The Jesus & Mary Chain: "Never Understand"

28 February 1985

"Its simplicity and individuality amid countless, cowardly records in the review pile striving to sound like each other is nothing short of exhilarating. Good vibrations."

— Andy Kershaw

The class of '85 is so far a trip through the British indie scene (although that will soon change). If The Associates weren't quite the same as the others, they were at least adjacent to what was going on in the periphery and their journey down the dumper in the aftermath of Alan Rankine's departure ensured they were down to a loyal but diminished following of people with possible interests in The Cure, The Smiths, Bauhaus, Depeche Mode and Siousxie & The Banshees — Duran Duran and Spandau Ballet fans probably weren't listening anymore. Frank Chickens were as much performance artists as musicians and they, too, had a small following that was never going to grow enough to get them near the charts. Julian Cope had, like The Associates, enjoyed hit singles but his muse had become far too out there for him to get anything more than the odd token top forty appearance.

With all due respect to these three acts, none were of much importance to UK indie. (I type this feeling like if I had any readers they'd complain that I'm ignoring Cope's influence but (a) I'm not overly convinced he had much of an effect and (b) he was way too much of a one-off to be taken as a capable alternative figure; his erratic talent could have meant millions of fans or a smattering of loyalists in Monmouthshire but either scenario doesn't make him any more indie than pop - in the end he's just Julian Cope, an alternative to absolutely everyone else) Few major figures materialise; just as it's rare to come across a pop act that bursts forth to sustained success and a positive effect on other groups, indie acts that really matter are difficult to come by.

The Jesus & Mary Chain don't seem quite as radical as they must have been back in the mid-eighties — and much of that is down to their massive influence over British and American indie. While hard rock, metal and punk had all been accompanied by vocalists screaming, shouting and sneering, few had ever heard (or not heard as the case may be) someone like Jim Reid casually mumbling and whispering his way through a track such as "Never Understand", as if demanding that his audience really listen to him through noise. Fans unwilling or unable to do so were still able to enjoy William Reid's crunching, slithering guitar parts thereby bringing together indie types with interests in angsty lyrics and chaotic feedback into following one act.

For all of that, a figure as musically knowledgeable as Andy Kershaw (of The Old Grey Whistle Test) is able to see through the racket and detect a "breezy melody curiously reminiscent of The Beach Boys". Those of us who are as well versed in Pet Sounds as they are in Psychocandy (if not more so) can see this too but I imagine the average Chainer wouldn't have be aware of it had William Reid dressed up like Mike Love and Bobby Gillespie gone a little less down the dirt bag path to model himself after Dennis Wilson. But the influence doesn't stop "Never Understand" from being as unique as virtually everything else on offer is typical.

But from the vantage point of nearly thirty-five years, it's a record that sounds like much of what would come later. Only much better. Not everyone can whisper over screaming guitar feedback and make it work no matter how hard they might have tried.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

"Starvation" / "Tam tam pour l'Ethiopie"

A self-titled split single released as a reggae/African music answer to "Do They Know It's Christmas?", "Starvation" / "Tam tam pour l'Ethiopie" are good enough songs not to even require a good cause which makes its low chart placing even more shameful. The UB40/Madness led "Starvation" is the more commercial with a great singalong chorus but "Tam tam pour l'Ethiopie" gets better with repeated hearings. The white guilt of Band Aid has never bothered me as much as many but something done from the perspective of the millions of poor victims of the Ethiopian famine is much more potent than cries of "thank god it's them instead of you". Just give it a try.

Julian Cope: "Sunspots"

14 February 1985

"This is a stern, strident and invigorating march through some lunatic wasteland where tinny guitars slash, people whistle out of tune and someone pipes up on a jaunty recorder during the most compulsive sway-along chorus since long before Foreigner."

— Tom Hibbert

Nothing beats a reference to Foreigner to make you well disposed to a rival record. "Well, this really isn't my sort of thing but I don't hate it and it's not bloody Foreigner so it's okay by me!" "I'm not especially into much pop music beyond the mid-nineties but at least I've existed in a musical landscape for over a quarter-of-a-century without Foreigner." "The latest Maroon 5 record? We'll it's balls but not compared to..." Okay, I over-reached myself.

Oh well, is it too much of a backhanded compliment to say that I don't have a whole lot of interest in listening to the bulk of Cope's work but I'm still happy to see him around? Someone's gotta put out "lunatic wasteland" records and he's plenty lunatic for it. Like heroes Syd Barrett, Roky Eriksson and Skip Spence, there must be some sort of genius lurking in there and we can but hope that it will peak through in time. These casualties of sixties drug culture were always given the benefit of the doubt but seldom did their talents emerge. On the other hand, Cope is alive and well and still active and his main skill might be in being Julian Cope. But does he craft excellent pop records?

We're a few years out now from Cope's commercial golden year when his act The Teardrop Explodes exploded on the scene and the hits — both of them — came forth and he's clearly not especially interested in replicating their former success. (Either that or going round wearing a tortoise shell happened to be his best idea for how to market himself and give the punters what they want) Still, his solo career has been much more accessible than one might think and "Sunspots" is a prime example. Well constructed and with hooks and plenty of that swaying that Tom Hibbert is evidently so fond of, it's a fine listen but one that fails to invite replays and doesn't manage to get stuck in the mind. It's easy to picture young people listening to John Peel or Janice Long and really digging Cope's latest record — not even necessarily this one — but forgetting all about it once the latest Smiths, Cure or New Order single got played immediately after it.

Being both highly individual and prolific, Cope was slowly building up a loyal following so it's not as if everyone felt this way about "Sunspots", even if they couldn't get it any higher than number seventy-six. Less produced than Teardrop Explodes material, one might feel captivated by the singer's commanding vocal and how well the tinny guitars, out-of-tune whistling and jaunty recorder all mesh. I'm not convinced he won a lot of new fans but I can't imagine many Cope cultists were beginning to push away either. Pretty bloomin' great if you like this sort of thing and perfectly acceptable if you're a neutral.

Julian Cope has always been a figure to admire: he has a unique voice and presence, he's always done things his way and he doesn't care what you or I think of him. All that's great but it's worth pointing out that we may feel just as apathetic towards his work as he does towards our opinions of him. Plus, too much admiration can overwhelm our perceptions of an artist: I hold Prince as an individual in high esteem and sometimes these feelings manipulate myself into believing that I also like his music. Same goes for Cope: I don't mind when I hear his stuff but I never feel that I need to. And he's way better than Foreigner.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Nirvana Devils: "Some Foreign Shore"

His nibs oversells things a bit here by calling it the greatest German record of all time. No, it's nowhere near Kraftwerk's "Trans-Europe Express" or Can's "Spoon" or even Culture Beat's "Mr. Vain" — though Hibs wasn't to be aware of it for another eight years, assuming he ever was — but that doesn't mean it isn't worth seeking out. Stellar, speed-infused garage rock that threatens to turn into a psychedelic Nuggets masterpiece, it maintains a furious pace and, again, I can certainly understand why our madcap reviewer is so captivated. Like Cope's SOTF, however, it's like that Milan Kundera novel you read that you're pretty sure you liked but which didn't stay with you in any way. Enjoy music in the moment then move on.

Frank Chickens: "We Are Ninja (Not Geisha)"

31 January 1985

"Utterly silly."

— Chris Heath

As Smash Hits continued to plow through the eighties, it gradually began to become more and more similar to the magazine that captured my imagination at the end of the decade. Making a gradual transition from black and white to glossy at around this time, the reviews were still very much a throwback, with only a trace amount of colour separating it from the serious inkies. Beyond aesthetics, the writing staff was showing some turnover. 1985 would be the year that Neil Tennant would depart to have a go at making his own pop records while editor Mark Ellen was nearing the end of his time as well (he would help launch Q the following year) and Dave Rimmer, preoccupied with work on his outstanding account of eighties pop Like Punk Never Happened and a move to Germany, began working on a freelance basis. It was, thus, time for some new blood: writers who grew up as fans of the magazine who would then be on staff at its zenith.

Chris Heath would go on to be the first Smash Hits writer to really make an impression on me. He seemed to love music of all kinds, didn't blush from declaring certain records to be utter crap and never gave off noxious vibes that he was a failed musician determined to use his platform to rip into anything beneath him. The very first time I read one of his reviews he tore into my favourite record of the time (something we're sure to get to in a few years) but I wasn't crushed by it. He had his reasons and they were in good faith and for the first time in my life I discovered you could read a negative review and not wish to tear up said top pop mag into a million tiny little pieces. (It was a lesson that I didn't end up paying attention to at the time but it's back with me now!) Heath was also the first Hits scribe to write a book that I would go on to read: I've gone through several since and I've enjoyed them all but none have come close to his.

This is just the second entry from the class of '85 and I'm still reeling from the sorry state of the Singles of the Fortnight from the previous year. I had always held 1984 in esteem growing up since this was when I started to become aware of current pop music but now I can only wonder if all those criticisms of the decade that I used to scoff at aren't somewhat true. And it wasn't simply a case of some poor choices for SOTF either: in many instances reviewers were right for choosing a so-so record over some pretty blase competition. As a boy 1984 seemed exciting: everyone dressed up, looked weird and didn't care what you thought. A pity the music wasn't up to much and that even extends to the highest of levels.

So, a new year and a fresh start, right? Well, sort of. "We Are Ninja (Not Geisha)" is a stupidly great record that beats virtually everything from the previous year. The problem? It comes from 1984 as well. Already reviewed eleven months earlier by an equally enthused Rimmer, it was only denied SOTF status by a peak-of-powers Scritti Politti. Unfortunately, a bizarre Japanese single on a tiny record label that wasn't going to be picked up by anyone other than John Peel didn't stand much of a chance in a year of crap pop and didn't do much better upon reissue here. Still, it seems to have delighted everyone who spun it, reviewed it and, I assume, decided to roll the dice with a purchase.

What did/do we all see in it? Well, it is indeed utterly silly and that's precisely what makes it so wonderful. The duo of Kazuko Hokhi and Kazumi Taguchi, along with producers Steve Beresford and David Toop, seem to have randomly thrown together disparate elements such as traditional Japanese music, avant-garde noise and synth-pop with some rapping and singing and chanting over top and the results are pure magic. Catchy as all hell and impossible to tire of, it could light up a discotheque or soundtrack a night in with some jazz cigarettes. Who knows or cares what all this nonsense means — and I suspect that it might puzzle a lot of Japanese speakers too — but I imagine they're making a commentary on western perspectives of Asian women. They're not here to serve you or please you with some rumpo but to attack you with some craziness. If we're going to use a lazy stereotype to describe them then why not use something better than 'geisha'? Good on them. Is it too far out for some? I suppose so but that's their problem. They can have all that boring crap from '84.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Red Box: "Saskatchewan"

I am well aware of the fact that the majority of Britons know next to nothing about Canada - it was the very first thing I learned about it when I lived there in fact. Thus, I won't quibble with Heath wondering why the members of Red Box are "singing about a Canadian town" when Saskatchewan is in fact a province (and, actually, he may not even be wrong since the lyrics go on about "Qu'Appelle Valley, Saskatchewan" which is sort of a town). Written by Buffy Sainte-Marie about the place of her birth, the original is reverential but so, too, is Red Box's interpretation. Quite whether Simon Toulson-Clarke and co. ever bothered going to the Canadian Prairie Provinces is something to ask them but his interest in native affairs is genuine and the record is heartfelt. Not the hit that Heath hopes for but they'd soon be in the top ten with another single borrowing liberally from the natives. I hope they sent a cheque to the good people of Qu'Appelle Valley, Saskatchewan.

The Associates: "Breakfast"

17 January 1985

"Melodrama at its best, this is the kind of thing to listen to on a brittle white winter morning, while feeling love-lorn and poetic."

— Vici MacDonald

We last encountered The Associates on here just as they happened to be on the ascent. They really did have it all: a frontman with a kind of melancholic charisma partnered with an able guitarist who in tandem pieced together a single that is so catchy and so addictive that when the good people at Ace Records finally get round to inviting me to curate a Singles of the Fortnight compilation it will be on my shortlist. Fleshed out with a strong cast of backing musicians — who weren't quite full time Associates (though you'd never know it given the way the camera operator seems to adore Martha Ladly's keyboard posturing), it seems they were only associated with The Associates — Billy McKenzie and Alan Rankine appeared set.

Three years on and looked at what's changed. That big breakthrough never occurred, the hits quickly began to dry up and everyone left. Well, almost everyone. Effectively an entirely new band (or a solo project in all but name), McKenzie was the man in charge and, given the state of the shambolic recording sessions that resulted in third album Perhaps initially being rejected by their/his record label, proved to be in over his head. Now, I'm not so sure that the original incarnation of The Associates was much cop to begin with. Yes, "Party Fears Two" is magnificent but the group struggled to better it and proved incapable of even delivering more of the same. Subsequent Rankine-area singles "Country Club" and "18 Carat Love Affair" aren't too bad but they don't light up a room or cheer up a dreary bus ride the way their predecessor did so effortlessly. So, it's not as if they were running with all this momentum but the departures of Rankine and bassist Michael Dempsey and Ladly's non-appearance here (she's listed as still a "member" until '86 but she doesn't appear to have done much with them during the mid-eighties) were huge setbacks.

Thus, McKenzie was coming back at a point of probable weakness. His songs could be a perfect vessel for any vulnerability he was feeling and in this respect "Breakfast" works well enough. The vocalist's Bowie-like pitch having been jettisoned in favour of something much more downcast and accompanied by strings and a graceful piano, the result is stark even if one may or may not end up feeling touched by it. Vici MacDonald isn't wrong about the record being best suited to "brittle white winter morning[s]" but it fails to align itself with any other mood and/or climate and forces listeners to either adapt to its bleakness or give up listening intently. This fortnight's critic isn't too bothered by McKenzie's "totally incomprehensible" lyrics but it's something I'm having trouble looking past. Even within the context of the singer's eventual suicide just over twelve years later it fails to connect with me. Matters may be too personal to allow others in or I'm just a cold and sad bastard but, either way, I find myself in admiration of the bleak beauty but shrug at the heartfelt but impenetrable confessions that lie within.

Simon Reynolds has called them the "great should-have-beens of British pop" and I think that can be taken to mean a lot. They should have had more hits and success. They should have been much more than a flash in the pan. They should have fulfilled their promise. They should have had a turn on the eighties revival circuit - perhaps even to this day. And they should have found a way to get an apathetic public over to their side. But should they have been able to top "Party Fears Two"? That's asking an awful lot.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Colourfield: "Thinking of You"

Billy McKenzie wasn't the only one experiencing a come down around this time. Having been a key part of The Specials' stunning run of superlative singles and doing fair business with offshoot band Fun Boy Three (especially their swansong "Our Lips Are Sealed", still my favourite SOTF, just pipping ver League's "Love Action"), it's a bit sad to see Terry Hall going the cheerful route with his latest act The Colourfield. It's a difficult song to dislike but it's also hard to take seriously. Maybe I'm not even meant to. Still, aren't there better things he could have been doing? Like taking a page out of Billy McKenzie's book and going for more sorrow for one.