Billy Idol: "Eyes Without a Face"

7 June 1984

"Although he doesn't have a great voice and the words are utter drivel, somehow he sounds affectingly sincere."

— Neil Tennant

So, we've come to a key SOTF, one I had not relished writing about. Not because I dislike the "artist" in question — even though I am by no means a fan — but because he doesn't inspire much in me and, crucially, I am going to have to deal with him again. And again. And again. Where other groups and singers I have covered or will cover on multiple occasions have given me confidence that there's enough material there for several entries, I feel at a loss for words when it comes to Billy Idol. Prior to getting this blog going — as a matter of fact, before I'd even cooked up the idea for this blog — I compiled a list of SOTF and, apart from the odd omission of a prominent act here and there, the biggest surprise I had was discovering just how much the Hits critics liked them some Billy.

Four entries on Billy Idol will be coming your way in the months and years ahead, approximately four more than I would have anticipated. Had there been just the one, I would have shovelled out some nonsense about being a punk who could never move on and, thus, made the biggest move possible by relocating from London to New York, where his naff commitment to such a passe genre and lifestyle would mark him out as "authentic", admired by Americans for never selling out. A second single and I would have been reduced to one of those annoyingly contrary pieces about how he "actually was the biggest sell out of all by remaining tied to his punk roots" or some other supposedly clever bit of analysis. A third would have had me begging the Smash Hits staff to stop torturing me. But it's four and — assuming I don't pack it in by the time we get to July, 2022 — I have to spread the very little I have to say about the former William Broad out as lightly as possible.

All this Idol did give me one idea that I toyed with over the last few days which I promptly abandoned this morning. Instead of critique, how about I compose a series of short stories based very loosely around his life and songs. It would allow me the freedom to take such a ridiculous pop star and put him into some ridiculous situations. Here is a brief synopsis for each of the Just Billiam stories:

Part 1: Billiam Proves Them Wrong
A charming English good-for-nothing has been described by audiences and critics as "naff" once too often and he decides to show 'em by writing and recording a song that expresses his feelings, though he quickly comes to realise that he has no idea how to go about doing so. Then he meets Maxine who he quickly falls for but she's turned off by his shallowness. Can he prove her wrong too?

Part 2: Billiam Gets Another Chance
Billiam's songs never quite hit the mark right away but they all find a way of eventually catching on. Meanwhile, Billiam's love life is similarly beset by disastrous first encounters that he winds up turning around into wild, passionate affairs. Then he meets Layla who seems immune to all of his tricks and is reluctant to give him that second chance he thrives on. Can he turn yet another flop into a huge hit?

Part 3: Billiam Woos America
Americans love Billiam. They're buying his records en masse, clamouring to see him in concert and wallpapering their bedrooms with posters of him. Then he meets Deborah who has recently emigrated to the US from Britain and is very much like the pop music fans of their shared homeland: very reluctant to take to him, unable to take him seriously and only able to handle him in very small doses. Can he woo her like he did an entire nation?

Part 4: Billiam Begins to Falter
Billiam is aware that the world around him is changing and so, too, is the music scene. He is starting to drift creatively and so he decides to record a cover version of a beloved song from his youth to get his juices flowing. Then he meets Nancy, a real LA woman if there ever was one and a veteran rock groupie who is now trying to settle down. Can he make his mark on a pair of classics before it's too late?

So, that's what you would have had in store but perhaps they're best left here, an idea set aside so that I may try to be a proper critic. But not today: probably next week and the week after and so on and maybe even next April when we're due to come encounter him again. I promise to get my critical chops going. Either that or I'll churn out the short story Billiam Gets Another Chance.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Frankie Goes to Hollywood: "Two Tribes"

Part 5: Billiam Say Relax
A new sensation has hit the charts but they're far removed from the punk ethos that drives Billiam and he is unimpressed with these lads flaunting themselves. Then he meets Joanne who has had her life changed by this groundbreaking quintet. She is convinced they are the next wave of political and sexual liberation and their ecstatic disco pop isn't so far off from Billiam's beloved punk rock. Can he develop an appreciation for this radical outfit so that he might score?

The Incredible T*H* Scratchers starring Freddy Love: "Hip-Hop-Bommi-Bop"

24 May 1984

"Alas, possibly distracted by the cheap and nasty Bommerlunder alcohol, Dusseldorf's punkiest don't take this even remotely seriously and said Fred returns to New York in despair."

— Ian Cranna

I teach at a university here in South Korea that was once notable for having members of a successful K-pop group on scholarship. (I wouldn't quite go so far as to call them 'students' given that they were seldom seen on campus apart from the school festival every autumn they were required to perform at) They were popular with the student body but the foreign teaching staff didn't think too much of them, especially after member Lee Gi-kwang appeared on a Korean TV comedy program in blackface and a curly wig, chomping on a big piece of watermelon. Little was said at the time — although it would later be cited as an example of racism tarnishing K-pop — and I am not aware of him ever apologising for it but I was always hoping he'd eventually get what was coming to him. (Of course he never did but they would all eventually have their degrees revoked for never having done any actual school work so maybe there's something to that karma thing after all)

I bring up this anecdote so as to introduce the one foul element to "Hip-Hop-Bommi-Bop": its video. With the members of Die Toten Hosen blackening up as cannibalistic natives about to devour Freddy Love, I'll grudgingly admit that it probably does visually communicate the song's fish-out-of-water status even if they could have done so in far less offensive fashion. (They doubled down for live appearances with similar Jolson-like visages though free of the primitives-cooking-round-a-giant-steaming-pot narrative) Now, of course, it may not have caused an outcry in mid-eighties West Germany and the Totes may not have known they what they were doing (ignorance being a common excuse for racism though it must be said that it's hard to imagine how crude stereotypes and vulgar imagery couldn't be taken the "wrong" way). For what it's worth, the African-American Fab 5 Freddy doesn't appear bothered by the actions of his collaborators even if it's safe to assume that he would have preferred they remain as Ayran as ever.

So, don't bother with the video and just take in the music which is absolutely brilliant. Die Toten Hosen were a bunch of snotty punks from Düsseldorf who'd recently had a hit with the German drinking song "Eisgekühlter Bommerlunder", which starts off like all good (and, to be sure, plenty of bad) folksy, sea shanties before quickly morphing into an absurd racket of a helium-voiced "singer" repeating the chorus at a faster and faster pace. It proved popular with their cult following in Germany but perhaps they correctly deduced that its appeal would go over the heads of audiences not of the Teutonic persuasion. They then went about drafting in a heavy hitter on the New York hip hop scene and made a virtue out of foreigners not getting the whole Toten Hosen shtick — and perhaps this is why it succeeds at transcending novelty pop since I am forced to enjoy this in spite of the gags that mean nothing to me.

Bearing no resemblance to the original recording its based on, Fab 5 Freddy (aka Freddy Love here, since the Totes decided to rechristen themselves 'The Incredible T*H* Scratchers' their guest star might as well take on a pseudonym of his own) is all over this, adding a professionalism that these misfit German punks didn't have. There's a structure and a tune present that previously failed to appear, all the while retaining the "Eisgekühlter..." charm. Freddy, though, is from the old school and there's plenty of D.I.Y. hip hop amateurism that meshes well with his blackface chums. His was the kind of rap that one can easily picture youths in Harlem doing to impress their buddies: the rhymes are often simplistic and telegraphed, the meter oh so predictable but it feels improvised and charged with the zest of someone who could lay down verse after verse like a modern day jazz cutter. It's difficult to say just what Campino and Andi and the rest are contributing here, though, as Ian Cranna points out, that guitar is perfect, crunchy and simplistic like all good punk rock but with touches of Chic-like funk jangle. The percussion may well be their doing too but it could just as easily be programmed. Maybe the Toten Hosen quartet were there simply for some rock 'n' roll spirit, useless bandmembers being essential to punk and rap alike.

It's hard to say if this had much of an influence on the future of rap rock and, in particular, Run DMC's celebrated cover of Aerosmith's "Walk This Way" since (a) "Hip-Hop-Bommi-Bop" remained a curio that doesn't appear to have made much of an impact over in the US and (b) Run, DMC and the other one already had this cross-genre merging in mind. It's actually rather fascinating to picture how it might have turned out had they waited a few years to record and release "Hip-Hop-Bommi-Bop". In keeping with the original's mandate to repeat the "Eisgekühlter Bommerlunder" refrain as quickly as possible, it would have worked well with one of those rapid-fire choppers like Busta Rhymes or Twista that were a pretty big deal in the early nineties. More importantly, they may have also ditched the blackface nonsense in favour of having the members of Die Toten Hosen act like the toughest bunch of white homeboys imaginable. Blackface might be offensive and unfunny but the whitest people on Earth acting as if they're black? It's never not funny.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Bronski Beat: "Smalltown Boy"

One of the most charming aspects of eighties pop is the tendency of acts to disguise issues for the purposes of mass consumption. Kids could hear the superb "Smalltown Boy" and not clue in to just what Jimmy Sommerville was on about and then, if they were anything like me, not have a problem with homosexuality when eventually confronted with it. Thus, a song about alienated and unwanted gay youth could be about alienated and unwanted youth. None of this should diminish the song's standing as a vital gay-rights anthem, I just wish to point out that I'm fond of being able to relate to something that doesn't have my life in mind. Either way, "Smalltown Boy" is ace and a great introduction to Sommerville's powerfully alienated falsetto — and something he never really topped.

David Sylvian: "Red Guitar"

10 May 1984

"The first result of all that beavering away in the studio with musicians from all over the shop that David Sylvian's been up to for the last several months, and one that suggests he's been spending his time well."

— Dave Rimmer

A big part of what I'm trying to do with this blog is to grow to appreciate each Single of the Fortnight or, failing that, to understand why the reviewer picked a record I don't really rate. This wasn't something I had in mind when I first got this up and running sixteen months ago but it wouldn't be long before I had to confront it: Charlie Gillett's co-SOTF of Jon & Vangelis' "State of Independence" and The Birthday Party's "Release the Bats" was the first time I found myself with no interest at all in the critic's pick, yet I managed to sufficiently apologise for it as the only numbers — with the obvious exception of that week's cop pick — I could see opting for. At least him from Yes and the "Chariots of Fire" guy were looking towards a yuppified eighties progressive rock; and that other fellow (the one who would one day be Nick Cave from Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds), he was busy morphing punk, glam and murder ballads into what would soon be dubbed 'goth rock'. I may not have liked them but I understood what they were trying to get at.

Not so much here, however. Drafting in an impressive roster of sessioners — former members of Japan, current collaborator Ryuichi Sakamoto, Can's Holger Czukay, folk bassist Danny Thompson, a string of accomplished jazz cats — David Sylvian seemed to have something big in store for his first solo album, perhaps even an eighties equivalent of Astral Weeks. Now, I never got round to listening to the rest of the Brilliant Trees LP that resulted so well done, David, for crafting a possibly stupendous masterpiece of art rock; judging by the lead-off single, however, it may well be boring, difficult to connect with and rather pointless (though it could be one of those ones that holds together well in spite of the duffness of every single track). Quite what Sylvian was aspiring to with "Red Guitar" is uncertain: is this a serious statement of the world's crumbling societies, like "Invisible Sun" by The Police? A song of loneliness and despair? Just an idle boast about red guitars? Who knows and the material doesn't intrigue me enough to bother trying to figure it out. (Dave Rimmer admits to not understanding it and he likes the bloody thing!)

Though contemporaneous with the new romantics and new pop, David Sylvian and his former bandmates Japan took pains to point out that they had nothing to do with chancers like the Spandau Ballet and Duran Duran and the like. Others, they claimed, dressed up to play the part but they were the real deal. (Such is a level of earnestness I've never been comfortable with in pop music, especially coming out of Britain where they really ought to know better) Simon Le Bon and the Kemp brothers and Boy George cared what we thought but Sylvian didn't. He doesn't care that "Red Guitar" means nothing to me and probably didn't care that Rimmer thought it so brilliant. And, with that, maybe I do understand, even if I don't care to admit it.
 
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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Sade: "When Am I Going to Make a Living"

Rimmer's SOTF runner-up is probably the best of the bunch on offer (sorry Wham!, while I don't agree with his nibs that "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" is third-rate Shakin' Stevens, it's not a particularly good record, even if if made George Michael a force all over the world). An anti-Thatcherite record that really matters — it deals with real people's struggles rather than just looking to poke fun at the Iron Lady — this is a helpful reminder that virtually everyone longed to be upwardly mobile in the eighties, just very few knew how to go about it. ("We're hungry for a life we can't afford": does any single lyric capture eighties angst better?) Sade's work always had far more depth than the yuppie dinner parties she would soon soundtrack but that was a world she longed to be part of. A tremendous talent was blossoming but one mostly for those damn upwardly mobile.

Cocteau Twins: "Pearly-Dewdrops' Drops"

26 April 1984

"The Cocteau Twins are a band I've never really listened to and I feel that maybe I've missed out on something."

— Dave Gahan

The majority of Singles of the Fortnight are chosen because of the songs. (I know, a stunning bit of insight to kick off this week's entry) This one isn't one of them. As Dave Gahan says, Cocteau Twins are fairly new to him and the little that he offers up in analysis amounts to praise for Elizabeth Fraser's voice, something he could have just as easily used to prop up any Twins record, be it "Sugar Hiccup" from a few months earlier or "Aikea-Guinea" a year later (though, amazingly, not the astonishing "Lorelei" — the dead cert number twenty-one hit that they never had — since it was never released on a single or an E.P., their preferred format at the time).

Gahan's ignorance of ver Twins brings to mind the thrill of being there to experience a fresh new act. Long before I gave myself to Louis Armstrong, The Modern Jazz Quartet, Miles Davis, The Beach Boys, Fairport Convention, Steely Dan, Roxy Music and Blondie, I was once a moody adolescent having his world changed to the sounds of Pet Shop Boys, The Beautiful South, Happy Mondays, The Wonder Stuff, Billy Bragg and, yes, Morrissey. Much fun as it is to discover that Satchmo did something as mind blowing as "Beau Koo Jack" over ninety years ago, there's nothing quite like stumbling upon something completely new that very few people have heard before that sounds like nothing ever made before.

Fraser's voice is, of course, the main attraction and the the primary reason why Cocteau Twins sounded so fresh. Elastic like Kate Bush, soothing like Joni Mitchell, deadened like many of her forerunners coming out of post-punk, she still manages to sound like none of them only like herself. No one has ever managed to make a virtue out of sounding so completely incomprehensible, which is just as well given that her lyrics seem to defy all meaning. (I was surprised to discover that the chorus isn't made up of the line "tease a lucky, lucky penny, penny, penny bicycle..." though less so that the actual words make every bit as much sense)

Fresh is something we feel in pop rather than something we are able to rationally account for. Their ingenious fusing of  industrial music and dream pop had to come from somewhere for Fraser, Robin Guthrie and Simon Raymonde to cotton on to it. A fairly recent addition to the band, Raymonde's superlative bass playing is something straight out of Peter Hook's bag of tricks and they owe more than a little to the Joy Division sound in general. Still, I'll take a dozen or so Cocteau Twins records of the time over anything those miserable Mancuians ever did and that's because the indie Scots were able to inject some sparkly magic into all of their best work. You may be completely original or utterly derivative but if you can't make your records shine than what's the bloody point of putting them on? How else will you get the Dave Gahan's of the world to sit up and take notice?

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Human League: "The Lebanon"

Some unabashedly rawk guitar, the situation in the Middle East, Philip Oakey's stubble, Joanne Catherall's shoulder-pads: yes, The Human League were becoming very serious indeed. Having taken their beautifully crafted and wildly successful synth-pop sound one step too far with the irritating "(Keep Feeling) Fascination", it was probably about time they gave it a rethink. The results probably ought to be laughably bad but they pull it off by reigning in all the grown up elements into the pure pop that they still had a grasp of. It's no "Love Action" or "Don't You Want Me" but a track that still sits proudly alongside the League's admirable collection of singles — and an indication that they were well aware of just how political the charts were becoming.