The Icicle Works: "Hollow Horse"

11 October 1984

"I was praying this wasn't going to be a disappointment — and it's not."
— Mike Read

Guesting in the reviewer's chair this fortnight is Radio 1 deejay Mike Read. The same Mike Read who abruptly yanked Frankie's "Relax" from the airwaves, deeming it obscene. The same Mike Read who has long supported the Conservatives (though, in fairness, he's hardly alone among radio presenters in that regard) and, more recently, UKIP. The same Mike Read who played tennis with Cliff Richard — and who, probably, let him win. Looks like we're in for a winner of a SOTF then.

This is also the same Mike Read, however, who championed The Icicle Works to no end so at least we've been spared a rum MOR pick. (Fellow straight-laced, Tory-approving DJ Bruno Brookes would later be a backer of acid house rave anthem "Stakker Humanoid" by Humanoid, proving that even the most vanilla of individuals may have out there tastes) On the other hand, "Hollow Horse" isn't quite as brilliant as their most famous fan would have you believe.

Coming out of the thriving post-punk Merseyside scene, The Icicle Works always seemed to belong to the second division of bands. They never enjoyed the devoted following of Echo & The Bunnymen nor did they have a charismatic frontman the way Julian Cope led The Teardrop Explodes. Beyond the two most obvious comparables, they weren't able to bottle current pop into something original like Orchestral Maneuvres in the Dark nor did they ever manipulate press — as well as one Mike Read — the way Frankie Goes to Hollywood did. (Though, to be fair, it's doubtful they were aiming for either of these but for certain they lacked much to go over the top) They had just one UK top twenty hit with "Love Is a Wonderful Colour" — which nonetheless proved insufficient to Read who felt they were denied their rightful place in the top ten — along with another ("Birds Fly (A Whisper to a Scream)") which did well in North America. A good, respectable band with a decent level of success but nothing for the Liver birds to shriek over either.

This generation of Liverpool acts were well known for their disregard and even hostility towards The Beatles. Some did so by going the synth-pop or goth routes but the more melodic guitar bands of the time were left in search of other areas. Oddly, the sixties probably mattered even more here than in other parts of Britain that weren't so desperate to ignore the Fab Four. Arthur Lee, leader of California flower power doomsayers Love, was a major influence but with "Hollow Horse" at least the real shadow is cast by The Byrds. Being one of the finest guitarists of his generation, Ian McNabb ably pulls out a pair of striking solos that could have come straight out of Roger McGuinn's remarkable playing on "Eight Miles High" and, indeed, the whole song is based on some aggressive but unmistakable 12-string picking from "Mr. Tambourine Man" and "Turn! Turn! Turn!". While they're a tight trio and the playing all around is sturdy, there's not much here without McNabb's parts.

Which perhaps goes some way to explaining just what Mike Read saw in them. With other Mersey acts still keeping a foot in new wave values (Julian Cope was always the unholy marriage of Lee and Iggy Pop), The Icicle Works did nothing to hide their debt to the sixties, even if the big drums are as eighties as anyone could ever wish to be. Thirtysomething, Tory-supporting Radio 1 hosts had in them an act that could dish up fanciful songs with some blistering guitar solos that brought back those wistful days of plugging away on Radio Caroline or Radio Luxembourg, long before pop went down the crapper. 

Despite this, as well as the doubtless numerous plays Read gave it in the days and weeks ahead, "Hollow Horse" barely dented the the bottom of the top one hundred. Clearly listeners weren't quite ready for the sixties to be back, although it wouldn't be long. Meanwhile, yet another talented Liverpudlian was slowly getting his act together. Ian Broudie took a while to emerge but perhaps he was simply biding his time while Merseyside began to love The Beatles again.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Julian Lennon: "Too Late for Goodbyes"

1) No, it doesn't matter whether he sounds like his dad or not. 2) It ought to be a much better record: Julian Lennon has a great voice and there's a lovely melody but the lyrics are in desperate need of a re-write and there really should be a middle-eight to keep boredom at bay. 3) It's way faster than I remember it being and the faux-reggae doesn't work at all. 4) A proper collaborator — not simply a superstar producer — could have made this into an outstanding debut. 5) No, it should never have mattered whether he was as successful as his dad or not. (Good that Mike Read and I agree on a couple things here; I wonder if he's up for a tennis match?)

Culture Club: "The War Song"

27 September 1984

"Whether I'll feel quite the same when everyone from the neighbour's budgie to the weird bloke downstairs is whistling it too is another matter, of course."

— Vici MacDonald

On the last Sunday of November, 1984, about forty mostly British and Irish pop stars gathered at a recording studio in Notting Hill, London to hastily record a single for the Christmas market to benefit victims of the appalling famine in Ethiopia. Band Aid was to be a coming together of UK music royalty and seemingly everyone on it was at peak popularity and worldwide fame. The resultant "Do They Know It's Christmas?" was an instant success, triumphing in one of the most hotly contested seasonal number one showdowns ever. The holiday having already come and gone, it nevertheless topped the charts in Canada for the first two weeks of January '85. Though I liked the record (and still do to this day in spite of the many legit criticisms leveled against it), the real delight was the video. I was just seven but I could already identify plenty of the central figures involved. Well, vaguely recognize at least. I probably knew Sting and Phil Collins and was aware of the lead singers of Duran Duran and Wham! Okay, that's almost all of 'em but I did begin spotting others when I would see the video every year from that point on. (Oddly, the individual I took longest to pick out was a thin and sullen Paul Weller, by far my favourite of the lot) But there was one more figure who I definitely would have known right away: Boy George, probably the most recognizable pop star in the world.

But it seems this wasn't the same Boy George. His brief solo vocal on "Do They Know It's Christmas?" — "and in our world of plenty, we can spread a smile of joy / throw your arms around the world at Christmas time" — comes nearly two months after the release of "The War Song", a chronological fact that I've been having difficulty squaring over the last several days. Band Aid was, as I already stated above, a convergence of everyone who was anyone (and Marilyn) in the British music scene, not a bunch of also-ran's and has been's (especially Marilyn) headed for the dumper. For that's what "The War Song" did to Culture Club's momentum.

Or perhaps not. Though disinterested in the "trite" lyrics, the tune is catchy enough to warrant a SOTF from Vici MacDonald and, not being simply a critical favourite, it quickly shot to number two on the charts, just missing out on the top spot by Stevie Wonder's monster syrup-fest "I Just Called to Say I Love You" (in what was, I must say, a pretty loaded top ten). While it did fade away almost as quickly, spending just two more weeks in the charts' top quadrant, it was hardly the career-stalling disaster that plagued ABC two years earlier with their brave reinvention "That Was Then but This Is Now". "The War Song" proved yet another hit single in several other countries and likely the last Club single to be familiar enough with the public that many a neighbour's budgie or weird bloke downstairs may have hummed along with it.

Yet the bloom was off and though the single sold it has been described by Boy George as the song that "ruined" his career. Reappraisal has led to it being described as naff which is apt considering the chorus. I've always suspected, however, that they probably knew it was ludicrous as well, which doesn't suddenly make it a brilliant record but does help explain their intent. Consciously singing about how "war, war is stupid / and people are stupid" and knowing the banality behind it gives Boy and Jon Moss and the other two an excuse but thinking that they had something profound to say with these words just makes it all seem pathetic — and I like to think that we're still a ways away from Boy George sinking that low.

How do I know? Well, I don't really. But common sense tells me that if I was able to gauge the lame juvenailia of my teenage poetry with some accuracy — at least some of the time —then a quartet of towering pop stars must have at least a similar filer. More importantly, I reckon that "The War Song" is a response to the group that had stolen most of their thunder over the previous year and one who also wasn't shy about exposing blunt but basic sentiments to the masses. Frankie Goes to Hollywood first hit the charts with the sexually explicit "Relax" and followed that up with taking a shot at the arms race in "Two Tribes". Both were absolutely massive singles in the UK and may have made groups like Culture Club look passe. Probably not keen on getting into raunchiness — Boy George having said famously that he wasn't "really all that keen on sex" — it fell to Reagan and Chernenko and the threat of nuclear war as a topic for Boy George to grapple with. Though the record itself is superb, the lyrics in "Two Tribes" are hardly loaded with high level ideas. Holly Johnson's delivery of "when two tribes go to war" is powerful but it reads poorly, particularly followed by "a point is all that you can score". So, war is like sport, huh? Wow, I guess all those field marshals and generals in the First World War were correct and good on Frankie to restate some seventy-year-old sentiments. 

The point is not to bash "Two Tribes", just to put "The War Song" in context. Boy George was a vastly superior lyricist to Johnson or Mark O'Toole (or Nasher or whoever handled works for Frankie) and this trite simplicity was a low hanging fruit that he should have avoided. But when you go from tabloid stars and teen idols to being asked to sing on the Band Aid single, you might feel like you've been neutered. Of course that brings us right back to the whole thing about my screwed up chronology and that, ultimately, this record really didn't kill off their careers or any of that nonsense. It was a misstep that they could have corrected going forward but they chose not to. Just be more like Frankie Goes to Hollywood and you'll never screw things up.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Prince & The Revolution: "Purple Rain"

MacDonald admits that she's "unconvinced" by the latest from the Purple Perv and I'm right with her (although it is possible she became convinced at some point over the last thirty-five years). Having always liked everything about Prince except for the bulk of his music, "Purple Rain" is especially troublesome for us few skeptics out there. Where "1999" and "When Does Cry" and "Raspberry Beret" usually sound better in my head (and, thus, give me the false impression that they're better than they are), this, the title track from his breakthrough '84 album, is as underwhelming and over-long in my imagination as it is in reality. What does everyone else on Earth see in it? Okay, it's heartfelt but it's not quite poignant and the dull faces on the concert goers in the video says it all (not to mention an awfully awkward peck on the cheek he gives to an annoyed-looking Wendy Melvoin). I guess it must work as an album closer and it's better than virtually every other single on offer here but, as classics go, not up to much.

David Lasley: "Where Does That Boy Hang Out"

13 September 1984

"I could listen to it for hours on end. Buy it now and it'll keep you warm all winter."

— Dave Rimmer

"Session Man" is a deep cut off The Kinks' 1966 near-masterpiece Face to Face. It is, in fact, the song that prevents it from failing to measure up to the standards of the year's truly outstanding albums Revolver and Aftermath and Pet Sounds — and, indeed, follow-up Kink LP's Something Else and The Kinks Are the Village Green Preservation Society. It's a botch. It fails partly due to some irritating enunciation on the part of singer Ray Davies as he struggled to make his lyrics rhyme ("he's a session man / a chord progre-she-an / a top musi-she-an") but mainly because it is so cynical and smug as to be unlistenable. (It is the tune which best compliments Davies' face, which is perhaps the most punchable in pop) It doesn't even matter if the song's subject matter is true or not: how would Davies know how paid studio musicians feel about what they do? It's one of those obnoxious armchair psychology works that also explains why I despise Fastball's loathsome "The Way" and why I've never quite warmed to Squeeze. But for the sake of this piece, let's just say that "Session Man" paints an accurate picture of the musical talent that never gets any credit.

(No, I'm not going to do that actually. Best just to discuss sessioners as people. Sorry, Ray)

There's this notion that session musicians and backing vocalists are failed pop stars trying to cling to their dreams (as opposed to, say, grown men still toiling away in a garage or a dingy club for little to no pay somewhere in your hometown right at this very moment). The acclaimed documentary 20 Feet from Stardom — as well as similar films about The Wrecking Crew and The Funk Brothers — seems to capture individuals who never quite made it while failing to acknowledge that not everyone is cut out for the big time. Backing vocalists have great voices but they may not have much else to carry them forward. Some may not have even craved it.

David Lasley managed to make a name for himself as a dependable falsetto (said to be, in Dave Rimmer's words, a "white bloke with a black woman's voice", though it doesn't seem all that dissimilar to the vocals of Jimmy Sommerville or him from The Catch so perhaps he sounds more like a man trying to sound like a woman but still mostly sounding like a man), having appeared on numerous disco, funk and soul records throughout the seventies (though I don't see any evidence that he ever showed up on a Roxy Music session despite what some like Rimmer claim) and even doing fairly well for himself as a songwriter. With the likes of Michael McDonald and Luther Vandross moving from jobbing backing vocalists in the seventies to success as solo artists in more recently, it may have seemed like the right time to launch Lasley in a similar role.

"Where Does the Boy Hang Out" doesn't do much for me personally but I'd hesitate to say that he fails where Vandross and McDonald succeeded (even though that's pretty much what happened). It's a competent record that seems to have accomplished what it set out to do: put a spotlight on Lasley's voice with some fine backing vocalists as support, gliding along like an updated Motown number. Fine stuff but nothing close to some of the songs he appeared on in the background back in the day: nothing to knock the listener down like classic Chic, nothing to worm its way into the mind like Chaka Khan, nothing to singalong with like Boz Scaggs. Rimmer likes it way more than it deserves and the overhype can be a turn off but once past that - assuming you're able to get used to Lasley's voice — it's solid pop to enjoy while it's on and forget about as soon as it's over. And I'd certainly take it over "Session Man".

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

U2: "Pride (In the Name of Love)"

Critics of ver 2 frequently deride the group's pomposity. They have a point but it overlooks the fact that there's not much to Bobo, The Hedge and the rest without the highfalutin hijinks. "Pride" is their first great single (you'll hear some try to make a case for "I Will Follow" or "New Year's Day" but they don't quite manage to get there) and their first successful shot at sounding as big as they would soon become. A tribute to civil rights leader Martin Luther King, it trades in generalities and cliches but that's probably for the best: a proper biographical song would have likely come out heavy-handed (something U2 know nothing about) and there's a refreshing subtlety in the lyrics that balance out with the overblown music. You have to be told it's about MLK though it clearly isn't about any old Northside Dublin dirtbag so it's not something to relate to but it could be something to aspire to. A nice reminder that while, yes, U2 can be trite, self-important and cringe worthy, they could also be the most brilliant pop group around. A definite should've SOTF — even though it won't be long till we see them take their rightful place with more highfalutin pomp.

The Smiths: "Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want" / Aztec Camera: "Jump"

30 August 1984

"If "Jump" and the Smiths B-Side were A-Sides, they'd be joint Singles of the Fortnight."

— Robert Hodgens

So, let's make 'em A-Sides then, Bobby.

Flipping a single due to preferring the B-Side is nothing new in pop music. Way back in 1958, a young singer formally known as Harry Webb and his backing band — soon to be formerly known as The Drifters — recorded a song called "Schoolboy Crush" which had been intended to be their debut single. An influential TV producer of the time became much more interested in its B-Side and the two songs reversed roles. "Move It" went on to become the first hit for Cliff Richard and The Shadows. Paul McCartney's "Coming Up" had been a success in Britain in its intended, new wave-influenced form but deejays in North America liked the the more conventional version that Wings recorded in Glasgow a year earlier on the other side which went on to top the charts. When Kraftwerk proved too lazy to record a fresh B-Side to accompany their recent single "Computer Love" they stuck a three-year-old cut from their Man Machine album on the other side. "The Model" quickly got the bulk of the radio play and it sent the robot-wannabe's to the top of the charts. If only Bobby Bluebell had had a little more influence, we may well have seen The Smiths and Aztec Camera have sizable hits with their own cast-offs.

Well, probably not. "Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want" is indeed superior to its headline track but it doesn't exactly scream mega hit. For one, it's way too short, finishing up a good thirty seconds quicker than "William, It Was Really Nothing", a song that Bluebell figures will have people complaining of its brevity (though he argues that it's "just the right length" and he's correct). Because of its conciseness, there's not a whole lot to it, just a pair of to-the-point verses and a tidy, little chorus followed by a beautifully memorable instrumental fade-out. It's a brilliant track but one that would have required fleshing out with more lyrics and a longer running time; in short, it would have needed ruining in order to give it any sign of hope for chart potential. Not ideal. As it happens, "Please, Please, Please,..." works as a B-side to be proud of: the sort of hidden flip that fans may cherish and provide a sense that they are privy to something exclusive. In addition, it's a superb way to close out an album — as it did on Smiths collections Hatful of Hollow and Best...I, as well as the soundtrack to the 1986 Molly Ringwald vehicle Pretty in Pink.

The fact that head Smiths Morrissey and Johnny Marr were sticking such remarkable songs on B-sides (the 12" release of "William..." also features the staggering "How Soon Is Now") is indicative of a subtle sea change that occurred during the course of their first year as recording artists. Their early batch of singles culled mostly from their great debut album The Smiths are remarkable. "Hand in Glove", though marred by some misguided echo effects and a pointless fade-in on its original release, is an eye-popping record, a sign that this was going to be a very special band. Now regarded as a classic, "This Charming Man" is full of sleazy jangle pop and some of Morrissey's wittiest lyrics ("I would go out tonight but I haven't got a stitch to wear" being but the most priceless). Third single "What Difference Does It Make?" is now held in low esteem by at least one of its songwriters — did Moz realise that "your prejudice won't keep you warm tonight" might apply a little too closely to himself at some point? — but it's a menacing number, catchy and evidence of what a tight foursome they were. Finally, there's "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now", a stand alone single and signpost for all of Morrissey's self-absorption and self-pity. One could chuckle at a one line, fall in love with him with another and feel like he's speaking for a world of losers and outcasts and nitwits with the whole thing.

But "William..." kicks off a period in which the singer began looking outward and this would set a dangerous precedent. Whether or not it's about his short-lived friendship with Associates singer Billy McKenzie, the song patently isn't about Morrissey (at least not the bulk of it). In the end it doesn't matter too much since The Smiths were still at their creative peak and it's a cute tune with some always excellent guitar playing from Marr but it got the vocalist to start making observations about the world at large and likely played a role in the shell of a man we have today. Had Morrissey just continued to be the self-obsessed curmudgeon we all loved, he would have done us all a favour.

Though not quite in the same realm as Morrissey and Marr, Roddy Frame is plenty gifted himself. Something of a prodigy, he cut his (possibly baby) teeth in Glasgow's famed Postcard Records scene that also produced Edwyn Collins' Orange Juice. Having already made the ultra hip swoon with Aztec Camera's debut album High Land, Hard Rain (query: is it a rule that Scots groups must give such maddeningly Celtic titles to their works?), Frame's pop sensibilities meant they were never going to be simply indie darlings. Chugging along not unlike Haircut One Hundred at their finest — having recently fallen off considerably since Nick Heyward departed in a strop — "All I Need Is Everything" is a delight, buoyant and with hooks not unlike a Motown hit from yesteryear. Bluebell is impressed at a distance, loving Frame's vocal and enjoying the record enough but feeling rather disappointed that it's just more of the same. Listening to it thirty-five years later it's nice to have a little more of the same. Reliable, a jolly good singalong, impossible to dislike. What more could one want from one of UK pop's finest craftsmen?

Such is my esteem for "All I Need Is Everything" that I'm not quite so bothered about "Jump", Bluebell's other proto-SOTF. I suppose it's most impressive as a project: here we have Frame taking Van Halen's monster pop-metal hit from earlier in the year, slowing it down to make it sound like The Velvet Underground's "Sweet Jane" — as the muso Bluebell points out — and imbuing in it some melancholy and grace. The idea of it is stunning but the result is just a pleasant aside. Frame's reflective side had already been ably demonstrated on fine songs such as "Walk Out to Winter" and "We Could Send Letters" but I'm not sure just what doing so here is meant to accomplish. There's little to chew on once the novelty of such a unique cover wears off and they didn't quite pull off making it their own. That said, it's fine on it's own terms even if there's that gnawing feeling that they invented the ironic cover version and, as such, must be punished.

With the revival of the single in the early eighties, it was probably inevitable that there would be an upsurge in the quality of B-sides at the same time. The Jam spent their entire five year recording career crafting brilliant flips to accompany their sturdy run of singles. In the latter part of the decade, the Pet Shop Boys would begin to churn out a remarkable run of pristine B's that resulted in Alternative, a collection of also-rans that manages to be higher quality that most of their very fine albums. It's only right, then, that two of British indie's brightest lights would make their mark on the joys of turning a single over to see what else there is on offer. Plenty, as it would turn out.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Lloyd Cole & The Commotions: "Andy's Babies"

Blimey, Bobby Bluebell has done his due diligence! In addition to flipping over and writing about the B-sides above, he has also given his thoughts on the other side of Commotions' signature "Forest Fire". He must have done so with every single he reviewed, right? Well, no. At any rate, "Andy's Babies" doesn't measure up to either "Please, Please, Please,..." or "Jump" — and, indeed, Lloyd Cole never measured up to the likes of Morrissey and Marr and Frame either — but it is a nice compliment to its A-side. The dramatics of "Forest Fire" are nicely counterbalanced by the grumpy "Andy's Babies". Bluebell seems sure it's a tirade against Cole's bohemian lifestyle — and he should know give his association to the Commotions — but it's hard to decipher for this punter: I just thought it was about some bloke called Andy who had babies who Cole doesn't think much of. As you do.

The Catch: "25 Years"

16 August 1984

"The reviewer's dream: the mystery record which turns out to be an absolute gem."

— Lesley White

Over the last year and a half that this blog has been going, I've come across some very pleasant surprises. It was nice, for example, to discover that The Police were occasionally able to put their considerable talents together into something stirring and worthwhile rather than crass and irritating. Pink Industry's E.P. Forty Five was something I didn't expect would be up to much but the four varied tracks brought out the curious, inquisitive music obsessive side of me that hadn't been so enamoured with that type of indie noise in years. Weekend's indie jazz pop proved a charming delight and so, too, was the touching grace of Spectral Display's "It Takes a Muscle to Fall in Love". So many great songs that I would never have had the chance to hear had I not been doing this project.

Alas, "25 Years" is not one of them. Lesley White doesn't have her hopes up for a group she's utterly unfamiliar with — "the nostalgic, hand-tinted sleeve tells me that The Catch are Don Snow and Chris Whitton (which tells me nothing)" — but the record gives her oodles of pleasure. Hopes low, enjoyment-level high: I wish I could say the same for my experience. Expecting something else, I listened and re-listened over the past several days hoping it might grow on me or that I might hear an appealing groove or melody or a touching vocal or anything that makes singles of the fortnight. Yeah, nothing.

That's not to say there aren't surprises here, even if they don't do much to advance the record. With all due respect to White (I could never not respect a Smash Hits scribe, no matter how duff their taste in music) her analysis doesn't quite hold up. I don't hear the slightest trace of early Roxy Music, I'm quite certain that there's just the one saxophone wailing away — though, granted, it is the best part — and that vocal may be to trying a bit too hard to be "not a million miles from Bronski Beat" (a Catch member's voice cracks at the end of the line "now I'm trying to wash away the tears" which leads me to suspect that we've got a Jimmy Sommerville impersonator on our hands). Rather, we have a mix of white English soul, synth-pop and dramatic gospel which would sound fresh and stately if not for the crucial fact that it's not much cop at all.

I could blame it on dashed expectations but that doesn't help save a boring record, one which I very much wanted to enjoy. This mid-'84 batch of (mostly) lackluster SOTF's has been a tough slog and there may yet be a few more duds to get through before things get better (you know, assuming they ever do). Good thing, then, that there are a pair of nifty little singles coming up as a brief respite. Just don't expect too much.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Elvis Costello & The Attractions: "The Only Flame in Town"

Elvis Costello's standing began to take a beating at around this time and it's easy to see why. He was no longer content to show off either his vast musical knowledge nor some clever lyrical tricks and simply made due with the tired tunes that make up Goodbye Cruel World, which was both the nearest thing he ever did to a divorce album and an aborted attempt at quitting the music business. It's over-produced and the whole thing is a mess but there's something refreshing about him just getting on with writing a batch of songs that show you how he's feeling for once. Well sung with the aid of a guesting Darryl Hall, "The Only Flame in Town" is simple and catchy and, unusually for a Costello record, really quite likeable. There's a new-found vulnerability here, something that he would put to good use on the following year's mostly great follow-up King of America, but this is also about where on the fence Costello followers begin dropping off. Wouldn't you know it, just as he's getting interesting and people stop caring — I suppose they were expecting too much.