Bobby O: "She Has a Way"

17 March 1983

"This is a hit. Pass it on."

— David Hepworth

Five singles reviewed in this issue of ver Hits were Top 10 hits. One of them somehow went all the way to number one — Duran Duran's "Is There Something I Should Know?", one the the all-time anticlimactic chart toppers — while another is considered an indie pop classic — "Blue Monday"; I've always preferred the '88 Quincy Jones remix myself. The other three are respectable enough and there are some other new  releases of note. There are some big names present though not all that many of them managed to put out singles that they would become known for. ("Blue Monday" is the lone exception in this regard) What none of them can claim, barring David Hepworth's pick for Single of the Fortnight, is the status of a wave pool song. 

Climbing up the wet steps, there are only four things on my mind. First and foremost is the waterslide I am approaching, my eyes occasionally glancing up at the rapidly descending silhouette of the lucky individual taking their turn and at that particularly cool bend where some water would spill over the sides. Second, is on gingerly taking steps as to avoid band-aids and other foreign objects that have always made public swimming pools repulsive, my toes and the balls of my feet making as little contact with the grubby surface as possible. Third, I am reminding myself to not look directly at any untamed bikini lines that might greet me at the top of the staircase like that one time a couple years earlier at the Sheraton Cavalier pool. And, finally, I am listening to the music that is echoing through the indoor water park.

I never normally paid much attention to music in most public recreation facilities. At roller and ice rinks it serves the valuable service of pushing skaters along to a swift tempo — while helping to mask just what a seriously tedious act skating around in circles is — but the songs themselves matter little. If the in-house deejay happened to put on Wham! or Men Without Hats then my ears might have perked up a little but the likes of The Fabulous Thunderbirds or ZZ Top wouldn't have driven me to glide in the direction of the exit. At bowling alleys and pool halls, it always helped my morale as a hopeless bowler and snooker player to have some light pop and rock music on in the background but, again, the particulars of song and artist are of little consequence. But indoor wave pools are another matter entirely. Only certain types of songs work in this environment. They could be some of pop's biggest hits or utter obscurities but if it's something I feel I've heard before it's typically from the Village Square Leisure Centre.

A horn blasts and there's a flurry of excitement as kids get themselves ready to head back to the pool (unless you happen to be one of those losers who choose to stay in the water when the waves are dormant, especially those weirdos who take the opportunity to, like, swim). I grab my inner tube and lug it out to the deep end. A surge of power pop, hip hop, metal or dance pop echoes out of the speakers and the waves begin. The song itself I hardly notice but the frantic energy, the screams of delight from kids all around me, a leisure centre employee over the PA urging us to ride the waves (surely no one's surfing in here, are they?), my tube crashing into others mix with the music to create a pandemonium. This goes on for a while and I begin to get used to it, my adrenaline has subsided and I can even relax as my tube rocks over the waves. I might even hum along to whatever tune is currently being piped in.

The waves subside after a while and everyone glumly goes back to waiting for the next round. Some head over to the hot pool, while others figure this is the best time to get a hot dog and fries. (Again, there's those sad souls who stay in the dormant pool. Maybe it's just me but I got enough actual swimming done in swimming lessons, the last thing I ever wanted to do at place designed for horsing around in the water is a few laps) A waterslide enthusiast, I immediately head for the stairs. The music hasn't stopped, though its energy has leveled off a bit, and it's only now that I begin to pay attention. Madonna's "Lucky Star", "Open Your Heart" and "Papa Don't Preach" are songs I often identify with wave pools but so too is Bobby O's "She Has a Way", a tune I feel like I've heard thousands of times before. Wave pool music works that way: catchy if you choose to listen but unobtrusive if you don't care. I may have been nodding along while standing in line on my tip toes waiting for my go on the waterslide but once the surly attendant signals that I'm up I'm all about the spirit of the slide and any music that happens to be on falls away. Shooting out of the bottom and into the wading pool, I emerge and, assuming it hasn't already wrapped up and moved on to next in the rotation, the song is much the same as I left it forty seconds earlier. She has a way of getting what she wants: yeah, that's how it is at a water park, we all get what we want. I decide to have another go on the waterslide before the next session of waves starts.

David Hepworth prophesied a hit for Bobby O but it failed to materialise. Despite his rave review, Smash Hits neglected to cover him further nor did they bother to print the lyrics to "She Has a Way". This could well have been just the way O liked it too: he wrote the song, did the singing, produced it and had it released on his own O Records label. He had the looks and the sound to be a pop star but perhaps he was content with sharing his work at discotheques and wave pools around the world. Can I be one hundred percent certain that it played at Village Square at some point in my youth? No, I can't. But if it has the feel of a wave pool song then I might as well have.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Style Council: "Speak Like a Child"

"Or "speak like a child", as Paul Weller's curious vocal dialect has it," Hepworth begins. Well, it wouldn't be the work of Paul Welder if it didn't contain some form of vocal mangling, would it? (This is, lest we forget, the same guy who would soon sing about how "we love Cherry Coke, walls come tumbling down!") The hacky Canadian "jokester" that I am, I prefer it as "speak like a child, eh?" In other observations of little merit, were Jam fans already starting to shit themselves or were they waiting for the cappuccinos and espadrilles to appear? Those of us who frequented wave pools didn't mind: we never got to hear any Style Council there (they were always played at the dentist for whatever reason) but we would've been down with "the crazy sayings like "I'm so free and so on!" That's wave pool zen, you know.

(Click here to see my original review)

U2 / Frank Sinatra & Bono: "Stay (Faraway, So Close!)" / "I've Got You Under My Skin"

24 November 1993

"U2 are always willing to experiment, unlike many other rock bands."

— Tania

"Like Bono said, they're just four jerks with a police escort, haha."

— Jay

I was just eight years old in the summer of 1985 when Live Aid took place. To say I had better things to do was pretty much on the money. Music was fine but my life revolved around comic books, Lego, street hockey, wrestling and cartoons; I wasn't about to spend a whole day watching an over-long music festival which took place in two cities on separate sides of the Atlantic. One member of my family who did watch was my mum. Rather than appreciating the many stars from her younger days that performed (McCartney wasn't all that good, the Stones were boring, Dylan was self-serving and she's never been a fan of Queen) her fondest memories of Live Aid were of a handful of the newer acts on the bill. Paul Young and U2 are the two she always mentions being especially impressed by. In the case of the former, it was his silky-smooth voice that won her over, with the latter it was their memorable renditions of "Sunday Bloody Sunday" and "Pride (In the Name of Love)".

Yeah, about that. U2 didn't play "Pride" at Live Aid. I'm sure they considered it and probably would have had (a) they'd done a set of four songs like many of the groups that day rather than two or (b) the tune Mum mistook for it had not gone on for so damn long. It was with a stirring twelve minute rendition of Unforgettable Fire deep cut "Bad" that U2 set themselves up for superstardom; it's just a pity that the song itself fell through the cracks along the way. Nevertheless, it managed to set a standard for what U2 songs were supposed to sound like. Not every one of their numbers sounded the same but they all seemed a bit like "Bad".

It has also been the one I've been singing to myself over the last several days as I've been gearing up to write this piece. "Bad" and "Stay (Faraway, So Close!)" (as an aside, what the hell is that exclamation point doing in there?!?) aren't terribly similar beyond both having those unmissable U2 stamps of that heartbeat rhythm, those clipped chords that The Edge has made a career out of and Bono's distinctive wail. On an emotional level, "Stay" strays because it doesn't lift me up the way a song like "Bad" does so effortlessly. I keep expecting true inspiration such as when Bono screams "I'm wide awake!"; "Stay" just pulls me along and then passes me by. It's nice to have on but when it comes to a close I forget all about it. I didn't know it was possible to listen to a U2 song this much and it not make the slightest impression; even their songs that I don't care for have melodies I can hum, even if I choose not to do so.

U2 becoming weird was something everyone had accepted by 1993. It no doubt helped that they were happy to remind people that they were still U2 every so often. After the genuine shock of "The Fly" near the end of '91, follow-up "Mysterious Ways" proved to be a welcome way to ease back into normal while maintaining their new found funk sound and overall sexiness. "One" neither harked back to the "2" of old nor suggested anything particularly new but it was so brilliant that it hardly mattered. Very justly, the remix of "Even Better Than the Real Thing" outperformed the standard version as the two competed with each other on the UK singles charts. Finally, their run of singles from Achtung Baby! ended with "Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses" a song that was horribly, painfully U2.

Achtung Baby! had been so hyped that it was one of those early nineties CD releases that people lined up for at midnight to purchase. This wasn't the case two years later with the more low key Zooropa. Videos for the first two singles were played a lot but there didn't appear to be the same degree of chart action involved. Unbeknownst to me, "Numb" was a video single and didn't qualify for the US and UK hit parades, though it did all right in my native Canada; "Lemon" wasn't readily available either. I wasn't exactly tickled by them at first but the two did grow on me but there was a sense that maybe the public had had enough of them. Luckily, there was "Stay" to put them back in the good graces of their fans. The only trouble was, it was at the expense of something truly memorable.

With records such as "Wild Horses" and "Stay", U2 managed to appease their longstanding cult base while at the same time drifting off into sonic adventurism elsewhere. (The blowback from their 1997 Pop project prompted a wholescale rethink with greater emphasis on retreating to their old sound which resulted in the highly popular and highly successful All That You Can't Leave Behind but as an on the fence listener this was where I pretty much gave up on them) While it ticks the boxes of how one of their singles ought to sound, it's an unsatisfying listen, particularly over time. It isn't so much a return to form as a reminder of how they used to be so much better.

Finally, unremarked and possibly unnoticed by Tania and Jay of Eurodance sensation Culture Beat is that "Stay" was a split single or double A side (depending on how you choose to classify it). It shared the spotlight with "I've Got You Under My Skin", Bono's contribution to the popular Frank Sinatra Duets album that came out for that year's Christmas rush. U2 had already done an outstanding cover of "Night and Day" for the 1990 Red, Hot + Blue AIDS benefit charity album — a recording which anticipates their new European/indie-influenced sound a year later — so clearly the former Paul Hewson knew a thing or two about Cole Porter's songbook. Still, this one isn't nearly as good. While Bono is the perfect singer for U2, he sounds completely out of his league when paired with Sinatra; his once powerful vocal chords now reduced to sounding like a croaky old whimper. The recording is also harmed by some pointless production touches that try to add a faint tinge of current "2" to the jazz arrangement. It's as if they wished to add some of the current U2 sound to one song while trying to add some of what they used to do on to another. Perhaps they go together better than I ever would've thought.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Pet Shop Boys: "I Wouldn't Normally Do This Kind of Thing"

"They don't express themselves," reports the rapper from a group whose creative shots were being called by German studio boffins. Ironically, "I Wouldn't Normally Do This Kind of Thing" is meant to be about a reserved individual being open with their feelings for the first time but how can that hold up alongside years of pop in inverted commas? There's a fair amount of Pet Shops backlash in the Hits by this point though it's worth noting that Tania considers it to be one of their better efforts of late. I can't help but feel that people were getting sick of Tennant and Lowe and this affected the critical standing of their early nineties releases. That said, this one isn't a big favourite of mine. Tennant has subsequently complained that the album version is much cleaner and he's absolutely right. Plus, the Very album isn't all that well served by its 45's: I'll happily take the likes of "The Theatre", "Dreaming of the Queen" and "One in a Million" (not to mention some choice B sides from the same time) over the stuff they had in the charts. Yet, even when they were coasting — and apparently not expressing themselves — the Pet Shop Boys were still way above the competition.

Sananda Maitreya: "Let Her Down Easy"

10 November 1993

"If you've ever been in love with someone older or younger than you this will break your heart."

— Alex Kadis

As if trying to pull a Rolling Stone, Q Magazine had singer Sananda Maitreya "grace" its cover in June of 1993 wearing absolutely nothing, his member only covered up by a '...in the Q Interview' tag. Somehow or other this didn't convince otherwise neutral consumers from picking up his latest album. Sex sells but not necessarily shameless nudity.

Though they all failed to make the Top 10, the four singles taken from Sananda Maitreya's 1993 album Symphony or Damn did respectable business. Each one peaked somewhere in the teens with runs of four or five weeks apiece. Nothing spectacular but not bad and the sort of results that should have ensured that sales of his current L.P. would shore up. After-all, R.E.M. had been in a not dissimilar situation at around the same time with a series of not-quite smash hits contributing to the year's long success of Automatic for the People. Yet it didn't quite work out in similar fashion for Maitreya. The quartet of singles spent a total of seventeen weeks on the Top 40 while the album did just a dozen weeks on the equivalent listing — with the bulk of them coming in the thirties. By the time "Let Her Down Easy" was hitting the charts, Symphony or Damn was all but done.

Like "Everybody Hurts" (itself the fourth single from Automatic), "Let Her Down Easy" ought to have given him a big late-stage hit. While the record buying public loves a dramatic ballad, they no longer had much affection for the artist behind it. Quite why is another matter. Appearing starkers on the front of a popular music mag didn't help but the backlash came four years' earlier when second album Neither Fish nor Flesh came out. Hardly anyone noticed that it was out and those that did all seemed to dislike it. Kids who bought debut Introducing the Hardling According to Terence Trent D'Arby on cassette had moved on to the likes of Warrant and New Kids on the Block and Happy Mondays; yuppies who purchased it on CD had Tom Petty and Bonnie Raitt to be concerned with. That he managed to come back at all with a perfectly serviceable third album and a handful of singles that did okay is kind of remarkable all things considered.

Yes, perfectly serviceable. I think I overstated just how much I liked Symphony or Damn the last time I blogged about his nibs here. Full disclosure: I had never heard it prior to four months ago and I think its strengths really stood out while I was able to ignore its weaknesses. Such things happen when you've only given an album a single listen. It was brash with all of Maitreya's vast talent on full display. I couldn't believe how all-over-the-place it was. Now, I find it a little too scattered. Some albums such as bassist Jaco Pastorius' self-titled debut and The Style Council's Cafe Bleu are erratic in the best possible sense but this doesn't quite work on Symphony. Clocking in at over an hour is far too long for a non-compilation, especially one with such a ludicrous range of styles that struggle to mesh with one another.

As far as the singles are concerned though, Maitreya's diversity is a point in their favour. As I have already stated, "Do You Love Me Like You Say?" is a groovy rocker featuring the singer as his full-throated best. Next up was "Delicate", a duet with British pop/R&B vocalist Des'ree. Vaguely Asian sounding, it's a bit of a grower that steers clear of your typical soul power ballad cliches. Coming up third was "She Kissed Me" which puts D'Arby in clear rock territory. The tempting comparison to make is with Lenny Kravitz, particularly when it comes to the song's accompanying video, but with far less of a reliance on riffs and better songcraft. If the song itself is a little less impressive than its predecessors (or, indeed, its follow-up), it certainly provides a welcome reminder of Maitreya's extraordinary vocal range.

And so we come to "Let Her Down Easy" which is probably the finest song the man ever created. A classy track to close out Symphony or Damn, Maitreya dispenses with all the instrumentation and all those different styles and paying homage to his many influences (As Steve Sutherland stated in a largely negative review in the NME, "'Turn The Page' is TTD does Dylan, 'I Still Love You' is TTD does country, 'Seasons' is TTD does Jimi) in favour of a simple but highly effective piano ballad. Alex Kadis describes it as "wonderful, haunting, graceful" and she's absolutely correct. And, again, how great of a singer is Sananda Maitreya? 

As the quote above states, Kadis reckons "Let Her Down Easy" to be particularly moving if you've ever been besotted by someone who is either older or younger than you. Maybe but it's pretty fabulous either way really. I used to have a friend who once told me about the importance of keeping a romantic legend in one's memory. Have a spell with someone that goes fairly well and then move on without ever spoiling things in the future with a terrible break up or eventually getting back together. There might be some heartbreak and loneliness for a time but the wounds will heal in time and then you're left with the memory of someone who was just about the one but who slipped away. It's a nice thought and one that comes to mind when considering this single. The girl here is impressionable and full of life but that innocence could be snatched away at any time. If you're going to use her then at least try not to leave her in pieces when you inevitably skip town.

There's a deftness to both Maitreya's songwriting and overall performance. He's dealing with sensitive subject matter but he manages to sink into the nuances. This guy is probably a cad but he isn't painted as an outright monster. The girl is naive but you sense she knows what she's dealing with. This isn't a case of rape or abuse, more of a passing romance that is destined to end just as quickly as it started. Since it's just about done, why not try to end it in the best possible manner? Better to be remembered fondly than as a colossal mistake. Sex sells but bittersweet love keeps us coming back.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Urban Cookie Collective: "Feels Like Heaven"

Kadis hates their name (it isn't great but points for originality) and isn't overly fond of their latest single but otherwise okay, am I right? I've always quite liked "Feels Like Heaven" due to its addictive chorus and poppy techno dynamics but there is indeed something missing. Someone who is a dab hand at pop songwriting might have helped. (Sananda Maitreya for one) Much as I dig the verse-chorus back-and-forth, a middle eight would have been nice. Kadis claims ver Cookies are "at the forefront of the current batch of featureless, meaningless rave pap" and she's not wrong. Her giving them two out of five lacks a bit of generosity but there's no question this catchy record could have been a good deal stronger.

Spectral Display: "It Takes a Muscle to Fall in Love"

3 March 1983

"Music for slouching 'cross the floor, loose-limbed and honeycomb centred."

— Johnny Black

I was recently browsing in a store and I began to notice that I was gently humming along with the song that was playing. I knew the tune but couldn't quite place it. I even seemed to know the words yet I still wasn't sure where I had heard it before. Yet, heard it I had since it was a song I'd written about for this blog.

Eventually I figured out that it was "No More 'I Love You's'". (The chorus sort of gave it away) But it wasn't the original by The Lover Speaks, nor the much more well known cover version by Annie Lennox from her 1995 album of covers Madusa. Actually, I still don't know who it was I was listening to but I'm quite sure I'll recognize it if I ever happen to come across it again: there can't be any other artists who'd choose to leave out its distinctive "do-be-do-be-do-do-do, ah".

The challenge of recording a strong cover is how to keep what makes it a song great while adding something to it. There's lots that can be done with "No More 'I Love You's'" but choosing not to bother with the bit that everyone remembers isn't the way to go. I would consider removing or re-writing the refrain in favour of nixing the do-be-do-be-do's. (Actress Hailee Steinfeld did an overhauled version with much of the lyrics changed but she was wise enough to know what needed to be kept around)

A look on the YouTube comments for Spectral Display's "It Takes a Muscle to Fall in Love" indicates that a lot of the kids listening to it now are coming to it more familiar with M.I.A.'s cover from 2010. The last time I wrote about this Dutch synth-pop classic, I referred to her version as "feeble" but I didn't go into why it missed the mark so badly, perhaps because I found it so objectionable that I wasn't about to put myself through the task of having to listen to it a second time.

I just about managed to give it that second play this time round though — and not much has changed over the last five years. While the original has, in the words of reviewer Johnny Black, "the sparest of electronic, Euro reggae rhythms", M.I.A. makes it far too Jamaican while sidestepping it's clear links with Yazoo's gorgeous 1982 hit single "Only You". And this is where her version fails: the stark melancholy just doesn't enter the picture. You'd think with lyrics like "you're gonna live tomorrow if you don't die today" she might have toned down her bouncy vocal or maybe encouraged her producer to come up with 

Otherwise, "It Takes a Muscle to Fall in Love" in the hands of Spectral Display is as brilliant as ever. It's one of those hauntingly lovely songs that I can never quite get right as it plays in my head; I awkwardly hum its melody, mess up the lyrics and fail to quite nail the voice I imagine Henri Overduin has (for some reason I keep thinking he sounds vaguely like Paul Young). I'm so much more used to preferring the way songs sound in my head to the actual recording that it's refreshing to have the opposite occur.

Some say cover versions are supposed to be better than the originals but how often does this ever happen? Carbon copies, needless to say, are pointless.What's left is to take a great song and add something to it in order to make a new version worthwhile. Or mess the whole thing up which only leads to appreciating the original even more. Well done, M.I.A.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Kissing the Pink: "The Last Film"

It's an unjust world that the passable "The Last Film" managed to fluke its way into the UK Top 20 when "It Takes a Muscle..." couldn't even get a sniff at the bottom end of the hit parade. I suppose I'd like it a bit more had it lost out on the Single of the Fortnight to something I'm far less willing to fight over. Nevertheless, "The Last Film" is original and engaging and, indeed, "definitely desirable", I just desire Spectral Display that much more. Still, I have to wonder how M.I.A. would've screwed this one up.

(Click here to see my original review)

Pearl Jam: "Go"

27 October 1993

"Don't play this near any posh pottery, it won't stand a chance."

— Pete Stanton

David Hepworth and Mark Ellen, along with producer Alex Gold, were recently discussing Pearl Jam's upcoming concert at Tottenham Hotspur Stadium in London. They seemed astonished that the quintet with members who are approaching the age of sixty would be able to sell out a show for around 70,000 people. Gold then made the helpful comment that they were all that was left of the grunge scene so where else was everyone to go?

Like the still-emerging Britpop, grunge didn't have a great deal of depth. You had Nirvana, Alice in Chains, Soundgarden and Pearl Jam. I know there's Mudhoney and Screaming Trees and a bunch of other bands I've totally forgotten about but those were the four groups that everyone was aware of. People either liked them or were at least aware of them. Being that it was meant to be a D.I.Y. movement, bands of even the highest quality were bound to slip through the cracks while the lucky few got signed up to big contracts. But just how lucky were they? Kurt Cobain's suicide naturally brought Nirvana to a halt and addiction derailed both Alice in Chains and Soundgarden. But Pearl Jam kept chugging along, something they continue to do to this day.

Respect to them, particularly when it comes to how they've stood up to corporate greed (even if this still hasn't stopped them from charging outrageous prices for tickets to their shows), I just wish I could enjoy their music on some level. Having not really heard them in probably a quarter century, I was struck by how timeless my disinterest in them is. I couldn't stand "Jeremy" when it came out back in 1992 and I still find the vast majority of their stuff impossible to get into.

I wouldn't say, however, that Pearl Jam's music is unlistenable. I've quite happily put on The Residents, Yoko Ono and Ornette Coleman's Free Jazz and listened to them. A piece of music would have to go an awful long way before I had it down as "unlistenable". As such, "Go" is perfectly listenable, I would just rather not have to do so. The problem is it's so lacking in enjoyable qualities as to make it unplayable.

Jazz purists like Philip Larkin used to assert that the genre lost something when it ceased to be a style of music people would dance to. (The very idea of Larkin dancing to anything is laughable) For some reason, young people sitting and snapping their fingers to a Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie record didn't constitute a sufficient level of enjoyment to count. I do not dance and didn't even like doing it back during that very brief period of my life in the late nineties when I would get dragged to clubs like The Embassy. I knew that the act of boogieing down wasn't the only way to show appreciation for a pop song. We may snap out fingers, nod along, tap our toes or do a sad little airband routine. We may sing along to either to the correct lyrics or whatever we've come up with in our minds.

In short, there are hundreds and perhaps even thousands of ways to express our enjoyment of music — and I can't think of a single way to do so with Pearl Jam's "Go". I'm willing to acknowledge that it must sound great in a mosh pit even though still somehow doubt it. The super aggressive grunge rock isn't exactly ear candy but it's the utter lack of a melody that really holds it back. Kurt Cobain was going through his most extreme period with Nirvana's third album In Utero and even it has plenty of hooks and tunes to stay with you. But that's the easy part. I like Nirvana but what of a band like Soundgarden, a group I've never thought much of? Well, at least they grew up on metal which always put some stock in dynamics and choruses and that shit. "Black Hole Sun" isn't exactly my thing but at least it might float around the back of my mind from time to time.

Due to grunge and MTV Unplugged, the nineties really revived guitar rock — and, with it, a self-righteous defense mechanism that bordered on the absurd. "At least they're not (insert name of pop phenomenon/boy band here)" was the common refrain from fans of alternative music if you so much as questioned the quality of a band like Pearl Jam. Sorry, not good enough. I may despise what a plastic pop princess stands for but there's always a chance I might dig one of her records; if the best I can say for Eddie Vedder is that I empathize with his politics then there's not a whole lot more to be said. I'm don't doubt that he would be a swell guy to have a beer with but I'm not in a position to experience this. And, anyway, what would we have to chat about after having admitted to him that I think his music sucks?

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Paul Weller: The Weaver EP

Not quite yet the embarrassing Modfather, Paul Weller was already being feted for his supposed phoenix-like rebirth on second solo album Wild Wood. Looking back, it seems like an over-correction from those final days of The Style Council as it led to a number of increasingly lifeless recordings that all sounded the same until he gradually began finding his way once again in the early 2000's. While previous hits from '93, "Sunflower" and "Wild Wood", are both pretty strong, if a tad underwhelming, "The Weaver" needed the padding of a value-for-money EP just to make it worthy of singlehood. "This Is No Time" is no less forgettable than the title track but things come to life on third track "Another New Day" which brings to mind some of ver Council's overlooked instrumentals such as "Blue Cafe", "Our Favourite Shop" and "The Little Boy in the Castle / A Dove Flew Down from the Elephant". Proof that Weller didn't need his garbled voice to carry a recording and that he was always at his best when he was at his most ambitious. He just had to get this bizarre need to be boring out of his system before he re-discovered it.

Levellers: "This Garden"

13 October 1993

"I wouldn't buy it, but I like it when something new is done."

— Stakka Bo

"I like the sound."

— Oscar

Are you in a band with leftists politics and you're struggling to come up with a name? Well, the solution is simple: do a bit of reading into the English Civil Wars of the mid-seventeenth century and you'll find something that will no doubt fit.

It's not quite as commonplace as I assumed. New Model Army and Levellers are the only two notable bands who took their names from this time period. There was a nineties' Scottish group called The Diggers but they got their name from a novel from the sixties with no connection whatsoever to Fairfax or Cromwell. Yet, I'm going to assume that there are plenty of much smaller outfits who support social democracy and have names like The Roundheads or Pride's Purge — and if they haven't been taken, have at it!

Though there is this wealth of potential band names from the era, it's worth noting that neither of the big two are especially well-remembered anymore. Perhaps your older brother or your mate's older brother was into New Model Army but they never really did much for you. (By "you" I'm referring to myself) Or Levellers had that feeble call-to-arms "anthem" "One Way" which you quite liked when you were fourteen but you've subsequently disowned because everyone you respect has told you how naff it is. (And, again, by "you" I am referring to myself)

"One Way" only got to number fifty-one on the charts in Britain back in 1991 but it has somehow cast a shadow over the rest of their work. Levellers had fifteen Top 40 hits but they somehow couldn't get people to forget about that flop of their's from early on in their recording career. Some will mockingly sing the cliche-ridden chorus, others won't even mention it at all but I just know that when nine out of ten critics and/or music fans give Levellers a good coating down, this is the song they're thinking of.

I'm neutral when it comes to Levellers. On the one hand, I completely understand why "One Way" makes so many want to vomit. Having not actually listened to it in over thirty years, I would quite like to have its annoying refrain wiped from my memory. Crapping on it is the low hanging fruit but there are other songs of their's that leave a lot to be desired. Much of what appears on breakthrough album Levelling the Land is poor — "Fifteen Years", their first of many hits that fell just short of the Top 10, is if anything worse than "One Way" — or, at best, leaves me feeling indifferent. On the other hand, I have an answer to the as yet unasked question "what is your favourite Levellers song?" (It's the poignant "Searchlights" from the 1995 WarChild charity compilation Help and it's so damn good that it rivals other better known highlights such as Radiohead's "Lucky" and Suede's "Shipbuilding") They did some stuff that sucks but they also had some good songs in them — they just weren't those that their fans tended to flock towards.

"This Garden" I would place on the good side. Like Oscar and Stakka Bo of, well, Stakka Bo, I'm not bowled over by it but there's enough to it to make me want to go back and give it a listen every so often. Ira Robbins, in a career-spanning review for Trouser Press, describes its eccentric mix of didgeridoo, dance music grooves and raps in the verses as "disastrous" but I hear it as a brave stab that works in spite of the fact that it really shouldn't. It helps that Simon Friend is almost doing a music hall send up in his spoken word parts (I was going to say that it reminds me of Phil Daniels on Blur's "Parklife" but that single was still a year away from making its large imprint on British culture) instead of some sad and laughable white boy MC spot. For a band that could have easily stuck to the anarcho-folk-punk that helped them gain a sizable following in the late eighties and early nineties, it's refreshing to hear them stretch out and even pull it off.

Where "This Garden" is superior to something like "One Way" is in its subtlety. Their early singles hit the listener over the head with messages that aren't in the least bit deep but a much more measured and considered approach to their songwriting began to take shape on third album Levellers. It's quite shocking to hear such a working class-friendly band admit that "blood, sweat and tears really don't matter, just the things that you do in this garden". In reality the song's meaning isn't terribly different from "One Way", only that it's expressed with far more originality. If their new-found musical catholicism wasn't impressive enough, there was also some strong lyrical touches that go far beyond the pablum they previously dished out to audiences. Rather than ramming your message home, why not make punters have to think about your latest protest song?

Levellers didn't make a tremendous impact in North America but there was a Canadian group who had more than a little in common with them. Vancouver's Spirit of the West had formed playing aggressive folk music which appealed to university students who were just getting accustomed to consuming vast quantities of alcohol. To this day their appropriately spirited crowd-pleaser "Home for a Rest" remains a favourite among their loyal fanbase. But it's also a rather polarizing song. Haters can't stand it and I have to admit that they have a point. SOTW got better and had further hits in Canada but they could never quite escape the shadow of that one tune of their's with a big chorus that first gave them fame. "Home for a Rest" would be their "One Way" but I'll take "And If Venice Is Sinking" which is very much their "This Garden". Hardcore fans don't know anything.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Bitty McLean: "Pass It On"

I feel like I'm pointing this out a lot of late but the selection of singles in this issue of Smash Hits is remarkably poor. The guys from Stakka Bo aren't even that crazy about "This Garden" — "that's as positive as we're going to get, so Best New Single it is!" their review concludes — and they don't have a great deal of enthusiasm for much else on offer. And who can blame them? There are good songs but the recordings of them aren't up to much. Bitty McLean's penchant for good-natured cover versions is tested to its limit on this gospel take on The Wailers "Pass It On", a deep cut from their groundbreaking 1973 album Burnin'. A straightforward modernized copy of it would have been preferable even if it would have had its flaws too. The Marley version (I'm not sure if it's the original given that he nor bandmates Bunny Wailer and Peter Tosh actually wrote it) is suitably laid back and moving but none of that survives in Bitty's treatment. Good on him for picking a Wailer's track that hasn't been covered to death, it's just too bad he sucked the life out of it.

JoBoxers: "Boxerbeat"

17 February 1983

"I don't mind girls who want to look like Bananarama but when the boys start..."

— Anon.

An unintended consequence of punk was that it led to a dearth of old school workingmen's bands. Given that they had relocated to the United States at around the same time, Slade would not have been a target of the punks but it was hard-faced, hard-drinking bands like them and The Faces and Status Quo (and, most importantly of all, any potential younger acts) who would really falter as the seventies gave way to the eighties. True, there had been overly working class bands like Angelic Upstarts but they got themselves stuck in the corner of punk; whereas everyone with any kind of future had been able to spread themselves out.

Dexys Midnight Runners were one of the few groups to emerge out of punk to cultivate an image of a gang of lads on the prowl for drink and a punch up. But it was all image. The ever-changing line-up and their practice of adopting new band uniforms on a yearly basis (they went from dock workers to health fanatics to urchins in rags and dungarees to preppies; leader Kevin Rowland even carried this forward in his solo career, famously dressing in drag for the sleeve of flop covers album My Beauty) only confirmed that it was all a show. Whether it was the superstars of New Pop dressing as members of Bananarama or supposed toughs in a badass gang, everyone in a UK dominated by music videos and Smash Hits seemed perfectly happy to get dressed up.

Well, not quite everyone. London's JoBoxers were keen to point out to all who'd listen that they weren't like those "production-line haircut bands" or even Dexys, a band whose Searching for the Young Soul Rebels image appeared to have rubbed off on the suspenders, Doc Martens and flat caps favoured by singer Dig Wayne and the quartet who used to be in punk band Subway Sect. Yet, they claimed this was how they normally dressed. "We're for real," Wayne would claim, perhaps unaware that he'd just set off a big popular music red flag. 

Still, the unnamed Hits reviewer this fortnight seemed to buy it. These people who dress like Bananarama (are they the same folk who are in these so-called "production-line haircut bands"? Something tells me there would be plenty of intersection of the two on a Venn diagram) are for some reason the enemy. JoBoxers have "no synths, no wimpy vocals"; the critic here conveniently leaves out that they also have no originality and no creativity but I guess those sorts of qualities don't matter when you're "for real".

I don't mean to trash "Boxerbeat" though. It's a perfectly competent slice of pop-soul, loads of fun and I have no doubt JoBoxers would've been a great act to have seen live back in their day. But in a fortnight with some strong candidates — I would have had a difficult time choosing between Madness' "Tomorrow's Just Another Day" and Orange Juice's "Rip It Up" had I been in charge of the singles in this issue; also coming in strong are OMD's "Genetic Engineering" and Wall of Voodoo's "Mexican Radio" — it's simply an also ran. The same old punk from six years earlier was no different than this spirited but derivative soul.

Having recently been voted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Duran Duran aren't the joke they once were. Yes, they were a global phenomenon and hit making juggernaut back in their day but they had their critics. Harsh critics. People who knocked their hair and fashion sense and music videos and they even managed to go after their actual music from time to time. At their best, they were very good indeed but they could also put out some crap. Nevertheless, if it comes down having to choose between a band who is "for real" and a bunch of "pouting pretties" like Duran and the Spand then I'll take the the flash suits, art school pretensions, pin up looks and ridiculous exoticism any day.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Men Without Hats: "The Safety Dance (Extended 'Club Mix')"

Bundled together with fellow 12" remixes of Eurythmics and Leisure Process (whoever they are), our anonymous friend isn't terrifically fond of Montreal's Men Without Hats, reckoning they were only capable of "a bit of electronic doodling and a fabulously stupid name". I will say "The Safety Dance" doesn't deserve to be their best-known song since "Pop Goes the World" blows it out of the water. Also, the name isn't that bad especially since their first best of was given the title Greatest Hats which is somehow both on-the-nose and brilliant at the same time. And this "Extended 'Club Mix'" manages to clock in at a reasonable four-and-a-half minutes so it could be worse. A pointless 12" all the same, however.

(Click here to see my original review)

Stakka Bo: "Here We Go"

29 September 1993

"Breezier than a string vest on Ben Nevis."

— Mike Soutar

"Love Will Tear Us Apart"; "There She Goes"; "Personal Jesus"; "Union City Blue"; "Born of Frustration"; "Girlfriend in a Coma"; "DJ Culture"; "Mysterious Ways"; "Never Turn Your Back on Mother Earth"; "Is She Really Going Out with Him?"; "I Know You Got Soul"; "I'm Coming Out"; "My Definition of a Boombastic Jazz Style"; "Waterfront"; "Glory Box"; "Violently Happy": good to great singles that all somehow stiffed at the unlucky number thirteen spot.

There's no hard and fast rule as to where a single will peak. Great singles have ended up finished well out of the Top 40 while everyone can name a handful of number ones that they consider to be irredeemable. But some inferences can be made from peaking in the upper part of the teens. For indie groups with sizable cult followings such as Depeche Mode, James and The Smiths, thirteen was a pretty standard chart placement. But when it comes to Joy Division, The La's and Dream Warriors it was more a case of bands hitting one out of the park but to only a modest reception. You could say that "Love Will Tear Us Apart" could have and should have performed better but it could just as easily have done a lot worse.

Sweden's Stakka Bo was sort of group/sort of collective/sort of solo project for multi-talented frontman Johan Renck. Nowadays he is best know for directing all five episodes of the HBO miniseries Chernobyl but in the early nineties he was a struggling musician. Had he been British or American Renck would have become a DJ or he would have formed a band. But what am I saying? Most Swedes who aspired to a career in music back then would have either become DJ's or formed bands as well. This Renck fellow was a different sort — and not simply because he looked closer to forty-seven than twenty-seven (though like many who age young, he now looks like a relatively youthful fifty-seven). His incompetence and lack of know-how led to him putting out one of the most remarkable one off pop hits of the decade.

It was in around 1993 that everyone just assumed that everything on techno dance records was sampled, even to a naive listener such as myself. There was a reason every drum sound seemed the same. Plus, why would penny-pinching producers bother hiring sessioners to perform on their work when they could just get someone to pinch from hit records of the past?The flute part on "Here We Go" must have surely been taken from some old Herbie Mann tune from the seventies while those vocals in the chorus ("here we go again" / "get your gear and start to spend...") sound like they came from an obscure eighties club hit by Bobby O or Jellybean. Yet, they were both made in house by colleagues of Mr. Bo.

The tag-teamed raps of Stakka Bo and chum Oscar bring to mind the Stereo MC's and their skeletal frontman Rob Birch but "Here We Go" is otherwise unconnected to, er, "Connected". Musically, it's more reminiscent of the trendy acid jazz of Brand New Heavies and Jamiroquai albeit with less of a blatantly retro sound. Maybe it's just the presence of David Wilczewski's flute but it also vaguely suggests trip hop. Eurobeat aside, it's as if they were plundering all the dominant early nineties' variants of dance music just to put together the best pop record possible. It shouldn't have worked out for them but somehow or other it does.

Not to knock them too much but the other thing Stakka Bo had over the Stereo MC's was their message was much less preachy. Coming from an educated, middle-class Swedish family, Renck's business degree shouldn't lend itself to good pop lyrics but, once again, he proved to be a master of making chicken salad out of chicken shit. Assuming audiences even cared what he had to say in the first place, it's possible to interpret "Here We Go" as either extolling the virtues of a hedonistic, live-for-today lifestyle or as a warning not to get caught up in all this consumption. Other Swedes involved in pop were often prone to composing word salad lyrics but Renck put a surprising amount of care into the words here — even if the message may be rather unclear.

As the intro no doubt gives away, "Here We Go" only managed to get to number thirteen in the UK. We could knock the British for their crappy taste — I mean, what the hell business did bloody Haddaway or a three-year-old reissued and more-useless-than-ever Roxette ballad have finishing above it? — but it performed no better in much of the rest of Europe. Plenty of people clearly liked it just not nearly enough to make it the mega-hit it deserved to be. And we should be careful what we wish for: had it done better, Stakka Bo might have gone on to have further hits and he would have been able to afford to pay others to direct their videos and he wouldn't have gone on to direct promos for The Cardigans and Suede and All Saints and he wouldn't have been behind the series Chernobyl. Plus, "Here We Go" is brilliant enough that it never needed another hit.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Culture Beat: "Got to Get It"

Stakka Bo and pals may not have known what they were doing in crafting some fabulous dance-pop but German producer/DJ Torsten Fenslau knew exactly how to come up with catchy and danceable Euro techno for a mass audience. Mike Soutar isn't over fond of breakthrough global smash "Mr. Vain" but he finds himself enjoying follow-up "Got to Get It" almost in spite of himself. I, on the other hand, reckon both records are pretty great. This one doesn't have the hooks of its predecessor but it's probably a little more durable. ("Mr. Vain", for all of its many good qualities, is the sort of thing that is very easy to tire of) Not quite bursting at the seems with pop energy like "Here We Go" but plenty wonderful all the same. Tragically, Fenslau would pass away in a car accident while "Got to Get It" was in the UK Top 10.

Radiohead: "Creep"

15 September 1993

"Now it's a massive hit in the States and Radiohead can claim the big hit they deserve."

— Tom Doyle

The entire concert up to this point had been brilliant but the ninth number, "My Iron Lung", was on a whole other level. The five piece played got to the song's instrumental fade out and it just exploded — a fade out that simply refused to fade away. These blokes from Oxford didn't smile much but they looked (justifiably) pleased with themselves at this moment. Lanky guitarist Ed O'Brien had composure enough to hand his guitar off to a roadie who, in turn, gave him a new one for the next number on their setlist. Meanwhile, Thom York and the Greenwood brothers conferred. Then they whispered something to O'Brien who proceeded to request his old guitar back. Evidently, they had been so happy with the way they played "My Iron Lung" that they decided to play it some more.

Radiohead's concert on April 8, 1998 in Calgary would've been memorable anyway but this moment was unlike anything we'd seen before. In an era of having setlists taped to the stage and phony between-song banter — "let's play this song...c'mon man, it's easy!" — this was clearly not stage managed. The remainder of the show went from strength to strength but I couldn't get their improvised reprise of "My Iron Lung" out of my head. "One to tell the grandkids about", purred The Calgary Sun the next day. Unbeknownst to us, Q magazine was even there with the show being featured in an upcoming issue.

I went to see Radiohead with a half-a-dozen friends and mutual friends but I knew a few other people in attendance that night. Presumably up near the front was my university chum Tasya who shared my love for Britpop and witty but sensitive singer-songwriters. I bumped into her on campus a day or two later and we chatted about the show. Not only had she seen them in Calgary but she also caught them in Vancouver two days earlier. I asked how the two concerts compared. She said the Vancouver show was marred a bit by the crowd with Thom York even having to appeal to the idiots shoving and crowd surfing like mad. Clearly, their performance in Calgary was something else. For what it's worth, it was quite likely the best of the four shows they did in Canada that spring. While I'm sure the Toronto gig was a blast, York was heard yelling at a fan in Montreal who kept demanded they play one of their biggest hits. "Fuck off, we're tired of it!"

Though not quite exclusively so, bands hating their biggest hits seems like a particularly nineties phenomenon. Kurt Cobain famously couldn't stomach performing "Smells Like Teen Spirit", much to the dismay of many of Nirvana's fans. Michael Stipe has never been fond of "Shiny Happy People" even though the trio R.E.M. would eventually go on to re-record it for Sesame Street. Guitarist Graham Coxon bristled at having to play on Blur's first number one single "Country House". Beck never quite disowned breakthrough "Loser" but he did grow uncomfortable with the song, refusing to allow its inclusion on the soundtrack to the 1995 Jim Carrey film Dumb & Dumber.

It's tempting to tie "Smells Like Teen Spirit", "Shiny Happy People", "Country House", "Loser" and, indeed, "Creep" together due to fears of selling out but I'm not sure that's all there is to it. Cobain and Coxon both quickly grew bored of the hits they'd had with Nirvana and Blur respectively while Stipe and Beck felt concerned that their songs had come to unfairly define them. As far as Radiohead goes, it was a bit of both.

The weird thing about listening to "Creep" now is that it suggests nothing of the future the group would have. Perhaps this is why subsequent projects always seemed to surprise critics and fans alike. No one saw The Bends coming which, in turn, led to OK Computer which was similarly stunning to listeners. From there, no one knew what to expect from Kid A: whatever possible sound people imagined was not what they got when they heard it for the first time. (Following the Kid A-related Amnesiac a year later, Radiohead's fans would splinter into two groups: those who just went along for the ride of further surprises and puzzlement and those who just hoped they'd find their way back to recording another Bends; on the other hand, I wasn't interested in either: I had given up caring about what they'd do next while also having grown weary of their overrated second album) The promising group of 1993 had of course been Suede whose next creative step never seemed too difficult to predict. By contrast, it never seemed as if Radiohead were promising which is rather fitting for a band who never made any promises.

"Creep" is a great example of why I try to avoid commenting on particular pieces of music which supposedly "haven't aged well". I mean, I suppose it has since it sounds the same as it did thirty years ago but I think that's pretty much the case with all pop records. What has changed is me. I'm in my forties and I'm quite happy to say that I've aged out of it. As a sixteen year old I was awkward, lazy, had low self-esteem and sometimes felt like a bit of creep; today, some of these "qualities" remain but they've been dialed back. Plus, I'm not a creep. I never really was but I sure as shit felt like one. How does a song about youthful angst really speak to those of us who have moved on? For that matter, what if this is also why the members of Radiohead have done their best to keep their distance from it.

Because of my lack of teen moodiness, there's less to extract from a song like "Creep". I can happily go back and listen to eighties pop and bask in the memories or take in the aspirational elements of the time but nineties indie is often held back by its misery. Use it as therapy if that's what you need, by all means, but what do you do with it after the pain has been tucked away? Even though it wasn't a big favourite of mine at the time, I certainly understood why friends of mine found something in "Creep". But what is there to extract from it now at my age? Good memories?

Just as a rejuvenated Graham Coxon would do with a reformed Blur on his once bete noire "Country House", the members of Radiohead would eventually make their peace with "Creep" — at least to an extent. While Coxon has admitted that "Country House" is a lot of fun to play, York, the Greenwoods, O'Brien and Selaway have trotted out "Creep" on occasion though they still haven't really warmed to it. York did find the time to play around with customarily unsettling remix during the COVID lockdown but it's the sort of thing I was content to hear only the once. I won't be demanding they play "Creep" since I'm in no hurry to see them live a second time. Again, once was enough.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

M People: "Moving on Up"

Those who demand "Creep" at Radiohead concerts will no doubt disagree but the competition is so stiff this fortnight that I'm not so sure it deserved to be Single of the Fortnight Best New Single. I'll say it's a tight three way race between "Creep", Eternal's smooth and effortlessly catchy "Stay" and the Bjork/David Arnold Bond theme from an alternate universe "Play Dead". But the high quality doesn't end there. The Wonder Stuff's On the Ropes EP presents a punchier band still putting out prime material in spite of the fact that their glory days were now behind them. Similarly, Kate Bush's "Rubberband Girl" isn't quite up to the standard of her seventies and eighties material but it's a solid work nonetheless. Then there's M People with "Moving on Up". Their previous hit "One Night in Heaven" is the one I prefer but not by a whole lot. Singer Heather Small could really overdo it and she does let her side down a bit in this regard but the infectious electro-pop rhythms and that baritone sax more than cover up for the vocal histrionics. Some stellar pop this fortnight even if I remain unconvinced as to the merits of "Condemnation", Depeche Mode's brave but uninspired take on gospel. They can't all be winners, can they?

Donald Fagen: "New Frontier"

3 February 1983

"The guitar licks are quite tasty too."

— Fred Dellar

With Single of the Fortnight having been established in the middle of 1981, it's notable that the late Fred Dellar seemed to opt out in what would turn out to be his final singles review go in Smash Hits. Nothing thrilled him enough to give a record similar treatment to The Jam's "Absolute Beginners", Stevie Wonder's "Do I Do" and Kim Wilde's "Child Come Away". Held up against those three, I can't say I blame him. There are a handful of good records present but almost nothing I feel like I need to ever hear again.

Among them is Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean" which Dellar forces into a shared review with baby sister Janet's "Come Give Your Love to Me". While he admits that the former is a grower he is far less impressed by the younger Jackson's "effort". (Surprisingly, this dismissal of the global smash from the blockbuster Thriller album wasn't included in the early '85 Hits feature Our Most Embarrassing Singles Reviews, though Dave Rimmer's even less enthusiastic assessment of follow-up single "Beat It" did make the cut) While it may seem to beggar belief that such a pop classic could be shrugged aside, under the circumstances I can understand such a move: the sheer thrill of "Don't Stop Til You Get Enough" could render anything that follows it just a tad disappointing.

In truth, there are just a pair of numbers that Dellar seems to have any affection for. One of the is "Cath" by Scots The Bluebells, while the other is the second single from The Nightfly, the debut album from former Steely Dan co-leader Donald Fagen. Since his enthusiasm for the former doesn't quite match that of the latter, "New Frontier" takes the proto-SOTF "honours". How nice that these are precisely the same pair of singles that I'm fond of as well.

As I suggested before the last time this record came up three years ago, much of what is on The Nightfly is autobiographical. This isn't information I sought out in any particular way, I merely looked it up on Wikipedia and it presented itself to me. Sorry but that's as much due diligence as I was willing to put in. Perhaps had I persisted with more than just the first bit of Fagen's autobiography Eminent Hipsters I could've found out more but I only had the audiobook to rely upon. Much as I dig Fagen as a vocalist — even if he isn't much of a singer per se — his Long Island deadpan is not the sort of sound I can tolerate for long. "Read by the Author" may be an enticement when you're dealing with Alan Bennett or Stephen Fry but it acts as more of a warning when you've got Donald Fagen narrating.

Back to the autobiography: I'm not sure it matters. While I misinterpreted my initial reading of "New Frontier" by thinking that it's about a young man using his family's little-used fallout shelter as a pathetic nightclub, this is actually a perfectly good narrative with which to base a Steely Dan song around. More to the point, whether Fagen himself tried to lure girls from school into the family bomb shelter or he just invented such a scenario isn't especially important to us as listeners. I imagine the memory of this means something to him but for me it only goes to show just how much of a Dan-type character he has always been. If "New Frontier" is indeed extracted from his life then why not "My Old School" or "Barrytown" or "Deacon Blues" as well?

And, indeed, why not a whole lot more while we're at it? Let's be honest here: "New Frontier" sounds like a Steely Dan song: there's Fagen's faintly desperate-sounding voice, those familiar backing vocals, that trademark exactitude in the musicianship. With all due respect to the late Walter Becker, would anyone have noticed that he's not on it? Had there been an eighth Dan album it would've sounded not unlike The Nightfly. Come to think of it, there was an eighth Dan album! 2000's comeback Two Against Nature routinely gets slammed because it won a Grammy that it allegedly didn't deserve (though to be fair, voters undoubtedly didn't see the point of listening to Kid A more than the once and couldn't understand that the genius of The Marshall Mathers LP was that every song was meant to sound the same) but it's a worthy effort all the same. That said, it's no Nightfly. Few things beyond prime Steely Dan are.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Virginia Astley: "Love's a Lonely Place to Be"

Listen to a Virginia Astley single and it's too much; listen to a Virginia Astley album and it's not enough. Dellar isn't crazy about this piece of "pretty-pretties" and I know what he means. Three or four minutes just doesn't do her sound justice. It isn't that her work requires patience or persistence or hard work, it's just that a good deal of it needs to spread itself all over the listener in order for them to appreciate it. Either that or she was just too good and too important for singles even if this didn't stop her from releasing them. All I know is I've liked what I've heard from her, limited though it may be, but "Love's a Lonely Place to Be" just passed me by, like a dewy cherry blossom pedal that fell to the ground just as I looked the other way. Or something to that effect.

(Click here to see my original review)