The Sutherland Brothers: "Easy Come, Easy Go"

31 May 1979 (with more here)

"While not usually approving of introspective balladeers with a sob story on their trembling lips, this is such a good song, so well performed that I...I...oh, I can't go on, it's all too heartbreaking to even talk about."

— Cliff White

It may be a symptom of our cynical age but I had some difficulty as to how to take Cliff White's words. Does he genuinely love this song and is so moved by it that he is unable to give it a rational analysis? Or does he wish to send up its melodrama by offering up a review that is every bit as choked up on emotion? Well, what if it's a bit of both? And, more to the point, what if that's pretty much what Gavin and Iain Sutherland had in mind as well?

Let's start with the title. Easy come, easy go is a phrase used for something one acquires with as little effort possible but which subsequently disappears just as easily. You weren't invested in it and you never grew attached so it shouldn't matter if it vanishes. Gamblers use it a lot. I find it hard to imagine it being used to sum up a relationship gone sour but I suppose if you've used your influence, looks, money and/or power to woo the fairer sex then you may not mind when they're off to the exit (and, indeed, you've been out the door pretty swiftly yourself). There's always another to scoop up and ditch just as quickly.

One of the Sutherlands is addressing a friend along these lines. You've been so cavalier in the past so why be hung up on some broad now? Though Gavin or Iain has this "sob story" on his "trembling lips", there's not a lot of empathy here. Is he the lothario described above? Perhaps not but it seems the vocalist feels he's getting his just desserts — lines like "better act your age" and "it seems so long since you last had to shed a tear" aren't exactly wise words from one chum to another.

"Easy Come, Easy Go" is a decent record but one that is more interesting than enjoyable. The over-lush arrangements, country-tinged sentimental feel and, yes, extravagant vocals can be a bit much but the harsh message makes it all a lot easier to swallow. Just as interpreting White's review as purposely over flowery and prosaic makes his critique much easier to read charitably.

Back in the early seventies, the up and coming rock group Steely Dan signed up David Palmer as a second lead vocalist, which had been at least partially due to feelings that co-leader Donald Fagen didn't possess a commercial enough voice. Despite this, Palmer only appears on his own on two tracks, "Dirty Work" and "Brooklyn (Owes the Charmer Under Me)", on debut Dan LP Can't Buy a Thrill. His earnest, pleading vocals mark a major contrast to Fagen's aloof wiseass and it makes you wonder how their records and career would have turned out with the much more vanilla Palmer singing the bulk of their material. Is a line like "the weekend at the college didn't turn out like you planned" even still funny under these conditions? "Easy Come, Easy Go" gives a tiny glimpse of what this alternate ('Floppy Dan', perhaps?) path would have resulted in. You might take it as serious but you have to dig around for the irony, even if it's right in front of you.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Tubeway Army: "Are 'Friends' Electric"

In addition to the number fifty stormer above, Cliff White assesses a pair of UK chart toppers this fortnight. Anita Ward's "Ring My Bell" and "Are 'Friends' Electric" were back-to-back number ones in the summer of 1979 and were but two of what is a pretty outstanding run of hit parade leaders that year (apart from Art Garfunkel). Gary Numan's first of two hits that anyone can remember is absolutely superb and he deftly funneled all kinds of influences without quite being able to spot any of them: I mean, sure, he told everyone how much he adored David Bowie but is it really that obvious here? White's fairly impressed but he concludes on a slight down note that "cheerful it isn't". True enough but when you're caught up in something so original and so addictive, does it really matter?

Andy White: Religious Persuasion / PiL: "Rise" / The Damned: "Eloise"

29 January 1986

"There's some good stuff around at the moment, so forgive me but I've got three Singles Of The Fortnight."

— Janice Long

The 1985 batch of Singles of the Fortnight produced co-winners on five occasions, by far the most we've seen so far. Not to be outdone, '86 isn't quite a month old and we've got our first SOTF triple winner. Being a longtime champion of indie music and a close friend of John Peel, it comes as no surprise that guest reviewer Janice Long has marked out a pair of punk throwbacks and an up and coming folkie as personal favourites. I'm not quite as fond of all of 'em but let's start with the best of the bunch — and go downhill from there. (I was going to take the mickey out of her indecisiveness over the three-way draw by writing about every other record in the so-called "cop" section below until I discovered what a truly dire pile of singles she was tasked with. Wanting to save myself the trouble, I went with the safe choice. Plus, four is already too many)

~~~~~

"(This record's getting another push, thank God. So, distribution department — get your act together and put it in the shops!)"

Once a home to the likes of Elvis Costello, Dr. Feelgood, Ian Dury and Nick Lowe, Stiff Records was one of many great labels that cropped up in the aftermath of punk. Aware of new wave/post-punk futurism, they also had an eye on pop music traditions stretching from music hall to Merseybeat. They had legendary reviews that toured Britain in the late seventies and many of their charges became household names. They gradually all departed but replacements were snapped up and many of them — Kirsty MacColl, Madness, The Pogues — also did well for themselves. Still, they may have "stiffed" some of their less successful signings.

As Long suggests, Andy White's record label didn't know what they were doing with him. She's clearly frustrated that such an outstanding record would be so difficult to find but they seem to have even managed to mess up copies that were made available. A short write up in this issue's Bitz section mentions that the single is out in both 7" and 12" formats but there's little to indicate that the latter ever ended up being released except for as a promo. Curious youngsters reading Long's review (as well as those who happened to be listening when she doubtless played it on her Radio 1 show) may have taken a pass on the more expensive EP; those who still took a chance may have been turned off by the lengthy, five, six minute numbers "The Big Rain" and "Things Start to Unwind". Even fans of White's may have taken aback by it: the EP's four tracks all ended up on subsequent solo album Rave on Andy White and they may not have been pleased to have bought them twice. A widely distributed 7" single could have garnered more interest and may have even snagged a chart position.

Long only bothers with the title track (as does Bitz) and she's right to do so. Not that the other songs are inferior but they all smack of being deep cuts that have no business on a single. "Religious Persuasion", however, is the closest thing to a pop song and one that is surprisingly accessible. Not exactly a singalong — it's far too difficult trying to keep up with White — it's a rollicking piece and a fun listen even though the bitterness is hardly disguised. Long says it isn't anti-religion (though it sure doesn't make much of a case for it) but certainly the lyrics poke fun at the ludicrousness and randomness of faith — and even the tendency among people to pick and choose ("I quaked in my sackcloth, threw away my joss-stick, burned my Koran and said I was agnostic").

You don't hear it much anymore but I used to find it fascinating (and a bit irksome) when someone would be described as being of the " ____ persuasion". I wasn't able to grasp that "female persuasion" or "Irish persuasion" were likely intended to be used ironically. They're not talked into their gender or their nationality — or their religion! Well, as far as faith goes they certainly are. Parents talk their young children into their faith, spouses try to convince each other to try their church, nutters on the street who don't know you are convinced that they know what's best for you: religion is built upon getting others to go along with you. In that spirit, Andy White has done his job — and he didn't even have to do much persuading.

~~~~~

"Great start to 1986 for Lydon, eh? Being awarded all that money in the court case and a single that looks set to become a number one."

I've always wondered if it ever annoys John Lydon that his best group is completely overshadowed by his previous, more famous unit. (I'd ask but (a) I don't know him and (b) I'd be too scared of his response) Public Image Ltd already had a deeper and stronger back catalog by the mid-eighties than the Sex Pistols, even if you factor in that horrible crap that they belched out after their charismatic frontman departed in 1978. Of course if PiL have been so slighted, Lydon hasn't done much to combat it.

Having started off with British musicians such as Jah Wobble and Keith Leverne, Lydon's eventual move to the US resulted in a much more American band — with some fellow expats joining in. The post-punk and reggae influences were done away with but he avoided pulling a Fleetwood Mac with sunshine LA pop because he kept his eyes on trends in hip hop and indie. He took a lot of flack for bringing in rock dinosaurs like Cream's Ginger Baker but anyone who was able to get jazz drummer Tony Williams to work with them has my instant respect. With influences from all over the shop and a similarly catholic pack of sessioners, this is far from Lydon's "American" sound, rather a reflection of his individualism. 

But I'm more an admirer than a fan. "Rise" is fine. Long is correct about the chorus being surprisingly catchy (and, during the much repeated "may the road rise with you" line, His Nibs even comes close to singing!) and it's quite the sonic experience, a testament to some fine production and arranging and Lydon's creative mind. What's missing is a song. Lyrics and tune are repetitive and there's a sense that he and collaborator Bill Laswell underwrote a piece that had been such a startling sound experience. There are lots of good ideas here but they're in need of something else. Like "Manic Monday" (see below), it's nice but it goes "absolutely nowhere". Interesting and with elements to enjoy but just lacking that bit of spark that separates "Religious Persuasion" from "Eloise". Speaking of which...

~~~~~

"Go for it lads! (Even if I am exhausted at the end of it.)" 

I will have to respectfully disagree here. Not because I'm especially fond of Paul Ryan's 1968 original but because the two really don't differ that much. Highfalutin vocals by rock-era crooner are matched by those of Damned singer Dave Vanian. The Neil Diamond-esque orchestrations on Ryan's recording are recreated by goth guitars and high-pitched synths. Even the five-and-a-half-minutes of hammering the point home on the original are copied practically to the second here.

Singers such as Marc Almond and Nick Cave began showing an interest in finding the dark side of sixties pop songs at around this time and The Damned do a commendable job of seeking it in "Eloise". They probably even find it for all I know. Yet, it's not a great song and with a performance that is far too over the top for me to feel invested in it. But what do I know? Their cover of "Eloise" proved to be almost as big a hit as Ryan's version seventeen years earlier so whatever these recordings had going against them, the punters lapped it all up. I wonder if they, too, felt as exhausted as Long and I both did.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Bangles: "Manic Monday"

"It's very "nice" — nothing more, nothing less."

Written by "Christopher" (aka Prince, in one of those pop fun facts that everyone thinks no one else knows), "Manic Monday" was a breakthrough for The Bangles who were either the throwaway pop group it was okay to like or the classic pop-rock torchbearers who were never quite up to snuff. Neither is true but that was the feeling. Long's assessment seems dismissive but is she wrong? A great song is sometimes just a great song. (I would've chosen another record from this issue but for the fact that there wasn't anything else of note that could inspire just a piddly little paragraph) Much disappointed to discover that the line is "have to catch an early train, got to be to work by nine" and not that she had to be "in Duluth by nine", as I had always assumed it to be; "Christopher" was from Minnesota, you know.

Jellybean: "Sidewalk Talk"

15 January 1986

"This, though sung by one Catherine Buchanan, is a Madonna song and bloody damn good it is too, my hearties."

— Dave Rimmer

It's a new year and a time to take stock. A time to look back at the chart busters and those who came up short. A time to look ahead to some future chart hopefuls and a chance to think about who might be in for a big year. And a time to be looking at who might be heading towards the dumper.

Madonna was coming off another big year. Not as a quickly taken to heart as in America, she made up for lost time in Britain with eight Top 10 hits and a remarkable sixty-nine weeks spent in the Top 40. Granted, she only managed one chart topper but it's quite possible that this glut of product actually prevented certain singles from doing better. Plus, this wasn't a run of eight absolutely brilliant singles. Sure, "Like a Virgin", "Into the Groove" and a reissue of "Holiday" have always been terrific but there's a reason "Angel", "Gambler" and "Dress You Up" have largely been forgotten and it's because they aren't much cop. That's an Imperial Period: when even your duff records stand a good chance.

She entered 1986 on the quiet since she was holed up in a studio in LA working on what would become the True Blue album. Or she might have done had it been up to her. The record label spotted a gap and decided that this was the perfect opportunity to give "Borderline" it's long overdue place near the top of the charts. And they weren't the only ones looking for an opportunity. Ex-boyfriend John "Jellybean" Benitez had previously cut a Madonna composition which also looked to capitalize on her fame.

"Sidewalk Talk" gives us a glimpse of a Madonna Louise Ciccone who never had decades of hits, never played box office smash concert tours, never became an icon and — mercifully — never churned out all those crap films. She still may have made a decent living off of singing and songwriting but only on records spun in New York and London discotheques and purchased by dance music fanatics on overpriced 12" import. Few would have even known her name even if they happened to kick it to her latest record down at the Funhouse. And she may have ended up at the mercy of male DJs, club empresarios and producers which wouldn't do at all.

It doesn't seem at first to be wildly different from her current run of hits: it's a bouncy pop song heavy on funk-synth riffs of the time. It might not even seem out of place on The Immaculate Collection, Madonna's essential 1990 compilation. But while her early hits document an ambitious young woman chasing stardom, "Sidewalk Talk" is about being stuck in the doldrums of a nowhere life, of walking the streets of Manhattan with no place to go, of being paranoid that others are whispering about you even if you're a nobody. Not exactly mid-eighties Madonna material, is it? Then there's her voice. "Holiday" has her singing like a girl and the sweetness continues for the most part on her early run. Here, however, we're "treated" to those deep, husky pipes that became one of her trademarks. Dave Rimmer offers a postscript on his review by saying that she "does actually sing a bit in the background". A bit? "One" Catharine Buchanan does the proto-raps on the verses but the rest is so clearly Madonna. Who did he think the deep-voiced lady was?

So, why no artist credit to Madonna? Well, apart from her record company being potentially in conflict with Jellybean's over such a matter, it's possible she was just returning the favour to her former paramour. She credited Benitez with tidying up the mess that had been made of her debut album (as well as bringing "Holiday" to her attention) and gifting him with an original seems like a fair trade off. While others may have had reason to be unhappy with this arrangement, there's no reason to think that she objected (a tough businesswoman like her would've seen to it that the single never got released if that's what she really wanted).

Madonna's success was taking its toll. Not on her, mind you, but on pop journalists. The Smash Hits staff couldn't agree on her records or her style and were in conflict as to where they thought she'd be headed in '86. Dave Rimmer loves what she and Jellybean have cooked up here but he also considers "Like a Virgin" to be "boring" and isn't especially impressed by the reissue of "Borderline" that's also on offer this fortnight. Chris Heath likes a lot of her stuff — even if he offers some backhanded praise of her records as "trashy dance music with simple catchy tunes and disposable trite lyrics" — but foresees her effervescent hits giving way to a more adult sound before long (say what you will about Madonna but that has still yet to happen). William Shaw is disappointed by "Into the Groove" and misses the fun of her earlier work. Sorrel Downer thinks party's just about over. They couldn't have known that there was a lot more to her even if "Sidewalk Talk" provides some clues.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Whitney Houston: "How Will I Know"

Already looking like she could give Madonna a serious run for her money, Whitney Houston seemed made for light and shiny pop and not the tough R & B that she later tried her hand at and couldn't pull off at all. Written by songwriting couple George Merrill and Shannon Rubicam (later to form their own act Boy Meets Girl), "How Will I Know" was initially rejected by Janet Jackson before being scooped up by Houston's people, thus depriving us of a 'what if' that we should all be glad never happened. Had Houston's singing career not taken off, she could have done worse than doing jingles for TV: who else was able to make such fluff seem so convincing? Yes, Dave, you're very much mistaken.

McFadden & Whitehead: "Ain't No Stopping Us Now"

17 May 1979

"If it doesn't get you smiling and dancing, call a doctor immediately. You must be very poorly."

— Cliff White

One of the great things about disco is that it was open to everyone. While Studio 54 may have had a very selective bouncer, there were plenty of other clubs for patrons to flock to where they could be dancefloor superstars for a night. Proprietors, too, got to bask in a renown they wouldn't have previously enjoyed, as did DJ's. And then there are the artists who came from all kinds of backgrounds. Some were from established pop and rock acts, most famously the Bee Gees but also groups such as ABBA, ELO, Kiss and Queen. Others were funk and soul performers enjoying a commercial and creative second wind like Marvin Gaye and Smokey Robinson. Herbie Hancock was one of the jazz's foremost keyboardists before supposedly selling out with some admittedly rum four-on-the-floor beats. Donna Summer emerged as a disco superstar having spent the previous decade as a struggling singer in various genres. And then there were those who'd been on the sidelines as jobbing session musicians and staff songwriters who managed to break through.

Cliff White has noticed this trend and points to some earlier examples: Chic, Chanson, Raydio. All were made up of talented studio musicians who made the transition to forming their own groups which coincided with the disco boom. Bernard Edwards and Nile Rodgers had been young jazz players who may have been doing well creatively but who didn't have a lot to show for it in terms of earnings. Seriously considering going the punk rock route ("we always admired rock 'n' roll money," says Rodgers), they opted for disco, had some massive hits and then began producing (either in tandem or apart) Sister Sledge, Diana Ross, David Bowie and Robert Palmer. Top notch musicianship and studio savvy translated well in terms of cutting dance favourites but well-honed songwriting skills could also prove a benefit.

Gene McFadden and John Whitehead came into the Philadelphia soul scene as vocalists but emerged out of it a successful songwriting and production duo crafting hits for The O'Jays and Harold Melvin & The Bluenotes. With strong harmonies and writing, production and arranging skills learned in the Philadelphia International studios, they were in prime position to pounce on some disco success. It's easy to imagine "Ain't No Stopping Us Now" done in a Philly soul manner: dial back on the syncopated bass and replace the string section with some horns and you're in the realm of the very acts they had just been gifting hits to.

As a pair that had struggled for years, the song's sentiments could be taken as autobiographical, which renders the fact that they never had another hit something of a bitter pill. Nonetheless, it's crafted along the lines period songwriting with a hopefullness that current troubles will soon be left behind. This was the bread and butter of disco tunes. Well written and produced, it's only slightly let down by the nice vocals of McFadden & Whitehead, which lack flair. Experienced as they no doubt were in the studio, they may have been novices as stage performers. To be fair, the understated modesty kind of works with the lyrics and it would have been a distinctive quality alongside a generation of showboats but nevertheless their harmonies still seem like too much of a throwback to old school soul.

In a musical landscape so precious that a bunch of nitwits in Chicago were gearing up for the notorious Disco Demolition Night that summer at Comiskey Park, the purveyors of disco were remarkably open to all. Donna Summer, the Bee Gees and many more found a home in it and it was one that was refreshingly free of purists. The Rolling Stones took some flak on their excellent yet unlovable Some Girls album for dipping their toes in mainstream country ("Far Away Eyes") and punk ("Shattered") but didn't face too much blowback from disco types on "Miss You" (even if rock fans weren't necessarily dead chuffed). Fans weren't about to be snobs about who was cutting the latest disco hits, their only concern was how much they dug what they were dancing to. There's probably never been a period in the rock era in which a record's quality dictated how it would be received. In this type of environment even a pair of anonymous poor cousins to Gamble & Huff could thrive.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Blondie: "Sunday Girl"

Probably the least remembered of their UK number ones (1999's "Maria" doesn't count since I'd have to be aware of it in the first place in order to remember it), "Sunday Girl" suffers from being a Blondie single in a world of many more distinctive Blondie singles. (For the love of God, even "Rapture" has Deb's ludicriously awful raps to help it stand out) Taken on its own terms, however, it's actually rather good. As White says, they've already dispensed with the disco (for the time being at any rate) and gone back to a more solidly new wave sound, though perhaps without quite the same vigour of earlier hits "Denis" and "(I'm Always Touched by Your) Presence, Dear". It then was back to disco with the awesome "Atomic" and they wouldn't try rocking out until the more thrilling "Call Me". Still, a fine single from Imperial Period Blondie — just don't bother with the terrible French version, proof if nothing else that singing in a second language was rapidly becoming a lost art.

Sting: "Russians"

4 December 1985

"Appropriate in the light of recent summit talks between Reagan and Gorbachev, "Russians" is full of admirable sentiment — "there's no such thing as an invisible war, it's a lie we don't believe anymore" — swathed in a sweeping giant of a song that borrows heavily from Russian composer Sergei Prokofiev."

— Peter Martin

A funny memory I have from taking the school bus home involves discussing bands breaking up. "Did you hear that Wham! broke up?" "Did you hear that Culture Club broke up?" "Did you hear that The Police broke up?" I may have been eight (my age at the end of 1985) or nine-years old and I was discussing groups that had broken up. It's possible that only one of the above "Did you hear" conversations actually happened the way I remember but I do recall thinking about the end of all three at some point in the mid-eighties. The very fact that young elementary school boys talked about at least one band breaking up seems extraordinary now. For one thing, groups don't really split up anymore (they go on "hiatus"); also, when it does occur it's not particularly big news; and, finally, what were a bunch of kids doing talking about the end of The Police?

But this was a time when rock groups could be big and boy did Sting know it. His organization never formally announced a break up — which means we must have been rumour mongering on the school bus, also an odd thing for little tykes to be doing — but his profile was high enough that he could make a seamless jump to a solo career. He was no longer able to reel off one massive hit single after another but his debut solo album The Dream of the Blue Turtles sold well around the world, he did three separate turns on stage at Live Aid (one with The Police as well as guest sports with Phil Collins and Dire Straits) and appeared in the film Plenty alongside Meryl Streep and Tracey Ullman.

The Police last cropped up on this blog with "Invisible Sun", a haunting single about everyday people being left in the ashes of war. A far cry from some of their more well-remembered but facile hits, it let me to conclude that Sting really should have pursued weightier material more often. Well, perhaps not actually. It's now four years on and martial law in Poland, Beirut under siege and the military gunning down protesters in Korea has faded away. There are still problems in the world but lives aren't shattering to nearly the same extent as then. Why not look to an issue that hadn't yet killed anyone but which very well still could.

As Peter Martin says, there's an admirable sentiment here and Sting is making a statement that needed to be said. Fine but what of the record? Well, it's as if he's trying to jam puzzle pieces together that really don't fit. Prokofiev's Lieutenant Kijé is a great choice. It's a beautiful piece of music and one that represents Russia without caricaturing it: the listener doesn't instantly picture squat dancing, Russian dolls and the Kremlin as it's playing. Nevertheless, Sting's lyrics don't really work with the composition. Actually, the words just aren't all that good. Sting has his own unique delivery but there's an over-abundance of syllables that makes singing along nearly impossible (assuming anyone would ever want to). It's as if he has stuffed this record full of ideas but without crafting a good song.

It's amazing that "Russians" was even a single and that it managed to outperform "If You Love Somebody Set Them Free" in the UK since it really sounds like a deep cut that you zone out on while listening to the album. It's great that Sting kept up the desire to tackle issues but not at the expense of a grim record. Though recorded well before it, this is very much a post-Live Aid single: intentions are good and that's good enough. At least for some.

"Russians" wraps up the 1985 batch of Singles of the Fortnight on a slightly damp note but it has been an unexpectedly good year. Last fall, just as I was wrapping up the '84 group, I began looking to the year ahead and it didn't seem like it was going to be up to much. The UK number one singles are, with the possible exceptions of Dead or Alive's "You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)" and Madonna's "Into the Groove", poor and I thought that once you get past my top three or four albums (Kate Bush's Hounds of Love, Prefab Sprout's Steve McQueen, The Style Council's Our Favourite Shop and maybe R.E.M.'s Fables of the Reconstruction) the quality completely bottoms out. But I was wrong. Bob Stanley has complained that the eighties were lousy because great records were often at a disadvantage for chart success and he's right — and, indeed, even some of the higher placing hits from this year covered in this space have been some of the weaker entries. But at least there is some depth to an apparently shallow time.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Anya: "Moscow Nights"

A lot of cracks in the Soviet mystique began showing in '85. Mikhail Gorbachev, aka the smiling face of the Red Menace, took power, Samantha Smith, their symbol for peace in the United States, was killed in a plane crash and Rocky beat Drago. But if you thought the latter was embarrassing then get a load of "Moscow Nights" by Anya. A follow-up to Elton John's hit single "Nikita" — if you call releasing a record about the USSR after being cast as a Checkpoint Charlie border guard in pop video a "follow-up" — it tries to build on the exoticism of "One Night in Bangkok" but at least Murray Head, Bjorn and Benny from ABBA and/or Tim Rice probably went to the Thai capital and saw the clichés they sang and wrote about and that's more than can be said for this crap. Also, why is Anya singing with that accent? Leaving aside issues with cultural appropriation and all that, who does she think she is, a wrestling villain carrying around the hammer and sickle?

In Embrace: "This Brilliant Evening"

20 November 1985

"And finally In Embrace are neglected, and justice must be done."
— Sorrel Downer

The 1985 crop of Singles of the Fortnight is nearly up and I have to say what a pleasant surprise the bulk of them have been. I've long been on the side of eighties music in the face of critics who dis the production and keytars and bad hair but even I didn't relish looking at pop songs from the decade's midpoint year — the one in which New Pop had completely vanished, the yuppies were taking over and hoary old sixties rockers had gained a second wind thanks to Live Aid.

I hadn't thought of such a thing until now but one of my goals with this blog is to get one of these groups that have slipped through the cracks to an audience that otherwise never would have encountered them. Ambitious for someone with a tiny social media presence and a "selective" readership but there you go. Groups that had their moment and are still well-remembered for that one hit single don't need me pumping them up. Nor do indie faves with still devoted followings. But I'd very much like for someone out there to discover Pink Industry, Weekend, Spectral Display or Colourbox because of what I had to say about them. Or In Embrace.

Sorrel Downer feels that they haven't received their due and she's right. Making "This Brilliant Evening" her SOTF is a nice gesture which couldn't have hurt their chances but other factors would have been holding them back. Let's take a look at a few.

Print
Yes, a fine young critic with a top pop mag has given it her stamp of approval but so what? Who else was busy scribbling away about In Embrace and their fine new single? When Downer mentions them being neglected she may very well be alluding to the very same journal she was writing for. Nothing the Bitz section in this or any other issues from the latter stages of '85 and where the jiggins are their earlier singles? Their terrific 1983 release "The Living Daylights" never got to be salivated over by Deborah Steels or championed by Mark Steels (no relation, I think) or poked fun at by Neil Tennant. Nothing. 

The Wireless
Obviously I can't say for sure on this one but just who was playing this great song? Most of Radio 1's presenters had stuff with commercial potential to keep them busy and this was probably a bit too soft for the likes of John Peel to bother with. Though The Jesus & Mary Chain rightly hailed a forthcoming noise pop that hip types got all excited about, it left a void for the kind of lovingly pieced together twee music that In Embrace, well, embraced. Following suit, the pirates would've gone for more of that hardcore stuff. Where's Radio FEY when you need it?

The Telly
Again, I have no way of knowing if these chaps got got themselves on TV at this time but I very much doubt it. Of course, Telly being a much more regional concern in the eighties perhaps they ended up on some dodgy late-night Midlands music program which probably helped with the local following that they probably already had. Gaining a foothold in Leicester wasn't an issue but how about getting on the TV in Edinburgh, Dorset and Chelmsford?

Ver Kids
No, we weren't buying: not literally and not the other kind. We were schmucks. Given the neglect of the above, what choice did we have? I wasn't there in '85, I wouldn't be residing in Essex for another three years, but what was I doing about it? I'd read and reread a Tom Doyle or William Shaw SOTF in ver Hits and imagine how it might sound and make up a plausible chorus to go with the song title but I never sought these records out: I didn't request them of the radio, I didn't think to see if they might pop up on The Chart Show or Going Live (of course we went away a lot on weekends so I didn't have much flippin' choice there) and I certainly didn't go into Parrot Records at Basildon Town Centre or Adrian's in Wickford to have a look and possibly drop a couple bob. And even if we did happen to hear it, would the majority of us have cared either way? We had Duran Duran and Wham! and Five Star and stuff.

The Record Labels
I dig the fact that indie labels in the eighties formed all over the UK on shoestring budgets and got records released by local acts who EMI and CBS and WEA weren't going to touch and many of these singles represent the backbone of what made music of that time great. But what was Cherry Red going to do to get In Embrace or Eyeless in Gaza some exposure? They didn't have the funds to do so and it really wasn't something they cared about doing. As I just said, the majors weren't going to have any use for these local acts just starting out and, with such little national attention, what reason did they have to seek them out now?

The Fans
The Embraceables, as I like to call them, were based around Leicestershire for the most part and fawned upon their favourite band. They bought all their records, went to all their shows and scooped up any and all nifty In Embrace paraphernalia (In Embrace tea towels, In Embrace denim jackets, the In Embrace Annual) they could get their hands on. This kept the band's income steady and they didn't have to go on the dole or try to find a job to supplement their income. This is great but fans can be too bloody precious with their favourite singers and groups — and, indeed, bands can be likewise with their fans. Pish to the punters! Go try to attract a new audience instead of playing to the same crowds.

A Blog
So, here I am with a blog no one asked for and I'm telling you that In Embrace's "This Brilliant Evening" is superb for all the reasons Downer has stated — even  that bit about vocalist Gary Knight sounding "somewhat like Edwyn "Should Have Been a Star" Collins". It gets better with every listen with a tune that stays with you but with lyrics that you have to keep going back to check on. And on those lyrics: Downer likes its "good and proper corny lines" like "with a bed and breakfast, you could make a meal of me" and she's absolutely right. With just a hint of the hopeless high school-age poet about them, they are indeed corny but also funny and touching — songwriting that requires a combination of self-awareness and bravado to pull off. I'm just repeating what Downer already said three-and-a-half decades ago. I'm trying to promote her work as well as their's. Justice has yet to be done.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

10,000 Maniacs: "Just as the Tide Was a Flowing"

Some indie pop geniuses are ignored while others slowly develop a following and get the critical acclaim and something of a national presence. I don't know if there's much to choose from between In Embrace and 10,000 Maniacs but I'm happy that at least one emerged to become enjoyed and remembered by enough. Their open secret was Natalie Merchant's lovely voice but the band seems to be trying to drown her out. Perhaps they were trying to do for folk what Lone Justice were doing for country but the forcefulness of the playing doesn't really work. They'd go on to do better but by then their singer was beginning to realise that she didn't need them.

Lene Lovich: "Say When"

3 May 1979

"Oh crikey, another confession to make: I haven't actually got this single yet."

— Cliff White

I'll also begin with a confession: I'm hoping to eventually do one of these posts without ever having heard the record in question. This is not something I will do on purpose by intentionally refraining from playing it but only if I happen upon a single that is unavailable online. But so far damn-near every single I've written about has been on YouTube (I had to get a subscription to Deezer in order to give Bob Dylan's "Lenny Bruce" a "spin") and it could be a situation I never have to deal with. I'll let you know if and when.

But it's not like everything is available online. While Cliff White wasn't able to hear the single release of "Say When", I've had problems tracking down the version from Lene Lovich's Stateless — or, I guess I should say, the original version from said album. It looks as though the bulk of its eleven tracks ended up being remixed for US release in 1979 and now the waters have been muddied in terms of knowing quite what's what. I may have heard the original for all I know but I haven't detected much of difference. I don't imagine I have much of an ear but it wouldn't be the first time remixing was a subtle art.

The follow-up to the Top 5 success of "Lucky Number", "Say When" was bound to have a lot to live up to. While not as big a hit, the record's Top 20 placing indicates that audiences hadn't fully tired of her shtick by this point. Different enough from its predecessor, it is nevertheless fronted by Lene Lovich and thus utterly recognizable.

White notes that it's not unlike a Bo Diddley number but I hear it more as a rockabilly freak out with a nod to the re-emerging ska movement and even a touch of circus fairground organ pumping away. "Lucky Number" was a vehicle for Lovich's individual talents to shine forth but this is much more of an all-around performance: her patented vocals squawks are present and correct but so, too, is the first rate playing of the band backing her — just as accomplished as the last time but with much more of a chance to shine with the singer holding herself back a bit.

Or perhaps it's the conciseness of the composition that forced Lovich to apply the breaks. "Lucky Number" packed in an awful lot of a story — too much, if anything — but there isn't a great deal to expound upon here. Her man is primed for some rumpo but the singer is commanding him to wait for her to give the go ahead. She probably desires a little bedtime action herself ("well you look plenty good to me", which gets some extra sexual push via Lovich's feisty vocal) but she's not about to let him force his will upon her. She's the one in charge and he'd better bloody not forget. A welcome feminist anthem or an account of a one woman power trip: either way, it's a point made without much fuss.

Lovich and partner Les Chappell were clearly on to something. She was charismatic with a unique image and vocal stylings unlike anyone else; he led a crack band that was stylistically all over the shop. They had two superb hit singles on the bounce and it must have seemed like this was going to continue. But that's the thing with those who are different: they can't just churn out product for the masses. They wouldn't know how to do it even if they wanted to.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Human League: The Dignity of Labour

Sticking with the theme of records our good critic didn't listen to, this E.P. wasn't reviewed by White, it "accidentally on purpose" (they used that expression back in 1979?) ended up in the L.P. pile that Red Starr was tasked with. Impressing him far more than anything else this fortnight, he introduces the albums with this aside. While other early League singles "Being Boiled" (which came before this) and "Empire State Human" (later in the year) aren't all that far away from the commercial direction they'd famously take eighteen months later, the tracks that make up The Dignity of Labour are perhaps the most radical that Marsh, Ware and Oakey ever came up with — and you'd never see "Don't You Want Me" through all the Soviet-era cosmonauts and Politburo cheap cigarette smoke. How great were The Human League?