Kim Wilde: "Love Blonde"

21 July 1983

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

— Deborah Steels

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Altered Images: "Love to Stay"

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

Echo & The Bunnymen: "Never Stop"

7 July 1983

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

— Dave Rimmer

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

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

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

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

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Bananarama: "Cruel Summer"

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

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

23 June 1983

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

— George Michael

"It sounds like a sophisticated JoBoxers."

— Andrew Ridgely

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

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

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

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

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

David Sylvian & Ryuichi Sakamoto: "Forbidden Colours"

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

Freur: "Matters of the Heart"

9 June 1983

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

— Mark Steels

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

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

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

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

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

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Lotus Eaters: "The First Picture of You"

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