Barbara Mason: "Another Man"

2 February 1984

"And then Ms Mason's strong but silky voice starts to croon the unfortunate tale of how she's realised her man isn't quite the man she thought he was."

— Neil Tennant

"I'm really getting sick of 12" singles", complains Neil Tennant in a review of Nik Kershaw's breakthrough (and, it would turn out, signature) hit "Wouldn't It Be Good". "I've only got the 12" version of this and it seems to drone on forever". Hear, hear, Neil. I've already gone into detail about my contempt for pointless extended mixes of pop songs and this is a prime example. The 7" mix isn't brilliant — it's the sort of song that always sounds better when I hum the tune to myself than when I actually listen to the bloody thing — and, clocking in as it does at four and a half minutes, already a bit too long but hardly the sort of thing that can be improved upon with a longer running time. If anything, its seven minutes only makes it seem slower and more meandering and, yes, more droning.

Now, apart from my surprise that a dance music fanatic as Tennant would express such derision for the medium of extended mixes, this observation seems especially surprising in light of his chosen SOTF. Where Kershaw's record works even less well in its longer form, Barbara Mason's "Another Man" is a whole other beast in its 12" girth. The single edit kicks in her vocal far too early and leaves out a pretty vital spoken-word part towards the end. Given that Tennant first describes the "tough, monotonous, electronic bassline" followed by "some delicious chords" it seems likely that he had the long version to go by. Handy, too, for working out the song's dark core.

Tennant seems to know what "Another Man" is really about but its meaning was initially lost on myself and virtually everyone who left a comment on YouTube. I originally thought that our Barb's had enough of the philandering loser she's been seeing and so she's gone off and found herself a new guy who totally won't mess her around this time. Turns out, this other man in her life is the one her boyfriend's been fooling around with on the down low. Not the sort of subject matter eighties soul music typically dealt with but one that deserved to be tackled.

As a sequel to Mason's 1981 single "She's Got the Papers (But I Got the Man)", the once smug protagonist who snatched a guy a away from a rival is having to eat her words with the humbling experience of catching him hand-in-hand with another man down Market Street ("and you all know where Market Street is"). A lot of innuendo is present, some of which are very a much a product of the times ("I had gone out one day and bought me a very, very sexy dress / And opened up my closet and it had disappeared": just the fact that a pop song goes to such lengths to suggest a link between homosexuality and cross-dressing is indicative of something, right?; she also suggests that his suddenly high-pitched voice might be a defect of some kind). But Barb's humiliation isn't without humour ("And I passed him on the steps one day / And he was switichin' more than I was") Not exactly an endorsement of same-sex tolerance but probably a realistic account of what goes on in the mind of a woman whose husband is out searching for some rough trade. 

Good on Barbara Mason and her studio cohorts to leave me feeling empathetic though not quite sympathetic to her situation. Even once you've managed to work out what it's about, it isn't quite the record you thought it was.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Nena: "99 Red Balloons"

Speaking of not quite getting the point of a song, a friend once informed me that this record is about condoms but maybe he was just struck by the come hither looks of Nena singer Nena. Either way it's all very 1984: instead of alluding to the AIDS crisis we have the threat of nuclear war. Most seem to prefer the original sung in the group's native German but I've always been partial to the English translation that topped both the British and Canadian charts. In truth, the two act independently of one another in a way that "Sie Liebt Dich" and "La Reina del Baile" could never exist apart from "She Loves You" and "Dancing Queen". Perhaps the less literal, more poetic translation helps. The Germans, for one, would never have confused it for a song about contraception.

Prefab Sprout: "Don't Sing"

19 January 1984

"The time changes and chord sequences remind me of Aztec Camera and this can only mean a) a hit; b) a severe rise in credibility; or c) hopefully both."

— Martyn Ware

Patrick sat at his desk and rubbed his eyes. He was up late, much later than usual. He had been engrossed in tales of clergymen in Central and South America and what they got up to so far from the prying eyes of the Vatican. Some drank, some killed, some had sex — and quite a few did the trifecta. Patrick had never been tempted by such things and his only vice had been a bottle of coca-cola every afternoon. He didn't pity these men of the cloth who had strayed but neither did he envy them: he just wondered how they could have possibly existed in such a state.

But he found himself admiring many of these rogue priests. Yes, these bishops and Monsignors had sinned but a great many refused to benefit themselves financially from their situation nor would they toe the line of the French and Spanish and Portuguese colonial masters they were expected to defer to. Priests served their communities and if a little dodgy moonshine, some blood spilled at the expense invading hordes and the odd bit of rumpo during confessional was the price to pay then so be it.

Patrick never went on to become vicar and likely never harboured a sneaking regard for Catholic clergymen in the new world (save for one). He gave up the priesthood in order to follow his ambitions in the world of pop. Patrick McAloon became Paddy McAloon: his music tastes remained catholic and so, too, did his material.

In a recent exchange on Twitter on how overused and tired the term 'underrated' has become in assessing music, pop critic and Hits alum David Hepworth mentioned that "some people still say Nick Drake is underrated. I think they mean he didn't get in the charts". (I'm not at liberty to provide a link but if you happen to seek it out on your own, please note the not-at-all unhelpful comment below from a certain "underrated" blogger) As fans, we tend to have favourites who we feel have been overlooked, either commercially or critically (if not both), which sort of puts them into an unwinnable scenario: we gripe when they aren't bigger but then we bemoan that they've sold out when they attain some success. 

Prefab Sprout wasn't a group I grew up with, keenly followed over the years and gave a voice to my awkward adolescence. Rather, they were the kind of thing I would dabble in as I entered adulthood. I had always had a thing for British songwriters with less juvenile interests and adult themes: my avowed admiration for Neil Tennant's marvellous observations led on to an interest in the tender, grotesque tales of Paul Heaton and then on to Billy Bragg and Morrissey and Paul Weller and Elvis Costello and Andy Partridge. McAloon's material was the next step but I never had a Prefab Sprout phase to obsess over. I'd give them a listen for a bit, move on and come back to them eventually: never fully immersed but never sick and tired either.

Understanding Prefab Sprout is something a lot of people have to work on over the years. Smash Hits didn't seem to take to them from the off (in a previous review of their debut single "Lions in My Own Garden (Exit Someone)", Dave Rimmer remarks that it "sounds like a speeded up Aztec Camera"; it seems that comparisons of McAloon's talents to ver Camera's Roddy Frame were fairly commonplace during this early stage) with jabs at their silly name dogging them for quite some time. Heaven 17's Martyn Ware is by all accounts a clever chap who does well in his turn in the reviewer's chair but he doesn't offer up much by way of analysis of his chosen SOTF, mentioning passing similarities to The Associates ("but without Billy's wonderful voice", he notes) and, again, Aztec Camera. And I'm no better. Those jangly northern bands could easily be lumped together and it's not a slight on any of them.

Baring in mind that this was just the third single from ver Sprouts (and likely the first to get much in the way of wide distribution outside of the group's Tyneside stronghold), few would have had any idea where "Don't Sing" was coming from, assuming they cared enough to find out. Any concept of understanding Paddy McAloon's genius would have been minuscule at the time. Underrated? Hardly. Within a year many fans and hacks would be singing the praises of this unique little one-off band from Newcastle with acclaim far outstripping sales. Misunderstood? For sure. I, for one, am still misunderstanding their brilliance to this day.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Violent Femmes: "Gone Daddy Gone"

You're seventeen and you still haven't snogged a girl, much less touched her goodies. Your best friend may have done (he never got round to spilling the details but who wants to hear about other people having sex when you're not getting any?) and even if he hasn't there are seemingly streets of girls more than happy to do just that to him and these are the very same birds who don't want to have anything to do with you. His girlfriend isn't your type but you can kinda see what he sees in her and, anyway, you wouldn't say no, would you? You've never had anything to do with (The) Violent Femmes before but they're her favourite band and suddenly he likes them and now they're a part of your life too. You feel like you ought to hate them and you tell him they're all right but you like them an awful lot more than you let on even though they're a group for girls who have boyfriends who'll never be you. But, as I say, she's not your type anyway so what difference does it make?

Eurythmics: "Here Comes the Rain Again"

5 January 1984

"If Eurythmics think they're making a run-of-the-mill record, they don't panic. They simply add the 'squint factor'. It turns an everyday event into a Royal Variety Performance."

— Ian Birch

Let's perform a thought experiment. Annie Lennox and Dave Stewart form the duo Eurythmics from the ashes of their previous group The Tourists in the early eighties. They go on to record the same eight LP's and rack up dozens of hits in the UK but their American chart fortunes dwindle following the chart topping success of their breakthrough "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of These This)" in 1983. Do North American critics and listeners look upon them any differently than they do now?

One-hit wonders are fodder for endless fascination among fans and people who like to compile lists. Though the songs are often fondly remembered, singers and groups that produced them are typically ridiculed for failing to notch a second smash hit single. British acts such as Soft Cell, Dexys Midnight Runners and Madness all have the supposedly dubious distinction of being one and doners (though surely that solitary hit is better than having none at all) in the States but they are now joined by many who may have had more hits at the time but who have been consigned to a de facto one-hit wonderdom by radio and playlists opting for that one single worth remembering. Thus, Eurythmics have effectively become one-hit wonders.

I think I understand what Ian Birch is on about when talks about the 'squint factor'. It reminds me of hearing Miles Davis' renowned album Kind of Blue for the first time during the glorious summer of 1997. I had previously expressed nothing but contempt for jazz but I was curious and decided to give it a go. I was impressed with the modal playing of Davis, Coltrane, Evans and the rest but it struck me as deliberate and too perfect, a far cry from the spirit of impromptu freedom associated with jazz. Then I got to the CD bonus track, an alternate take of album closer "Flamenco Sketches". Commencing with much the same slow moving piano and bass as the original version, I was startled by the shrieking notes played by Davis to kick things off. I braced myself for some more piercing trumpet sounds that I was convinced were coming only to find myself laughing at having keyed myself up for something that failed to materialise. The squint factor, I would gradually figure out even if I never used the term until now, is all over jazz.

But here? My expectations for Eurythmics amount to lyrics that seem deep until a moment's pause for thought reveals very little, the accomplished vocals of a wise Lennox who I don't really care for as a singer and videos starring a pair who seem to be above it all. No squint factor here, I'm afraid. Luckily, the song's all right and was released among a January wasteland of lousy records Ian Birch had to review. The melody is pleasant and Lennox seems to be using a degree of conviction in her reading. It's nothing terribly special and it leaves the unsettling feeling that pop was quickly shifting from teen audiences on meager allowances to more well-to-do middle-age types with disposable incomes. If only Eurythmics had been a few years younger: there's a thought experiment for you.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Wang Chung: "Dance Hall Days"

Another de facto one-hit wonder, "Dance Hall Days" made the charts in North America but it soon became overshadowed by the iconic "Everybody Have Fun Tonight" (which failed to do anything in Britain, making them a true OHW in their homeland). In this case, it must be said that the public were right to forget all about the Chungs first hit. Did these dance halls they speak of feature similarly boring tunes? The one saving grace may be found in having fun rhyming different body parts. How about "take your baby by the tooth / you can get down, that's the truth"? Or "take your baby by the hip / take a trip and spare the whip"? Or "take your baby by the tongue / it ain't time for some Wang Chung"? (I'm keeping ones about rude body parts to myself, thank you very much) 

Adam Ant: "Strip"

8 December 1983

"Strange to relate, I rather enjoyed this one. Phil Collins does a nice production job with a jerky beat and minimal strings while Mr Ant sings the praises of taking one's clothes off. In fact, he positively encourages the practice."

— Dave Rimmer

I didn't make a lot of rules for myself when I was in the midst of getting this blog started about fifteen months ago but one that I have really tried to stick to is to never dismiss a song because I reckon it to be "dated". As I believe I've already mentioned, saying music hasn't aged well is usually impossible to prove, serves little purpose and is kind of a cop out argument. Okay, so an eighties record has fairlight synths and a LinnDrum machine on it and thereby it's dated — except for when it isn't. More importantly, I often find it's a point I make when I have absolutely nothing else to contribute in terms of criticism.

I'm going to toe ever-so close to breaking this rule of mine here, however, with my claim that you had to be there to appreciate Adam Ant. I'm sure that his fans in the early eighties still love his music to this day but I'm equally confident that they struggle mightily with passing this appreciation on to their children or other impressionable youths. I'm fairly confident that had I been born (a) ten years earlier and (b) in Britain I would have been a committed Antmaniac or, failing that, I would have at least understood just what everyone else saw in them. But I was born (a) in 1977 and (b) in Canada (where "Goody Two Shoes" was a Top 5 hit in the early part of 1983 but I was too busy prancing around our basement family room to the sounds of Sesame Street Disco to pay any attention to the charts) so his appeal goes right over my head. His hit singles aren't particularly exciting (some are downright boring), he isn't a great vocalist and I'm not sure I even find him an especially fetching frontman. (Although many a YouTube comment would indicate otherwise, is comparing the singer's swagger to Johnny Depp's Jack Sparrow really even much of a compliment anymore?)

So, his records don't do much for me but that doesn't mean I don't hold our Adam in some esteem. His abrupt decision to turn his punk S&M Ants into a shameless cosplay pop outfit alone deserves praise from those of us who rolls their eyes at the mention of self-righteous complaints of indie folk who've "sold out". Here, he's all about flaunting seasonal conventions. Last week, we encountered Paul Young's ode to the virtues of poverty "Love of the Common People". Joining him were the likes of The Flying Pickets ("a pretty song", as Jools Holland describes it), The Thompson Twins ("a big hit": it probably didn't hurt that ver Hits chose to have it reviewed in two consecutive issues), Slade ("no hint of the old Slade") and ABBA with the  annoyingly self-congratulatory "Thank You for the Music". A fortnight forward and Dave Rimmer was tasked with sifting through slush from UB40 ("crisp but quiet"), Rod Stewart ("a typically dippy love song") and bouncy yet plodding hack work from Billy Joel. Yes, the race for the Christmas Number One was on and smooch-tastic weepies and/or slick pop-rock looked to be the best bets for the coveted spot.

Bless him, Adam Ant chose a different direction for his take on a holiday favourite. While the post-punk snotty attitude had largely been drained from his sound by this point — no doubt aided by having the in-demand Phil Collins doing production/session work as well as a guest backing vocal from ABBA's Anni-Frid Lyngstad — Ant couldn't help but be a giant perv, a quality he couldn't quite shake despite long ditching the fetish gear. That his nibs would've enjoyed a fair amount of rumpo with ver ladies is something he hardly kept secret in his videos but this one takes it one step further. While he and his belle never quite get round to removing all their clothes (had this vid been made a decade later we might well have been "treated" to a buttock or even a deft VCR-paused areola sunrise) all indications are it won't be long they're starkers. Not exactly what the public had in mind for an Antxmas and good on him for doing so. But while the lyrics and visuals are suggestive, the record itself isn't up to much and nowhere close to as sexy as he must've been hoping.

Having recently been a teen idol, Ant's fans had by now departed for Duran Duran and Spandau Ballet and Wham! and weren't going to have anything to do with "Strip". Slightly older listeners may have stayed out of loyalty but clearly not enough as it only managed the Christmas Number Forty-One spot. The Dandy Highwayman's days as a top flight pop prince were done but at least his streak ended with a flourish of activity, gunning for something which he couldn't quite pull off. And it's not like it was ever all that good so it's not like it's aged badly or anything.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Dislocation Dance: "Show Me"

Rimmer's not overly impressed and I'm sure this was a none-too-special record back in the heyday of tidy eighties indie pop but it's a blinding banger to these ears in 2019. (I never said I may not describe a single as having 'aged well' did I?) Those Chic-esque chugging guitars were by this point more of a hallmark of the Rough Trade sound than their disco/funk roots and it wasn't as if having an angsty female vocalist was especially novel by this time. Still, "Show Me" is catchy and engaging and a welcome reminder that future James member Andy Diagram is a don of pop trumpet playing. There aren't a whole lot of other pop trumpet masters out there but I'm sure they go the jazz and/or classical routes because they know they'll never measure up.