Shalamar: "Dead Giveaway"

26 May 1983

"Keep breathing British air, Jeffrey, the inspiration's mutual."

— Gary Kemp

Recalling those final, painful days at the Melody Maker in a recent Chart Music podcast, guest Sarah Bee mentions overseeing the legendary paper's singles review page with a variety of acts brought in give their thoughts on the latest batch of pop records. "It was always really interesting to hear musicians talk about other musicians and their work", she says, maybe a little generously. "There was such a spectrum of how they'd approach it: some would be very offhand and others would get really nerdy and others were twats, of course. You always get twats."

We're a good ways away yet from twat pop stars coming in to review the Smash Hits singles but the guest critic was always a mixed bag. Some clearly took the task far too seriously, while others — as Bee mentions — couldn't have given less of a shit. Of more significance, however, is that few had much to say. (Chart Music host Al Needham asks Bee who was the worst group she dealt with in her role and she chose the Ben Folds Five for their surly demeanour and utter lack of insight) We'll come across several pop stars covering very much the same spectrum that Bee talks about but sadly few who manage to transcend the novelty.

Spandau Ballet songwriter, guitarist and singer Gary Kemp sits in as singles reviewer this fortnight and it's a cracker. Not, mind you, because he picked the best record on offer (even though he did), nor because he's a brilliant writer (although he does rather well in that regard) but due to some very thoughtful comments that never occurred to me before. The Style Council's "Money-Go-Round" reminds him of a "cockney Gil Scott Heron", while of Michael Jackson's "Wanna Be Startin' Something" he notes that "it's strange how you don't always appreciate tracks so much until they're sitting on seven inch vinyl". Of Spear of Destiny's "The Wheel", he points out that it's a rare guitar track that could wind up a sizable club hit — something I'm inclined to agree with and I don't even like it. Then there's the above quote that concludes his SOTF review of Shalamar's "Dead Giveaway".

African American musicians have been transplanting to Europe for the better part of a century. Trumpeter Bill Coleman was among the first, recognising that he was being treated with far more respect in France than in his homeland. With jazz's appeal in the States on the wane after the Second World War, there became an increasing financial incentive to settle across the Atlantic. Ben Webster, Bud Powell, Dexter Gordon, Chet Baker and Don Cherry were among the stars who made either a permanent or long-term move to Europe. The practise became a little less common in the rock era but Jimi Hendrix was a fixture of swinging London, Marvin Gaye lived for a time in Belgium and Tina Turner is now a Swiss citizen. Quite whether the members of Shalamar ever contemplated uprooting themselves to Britain is something I am in no position to answer and I'm not even sure if they did any recording there but Kemp seems to think that the UK was doing them some good and I suspect for more than just the financial benefit.

Beginning perhaps with Northern soul, black American acts began to figure out that there were appreciative audiences in Britain where few-to-none existed back home. Much as Kemp enjoyed their previous album Friends, it was West Coast soul-funk record in a world of West Coast soul-funk records. "Dead Giveaway", as well as much of its parent album The Look, seems to be more the result of playing intense shows in York, Blackpool and Southampton in which Jody Watley would be rendered near-hoarse, Jeffery Daniel would be soaked in sweat and Howard Hewett would be replacing guitar strings on a nightly basis.

The mutual inspiration Kemp talks about is that Britain gave a shot of adrenaline to the members of Shalamar while upping the creative stakes for bands all over the country. Established acts such as Imagination, JoBoxers and, yes, ver Spands could only look on in awe at how Daniel, Hewett and Watley were able to whip crowds into a frenzy. The sort of act everyone could learn from.

So, Shalamar had another hit single in the can and had found a new life in the UK. A shame, then, that it was all about to implode as Daniel and Watley were soon to depart, wasting the momentum that had been building. If only they'd taken Kemp's advice to keep breathing in the British air.

Smash Hits was obviously pleased enough with Kemp that they would eventually ask him to come back to review the singles again, this time with his brother Martin along. For his part, Kemp seemed to have sufficiently enjoyed the task to give it another go. Only a select number of pop stars returned to the singles review chair and with only one twat among them. Sit tight readers.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

David Bowie: "China Girl"

Kemp admits that he didn't get a chance to listen to this one, figuring that the Hits brass assumed he'd already heard it on the album Let's Dance. (To be fair, it was probably the last David Bowie LP that you could take for granted that people in the business would be familiar with) It's now been two years since the death of Dame David and the reverence with which he is spoken of hasn't subsided. And they're probably right to do so. He had a tremendous run of singles from "Space Oddity" to "Ashes to Ashes" with some pretty great albums thrown in too. He was also an artist's artist and a musician's musician: even if you didn't happen to care for every twist and turn in his lengthy career, you had to admire him for trying. Not so much here but still. A boring record by Iggy Pop standards a half-dozen years earlier, it replaces the original's sleaze for sophistication but not to better results. I suppose it's a production tour-de-force from Nile Rodgers even if those Asian rhythms are a cliché and were more charmingly used by Buck Owens on "Made in Japan". Bowie should really have been paying attention to Shalamar: the inspiration might have done him good.

C.O.D.: "In the Bottle"

12 May 1983

"Mr. Hip Hop himself, Man Parrish, had a hand in producing it and, needless to say, Dave Rimmer's had it on import for weeks."

— Neil Tennant

As has been discussed on here before, Neil Tennant was busy getting his musical aspirations in order while also toiling away the Hits. (I was going to say he was doing so in his space time but I wouldn't be terribly surprised if the two tasks crossed over quite a bit) Pop dominance wasn't the forefront of his mind as this early stage, however; what he and partner Chris Lowe envisioned was to cut a single in the States that would only be available on import in the shops in Britain. With the balance of power in the hands of the big record labels at the expense of the indies and the spread of HMV, Tower Records and the Virgin Megastores in the nineties, imported music became easier to get but it still retained a certain cachet, if only to get a shrink-wrapped compact disc with an IMPORT sticker emblazoned on it. Nevertheless, it's not quite the same  as poking around in a dusty old shop and coming across a record that somehow worked its way over the Atlantic or ordering the latest 12" dance sensation from an obscure enthusiast label (or so I hear, having never done so myself).

Sigh, another Tennant review, another piece all about the Pet Shop Boys. Readers of this blog will doubtless be wondering if I have nothing else of note to say about eighties' dance music and they're not wrong. If anything, this project has only upped my appreciation of ver Pet Shops as a pair who managed to cram the best bits of disco, hip-hop and synth-pop into their sound while deftly avoiding the pitfalls of their some of their forefathers. In short, what got them out of the specialty import shops and into every Our Price, Boots, WH Smith's and Woolworth's. In terms of song structure, no one influenced them more than Bobby O; as far as sampled sound effects go, we may look no further than C.O.D. Indeed, the first fifty-or-so seconds of "In the Bottle" practically sound like an awkward instrumental megamix of songs from the first PSB album Please as well as some of its accompanying B-sides.

Where they don't work so well is on "In the Bottle" itself. A cover of the Gil Scott-Heron number from his Winter in America album about rampant alcoholism in the black community, it trades in the lush R & B groove and soaring flute of the original in favour of some hard-edge breakbeats (as was the style of the time). Scott-Heron's relaxed, effortless vocal, too, is dropped with preference on an angry rap. Choices made: nuance loses out but I can definitely see opting for a bitter take on this song. 

It's in the production of lead C.O.D.'er Paul A. Rodriguez and boffin Man Parrish where it comes apart. Aside from having a song about the ill-effects of boozing being lost on your average clubber and/or breakdancer, there's a pointlessness of putting together a song with such an important message only for much of it to be drowned out by this all-you-can-eat buffet of effects. It's as if Rodriguez and Parrish knew all about crafting music to be danced to but hadn't the faintest idea about making pop records. Cue Tennant and Lowe.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Aztec Camera: "Walk Out to Winter"

Aztec Camera shared a lot in common with fellow eccentrically-named groups Prefab Sprout and Scritti Politti. All three transitioned from D.I.Y. indie darlings into purveyors of smooth sophisti-pop and were led by talent figures who gradually took charge to the extent that their "bands" became glorified solo projects. "Walk Out to Winter" was never as appropriately bleak as the snowy wastes of the title imply and it seems on this single version Roddy Frame decided to go full-on breezy mode. Some fantastic janggly acoustic guitar playing closes out a song that impressed Tennant by being their first attempt at pop. Too bad C.O.D. weren't up to it too.

Fun Boy Three: "Our Lips Are Sealed"

28 April 1983

"This, however, is the definitive version — slower and more atmospheric, lending that simply breathtaking tune an air of brooding passion. And when Terry sings 'hush my darling, don't you cry', you want to rush up and give him a big hug."

— Deborah Steels

It's the middle of 1981 and a single has been released by an LA all-female quintet. It's immensely catchy with a chorus you find yourself singing along with almost from the off. The sunshine power pop helps propel a defiant song about not giving a crap what other people think and the singer's cheeriness makes it easy to buy what they're selling. It's a bit slow to take off but it eventually becomes an enormous hit in several countries — except for in England where the public are far too cynical for such stuff.

Jump ahead nearly two years and a single has been released by an all-male vocal trio with backing from mostly female musicians. It's catchy in an ominous way that sticks to the listener long after it's been played. The rumbling low key funk mixed with deep-voiced backing vocalists and a stark cello helps propel an uneasy song about wanting not to give a crap what other people think and the singer's brittle monotone makes it easy to buy what they're selling. It's a big hit in England but it doesn't do much elsewhere — it's presumably way too depressing for those bloody foreigners.

A co-write by Fun Boy Terry Hall and Jane Wiedlin of The Go-Go's, "Our Lips Are Sealed" is reputedly an account of their hook-up while on tour together in 1980 (when Hall and bandmates Lyndval Golding and Neville Staple were still members of The Specials). Since they both had a hand in it, it seems wrong to suggest that the FB3 version is a cover of the original. Rather, it acts as a response to it.

While both have their merits, I can't see how anyone would possibly opt for the Go-Go's version. Where Hall's vocal offers up heartbreak, Belinda Carlisle's reading is so blandly cheerful that it lends little to the song. It's a shame that Wiedlin didn't have the opportunity to take the lead as her brief solo in the bridge (the 'hush my darling' part that won Deborah Steels' heart) is arguably the best part of their recording. It also suggests what she might have done with it. Syrupy but with a coy wink, I get the feeling that Wiedlin could have offered up an interpretation that is kind and reassuring with a sly 'but don't you dare piss me off or I'm spilling the beans, buddy' air. (A demo of Hall and Wiedlin singing it together would be ideal but since they collaborated on it via correspondence I don't expect to ever come across such a thing) Still, The Go-Go's version is hard to dislike and does a nice job of flipping off nosy busyboddies.

Hall's vocals are superb but so, too, is the performance from the entire expanded edition of the Fun Boy Three, suddenly a misnomer for two reasons — and that's assuming that the 'Fun' in their name was meant to be ironic. Golding and Staple have less to do vocally than usual but their guitar and percussion parts are both excellent. The eight-or-nine-piece "Three" come together to play an understated groove that's not unlike the work of Talking Heads at around the same time. (I thought this was an incisive observation until I remembered that chief Head David Byrne produced it) As Steels says, this is absolutely divine and the best they'd ever do. (But then they were pretty much done by this point. Hall seemed to have a knack for dropping out of groups right at their peak. During the turbulent summer of 1981, he was riding high as lead vocalist of The Specials, who'd enjoyed a two year run of seven top ten singles on the bounce — and each one is still absolutely brilliant. "Ghost Town" was their second chart topper and immediately captured the zeitgeist of the miserable Thatcher years — and, yet, the definitive Specials line-up didn't survive to see out the single's chart run. Golding, Hall and Staple promptly banded together as Fun Boy Three, a more modestly successful combo but one that still had seven top twenty entries before winding things down later on in 1983. I'll have to see if Hall's third group, The Colourfield, managed a similar career trajectory)

In preparing to write this piece, I found myself listening to the Fun Boy Three and The Go-Go's back to back. (I also tried out the scarcely recognizable Urdu version that ver 3 ended up using as a B-side but the once was enough) The former's heavy, sorrowful treatment was nicely contrasted with the sunshine power pop of the latter. Hall's sorrow is replied with a terse 'quit moping, you silly sod!', while Carlisle's jubilant defiance is then met with a stern rebuke of 'don't you dare trivialize what we had' — and so on in an argument that no one quite comes out ahead in. While the likes of Fleetwood Mac and Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen and Richard and Linda Thompson cut whole albums of lost love anguish, Terry Hall and Jane Wiedlin managed to cram all sorts of therapy and dirty laundry into one smashing song.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Alarm: "The Stand"

Shirley Bassey and Tom Jones weren't what they used to be and we're still at least a decade out from the rise of Manic Street Preachers and Super Furry Animals and Catatonia and (uh, excuse me while I throw up in my mouth) Stereophonics and so Welsh pop music pride centred around The Alarm. Looking and sounding like a provincial Canadian bar band hoping to get their big break through an appearance on cheap local TV (if you follow me), their playing is spirited and, as Steels says, the harmonica intro is the best part. Not bad, not bad but more the result of this issue's singles being not unlike the Welsh music scene of the time: The Alarm stand out because there's not much else to choose from.

The Valentine Brothers: "Money's Too Tight (to Mention)"

14 April 1983

"This was around on import for many moons before anyone was bright enough to release it. Is it too late now? Well, it's still a great record: the disco version of what Reagan's doing to the inner cities of the USA, with foundations in a solid synth bass line and a sax that soars into the sky."

— Dave Rimmer

I made a passing reference to Thatcherite hell in last week's entry and it's something that came up over and over throughout the eighties in UK pop. Albums such as Pink Floyd's The Final Cut, The Style Council's Our Favourite Shop, Pet Shop Boys' Actually and Julian Cope's Peggy Suicide can all be boiled down to chronicles of a dreary England in the midst of the Falklands War, riotting, shabby new towns, union busting, the AIDS crisis, football hooliganism's apogee and the dominance of media empires of Rupert Murdoch and Robert Maxwell. Some pop stars took dead aim at Mrs. Thatcher in song: Elvis Costello mocked her in "You'll Never Be a Man" and then went one better eight years later when he fantasied over her death in "Tramp the Dirt Down", a sentiment echoed by Morrissey, who one might expect would've had some political sympathies with the Iron Lady, in "Margaret on the Guillotine". The Specials' "Ghost Town", Hue & Cry's "Labour of Love", Billy Bragg's "Between the Wars", Depeche Mode's "Everything Counts", The Housemartins' "Flag Day", Wham!'s "Wham Rap!"...I'd go on but I think I've made my point — plus I can't think of any more.

So, that's Britain but what of the USA at this time? I had trouble thinking of a song about Ronald Reagan and/or Reaganite America until I remembered The Ramones' "Bonzo Goes to Bitburg". Beyond that, however, there's not much. Some older liberal rock stars came up with tunes condemning the old coot's vulgarity and there are lots records about his involvement in the arms race but many of those are by the likes of U2, INXS, Frankie Goes to Hollywood, Genesis and Midnight Oil, thereby much more of an international concern than anything Mrs. Thatcher was up to. As for what real Americans were dealing with in the decade of post-New Deal individualism and tax cuts for the wealthy, there's not much to go on.

In this void we say hello to John and Billy Valentine. While it would be nice to place them in the context of politically conscious black American pop, it's rather difficult to do so since "Money's Too Tight (to Mention)" is a one off for them. Appearing after a brief overture which opens their second album First Take, the song concludes and is followed by four smoochtastic love songs before wrapping up with an instrumental rendition of the present song and a reprise of the overture (which ought to have been the finale if we're being technical) — I think it's fair to say that the duo didn't exactly have a glut of material with which to pad their latest album. (The track's placing near the LP's opening could be taken as a warning to any interested ladies that these Valentines are (appropriately) romantic but perhaps a wee bit too cash poor to show them a really good time but better that than leaving the message of 'oh, and by the way, we're broke; you don't happen to have a ten spot you could lend us, do you?' for the end)

The remainder of their discography may be politically apathetic but that only underscores the poignancy of this attempt. These are average guys, interested in women and having a drink and watching sports on TV, they're not concerned about pollution or Apartheid (not sufficiently to have recorded and released songs about them at any rate). A lack of cash in their pockets is what's driving them. The bank turned them down for a load but treated them with dignity and family members can't help because they, too, are feeling the pinch but the government has been giving them the runaround. The supposed economic stimulus of tax breaks has resulted in an improvement in their lives. This is, of course, nothing new or profound but is a welcome change in an American music landscape of the time so lacking in everyday problems.

With vocal stylings clearly influenced by Marvin Gaye, it's tempting to wonder if this is the sort of thing he ought to have been doing during his final years rather than pissing them away on nauseating sex tracks. With Marvelous Marvin's What's Going On already a massive influence, you'd think this would be right up his alley. The only trouble is, Gaye's work had his ego to deal with, putting himself at the centre of everything he did. (A key track on What's Going On is "What's Happening Brother" in which an out of touch Gaye is gamely attempting to reconnect with his people, community and the world around him while never quite managing to shake the feeling that it's all about him) "Money's Too Tight" has an everyman quality about it that Gaye could never have pulled off, even when his creative faculties were still intact.

A minor hit on the Billboard R & B charts, it's unlikely that it or the First Take album did much for their finances. Luckily, they were to make a pretty good windfall from a cover a couple years later by yet another British act who also had a problem with Mrs. Thatcher.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Creatures: "Miss the Girl"

As extra-curricular musical projects go, you could do worse than The Creatures. Paring down the sometimes messy sound of Siouxsie & The Banshees to vocalist Siouxsie Sioux and percussionist Budgie, there is a great deal more space for the singer's uniquely expressive deadpan to stand out with just some outstanding jazzy gamelan vibes to back her up. While the melody is not unlike XTC's annoying "Melt the Guns" from their 1982 English Settlement album, the pair do far more with it and in far less time. These two goths sure did pull off that exotica stuff.