The Lucy Show: "Undone"

6 November 1985

"Not much of a song tune-wise, but the sound is dashingly gloomy. You can dance to it, you can call it "art" if you so wish — either way it's shimmeringly cool."
— Tom Hibbert

As I wrote last week, changes were afoot at ver Hits during the final months of 1985. Colourful pages abound with the black and whites being left mainly for the crossword puzzle and the letters page. The singles review has recently started using SINGLE OF THE FORTNIGHT as a banner, albeit tucked away in the bottom left-hand corner. It's a good thing they've brought in this designation since you might not guess simply by reading about what's on offer.

Taking a casual glance at page forty-two of this issue of the Hits, you might assume that Wham! would be walking home with SOTF honours. The write up on their latest single "I'm Your Man" is accompanied by a large photo of George Michael and Andrew Ridgeley, prominently placed just below reviewer Tom Hibbert's name in bold print. And His Nibs (or shall we say "His Hibs"?) is taken with their latest effort. He observes that Michael has shown no sign of losing his touch while recognizing just how redundant Ridgeley has become. He doesn't gush over it or anything but he sees it for what it is: yet another well-crafted megahit for a group at the peak of their powers.

Hibbert likes other records as well. His review of "In This Heat" by Simonics (whoever they are) concludes with an observation that despite the "absurd" narrative, its "overpowering hypnotic qualities will get you anyway. Ber-rilliant." Meanwhile, "No Rope as Long as Time" by Latin Quarter is a quietly poignant affair about average citizens caught up in the midst of Apartheid in South Africa. "This Is What She's Like" by a returning — and, inevitably, restructured and remodeled — Dexys Midnight Runners he considers "LUDICROUS" but I reckon he means it in the best possible sense. His former Smash Hits colleague Neil Tennant has been giving this pop stuff a go and his latest, "West End Girls", is chilling and sinister.

But there's another single that has really drawn Hibbert's attention. He's already a fan of these guys, regarding everything about them highly save for the well-nourished frontman's image. Everything they've done previously has been "impeccable" and this new one is "lovely". A bit confused as to the story going on, he decides to give it another listen — "don't mind if I do..." he concludes. And he's right: "The Lost Weekend" by Lloyd Cole & The Commotions is a fantastic single. Strange it's not his SOTF.

Finally we get to "Undone" by The Lucy Show. While he has plenty of praise for it, I'm not convinced he actually prefers it to Cole's latest. He doesn't exactly go over his word limit here and much of what little he has to say (see the quotation above) is on how one might approach it. Not unlike earlier pick "Monkeys on Juice", he sees value in dancing to songs one might not normally think of as floor fillers. That's fine and even kind of noble in a way but what does it tell you about his appreciation for the record? He enjoyed "I'm Your Man" and "The Lost Weekend" but this one? I suppose he must have done but other than the claim that it's "dashingly gloomy" he's rather stingy with his praise.

So, I think that Hibs wanted to give a struggling band a leg up. The Commotions had already received loads of acclaim for their debut album Rattlesnakes a year earlier and "The Lost Weekend" was set to become their second Top 20 hit on the bounce so what did they need with a critics choice in a top pop mag? Dexys had had their time and still had a loyal following to ensure respectable sales (well, not really...). Choose the Pet Shop Boys and he might have felt like he was going to be accused of giving a boost to a mate. He could have opted for Simonics or Latin Quarter but neither possessed the hip indie factor that would have marked them out as acts to watch out for. I can go either way with "Undone" but it's easy to see they had promise.

Tom Hibbert wasn't about to spoonfeed us "viewers" his pick and, SINGLE OF THE FORTNIGHT mini-banner aside, perhaps he was content to let young people read these reviews for themselves and see what, if anything, they'd want to search out. Nevertheless, I can't imagine many who happened to have a few extra bob laying around looked at this piece and decided to go round to the Boots on High Street to see if they had a copy of this new Lucy Show single. Hibs being a mischievous presence in pop lit, he wasn't about to care either way. The SOTF didn't necessarily have to go to the best record on offer, just the one that stood out the most or the one that might be a harbinger for things to come or whatever he felt like. He could pick a specimen with a drama school background who never met a spotlight he didn't have to be dragged away from for all he cared.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Pet Shop Boys: "West End Girls"

Now a bona fide classic, it's difficult to imagine listening to "West End Girls" for the first time — as well as wondering quite what to make of it. A posh English accent rap about dive bars and hard or soft options doesn't quite scream 'world-wide chart topper' nor would you guess that it would provide the basis for a remarkable thirty-five years of Pet Shop Boys. Of course what Tennant and Chris Lowe had already mastered was mixing London's Beefeater postcard image with its seedy underbelly into a place even more glamourous than anyone could have imagined. With top notch pop instincts, a passion for imported 12" dance singles and grounding in British culture from top to bottom, they pulled off their first of many superlative singles here. They got jobbed out of the SOTF (though maybe they should have been co-winners with Lloyd Cole) but we'll be seeing them here again before long.

The Fall: "Cruiser's Creek"

23 October 1985

"Perhaps Mark Smith is bored by now with his "Last Angry Young Man" label."

— Paul King

Bloody hell, ver Hits is already going downhill? Well, not quite but it's in these waning months of 1985 that it took its first steps down the pop mag dumper. It became glossier under editor Steve Bush but that's no matter. The big change is just a couple pages past the singles, under the headline REVIEW. There are three music books being critiqued (including Dave Rimmer's brilliant account of Culture Club and UK New Pop Like Punk Never Happened) and four home video music collections but the biggest space saved is for films. Films. There's nothing like ruining a perfectly good music mag by filling space with films. Bloody films.

You might be beginning to suspect that I'm not crazy about films but my real problem is films overshadowing music. The eighties seemed to have an even number of blockbuster films to albums but the former really began overtaking the latter over the course of the decade and by the nineties we're well into the era when asking someone about hearing the latest record by such-and-such is thoroughly passe while it was commonplace to inquire as to whether they'd seen the newest must-see picture. By 1996 I began to be irked by everyone talking about Independence Day but ignoring R.E.M.'s New Adventures in Hi-Fi. What's the matter with people?

But there's also something worrying about a music mag critiquing films (though — also worryingly — this is something one probably only recognizes in retrospect): it sets a bad precedent. Once a music journal begins getting into other areas it's not long before it does a Rolling Stone and begins going on the campaign trail with US presidential hopefulls or a Q which began dubbing itself "the modern guide to music and more". In the case of Smash Hits, it eventually evolved into a teenager's Hello! with early-nineties cover stars from Neighbours and Beverley Hills, 90210 and pages of celebrity gossip. What about covering pop music?

To be fair, there is some effort here to link the movie reviews to pop. The main film this fortnight is the Merseyside period piece Letter to Brezhnev and it includes a glowing write-up on its soundtrack. There's also a review of The Bride starring Sting and, finally, a short bit about how crap St Elmo's Fire is — which it is. An excellent soundtrack (even though it doesn't look like much cop to me), a pop star moonlighting as an actor and the vehicle for a soft rock anthem. Fine, write about films but keep them based around pop and we're good, okay?

Paul King of King (gee, I wonder where they got their name from?) is the guest singles reviewer in this issue and he seems to have been in a very good mood. He's pleased to have been chosen for the task, is taking it seriously and is in no mood to put anyone down while doing so. The closest he gets to bashing anything is by questioning the mixing of "Blue" by Fine Young Cannibals and the slow-as-sludge pacing of Tracie Young's "Invitation" — though, notably, he still manages to praise the efforts of the artists. Elsewhere, he has nothing but good things to say about the hip (Robert Wyatt, Prefab Sprout, Siouxsie), the mainstream (Eurythmics and Aretha Frankin, UB40, Dee C Lee) and those with bleak chart prospects (The Woodentops, The Icicle Works...er...The Fall).

To pick "Mark Smith" and his group of Mancuian louts The Fall for Single of the Fortnight, then, must be high praise indeed given the top-notch quality of the competition. I'm not quite as fond of this batch of records as King is but I can't disagree. "Cruiser's Creek" is ace. (Plus, it goes some way to rectifying the film review nonsense)

It's tempting to dismiss The Fall for putting out the same bloody records throughout their forty years together. I once listened to a cassette of their 1991 album Shift-Work with a friend and expressed interest in exploring their work in more depth. "Why?" she asked me, "if you've heard one Fall album you've heard them all". (I shouldn't get too high and mighty, however, as I began thinking much the same thing not long after) Of course, there are those hallmarks — Smith's gravely voice, repetitive guitar and bass parts, a whole lot of darkness — but their sound was regularly tweaked by current trends and whatever life happened to throw at their leader.

Certainly King is correct that Smith had mellowed somewhat by the mid-eighties. Being married to Brix Smith would have helped (for now at any rate) and her presence moved them in a lighter direction (making her probably the only person ever to convince him of anything). This being The Fall, it's not as if they went pop but many of their catchiest pieces — "My New House" and "Spoilt Victorian Child", both from '85's This Nation's Saving Grace — date from right around this time. Nevertheless, he wasn't about to let a happy homelife and a creative purple-patch stop him from spewing bile all over the place.

"Cruiser's Creek" may sound like the name of an Australian soap opera but it seems to be the setting for where yuppies get together in order to make Smith vomit in his mouth. Perhaps using his modest rock star status to get into exclusive parties filled with market traders with sail boats, he immediately feels like a fish out of water. Yet, he seems to be drawn back to it. His world of "street litter twisting in the wind / crisp bags turning" doesn't quite grab him and he wants to be back where he has "nice pink bubbles" in his mouth and everyone has "Bianco on the breath". (I assume he means Calabrian wine) It's easy for him to belittle the wealthy but he's just as snide about his own culture (he couldn't have pleased many of his peers with a line like "no more Red Wedge in the pub or ZTT stuff", perhaps that's why it got excised from the 7" release). Still an angry "young" man but perhaps one who can enjoy himself knocking back expensive wines and trashing everyone he sees. I can see the appeal.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Ian Dury: "Profoundly in Love with Pandora"

Something of a national treasure in the UK, Ian Dury's appeal never quite translated elsewhere. It's quite possible that his best known song internationally is this one, even if The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole TV series wasn't exactly a mega-hit. Sitcom themes released as singles always seem a bit wrong: they never quite sound the same and there's always that rest of the song beyond the thirty seconds you're familiar with (although, at least they stick to the Mole storyline throughout). King is positive (because of course he is) but I suspect that at least half of his enthusiasm is down to wishing a hit for Dury, which is fair enough. Nowhere close to his best work, it is nevertheless a charming little curio and is accompanied by the equally cute "Eugenius (You're a Genius)" on the flip side with Dury trying his hand at rapping. A one off, as "they" say.

Herbie Hancock: "Tell Everybody"

19 April 1979 (and here)

"This is a fast, super-funky item with a bass line that'll blow your speakers apart at top volume."

— Cliff White

While it would eventually become a revolving door of music hacks, pop stars, DJ's, soap stars and a schoolboy with very strong opinions, Cliff White was Smash Hits' resident singles reviewer in their early period (just as "Red Starr" handled the albums). The term 'Single of the Fortnight' didn't exist but His Nibs would usually make it clear as to his favourite, typically kicking off his round up with a short prologue seguing into the best of the bunch. But it didn't really happen in this issue. He opens with a review of "I'm an Upstart" by Angelic Upstarts, admitting that its the only "really exciting" rocker to be found. Fair enough but he has little else positive to say about it (and he's right seeing as how it was already two or three years out of date). He contrasts this vulgar punk anthem with the lighter and more charming Jonathan Richman and his neat little ditty "Lydia" (see below), for which he displays much more enthusiasm. Unfortunately, a little bit of Richman can go a long way, as White acknowledges, and I'm not quite convinced it would have been his choice cut either. Best look elsewhere.

It's not until the second page of the singles that we get to a record that genuinely thrills him — and one that is in no danger of getting on his nerves at some point. "Tell Everybody" was the follow-up to the Top 20 success of "You Bet Your Love" but to him it's an even more impressive work, albeit one in danger of failing to match its predecessor's chart placing due to being "far too funky" (which proved correct when it missed the charts entirely). White was long a devotee of soul, Motown and funk and his sympathies even carried over into disco. It didn't matter who was at the helm so long as he was into what he heard. The identity of the artist in question here probably meant a great deal more to others than it did to him.

It's difficult to imagine listening to early works of Herbie Hancock — say, his outstanding Blue Note album Maiden Voyage or his efforts on E.S.P. and Miles Smiles as part of Miles Davis' Second Great Quintet — and being able to connect them to his disco period at the end of the seventies. His former boss was well known for radically altering the type of music he was playing, from bop to cool to hard bop to avant-bop to fusion and onward, but he always had his distinctive trumpet style to make anyone with a passing knowledge of him be able to recognize who that soloist was. But there's nothing one might recognize in what Hancock was doing in 1979 with his recordings from fifteen years earlier. And to think, Davis had to prod him into playing the electric piano when it came time to record the magnificent Filles de Kilimanjaro in 1968.

But not only is "Tell Everybody" a marked departure from the likes of "The Sorcerer" and "Madness", it barely even resembles the jazz-funk grooves of his remarkable Head Hunters album. Reinvention is fine but to what end in this instance? What's Hancock even doing on this record? "Singing" through a vocoder? Playing some repetitive and comically easy synth parts? At least the rhythm section is keeping itself busy and, yes, the bass line is the highlight. Jazz purists may have been up in arms that he was selling out but I'd argue that the real crime involved is wasting his considerable talents on the sort of piece that real disco masters Bernard Edwards and Nile Rodgers — who both, notably, came from jazz backgrounds — could have conjured up in their sleep.

It's worth noting that Hancock had formed his V.S.O.P. ensemble with fellow Davis alums Wayne Shorter, Ron Carter and Tony Williams, along with Freddie Hubbard, at around this time and he may have felt that by pursuing something closer to "real" jazz he was free to go full on disco in his solo career. Fair enough and more power to him but listening to the driving intensity of "Skagly" or the lush swing of "Finger Painting" (both from Five Star, the sole V.S.O.P. studio album) next to "Tell Everybody" (as well as most of his Feets, Don't Fail Me Now LP), there's no question that he was utilizing his talents well on one and phoning it in on the other. He wore one hat rather better than the other but, to his credit, he stuck with it, much to the delight of Cliff White and jazz fans alike.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Jonathan Richman & The Modern Lovers: "Lydia"

Combining old doo-wop and skiffle with some Lou Reed street smarts may have been something no one asked for but it was what Jonathan Richman served up and the world was a better place for it. "Lydia" is a fine example of his skills but, as White says (and I mention above), he's best served in "small doses". Richman can't sing for toffee but something would be lost here with a better vocalist. A grower that irritates at first but has you singing along within three listens. Gosh, he's so clever.

The Long Ryders: "Looking for Lewis and Clark"

9 October 1985

"Yee haw! Git on down thar! If you've ever listened to Andy "here's a rare deleted import by legendary one-legged bluesman Blind 'Quite Angry' Joe Scroggins recorded on a wax cylinder in 1872 shortly before he was taken into slavery eee bah goom it's reet gradely" Kershaw's Radio 1 show, you'll know that twangy waxings by long-haired "geetar-totin" cowboy bands are rather "hip". 99% of them are fantastically depressing and horrible, but this one's absolutely brilliant."

— Vici MacDonald

It was lunchtime and I was sitting private meeting room that we'd reserved. It was just my second day as bassist for Stereotype and I was being introduced to my bandmates, many of whom I would never end up jamming with. I think everyone knew me or knew of me and I knew all of them but there was a nice formality about the whole thing. All we had to do was wait for Jeff, Stereotype's singer, drummer (though he never got round to acquiring a drum kit which, needless to say, held us back somewhat) and leader who was late. Ethan had only just (unilaterally, or so I thought at the time) let me into the band and it was only right that we should all hash out just what we were going to do. We hadn't the faintest idea about how to actually go about making great records but we had all cottoned on to a revolutionary idea that was sure to make us stand out from every other band that ever existed: we were going to play almost every genre of music. Genius. The door opened.

"Okay," Jeff swaggered in. He had probably been trying to chat up a girl just before coming in but now he was all business. "No country and no rap."

Everyone nodded. No country, no rap. You weren't going to hear any arguments from me (I did quickly chime in with a "and no jazz" which I now find funny considering how much I like it) particularly when it came to the former. Rap was too current and a diverse to be discounted completely even if none of us wanted to have anything to do with playing it. I liked The Dream Warriors, Urban Dance Squad and Monie Love but there was also plenty I disliked. Truthfully, the only thing I really couldn't stand about hip hop was my white classmates who swore by it, made idiotic yet condescending proclamations ("rap has a message") and decked themselves out in LA Raider caps and Chicago White Sox jackets. I knew nothing of cultural appropriation but I did know that these people sucked.

Country music, however, was the real enemy. While many complained (and still do) that it was too depressing that was never a concern of mine — growing up with Morrissey and The Cure and even my beloved Pet Shops (they didn't smile in pictures, you know), I was hardly in any position to critique anyone else listening to sorrowful music. No, it just sounded awful. Weedy, corny, cliched and a parody of the culture it was supposed to represent. My great aunt and uncle were farmers in southern Alberta and they were nothing like the people portrayed in country songs, even though they loved listening to it. And that was the other thing: it was for old people. We all loved The Beatles and we were all into a variety of acts from the sixties and seventies but country music preceded all of them, even current stars like Garth Brooks and Trisha Yearwood were relics because only the old folk (or, worse, very dull, very sad youths) seemed to like them. Hating country and western music is probably a necessary stage in a young person's musical development. That said, what would have become of Stereotype had we been exposed to something like The Long Ryders at around this time?

Vici MacDonald is no fan of country music — as the above quote makes very clear — but one needn't be a devotee of the Nashville sound to dig The Long Ryders. If anything, it's best if you don't. These guys weren't doing a Nitty Gritty Dirt Band (standard rock group who suddenly become country purists), rather they filtered their love of Gram Parsons records through their debt to sixties rock and seventies punk. Such is their devotion to the former Byrd/Flying Burrito Brother that they name drop him in "Looking for Lewis and Clark". Imagining that the "late Tim Hardin" has ascended to heaven, they contemplate a possible conversation between the old folkie and Parsons and wonder if they might have discussed The Long Ryders. (Did Hardin know them himself? He had already been dead for nearly five years by the autumn of 1985 but whatever, I'll go along with it) The song's pounding energy is far more in line with the rock side of their sound and it's hard to imagine someone like Randy Travis singing about "Mubute anthems in Johannesburg" or "diplomats hawking secrets". One of the joys of the Paisley Underground was that it was maybe the first time there was an equivalent to British art school pop stars in the US: young musicians from small towns and often with working class roots who had read some books in university and were fusing down home music with a liberal education.

So, just what does this song mean anyway? Well, I have no idea and, judging by lines like "In a world of love where they burn like Nero / You write a check and you add a zero", I'm not overly sure they know either. But what does it tell you about the state of the world that they must go about searching for people to do the exploring? Meriwether Lewis and William Clark took a lengthy and arduous journey across the Continental Divide but who was there to do likewise nearly two centuries later? Was there anything left to explore? What else was left to do in rock or country music except just variations on everything that came before? For people who name drop themselves in their own song, The Long Ryders are remarkably modest in their aspirations. Still, even if they never amounted to anything more than rehashing what came before with their own spin on it then their recorded output cannot be considered anything else than a success.

Country rock is often seen as a gateway to an appreciation of proper country and western music but what if country music fans were able to better appreciate indie rock through it too? It's possible but the influence does tend to travel in one direction. It isn't likely, however, that MacDonald began to discover Buck Owens and Merle Haggard as a result of this record. As for Stereotype, we, too, wouldn't have gone seeking out The Byrds' Sweetheart of the Rodeo — much less Hank Williams' 40 Greatest Hits —  but at least we might have found trace elements on the country periphery to admire, much as I did with Daisy Age hip hop. And at least there weren't any obnoxious classmates claiming that "country has a message" to alienate me further.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Arcadia: "Election Day"

Lardo Le Bon and Nick "Nick" Rhodes (and Ken Taylor on drums) weren't about to let that good looking Taylor and that not-quite-so-dishy Taylor steal all the headlines with The Power Station. Nope, they went off and dyed their hair black and got all artsy and formed Arcadia. MacDonald dismisses this as merely further evidence of the coming dumper for the Duranies and their various spin-offs (something they would manage to stave off until 1990) but, while "Election Day" is a lesser work, the Arcadia project may have been valuable for retrenchment. A stylish, soulful side would eventually be explored to some success — which, incidentally, MacDonald won't be quite as harsh on — and this is probably the first evidence of it. Not a bad record and I doubt the seminal Duran five piece could have made anything more of it but it doesn't quite work. Still, it's a welcome reminder that Le Bon aspired to intellectualism: he seldom pulled it off but it was worth a try.

Dire Straits: "Brothers in Arms"

25 September 1985

"Ten out of ten for any Dire Straits record."

— Susan Tully

"Who needs Pink Floyd, Dire Straits,
It's not our music, it's out of date."
— The Reynolds Girls, "I'd Rather Jack"

I first saw a CD player in my aunt and uncle's basement at some point in 1987. I knew nothing of formats at the time (still don't really) but I wasn't terribly impressed. Records were nice and big and were cool to look at and carry around with you. Cassettes were convenient and gave everyone the chance to make mixes and pretend to be their very own DJ. Eight track tapes may have been lousy but at least they looked a bit like Atari game cartridges. Like vinyl, reel-to-reel at least had bulk going for them, as well as perhaps the feeling that consumers were really investing in something (either that or the delusion that they were doing so). But CD's weren't nice to stare at, seemed very breakable for something supposedly indestructible and I for one couldn't look past the fact that you couldn't even flip them over to listen to the other side — and they were bloody expensive.

The Brothers in Arms album was one of those pop-rock mega-successes of the eighties and a unique one at that. It was the first big hit on the new format of compact disc and, perhaps as a result, got snapped up by everyone's parents. And why not? They certainly looked the part. They were either balding or wore yuppie perms and dressed in sharp, white suits. Kids didn't want to emulate them, didn't put posters up of them, didn't fancy any of them (though, to be fair, I highly doubt any mothers did either: Mark Knophler wasn't exactly Richard Dean Anderson, was he?) and didn't buy their bloody boring records — they were meant for yuppies throwing fondue parties and middle-class dads who reckoned Chris de Burgh was too soft. That lot.

Or that's what you'd be forgiven for thinking (except for the part about anyone fancying them). While Dire Straits were favourites of listeners in their thirties, it wasn't their exclusive audience, especially in 1985. The eighteen-year-old Susan Tully, star of English soap phenomenon Eastenders, didn't opt for the cool choice (The Jesus & Mary Chain), nor the supposed role-model for girls (Madonna) and not even the sort of vanilla, inoffensive cheery pop that you might think would appeal to young women with her choice of haircut and vaguely beatific smile (Bucks Fizz, maybe even Shaky). No, she digs ver Straits — and, indeed, so did many young people at the time. Their videos were neat (well, a couple of them at any rate), Knophler's guitar playing was brilliant — catchy and distinctive though played with a degree of modesty — and their songs seemed funny. Who else would sing about hauling appliances and colour TVs? They seemed to catch lightning in a bottle for at least that one year as they effectively tapped into the MTV market while proving their rockist bonefides at Live Aid, which then caused a shift away from Duran Duran and Wham! to the likes of Sting, Phil Collins and Dire Straits as British rock royalty. Play The Reynolds Girls' annoying 1989 hit "I'd Rather Jack" for audiences four years earlier and no one would have the foggiest what they're on about (though, I wasn't all that sure myself and I liked that abominable record).

But what did ver kids make of "Brothers in Arms", probably the least remembered of their run of hits? Well, Tully's fine with it but she also makes it clear that Knophler and co could've recorded the sound of them pissing into Dixie cups and she still would have made it SOTF (well, she doesn't say so but you know...). Youngsters likely weren't buying it on CD so they had the traditional LP and cassette formats that they either bought or — in the case of this writer — borrowed from their parents and it was an album we weren't flipping over. All the hits happened to be on the first side so what did we need with all that filler on the other side? (Yes, I'm aware that this flies in the face of what I said above about resenting CDs because they didn't have a side two but I've always been resistant to change and, anyway, I would have at least appreciated having the option of having a flip side to ignore) The single did all right spending a fortnight in the Top Twenty but it was sandwiched in between a pair of much bigger hits so it likely threw off their momentum a bit. The novelty of a CD single release (said to be the first of its kind) probably aided it a bit but this formatting quirk indicates that this was one mainly being snapped up the loyalists — curious kids with a couple bob to spare were probably looking elsewhere, even if there wasn't much out there for them.

Despite its lack of immediacy, "Brothers in Arms" is a high point of the album and one of Knophler's greatest compositions. Avoiding the mildly amusing character songs that made him wealthy ("Sultans of Swing", "Walk of Life", "Money for Nothing") as well as the overtly Dylanesque trickery of "Romeo and Juliet" (still a great song), Knophler attempts to engage in some human understanding. Every British songwriter of the time tried knocking out a tune following the Falklands War and he was no exception. There's nothing here that Siegfried Sassoon didn't put far more elegantly seventy years earlier but it is nonetheless an affecting tribute to young men caught up in a futile conflict. Americans had been dishing out Vietnam War numbers about veterans returning from Southeast Asia only to find themselves spurned by everyone but the troubles in the South Atlantic seemed to inspire Knophler to examine the nobility of British (and, by extension, Argentine) soldiers giving their lives for something trivial. There's nothing dazzling about his guitar playing but his sparse ax solos provide a pained resonance. It probably doesn't matter had it been a single or not (even though I applaud them for having done so given that they had more obvious candidates) as it seems more appropriate as one of those deep cuts that fans come to adore over time. I don't know why we never bothered flipping the album over since there was gold on that second side.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Matt Bianco: "Yeh Yeh"

In addition to Dire Straits, Tully also recommends new records from Hipsway, Tears for Fears and Matt Bianco. What do all these groups have in common? I think it's precision. Attention to detail. Bands influenced by blues, funk and soul with musicians who had honed their craft over years of practice and hopeless gigs. Of course it's impossible to picture the members of the louche Matt Bianco playing working man's clubs in tough industrial towns like Dire Straits but there's a no less dedicated graft. "Yeh Yeh" is an engaging sophisti-pop dance piece that nevertheless feels very thin next to the bleak and stately beauty of the SOTF. If this is the best that mainstream pop had to offer then it's no wonder the kids all began embracing Dire Straits.

Rachel Sweet: "I Go to Pieces"

5 April 1979

"To be played over and over when you're sitting forlornly on your own, and feeling like a good wallow in a lake of tears."

— Cliff White

Well, it had to happen, didn't it? After an impressive four top notch Singles of the Fortnight on the bounce, we were probably due a come down. A pair from that batch are simply outstanding — Blondie's "Heart of Glass", which topped the charts all over the world and is still immensely popular, and Rick James' "High on Your Love Suite/One Mo Hit (of Your Love)", which didn't do overly well at the time and isn't remembered today — while the other two — Lene Lovich's "Lucky Number" and Fischer-Z's "Remember Russia" — are just a notch below in quality but still excellent. In comparison, then, Rachel Sweet's "I Go to Pieces" isn't anything special: a countrified cover version of an inconsequential sixties pop song. Ho-hum.

That's not to say that there aren't elements to admire here. It's actually a marked improvement on the better known version by Peter & Gordon with the duo's typically bland vocals dragging things down quite a bit (composer Del Shannon's subsequent recording is preferred for his customary emotive restraint but it too lacks something). Sweet perhaps doesn't give it an ideal reading but her carefree, flirtatious singing gives the song a spark of life that never existed before. In contrast with Cliff White's observation above, it seems more effective as a record to be played when you're sitting forlornly on your own and feeling like you need nothing more than to get the hell out of that lake of tears you've been wallowing in.

Great break up songs should have their feet in two camps: one to wallow in self-pity, the other to guide you out of it. Grant McLennan and Robert Forster's compositions on The Go-Betweens' superb 16 Lovers Lane (the greatest relationship-gone-to-pot album of all time no matter what fans of Rumours and Blood on the Tracks would have you believe) are drenched in sorrow and contain bitterness and pain but it's also clear that they're going to get through these bust ups — and, by extension, so can we. The heartbreak Sweet's going through has shot her nerves but it's not about to let her curl up in a corner and die. She's tough — she wouldn't be sat on a motorbike in the promotional video just to show off, would she? — and has sass and doesn't care if anyone else happens to see her breakdown at the sight of her ex.

Despite being just sixteen-years-old at the time and hailing from Akron, Ohio, Sweet was part of Stiff, the renowned British record label home to grumpy singer-songwriters, music hall mavericks and so-called "performance artists" — not exactly where you'd expect a promising country singer to land. Still, the pub rockers who were the backbone of Stiff's early period were all country and western fans at heart and it's possible they were after another Tanya Tucker teen star. (And why fabricate a drawling, faux-hillbilly songstress in the UK when you can land a full-formed, authentic one in the US?) Unfortunately, the label wasn't iconoclastic enough to make Sweet truly interesting. Fed a bunch of old pop tunes and tasked with doing her thing, there are good intentions here but with a faint pointlessness to much of her material (she just about pulls off an awkward "And Then He Kissed Me/Be My Baby" medley in 1981). She may have been too young and not at all interested but it's a shame she couldn't have been given free reign on her creativity — not unlike Blondie, Lene Lovich, Fischer-Z and Rick James.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

M: "Pop Muzik"

Some songs sound better in your head than when you sit down and listen to them while others are so much better heard than imagined but few tunes are exactly the same in either state. "Pop Muzik" is one, even if I can never quite get the order of the cities quite right (though I do know it ends with 'Munich' which Robin Scott is somehow is able to rhyme with 'muzik'). Actually not a great song, it is nonetheless a terrific record which sums up the entire history of the rock 'n' roll era while being sonically futuristic. It would be as relevant today as it was then but for the fact that hardly anyone talks about pop music anymore...unless you host a podcast or have a blog or something.

Billy Idol: "Rebel Yell"

11 September 1985

"(well he did more or less invent rock 'n' roll)"

— Steve Bush

Part 2: Billiam Gets Another Chance

"Billiam? Billiam?"

He could sort of make out the gentle voice trying to rouse him but he was conscious enough not to give a toss. Whatever time it was, it was too early to be getting up.

"Billiam," the voice continued. She wasn't about to stop trying so he might as well get up. He knew he could make the task of sending her on her way quick before he could get to more urgent matters.

"Morning," he gurgled, slowly sitting up. Tracey (he just remembered her name!) was getting dressed. She looked lovely in the morning light. He liked waking up to a girl that made him not regret the night before.

"I gotta go baby," she said sweetly, "I gotta be at work in a bit."

"Well, can I get you some breakfast?" Billiam responded feebly. He loved making offers he knew he wouldn't have to fulfill.

"Thanks, sweetie, but I'll get something on the way. Don't get up. I'll let myself out. Call me." She kissed him on the forehead and walked out of the bedroom.

"Right ho," he replied. He wasn't sure if he got her number but it didn't matter since he wasn't going to call her anyway.

~~~~~

Billiam never seemed to make a good first impression, especially with the ladies he was really after. A rock star of some note, he was bound to attract attention but he never seemed to want anyone willing to throw themselves at him. He always preferred the girls who paid him no mind. Girls who seemed above it all. Girls who always seemed to have someplace better to be, meeting far better people. Girls for whom rock 'n' roll glamour meant nothing. (Of course, Billiam also knew that this was just an act: why would they choose to be in the vicinity of fame if they weren't attracted to it?) He respected their supposed aloofness and it made him miss being young in London and having to chase down every opportunity no matter how much of a longshot it was.

Tracey claimed she had been dragged out by co-workers and did the usual "have I seen you someplace before?" routine when she got chatting with Billiam the night before. This was a variation on the same story he always heard: pushy friends or colleagues twisted their arms to go out, they never typically went to nightclubs and they didn't think about trying to meet guys. They never seemed impressed to be in his presence, didn't appear drawn to him in any way and only seemed to be talking to him as if to pass the time in a place they felt uncomfortable.

These girls may not have been taken by him at first but they would slowly come round. Billiam was charming and sweet and always made them feel like they were the only girls that mattered. It just took a little time but they never let him down. They just wanted more, more, more.

~~~~~

He didn't awaken until the early afternoon and only then because the phone was ringing. It  was Glenn, his manager, calling from London.

"It's another flop, mate," Glenn began without a greeting. Billiam didn't reply. "I'm sorry."

"'S aw-right, mate," Billiam responded nonchalantly.

"The record label isn't happy. I'm worried they might drop you."

The conversation continued for a bit with Glenn doing all the talking and Billiam giving token replies. He told his manager that he didn't care and that he'd made America his home and he didn't care what the English thought anymore. He was pretty sure he'd convinced Glenn but hadn't quite been able to convince himself. He knew there was something a bit strange about those British groups who hit big in the States but weren't able to cut it back home. He always chalked it up to Americans taking him seriously while being treated like a joke in his homeland but it still gnawed at him.

Putting down the phone, he got himself ready to head out. A tour was coming up and he had to get started on rehearsals. And he was looking to hit the clubs later.

~~~~~

He invited his touring band out after a productive rehearsal and they readily agreed. Jobbing musicians always knew that one of the perks of backing a popular solo artist was the chance of meeting women. Billiam led the fivesome into the club and they began scoping the joint but the singer made a bee line for the bar. Women would come to him, they figured.

It didn't seem like Billiam was looking around but he knew where everyone was. The women he had no interest in were the easiest to spot: they tended to stick closest to him. Beyond them, he had to check out the groups of friends enjoying their drinks and laughing. There was always one he had his eye on.

He first noticed Layla standing with a group who had given up looking for a table. She didn't seem to mind even as others in her pack kept searching for a place to sit down. Billiam tried not to stare, only glancing in her direction in short spurts. He would have to wait a bit to make his move and decided to get a round in for his bandmates. They weren't having too much luck but as soon as Billiam joined them they began attracting attention.

"I thought you were already with a girl," Larry the affable drummer commented.

"Nah," Billiam dismissed, "there's lots of time for that." Few knew how to play the long game as well as he did.

"Got anyone in mind?" inquired Rick the rhythm guitarist.

"Dunno," said Billiam as he looked around the room, trying his best to seem as noncommittal as possible. He wanted to make sure his chums were spoken for before he made his move.

He eventually approached Layla. She didn't appear surprised that he'd chosen her.

"'Ello. I'm Billiam."

"Yeah, I know. It's nice to meet you."

Billiam was impressed. She wasn't pretending not to know him like the girls he typically chatted up — but neither was she fawning all over him like the girls he didn't want. They spoke for a while and she agreed to have a drink with him. Their conversation continued for over an hour: she asked him about living in America compared to England, where he liked to go on holiday, hobbies and keeping his apartment tidy; he asked her about her job, family, books she's been reading and how she handled the pressures of being an independent woman in the eighties. This was going well and it was just about time to ask her if she wanted to get going.

"Listen, it's been great meeting you but I have to get going," Layla said suddenly. Billiam was surprised but he didn't panic. Girls often pulled out the old 'I gotta go' line but it never worked on him.

"You don't 'ave time for one mo' drink?"

"I'm sorry, my friends are waiting for me. But maybe we'll see each other again." Billiam still wasn't completely worried. As she stood up to go, he gave her a smoldering, 'come hither' look, the kind he had perfected over years of magazine shoots, the kind you could only pull off if it was perfectly natural, anyone who tried to hard wound up looking ridiculous.

"Take care," she smiled, not the least bit moved by his sex appeal. Billiam didn't move as she turned away. That night the members of his backing band all went home with women they met at the club but Billiam headed home by himself. Joey, his doorman, was stunned: he couldn't recall a time when he witnessed Billiam returning home all by himself.

~~~~~

The tour went well and Billiam hadn't lost a step, neither as a performer nor with the ladies. There were women available to him every evening in every city they visited and he usually took them up on their hospitality — it would be rude not to.

His records were also doing well. He now had Top 10 hits in the US, Canada, Australia and New Zealand and he was finally beginning to make inroads back in Britain. Critics who had always been hostile were beginning to warm up to him too. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was a joke back home. It would show them if one of those singles they spurned could make a comeback and prove them all wrong.

Getting back to New York after several months on the road, Billiam was unsure about going to the nightclubs and discotheques. The English pub round the corner suited him for the moment but he was also happy just to lie low at home with mates coming round for small gatherings. There were still plenty of women to choose from and he didn't have to revisit his failure from his previous night out.

"Why aren'cha comin' out anymore, man?" asked his buddy Lance, a restaurateur Billiam had known since first moving to New York four years earlier.

"I been on tour so long and I'm still knackered. It's nice t' be at 'ome, mate," he shrugged his shoulders. "I jus' wanna party 'ere!"

The phone rang. Billiam didn't feel like answering it and didn't want to take the call so he asked his chum Dave to take a message.

"It's your manager," Dave shouted. "He says your single is in the Top 10 in England."

Billiam didn't shoot and scream but everyone could tell he was excited. His mood perked up even though he assured everyone that he didn't care beyond the royalties he'd be getting.

"Come on," commanded Lance, "we gotta go out and celebrate!" Billiam still wasn't in much of a mood but he agreed. He didn't want to spoil everyone's fun.

~~~~~

"Good morning." Billiam awoke to a soft voice. He turned and looked at Layla.

"Morning."

"I had a great time last night."

"Yeah, me too."

"I'm so glad I bumped into you again. I wasn't sure if I would ever see you after our last encounter."

"Oh really?" Billiam asked, pretending not to know what she was on about.

"Yeah, I didn't want you to think of me as a cheesy rock groupie chick."

"Oh, come on love, I'd never think that. You're special."

She offered to make him breakfast but they ended up doing bacon and eggs together. He was going to be sorry to see her go.

Layla kissed him and went to leave.

"Call me."

"Right ho," he replied. He didn't get her number but it didn't matter since he wasn't going to call her anyway.

~~~~~

Also of some cop

Freddie Mercury: "Living on My Own"

Part 6: Billiam in the Shadows

Billiam loves rock 'n' roll but he looks down upon a lot of older stars, especially if they stand in the way of his old school punk values. British stars in New York often form cliques but he won't just hang out with anyone, especially if they're older and are coming out of prog or hippie music or pomp rock. Then he meets Tanya, a vivacious girl who kind of digs him but who also seems to favour those hoary old rock geezers that he doesn't care for. She's hoping Billiam might be able to introduce her to one or two legends but he doesn't want them to steal his thunder. Then he remembers an old Queen who just happens to be in town. Can he get a rock god to lend a hand?