Pete Shelley: "On Your Own"

4 June 1986

"Not surprising, coming from someone who, since his days with The Buzzcocks, has written more brilliant songs and influenced more people than...well, than someone else who's written tons of brilliant songs and influenced loads of people."

— Vici MacDonald

"Pete Shelley swaps his usual easy nonchalance for a vaguely menacing electronic growl on this rather sad and lonely little song which contrasts the satisfaction of being in control with the uncertainties of being alone."
— Ian Cranna

Two quotes from Smash Hits staff? What, did they tag team the singles this time round? No, only the comment at the top comes from the June 4 issue of ver Hits while the one below it is from a month earlier. Former Buzzcock (there's no definite article though if people can go on about 'Beatles', 'Who' and 'Jam' then there's no reason we can't say 'The Eagles', 'The Talking Heads' and, yes, 'The Buzzcocks) Pete Shelley's latest record was reviewed twice during this time. This oversight may be due to a delay in the release of the single, editorial carelessness or Vici MacDonald wanting to build up a recent favourite over some pretty so-so (at least in her judgment) new releases. Given how much she admires Shelley as well as her feeling that he hasn't received his due ("Fact: Pete Shelley is a genius and it's a crime that he seems doomed to obscurity"), I wouldn't be surprised to discover that it's the latter.

Having two reviews to go on is nice. The thoughts of MacDonald and Ian Cranna diverge considerably even though they both appreciate "On Your Own". He considers it to be "unsettling" while she reckons it's "joyous" — and they're both right. There's a barely concealed dark heart to the song but the clipped new wave sound makes it seem less weighty. It's catchy but no less spooky. Borrowing big eighties production, a touch of synth-pop and even a bit of goth rock, it would seem to be very much a product of its time but for all these cliches of the eighties being delicately threaded together so they become tough to pick out. Shelley is so subtle that you'd never know he'd previously been involved in all that punk nonsense.

The punks were now entering their thirties and this left a lot of them in a bind. Many were enjoying success of late — John Lydon was at the helm of a new lineup at PiL, Mick Jones had formed Big Audio Dynamite, The Damned were at their commercial peak, Feargal Sharkey was doing well after leaving The Undertones, Siouxsie Sioux was still going strong with The Banshees and even former Generation X chums Sir Billiam of Idol and Tony James (of Sigue Sigue Sputnik) were having hit singles; the bulk of these acts were also getting Singles of the Fortnight so they had at least some critical support — but they weren't the youthful figures they'd been a decade earlier. Calling Bill Grundy a "dirty bastard" (among other niceties) may have been excusable when they were twenty (and because it was true) but now? Could these people still shock like they once did so effortlessly? Wouldn't it be embarrassing if they even tried?

Those who left their punk pasts behind came out of it better. Once The Clash had ditched Jones they went on to release the disastrous Cut the Crap in which Strummer, Simonon and Tory Crimes decided to rehash what they did when they were younger — only much crappier. Their spurned guitarist and creative force, however, went on to form a new group that made his old bandmates look ever sillier. Lydon continued to be the outspoken loudmouth that comes so naturally to him but he was utilizing funk, jazz and rock musicians to galvanize his hit and miss material. Pete Shelley kicked off his solo career by dabbling in some Numan-esque synth recordings, which did garner criticism, but what he always had was his songwriting talent to keep him afloat. It's just a shame that so few were listening by this time.

Shelley had departed Buzzcocks back in 1981 just as work on a fourth album was going off the rails. While his contemporaries were getting a second wind on the charts, he struggled, with the single "Homosapien" doing well in some Commonwealth countries but without much else to show for it. It's here that his relation to "On Your Own" must be discussed and speculated upon. Had it been a sizable hit Shelley would have been questioned about the song and if it happened to be about himself — and, failing that, who else it might have been about. His band didn't appear to have had that acrimonious a split and they'd reform by the end of the decade. Nevertheless, it's reasonable to assume that this is an account of his own solo career. Buzzcocks were a tight four piece, especially by punk standards, but it was his songs that made them special. Since he was already doing the bulk of the heavy lifting, why not go solo and enjoy the spoils further? But now he's on his own and the spoils are awfully thin. He has the creative final say that he has longed for but at the price of no more group camaraderie.

Pete Shelley passed away in his adopted hometown of Tallin, Estonia back in December of 2018. News of his death may have paled in comparison with David Bowie or Prince (both also reviewed this fortnight, as is a new release from Strange Cruise led by the late Steve Strange of Visage; the Grim Reaper has paid a visit to an awful lot of the pop stars here) but it garnered headlines in the music press and was much-discussed on social media. MacDonald is worried that few appreciate Shelley's talents but it seems people did come round to him in time. Now, that was almost entirely down to what he did with the Buzzcocks but there may have been some residual respect for his solo work. He never tried to cling to punk but didn't seem interested in latching himself onto a trendier genre either. All he could do was be Pete Shelley: to hell with people not getting him.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

a-ha: "Hunting High and Low"

1986 was a-ha's year: not only did "Take on Me" conquer the world but they also enjoyed further Top Ten success and Morten Harket had supplanted all the members of Duran Duran combined as the discerning teenage girl's pin up of choice. The law of diminishing returns did little to derail this souped up title track from their debut LP but it was just more of the same only not as good as their first two hits (though, as MacDonald says, it's a marked improvement on its predecessor "Train of Thought"). An early stab at a more dramatic sound that would be developed into singles such as "The Living Daylights" and "Stay on These Roads", "Hunting High and Low" indicates that there was a lot more to a-ha than cute videos and handsome Norsemen.

Glass Torpedoes: Someone Different

26 July 1979 (and here)

"Liverpool will rise again!"

— Red Starr

What I previously said: 
The spidery riffs and a hard-plonking beat make this an easy to like if kind of underwhelming first SOTF. The ghostly, expressionless vocals and minimalist atmospherics put it very much in the context of late-seventies new wave. It seems they were very young at the time — the fact that they were on a label known as Teen Beat sort of gives away their age — and, thus, were a promising bunch. Or so it seemed.

Cliff White and Red "Ian Cranna" Starr switched places this fortnight. It seems it was something they agreed to do just to spite all the youngsters who had been writing in to complain about their awful reviews. This fortnight's singles begins with a short message which reads as follows:

Well, it's what you wanted, wasn't it? No Cliff White on singles and no Red Starr on albums? What do you think of it so far? — Ed.

And there we all were thinking that Tom Hibbert ushered in the era of trolling-merriment to ver Hits.

Being in the middle of 1979, it's strange to think that Liverpool was having an especially tough time of it. Their Bob Paisley-era football squad was at its zenith with a high-powered offence and a stingy defense (just sixteen goals allowed all season!) that once again put them comfortably atop the old First Division. (Inevitably to be outdone was Everton coming a respectable yet underwhelming as ever fourth) In terms of pop music, this was hardly The Beatles rockin' The Cavern Club but there was probably a good deal more depth to be found in Scouse post-punk than during the Merseybeat boom.

Not leading the way and not forging a future was Glass Torpedoes. For a nice debut single by a young act, there was every reason to expect they had a bright future. For whatever reason, it didn't happen but it says a lot that Starr would nevertheless see big things for their hometown in general on the evidence of this one record. Well, not really. He's nearly as impressed by "The Pictures on My Wall" by Echo & The Bunnymen, yet another new act out of Liverpool. Listening to the pair of new releases back to back it's difficult to spot the group who would carve out a nice career and the group that would ultimately go nowhere. They're both solid examples of post-punk but neither is particularly notable beyond speculating where they'd be headed next, if anywhere. Quite what did a Glass Torpedo think when Ian McCulloch claimed that his group could have been U2? "Yeah, and we could have been Echo & The bloody Bunnymen".

While it is very much a period piece, it didn't occur to me how ahead of its time Barbara Donovan's vocals are. She anticipates many of the riot grrrl acts of the nineties with her monotone delivery. It's impossible to say if the likes of Sleater-Kinney or Babes in Toyland knowingly cribbed from her but there's always the possibility of a domino effect. I certainly hope so since it would be nice if there was a bit more to them than just a proto-Single of the Fortnight.

Finally, in my original write up from March of 2018 I seem unaware that this is an E.P. we're dealing with. I guess I didn't examine Starr's review very well since he brings it up himself. The other two tracks are all right and further evidence of their promise. If only they'd been able to deliver on it.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Talking Heads: "Take Me to the River"

There's been some backlash of late towards David Byrne. His old bandmates, it would seem, object to the fact that a self-centred, socially awkward geek doesn't seem to care about them. Curious. While it's always worth going back to see just what a wondrous foursome they were forty years ago, it's also important to acknowledge that not everything they touched turned to gold. Underrated songwriters, they attempted a rare cover here that they were fond enough of to keep as a part of their concert setlist for the next five years. I'm happy for them they like it so much but the results are grim. Nothing beats ruining a perfectly good soul classic like sucking all the life, religiosity and sexiness out of it. But don't just blame David Byrne.

Sigue Sigue Sputnik: "21st Century Boy"

21 May 1986

"[Martin Degville] shoots Leo Sayer all the way to Mars and back."

— Martin Degville

"[Giorgio Moroder is] Limahl's producer, you know."

— Neal X

I live in the Far East. (Actually, growing up in western Canada, I always considered Asia to be in the west with Europe to the east) I'm from the last generation to seek out ESL teaching jobs in this part of the world for ulterior motives. Some came to meet women they could never hope to have back home, others came in hopes of making money. Some showed up in order to keep an artistic dream alive, others were looking for a base from which to travel. Still others came to this part of the world to spread the word of the Lord. But our actual teaching jobs? Purely an afterthought.

What's curious about migration to Japan, Korea, China and so forth (as well as the rise of the so-called Tiger Economies) is that it failed to help secure Tokyo, Seoul, Shanghai, Hong Kong and/or Taipei as a new mecca of civilization. Paris, London, New York, LA: cosmopolitan centres of capital and culture whose influence gradually shifted west. Why, then, did this progression halt at the Pacific Ocean? Did America and Europe flex their muscles to retain their dominance? English teachers flocked to the "East" for all the various "opportunities", the markets raged from Sapporo to Singapore and Japanese cars and TV sets were getting snapped up around the world but no one thought that these emerging nations might actually emerge into something powerful. Because of Sony, fuel efficient cars, Galaxy Express 999, capsule hotels, Blade Runner, conveyor belt sushi, Nintendo and big neon signs with Kana script, it's inevitable that we picture Japan to be futuristic. Thus, it begs the question why it never became the future.

Sigue Sigue Sputnik managed to tap into Far Eastern romanticism better than most. The Beatles and The Beach Boys showed up for concerts in Japan more than twenty years earlier in JAL jackets and kimonos respectively but no one had ever visited the country in full cosplay regalia and, thus, fitted in like their predecessors hadn't been able to — or so they thought. The fans that they expected to meet, be mobbed by and who would shower them with gifts in Osaka and Nagoya were supposed to look just like them. Tony James, Neal X, Martin Degville and the other two may have looked like freaks back home but they were expected to blend right in in the Land of the Rising Sun. The Japanese are famously committed to their pop star heroes. Here in Korea, they will seek out the middle schools of their favourite KPop idols. In England, they wander around the town of Swindon just to catch a member of XTC round the local off licence. They're accustomed to traipsing around the world in search of a group or singer while often looking the part. What they may not have expected was to see someone come to them looking just like they did. Cosplay is a thing (with, I must say, a name that fails to do it service: given the lengths some go to mimic their chosen pop culture icon, I don't think that suffixing the verb 'play' adequately describes these people) that Sigue Sigue Sputnik seemed keen to anticipate and exploit.

Japanese fans may or may not have been convinced by their doppelgangers (and, to be sure, their success in Japan carried on for a lot longer than back home) but what of everyone else? Punk mohawks were still seen — even captured on postcards by the mid-eighties — and ver Sput's fashion sense wasn't so far off from the garish times but the public back in the "west" wasn't as interested in looking like them. I doubt few even cared to look at them. Leader Tony James had previously been a member of punk also-rans Generation X alongside Billy Idol. Being notable for being just another punk group, they wre associated with groups like the Bromley Contingent, hangers-on who lived and breathed the punk lifestyle while following around their idols from gig to gig and from grotty bedsit to grotty bedsit. Coming out of that subculture, it's likely that Sigue Sigue Sputnik craved creating one of their own — they even had their own pair of femme-Sputs along to play keyboards and get dressed up. But an organic pack of spotty youths dressed in hot pink suits and with hair teased to the ceiling? Look to Japan, boys.

As for "21st Century Boy" (misprinted as "20th Century Boy" on the singles review page something I like to think Degville and X either didn't notice or didn't give a toss about, if not both), it's a turd. Sounding very much like "Love Missile F1-11" only not as good, it could only have come from people who proudly claimed that they were "not interested in music".  It wouldn't be long before very few listeners remained interested in their music. The future would be elsewhere.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Janet Jackson: "Nasty"

The US makes its first claim to the future with New Jack Swing. East Asia was still all about Michael Jackson (and heavy metal groups) but his younger sister Janet was the one who looked forward. Brave to give stardom a shot independent of her famous siblings, it's strange that few saw that she might be the one with the real pop career on her hands. Michael's pop instincts were already beginning to be dulled by this point but Janet's rival her famous brother's 1979 triumph of Off the Wall. "Nasty" is as potent now as it was over thirty years ago and a far more significant indication of where the future lay than anything Sigue Sigue bloody Sputnik could ever fart out.

The Communards: "Disenchanted"

7 May 1986

"Proud, dignified and an excellent return to earlier form."

— Ian Cranna

As the classic synth-pop groups of the eighties go, The Communards don't feature especially prominently. They seemed to combine all the weaknesses of their competitors while lagging way behind in terms of strengths. Like Erasure, they took themselves too seriously but they lacked Andy Bell and Vince Clarke's songwriting chops. Like Soft Cell, they had to rely on a cover version to put them over the top but Jimmy Somerville was no frontman compared to Marc Almond. Like New Order, they presented to the public a dull, everyday image but were without those distinctive qualities of a Sumner or a Hooky to set them apart. Like the Pet Shop Boys, they weren't particularly showy but they cared little for playing the pop star game. Like Yazoo, they were a short-lived entity but one that failed to make the most of their moment. True, they had their political convictions but that hardly translates into sturdy pop.

Somerville had previously been in Bronski Beat, who enjoyed a worldwide smash with "Smalltown Boy" in 1984. It's one of those numbers that seems like it should have been even bigger but it has managed to remain in the public consciousness.  The "return to earlier form" that Ian Cranna alludes to is this very same band which must have made Somerville's newest group seem an offshoot project at the time — not only were they fronted by the same fun-sized, helium-voiced singer but keyboardist and future minister Richard Coles had also been an unofficial member of ver Beat. Both groups had members who were openly gay and were very much following the example of Tom Robinson by singing about it at every turn. Bronski, however, was a three piece and utilized many more talented figures in their work; The Communards were a duo with much less at their disposal.

I have to agree with Ian Cranna that "Disenchanted" is a definite step up from "You Are My World" which is over-lush and a prime example of how Somerville could make his very strong voice sound so unlistenable (the chorus is ghastly). Nevertheless, this follow-up is a dreary outing. No longer singing from the outsiders perspective, Somerville offers guidance and hope to a young outcast who could easily be the same character in "Smalltown Boy". His isn't a very insightful perspective but there's nothing wrong with a little tried and true homespun wisdom. And Somerville does a commendable job keeping his vocal histrionics in check. Where it goes wrong is the punchless tune. It drifts along, betraying the beats per minute as though it's meant to be a bedsit gay anthem divorced from the clubs and is far more restrained than it needs to be. Is it too much to expect to be thrilled by a record anymore? I might be inclined to agree with Cranna that it's "dignified" ('proud' would be a judgement call) but that's precisely the point: it holds itself back, doesn't reveal anything and is surprisingly conservative for something by a pair of hardcore lefties. And if the 'bedsit gay anthem' bit above seems like a fine prospect, I would offer up for consideration The Smiths: lyrics that really speak to human inadequacies, a real sense of a vocalist-listener connection and tunes to cherish. 

Where The Communards managed to connect was with their politics. Somerville had always been outspoken on gay rights — Bronski Beat had been formed around the idea that LGBTQ groups of the time weren't addressing their community in their music and felt that needed changing — and was now becoming more involved in the left in general. But where the likes of Billy Bragg and The Style Council could effectively communicate what they stood for through their music, Somerville and Coles needed to have something to stand on away from their recordings. "Once you get geared into pop music, Coles observes, "you become part of the thing you decried. Red Wedge was a career enhancing thing for us in a funny way and gave us more of a profile". It does a group with strong principles but some duff records good to be focusing on what they really cared about.

A retooled Bronski Beat were still doing well by this time but getting ver Nards going proved a slower prospect. "Disenchanted" crawled up just inside the Top 30, a modest single placing higher than the performance of "You Are My World". Clearly the Somerville-Coles originals weren't going to cut it and they'd need to fall back on a cover version. It worked spectacularly (more in terms of sales than actual song quality) but at the price of their own tunes never quite being able to cut it. They were much like all those great synth-pop groups only they weren't much cop for the most part.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Go-Betweens: "Head Full of Steam"

"Disenchanted" might have been an okay choice for SOTF if not for all the vastly superior records on offer. Kate Bush milking it in the best possible sense with "The Big Sky", OMD's powerful rockist workout "88 Seconds in Greensboro" ("B-side of the fortnight"), Pet Shop Boys' "Opportunities", Blancmange's "I Can See It" (synth-pop groups all showing Somerville and Coles how it's done) but the latest from The Go-Betweens tops 'em all. (And that's not even including the latest single from former Buzzcock Pete Shelley which I'll be dealing with before long) A taster for their great fourth album Liberty Belle and the Black Diamond Express, "Head Full of Steam" has it all: intriguing and funny lyrics, addictive jangle pop, lovely harmonies and co-leaders Robert Forster and Grant McLennan in makeup, wigs and halter tops in the video. Their earlier work showed promise and this is where they begin delivering on it. Hot take: there wasn't a better group on Earth for the next three years.

James Brown: "It's Too Funky in Here"

12 July 1979

"Believe it or not, like it or not, Brown has always been a punk as far as most of his black American contemporaries are concerned. And at 46 years of age he's still upsetting the "establishment"."

— Cliff White

It has long irritated me that sixties rock stars tried to label themselves as punks. Mick Jagger reckoned that longtime collaborator Keith Richards was someone you couldn't possibly "out-punk". Others have made the case for John Lennon and Pete Townshend (strangely, no one ever tries to prop up Ray Davies' punk bona fides and his songs were actually covered by late-seventies punks and new wavers). If anything, such claims always reveal how out of touch this generation had become by the end of the seventies. Rather than admitting that they may not have been relevant to what was going on in 1977, they had to make it all about themselves. (That's not to say there weren't proto-punks out there in the sixties and early seventies but it's significant that the likes of Lou Reed, Iggy Pop and the MC5 didn't seem to have any use for apologists talking up their punk cred)

It's fascinating to imagine a similar situation surrounding disco, especially when applied to people previously tied to funk and soul. These artists weren't leeching off of the latest fad, they were the original stars of disco, you see. Diana Ross was a disco starlet long before she did "Upside Down", Smokey Robinson's "Get Ready" was so proto-disco that they didn't have to spruce it up much in order for it to be suitable. In that spirit came the latest album from James Brown, titled (imagine that) The Original Disco Man. See? Black music had simply caught up to where the Godfather of Soul had been all along. (Marvin Gaye's own dabblage, "Got to Give It Up", took a different tack as he permitted disco to come to him)

James Brown may seem like the sort of artist who spent his vast career recording the same song again and again (but in a good way like Louis Armstrong, Ray Charles and Van Morrison rather than one of those groups — Oasis, Status Quo, UB40 — who grow increasingly tiresome as their creative rut lingers) but he changed with the times. Getting his start in gospel, he first hit it big as a member of R&B group The Famous Flames before going solo with one of the few non-in house bands in sixties soul. His high-powered records such as "I Got You (I Feel Good)" and "Papa's Got a Brand New Bag" would eventually aid his evolution towards funk in the seventies. Toning it down by the end of the decade meant moving closer to disco.

"It's Too Funky in Here" was the maiden single from The Original Disco Man and is his one truly successful shot at the current dance craze. With many of his old stalwarts from the original J.B.'s — the likes of Bootsy Collins and Maceo Parker having departed to play with George Clinton — Brown was at something of a loss and had to make do with studio musicians for the first time in close to a quarter century and did so in very non-disco hot spots Muscle Shoals and Nashville. He was also short of material and had to rely on composition from collaborators and some iffy covers (his version of "Love Me Tender" is well-meaning but vile).

Already at a disadvantage, it's little wonder Brown and disco conservatism didn't quite fit. The material is way too safe for both his voice and his image, without a trace of anger, sex and/or politics for him to grasp. He still puts everything he has into it — he's easily the best thing about this record — but his passion is for almost naught. Cliff White is obviously an admirer and even has good things to say about the "forceful funk with a modern disco beat" played with a "demonic energy and aggressive determination" but these wouldn't even be worthy of mention if the recording was being fronted by a smooth disco lothario. Having Brown's customary grunts pushes things on and makes it seem weightier than it is.

Picturing James Brown as a punk may be on the surface ludicrous but he still had the respect of his peers while remaining persona non grata with the "establishment". He hadn't become an institution — and, indeed, never would be — and no one would have needed to build up how punk he used to be way back when. He was also, it would seem, disco well before anyone else. He gave showstopping performances, crowds got down to his vast repertoire and listeners found themselves growing confident and reassured by his work. How about that? I always knew the two genres shared a lot more in common than you'd otherwise assume, I just didn't know that Mr. Dynamite would be the one pointing the way. Everyone else would still have some catching up to do.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

B.A. Robertson: "Bang Bang"

Just the "silly-season" summer hit that White predicts, "Bang Bang" made B.A. Robertson a name few, fan and detractor alike, could forget. I've heard people slag him off a lot lately so I wasn't expecting much from "Bang Bang". It's not terribly impressive but I can imagine not being so put off with it that I'd hurl a slipper at the telly every time he'd be on. Not a glowing recommendation but sometimes the little things can make all the difference, such as those cheery-looking girls in the promo who are sporting some very non-revealing white shirts which sits much better than had they tried to knowingly sex things up. He doesn't pull off being the musical hall wit half as well as he fancies but his biggest hit is catchy and, yes, plenty silly.

Limahl: "Love in Your Eyes"

23 April 1986

"He's back. Back! With a moving imitation of a piece of pink tissue paper (i.e. his singing is gigantically wispy) and a completely weedy pop song. Hip hip hooray!"

— Tom Hibbert

He invented silly nicknames for pop stars. He brought in the "liberal" use of inverted commas and then did it to "death". He was even Mr. Black Type. Yet, he often lavished praise on mediocre records by the likes of Red Lorry Yellow Lorry and Limahl and allowed Margaret Thatcher to drone on in a very boring interview. Paul Margach risks pissing all over the grave of beloved rock journalist while insulting a generation of pop music writers who worship him when he asks... 

Who the hell did TOM HIBBERT think he was?

Tom Hibbert is late for our interview. Very late. I've been holding up a table in a busy diner for three hours and there's still no sign of him. Granted, he's been dead for nearly a decade so I suppose I shouldn't wait much longer.

To pass the time, I try imagine how our conversation will go. I look over the questions I have prepared and I realise that I haven't the faintest idea how he will answer them. Will he respond quixotically? Will he be the grumpy bastard that he frequently laments others for being? Will he charm the pants off me to the point where merely the thought of this tongue-in-cheek hit piece will make me coil in shame? Will he dig the fact that I'm turning the tables on him? Will he scoff at this pratt with a blog no one reads?

I look over the file I have complied of his clippings and interviews and I try to go about piecing together a Q & A out of answers he has already given. Cut and paste all the way!

Tom Hibbert. Hibbs. (Somehow he avoided being anointed with one of those silly nicknames he gave many of the subjects he covered in the magazine. His Hibbs might have been a nice, simple go or maybe something like Thomas Ciggies 'n' Booze) The man generally credited with giving Smash Hits its unique voice. Credited by many in fact, even himself. It's easy to forget that the top pop mag wasn't always awash in "ver" and "what the jiggins?" and so forth but that was all the doing of one man. But what was it like before he arrived? "It was rather boring," he reckons.

But then he went about re-christening everyone. Sir Billiam of Idol. Lord Luccan of Mercury. Wacky Macca Thumbs Aloft. Dame David. Horrible Headband. Madge. Lardo le Bon. Mark Unpronouncable Name. And these are just the ones anyone remembers. But did any pop stars take their new monikers badly?

Kate Bush was one. "She didn't like being Kate 'Hello Earth, Hello Birds, Hello Sky' Bush. She didn't think that was at all amusing." (Who would ever have guessed that she of all people would be so prickly?) Good thing Hibbs was there to give her just enough rope to hang herself because has anyone heard even the slightest peep from her in the last three-and-a-half decades since?

"My interview technique," he explains, "was to keep a straight face and embarrass people into answering the questions. If there was a long silence, I'd stay silent too. It seemed to work, although Boy George once threatened to beat me up. He was a very large fellow so that was quite frightening. He's even larger now, ha ha! Then there was that ghastly chap Ringo Starr. He threw me out of his hotel room!"

That's quite the selection of pop stars he managed to piss off. But he may have had a wee bit more trouble once he ventured out of his comfort zone. He famously interviewed Mrs. Thatcher and you might say the player got played. Allowing her to drone on endlessly about how ver kids should "do something", she comes across as quite reasonable. "She was absolutely bloody marvellous," he recalls. Now, to be fair it's been well-documented that getting a word in while dealing with the Iron Lady could be a tricky task but it might have been nice had he come back with asking about what kind of "something" those redundant miners might have "done" with themselves. A missed opportunity perhaps. Good thing he was there to take the mickey out of her taste in music. Tory insiders must have reckoned she was finished after revealing that "How Much Is That Doggy in the Window?" was her favourite song. But at least he got a nice photograph of the two together as a keepsake.

But what of Hibbs' own musical tastes? I think it's fair to speculate that he may not necessarily have liked everything he reviewed favourably. Did the man troll us Hits readers with recommendations for Red Lorry Yellow Lorry's "Monkeys on Juice"? ("...you even want to dance to it in a funny kind of way") Or The Lucy Show's "Undone"? ("You can dance to it, you can call it art if you wish..."; curious the kind of music he figured we were all dancing to) Or Limahl's "Love in Your Eyes"?

I imagine asking him if he ever challenged himself to lavish excess praise on an utterly naff record — or if one of his troublemaking colleagues at ver Hits dared him to do so. Are you seriously going tell me that you enjoyed this over-lush, tedious ballad by one of the era's silliest pop stars? You even claim that it's better than "The Never-Ending Story" (something I actually can't argue with) as if that dreck was itself something to behold. His own protegee Sylvia Patterson later gave Limahl's Colour All My Days album a harsh but fair zero out of ten which is much closer to the objective truth. Didn't he come across as a bit of a fuddy-duddy for championing something so (a) MOR and (b) crap? (Then again, he could very well also have been trolling those who looked up to him by giving his approval to something so utterly uncool)

I search for an answer to insert but I come up empty "handed". Maybe he really did enjoy Limahl's music. Maybe he genuinely felt that challenging Mrs. Thatcher's rubbish record collection was much more practical than going after her policies. Maybe he felt that it was a part of his job to rub pop stars the wrong way. 

I'd very much like to find out from the "horses" "mouth" but he still hasn't turned up. I'm not going to wait much longer.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Pete Wylie & The Oedipus Wrecks: "Sinful"

Sorry, was I too hard on poor old Hibbs? I don't wish to bash him any further so how about some praise? Certainly his reviews are anything but boring and this fortnight none of 'em read better than for Pete Wylie's "Sinful". So much does he like it that if it weren't for the Single of the Fortnight designation I'd assume that this is his pick. And well it should have been. Transcending the cliches of eighties pop production, it makes the best of the big drums and grandiose sound for a sublime singalong that you'll have difficultly tiring of. Hibbs asks questions that presumably will never be answered (I know how he feels) but does manage to come to the conclusion that Pete Wylie has a massive hit on his hands. I hope he wasn't too disappointed that it only did all right.

PiL: "Home"

9 April 1986

"Never a dull moment, you'll love it or you'll hate it, but it's pretty hard to ignore."

— Sorrel Downer

And John Lydon is impossible to ignore. His presence, his sneer, his hair, his quest to make sure we never forget those times he's been proven correct (or was it just the once with Jimmy Saville?): everything about him makes you take notice and (much as you might want to) you can't quite look a way. He also doesn't care what you think — which is why he's always been such a good sport with his critics.

He's the least interesting thing about "Home" however. I've previously noted that this was the peak of Lydon's American sound in which he brought together hip hop and reggae influences and began employing some first rate US musicians from rock and jazz to back him and his "band" Public Image Ltd. The man took a beating for this (as well as his recent move to LA) but, as usual, he came out swinging at his critics. "Nobody has any right to accuse or to say ANYTHING to me," he tells Tom Hibbert in a recent issue of Smash Hits. More than a little defensive but he was correct on his main point: he had the right people play on his bloody album.

It's a pretty impressive lineup on Album, the deliberately generically-titled fifth PiL full-length release (with Cassette, Compact Disc and Video as format companions and even a sweet selection of badges, key rings and mugs to further hammer the point home — even if the point was never made clear but, whatever, it looked cool). Tony Williams, late of Miles Davis' extraordinary Second Great Quintet, The Tony Williams Lifetime and dozens of outstanding Blue Note sessions, is present just as he had been on previous single "Rise". He's not exactly showing off his considerable talents like on "Hand Jive" or "Emergency" but his playing is still powerful with excellent timing. Funk player Bernie Worrell guests on organ and, again, his playing is strong but not remarkable. More than good enough for the song we're dealing with here but he's done more elsewhere.

The star of "Home" is Steve Vai, ace guitarist for Frank Zappa and a steady hand for anyone needing a bit of heavy metal fret work. This is where Sorrel Downer expresses her astonishment at the "haywire" guitar playing and it's the only time when the record feels like it might break free and become the maniacal statement that it really ought to be. Rhythm guitarist Nicky Skopelitis dials back on aping The Edge's shimmering shards in "Rise" to doing some crunchy rock chords that gets the listener to expect something a bit tougher but Vai's spot is still pretty surprising. But is it because no one expects a bit of metal on an old punk's latest record or is it something else? (Hint: it's something else)

"Now!" Lydon roars as Vai's solo fades. Is it a roar or a shriek? A screech? A wail? Not sure really. Whatever it is, it doesn't seem like much up against some mad guitar bit. He's gotten himself into a situation that demands vocal power and he doesn't have it. Lydon's never been much of a vocalist but one would assume he's able to hold his own when it comes to spitting out some anger. It doesn't help that he's reciting some useless lyrics filled with cliches ("every dog has its day", "home sweet home") and some over-obvious rhymes which bring to mind Eminem's horrible "Without Me". And like Slim Shady's first real misstep, Lydon seems to be wallowing in self-parody. The threat of nuclear war was still a very real fear in 1986 but not much is offered up to scare people more or put them at ease. Lydon just going through the motions of being Lydon, unaware that he was running out of relevance. If only we could ignore him.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Watt Government: "Working My Fingers to the Bone"

One and done's with a silly band name doesn't bode well but for one thing: their single is rather good. Utilizing Talking Heads' new-wave-meets-world-beat style, their sound is a little more loungey while remaining firmly tied to DIY post-punk values. It's really no exaggeration to say that this could have been a new Two Tone movement for the mid-eighties had the Watts been given more of a chance to thrive. Records you don't hear anymore and didn't even get much back then. A nice surprise.