The The: "Heartland"

30 July 1986

"This year's "Ghost Town". (Anybody remember "Ghost Town"?) (No - Quite a few readers)"

— Dave Rimmer

He's back. BACK! With seventeen prior goes at reviewing the singles, Dave Rimmer is to date easily the most prolific Smash Hits critic. You'd be hard pressed to find many pop stars of the time who'd released that many singles over the previous five years (I suppose Prince must have done about that many but who else?). Still, he's slowed down of late with just three write ups over the past year but he was no longer a Hits staffer and was doing this for freelance purposes (and possibly because no one else in the office could be bothered) Having heard David Hepworth bemoan the task of handling the new singles, it's nice to see that there was at least one hack who kept coming back for more.

They're back. BACK! Uh, he's back. BACK! Like The Fall and Lambchop, The The are in that gray area between band and solo artist. In the time since he/they last nabbed a SOTF with "Uncertain Smile", the holdovers have amounted to Matt Johnson and appearances from the Zimbabwe-born Zeke Manyika, late of Orange Juice and another guest spot with The Style Council. Johnson has never pretended that his "group" was anything but a solo project in disguise (to the extent that he would eventually have his 1981 solo album Burning Blue Soul re-credited to The The in the early nineties) but it still makes choosing an appropriate pronoun difficult. But let's move on before I get all Jordan Peterson.

At some point in the nineties, Channel 4's Without Walls did a piece about the effect of Thatcherism on the arts. It wasn't so much on how her policies may or may not have decimated theatres, museums, art schools and symphony orchestras (though they surely did) but on how the arts reacted to this new brand of Conservatism. Theatre critic and future right wing blowhard Mark Steyn felt that the failure of artists to make the most creatively of their opposition to her rule exposed the emptiness of their leftist beliefs (or something to that effect; I'm going by memory from something I watched on YouTube a dozen years ago that has long since been deleted). This may well be true for some in the arts but it leaves out UK pop music which flourished in its rejection of everything Thatcher stood for.

"Ghost Town" was one of the first anti-Thatcher numbers and it was joined by many, many more — and, indeed, their top notch cover of Bob Dylan's "Maggie's Farm" was adapted to fit around the current climate in Britain. Elvis Costello's "You'll Never Be a Man", "Shipbuilding" and "Tramp the Dirt Down", The Style Council's "The Lodgers" and "Welcome to Milton Keynes", Billy Bragg's "Between the Wars", The Housemartins' "Flag Day" and "Think for a Minute", The Beat's "Stand Down Margaret", Hue & Cry's "Labour of Love": all dealt with the ill-effects of Thatcherism. Even Morrissey, who probably agreed with the old hag on a few issues, included "Margaret on the Guillotine" on his debut album Bona Drag. The famed Red Wedge tours were formed with the goal of getting her voted out of office.

Like all of the above, Matt Johnson was sensitive to this and the result was The The's second album Infected (third if you count Burning Blue Soul). It covers a broad range of issues from the AIDS crisis to the situation in the Middle East but the whole thing comes down to Mrs. Thatcher and the wasteland of Britain — and "Heartland" is its centrepiece. The misery of being English during this era of football hooligans, troubles in Ulster, lousy summers, strikes and being told that "there's no such thing as society" is captured here.

It's nice of Rimmer to compare it favourably to "Ghost Town" (even though it would have been an easier task back then given that hardly anyone remembered it; today it is one of the UK's favourite chart toppers and is rightly regarded as a classic) but it just doesn't quite measure up. Johnson was fond of the song and said that he wanted to "write a classic song which is basically representative of its time, a record that in 1999 people will put on and it will remind them exactly of this period of time". He probably succeeded but that's precisely where it falters: it's too much of a period piece to be relevant at other times. "Ghost Town" no doubt reminds listeners who were there of riots and crumbling towns but it's as relevant to people who've lived through any form of strife and urban decay; even those of us privileged not to have experienced it first hand may still be able to identify with it via the TV news. But "Heartland" is too welded to its time to be truly captivating.

It is, however, an ambitious song and a grower. Perhaps a wee bit too ambitious as it doesn't quite merit its five minute running time, another element that makes it look weak held up next to "Ghost Town". There's something a bit off about the repeated "this is the fifty-first state of the U.S.A" line that closes the song. Johnson would later relocate to New York so it clearly hasn't aged well but there's more to it than that. It feels tacked on, as if he had a line at the back of his head that he'd been singing to himself that he just had to use and, bloody hell, it would be a great way to cap this opus. But with the song building from "piss stinking shopping centres" to "pensioners are raped" and on to the walls of power, it's an unsatisfying conclusion. "So, it's all the fault of the Yanks, huh?" or "Well, aren't we pathetic for becoming American": either way I don't think becoming the fifty-first state was the main reason Britain in the eighties sucked. (And anyway, surely Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland would all have been granted statehood of their own; I wonder how the Channel Islands and the Isle of Man would've figured in this takeover...)

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Psychedelic Furs: "Pretty in Pink"

They still here. HERE! Of all the "major" post-punk acts, ver Furs were always the most forgettable and unremarkable. As Rimmer says, the original wasn't all that good and neither is this. Actually, this spruced up, from-the-film-of-the-same-name version is probably a bit of an improvement: Richard Butler's vocal is easier on the ear and the whole thing feels like more of an effort has been put in. Still, it's not particularly good, likely the weakest track on the still excellent soundtrack-of-the-same-name. (Take a bow, Belouis Some and Danny Hutton Hitters!) The lazy sods couldn't even be bothered to change 'Caroline' to 'Andie' for this remake — or 'Iona' if you reckon Annie Potts' character is the one who really "buttons your shirt".

Buzzcocks: Spiral Scratch

23 August 1979

"Having unleashed the best set of pop singles for years, the Buzzcocks remind us how it all started."

— Steve Bush

Oh dear, Steve. It's Buzzcocks, not the Buzzcocks (but, hey, at least you used a lower case 't': The Buzzcocks would have been unforgivable). Just as it's Eagles and Talking Heads and Eurythmics and Pet Shop Boys, bands and their stans can get awful prickly about that dad blasted definite article being improperly used. (Funnily enough, groups employing a "The" don't seem quite as bothered when they get dropped, as in Beatles, Rolling Stones and Kinks; face it, The The are the only group with an incorruptible band name)

Nomenclature aside, designer Steve Bush kicks his month-long singles review residence off (though he would be back) with a recommendation that we go out buy a reissue of the debut E.P. by Buzzcocks "while stocks last". Apparently there were stocks aplenty as it got one chart placing short of the Top 30. Coming off five Top 40 entries on the bounce over the past year, this is a routine showing for a group that never quite got their flawless run of singles over the chart hump. (The classic "Ever Fallen in Love (With Someone You Shouldn't've)" couldn't get any higher than number twelve) Though Bush wasn't to know it at the time, the group was nearing its end. What got them started was about to finish them off.

Studying the singles reviews from 1979 in detail, it seems clear that there were some trying to move on while others were more resistant. Punk in 1977 had opened up so much for so many. The chords were minimal, the tunes were short and everyone dressed as they pleased. Indie record labels popped up all over the country and, with expenses kept to a bare minimum, groups could make a few bob from just a few thousand sales. Kids flocked to punk venues to see chaotic gigs. Oh, that it could only have kept going. For some, it never stopped.

Bush claims that the sound of these four tracks on Spiral Scratch is "dated" but it seems like those still pressing on with real ale punk here at the very end of the decade were the real relics. Releases from the likes of The Members, Sham 69, Angelic Upstarts, Generation X, even those rubbish post-Lydon Sex Pistol records: all churned out as swiftly and unprofessionally as they were two years earlier but without the same excitement of old. Some of the tunes were still as potent but it was old hat by this time. The fact that The Rolling Stones seemed to have already missed the boat with the punk-influenced "When the Whip Comes Down" and "Shattered" from their Some Girls album and those songs were from a year earlier is all you need to know.

What you get with Spiral Scratch is ten minutes of tightly played punk rock that doesn't try to hide the skills of the foursome. Bassist Steve Diggle and drummer John Maher were even at this early stage a peerless rhythm section and the late Pete Shelley proves himself an underrated guitarist, even going so far as to take a solo on the E.P.'s best track "Boredom". Howard Devoto made his lone shot at Buzzcockdom count with rapid-fire, shrieked vocals and some genuinely funny lyrics. All four cuts demonstrate that they already had a clear understanding of what they were doing but they somehow fail to suggest what might have been — or, rather, provide a blueprint for Buzzcocks that were, not those that could have been. The thought of Devoto remaining is one of those delicious what ifs but not one aided by what's on offer here.

Like The Clash and The Damned, Buzzcocks were a cut above the competition. Punk was never expunged from their sound but they were far too capable as musicians and songwriters to let the genre constrain them. But where some stagnated and others moved on, they were just about done. Sprial Scratch doesn't simply "remind us of how it all started" but puts a cap on how far they came in such a short period of time. They could have done more but why soil such a perfect discography — assuming you're willing to ignore all the stuff they did after they reformed.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Jam: "Where You're Young"

When you're young, you're full of angst, aspiration, passion and verve. When you're young, you're searching for someone to speak to you. When you're young, you cherish those figures who are fighting for something. When you're young, you don't give a toss if you can't make out the words to your favourite songs. When you're young, you're convinced that a line like "the world is your oyster but the future's your clam" is dead good even if deep down you haven't a clue what it means. When you get older, you realise that a number like this is just a filler on the way towards something you really want to listen to. When you're older, you respect those groups who used punk to better themselves.

Prince & The Revolution: "Anotherloverholeinyohead"

16 July 1986

"I think God will go out and buy this one."

— Samantha Fox

Prince's reputation has never been higher. His popularity and prominence took a dip in the nineties — his 1990 release Graffiti Bridge being his first album in ages that few seemed to care about — and using that silly symbol seemed like an act he'd never recover from but he came roaring back at some point after the millennium, the crowning achievement being his show-stealing solo on "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" in honour of George Harrison's posthumous induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2004. This performance wowed viewers at the time (even if some fellow musicians on stage seem less than excited by it) but it has YouTube to thank for its legend. And Prince was cool again. Then in 2016 he passed away and he went from living legend to god.

But if we shift back to when he was at his creative and commercial peak Prince wasn't always held in high esteem by everyone. Since Dave Rimmer awarded the Purple One with a "coveted" Single of the Fortnight back in 1983 with the still phenomenal "1999", many further new releases of his were reviewed in ver Hits. To say the results are mixed is probably a compliment to the little scamp with only William Shaw's critique of "Raspberry Beret" being mostly positive. Rimmer also had a crack at evaluating "Little Red Corvette", the follow-up to "1999", which he accuses of being too much of a Springsteen rip off while arguing that Prince is an "inconsistent chap". John Taylor isn't crazy about the heavier direction he seemed to be taking with "When Doves Cry", though he does acknowledge that Prince records take a while to grow on him. Andy Kershaw is unsparing in his derision for "Let's Go Crazy", even going so far as to have a go at the singer for being the "ugliest man in the world". (Though surely Kershaw has seen himself in the mirror, right?) Brookside's Simon O'Brien and Dave Gahan of Depeche Mode aren't especially fond of "Paisley Park" and "Kiss" respectively but the critic with the biggest ax to grind is Vici MacDonald. Having already slagged off both "Purple Rain" ("I know it's all supposed to be desperately steamy and sexy but, me, I remain unconvinced") and "Pop Life" ("Yaaaawn...Prince is sooo boring"), she tackles the recent single "Mountains" by generously reeling off all the many things to like and admire about the man before ultimately concluding that his latest isn't much cop at all.

Many will read MacDonald uncharitably — even though Kershaw's "analysis" is much, much worse than anything she ever wrote — but her feelings towards Prince often dovetail with my own. He was a true original, was musically curious, oozed talent and he didn't give a toss what anyone thought. That's stuff's all great, I just don't like at least half of his records. I've never cared much for his voice and I've never felt moved to any great extent by any of his songs. With so many things we're expected to appreciate about Prince, the only thing left wanting is his actual music.

With the critical blowtorch being taken to the likes of "Purple Rain", "When Doves Cry" and "Kiss", it's curious that he nabs a second SOTF with the relatively obscure "Anotherloverholeinyohead". The third single from Parade, the sort-of soundtrack to his recent film Under the Cherry Moon, its just-within-the-Top-40 chart performance was underwhelming though this was by no means unusual for him. Not unlike "I Would Die 4 U" and "Glam Slam", it doesn't pop up on compilations and is seldom discussed to any extent these days. While taster 45s from upcoming albums usually performed well, second, third and fourth singles often didn't and this one is no exception. It isn't even a standout on the pretty good Parade album: the minimalist funk grooves of "Kiss" and "Girl and Boys" and the stately "Sometimes It Snows in April" lay waste to this very unremarkable, Prince at his Princiest of songs.

So, what does Samantha Fox see in "Anotherloverholeinyohead" that it's worthy of a SOTF in her mind? Well, her review doesn't give away much, unless you're deeply interested in learning about how the Foxtress grew up listening to Prince's "really rude" records that she acquired from the flea market where her mum had a stall. She seems to genuinely love his music and it sounds like his records played no small part in her, shall we say, "development". While mentioning that she likes how he "changes the pitch in his voice" on this (has he really?) there's not much else to say. This could be any Prince single and she'd give it a glowing review, even if she manages not to say much about it.

But, then, what can she say about it? For someone so adventuresome and all over the place, this is very standard fare, the prototypical Prince single of the time: big piano chords, some slap bass, a refrain that is equal parts Rick James and Meat Loaf, loads of slinky vocals all over the shop. And all this would be perfectly fine if not for the rum tune and trite lyrics. The hooks don't draw the listener in and twisting a common English expression into song is never the best idea, even in the hands of someone so laughably capable. I suppose it's a credit to him that he can belch out something so inconsequential into a reasonable song but this ain't good enough for me. Good thing there's another Prince track that will be covered before long on here where us sceptics will once again be forced to eat crow.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Paul McCartney: "Press"

One rock god phoning it in deserves another, eh? Well, not quite. Though far from a classic of old, this is a pretty decent number from Macca's supposed creative wane. Opening with some country-ish guitar playing, it quickly goes synthy. This was the beginning of Paul's decision to sound contemporary so he roped in 10cc Eric Stewart as a co-writer and Hugh Padgham on production. I'm sure getting the guy behind the desk of all those massive Phil Collins albums seemed like a good idea at the time but it has the ring of a middle-class, Live Aid direction. He would have been better off getting a real synth-pop producer like Trevor Horn or Stephen Hague in or he could have given "Press" a storming, Long Ryders country feel. Nevertheless, it's all likable enough though there's way too much going on. Dig the accompanying promo in which His Nibs takes the London Underground to the general delight and bemusement of the public. I gotta say I'm imPRESSed the whole thing doesn't seem staged. (See what I did there?)

The Jesus & Mary Chain: Some Candy Talking

2 July 1986

"It may well be filched from a very, very ancient LP by The Velvet Underground but who gives a flying fish when confronted with something so tragic and melancholy and melodic and utterly delightful?"

— Lola Borg

The Jesus & Mary Chain last popped up on this page back on Christmas Day, 2019. In Smash Hits time (ie real time), it's actually been about eighteen months between "Never Understand" getting an enthusiastic SOTF from DJ Andy Kershaw and the Some Candy Talking EP being similarly recommended by staff writer Lola Borg. Listen to the two releases back-to-back, however, and it's like time standing still. You'd even be forgiven for assuming that the latter work predated the former.

Indie groups who hit it big are frequently accused of selling out, typically by the very fans that helped get them there. What they fail to consider — beyond the fact that there's nothing inherently wrong with success — is that having hits, becoming famous and making money changes everything. Music critic Taylor Parkes recently made this point on the Chart Music podcast in the context of The Smiths and Morrissey's rapid decline as a songwriter. Drawn to the singer's sharp early work, Parkes concludes that he had a lifetime as a angsty, self-righteous youth to compile his observations into the songs that make up the group's self-titled debut album, as well as the material that made up the companion compilation Hatful of Hollow. By 1985, his bedsit scribblings have all dried up and he's reduced to composing fresh material from the perspective of a whiny pop star, tackling serious issues with naiveté, making lame quips about the poor and the needy being "selfish and greedy" and being increasingly unconvincing about being inadequate. Sure, he invented the concept of powerful individuals pretending to be victims (cheers, Stephen) but his art suffered. (Though at least the bugger never sold out so there is that)

The Jesus & Mary Chain weren't on the same level as either critical darlings nor in terms of commercial might as The Smiths but they were doing all right for themselves. Psychocandy sold in respectable numbers for such an abrasive act and it managed to finish second to Tom Waits' Rain Dogs as NME's Album of the Year (nine spots ahead of Meat Is Murder by The Smiths). But tensions were high with William Reid fraying from the constant touring, an over-indulgence in alcohol and drummer Bobby Gillespie's imminent departure. This could very easily have been the moment they lost the plot, in terms of both their creativity and their sanity, but for the Reid brothers decision, as Zoë Howe recounts in her splendid JAMC biography Barbed Wire Kisses, to "return to East Kilbride to try to write songs in the kitchen".

The idea of Jim and William spending their precious free time in the nondescript home they grew up in right in the middle of a bleak Scottish New Town outside of Glasgow in the greyness of Thatcher's Britain might seem peculiar but it was precisely the same setting in which they conjured up the likes of "Upside Down", "Never Understand" and "Just Like Honey". Composing on the road may have suited the talents of Lennon and McCartney as they sat on hotel beds "face to face and eyeball to eyeball" but it couldn't have done much for the volatile Reids. The "inspiration" of East Kilbride was in its lack of culture, its stifling atmosphere and its neighbours with their (to quote The Style Council in their own New Town demolishing "Come to Milton Keynes) "curtains all drawn". This was the sort of place they came from.

Though released as an EP, the title track is the clear standout and could have easily stood on its own as a single. This scarcely matters (Lola Borg doesn't mention the format and keeps her review strictly to the A side) but it does give equal prominence (at least in theory) to companion tracks "Psychocandy" and "Hit". It could just have been a thoughtful gesture to fans by having more than two cuts on their latest release, plus the promise of acoustic demos on the  Double 7" and 12" versions to really get their followers down to the local Our Price. This material is all perfectly fine even if there's something off about a JAMC song that isn't plugged in with maximum distortion.

As for "Some Candy Talking" itself, the song is about sex (not heroin as is often reported). Had the Reids been at work on it in a hotel room in Munich or Philadelphia, it would have been an altogether different beast. On the road there's booze flowing and groupies at one's disposal (or so I hear) so it's hard to imagine yearning for sex and futilely seeking it out coming from a night spent with a woman. Back in their family kitchen in East Kilbride, their sexual frustrations returned. There's no glamour in being a guitarist for an indie rock band up there. People talk about success and how everything changes when you return home but inadequacies also come back. The bully who duffed you up on a regular basis at school might suddenly be pleased to see you but how happy are you bumping into him? Now, for most this doesn't matter or it would be a situation to avoid but it was just what Jim and William needed. Nothing humbles the ego like being a nothing again.

Morale had been low on the road and their misery remained while holed up in East Kilbride. Having previously taken pride in their ability to fuse sugar-sweet melodies with ferocious lyrical darkness on earlier material, the Beach Boys/Girl Group lightness is expunged on "Some Candy Talking" in favour of pure aggression and pain. Is it a joy to listen to? Somehow it is. Yes, as Borg says, they sound more like The Velvet Underground than ever but there's lots to mine in "I'm Waiting for the Man" and "Venus in Furs" and the results of which developed into the sparse beauty of what would be their best album, 1987's Darklands. All the while never quite getting that wretched Scots New Town out of them. And how could they? They needed it now more than ever.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Vindaloo Summer Special: "Rockin' with Rita"

The daft side of indie which makes for a welcome pallet cleanser after all this dour Jesus & Mary Chain stuff, The Vindaloo Summer Special were a one off "super" group made up of comedian Ted Chippington, a still punk We've Got a Fuzzbox and We're Gonna Use It and a nearly done Nightingales. Some good, if rather pointless, bit of summer fun, it certainly gives some idea of what a British B-52's might sound like. Amazingly, it almost became a hit but there were much worse records to be buying during the summer of '86.

Bobby Rush: "I Wanna Do the Do"

9 August 1979

"Right then, as it's my last singles page I'm now going to have a self-indulgent rave."

— Cliff White

Much like having a permanent host for the Olympics (an idea, granted, I could warm to), there's something uncomfortably logical about having a regular singles reviewer in Smash Hits. In future, no contributor could stand to face the burden any more than once every three or four months (if not longer) and, anyway, readers were increasingly "keen" on finding out just what the hottest acts in pop thought of the new releases by their competitors (and, indeed, of their own singles). Yet, inevitable complaints sent in had more of a purpose if the position was being held down by a single critic. The latest single by your favourite band or artist just got coated down by some know-it-all git with a smug profile photo or a pathetic boy band with records far more useless than any of the stuff they had to review? Well, at least there'd be someone else to look at them next time round. But a regular critic who just ripped into yet another Sham 69 record? Yeah, we're going to war.

Cliff White brings his half-year stint as a permanent singles reviewer to a close this fortnight. Wanting to go out in a blaze of glory by trashing as many records as possible, he's disappointed to discover that there's a lot of good stuff awaiting his approval. Did a small part of him get pangs of regret his decision to leave Smash Hits? Still, while he enjoys making light of all the letters of complaint his criticism inspired, perhaps it was time to move on. (While I have been enjoying White's analysis, I think prefacing each of his review round-up's with a mea culpa and/or admonishment of his readers is beginning to get stale; after-all, nothing says 'I don't care what you think' like reminding people just how much you don't care what they think)

His pick this issue isn't actually a new release and it's been saved for his closing remarks. Referencing Bev Hillier's column from the preceding issue, White anticipates a UK release of "I Wanna Do the Do" by veteran blues singer Bobby Rush "soon". This is a more promising outlook than two weeks earlier when "Boogying Bev" pessimistically wonders if it will ever come out in Britain but it will never end up getting a proper evaluation from any of White's predecessors in the singles review "chair". While he is pleasantly surprised by the overall high quality of the singles he has been given, none are given quite the same gushings of praise as "listen out for it. THIS RECORD IS FANTASTIC!!! Remember who told you about it first. And since this is his singles swansong I figure we might as well indulge the old scamp.

Bobby Rush is someone you don't hear about much anymore — and he probably wasn't exactly a household name back in his "day" either. A jobbing blues singer, he'd already been around for thirty years when he gave disco dabblage a "shot". Disco? Sure, the bass is nice and fat with a rhythm that will make many beyond White and Bev get on down and do whatever that "do" is but disco? Rush was forty-five and had become a genre unto himself by the end of the seventies. Raised by a minister father, he was schooled in gospel before joining blues groups as a teenager. But he was no purist and he was more than happy to indulge in whatever style was favoured in the black community. Just as James Brown's grunts and yelps found facility with funk, Rush was similarly right at home with seventies' dance floor trends. (Miles Davis was another African American who never let advancing age get in the way of exploring some of the new stuff) As I've attempted to suggest before, the shift from funk to disco was much subtler than it appears today and this is a prime example. With some seriously heavy harmonica and a lack of strings and production pyrotechnics, it isn't nearly as disco as it could have been. White predicts a massive hit but without said bells and whistles it's hard to see it being remotely possible. It appears that it did give Rush's career a shot in the arm and he has gone on to release more twenty albums just as he should have been slowing down.

"I Wanna Do the Do" is an apt final Single of the Fortnight for White, as well as an indication that he'd be right at home working for reissue label Charly Records. His knowledge and appreciation for black music would have been unparalleled in the UK at the time and he never let a record's commercial appeal (or lack thereof) get in the way enjoyment. Like Rush himself, he had no time for being a musical puritan: he didn't turn up his nose at Blondie's astonishing disco-fication "Heart of Glass" nor did he take old stalwarts like Herbie Hancock and James Brown to task for trying to be trendy. Ver kids may have complained when he trashed their faves but Cliff White knew what he liked and only cared a bit what they thought.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

George Harrison: "Faster"

Niki Lauda. Emerson Fittipaldi. James Hunt. Mario Andretti. They all raced with an effortless grace which is something not replicated by George Harrison's strained vocal. A jaunty melody with that distinctive guitar part that could only be His Nibs, there are elements to enjoy here even if it's a little by-numbers. It doesn't quite equal the likes of "Within You Without You" and "Long, Long, Long" in terms of lyrical profundity but apparently the story could apply to anyone. I guess if you're able to eat really quickly or type at super speed or channel surf rapidly then you too could be a "master of going faster". Perhaps he was better off sticking to weightier subjects for song: he could have directly addressed the recent spate of fatal or near-fatal accidents that had been blighting Formula One instead of just glorifying how much faster they all were. A curio.

The Bangles: "Going Down to Liverpool"

18 June 1986

"I love The Bangles: they hardly do anything and yet they're hugely successful."

— Duncan Wright

As a boy growing up in the eighties it seemed like The Bangles were a very big deal. I never gave any consideration to them being the 'future of rock' or any of that hooey. It didn't matter that they were an all-female foursome and that they played their own instruments. We couldn't have given less of a toss that they "didn't write their own hits" possibly because they were clever enough not to take on overly familiar material from the outside. The fact that their songs were simple and straightforward made it easier to like them. They did what they did and it sounded great and that was good enough. In retrospect, they share with INXS the quality of being the high school garage band that made it. (I was too young to fancy any of them but I would soon enough)

I visited Liverpool over the Easter holidays in 1989. It was just a day trip and we headed back to our Chester B&B that night so my Merseyside experience wasn't vast. Still, it's a day that stands out though more for what we didn't do and see. We didn't get close to Anfield, no one spoke with one of those brilliant Scouse accents (the kind that helped make Craig Charles of Red Dwarf and George Christopher (Ziggy on Grange Hill), two of my favourite TV characters) and there was almost no trace of The Beatles, which was the main reason my mum wanted to go there. The Cavern Club was a car park, the National Trust was still years away from making the childhood homes of John Lennon and Paul McCartney into landmarks and if anyone was doing Fab Four tours of the city then we sure knew nothing of it. North Americans may have flocked to Liverpool but there was nothing for them, the nostalgia industry still being a few years off.

Liverpool has been well known to North Americans ever since The Beatles became huge in 1964 but this fascination wasn't shared by the British and, indeed, Liverpudlians. What is just another gloomy industrial/port city is a mecca of rock music and where the sixties blossomed. While the average British citizen wouldn't think to take a trip there, (though considering how fond they are of Blackpool, Skegness and Southend, I'm not so sure Liverpool is such a foul place) it was a place that many on the other side of the Atlantic dreamed of.

I've written about previous Singles of the Fortnight that are too repetitive and that could have used, say, a chord change or some lyrical introspection. Simple Minds' "Waterfront", for example, has the line "Get in, get out of the rain / I'm gonna move on up to the waterfront" which sounds great but means nothing in the context of such a trite song. Where, Mr. Kerr, does this desire for a cozy home by the seaside come from? What are your plans for residing so close to said waterfront? As I wrote, I'm sure the chorus went over like gangbusters when played live but that doesn't hide how feeble the overall song is.

Similarly, there's not much to "Going Down to Liverpool" but I think that's a point in its favour. The subject of the song has nothing and is off Merseyside to do nothing: there's not a whole lot else that needs saying. The "green and pleasant land" of Wordsworth and John Constable paintings has nothing to offer but then neither does Liverpool itself. There's no dream to follow and no nightmare being left behind. Why go there? Well, it could be the vibrant music scene, it could be the tremendous football side, it could be the appeal of being in a Labour Party stronghold or it could be just the place to blend in with other layabouts on the dole. It doesn't matter but if it does then The Bangles give it a little more meaning. As Americans, I'm not overly sure they understand just what they're singing about but that's for the best since they bring it all back to The Beatles. Why not flock to Liverpool where John, Paul, George and Ringo cut their crooked teeth?

"Going Down to Liverpool" was written in the early part of the decade by Kimberley Rew, leader of what would become Katrina & The Waves, a band I never knew until fairly recently was mostly British. Rew has made a bundle from penning "Walking on Sunshine" (the one everyone remembers, not the one I reviewed by Rockers Revenge even though it was initially the bigger hit) but he's probably done okay from this as well. It wasn't a huge hit but it crops up on their many best of / greatest hits albums over the years so I'm sure the royalties are no small beer. (Rew is well represented in this singles review page with ver Waves also up for consideration with "Sun Street": "Yuk!" exclaims Duncan Wright) Their attempts at recording it are perfectly acceptable but they only show that it was meant to be a Bangles song. A tighter, crunchier performance, a slightly mumbled lead vocal from drummer Debbi Peterson mixed with the floaty backing vocals of Susanna Hoffs and a sunnier production make this an easy choice in the 'cover versions that are better than the originals' stakes. The Bangles hardly did anything: they never needed to.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

James: "So Many Ways"

I love James: they do so much and yet they're hugely unsuccessful. They write their own small time indie "hits", they always play well live and when they do play they look soooo "intense". The four piece James quietly made some respectable singles and EPs but must have seemed like an also ran in perpetuity. (Even when they began scoring Top 20 hits there was always something of the afterthought to them) A fascinating record that sows the seeds of their eventual status as the finest singles group of the nineties, "So Many Ways" is that prototypical eighties low key independent number which provokes nodding of heads as it's playing but is forgotten about as soon as it finishes. They'd need a few more years to hone their sound into something memorable enough for the kids to start seeking them out but they were getting there.