— 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.
~~~~~
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.
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.
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.
~~~~~
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.
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