such an arduous task), critic pics having become a thing since the early part of 1983. The other is of an even younger, even more contented sextet of Australians, a band photo as seen on the back of "The One Thing" (the front cover of which also includes helpfully printing the words 'In Excess' for those of us not quite sure how to pronounce their odd sort-of-an-abbreviation, sort-of-an-acronym name — I first thought they were called "ink-ses").

They're half a decade younger than when I first became familiar with them but it's clearly INXS despite the grainy, black and white photo making it difficult to pick out details. The Farris brothers are all at the back, with Andrew and Jon (who is shirtless with either a pair of swimming goggles or a Chippendale bowtie around his neck) not quite as interested in get in on the action as the rest of their bandmates with a similarly unimpressed Tim just in front of them gamely caught mid-leap. In front is bespectacled sax player Kirk Pengilly possibly just about to crouch down. To the right is Garry Gary Beers, catching some quality air and doing his best to look as silly as possible. On the left, Michael Hutchence, the group's lead singer, barefoot and wearing a pair of shorts and vest, a long way away from the rock 'n' roll sex god he'd one day become.

But did anyone have an inkling of what they'd one day become? As much as Hepworth admires INXS ("listening to this makes you realise how few new groups have any simple old fashioned energy") and the song itself (it "doesn't sound like anyone else at all, which is recommendation enough these days", a point I was going to take issue with until it dawned on me that the song it reminded me of is "Jesus Says" by Ulster pop punk metallers Ash who did it fifteen years later), he doesn't bother pointing out how promising they are or how they're an act to keep an eye on. In all likelihood, he didn't even consider their future prospects. One look at their photo and he may have assumed he was dealing with a half-dozen no-hopers who'd chanced upon a fluke decent pop song.

"The One Thing" is a record I had been unfamiliar with until very recently and I'm finding myself judging it too much based on what they'd do later. It lacks "Devil Inside"'s alluring creepiness, "Need You Tonight"'s lustful vigour, "Never Tear Us Apart"'s naive romanticism and, generally, the swagger of a band at their creative and commercial nexus. In a vacuum, however, it's spirited and powerful and proof that years of cutting their teeth in the Australian pub rock scene turned them into a tight, underrated unit. As Hepworth says, this is them giving it their all and leaving nothing to chance. Pengilly's solo is especially startling when placed in the context of the many slick tenor spots that had come as a result of the popularity of Gerry Rafferty's "Baker Street" five years earlier. They could have very easily played it safe but they owe their careers to being bold.

While the SOTF didn't do much for them in the UK, where, like fellow Antipodeans Crowded House, it would take them longer to become a chart fixture, "The One Thing" delighted North Americans enough to give them their first international hit. No more daft photo sessions, an increasingly charismatic sex god fronting them and loads more swagger. INXS were away.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Soft Cell: "Soul Inside"

"This is the new Soft Cell single and this is me reviewing it," Hepworth snottily begins. The sheer ubiquity and sameness of Soft Cell singles seemed to grate on the nerves of at least one top pop mag critic — a marked contrast from the sheer ubiquity and sameness of the only Soft Cell single that ever gets played today. Still, "Tainted Love" is an excellent composition and Marc Almond and Dave Ball gave it a great performance, which is more than can be said for "Soul Inside". There's a tune in there somewhere but as Hepworth says it doesn't seem the vocalist knows what to do with it. (The purposely off double-tracking is appalling: can't Almond even harmonize with himself?) This is just another Soft Cell single? Maybe time to pack it in lads.

Big Country: "Chance"

1 September 1983

"But where Springsteen would muck it all up with a surfeit of sax frenzy and over-enthusiastic vocal, Stuart and friends, with their clanking guitars, remain persuasively restrained, saving a power chord-drive chorus for a final treat."

— Tom Hibbert

This fortnight's singles review page in ver Hits is significant for three reasons. First (admittedly only of significance for the purposes of this blog) is the appearance of the words 'Single Of The Fortnight' at the conclusion of the headline review. Second (of much more significance to the Smash Hits world in general) is the debut in the critics' chair of Tom Hibbert, one of Britain's top pop mag's most colourful figures. Finally, the star single is by Big Country, making this the first SOTF from the sub-genre of eighties stadium rock (this is of very minimal significance for this blog and for the Hits but it's worth bringing up for one reason that I'll touch upon below).

Yes, VER HITS celebrates the Smash Hits Singles of the Fortnight and it's been going for just over a year now (don't worry, I wasn't expecting any messages of congratulations for hitting this first anniversary) but this is the very first time that the words themselves were printed. Tom Hibbert is usually credited with creating much of the unique Hits vocabulary ('What the Jiggins...?', which would eventually morph into 'juggins' and take up use on this very blog, was among the many Hibbertisms that I plan to explore in a future post) but doesn't seem to be acknowledged as a pioneer of the singles page. Well, he certainly is here. All hail Hibbs!

Tom Hibbert is one of those music journalists who take on an aura among readers as kind of a rock star himself. Not unlike Lester Bangs and Nick Kent, he seemed to live out his fantasies as a wannabe pop star through his writing; unlike those two, however, this meant silly reviews, irreverent interviews and curious status as the letters page dean known as Black Type, rather than tense confrontations with Lou Reed and shooting up with Sid Vicious. Hibbert anointed pop stars with ludicrous names which couldn't have been more accurate (rather appropriately, Big Country, the "subject" of this week's entry, had one such christened member, drummer Mark Unpronounceable Name), baited readers with cryptic replies to their (mostly) thoughtfully considered correspondence and may have used his criticism in order to take the mickey out of readers.

I can't prove that last one — I can't just yet at any rate — but I first began to suspect it when I went about cataloguing the Singles of the Fortnight and happened to notice that he picked Big Country. Big Country? Eighties Scots rockers who made bagpipes even less cool? Oh Hibbs, surely you're taking the piss.

Well, probably not. While the boys in plaid had their share of duff moments this isn't one of them. "Chance" is, as Hibbert points out, as Springsteen as you can possibly imagine — and, if anything, more Springsteen than Springsteen at the time when you consider that his most recent work had our Bruce lay down tracks with just an acoustic guitar onto a glorified tape recorder, a world away from the overstuffed pomposity of Born to Run (not to mention what he'd be putting out less than a year later). There's room for subtlety here. Where The E Street Band would have doubtless turned this into a concert favourite, Stuart Adamson's approach would have driven punters into a similar frenzy while retaining an individualism that could touch lowly, friendless types in Dundee council flats. A fine single that isn't really my cup of tea but one I can appreciate on its own terms nonetheless.

(Considering the tragedy that would eventually befall Stuart Adamson, it's easy to read way too much into a number like "Chance". That said, his suicide nearly twenty years later only makes lines such as "Oh Lord, where did the feeling go? / Oh Lord, I never felt so low" that much more touching and resonant)

The first stadium rock number to get a SOTF, "Chance" signals a coming roots rock revival that would culminate with the eventual rise of U2 and coincide with the end of New Pop, then dominant in the British music scene. And all because of a mischievous scamp reviewing the singles who couldn't help but take the piss. Even when he wasn't.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Culture Club: "Karma Chameleon"

Big Country's ascension spells the end of New Pop? Well, the beginning of the end maybe? Nah, that's all a bunch of rubbish. Truth is, "Karma Chameleon" is the pinnacle of the early-eighties' UK pop boom. The fact that it's seldom played anymore — retro nights and period radio shows tend to opt for the slightly inferior "Do You Really Want to Hurt Me" — shouldn't undercut just what a massive hit it was all over the world in 1983 and '84. I loved it then and still do even if I'll admit that Hibbert has a point with his minor quibbles. Yeah, the harmonica player does get in the way at times, Boy George was indeed a lousy dancer and the use of 'karma' is way too much of a seventies throwback to "My Sweet Lord" and "Instant Karma" and pathetic self-help nonsense from the time. Whatsmore, people still go on about bloody karma to this day. But at least Boy George got all that Eastern stuff out of his system, right?

Madness: "Wings of a Dove"

18 August 1983

"Bags of jollity and, no matter what they throw into the mix, the end result is distinctively Madness."

— Johnny Black

It seems to be an inevitability of pop that good time groups who have a mission to bring joy to the masses will eventually go melancholic — while doing everything they can to try to get around it. The Beatles pulled it off perhaps most successfully due to having songwriters who went through depression at different times. (John Lennon had his bout during his mid-sixities 'Fat Elvis' period, Paul McCartney just as the group was imploding over the course of their final year and George Harrison, well, pretty much the whole rest of the time) Glam rockers Slade suddenly became all reflective and somber with the material produced for their outstanding film Flame and promptly flounced off to the States to try their hand as an American bar band (with even sadder results). ABBA interspersed their more sorrowful numbers strategically among their bouncy party faves before they all got divorced, put out "The Day Before You Came" and decided to call it a day. George Michael had the smarts to release his darker material as solo singles while saving the joyous pop for Wham!

In a sense, Madness were the only group to fully embrace their melancholy. They all went through it together (even though a key member did depart during this period), they didn't suddenly decide to give it all a big rethink, they didn't use it as an excuse to pack it in and they didn't mask it under another name or label (that would come at the end of the eighties). There are a string of maudlin Madness singles which would only grow progressively more downbeat, reaching its apogee with "One Better Day", a heartbreakingly moving piece about homelessness, but carrying on still further as their creative and cultural relevancy began to dissipate.

"Wings of a Dove" catches the nutty ones edging closer towards melancholy, if not quite ready to resign themselves to. While I mentioned above that they would embrace this phase and go with it, there may have been some hesitation early on, possibly coming from record company executives, band management and production staff as much as the band themselves (if not more so). Previous single "Tomorrow's Just Another Day" dials back on the fun and frolics of "Our House" but the tempo is brisk and it's catchy enough not to depart from the formula that had given them a string of Top Ten hits. (A more accurate version of what they may have had in mind is the slower recording they did with Elvis Costello on lead vocals). Johnny Black seems to imply in his rather backhanded complimentary review — "Best of the Bunch though it's definitely not one of their most memorable songs", he concludes — that the augmentation of a steel band and choir only adds to the fun but I suspect that reserves have been called in to give some life to a pretty sad song — or an awfully serious one anyway. (I've heard this latter stage of Madness' career described as their "adult period", a label that isn't entirely inaccurate but one that I've chosen to refrain from using, especially since it's a term often applied to teen pop acts who make a ham-fisted attempt to grow up by producing supposedly edgy R & B)

So, just how is it sorrowful behind the obvious bags of jollity? Well, Suggs sounds more than a little downbeat in his delivery, a marked contrast from his usual winking, naughty schoolboy act. Opening with the lines "Take time for your pleasure / And laugh with love", I get the impression that either he's not entirely convinced by these sentiments himself or it's a brand of wisdom he's imparting inward. The lyrics in general are a departure from their wonderful character stories of troublemakers mucking about at school and ludicrous sexual escapades to an almost religious invocation to make the most out of life, be positive and "sing for the wings of a dove". It's all a bit self-defeating: by trying to convince us to be happy, they only succeed in coming across as sad.

As Black says, though, this is quintessential Madness, thanks largely to a bravura performance from all present. At the same time, it's by-numbers Madness: neither a standout like "One Step Beyond", "Our House" and "One Better Day" but not dragging quality standards down either. Impossible to dislike as ever but with such a high rate of great singles already in their discography (Divine Madness being probably the best greatest hits album of all time after ABBA Gold) maybe it's understandable that yet another great Madness song can be so callously shrugged off.

Full disclosure: this is almost certainly the only SOTF Madness ever received and, thus, likely the only opportunity I'll have to expound upon them in this space. We've already dealt with The Jam, The Human League, ABC, Dexys Midnight Runners, Wham! and Culture Club who were all at forefront of UK pop in the early eighties but the "chasps" that made up Madness may be the most vital of the lot. Their work is timeless in the sense that people of all ages can take to it: it's easy to imagine them being a big favourite of youngsters going to primary school at the peak of Thatcher's Britain while also enjoying a following among university students and dole queue adults — and managed to retain fans who otherwise got older and moved on from other interests. Their prolonged bout of depression may have been a step too far for most punters but it did little to affect their status as as a national treasure.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

UB40: "Red Red Wine"

A supposed favourite of yuppie dinner parties, "Red Red Wine" is easy fodder for scorn among hipsters. It's a sentiment I'd be happy to brush off if not for the fact that it's a song that's not half as lovely as it ought to be. I'd take the vocals seriously if only Ali Campbell didn't sing every damn song the same way — he's even the weak link on their sharp early material such as "Food for Thought" and "One in Ten". There's also the bad precedent this huge hit (a UK number one at the tail end of a very hot summer, edging out "Wings of a Dove") and its fellow numbers on the Labours of Love album set for ver 40: a seemingly endless list of bloodless cover versions (the nadir being an utterly charmless take on The Temptations' "The Way You Do the Things You Do" though there are plenty of other candidates to pick from); had this pleasantly bland single been a one off then it may have been possible to forgive them. And then there's the video: why on earth is Campbell singing about red, red wine while supping on a pint?

Strawberry Switchblade: "Trees and Flowers"

4 August 1983

"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? 

Kim Wilde: "Love Blonde"

21 July 1983

"So, it's great to hear Kim roaring back with a bit of finger-popping jazz, a great femme fatale lyric and a punchy chorus. Go to it, gal!"

— Deborah Steels

"She's got that sen-su-a-li-DEE..."

When I was in my late twenties I went through a period of underemployment followed by not having a job at all. When not preoccupied with fretting over my bleak future, I was busy having stimulating conversations with friends, listening to lots of jazz and reading some superb books. (Appropriately, it was during this period that I discovered the works of Geoff Dyer who describes the transition from studying at Oxford to life on the dole in South London: "The difference was the quality of study — which, of course, was far higher in Brixton") Quickly ditching the heavy semiotics, I took to the more creative writings of French philosopher Roland Barthes: Roland Barthes by Roland Barthes, A Lover's Discourse (which we'll likely get to in two or three years from now) and Camera Lucida, his study of photography.

In Camera Lucida, Barthes puts forth the notion of the punctum, a detail in a picture, which may or may not be relevant to the image, that touches a nerve in the viewer, typically the very first thing they happen to notice. I flipped out. I scanned every photo available to me in search of a punctum and then, once that source had become tapped, I started trying to spot them in song. (I once wrote a not-at-all-pretentious piece about the "punctures" of Bill Evans' Sunday at the Village Vanguard in which far too much of my attention was on the cover photo, a sign that the 'audible punctum' was beyond me) Of course, music operates differently from pictures. We look at a photograph and take it all in at once; a record we have to experience as it progresses from beginning to end. Still, I became fascinated by trying to listen for moments would grab me, throw me off, hit a nerve.

Kim Wilde's pronunciation is this song's punctum. To anyone thinking that "Love Blonde" is a straightforward jazz-pop ditty about a gorgeous woman who has men wrapped around her little finger, listen to how she makes the word 'sensuality' sound so lacking in, well, sensuality. (I first misheard this number as being the story of a young, working class girl who aspires to sophistication and cocktail bars but only ends up tripping up and exposing her real self, which, as I type, kind of still feels like a legitimate take) The femme fatale in the lyric is only seen to be that way. She's off limits to young men gawking at her and only comes alive when she's out of the public eye ("Situation: no-go zone / But she'll cut loose when she's alone") The attention is empowering and she gives no quarter. While the song was conceived as a joke, it needn't necessarily be taken lightly. Wilde winks audibly at the listener here and there but refuses to ham it up. And if you think she was singing about herself then the mangling of the last syllable of 'sensuality' should remove all doubt: she's just there to observe admiringly from a distance.

Considering the weightiness of her previous batch of singles, it's strange to think that people had Wilde down in the dumb blonde bimbo category. Prejudice towards her hair and image obviously played a part but so too was the implication that her dad and brother were doing much of the heavy lifting. Just reading back at the glowing reviews her two previous records received, it's easy to spot that Marty and Ricki Wilde being praised just as much. That may be right or wrong but at this point it appears to be a situation unique to her; other solo artists weren't having to share the acclaim among critics with their songwriters and/or producers. (This isn't to downplay the crucial role the two played, just to give Kim her due as one of her generation's premier vocalists, one who made those outstanding tunes and pristine productions into such fantastic singles)

"Love Blonde" is Kim Wilde's third Single of the Fortnight — and on the bounce to boot — making her the first act to hit for a trifecta. Having seen her chart fortunes dwindle with her remarkable trilogy of devastatingly bleak singles ("Cambodia" followed by previous SOTF'ers "View from a Bridge" and "Child Come Away"), it provided a welcome relief to fans and got her back into the Top 30. Not a big hit, no, and it would be a while before she began to really storm the charts again, but it's a single that adds luster to her already admirable discography. Having a record based in early rock 'n' roll and jazz (which I suspect may even be in on the joke: the likes of Weekend and Rip, Rig + Panic were then being heaped with acclaim, in no small part because of their use of jazz, a music that is to be taken seriously not like that synthy new wave rubbish) is a wonderful one-off for Wilde and a testament her underrated vocal range. She may not have had "sen-su-a-li-DEE" but she was way ahead of her peers in the game of crafting dazzling pop.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Altered Images: "Love to Stay"

Having never come across the Alts prior to starting this blog, I had been looking forward to exploring the work of a very fondly remembered early eighties act. Then I put on "I Could Be Happy", which I reviewed last summer. I wasn't impressed. People told recommended other songs but they left me similarly unenthusiastic. Are we supposed to be charmed by this stuff? Do people think it's cute? I'd pretty much given up until I reluctantly put "Love to Stay" on last week and was pleasantly surprised to discover that it sparkles where prior singles are dull and flat. It's the sort of thing not unlike what Saint Etienne would be doing a decade later. Indeed, Bob Stanley and Pete Wiggs would've happily traded in their vast collections of French Yé-yé and Belgian popcorn records to have composed something as elegant as "Love to Stay". Nevertheless, it somehow missed the Top 40 and Altered Images were pretty much done. And just as they were hitting their stride too.

Echo & The Bunnymen: "Never Stop"

7 July 1983

"Easier to dance to than philosophize about, which is all well and good."

— Dave Rimmer

It has now been just short of a year since I first launched VER HITS and we've already come across a few acts more than once (and that's not even including the so-called "cop" picks I've been making). In these cases, it's been interesting seeing how each managed to progress — assuming, of course, that's what they were striving for. ABC's second effort ramps up the loucheness of their first, while Kim Wilde's second kick at the SOTF crown is a tinkering of her patented gloomy song stories that had made her a darling of the Smash Hits staff. The Jam were progressing towards their demise, "Beat Surrender" being as far as they could possibly go. (Only Bobby O's pair of star singles hints at a static level of creativity; for all I know, he could well have cut his two entries at the same session)

We last encountered Echo & The Bunnymen here back in September with David Hepworth anointing a SOTF upon "The Back of Love" which also happened to be their first hit single. I describe it as a "breakthrough" for the Bunnies and Heps seems particularly pleased to discover that they at last seemed "fed up with loitering in the backwaters of hipness". Jump ahead eight months later (fifteen if you insist on going by what the calendars recorded) and there's Dave Rimmer pleasantly surprised that they've finally come out with something you might want to dance to rather than ponder over. Ian McCulloch and his Bunny chums seemed to have a lot of trouble shaking their reputation for making music that isn't necessarily to be enjoyed but should make their fans feel vastly superior to those poor, uninitiated sods.

Rimmer is so pleased by this apparent shift that he might be guilty of overdoing the praise a touch. While it's hard to disagree that it's "probably the best Bunnymen single ever", I don't know that I'd go so far as to describe the opening as "joyous" or that I'd sum it all up by saying that it's "sheer bliss". Nevertheless, there's plenty here to admire. Musically damn-near flawless (now who's overselling), the cello, disco percussion and "what sounds like someone tapping out a tune on the ribs of a skeleton" manage to overshadow some fantastic Will Sergeant guitar playing (the instrumental break in which he does some fast-paced chugging followed by some fun with a whammy bar is remarkable). Rims is also taken by McCulloch's "heartfelt vocals" but they sound like Mac doing what he always did (and probably still does): a more powerful Terry Hall, a less melodramatic Bono, a Robert Smith you can relate to (yet, strangely, not close to as compelling as any of them). Distinctive enough — when a random song comes on I certainly know when it's not him — if not exactly individual, his histrionic wail couldn't have suited the Bunnymen sound better. If he's heartfelt on "Never Stop" then he's equally affecting elsewhere. (Still, I suppose it provides the only Top of the Pops clip of McCulloch untucking his shirt mid-performance — or is it? — so perhaps that gives his nibs points on the soulful scale)

I get the feeling that hacks at ver Hits really had high hopes for Echo & The Bunnymen and that goes some way to explaining why they held their weaknesses — the ultra-hipness, the penchant for philosophy — against them so much and celebrated when they were able to overcome them. From the perspective of three and a half decades on, it's difficult to fully comprehend why they were so esteemed. A fine frontman, an inventive guitarist, a tight rhythm section, sure, but there's something missing that kept them from being special. McCulloch may reckon that they could have easily been U2 but I'd say it's much more likely that U2 could have been Echo & The Bunnymen.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Bananarama: "Cruel Summer"

I have to admit my that my enthusiasm for "Never Stop" is reduced slightly because a far superior record got jobbed out of a rightful SOTF. As a boy I always appreciated "Cruel Summer" for perfectly capturing the tedium of a long summer vacation from school, which would always begin so promisingly by meeting friends to go for bike rides or swimming but would soon descend into days on end of nothing but gameshows and reruns on TV. Dealing with summer romance gone sour, this song is so bathed in humidity that it's easy for anyone who has ever had to cope with a heat wave to relate to. The atmosphere is so muggy that it's like being in the middle of a huge city in the tropics with air so thick you have to expend extra energy to make your way through it. The extra touch of a cabasa rattle in the background brings to mind the dense, heat-fueled sound of cicadas. The first classic single from the 'Narns, this is the greatest summer hit since "Hot Fun in the Summertime".

Roman Holliday: "Don't Try to Stop It"

23 June 1983

"Very lively, a good summer record and, with the right breaks, it should be a big hit."

— George Michael

"It sounds like a sophisticated JoBoxers."

— Andrew Ridgely

The lads from Wham! are in the singles reviewer's chair this fortnight and they don't exactly kill it like Gary Kemp a couple issues back. Dragged down a bit perhaps by an uninspiring bunch of records, the pair don't seem to have much to say. In keeping with their group dynamic of one member doing vocals, music, writing and production and the other seemingly content to be a mate and look the part, George Michael takes the lead with the bulk of the little analysis offered up. For his part, perennial other one Andrew Ridgely does trot out the odd perceptive remark (his comment above comparing Roman Holliday to JoBoxers is the closest thing to a fascinating observation) but is otherwise consigned to the background. Good to know that Wham! could never stop being Wham!

We're a long way off from the starkly serious George Michael — not to mention the equally starkly serious facial hair that accompanied his metamorphosis — that pop music fans would eventually become all-too familiar with but we're already seeing a figure in dire need of a sense of humour. He also shows signs of a sizable rock star ego. Unable at times to put the records he's been tasked with first, he says of heavy metal that its one saving grace is that the "attitudes that go with it are far less dangerous than the elitism I bump into once or twice a week at London's trendier nightclubs". Of the sleeve of "Disco Bond" by The Frank Barber Orchestra, he points out that "if I were the sexist pig I've been accused of being, I'd probably say that the only decent thing about this record are the tasty birds on the cover". He's far from the worst offender in this regard but it's a bit sad seeing him make much of this review about himself.

Some records may have a lot going on in their favour yet still manage not to deliver much. Roman Holliday ably merge their obvious debt to fifties doo-wop and rock 'n' roll with post punk soul and touches of ska but they fail to convince in doing so. Their Peel session from a year earlier isn't really to my taste but their strict reliance on older styles feels much more comfortably in their element. Hardly tipped for a ride on the Giddy Carousel of Pop but it's easy to imagine them being good fun as a live act. (In the wacky video for "Don't Try to Stop It" they finish up their hectic day with a gig for some senior citizens which makes me wonder if they were nodding towards older audiences being better at appreciating their swing pop sound) It's hard to imagine what else backers John Peel and The Clash's Mick Jones saw in them otherwise. 

Good, throwaway fun for some, "Don't Try to Stop It" got some of the breaks that Michael had hoped for as it landed in the Top 20. Despite putting their very youthful-looking vocalist Steve Lambert on the cover later in the year, Roman Holliday were pretty much one and done, the follow-up, "Motormania", "enjoying" just a cup of coffee in charts. Novelty songs can have that effect. On the bright side, at least they could go back to being a real group again. You know, like Wham!

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

David Sylvian & Ryuichi Sakamoto: "Forbidden Colours"

One of many collaborations between the former leader of new romantic act Japan and the far east's foremost purveyor of eighties' pop, "Forbidden Colours" is from the British-Japanese film Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence and is described by Michael as a "film theme rather than a song" (as well as "pleasant enough background music": cheers for that Ridges). It could simply be its place in the context of picture about British prisoners of war kept by the Japanese but Sylvian and Sakamoto succeed at bridging troubled cultural differences where Bowie — also, fact fans, one of the stars of this very same movie, strange they didn't have him contribute to its soundtrack...or is it? — did so with charm but little substance on "China Girl". (Mind you, he did get all rumpo with an Asian girl on a beach in the video so you can't say he wasn't doing his part too) A gorgeous song in which Sylvian nicely balances the emotion and restraint, this should have been this issue's runaway SOTF. 

Freur: "Matters of the Heart"

9 June 1983

"If you name looks like a worm and is pronounced like someone being a little unwell, you should have no chance, but this is a suede-skinned, juicy peach of a record."

— Mark Steels

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose double-glazing. Choose a hi-fi. Choose vitamins. Choose Breakfast Television. Choose to purchase your council flat. Choose seatbelts. Choose a sit-down Wimpy. Choose a holiday in Tenerife. Choose nuclear disarmament. Choose to believe Hugh Trevor-Roper. Choose lucozade. Choose peace in Northern Ireland. Choose Steve Cram. Choose getting a video for the kids.

A couple weeks' back in the so-called "cop" piece that closes out these entries, I discussed "The Stand" by The Alarm, who I argued were at the forefront of Welsh pop due to there being absolutely no one else. Not true at all. There was Alison Statton, formerly of Young Marble Giants but this time vocalist for post-punk smooth jazzers Weekend, who enjoyed a SOTF a year earlier with "Past Meets Present". One of Britain's biggest acts of the time, Shakin' Stevens, also happened to be Welsh. But it wasn't a region overflowing with musical talent and the very fact that I keep thinking about late-eighties sophisti-pop one-hit wonders Waterfront says it all.

Emerging out of Cardiff in 1983 was synth-pop gloomsters Freur. In fact, they were never called Freur, that was simply how one pronounced their name. They used a symbol and only came up with 'Freur' as a compromise with their record label. A good ten years before Prince cooked up his in-no-way pretentious "name" (with the much lengthier pronunciation of "the Artist Formerly Known as Prince"), this Welsh quartet must have really thought they were on to something with their, in the words of Kimberley Leston, "squiggle resembling a poorly tapeworm". The squiggle got them to number 59 in the charts with their first single "Doot-Doot' (either that or their eccentric name prevented them from getting any higher) and this was its follow-up. Not a great song but a marked improvement over its insubstantial predecessor. Trying for that glacial snyth sound that worked so well on Ultravox's "Vienna" and OMD's "Souvenir", it works out for them musically with a beautifully ghostly sound but it's a lyrical mess. It has lines that seem be meant to be profound but, upon closer study and thought, are mostly just nonsense. "Clowns in the street / The city is asleep / And no one hears a beat"? Hmmm, I'd be interested in investigating quite what they're getting at if I wasn't convinced they were churning out whatever sounds good. If the song's thesis is 'matters of the heart are complicated, you know' then I can't disagree but if leaves me wondering why I should care.

It is perhaps with this musical proficiency/lyrical ineptness in mind that Freur would gradually shift towards techno ambiance. Not strictly instrumental nor with a particular emphasis on samples and/or guest vocalists from the pop/rock "scene" but with certainly less importance placed on vocals. It's not an especially big leap to make going from synth-pop to electronica but it was something very few were able to pull off (indeed, it was a shift not many seemed interested in attempting). Dave Nonis, Mark Almond's mustachioed cohort in Soft Cell, would eventually re-emerge in nineties techno boffins with banjos The Grid but, by and large, your Vince Clarke's and Chris Lowe's who headed up the technical side of their acts avoided going full-on big beat. Freur embraced changes in the musical landscape and ended up as Underworld. 

Choose life. Choose success. Choose film soundtracks. Choose rave. Choose hardwood flooring. Choose Michael Eavis. Choose credibility. Choose the Full Moon Party on Ko Pha-ngna. Choose New Labour. Choose lad mags. Choose ecstasy. Choose authenticity.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Lotus Eaters: "The First Picture of You"

They had a good name for a band, a melody that implants itself in the brain (and not just after a night out, as Steels suggests, even though I totally get singing something tragically romantic when stumbling home alone from the bars...that was basically my twenties), a lead singer with no apparent shyness for mugging for a camera and a song that probably got them a shag or two. So why does "The First Picture of You" feel a bit off? Well, as Steels says, there's a little too much preciousness here but maybe that's to be expected. This was their first single and it's nice but it smacks of dreamy sixteen-year-old idealism. (I keep thinking back to all the rubbish poetry I wrote at that age which does provide perspective: given that I wrote something called "A Fortnight Away She Shall Be", I would've traded my left nut to have composed "The First Picture of You") While it took Freur more than a decade, not to mention a much-needed name change, to build themselves into a success, The Lotus Eaters may have hit it big way too fast. This pleasant but unremarkable song should have been a sign of things to come.