INXS: "The One Thing"

15 September 1983

"This is not the greatest song in the world but INXS go for it as if it were their one and only chance of making a record..."

— David Hepworth

Two photos accompanying this fortnight's singles review page. The first is of a young and contented David Hepworth (perhaps he is so pleased because he knows this will be the last time he will perform such an arduous task), critic pics having become a thing since the early part of 1983. The other is of an even younger, even more contented sextet of Australians, a band photo as seen on the back of "The One Thing" (the front cover of which also includes helpfully printing the words 'In Excess' for those of us not quite sure how to pronounce their odd sort-of-an-abbreviation, sort-of-an-acronym name — I first thought they were called "ink-ses").

They're half a decade younger than when I first became familiar with them but it's clearly INXS despite the grainy, black and white photo making it difficult to pick out details. The Farris brothers are all at the back, with Andrew and Jon (who is shirtless with either a pair of swimming goggles or a Chippendale bowtie around his neck) not quite as interested in get in on the action as the rest of their bandmates with a similarly unimpressed Tim just in front of them gamely caught mid-leap. In front is bespectacled sax player Kirk Pengilly possibly just about to crouch down. To the right is Garry Gary Beers, catching some quality air and doing his best to look as silly as possible. On the left, Michael Hutchence, the group's lead singer, barefoot and wearing a pair of shorts and vest, a long way away from the rock 'n' roll sex god he'd one day become.

But did anyone have an inkling of what they'd one day become? As much as Hepworth admires INXS ("listening to this makes you realise how few new groups have any simple old fashioned energy") and the song itself (it "doesn't sound like anyone else at all, which is recommendation enough these days", a point I was going to take issue with until it dawned on me that the song it reminded me of is "Jesus Says" by Ulster pop punk metallers Ash who did it fifteen years later), he doesn't bother pointing out how promising they are or how they're an act to keep an eye on. In all likelihood, he didn't even consider their future prospects. One look at their photo and he may have assumed he was dealing with a half-dozen no-hopers who'd chanced upon a fluke decent pop song.

"The One Thing" is a record I had been unfamiliar with until very recently and I'm finding myself judging it too much based on what they'd do later. It lacks "Devil Inside"'s alluring creepiness, "Need You Tonight"'s lustful vigour, "Never Tear Us Apart"'s naive romanticism and, generally, the swagger of a band at their creative and commercial nexus. In a vacuum, however, it's spirited and powerful and proof that years of cutting their teeth in the Australian pub rock scene turned them into a tight, underrated unit. As Hepworth says, this is them giving it their all and leaving nothing to chance. Pengilly's solo is especially startling when placed in the context of the many slick tenor spots that had come as a result of the popularity of Gerry Rafferty's "Baker Street" five years earlier. They could have very easily played it safe but they owe their careers to being bold.

While the SOTF didn't do much for them in the UK, where, like fellow Antipodeans Crowded House, it would take them longer to become a chart fixture, "The One Thing" delighted North Americans enough to give them their first international hit. No more daft photo sessions, an increasingly charismatic sex god fronting them and loads more swagger. INXS were away.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Soft Cell: "Soul Inside"

"This is the new Soft Cell single and this is me reviewing it," Hepworth snottily begins. The sheer ubiquity and sameness of Soft Cell singles seemed to grate on the nerves of at least one top pop mag critic — a marked contrast from the sheer ubiquity and sameness of the only Soft Cell single that ever gets played today. Still, "Tainted Love" is an excellent composition and Marc Almond and Dave Ball gave it a great performance, which is more than can be said for "Soul Inside". There's a tune in there somewhere but as Hepworth says it doesn't seem the vocalist knows what to do with it. (The purposely off double-tracking is appalling: can't Almond even harmonize with himself?) This is just another Soft Cell single? Maybe time to pack it in lads.

Big Country: "Chance"

1 September 1983

"But where Springsteen would muck it all up with a surfeit of sax frenzy and over-enthusiastic vocal, Stuart and friends, with their clanking guitars, remain persuasively restrained, saving a power chord-drive chorus for a final treat."

— Tom Hibbert

This fortnight's singles review page in ver Hits is significant for three reasons. First (admittedly only of significance for the purposes of this blog) is the appearance of the words 'Single Of The Fortnight' at the conclusion of the headline review. Second (of much more significance to the Smash Hits world in general) is the debut in the critics' chair of Tom Hibbert, one of Britain's top pop mag's most colourful figures. Finally, the star single is by Big Country, making this the first SOTF from the sub-genre of eighties stadium rock (this is of very minimal significance for this blog and for the Hits but it's worth bringing up for one reason that I'll touch upon below).

Yes, VER HITS celebrates the Smash Hits Singles of the Fortnight and it's been going for just over a year now (don't worry, I wasn't expecting any messages of congratulations for hitting this first anniversary) but this is the very first time that the words themselves were printed. Tom Hibbert is usually credited with creating much of the unique Hits vocabulary ('What the Jiggins...?', which would eventually morph into 'juggins' and take up use on this very blog, was among the many Hibbertisms that I plan to explore in a future post) but doesn't seem to be acknowledged as a pioneer of the singles page. Well, he certainly is here. All hail Hibbs!

Tom Hibbert is one of those music journalists who take on an aura among readers as kind of a rock star himself. Not unlike Lester Bangs and Nick Kent, he seemed to live out his fantasies as a wannabe pop star through his writing; unlike those two, however, this meant silly reviews, irreverent interviews and curious status as the letters page dean known as Black Type, rather than tense confrontations with Lou Reed and shooting up with Sid Vicious. Hibbert anointed pop stars with ludicrous names which couldn't have been more accurate (rather appropriately, Big Country, the "subject" of this week's entry, had one such christened member, drummer Mark Unpronounceable Name), baited readers with cryptic replies to their (mostly) thoughtfully considered correspondence and may have used his criticism in order to take the mickey out of readers.

I can't prove that last one — I can't just yet at any rate — but I first began to suspect it when I went about cataloguing the Singles of the Fortnight and happened to notice that he picked Big Country. Big Country? Eighties Scots rockers who made bagpipes even less cool? Oh Hibbs, surely you're taking the piss.

Well, probably not. While the boys in plaid had their share of duff moments this isn't one of them. "Chance" is, as Hibbert points out, as Springsteen as you can possibly imagine — and, if anything, more Springsteen than Springsteen at the time when you consider that his most recent work had our Bruce lay down tracks with just an acoustic guitar onto a glorified tape recorder, a world away from the overstuffed pomposity of Born to Run (not to mention what he'd be putting out less than a year later). There's room for subtlety here. Where The E Street Band would have doubtless turned this into a concert favourite, Stuart Adamson's approach would have driven punters into a similar frenzy while retaining an individualism that could touch lowly, friendless types in Dundee council flats. A fine single that isn't really my cup of tea but one I can appreciate on its own terms nonetheless.

(Considering the tragedy that would eventually befall Stuart Adamson, it's easy to read way too much into a number like "Chance". That said, his suicide nearly twenty years later only makes lines such as "Oh Lord, where did the feeling go? / Oh Lord, I never felt so low" that much more touching and resonant)

The first stadium rock number to get a SOTF, "Chance" signals a coming roots rock revival that would culminate with the eventual rise of U2 and coincide with the end of New Pop, then dominant in the British music scene. And all because of a mischievous scamp reviewing the singles who couldn't help but take the piss. Even when he wasn't.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Culture Club: "Karma Chameleon"

Big Country's ascension spells the end of New Pop? Well, the beginning of the end maybe? Nah, that's all a bunch of rubbish. Truth is, "Karma Chameleon" is the pinnacle of the early-eighties' UK pop boom. The fact that it's seldom played anymore — retro nights and period radio shows tend to opt for the slightly inferior "Do You Really Want to Hurt Me" — shouldn't undercut just what a massive hit it was all over the world in 1983 and '84. I loved it then and still do even if I'll admit that Hibbert has a point with his minor quibbles. Yeah, the harmonica player does get in the way at times, Boy George was indeed a lousy dancer and the use of 'karma' is way too much of a seventies throwback to "My Sweet Lord" and "Instant Karma" and pathetic self-help nonsense from the time. Whatsmore, people still go on about bloody karma to this day. But at least Boy George got all that Eastern stuff out of his system, right?

Madness: "Wings of a Dove"

18 August 1983

"Bags of jollity and, no matter what they throw into the mix, the end result is distinctively Madness."

— Johnny Black

It seems to be an inevitability of pop that good time groups who have a mission to bring joy to the masses will eventually go melancholic — while doing everything they can to try to get around it. The Beatles pulled it off perhaps most successfully due to having songwriters who went through depression at different times. (John Lennon had his bout during his mid-sixities 'Fat Elvis' period, Paul McCartney just as the group was imploding over the course of their final year and George Harrison, well, pretty much the whole rest of the time) Glam rockers Slade suddenly became all reflective and somber with the material produced for their outstanding film Flame and promptly flounced off to the States to try their hand as an American bar band (with even sadder results). ABBA interspersed their more sorrowful numbers strategically among their bouncy party faves before they all got divorced, put out "The Day Before You Came" and decided to call it a day. George Michael had the smarts to release his darker material as solo singles while saving the joyous pop for Wham!

In a sense, Madness were the only group to fully embrace their melancholy. They all went through it together (even though a key member did depart during this period), they didn't suddenly decide to give it all a big rethink, they didn't use it as an excuse to pack it in and they didn't mask it under another name or label (that would come at the end of the eighties). There are a string of maudlin Madness singles which would only grow progressively more downbeat, reaching its apogee with "One Better Day", a heartbreakingly moving piece about homelessness, but carrying on still further as their creative and cultural relevancy began to dissipate.

"Wings of a Dove" catches the nutty ones edging closer towards melancholy, if not quite ready to resign themselves to. While I mentioned above that they would embrace this phase and go with it, there may have been some hesitation early on, possibly coming from record company executives, band management and production staff as much as the band themselves (if not more so). Previous single "Tomorrow's Just Another Day" dials back on the fun and frolics of "Our House" but the tempo is brisk and it's catchy enough not to depart from the formula that had given them a string of Top Ten hits. (A more accurate version of what they may have had in mind is the slower recording they did with Elvis Costello on lead vocals). Johnny Black seems to imply in his rather backhanded complimentary review — "Best of the Bunch though it's definitely not one of their most memorable songs", he concludes — that the augmentation of a steel band and choir only adds to the fun but I suspect that reserves have been called in to give some life to a pretty sad song — or an awfully serious one anyway. (I've heard this latter stage of Madness' career described as their "adult period", a label that isn't entirely inaccurate but one that I've chosen to refrain from using, especially since it's a term often applied to teen pop acts who make a ham-fisted attempt to grow up by producing supposedly edgy R & B)

So, just how is it sorrowful behind the obvious bags of jollity? Well, Suggs sounds more than a little downbeat in his delivery, a marked contrast from his usual winking, naughty schoolboy act. Opening with the lines "Take time for your pleasure / And laugh with love", I get the impression that either he's not entirely convinced by these sentiments himself or it's a brand of wisdom he's imparting inward. The lyrics in general are a departure from their wonderful character stories of troublemakers mucking about at school and ludicrous sexual escapades to an almost religious invocation to make the most out of life, be positive and "sing for the wings of a dove". It's all a bit self-defeating: by trying to convince us to be happy, they only succeed in coming across as sad.

As Black says, though, this is quintessential Madness, thanks largely to a bravura performance from all present. At the same time, it's by-numbers Madness: neither a standout like "One Step Beyond", "Our House" and "One Better Day" but not dragging quality standards down either. Impossible to dislike as ever but with such a high rate of great singles already in their discography (Divine Madness being probably the best greatest hits album of all time after ABBA Gold) maybe it's understandable that yet another great Madness song can be so callously shrugged off.

Full disclosure: this is almost certainly the only SOTF Madness ever received and, thus, likely the only opportunity I'll have to expound upon them in this space. We've already dealt with The Jam, The Human League, ABC, Dexys Midnight Runners, Wham! and Culture Club who were all at forefront of UK pop in the early eighties but the "chasps" that made up Madness may be the most vital of the lot. Their work is timeless in the sense that people of all ages can take to it: it's easy to imagine them being a big favourite of youngsters going to primary school at the peak of Thatcher's Britain while also enjoying a following among university students and dole queue adults — and managed to retain fans who otherwise got older and moved on from other interests. Their prolonged bout of depression may have been a step too far for most punters but it did little to affect their status as as a national treasure.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

UB40: "Red Red Wine"

A supposed favourite of yuppie dinner parties, "Red Red Wine" is easy fodder for scorn among hipsters. It's a sentiment I'd be happy to brush off if not for the fact that it's a song that's not half as lovely as it ought to be. I'd take the vocals seriously if only Ali Campbell didn't sing every damn song the same way — he's even the weak link on their sharp early material such as "Food for Thought" and "One in Ten". There's also the bad precedent this huge hit (a UK number one at the tail end of a very hot summer, edging out "Wings of a Dove") and its fellow numbers on the Labours of Love album set for ver 40: a seemingly endless list of bloodless cover versions (the nadir being an utterly charmless take on The Temptations' "The Way You Do the Things You Do" though there are plenty of other candidates to pick from); had this pleasantly bland single been a one off then it may have been possible to forgive them. And then there's the video: why on earth is Campbell singing about red, red wine while supping on a pint?

Strawberry Switchblade: "Trees and Flowers"

4 August 1983

"This is simply gorgeous. Rose and Jill are Strawberry Switchblade and on this, their debut single, they deliver deliciously sad and reflective vocals over some luxuriantly delicate music."

— Peter Martin

It's springtime here in Korea and the cherry blossoms are in bloom. One thing that you soon discover at this time of year is that they don't last long. A week to ten days seems to be the life expectancy of these flowers, although that can really depend on a particularly nasty rain and wind and then all bets are off. Of course, the fleeting nature of the sakura is precisely what makes them so cherished and, so, social media feeds are crammed with photos of the trees and well-placed Korean food trucks do a roaring trade at all the choice locales.

So, that's where I am and maybe it's why I'm finding writing this post about a song with a chorus of "...I hate the trees / and I hate the flowers..." to be so difficult. Sure, I can understand the appeal of staying in all day but that's just because I'm a lazy, directionless bugger, not because I'm agoraphobic. (This song is about agoraphobia, you know) I must say, I had no idea that fear of open spaces could lead to such hostility towards nature so I'm glad Strawberry Switchblade were able to enlighten me. I hope, however, that they weren't also trying to get me to understand the condition since I'm as ignorant now as I ever have been.

Scribe Peter Martin (who, judging from his photos, must be the Hits staff member who most wanted to look like a pop star) is absolutely enchanted by this but I could go either way. Conceptually it works: the very idea of setting lyrics about anxiety towards the outdoors and nature to a lush, pastoral production is a wonderful contradiction and so, too, is the contrast of Jill Bryson and Rose McDowall's bored, deadpan vocals with the wistful instrumentation. Also, there's something intriguing about that chorus: in addition to hating the trees and the flowers, Jill and Rose also can't stand the buildings (particularly the way "they tower over me" they reckon). Trees and buildings, nature and development: they're all same it would seem.

Where it comes up a bit short is the feeling I get that so much more could have been achieved without all that fear. Yes, I am aware that you're not going to eek out much of a song about agoraphobia if you're content to explore the world but in a broader context of pop and creativity and inspiration the whole thing seems far too cloistered for my tastes. It's a good start but they were going to have to get out more.

Still, I can talk: I may get out a bit but what have the trees and flowers and buildings ever done for me? 

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Style Council: The Style Council à Paris

"One of the most entertaining things about The Style Council", journalist Taylor Parkes considered in an episode of the Chart Music podcast, "was the glee with which they trolled the old Jam fans". Now, he and fellow guest Simon Price and host Al Needham were primarily discussing the homoerotic video for flagship song "Long Hot Summer" but I imagine these tunes messed with the heads of plenty of young English males who wanted the lad who did "Eton Rifles" and "Going Underground" to never change. (The fact that he was already shifting while in The Jam seems to go unacknowledged by many of their fans) No politics, no kitchen sink drama, no motivational truths, just "Long Hot Summer", one of Paul Weller's most poignant songs — one that would join Bananarama's "Cruel Summer" in capturing the lonely dark side of summer pop. The rest of the E.P. is filler with two instrumentals (something of a favourite for Weller and Merton Mick around this time: a year later, five vocal-free tunes would appear on their debut album) and a early take of "The Paris Match" (without the beautiful voice of Tracey Thorn to take it up a notch) but when you've got a career highlight to lead things off it hardly matters, does it?