The Cure: "The Caterpillar"

12 April 1984

"Lightweight but far from empty."

— Tom Hibbert (ie the one on the left)

It was 1996 and we were all searching for the next thing. (Scratch that: we were waiting; we didn't seek anyone out, we were just hoping they were going to fall into our laps) The watered-down supposed alternative music of American frat boys Hootie & The Blowfish, Spin Doctors and (shudder) Deep Blue Something had failed to inspire any of us and it was now growing increasingly irritating. Britpop had its big timers but also a pretty shallow talent pool that meant precisely nothing to North Americans (a year later Dodgy played at my university pub to a crowd of myself, three of my chums and a half-dozen swooning bespectacled girls and this was a group that enjoyed a Top 10 album and a handful of hit singles back in the UK). The drum and bass stuff was starting to happen but we were all so stuck in our reverence for the guitar to take it seriously so we were turning our noses up at the bad and the good.

Some musician friends of mine took stock of the bleak landscape and declared "the best groups in the world are R.E.M., U2 and The Cure". Now, there may have been a decent case to be made for this way back in '86 but this was ten years hence. R.E.M. had just released the kind-of live album New Adventures in Hi-Fi but this is also happened to be just when no one seemed to care about them anymore, U2 were increasingly seen as a brand rather than a band and what business did the bloody Cure have being so highly ranked to begin with? Those other two groups may have sort of mattered but who did The Cure matter to beyond Cure fanatics? 

With all that in mind, I'd like to take this opportunity to apologise for underestimating them — at least a little. They're still not completely my cup of tea but I should now admit what a major talent Robert Smith has always been. Funny it should take something so lightweight but perhaps that's the point; I'd stand by my dismissiveness if all they ever managed to record was that bunch of heavy going gothic stuff others seem to care for.

With a feel not unlike The Associates' 1982 SOTF "Party Fears Two", "The Caterpillar" breezes along effortlessly. This is no doubt aided by the presence of percussionist Andy Anderson and Lol Tolhurst on piano, probably the two Cureists who contributed the most individually to the sound of an famously dictatorial group. Obviously Smith is the man who has made them and is The Cure but it's rather nice to hear a more collaborative dynamic going on. As Tom Hibbert says, things are kept simple with nice hooks and minimal lyrics. What we have, I suppose, is a woman in Smith's life who is of modest means and background but who will no doubt one day morph into a sophisticated, worldly butterfly destined for better things and a someone more befitting her new station. It is either a pessimistic account of the inevitability of being left behind or a game attempt at generously letting go (or a clever attempt to appear to be the latter when you're really just the former).

In my searching waiting for that next thing (a year later and we were all convinced it was Radiohead and I suppose it was for a bit though it seems hard to believe now) I could have done worse than stumble upon "The Caterpillar". For while I awaited for the next big thing to emerge, I was also hoping to have another chance at love — once again, not in search of it but just biding my time until it presented itself to me. Smith's tender, mature reading may have helped me finally get over any lingering heartbreak while his more twisted side may have encouraged a more cavalier approach to attracting a special someone. And, anyway, if girls were throwing themselves at Smith — not to mention those half-dozen bespectacled girls at the members of Dodgy — there'd have to be at least one out there who'd opt for me. But I could wait.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Billy Joel: "The Longest Time"

Your first album and first concert ought to be embarrassing and on both fronts I am proud to be ashamed. A ticket was available and I joined my mum, sister and aunt to attend A Night with Billy Joel. I wasn't a fan but I didn't have anything against him but almost as soon as the show was done I realised I wasn't going to be boasting to friends about seeing our Billiam. Not a great concert but it was astonishing to discover that I knew every last song he performed when all I thought I was familiar with was "We Didn't Start the Fire" and other contemporary minor hits. He did this one which of course I didn't know I knew. A near-a capella masterpiece of vocal stylings from the doo-wop era, Joel managed to make it seem fresh back in '84 and it still holds up to this day. One of those songs that's impossible to dislike. But I should refrain from saying any more since I don't want anyone to know how much I like it.

Thomas Dolby: "I Scare Myself"

29 March 1984

"Written by the extremely eccentric songwriter Dan Hicks (ideal for Tom really), it's a stunning song performed with delicate restraint and sung in a way that brings tears to the eyes of grown men (and women)."

— Ian Brich

The Beatles and George Martin, Miles Davis and Teo Macero, Madonna and (insert name of currently fashionable boffin): the last century or so of recorded music has resulted in many great artist-producer team-ups. One half sets down a glorious piece of music in the studio, the other sets about making sure it all comes together in order to be cut onto a disc. Not every such pairing is long standing — see Madonna, who was ahead of the curve on the modern trend of frequently switching up production collaborators — and plenty of groups and singers eventually found themselves toiling behind the mixing desk as well as in front of a mic. But few are those who prove equally adept wearing both hats — and most of those that do tend to 

Brian Eno, Lee "Scratch" Perry and Todd Rundgren are three of the most beguiling studio wizards. All may well have prided themselves on their abilities as vocalists and musicians but all were better suited to the production side. Eno's recorded output includes the first two extraordinary Roxy Music albums (as much as I enjoy the next two, it's clear the band was never the same after his departure) in addition to several acclaimed solo albums that I'm happy to have heard just the once. Though not credited as such, his primary role on David Bowie's Berlin Trilogy was very much as a producer, there to guide the more impressionistic tracks. He was also there as the final piece in making U2 into the powerhouse that would dominate the eighties and nineties. Perry is by all accounts a terrific vocalist but his musical contributions are practically irrelevant next to his production work at his famed Black Ark studio. Rundgren did manage to deliver one masterpiece, 1972's Something/Anything?, but by the time of its overrated follow-up, A Wizard, A True Star, he was already becoming far too concerned with studio trickery than laying down some solid tunes. Producing himself he begins to seem too busy, too caught up in showing off his immense talents; producing others (the first New York Dolls album, Meat Loaf's Bat Out of Hell and XTC's Skylarking, a wonderfully catholic resume even if you're not crazy about some or all of them), he got the best out of his charges resulting in far better works than the ones he was putting out.

Thomas Dolby is an eighties equivalent, though in the context of a music scene that had him pegged for pop stardom. Like contemporaries Howard Jones and Nik Kershaw, there's a sense that he was dragged down by having to wear too many hats and that he may have been better off finding an area of expertise - though, unlike those two, he would soon find his musical calling.

There are a lot of ways of doing a cover version. The simplest way is to do a carbon copy. Another approach is to to do something similar but with more modern sound. Some will try to improve on the original, others try to bring a whole new sound or genre into it. One thing that should be avoided, however, is to cover a song that makes one only want to listen to its source. I think Dolby is trying to grasp at something that may not be readily apparent in Dan Hicks' prototype but it doesn't quite work. Where the original sounds dashed off and toyed with, Dolby's rendition is considered. Perhaps too considered. Hicks brought his usual maverick sensibilities, shoving heaps of rootsy Americana, jazz and gypsy folk all together; Dolby keeps the jazz with just traces of Hicksian cram-it-all-in spirit in Kevin Armstrong's folk-funk guitar solo. Hicks' vocal has a slight twist of irony as if he'd fully aware that what he's singing of is utter hokum but knows it will be effective at getting his lover to submit to his advances; Dolby sings every word like he means it. It's possible he was simply to close to a record he so obviously and rightly loved but in paying homage to a musical kindred spirit he ended up unwittingly doing him a disservice.

So, I'm rather blase towards this record and, to be fair, a lot of that is down to expectations. Not one who has followed Dolby's lengthy career to any extent, I had always surmised that the man was all about keytars and fairlight synths and audio pyrotechnics. I was, therefore, thrown to discover that he was willing and able to turn out some smooth (mostly acoustic) jazz. I would like to say that I was pleasantly surprised to make this discovery only it's too smooth and unwilling to take risks. Happily, Thomas Dolby's production work with one of my favourite groups would right that ship.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Phil Collins: "Against All Odds (Take a Look at Me Now)"

Between Dolby's contribution, Cyndi Lauper's "Time After Time", a reissue of Rick Springfield's "Jessie's Girl" and this we seem to be entering the era of MOR. His best work both as a solo artist and with Genesis already behind him, Phil Collins was easing himself into the power ballad market that would make him his fortune. Like a lot of his maligned material from the age, this is much better than we've been led to believe. On the other hand, it's nowhere near as good as his staunch defenders will claim. A nice throwback to an era when pop songs could be far more popular than the films from which they came — and a reminder of a time when James Woods was still relevant.

Propaganda: "Dr. Mabuse"

15 March 1984

"It's all about "selling your soul" with lots of Germanic voices sounding mysterious over a Kraftwerk-style driving rhythm."

— Peter Martin

“...and that’s why I always say, the real authoritarians are now on the left.”

“Well, you’ve certainly shown me where the new fascists are. Alain Tremblay, thank you for joining us today, we really hope to see you again soon.”

“It’s always a pleasure, Kurt. Take care.”

The transmission ended. Kurt glanced off just to the left of the camera to Danielle, his Canadian girlfriend and producer. She smiled sweetly at him. She always had a warm smile waiting for him at the end of every show, even the odd time when he managed to screw up an interview.

“How was I?”

“Good. Really Good. I really think you’re getting the whole ‘make it look like you’re undecided and impartial’ thing we talked about.”

“Thanks.” Kurt was relieved to hear it. He kept hearing, and not just from the usual critics and trolls that dunked on him at every opportunity, that he was too quick to eat out of the palms of his guests. “Wanna get a coffee?”

“Let’s just have one here,” Danielle said, “we got a production meeting in fifteen minutes.”

“Do you really need me for it?”

“Kurt, one meeting a week won’t kill you. Anyway, it won’t take long.”

Kurt rolled his eyes and poured himself a cup of coffee. He typically got a high from finishing a taped interview but meetings nullified them. He went to the office he and Danielle shared to wait. Sitting down, he pulled out his phone and contemplated looking up his social media feeds but he wasn’t sure if Alice, his assistant, had already filtered out the negative comments. Instead, he played a game of cribbage on his tablet. He was about to skunk his opponent when everyone else came in for the meeting.

“I really think we should consider having him on,” Matti said to Danielle who clearly wasn’t listening.

“Matti,” said Alice, shaking her head, “not now.”

Kurt had some idea of who Matti was alluding to but he ignored it. It didn’t bother him unless he heard someone say his name. Or saw it written down. Or had it texted or tweeted at him.

“So,” Danielle began, “Kurt and I have some ideas for the show.” He seldom contributed much to these meetings, happy to have her do the talking. It always annoyed him at his previous jobs how no one would listen to him or how everyone would interrupt him or how, at best, they’d end up twisting every half-decent idea he ever had. Even though he was now the boss, he suspected that his employees would be every bit as dismissive of him. His silence, he reckoned, commanded respect. Danielle spoke for the two of them and they held the balance of power.

Danielle began reading notes and giving orders to Alice and Matti, the show’s new production coordinator. Kurt, doing everything he could to look like he was paying attention, sat with a serious look on his face, nodding along with whatever his partner happened to be saying and looking in the eyes of his staff.

“What time will Dr. Mabuse be coming, Danielle?” Alice enquired. Kurt’s eyes lit up. He didn’t know Mabuse was planning to visit.

“Soon,” Danielle replied. She cleared her throat and resumed. Kurt tried not to appear thrown by the news. He didn’t think the expression on his face changed but he suspected that Matti, sitting across from him, could tell that something was up. He took a sip of coffee and relaxed a bit. He liked Dr. Mabuse. They'd been on each other's shows and had gone for dinner a few times but it bothered Kurt that this was the first he'd heard of him visiting. Also, he couldn't quite relax and be himself in his presence.

"Alice, fetch me the dossier of the men's rights group that requested to appear on the show," Danielle order. "Matti, go see if the film crew is finished for the day."

"Why didn't you tell me Mabuse is coming?" Kurt whispered. They were now alone but he didn't want to chance anyone overhearing his loud voice.

"He called while you were interviewing Tremblay. He was attending meetings in Dusseldorf and decided to swing by."

Kurt nodded. He was always the last to know about Mabuse's visits. This made him even more uneasy and he was already intimidated by him. Libertarianism, free markets, conservative values, anti-political correctness, anti-progressivism: he wasn't sure how much he believed in all these but he knew Mabuse kept the faith. He lived and breathed it all - and he could sniff out a faker and a chancer. Someone who was just in it for the money and the celebrity and the status. Someone like Kurt.

"I'm gonna go to a cafe for a bit. Text me when Mabuse shows up."

~~~~~

Kurt sat at a table in his favourite cafe just a couple blocks from the studio. He thought about his time with Progress Now!, a left-wing media organization for whom he'd previously worked before going independent. They were all about labour rights and trans rights and minority rights and rights for damn-near everyone. He recalled being convinced by it all in a way he didn't feel about the stuff he was peddling now. It was stuff he vaguely believed in. He'd never been especially political and only ever marched in one protest when there had been talk that the German government might join that ridiculous war in Iraq. But he was pro-rights and the guys that ran Progress Now! got him to go along with their ideas.

But now he was an ally of the right. He supported free speech and didn't have much time for people who were trying to suppress and he disliked political correctness but he didn't feel the same passion for these topics that he had when he was on the left. He knew this grift was potentially lucrative but he also knew that he had to be a true believer. He started off by claiming to still be of the left but wanting to change some of its more poisonous aspects. Then he began claiming that he hadn't left the left at all, the left had left him. The more he made up excuses, the less convinced he was by it all.

Not long after going independent, he was contacted by representatives of Dr. Ernst Mabuse, head of Germany's leading right-wing think tank. He was excited to meet with him and thrilled to be offered a partnership. His show, The Centre Field with Kurt Waldheim, would receive funding from Mabuse, who, in exchange, would choose certain guests to be interviewed. Danielle, always more sympathetic to right wing causes than Kurt, jumped at the chance to be part of such a show. For his part, Kurt was simply dazzled by the numbers that Mabuse dangled. They signed up immediately.

The show remained much the same for a while. Some of the guests Mabuse had picked out were people Danielle had already been trying to book so having his name and checkbook at their disposal made it all the easier. Kurt was always a pretty good interviewer, offering up friendly chit-chat with the occasional hard-hitting question to prove his bona fides. Fearing that he might have to change up his style, he was relieved to discover that his new partner just wanted him to keep doing what he was doing. The topics remained the same, there was far less hassle getting guests to come on, it was all easy. A shame he had this guilt nagging away at him but he could usually block it out by thinking of the money they were raking in, the new studio that he and Danielle were having built and the plaudits he was getting from people who mattered.

mabuses here.c u my love

Kurt didn't bother replying.

~~~~~

"So, here's the man I've been waiting for!" 

"Dr. Mabuse! How are you?"

"Very well. I have some excellent new guests lined up for you. I've already given them to your new assistant." Matti held up a Manila file, his face unwilling to hide a fake smile.

"That's great! Thank you so much."

"Not a problem. Listen, I was hoping we could have a word in private."

"Sure." He looked at Danielle, who he thought might look put out by such a snub but she simply nodded in encouragement. He suspected something was up since they always went to meetings together. "Let's go to my office."

Kurt sat down at his desk. Mabuse had that friendly smile on his face that always left him feeling uneasy. He felt like he was in trouble at school or that his dad was angry with him.

"I'm enjoying the show. You're treating my hand-picked guests well, only challenging them on trivial matters and letting them get their points across. And Danielle's managing to find other guests who I didn't even know about. But the time has come for you to start showing how much you've changed. You gotta cut the stuff about being open to legalizing drugs and abortion and marriage equality and atheism. Our audience has heard you say all that a number of times and it worked for a while. It showed that a well-spoken young man from a progressive background could engage with the other side. But you have to begin to be more like your guests and our audience. You have to start showing them how far you've come. You gotta become a conservative."

~~~~~

Danielle and Kurt went out for dinner that night and they talked about everything but the show and Dr. Mabuse. He figured that she must have already known what was coming down since she didn't ask him about how the meeting went. They went home and Danielle turned on the computer so she could communicate with a pair of potential guests in the United States. Kurt turned on the TV but quickly grew bored. He pulled out his phone and contemplated looking at his Twitter account.

Alice had Kurt's Twitter but she only monitored it during work hours or if she got a special request from Danielle. He had several notifications. Though many were positive, he kept noticing a common thread to several others:

Debate ______ ________, you fucking coward!

Baby Kurt Waldheim is hiding from ______ ________!

Free speech fraud Kurt Waldheim won't have ______ ________ on his show: hypocrite!

That was the name. The name he couldn't handle. The guy who dunks on him at every opportunity on his lousy show. 

He thought about Mabuse. Mabuse was good to him, he gave him an opportunity, he helped him advance. Mabuse was a friend. And these online goons want him to interview a jerk who belittles everything he says?

"Yeah, the real authoritarians are on the left," he said, shutting down his mobile. He had to get started on some new material.

~~~~~

Also of some cop

The Special AKA: "Nelson Mandela"

AKA The Specials with AKA "Free Nelson Mandela". It's a testament to this single's power to raise awareness that Martin felt the need to explain who its title character is ("...a black, South African political prisoner") with an added featurette in the same issue's Bitz section to provide more info — it's easy to forget that the man wasn't always the cause célèbre that he would soon become. Their run of unbeatable hit records must have seemed a long way off by this time but this is a brief return to form with some tight playing and a zippy tune to instantly sing along with. Martin likes it enough but doesn't see it getting much of a chance over the wireless. Happily, his prediction was wrong and the infectious chorus got them their first Top Ten hit in nearly three years which then led to the formation of Artists Against Apartheid, demonstrations and concerts, the gradual acceptance of sanctions against South Africa on the part of Western democracies and the eventual release of one Nelson Mandela. Well done, Jerry Dammers!

Scritti Politti: "Wood Beez (Pray Like Aretha Franklin)"

1 March 1984

"Well, well. Long time no see."

— Dave Rimmer

It seems Scritti Politti had been on hiatus. Nowadays it's not uncommon for groups to go the better part of a decade between releases but the early eighties were a different time. We last encountered ver Scrits on this blog nearly a year ago when ABC's Martin Fry gushed over their single "Faithless". Now they're back from a lengthy layover of two whole years. (Dave Rimmer obviously isn't able to anticipate that leader Green Gartside would make a habit of over-long sabbaticals with this one being relatively short by comparison) But Scritti Politti weren't like most groups and never would be.

I once had a roommate who was a member of a choir. I never went to see them myself but apparently they were quite good. Good enough, in fact, that they occasionally performed  at weddings. Preparing for once such nuptial, she told me they were rehearsing "God Only Knows" which left me baffled. Imagine the words "I may not always love you" being sung to a pair of newlyweds: something feels a bit off there.

Yes, pop music obsessives can get awfully touchy when it comes to members of the public misinterpreting lyrics — and "God Only Knows" is far from the worst culprit in this respect (the lyrics generally betray the sentiments of the opening, a line which Brian Wilson initially objected to). R.E.M.'s "The One I Love" has been so misunderstood by Generation X couples that the band subsequently overcompensated by exaggerating the song's anti-romantic stance (rather than "savagely anti-love" or "really violent and awful" I'd argue that the idea of having a "simple prop to occupy my mind" is just a very lax attitude towards love). Bruce Springsteen's massive hit "Born in the U.S.A." was famously quoted by a campaigning Ronald Reagan who was unaware that the song is really about a Vietnam War vet who comes home and has been left neglected by the very country he served. Of course there are good reasons why people got them wrong. In the case of R.E.M., this was the first time anyone could make any sense of Michael Stipe's lyrics and the public must have figured they might as well take the simplest interpretation. As far as The Boss goes, fans got got up in the rousing chorus (are there actually any other words?) and he didn't clarify the song's true meaning until well after the fact. Plus, most people don't put a whole lot of thought into the music they listen to. (And this doesn't even consider the more relativist types like John Lennon who permit their songs any meaning the listener wishes it to have

"Wood Beez" isn't exactly a tune that has lit up wedding dances (at least not to my knowledge) but it did charm enough good folk to get into the top ten — and it's safe to say that the vast majority of punters did so because of Green's silky smooth vocals, the layers of hip hop beats and lush synth pop and a superb tune ("The only conditions", the singer says in a Smash Hits interview from later in March, "are that you make a record people like the sound of, and it's as simple as that" which neatly echoes what I've written above, something I totally did not plan) And I'm not trying to lay claim to some degree of expertise here: I've spent the bulk of the past week trying to figure out any hidden meaning; once I had that out of the way I had difficulty squaring this with Green's own observations. Had it not been for Wikipedia I probably wouldn't even worked out that there is anything else going on beyond love and trying to say a little prayer the way Aretha Franklin did.

For those of us who enjoy a deeper dive, what we have here is an  exploitation of the nonsense of pop. Green could have easily done so by taking shots at Bucks Fizz or Bardo so some other moronically successful group of the day but bravely chose to examine the Queen of Soul instead. Putting gospel-drenched passion into inane lyrics fascinated him — though I never did anything creative with it, much less anything that sparkles like this, I, too, went through my own similar period, kicked off by Meat Loaf's ability to put so much of himself into lyrics about nothing, which led to me "drolly" observing that he should have been singing in commercials. Thus, we have lines like "there's nothing I wouldn't do / including doing nothing" and "there's nothing I wouldn't do / to make you want for nothing" and "there's nothing I wouldn't take / not even intravenous". What does it all mean? There's nothing he wouldn't do. NOTHING. Not the most complex analysis, is it?

This could have degenerated into a comedy record or a meta commentary (something Green certainly wasn't above attempting) but for the fact that it's such a beautifully crafted pop record. Imagine Michael Jackson at his very best but with such an acute musical mind, taking the punk roots where he cut his teeth into the finest New York City studios with top-notch musicians and the cream of production boffins to create the finest pop of the age. You may look at it on the surface as a simple pop-soul love song or as a commentary on woeful lyricisms and still come away in awe. Scritti Politti weren't like most groups: they were so much better.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Bananarama: "Robert De Niro's Waiting..."

Rimmer denied the Narns a SOTF a year earlier with the magnificent "Cruel Summer" and has done so again with perhaps their finest moment. With a peak of powers Scritti Politti getting the nod, I wouldn't go so far as to say they got jobbed this time 'round but for sure Rimmer's critique ("cheery but unexciting", "...could do with a bit of spit and polish") seems a tad uncharitable. Again, it isn't absolutely necessary to know the song's true meaning in order to appreciate it: to the majority of listeners (myself included until just a few years ago) it's desolate and lonely, a testament to how Sara, Siobhan and Keren were able to sing in unison yet manage to sound so singular. To discover, then, that it's really about date rape only furthers the paranoia and tension. Stupendous. And even if you aren't convinced, at least you can enjoy one of pop's all-time classic mondegreens: no, I'm afraid the Taxi Driver guy isn't "talking to Tanya".

Kajagoogoo: "The Lion's Mouth"

16 February 1984

"Well well well, what do we have here? It's my old mates the "Chappypoopoos"."

— Limahl

Call me a hardened cynic but something's amiss this fortnight. You don't just get sacked by your old band only to end up praising their latest release. There's got to be an ulterior motive at play on the part of Limahl. I'll try to figure it out by presenting some possible scenarios.

1. He's still bitter about what came down but he genuinely likes the record in spite of himself. This is essentially how he presents it in his review. Referring to them as the "Chappypoopoos" doesn't strike me as just playful mickey taking, he clearly hasn't gotten over how they ditched him but he's pleasantly surprised by how much he digs "The Lion's Mouth". Fair enough. Brian Eno has famously said that his favourite Roxy Music album is Stranded (ie the first one after he was similarly shown the door) and few have questioned his sincerity, have they?

2. He reckons that a snotty SOTF is the ultimate backhanded compliment. The one I've been trying to make myself believe over the past several days but which has gone nowhere due to lack of evidence beyond the whole "Chappypoopoo's" comment. It just feels kind of true. Feelings don't care about your facts, that's what everyone's been saying on YouTube lately, right?

3. He doesn't really like it that much but by praising a Kajagoogoo record he can look like the bigger person. It could just be me but I have a hard time believing that Limahl likes the Goo's rather duff new single this much. He seems to be much more complimentary towards the latest records by Dee C. Lee and Sade (with at least an equal amount of love for the likes of The Boomtown Rats, Howard Jones, The Pretenders and The Rolling Stones) but denies them a star single honour. What does he actually have to say about his erstwhile bandmates' latest? He recalls bumping into Chapman Stick guy who played him this which got him "humming the chorus and generally reminiscing". So, scant on the analysis then.

4. All of the above. This seems most likely. Limahl's sacking is still raw and he takes a dig at their name (a name they used when he was also one of their number) but he hummed the chorus so it's all good. 

5. None of the above. I'm not Limahl. For one thing, I'm much, much taller than he is. More to the point, I have no idea if there's an ulterior motive or anything hiding away. I hear "The Lion's Mouth" and get the impression that there's this group of mates from Leighton Buzzard who creatively lost their way for a time but are finding their feet back in the prog rock they all love. Him on that Chapman Stick thing is handling vocals and they're all much more in their element again — and this is a world away from the stage school existence of someone like Limahl. In spite of its chart-topping success, "Too Shy" wasn't much cop to begin with and this isn't a giant drop down in quality so there's that. Does Limahl see that while he's destined for years of hit singles and telly appearances and West End productions that his former band is faltering and he takes pity on them? Who knows. But something is definitely amiss. I can feel it.

Turn Your Back on Me: A Possibly Accurate Kajagoogoo-Limahl Timeline

Year	Kajagoogoo	Limahl
1979	Art Nouveau toil away in obscurity in Leighton Buzzard	Christopher Hamill toils away in obscurity in Wigan
1980	Single “The Fear Machine” gets played by John Peel; a faint glimmer of success	Appears in an episode of an ITV drama; a faint glimmer of success
1981	Group decides that progressive rock obscurity is not for them; they go about looking for a new lead vocalist	Makes a brief appearance in the video for Adam & The Ants’ “Stand and Deliver”; decides a career in pop is for him
1982	Change of name to Kajagoogoo; they begin taking their upstart singer under their wing	Changes his name to ‘Limahl’; begins showing these prog fellas how this pop game is done
1983	“Too Shy” hits number one; group decides to dump the vocalist they’ve been carrying	“Too Shy” hits number one; decides to hog the spotlight since who wants to see the others play the Chapman Stick (whatever that is)
1984	They enjoy a flurry of continued success as a foursome	He enjoys a flurry of continued success as a solo artist
1985	Success begins to erode; begin going down the dumper; another change of name to Kaja	Success begins to erode; begins going down the dumper
1986-2005	Group blames failings on petulant former vocalist	Singer blames failings on uptight former bandmates
2006-	Group approaches frontman about possible reformation	Everyone is the best of friends again…at least for now

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Fraggles: "Fraggle Rock"

"Who the hell are The Fraggles?" Limahl demands. Who the hell are The Fraggles? Our Lim obviously wasn't a TV-obsessed seven year old back in 1984. I've never been so jacked for the premiere of a TV show as I was for that first episode of Fraggle Rock. I was giddy with excitement. The theme was certainly no Muppet Show and I don't ever recall singing along but it did the job all right. As a record it sort of keeps that minute or so going and going without really adding much — although that isn't necessarily a bad thing given the way other theme songs can go off the rails once extended. By the way, Limahl's absolutely right about the opening bars sounding like a Malcolm McLaren single: if I didn't know better, I'd swear it was something from his nibs' protegees Bow Wow Wow. (Not something I was thinking as a TV-obsessed seven year old mind you)

Barbara Mason: "Another Man"

2 February 1984

"And then Ms Mason's strong but silky voice starts to croon the unfortunate tale of how she's realised her man isn't quite the man she thought he was."

— Neil Tennant

"I'm really getting sick of 12" singles", complains Neil Tennant in a review of Nik Kershaw's breakthrough (and, it would turn out, signature) hit "Wouldn't It Be Good". "I've only got the 12" version of this and it seems to drone on forever". Hear, hear, Neil. I've already gone into detail about my contempt for pointless extended mixes of pop songs and this is a prime example. The 7" mix isn't brilliant — it's the sort of song that always sounds better when I hum the tune to myself than when I actually listen to the bloody thing — and, clocking in as it does at four and a half minutes, already a bit too long but hardly the sort of thing that can be improved upon with a longer running time. If anything, its seven minutes only makes it seem slower and more meandering and, yes, more droning.

Now, apart from my surprise that a dance music fanatic as Tennant would express such derision for the medium of extended mixes, this observation seems especially surprising in light of his chosen SOTF. Where Kershaw's record works even less well in its longer form, Barbara Mason's "Another Man" is a whole other beast in its 12" girth. The single edit kicks in her vocal far too early and leaves out a pretty vital spoken-word part towards the end. Given that Tennant first describes the "tough, monotonous, electronic bassline" followed by "some delicious chords" it seems likely that he had the long version to go by. Handy, too, for working out the song's dark core.

Tennant seems to know what "Another Man" is really about but its meaning was initially lost on myself and virtually everyone who left a comment on YouTube. I originally thought that our Barb's had enough of the philandering loser she's been seeing and so she's gone off and found herself a new guy who totally won't mess her around this time. Turns out, this other man in her life is the one her boyfriend's been fooling around with on the down low. Not the sort of subject matter eighties soul music typically dealt with but one that deserved to be tackled.

As a sequel to Mason's 1981 single "She's Got the Papers (But I Got the Man)", the once smug protagonist who snatched a guy a away from a rival is having to eat her words with the humbling experience of catching him hand-in-hand with another man down Market Street ("and you all know where Market Street is"). A lot of innuendo is present, some of which are very a much a product of the times ("I had gone out one day and bought me a very, very sexy dress / And opened up my closet and it had disappeared": just the fact that a pop song goes to such lengths to suggest a link between homosexuality and cross-dressing is indicative of something, right?; she also suggests that his suddenly high-pitched voice might be a defect of some kind). But Barb's humiliation isn't without humour ("And I passed him on the steps one day / And he was switichin' more than I was") Not exactly an endorsement of same-sex tolerance but probably a realistic account of what goes on in the mind of a woman whose husband is out searching for some rough trade. 

Good on Barbara Mason and her studio cohorts to leave me feeling empathetic though not quite sympathetic to her situation. Even once you've managed to work out what it's about, it isn't quite the record you thought it was.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Nena: "99 Red Balloons"

Speaking of not quite getting the point of a song, a friend once informed me that this record is about condoms but maybe he was just struck by the come hither looks of Nena singer Nena. Either way it's all very 1984: instead of alluding to the AIDS crisis we have the threat of nuclear war. Most seem to prefer the original sung in the group's native German but I've always been partial to the English translation that topped both the British and Canadian charts. In truth, the two act independently of one another in a way that "Sie Liebt Dich" and "La Reina del Baile" could never exist apart from "She Loves You" and "Dancing Queen". Perhaps the less literal, more poetic translation helps. The Germans, for one, would never have confused it for a song about contraception.

Prefab Sprout: "Don't Sing"

19 January 1984

"The time changes and chord sequences remind me of Aztec Camera and this can only mean a) a hit; b) a severe rise in credibility; or c) hopefully both."

— Martyn Ware

Patrick sat at his desk and rubbed his eyes. He was up late, much later than usual. He had been engrossed in tales of clergymen in Central and South America and what they got up to so far from the prying eyes of the Vatican. Some drank, some killed, some had sex — and quite a few did the trifecta. Patrick had never been tempted by such things and his only vice had been a bottle of coca-cola every afternoon. He didn't pity these men of the cloth who had strayed but neither did he envy them: he just wondered how they could have possibly existed in such a state.

But he found himself admiring many of these rogue priests. Yes, these bishops and Monsignors had sinned but a great many refused to benefit themselves financially from their situation nor would they toe the line of the French and Spanish and Portuguese colonial masters they were expected to defer to. Priests served their communities and if a little dodgy moonshine, some blood spilled at the expense invading hordes and the odd bit of rumpo during confessional was the price to pay then so be it.

Patrick never went on to become vicar and likely never harboured a sneaking regard for Catholic clergymen in the new world (save for one). He gave up the priesthood in order to follow his ambitions in the world of pop. Patrick McAloon became Paddy McAloon: his music tastes remained catholic and so, too, did his material.

In a recent exchange on Twitter on how overused and tired the term 'underrated' has become in assessing music, pop critic and Hits alum David Hepworth mentioned that "some people still say Nick Drake is underrated. I think they mean he didn't get in the charts". (I'm not at liberty to provide a link but if you happen to seek it out on your own, please note the not-at-all unhelpful comment below from a certain "underrated" blogger) As fans, we tend to have favourites who we feel have been overlooked, either commercially or critically (if not both), which sort of puts them into an unwinnable scenario: we gripe when they aren't bigger but then we bemoan that they've sold out when they attain some success. 

Prefab Sprout wasn't a group I grew up with, keenly followed over the years and gave a voice to my awkward adolescence. Rather, they were the kind of thing I would dabble in as I entered adulthood. I had always had a thing for British songwriters with less juvenile interests and adult themes: my avowed admiration for Neil Tennant's marvellous observations led on to an interest in the tender, grotesque tales of Paul Heaton and then on to Billy Bragg and Morrissey and Paul Weller and Elvis Costello and Andy Partridge. McAloon's material was the next step but I never had a Prefab Sprout phase to obsess over. I'd give them a listen for a bit, move on and come back to them eventually: never fully immersed but never sick and tired either.

Understanding Prefab Sprout is something a lot of people have to work on over the years. Smash Hits didn't seem to take to them from the off (in a previous review of their debut single "Lions in My Own Garden (Exit Someone)", Dave Rimmer remarks that it "sounds like a speeded up Aztec Camera"; it seems that comparisons of McAloon's talents to ver Camera's Roddy Frame were fairly commonplace during this early stage) with jabs at their silly name dogging them for quite some time. Heaven 17's Martyn Ware is by all accounts a clever chap who does well in his turn in the reviewer's chair but he doesn't offer up much by way of analysis of his chosen SOTF, mentioning passing similarities to The Associates ("but without Billy's wonderful voice", he notes) and, again, Aztec Camera. And I'm no better. Those jangly northern bands could easily be lumped together and it's not a slight on any of them.

Baring in mind that this was just the third single from ver Sprouts (and likely the first to get much in the way of wide distribution outside of the group's Tyneside stronghold), few would have had any idea where "Don't Sing" was coming from, assuming they cared enough to find out. Any concept of understanding Paddy McAloon's genius would have been minuscule at the time. Underrated? Hardly. Within a year many fans and hacks would be singing the praises of this unique little one-off band from Newcastle with acclaim far outstripping sales. Misunderstood? For sure. I, for one, am still misunderstanding their brilliance to this day.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Violent Femmes: "Gone Daddy Gone"

You're seventeen and you still haven't snogged a girl, much less touched her goodies. Your best friend may have done (he never got round to spilling the details but who wants to hear about other people having sex when you're not getting any?) and even if he hasn't there are seemingly streets of girls more than happy to do just that to him and these are the very same birds who don't want to have anything to do with you. His girlfriend isn't your type but you can kinda see what he sees in her and, anyway, you wouldn't say no, would you? You've never had anything to do with (The) Violent Femmes before but they're her favourite band and suddenly he likes them and now they're a part of your life too. You feel like you ought to hate them and you tell him they're all right but you like them an awful lot more than you let on even though they're a group for girls who have boyfriends who'll never be you. But, as I say, she's not your type anyway so what difference does it make?

Eurythmics: "Here Comes the Rain Again"

5 January 1984

"If Eurythmics think they're making a run-of-the-mill record, they don't panic. They simply add the 'squint factor'. It turns an everyday event into a Royal Variety Performance."

— Ian Birch

Let's perform a thought experiment. Annie Lennox and Dave Stewart form the duo Eurythmics from the ashes of their previous group The Tourists in the early eighties. They go on to record the same eight LP's and rack up dozens of hits in the UK but their American chart fortunes dwindle following the chart topping success of their breakthrough "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of These This)" in 1983. Do North American critics and listeners look upon them any differently than they do now?

One-hit wonders are fodder for endless fascination among fans and people who like to compile lists. Though the songs are often fondly remembered, singers and groups that produced them are typically ridiculed for failing to notch a second smash hit single. British acts such as Soft Cell, Dexys Midnight Runners and Madness all have the supposedly dubious distinction of being one and doners (though surely that solitary hit is better than having none at all) in the States but they are now joined by many who may have had more hits at the time but who have been consigned to a de facto one-hit wonderdom by radio and playlists opting for that one single worth remembering. Thus, Eurythmics have effectively become one-hit wonders.

I think I understand what Ian Birch is on about when talks about the 'squint factor'. It reminds me of hearing Miles Davis' renowned album Kind of Blue for the first time during the glorious summer of 1997. I had previously expressed nothing but contempt for jazz but I was curious and decided to give it a go. I was impressed with the modal playing of Davis, Coltrane, Evans and the rest but it struck me as deliberate and too perfect, a far cry from the spirit of impromptu freedom associated with jazz. Then I got to the CD bonus track, an alternate take of album closer "Flamenco Sketches". Commencing with much the same slow moving piano and bass as the original version, I was startled by the shrieking notes played by Davis to kick things off. I braced myself for some more piercing trumpet sounds that I was convinced were coming only to find myself laughing at having keyed myself up for something that failed to materialise. The squint factor, I would gradually figure out even if I never used the term until now, is all over jazz.

But here? My expectations for Eurythmics amount to lyrics that seem deep until a moment's pause for thought reveals very little, the accomplished vocals of a wise Lennox who I don't really care for as a singer and videos starring a pair who seem to be above it all. No squint factor here, I'm afraid. Luckily, the song's all right and was released among a January wasteland of lousy records Ian Birch had to review. The melody is pleasant and Lennox seems to be using a degree of conviction in her reading. It's nothing terribly special and it leaves the unsettling feeling that pop was quickly shifting from teen audiences on meager allowances to more well-to-do middle-age types with disposable incomes. If only Eurythmics had been a few years younger: there's a thought experiment for you.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Wang Chung: "Dance Hall Days"

Another de facto one-hit wonder, "Dance Hall Days" made the charts in North America but it soon became overshadowed by the iconic "Everybody Have Fun Tonight" (which failed to do anything in Britain, making them a true OHW in their homeland). In this case, it must be said that the public were right to forget all about the Chungs first hit. Did these dance halls they speak of feature similarly boring tunes? The one saving grace may be found in having fun rhyming different body parts. How about "take your baby by the tooth / you can get down, that's the truth"? Or "take your baby by the hip / take a trip and spare the whip"? Or "take your baby by the tongue / it ain't time for some Wang Chung"? (I'm keeping ones about rude body parts to myself, thank you very much)