The Jesus & Mary Chain: "Never Understand"

28 February 1985

"Its simplicity and individuality amid countless, cowardly records in the review pile striving to sound like each other is nothing short of exhilarating. Good vibrations."

— Andy Kershaw

The class of '85 is so far a trip through the British indie scene (although that will soon change). If The Associates weren't quite the same as the others, they were at least adjacent to what was going on in the periphery and their journey down the dumper in the aftermath of Alan Rankine's departure ensured they were down to a loyal but diminished following of people with possible interests in The Cure, The Smiths, Bauhaus, Depeche Mode and Siousxie & The Banshees — Duran Duran and Spandau Ballet fans probably weren't listening anymore. Frank Chickens were as much performance artists as musicians and they, too, had a small following that was never going to grow enough to get them near the charts. Julian Cope had, like The Associates, enjoyed hit singles but his muse had become far too out there for him to get anything more than the odd token top forty appearance.

With all due respect to these three acts, none were of much importance to UK indie. (I type this feeling like if I had any readers they'd complain that I'm ignoring Cope's influence but (a) I'm not overly convinced he had much of an effect and (b) he was way too much of a one-off to be taken as a capable alternative figure; his erratic talent could have meant millions of fans or a smattering of loyalists in Monmouthshire but either scenario doesn't make him any more indie than pop - in the end he's just Julian Cope, an alternative to absolutely everyone else) Few major figures materialise; just as it's rare to come across a pop act that bursts forth to sustained success and a positive effect on other groups, indie acts that really matter are difficult to come by.

The Jesus & Mary Chain don't seem quite as radical as they must have been back in the mid-eighties — and much of that is down to their massive influence over British and American indie. While hard rock, metal and punk had all been accompanied by vocalists screaming, shouting and sneering, few had ever heard (or not heard as the case may be) someone like Jim Reid casually mumbling and whispering his way through a track such as "Never Understand", as if demanding that his audience really listen to him through noise. Fans unwilling or unable to do so were still able to enjoy William Reid's crunching, slithering guitar parts thereby bringing together indie types with interests in angsty lyrics and chaotic feedback into following one act.

For all of that, a figure as musically knowledgeable as Andy Kershaw (of The Old Grey Whistle Test) is able to see through the racket and detect a "breezy melody curiously reminiscent of The Beach Boys". Those of us who are as well versed in Pet Sounds as they are in Psychocandy (if not more so) can see this too but I imagine the average Chainer wouldn't have be aware of it had William Reid dressed up like Mike Love and Bobby Gillespie gone a little less down the dirt bag path to model himself after Dennis Wilson. But the influence doesn't stop "Never Understand" from being as unique as virtually everything else on offer is typical.

But from the vantage point of nearly thirty-five years, it's a record that sounds like much of what would come later. Only much better. Not everyone can whisper over screaming guitar feedback and make it work no matter how hard they might have tried.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

"Starvation" / "Tam tam pour l'Ethiopie"

A self-titled split single released as a reggae/African music answer to "Do They Know It's Christmas?", "Starvation" / "Tam tam pour l'Ethiopie" are good enough songs not to even require a good cause which makes its low chart placing even more shameful. The UB40/Madness led "Starvation" is the more commercial with a great singalong chorus but "Tam tam pour l'Ethiopie" gets better with repeated hearings. The white guilt of Band Aid has never bothered me as much as many but something done from the perspective of the millions of poor victims of the Ethiopian famine is much more potent than cries of "thank god it's them instead of you". Just give it a try.

Julian Cope: "Sunspots"

14 February 1985

"This is a stern, strident and invigorating march through some lunatic wasteland where tinny guitars slash, people whistle out of tune and someone pipes up on a jaunty recorder during the most compulsive sway-along chorus since long before Foreigner."

— Tom Hibbert

Nothing beats a reference to Foreigner to make you well disposed to a rival record. "Well, this really isn't my sort of thing but I don't hate it and it's not bloody Foreigner so it's okay by me!" "I'm not especially into much pop music beyond the mid-nineties but at least I've existed in a musical landscape for over a quarter-of-a-century without Foreigner." "The latest Maroon 5 record? We'll it's balls but not compared to..." Okay, I over-reached myself.

Oh well, is it too much of a backhanded compliment to say that I don't have a whole lot of interest in listening to the bulk of Cope's work but I'm still happy to see him around? Someone's gotta put out "lunatic wasteland" records and he's plenty lunatic for it. Like heroes Syd Barrett, Roky Eriksson and Skip Spence, there must be some sort of genius lurking in there and we can but hope that it will peak through in time. These casualties of sixties drug culture were always given the benefit of the doubt but seldom did their talents emerge. On the other hand, Cope is alive and well and still active and his main skill might be in being Julian Cope. But does he craft excellent pop records?

We're a few years out now from Cope's commercial golden year when his act The Teardrop Explodes exploded on the scene and the hits — both of them — came forth and he's clearly not especially interested in replicating their former success. (Either that or going round wearing a tortoise shell happened to be his best idea for how to market himself and give the punters what they want) Still, his solo career has been much more accessible than one might think and "Sunspots" is a prime example. Well constructed and with hooks and plenty of that swaying that Tom Hibbert is evidently so fond of, it's a fine listen but one that fails to invite replays and doesn't manage to get stuck in the mind. It's easy to picture young people listening to John Peel or Janice Long and really digging Cope's latest record — not even necessarily this one — but forgetting all about it once the latest Smiths, Cure or New Order single got played immediately after it.

Being both highly individual and prolific, Cope was slowly building up a loyal following so it's not as if everyone felt this way about "Sunspots", even if they couldn't get it any higher than number seventy-six. Less produced than Teardrop Explodes material, one might feel captivated by the singer's commanding vocal and how well the tinny guitars, out-of-tune whistling and jaunty recorder all mesh. I'm not convinced he won a lot of new fans but I can't imagine many Cope cultists were beginning to push away either. Pretty bloomin' great if you like this sort of thing and perfectly acceptable if you're a neutral.

Julian Cope has always been a figure to admire: he has a unique voice and presence, he's always done things his way and he doesn't care what you or I think of him. All that's great but it's worth pointing out that we may feel just as apathetic towards his work as he does towards our opinions of him. Plus, too much admiration can overwhelm our perceptions of an artist: I hold Prince as an individual in high esteem and sometimes these feelings manipulate myself into believing that I also like his music. Same goes for Cope: I don't mind when I hear his stuff but I never feel that I need to. And he's way better than Foreigner.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Nirvana Devils: "Some Foreign Shore"

His nibs oversells things a bit here by calling it the greatest German record of all time. No, it's nowhere near Kraftwerk's "Trans-Europe Express" or Can's "Spoon" or even Culture Beat's "Mr. Vain" — though Hibs wasn't to be aware of it for another eight years, assuming he ever was — but that doesn't mean it isn't worth seeking out. Stellar, speed-infused garage rock that threatens to turn into a psychedelic Nuggets masterpiece, it maintains a furious pace and, again, I can certainly understand why our madcap reviewer is so captivated. Like Cope's SOTF, however, it's like that Milan Kundera novel you read that you're pretty sure you liked but which didn't stay with you in any way. Enjoy music in the moment then move on.

Frank Chickens: "We Are Ninja (Not Geisha)"

31 January 1985

"Utterly silly."

— Chris Heath

As Smash Hits continued to plow through the eighties, it gradually began to become more and more similar to the magazine that captured my imagination at the end of the decade. Making a gradual transition from black and white to glossy at around this time, the reviews were still very much a throwback, with only a trace amount of colour separating it from the serious inkies. Beyond aesthetics, the writing staff was showing some turnover. 1985 would be the year that Neil Tennant would depart to have a go at making his own pop records while editor Mark Ellen was nearing the end of his time as well (he would help launch Q the following year) and Dave Rimmer, preoccupied with work on his outstanding account of eighties pop Like Punk Never Happened and a move to Germany, began working on a freelance basis. It was, thus, time for some new blood: writers who grew up as fans of the magazine who would then be on staff at its zenith.

Chris Heath would go on to be the first Smash Hits writer to really make an impression on me. He seemed to love music of all kinds, didn't blush from declaring certain records to be utter crap and never gave off noxious vibes that he was a failed musician determined to use his platform to rip into anything beneath him. The very first time I read one of his reviews he tore into my favourite record of the time (something we're sure to get to in a few years) but I wasn't crushed by it. He had his reasons and they were in good faith and for the first time in my life I discovered you could read a negative review and not wish to tear up said top pop mag into a million tiny little pieces. (It was a lesson that I didn't end up paying attention to at the time but it's back with me now!) Heath was also the first Hits scribe to write a book that I would go on to read: I've gone through several since and I've enjoyed them all but none have come close to his.

This is just the second entry from the class of '85 and I'm still reeling from the sorry state of the Singles of the Fortnight from the previous year. I had always held 1984 in esteem growing up since this was when I started to become aware of current pop music but now I can only wonder if all those criticisms of the decade that I used to scoff at aren't somewhat true. And it wasn't simply a case of some poor choices for SOTF either: in many instances reviewers were right for choosing a so-so record over some pretty blase competition. As a boy 1984 seemed exciting: everyone dressed up, looked weird and didn't care what you thought. A pity the music wasn't up to much and that even extends to the highest of levels.

So, a new year and a fresh start, right? Well, sort of. "We Are Ninja (Not Geisha)" is a stupidly great record that beats virtually everything from the previous year. The problem? It comes from 1984 as well. Already reviewed eleven months earlier by an equally enthused Rimmer, it was only denied SOTF status by a peak-of-powers Scritti Politti. Unfortunately, a bizarre Japanese single on a tiny record label that wasn't going to be picked up by anyone other than John Peel didn't stand much of a chance in a year of crap pop and didn't do much better upon reissue here. Still, it seems to have delighted everyone who spun it, reviewed it and, I assume, decided to roll the dice with a purchase.

What did/do we all see in it? Well, it is indeed utterly silly and that's precisely what makes it so wonderful. The duo of Kazuko Hokhi and Kazumi Taguchi, along with producers Steve Beresford and David Toop, seem to have randomly thrown together disparate elements such as traditional Japanese music, avant-garde noise and synth-pop with some rapping and singing and chanting over top and the results are pure magic. Catchy as all hell and impossible to tire of, it could light up a discotheque or soundtrack a night in with some jazz cigarettes. Who knows or cares what all this nonsense means — and I suspect that it might puzzle a lot of Japanese speakers too — but I imagine they're making a commentary on western perspectives of Asian women. They're not here to serve you or please you with some rumpo but to attack you with some craziness. If we're going to use a lazy stereotype to describe them then why not use something better than 'geisha'? Good on them. Is it too far out for some? I suppose so but that's their problem. They can have all that boring crap from '84.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Red Box: "Saskatchewan"

I am well aware of the fact that the majority of Britons know next to nothing about Canada - it was the very first thing I learned about it when I lived there in fact. Thus, I won't quibble with Heath wondering why the members of Red Box are "singing about a Canadian town" when Saskatchewan is in fact a province (and, actually, he may not even be wrong since the lyrics go on about "Qu'Appelle Valley, Saskatchewan" which is sort of a town). Written by Buffy Sainte-Marie about the place of her birth, the original is reverential but so, too, is Red Box's interpretation. Quite whether Simon Toulson-Clarke and co. ever bothered going to the Canadian Prairie Provinces is something to ask them but his interest in native affairs is genuine and the record is heartfelt. Not the hit that Heath hopes for but they'd soon be in the top ten with another single borrowing liberally from the natives. I hope they sent a cheque to the good people of Qu'Appelle Valley, Saskatchewan.

The Associates: "Breakfast"

17 January 1985

"Melodrama at its best, this is the kind of thing to listen to on a brittle white winter morning, while feeling love-lorn and poetic."

— Vici MacDonald

We last encountered The Associates on here just as they happened to be on the ascent. They really did have it all: a frontman with a kind of melancholic charisma partnered with an able guitarist who in tandem pieced together a single that is so catchy and so addictive that when the good people at Ace Records finally get round to inviting me to curate a Singles of the Fortnight compilation it will be on my shortlist. Fleshed out with a strong cast of backing musicians — who weren't quite full time Associates (though you'd never know it given the way the camera operator seems to adore Martha Ladly's keyboard posturing), it seems they were only associated with The Associates — Billy McKenzie and Alan Rankine appeared set.

Three years on and looked at what's changed. That big breakthrough never occurred, the hits quickly began to dry up and everyone left. Well, almost everyone. Effectively an entirely new band (or a solo project in all but name), McKenzie was the man in charge and, given the state of the shambolic recording sessions that resulted in third album Perhaps initially being rejected by their/his record label, proved to be in over his head. Now, I'm not so sure that the original incarnation of The Associates was much cop to begin with. Yes, "Party Fears Two" is magnificent but the group struggled to better it and proved incapable of even delivering more of the same. Subsequent Rankine-area singles "Country Club" and "18 Carat Love Affair" aren't too bad but they don't light up a room or cheer up a dreary bus ride the way their predecessor did so effortlessly. So, it's not as if they were running with all this momentum but the departures of Rankine and bassist Michael Dempsey and Ladly's non-appearance here (she's listed as still a "member" until '86 but she doesn't appear to have done much with them during the mid-eighties) were huge setbacks.

Thus, McKenzie was coming back at a point of probable weakness. His songs could be a perfect vessel for any vulnerability he was feeling and in this respect "Breakfast" works well enough. The vocalist's Bowie-like pitch having been jettisoned in favour of something much more downcast and accompanied by strings and a graceful piano, the result is stark even if one may or may not end up feeling touched by it. Vici MacDonald isn't wrong about the record being best suited to "brittle white winter morning[s]" but it fails to align itself with any other mood and/or climate and forces listeners to either adapt to its bleakness or give up listening intently. This fortnight's critic isn't too bothered by McKenzie's "totally incomprehensible" lyrics but it's something I'm having trouble looking past. Even within the context of the singer's eventual suicide just over twelve years later it fails to connect with me. Matters may be too personal to allow others in or I'm just a cold and sad bastard but, either way, I find myself in admiration of the bleak beauty but shrug at the heartfelt but impenetrable confessions that lie within.

Simon Reynolds has called them the "great should-have-beens of British pop" and I think that can be taken to mean a lot. They should have had more hits and success. They should have been much more than a flash in the pan. They should have fulfilled their promise. They should have had a turn on the eighties revival circuit - perhaps even to this day. And they should have found a way to get an apathetic public over to their side. But should they have been able to top "Party Fears Two"? That's asking an awful lot.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Colourfield: "Thinking of You"

Billy McKenzie wasn't the only one experiencing a come down around this time. Having been a key part of The Specials' stunning run of superlative singles and doing fair business with offshoot band Fun Boy Three (especially their swansong "Our Lips Are Sealed", still my favourite SOTF, just pipping ver League's "Love Action"), it's a bit sad to see Terry Hall going the cheerful route with his latest act The Colourfield. It's a difficult song to dislike but it's also hard to take seriously. Maybe I'm not even meant to. Still, aren't there better things he could have been doing? Like taking a page out of Billy McKenzie's book and going for more sorrow for one.

Frankie Goes to Hollywood: "The Power of Love"

6 December 1984

"It might not sell as many t-shirts as "Relax" but the sharp money's on Des O'Connor doing a cover version within two years."

— Lesley White

It's been about twenty years now since reports began to emerge about a sextet of Americans from the south who were calling themselves 'Frankie Goes to Hollywood'. Led by Davey Johnson, who sometimes claimed to be Holly Johnson's brother, they were said to be an authentic continuation of of the unforgettable eighties Liverpool outfit even though (a) they had Dixie accents, (b) members of the original Frankie most certainly didn't and (c) they were absolute crap — a claim I feel very comfortable making despite having never heard them. If the 'New Frankie Goes to Hollywood Featuring Davey Johnson' (as they were also known as) had a talent it was their ability to fabricate their origin story, to double-down on it when called out and to alter it as time went on — not unlike a certain American president, as a matter of fact. I first became aware of them when "Johnson" was interviewed on the news to promote their show in Calgary. His "brother" Holly, he told a naive TV reporter, was unwell at the moment but they were hoping he'd be able to join them on tour at some point. Later, they seemed to drop Davey's familial relationship but then began claiming that some of them were uncredited sessioners on Frankie's debut album Welcome to the Pleasuredome. When called out by everyone from the media to former members of the original group, their manager put forth the dubious theory that because most of the group never actually played on their records, they weren't a real group and, thus, their name was up for grabs. Amazingly, this convinced precisely no one and the group presumably went back to Alabama where they are now known as 'Milli Vanilli Mark 2'. Probably.

The above anecdote isn't terribly relevant to this week's entry but for what it must have been like to have seen The New Frankie Goes to Hollywood. "Relax" made it into the top ten in North America (helped along no doubt by the famous t-shirts) and "Two Tribes" did okay too so Davey and his fellow fraudulent Frankies would have been forced to recreate those two numbers as well as they could but what else would have made it into their setlist? "Welcome to the Pleasuredome"? "Rage Hard"? "Warriors of the Wasteland"? Would the good people of Tulsa and Jacksonville and Calgary have known just how many old UK hits were being excluded? And did old Davey even know more than two Frankie songs? That they admitted to heading in the direction of rock (not a surprise given that they looked like Sugar Ray covers band) and played "C-grade Bryan Adams-type fare" makes me suspect that more obscure FGTH numbers weren't a priority. They were more likely to tackle Huey Lewis' "Power of Love" than their namesakes'.

No one would have known it at the time but 1984 was pretty much the end of New Pop. True, most of the big acts were still around but many were clinging to success rather than basking in it. The likes of ABC, The Human League and Madness began to discover their knack for top ten hits coming up short, their loyal and sizable fanbases still managing to keep them chart relevant. Pin-ups Duran Duran and Spandau Ballet found themselves drifting creatively, the former trying a bit too hard to keep things fresh while the latter nosediving into a formulaic funk. Culture Club was no longer able to tap into the zeitgeist and began to look daft. Wham! were at their commercial apogee but at the expense of the luxurious, proletarian charm of their earlier work. Only Frankie Goes to Hollywood proved capable of combining chart dominance with cultural relevance and an ability to get people talking — and they were soon to implode too.

It's fitting, then, that the year closes out with new pop's last hurrah. Had the combined affects of the Ethiopian Civil War, famine and drought not happened, we would have had two main contenders for the Christmas number one both from Britain's pop boom. A maturing Wham! on one side and Frankie Goes to Hollywood, the most shocking mainstream British group since the Sex Pistols, on the other. Both were then riding a wave of massive success and both did so coming out of gay culture. Where George Michael and Andrew Ridgely were moving in the direction of old school Motown and soul, Holly Johnson and his chums used the tabloids and kiddy pop mags (such as ver Hits) in equal measure to stir things up and get noticed. It must've helped that the records were decent too. 

Coming in on the heels of the mega-success of "Relax" and "Two Tribes", "The Power of Love" is often forgotten or mentioned as little more than the song that gave the group their third number one on the bounce. Those that have discussed it typically bring up its stately nature which flew in the face of its predecessors; the only thing shocking about it was that it didn't shock anyone. Lesley White expresses relief that they chose to "take a welcome break from the cynical business of controversy-stirring to deliver a tender little love song" and is impressed that Holly Johnson "bust[s] a gut to sound achingly sincere". This is true but perhaps they were going for a bit of subtlety for once. That the song opens with a promise to "protect you from the Hooded Claw" indicates that we're not so far from the absurd and a later invocation to "flame on burn desire / love with tongues of fire" betrays the overall piety, particularly alongside the more-than-a little-camp nativity scene depicted in the video. Love and lust complimenting each other, just as the baby Jesus would have wanted. 

Rather surprisingly, "The Power of Love" isn't belittled as a cynical holiday cash-in. The fact that Christmas isn't mentioned probably helps but that also hinders its subsequent status as a festive favourite thirty-five years on. Sure, it still appears of UK-centric Christmas compilations but frequently as an add-on, a reminder of just what Band Aid and Wham! had to try to overcome. It may light up a wedding, get everyone crying at a funeral or put a pair of lovers in the mood for a little sexual congress but it doesn't get you in the Christmas spirit. Few songs do.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Wham!: "Last Christmas"

Far more of a seasonal favourite than "The Power of Love", "Last Christmas" lost the battle (although that ended up being to Band Aid, Frankie's hit having already peaked and fallen by Christmas Day) but ended up winning the war as it is now effectively a modern day Christmas carol - not to mention a much more likely candidate for an interpretation by Des O'Connor. As always, it is beautifully sung by George Michael but sadly free of humour, setting a worrying precedent for the singer's upcoming solo career. (I'm well-aware that it wouldn't have achieved classic status had the song's story of returning love the way others might return a gift on Boxing Day had been comically built upon but that's the kind of sucker for silly seasonal tunes I am) Again, not one for getting me into the spirit of Christmas but effective for winding the holidays down: belly stretched to its limits and in that woozy haze of too much turkey and wine and a family member says, "well, that's it for another year" and you get all maudlin and "Last Christmas" becomes the song you've got to have on.

West India Company: "Ave Maria (Om Ganesha)"

22 November 1984

"It all just goes to prove that you don't have to be American to have "soul" and that unlikely-sounding cross cultural experimentation can be fun."

— Dave Rimmer

Residing in Britain in the late eighties meant that I was able to experience one of the most exciting — albeit rather unsexy — Christmas number one battles. The three main contenders were Bros' double-sided "Silent Night" / "Cat Among the Pigeons", Kylie and Jason's "Especially for You" and Cliff Richard's "Mistletoe and Wine", the eventual victor. Some of the longshots did well with top five hits (Erasure's Crackers International EP, Angry Anderson's slushy Neighbours wedding theme "Suddenly", the still-oustanding "Buffalo Stance" and "Good Life" by Neneh Cherry and Inner City respectively) while others (the Reggae Philharmonic Orchestra's take on "Minnie the Moocher", Alexander O'Neal's cover of "The Christmas Song") only managed to creep into the lower end of the hit parade. While the winner and some of the also-rans remain fondly remembered to this day, few even knew at the time of some of those records that really came up short. Among those who nabbed a festive flop was George Van Dusen, an octogenarian yodeller whose fifty-year-old recording of "It's Party Time Again" was tipped as an early dark horse for a seasonal smash but who ended up getting no further than number forty-three. This modest placing, however, dwarfed the performance of a farmer and his pet pig who oinked their way through a novelty record that went absolutely nowhere (and which is so obscure that I was unable to find a YouTube clip and am going strictly off of memory).

Back in '84, just as the Christmas number one sweepstakes were really becoming a thing, this proved to be the fate of West India Company. William Hill was yet to put up betting odds but the competition was still intense. In addition to the heavy favourites — more on that next week — there was strong competition from the likes of Paul McCartney, Madonna and Paul Young (all given mixed reviews by a fussy Dave Rimmer) as well as Tears for Fears, a pre-disgraced Gary Glitter and some song or other from a movie you may have heard of from Ray Parker Jr. Plus, the Christmas season tends to give chart holdovers a second wind and this aided the prolonged sales of singles by Murray Head, Shakin' Stevens and a rebounding Stevie Wonder. Then, you have reissues of perennial favourites "I Wish It Would Be Christmas Everyday" by Wizzard and "Merry Xmas Everybody" by Slade. In this landscape, is it any wonder that a cross-cultural, interfaith, multi-genre record by a supergroup of lesser known folk (is it possible to be a supergroup if no one is particularly famous?) would come up well short of a Christmas hit?

Short of asking members Asha Bhosle, Pandit Dinesh and Stephen Luscombe, it's impossible to know if they were even attempting to crack the festive charts with "Ave Maria". Nevertheless, release a single at the tail end of the year and you're putting yourself in contention for the crown even if it's the furthest thing from your mind. The song's spiritualism and mashing up of the Virgin Mary with the God of New Beginnings, Success and Wisdom provides some seasonal warmth, wrapped up in some dreamy sythns and emerging into one of the most unusual novelty records you're likely to come across.

Novelty record? This is hardly a farmer and his pet pig oinking out a Christmas carol, is it? Certainly not but, as the group admit themselves, West India Company was meant to be a "one-off project", a sideline from Bhosle's role as India's leading playback vocalist, Dinesh's freelancing as an in-demand percussionist to add some spice to western pop and Luscombe's part as keyboardist in Blancmange, so there's at least a hint of the novelty there. The one Brit among the trio, Luscombe admitted to admiring Bholse's singing, claiming that she makes "all these pop bands look so...puny." (Was he alluding to his own organization here? He might have done well to do so given what a mess they would soon make of ABBA's remarkable "The Day Before You Came") Yet, I can't hear this and not think that they're on holiday, a group of like-minded individuals (also joined by other members of Blancmange and a newly out of work Vince Clark) having a fun little romp in the studio and creating something really good that would be destined to not go any further.

Yet, "Ave Maria" should have only been the beginning. I'm somewhat with Rimmer on this one: the track is indeed "smooth and dreamy" and it carries a spark of freshness even thirty-five years on that is undeniable. Knowing now, however, that this wouldn't be carried on deflates my enthusiasm a bit. Spiritually uplifting synth-pop with dramatic production and exquisite vocals? Yeah, more of that please. Who knows? Had they carried on, they might even have managed to snag the '85 Christmas number from Shakin' Stevens, something I plenty of people would have welcomed.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Smiley Culture: "Police Officer"

Also of some novelty — and also just in time for Christmas, although I'm it's just as coincidental. With charm and a then-unique mix of rap and Jamaican toasting, the late David Emmanuel — AKA Smiley Culture — makes light of his petty crime and drug use and constant misfortune of getting stopped by the police and spins it all into something pretty wonderful and, as Rimmer says, funny. Our Smiley is having too much fun here for us to feel sorry for him — even if he would meet his eventual end during a police raid of his home. Sad but this top twenty hit remains a fitting tribute.

Sylvester: "Rock the Box"

8 November 1984

"His knowledge of the geography of the United Kingdom is shown up, however, as he assures us that people are rocking the box "all over Great Britain, from Liverpool to Wales". A distance, if I'm not mistaken, of not much more than 20 miles."

— Neil Tennant

Do the best pop stars have crap taste in music? Okay, that's a bit much but do they listen to stuff that's good enough to inspire them but not so good that it shows up their own creativity? Blues, three-chord rock, punk, disco, hip hop: the simplest forms of music seem to have a knack for inspiring loads of great musicians. If you're only ever listening to complex jazz fusion and prog rock and the like, you're liable to become an enthusiast - and even something of a talented muso but is it going to get you making recording sublime pop records? Or take power pop: I'm sure members of The Raspberries and Cheap Trick and Teenage Fanclub have or had fantastic record collections but it didn't stop any of them from making tedious, unadventuresome music of their own. This is Neil Tennant's eighth (and final) go at reviewing the singles and it's clear that his choice picks aren't close to the music that he'd very soon be making. Naturally, the five electro-dance cuts he picked have more than a little in common with what he and longtime partner Chris Lowe would make a highly successful career out of but they lack his wit, charm and pop touches; two of the three pop songs, however, lack the sonic thrills of classic Pet Shop Boys. (The one number not included here would be Billy Idol's which really does go to show you how pop music genius can sometimes find favour with a crap record) 

That said, "Rock the Box" is one of Tennant's better SOTF, probably the finest since The Associates' superb "Party Fears Two". As he says, Sylvester - along with writers/producers Ken Kessie and Morey Goldstein - crams absolutely everything in here. To an eighties dance music fanatic like Tennant it probably would have sounded like he had "nicked every electro cliché in the box" but thirty-five years on (and, to be sure, to someone who hasn't enjoyed dance music for nearly as long) it's stupendous, a roaring melange of swift scratching, synthy beeps and boops and effects that could be samples but for the fact that it's 1984 and they could very well have been coming up with this stuff from scratch. It isn't even as banal as Tennant thinks: had this record been made near the end of the decade we would have been greeted with that Funky Drummer sample, a more measured, far less subtle bit of scratching and those whoops and yeahs you used to hear on every single with house music aspirations. It would have sounded, in other words, like every club record of the age; "Rock the Box" gobbles up every idea and still sounds like nothing else out there.

This being a club favourite, however, it falls short lyrically, the words clearly taking a backseat to everything else going on even if Sylvester sings it pretty well. Concerned with how vital it is to rock ver box, there's not much of a story here but, then, why should there be one? As for Tennant's observation about old Syl's lack of "knowledge of the geography of the United Kingdom", it ought to be considered in light of just how little he manages to credit the vast majority of the citizens of his homeland. While "all around Great Britain, from Liverpool to Wales" may be unintentionally funny, the twenty or so miles covered is vast compared to an earlier line which regales of "all around Manhattan, from Brooklyn to the Bronx", an acknowledgement that while Britain had taken to him, the majority of the US wasn't as keen. A nice thought crediting the UK as a whole even if it didn't help the single which only just managed to dent the lower reaches of the charts. (Having said that, it must've sold like mad around Chester)

Finally, this is where Tennant bows out from the singles review chores. Perhaps not coincidentally, we're about to enter a more rockist and indie period in this section of the magazine - a trend which wouldn't begin to right itself until, also not entirely coincidentally, the rise of the Pet Shop Boys. Gone forever are the New York club records by the likes of Bobby O, Rockers Revenge and C.O.D. because their chief backer was busy cutting his own singles. Pop music's gain would be music criticism's loss: a trade off well worth making in spite of the price paid.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Blue Nile: "Stay"

Pioneers of beautiful melancholic pop, taking forever to release albums and using the word 'Stay' as a song title a good ten years before everyone else did, The Blue Nile astonished critics and budding musicians (the ones with good taste in music so they may not have made decent records themselves) while the public remained largely numb to their charms. Resolutely as minimalist as they would ever be, it also happens to be far breezier than much of their noted work, anticipating a track like "Sentimental Man" by a dozen years. Given their minuscule discography and perfectionist tendencies, this could have been a typical part of their sound had they been able to churn out releases at the normal pop star rate. Tennant foresees a possible hit and what a world that would have been.

Duran Duran: "The Wild Boys"

25 October 1984

"But please, boys, don't make a video."

— Morrissey

"I'd sooner fry an egg than make a video."
— Morrissey

Two Morrissey quotes, one from his stint in the singles review chair (labelled 'Morrissey does his bit' in very childish printing just below a picture of the man himself), another from a point that I am unable to source — though it certainly must have been stated prior to the release of the video for "Girlfriend in a Coma", the first time he did a promo that he seems to have been involved in. When he's not going all hard right (which is increasingly rare), Moz is good copy. Whether he's lambasting Band Aid ("One can have great concern for the people of Ethiopia, but it's another thing to inflict daily torture on the people of England"), being baffled by the appeal of Samantha Fox ("...I throw everything up in the air and say, 'the world is slightly derailed'.") or describing — not inaccurately — his fans ("people who wear heavy overcoats and stare at broken light bulbs"), there's always a good Morrissey quip. Sometimes funny, occasionally perceptive, often reprehensible, always negative.

This being Morrissey, I'm amazed that he didn't find some irrational excuse to despise Duran Duran's latest record. Four pretty boys (and Andy Taylor) coasting on their status as pinups would seem to be fodder for the curmudgeonly Mancunian's ire. But, then, they're just a bunch of pretty boys and aren't a threat to him. He isn't looking for musical authenticity (the man did a Twinkle cover for god's sake) and has a long-held admiration for fashionable, iconic faces. Plus, "The Wild Boys" as a song title alone must have appealed to him. He may have thumbed his nose at the likes of "Rio" and "Hungry Like the Wolf" (though I have no way of knowing either way) with their exoticism and carnality but not a song that taps into a Lord of the Flies homoeroticism (even they've got "sirens for a welcome"). I can't say that I agree with Moz's take on Simon Le Bon's performance ("Fine fiery vocals"? Not, "workmanlike singer struggling mightily to hit notes well past his limited range"?) but single is decent, not among their finest work but not a giant howler either. No one else rates "The Wild Boys" as their favourite Duran Duran song, do they?

Still, Morrissey did find the time to knock their mastery of the pop video, hoping against hope that they'd opt not to bother this time round. Hard cheese, Moz. Having previously stated that a "drunken goat" could have directed one of their videos, it's likely that their promos were spoiling Duran Duran for him. It would, thus, be interesting to see if his opinion would have altered had a naughty Smash Hits staff member managed to procure a copy of "The Wild Boys" vid and shown it to him. Gone are the yachts, replaced with a bad dream scenario of monsters coming out of swimming pools and attacking people or something. Though acclaimed by some at the time, this had to be their first promo which failed to capture the public's imagination. This meant little to Morrissey either way but I suspect he would have opted for Prefab Sprout (the rightful SOTF) or XTC or Lloyd Cole instead. For spite.

Not wanting to focus on the Duranies, I've decided to include a special analysis of every record Morrissey reviewed this fortnight.

Hazell Dean: "Back in My Arms"
Morrissey's 'Vilest Single Of The Fortnight' is trivialized a bit by describing the vocalist as a "creature" and imploring the "boys" to "stretch her on the rack". Value judgement as criticism. Song isn't much cop though.

Chaka Khan: "I Feel for You"
A "clever" record which probably means that his nibs liked it a lot more than he'd care to admit. Doesn't appreciate that it's composed by "romping travesty" Prince though my only complaint towards this otherwise brilliant single is that it's not called "I Feel 4 U": since when did the Purple Perv refrain from abbreviation?

Nick Heyward: "Warning Sign"
Moz gets this one exactly right with Nick wasting his many talents on lame American r & b. Stopped clocks, etc., etc.

The Redskins: "Keep on Keepin' On"
Does Morrissey actually like this one? They should be "canonized"? You wish them to be dead and then given their due? Harsh.

Miami Sound Machine: "Prisoner of Love"
A good line here about "stealthy eroticism which makes a life of religion madly attractive" but, sadly, inaccurate. Gloria Estefan has probably the least sexy voice in the history of pop and, if anything, it's closer to "forced eroticism". But, yeah, the song is balls.

Shriekback: "Mercy Dash (Ready for This)"
Perhaps a case of 'unspectacular record = bland review'. Could my tastes refrain from dovetailing with his?

Modern Romance: "Move On"
There are indeed worse human beings than Morrissey. But can anyone seriously think of one? (But, again, he's right)

Status Quo: "The Wanderer"
On a bitchiness roll, Moz gets to ver Quo, probably the group least likely to titillate Morrissey in any way and on any level. Right on the money.

Lionel Richie: "Penny Lover"
Not one of the high points of Lionel's eighties, granted, but Moz gets riled up far too much here, blaming the record on an "unholy amount of human misery". I suspect he'd say much the same about "Easy" and "All Night Long" and "Say You Say Me" which just means he's dead inside. But we all knew that already, right?

XTC: "This World Over"
See below.

Bucks Fizz: "Golden Days"
The low-hanging fruit so I won't castigate myself too much here for agreeing with Moz.

Tracey Ullman: "Helpless"
Or, as Moz calls it, "Hopeless". Hard to argue with him there.

The Psychedelic Furs: "Heartbeat"
American influence really irks this future resident of Los Angeles.

David Sylvian: "Pulling Punches"
Unable to enjoy depressing tunes, Morrissey isn't able to fathom the appeal of David Sylvian. Yeah, it sucks to have pop stars foisting their misery upon the public, doesn't it?

Ultravox: "Love's Great Adventure"
Not a favourite of Moz but I would've expected a great deal more irrational bile reserved for Midge Ure and his slicked back hair and bum fluff moustache and weedy tunes. Instead, he expects a revolution from the great pop chancer. Did he change his tune a year later following Band Aid and Live Aid, perchance?

Level 42: "The Chant Has Just Begun"
You have to be plenty drunk to enjoy a Level 42 record, you know. And there I was thinking you had to be a great big muso, much more interested in solos than pop songs. Thanks for clearing that up, Steven.

Cyndi Lauper: "All Through the Night"
Morrissey doesn't think Cyndi Lauper is much cop. Because of course he doesn't.

Lloyd Cole & The Commotions: "Rattlesnakes"
America has gotten to "Cousin Lloyd" too and that just won't do. I have nothing to base this on but I foresee the wheels coming off that friendship pretty sharpish. Just a hunch. Cousin Lloyd is probably better off.

Prefab Sprout: "When Love Breaks Down"
"A dirty great big fat hit"? Did Morrissey even listen to the bloody thing? Not "beautifully crafted poignant pop"? Not a "lush, bittersweet kitchen sink drama that I cannot stop playing"? I'd settle for "more spineless than an especially timid earthworm" if he hadn't cared for it.

Force MDs: "Forgive Me Girl"
A case can be made that 'bitter, spiteful Morrissey' is preferable to 'apathetic, bored Morrissey'. On the other hand, I'll take a 'reclusive, sitting on his millions, prone to cancelling concerts at the last minute Morrissey' any time over the 'Guardian-bashing, Tommy Robinson-supporting crotchety old git Morrissey' that we've sadly become all-too familiar with lately.

Scritti Politti: "Hypnotize"
Overlooking the negative things Green Gartside had to say about The Smiths (though, he still felt the need to bring it up), Moz acts as the bigger man and praises their latest record. Can't figure out if his quip about the singer having "finally mastered his Deanna Durbin impression" is a shot or not. Probably both.

Alphaville: "Forever Young"
Had Morrissey drowned the members of Alphaville at birth then he probably would have gone to jail and we would have been spared (a) some great records, (b) lots of mediocre records and (c) having to care about the claptrap that comes pissing out of the mouth of Steven Patrick Morrissey. An upside, with all due respect to Alphaville.

Siouxsie & The Banshees: The Thorn
An odd one. Morrissey likes the fact that this EP is good value for money but doesn't think much of the songs. Not particularly good value then, is it? Still, it's sort of nice that he didn't save all his vitriol for those he wishes dead and buried.

Of the twenty-four records he reviewed, sixteen he disliked or despised. (Correct that: sixteen he despised; the man doesn't do things by halves, as they say) Not being one to be content with just liking a song, he also managed to eek in some harsh words in five additional singles he actually liked, including the supposed 'Bestest Single Of The Fortnight'. That leaves us with three that he didn't feel the need to slag off in any way. Except for a suspiciously-worded review of one entrant that leads me to suspect he didn't listen to it at all and one that could be inferred as being underhand praise. Which leaves one bloody record that pleased this grumpy old crow. And, yet, I seem surprised. All it took was making a video or having a duff record or not approving of said act or not having been aborted at birth brought out his hate. You'd like for him to refrain but then he just wouldn't be Morrissey, would he?

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

XTC: "This World Over"

The only record on offer that Morrissey has nothing but good things to say about. Now well into their residency in the dumper, Andy Partridge was under strain from Virgin Records to come up with something more commercial. Being as bullheaded as Morrissey, XTC's leader is having none of it and, instead, delivers a challenging and, in some places, unlistenable LP The Big Express. Happily, the singles are top notch and none better than "This World Over". Moz doesn't seem aware of how insanely erratic Swindon's finest could be which likely saved them from his scorn. Dealing with nuclear war fallout, the song seems just as relevant today with the imminent threat of climate change hanging over us all. Not that any of this matters to Morrissey: I'm sure in his mind the world has already ended ever since his critics began "silencing" him. You'd think he'd be better equipped at taking it, huh?

The Icicle Works: "Hollow Horse"

11 October 1984

"I was praying this wasn't going to be a disappointment — and it's not."
— Mike Read

Guesting in the reviewer's chair this fortnight is Radio 1 deejay Mike Read. The same Mike Read who abruptly yanked Frankie's "Relax" from the airwaves, deeming it obscene. The same Mike Read who has long supported the Conservatives (though, in fairness, he's hardly alone among radio presenters in that regard) and, more recently, UKIP. The same Mike Read who played tennis with Cliff Richard — and who, probably, let him win. Looks like we're in for a winner of a SOTF then.

This is also the same Mike Read, however, who championed The Icicle Works to no end so at least we've been spared a rum MOR pick. (Fellow straight-laced, Tory-approving DJ Bruno Brookes would later be a backer of acid house rave anthem "Stakker Humanoid" by Humanoid, proving that even the most vanilla of individuals may have out there tastes) On the other hand, "Hollow Horse" isn't quite as brilliant as their most famous fan would have you believe.

Coming out of the thriving post-punk Merseyside scene, The Icicle Works always seemed to belong to the second division of bands. They never enjoyed the devoted following of Echo & The Bunnymen nor did they have a charismatic frontman the way Julian Cope led The Teardrop Explodes. Beyond the two most obvious comparables, they weren't able to bottle current pop into something original like Orchestral Maneuvres in the Dark nor did they ever manipulate press — as well as one Mike Read — the way Frankie Goes to Hollywood did. (Though, to be fair, it's doubtful they were aiming for either of these but for certain they lacked much to go over the top) They had just one UK top twenty hit with "Love Is a Wonderful Colour" — which nonetheless proved insufficient to Read who felt they were denied their rightful place in the top ten — along with another ("Birds Fly (A Whisper to a Scream)") which did well in North America. A good, respectable band with a decent level of success but nothing for the Liver birds to shriek over either.

This generation of Liverpool acts were well known for their disregard and even hostility towards The Beatles. Some did so by going the synth-pop or goth routes but the more melodic guitar bands of the time were left in search of other areas. Oddly, the sixties probably mattered even more here than in other parts of Britain that weren't so desperate to ignore the Fab Four. Arthur Lee, leader of California flower power doomsayers Love, was a major influence but with "Hollow Horse" at least the real shadow is cast by The Byrds. Being one of the finest guitarists of his generation, Ian McNabb ably pulls out a pair of striking solos that could have come straight out of Roger McGuinn's remarkable playing on "Eight Miles High" and, indeed, the whole song is based on some aggressive but unmistakable 12-string picking from "Mr. Tambourine Man" and "Turn! Turn! Turn!". While they're a tight trio and the playing all around is sturdy, there's not much here without McNabb's parts.

Which perhaps goes some way to explaining just what Mike Read saw in them. With other Mersey acts still keeping a foot in new wave values (Julian Cope was always the unholy marriage of Lee and Iggy Pop), The Icicle Works did nothing to hide their debt to the sixties, even if the big drums are as eighties as anyone could ever wish to be. Thirtysomething, Tory-supporting Radio 1 hosts had in them an act that could dish up fanciful songs with some blistering guitar solos that brought back those wistful days of plugging away on Radio Caroline or Radio Luxembourg, long before pop went down the crapper. 

Despite this, as well as the doubtless numerous plays Read gave it in the days and weeks ahead, "Hollow Horse" barely dented the the bottom of the top one hundred. Clearly listeners weren't quite ready for the sixties to be back, although it wouldn't be long. Meanwhile, yet another talented Liverpudlian was slowly getting his act together. Ian Broudie took a while to emerge but perhaps he was simply biding his time while Merseyside began to love The Beatles again.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Julian Lennon: "Too Late for Goodbyes"

1) No, it doesn't matter whether he sounds like his dad or not. 2) It ought to be a much better record: Julian Lennon has a great voice and there's a lovely melody but the lyrics are in desperate need of a re-write and there really should be a middle-eight to keep boredom at bay. 3) It's way faster than I remember it being and the faux-reggae doesn't work at all. 4) A proper collaborator — not simply a superstar producer — could have made this into an outstanding debut. 5) No, it should never have mattered whether he was as successful as his dad or not. (Good that Mike Read and I agree on a couple things here; I wonder if he's up for a tennis match?)

Culture Club: "The War Song"

27 September 1984

"Whether I'll feel quite the same when everyone from the neighbour's budgie to the weird bloke downstairs is whistling it too is another matter, of course."

— Vici MacDonald

On the last Sunday of November, 1984, about forty mostly British and Irish pop stars gathered at a recording studio in Notting Hill, London to hastily record a single for the Christmas market to benefit victims of the appalling famine in Ethiopia. Band Aid was to be a coming together of UK music royalty and seemingly everyone on it was at peak popularity and worldwide fame. The resultant "Do They Know It's Christmas?" was an instant success, triumphing in one of the most hotly contested seasonal number one showdowns ever. The holiday having already come and gone, it nevertheless topped the charts in Canada for the first two weeks of January '85. Though I liked the record (and still do to this day in spite of the many legit criticisms leveled against it), the real delight was the video. I was just seven but I could already identify plenty of the central figures involved. Well, vaguely recognize at least. I probably knew Sting and Phil Collins and was aware of the lead singers of Duran Duran and Wham! Okay, that's almost all of 'em but I did begin spotting others when I would see the video every year from that point on. (Oddly, the individual I took longest to pick out was a thin and sullen Paul Weller, by far my favourite of the lot) But there was one more figure who I definitely would have known right away: Boy George, probably the most recognizable pop star in the world.

But it seems this wasn't the same Boy George. His brief solo vocal on "Do They Know It's Christmas?" — "and in our world of plenty, we can spread a smile of joy / throw your arms around the world at Christmas time" — comes nearly two months after the release of "The War Song", a chronological fact that I've been having difficulty squaring over the last several days. Band Aid was, as I already stated above, a convergence of everyone who was anyone (and Marilyn) in the British music scene, not a bunch of also-ran's and has been's (especially Marilyn) headed for the dumper. For that's what "The War Song" did to Culture Club's momentum.

Or perhaps not. Though disinterested in the "trite" lyrics, the tune is catchy enough to warrant a SOTF from Vici MacDonald and, not being simply a critical favourite, it quickly shot to number two on the charts, just missing out on the top spot by Stevie Wonder's monster syrup-fest "I Just Called to Say I Love You" (in what was, I must say, a pretty loaded top ten). While it did fade away almost as quickly, spending just two more weeks in the charts' top quadrant, it was hardly the career-stalling disaster that plagued ABC two years earlier with their brave reinvention "That Was Then but This Is Now". "The War Song" proved yet another hit single in several other countries and likely the last Club single to be familiar enough with the public that many a neighbour's budgie or weird bloke downstairs may have hummed along with it.

Yet the bloom was off and though the single sold it has been described by Boy George as the song that "ruined" his career. Reappraisal has led to it being described as naff which is apt considering the chorus. I've always suspected, however, that they probably knew it was ludicrous as well, which doesn't suddenly make it a brilliant record but does help explain their intent. Consciously singing about how "war, war is stupid / and people are stupid" and knowing the banality behind it gives Boy and Jon Moss and the other two an excuse but thinking that they had something profound to say with these words just makes it all seem pathetic — and I like to think that we're still a ways away from Boy George sinking that low.

How do I know? Well, I don't really. But common sense tells me that if I was able to gauge the lame juvenailia of my teenage poetry with some accuracy — at least some of the time —then a quartet of towering pop stars must have at least a similar filer. More importantly, I reckon that "The War Song" is a response to the group that had stolen most of their thunder over the previous year and one who also wasn't shy about exposing blunt but basic sentiments to the masses. Frankie Goes to Hollywood first hit the charts with the sexually explicit "Relax" and followed that up with taking a shot at the arms race in "Two Tribes". Both were absolutely massive singles in the UK and may have made groups like Culture Club look passe. Probably not keen on getting into raunchiness — Boy George having said famously that he wasn't "really all that keen on sex" — it fell to Reagan and Chernenko and the threat of nuclear war as a topic for Boy George to grapple with. Though the record itself is superb, the lyrics in "Two Tribes" are hardly loaded with high level ideas. Holly Johnson's delivery of "when two tribes go to war" is powerful but it reads poorly, particularly followed by "a point is all that you can score". So, war is like sport, huh? Wow, I guess all those field marshals and generals in the First World War were correct and good on Frankie to restate some seventy-year-old sentiments. 

The point is not to bash "Two Tribes", just to put "The War Song" in context. Boy George was a vastly superior lyricist to Johnson or Mark O'Toole (or Nasher or whoever handled works for Frankie) and this trite simplicity was a low hanging fruit that he should have avoided. But when you go from tabloid stars and teen idols to being asked to sing on the Band Aid single, you might feel like you've been neutered. Of course that brings us right back to the whole thing about my screwed up chronology and that, ultimately, this record really didn't kill off their careers or any of that nonsense. It was a misstep that they could have corrected going forward but they chose not to. Just be more like Frankie Goes to Hollywood and you'll never screw things up.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Prince & The Revolution: "Purple Rain"

MacDonald admits that she's "unconvinced" by the latest from the Purple Perv and I'm right with her (although it is possible she became convinced at some point over the last thirty-five years). Having always liked everything about Prince except for the bulk of his music, "Purple Rain" is especially troublesome for us few skeptics out there. Where "1999" and "When Does Cry" and "Raspberry Beret" usually sound better in my head (and, thus, give me the false impression that they're better than they are), this, the title track from his breakthrough '84 album, is as underwhelming and over-long in my imagination as it is in reality. What does everyone else on Earth see in it? Okay, it's heartfelt but it's not quite poignant and the dull faces on the concert goers in the video says it all (not to mention an awfully awkward peck on the cheek he gives to an annoyed-looking Wendy Melvoin). I guess it must work as an album closer and it's better than virtually every other single on offer here but, as classics go, not up to much.

David Lasley: "Where Does That Boy Hang Out"

13 September 1984

"I could listen to it for hours on end. Buy it now and it'll keep you warm all winter."

— Dave Rimmer

"Session Man" is a deep cut off The Kinks' 1966 near-masterpiece Face to Face. It is, in fact, the song that prevents it from failing to measure up to the standards of the year's truly outstanding albums Revolver and Aftermath and Pet Sounds — and, indeed, follow-up Kink LP's Something Else and The Kinks Are the Village Green Preservation Society. It's a botch. It fails partly due to some irritating enunciation on the part of singer Ray Davies as he struggled to make his lyrics rhyme ("he's a session man / a chord progre-she-an / a top musi-she-an") but mainly because it is so cynical and smug as to be unlistenable. (It is the tune which best compliments Davies' face, which is perhaps the most punchable in pop) It doesn't even matter if the song's subject matter is true or not: how would Davies know how paid studio musicians feel about what they do? It's one of those obnoxious armchair psychology works that also explains why I despise Fastball's loathsome "The Way" and why I've never quite warmed to Squeeze. But for the sake of this piece, let's just say that "Session Man" paints an accurate picture of the musical talent that never gets any credit.

(No, I'm not going to do that actually. Best just to discuss sessioners as people. Sorry, Ray)

There's this notion that session musicians and backing vocalists are failed pop stars trying to cling to their dreams (as opposed to, say, grown men still toiling away in a garage or a dingy club for little to no pay somewhere in your hometown right at this very moment). The acclaimed documentary 20 Feet from Stardom — as well as similar films about The Wrecking Crew and The Funk Brothers — seems to capture individuals who never quite made it while failing to acknowledge that not everyone is cut out for the big time. Backing vocalists have great voices but they may not have much else to carry them forward. Some may not have even craved it.

David Lasley managed to make a name for himself as a dependable falsetto (said to be, in Dave Rimmer's words, a "white bloke with a black woman's voice", though it doesn't seem all that dissimilar to the vocals of Jimmy Sommerville or him from The Catch so perhaps he sounds more like a man trying to sound like a woman but still mostly sounding like a man), having appeared on numerous disco, funk and soul records throughout the seventies (though I don't see any evidence that he ever showed up on a Roxy Music session despite what some like Rimmer claim) and even doing fairly well for himself as a songwriter. With the likes of Michael McDonald and Luther Vandross moving from jobbing backing vocalists in the seventies to success as solo artists in more recently, it may have seemed like the right time to launch Lasley in a similar role.

"Where Does the Boy Hang Out" doesn't do much for me personally but I'd hesitate to say that he fails where Vandross and McDonald succeeded (even though that's pretty much what happened). It's a competent record that seems to have accomplished what it set out to do: put a spotlight on Lasley's voice with some fine backing vocalists as support, gliding along like an updated Motown number. Fine stuff but nothing close to some of the songs he appeared on in the background back in the day: nothing to knock the listener down like classic Chic, nothing to worm its way into the mind like Chaka Khan, nothing to singalong with like Boz Scaggs. Rimmer likes it way more than it deserves and the overhype can be a turn off but once past that - assuming you're able to get used to Lasley's voice — it's solid pop to enjoy while it's on and forget about as soon as it's over. And I'd certainly take it over "Session Man".

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

U2: "Pride (In the Name of Love)"

Critics of ver 2 frequently deride the group's pomposity. They have a point but it overlooks the fact that there's not much to Bobo, The Hedge and the rest without the highfalutin hijinks. "Pride" is their first great single (you'll hear some try to make a case for "I Will Follow" or "New Year's Day" but they don't quite manage to get there) and their first successful shot at sounding as big as they would soon become. A tribute to civil rights leader Martin Luther King, it trades in generalities and cliches but that's probably for the best: a proper biographical song would have likely come out heavy-handed (something U2 know nothing about) and there's a refreshing subtlety in the lyrics that balance out with the overblown music. You have to be told it's about MLK though it clearly isn't about any old Northside Dublin dirtbag so it's not something to relate to but it could be something to aspire to. A nice reminder that while, yes, U2 can be trite, self-important and cringe worthy, they could also be the most brilliant pop group around. A definite should've SOTF — even though it won't be long till we see them take their rightful place with more highfalutin pomp.