— 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.
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.
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