— Linda Duff
We're three or four years earlier than I thought we'd be but this week's Single of the Fortnight marks the maiden appearance of Mike Stock, Matt Aitken and Pete Waterman on production. They will soon become the dominant force in late-eighties British pop but by this time they're still finding their feet: they're not yet focusing on the songwriting side of their work, they're nowhere close to developing the formula that would take them to the top (and, in time, help prove their undoing) and they don't appear yet to be grooming talent for their stable. No office tea boys, no Australian soap stars, no flop-ridden boy bands, no faded disco starlets, no sassy pairs of sisters, just an obese middle-aged drag queen with a voice that made Leonard Cohen's sound silky smooth.
Some kinks to be ironed out for SAW then? Commercially perhaps — even if "You Think You're a Man" found its way into the top twenty, no mean feat for an untested production team paired with a cult figure from the gay scene — but creatively it's a triumph. The backing is indeed "outrageously catchy" as Linda Duff reckons with a sound straight out of the New York clubs but with pop hooks and gentle New Order-esque synth flourishes to follow the chorus. It's really the record that managed to escape the confines of the discotheques which is how Divine would have wanted it — he had, after-all, been keen to break away from the counterculture straight jacket himself.
Glenn Milstead was no one's idea of a star but that wasn't about to stop him. His alter ego Divine proved a smash in cult circles but was one that could never establish itself in the mainstream. Working on "trashy" films with John Waters, he eventually moved towards Hi-NRG disco-pop that was similarly enjoyed by a loyal following but ignored by the masses. Having already had a pair of near miss singles in the UK, perhaps he was primed for the big one. No wonder he gives such a monstrous performance.
Which brings us to that voice. Listening to it I am always blown away by the sheer roughness of it. (I'll sometimes sing it to myself in a manner as gravelly as possible only to come up short in comparison when I put it on) Even Duff's Eartha Kitt meets Gary Glitter description doesn't really do it justice but I'm lost on trying to better it. Quite simply, Divine roars out some spiteful invective in the direction of an ex-lover which luxuriates in the lousiness of the vocal. Someone with a real singing voice could make something of it — say, Cher or Pat Benatar or, indeed, Eartha Kitt — but no one could make it so camp and so hilarious and so intimidating and so joyous all at once. Could anyone have been man enough to have satisfied Divine?
A note on this issue's singles reviewer. Linda Duff was a mainstay of Smash Hits — as well as its American cousin Star Hits — for a number of years focusing on the Get Smart column. As Brian McCloskey has said, she was the internet before there was the internet. Whenever readers had a question concerning their favourite pop stars — if, say, they had gone down the dumper or if there was some bizzare rumour going round — she'd be the one to set everyone straight. This was to be her only shot at reviewing the singles. Divine is no longer with us and neither is Linda Duff: a pair of one off's you just don't see anymore.
~~~~~
Also Reviewed This Fortnight
Neil: "Hole in My Shoe"
More of an outright comedy record than Divine's but nowhere close to as funny, this is a faithful rendition of Traffic's psychedelic sixties hit courtesy of Neil from eighties sitcom favourite The Young Ones. When you have lyrics about bubblegum trees and dew on the grass that's stuck to your coat the satire sort of writes itself so our Neil (aka Nigel Planer) has an easy job. I suppose it must have been funny at the time — like The Young Ones itself — but those days are long gone. Then again, the original wasn't much cop so what hope did this remake have? Sorry, Neil, but I suspect a glowing critique wouldn't have done much to lift your spirits anyway, would it?
We're three or four years earlier than I thought we'd be but this week's Single of the Fortnight marks the maiden appearance of Mike Stock, Matt Aitken and Pete Waterman on production. They will soon become the dominant force in late-eighties British pop but by this time they're still finding their feet: they're not yet focusing on the songwriting side of their work, they're nowhere close to developing the formula that would take them to the top (and, in time, help prove their undoing) and they don't appear yet to be grooming talent for their stable. No office tea boys, no Australian soap stars, no flop-ridden boy bands, no faded disco starlets, no sassy pairs of sisters, just an obese middle-aged drag queen with a voice that made Leonard Cohen's sound silky smooth.
Some kinks to be ironed out for SAW then? Commercially perhaps — even if "You Think You're a Man" found its way into the top twenty, no mean feat for an untested production team paired with a cult figure from the gay scene — but creatively it's a triumph. The backing is indeed "outrageously catchy" as Linda Duff reckons with a sound straight out of the New York clubs but with pop hooks and gentle New Order-esque synth flourishes to follow the chorus. It's really the record that managed to escape the confines of the discotheques which is how Divine would have wanted it — he had, after-all, been keen to break away from the counterculture straight jacket himself.
Glenn Milstead was no one's idea of a star but that wasn't about to stop him. His alter ego Divine proved a smash in cult circles but was one that could never establish itself in the mainstream. Working on "trashy" films with John Waters, he eventually moved towards Hi-NRG disco-pop that was similarly enjoyed by a loyal following but ignored by the masses. Having already had a pair of near miss singles in the UK, perhaps he was primed for the big one. No wonder he gives such a monstrous performance.
Which brings us to that voice. Listening to it I am always blown away by the sheer roughness of it. (I'll sometimes sing it to myself in a manner as gravelly as possible only to come up short in comparison when I put it on) Even Duff's Eartha Kitt meets Gary Glitter description doesn't really do it justice but I'm lost on trying to better it. Quite simply, Divine roars out some spiteful invective in the direction of an ex-lover which luxuriates in the lousiness of the vocal. Someone with a real singing voice could make something of it — say, Cher or Pat Benatar or, indeed, Eartha Kitt — but no one could make it so camp and so hilarious and so intimidating and so joyous all at once. Could anyone have been man enough to have satisfied Divine?
A note on this issue's singles reviewer. Linda Duff was a mainstay of Smash Hits — as well as its American cousin Star Hits — for a number of years focusing on the Get Smart column. As Brian McCloskey has said, she was the internet before there was the internet. Whenever readers had a question concerning their favourite pop stars — if, say, they had gone down the dumper or if there was some bizzare rumour going round — she'd be the one to set everyone straight. This was to be her only shot at reviewing the singles. Divine is no longer with us and neither is Linda Duff: a pair of one off's you just don't see anymore.
~~~~~
Also Reviewed This Fortnight
Neil: "Hole in My Shoe"
More of an outright comedy record than Divine's but nowhere close to as funny, this is a faithful rendition of Traffic's psychedelic sixties hit courtesy of Neil from eighties sitcom favourite The Young Ones. When you have lyrics about bubblegum trees and dew on the grass that's stuck to your coat the satire sort of writes itself so our Neil (aka Nigel Planer) has an easy job. I suppose it must have been funny at the time — like The Young Ones itself — but those days are long gone. Then again, the original wasn't much cop so what hope did this remake have? Sorry, Neil, but I suspect a glowing critique wouldn't have done much to lift your spirits anyway, would it?
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