That Petrol Emotion: "Genius Move"

21 October 1987

"I like what they do because it sounds like they're enjoying themselves and it sounds like they could go wrong and I like that in a record. They are a group that's got integrity."

— Robert Smith

Integrity. Integrity. Not a word you hear a lot in music circles anymore (to the extent that I'm not sure whether to poo-poo Robert Smith for being so cliched and dated or if I should tip my hat to him for being so bloody novel). It's an obvious throwback to simpler, more rockist days when you were supposed to play your own instruments and write your own songs. A term frequently used yet seldom expounded upon. U2 allegedly had integrity but Rick Astley didn't and no one ever bothered to question this line of thinking; it was true simply because that's what we all believed.

I've knocked populism in the past in this space but it's worth considering that its forerunner wasn't up to much itself. Rockism was all about the dogma that old school rock 'n' roll values were all that mattered. It's why Bruce Springsteen remains slightly overvalued and why Tom Petty is worshiped for making a career out of creating the same pleasant but unremarkable Tom Petty records. Why power pop is considered a gold standard yet is all-too-often boring. Schoolmates who liked grunge or gangsta rap belittled me for being into Pet Shop Boys and Depeche Mode (even though members of both groups wrote their own songs and played their own instruments) because my stuff was "queer" while their's had a "message". Exploring past eras, Led Zeppelin was revered but ABBA was a "guilty pleasure" (again, the Swedes wrote their own songs, something the drunken Brummie foursome didn't always do). For all its sins, at least poptimism is all about judging the quality of music, not the supposed "integrity" of the artists.

I'm not sure Robert Smith is a rockist (I'd be very surprised to discover that's what he is) but integrity is important to him. The Cure grew out of punk and that generation was as protective of its spirit as they were down on the prog rockers and stadium theatrics that came before it. Keeping the flame of punk going in the indie scene mattered to a lot of people in the underground, especially with 1987 being the most eighties year imaginable. The writing/production assembly line of Stock Aitken Waterman was beginning to dominate the charts (Smith also reviews Astley's tepid follow up to "Never Gonna Give You Up" and has already had enough of them), rock dinosaurs were back and the post-punk generation was beginning to fade away so it's no wonder a fragment of what had been part of the scene ten years earlier would be so warmly greeted by some.

All this may read like I'm dumping on Smith's stint as singles reviewer but there's lots to enjoy in his write up. He makes several amusing remarks (of Astley's "Whenever You Need Somebody", he says "I'll probably find myself completely mortalled in Fellini's disco in Stockholm and dancing to this"; of The Fat Boys' Falling in Love", "...it's a very thin foundation on which to build your career — being fat. I speak from inexperience of course"; the great thing about the latter is that it's funny whether Smith means or not, especially given the rounder state he is in of late) and some of his tastes mirror my own (I think I love him just a little bit more because of how much he hates Eurythmics). He does better when trashing the records he doesn't care for than when he struggles to provide much of substance to say about his favourites — and I don't blame him. All in all, he does well in the role and was good enough to be asked back for a second time (he, in turn, must have enjoyed the task enough to have accepted the invitation) which we will get to next year.

This is the second appearance on this blog for That Petrol Emotion, the first being earlier in the same year when Shane MacGowan gave his approval to "Big Decision". It's notable that two guest reviewers who were close to the same age and both children of punk would be their biggest supporters in Smash Hits. The single "Swamp" was released in the summer of '87 but no one bothered reviewing while Barry McIlheney gave a positive critique of their album Babble, one that didn't fawn over the group's "integrity". The likes of NME and Melody Maker were enthusiastic of them but they, too, were there to keep the punk fires burning in the indie scene. While they didn't go so far as to brandish the word 'integrity', there was always a sense that they were championed by people who admired what they stood for rather than what they created.

"Big Decision" didn't do much for me either but at least a vague hint of its chorus and tune has stayed with me over the past few months; on the other hand, I've been listening to "Genius Move" over the past week and I still can't remember anything about it. I put it on and it goes about its business as if refusing to want my attention. As is inevitable, Smith mentions the connection to The Undertones, a band he used to like though not love since he never cared for Feargal Sharkey's voice. And, yeah, the Shark's singing is an acquired taste and I can understand it not being everyone's thing but implied here is a preference for the generic vocals of Petrol frontman Steve Mack. And while the young American doesn't ruin "Genius Move", he isn't able to make it rise above the competition either. And no one does in the end. There's nothing wrong with it except that it's just another pained indie hopeful in a scene drowning in them. You may believe that alternative acts from the eighties are "overlooked" or that they "deserved a bigger audience" — just don't say "criminally underrated", a term that no longer has any meaning — but the special groups tended not to fall through the cracks. Groups that were much better than That Petrol Emotion, though they did have integrity, I'll give them that.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Jesus & Mary Chain: "Darklands"

Smith considered the latest from the Reid brothers for SOTF and he would've done better had he gone with them. A little less thrilling than their early work (Smith admits it "isn't particularly stunning" and implies that he's much fonder of The Jesus than the single itself; I suppose they oozed integrity too), "Darkness" requires more time to digest but the listener's patience is rewarded by the multitude of hidden depths. As Smith notes, the Reids were masters of pinching melodies and riffs from a bevy of sources and making it seem like it was all their doing. They sound less like The Velvet Underground here but that could just be because they sound more like everyone else. Amazingly, no one managed to sound like them.

Pet Shop Boys: "Rent"

7 October 1987

"You can always rely on the Pet Shop Boys to write a good tune — even though half the time they (the tunes) vaguely sound as though they once belonged to someone else."

— Lola Borg

The Pet Shop Boys are back (BACK!) with their second Single of the Fortnight on the bounce. While "What Have I Done to Deserve This?" proved a big hit around the world and probably played a part in their cross-generational appeal, it isn't one of their signature numbers, the type that fans cry out for at concerts to this day. "West End Girls" had not only topped the charts everywhere but it quickly became a firm favourite among fans but there wasn't always this convergence of wide spread popularity and favour with the devoted. The punters may have sent "Heart" to number one but the fans preferred "Left to My Own Devices" which didn't manage to do so well.

Neil Tennant is credited with coming up with the term 'Imperial Phase', about then a singer or group is at the height of their popularity and has "the secret of contemporary pop music". Uniquely, The Beatles had it throughout their entire time as a popular act, Elton John had it through much of the early to mid-seventies and for much of the eighties it was all about the powerful trio of Michael Jackson, Madonna and Prince. For others, the Imperial Phase was much more fleeting. From July of 1987 through to the following summer, the Pet Shop Boys had five hit singles, a best selling album, made a feature film and began contributing songs to other artists. Their North American popularity hadn't yet waned and they were probably the most successful pop act in the world over those twelve months. You don't take a step wrong when you're at the peak of your imperial power — even if It Couldn't Happen Here had been mauled by critics, it said a lot of about their influence and level of success that they were able to have a film made at all.

Their five hit singles from their Imperial period are still well-remembered, and not just by their core audience. Their chart positions were 1, 2, 8, 1 and 1, with "It's a Sin", "Always on My Mind" and "Heart" all hitting the top while "What Have I Done to Deserve This?" would have joined them if not for the colossus of "Never Gonna Give You Up" by Rick Astley, giving them three chart toppers and one near miss. Yet, there in the middle of their imperial phase is that '8' that stands out like a sore thumb. That modest showing only dwarfs what it did in the US, where it failed to chart entirely. It might as well have reached 48. "Rent" would eventually go on to become one of their most popular singles but it was the runt of the litter in their hit singles basket. The album Actually having just come out a month earlier, some fans would have been hesitant to go out and buy it again, especially when they didn't do anything with the song itself aside from trimming it down to three-and-a-half-minutes for optimum airplay. Remixes of "Opportunities" and "Suburbia" a year earlier improved their chart fortunes but the edit of "Rent" wasn't as fortunate. It's kind of remarkable they chose it to be a single at all, as the simple but likable "Heart" was there on Actually's second side, a hit in waiting. The clever "Shopping" also had chart potential, as did "One More Chance". "Rent" is a much less obvious single, similar to the way "Jealousy" would end up as the fourth 7" pulled off of Behaviour: you wouldn't necessarily expect it but you're glad they went ahead with it.

Tom Hibbert called "Rent" a "mercenary love song" and that may be partially why it failed to do better with a wider audience. The song's narrator is, as Tennant has admitted, a kept woman who has been taken care of by her well-off boyfriend. She has a place to live, her expenses are paid for and she's never had to work for a living. She also has sacrificed true happiness for this life and is now resigned to a love that doesn't completely fulfill her. Tennant says he envisioned one of the Kennedys having this secret woman on the side that he has a long-term dalliance with. What we don't get is a sense of closure, as if her life will just go on being largely unhappy with just hints of a true relationship involved. The public doesn't want to have anything to do with such unromantic characters: if they were in a movie, they'd either discover true love with each other (kind of like in Pretty Woman) or she'd free herself of this affair and go it alone (like Muriel's Wedding). A bit of a wasted life, albeit one that is also acknowledged as not being so bad all things considered. The pop charts had no time for such bleak realism, imperial phase or not.

But being a man, I wondered about the other side of this tale. I had originally intended this entry to be a short story set in Jakarta about a young women who grew up in poverty but is now at the beck and call of a rich western businessman. She is able to provide for her mother and sisters and is the envy of her friends but she's grown depressingly resigned to this life. He flies in (I was imaging from either Hong Kong or Singapore) from time to time for business and that's when they can steal their moments together. I worked on this story for a while but hit a wall while trying to flesh out the character of the rich boyfriend. I wanted him to also have a sense that things weren't quite right but it never really rang true. He's the one perpetuating this lifestyle for the two of them so why on Earth would he want to change anything? And if he does want to end it, he has the money and the power in the relationship and he won't be affected long term.

At a time when glitzy American dramas like Dallas and Dynasty were peak (and British telly presented Bread as a comedic, working class answer to those two), few looked beyond the luxury goods and high living. At a time when it was still assumed that Charles and Diana were relatively happy (or perhaps 'weren't entirely unhappy' would be more accurate), many would have traded to have a similar swanky lifestyle. And at a time when Thatcher was busy selling off public utilities (which Tennant and Lowe spoofed in the aforementioned "Shopping") and claiming that there's no such thing as society, the establishment only saw power players and not the human beings lurking underneath. What few dared say was that there's a price for living a glamourous life but only the Pet Shop Boys — in all their imperial power — were there to document it.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

INXS: "Need You Tonight"

Groups from the Antipodes traditionally take longer to break in Britain than in the States and this was never truer than in 1987 when INXS began conquering America while still being little known across the Atlantic. Kick was their sixth album and was packed to the brim with potential hits yet they couldn't get themselves arrested in the UK, a country that just so happened to be falling for Neighbours and its generation of young actors and pop stars at the same time. "Need You Tonight" would soon go to number one in the US but it would require another year to really get going in Britain. What took them so bloody long to embrace the sextet? Having a dishy, charismatic frontman in Michael Hutchence wasn't enough, nor was the sexy rock produced by a tight, underrated group of musicians. They probably didn't even care for the state-of-the-art video first time 'round. At the time I was ten years old and rightly assumed that everyone in the world loved INXS. And they did, it just took some longer than others.

The Jam: "Going Underground" / "Dreams of Children"

20 March 1980

"Can they put a foot wrong? Can pigs fly?"

— Kelly Pike

As groups coming out of punk go, The Jam were old school. Paul Weller was barely nineteen when they first hit the charts and had already made the infamous claim that everyone should vote Conservative. This may or may not have been a joke but it seemed to hark back to the days of John Lennon speaking out against injustice yet still voting Tory because there'd be less tax for him to pay. And this was far from their own connection to sixties pop. Weller was openly professing his love for the likes of The Kinks and The Who at the same time The Clash were proclaiming there was no place for The Beatles, Elvis and The Stones in the world of punk. While everyone else wore ripped clothes and safety pins, Weller, Rick Buckler and Bruce Foxton wore suits and no one seemed to mind that the latter sported a mullet.

They even released records the way bands used to. With blockbuster albums such as Rumours, Hotel California and the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack spawning multiple hit singles, The Jam would generally pluck only one LP cut for release on 45. Of their eighteen (brilliant) singles, nine of them never appeared on a studio album, giving them a remarkable percentage of one offs — and, if anything, the numbers are skewered when you consider that two of their hits taken from albums ("That's Entertainment" and "Just Who Is the 5 O'Clock Hero?") only came out in Britain as imports. Two of their number one singles may only be found on compilations, something that would be unthinkable a decade later when the stand alone single became a thing of the past.

The Jam's chart fortunes had been steadily improving over the past three years and the top five success of "The Eton Rifles" near the end of 1979 suggested they were really about to break through. Anticipation for their first single of the eighties was high and they didn't disappoint: it entered the charts at number one, which was still a relatively rare feat. "Going Underground" was such a massive success and it has been an enduring fan favourite ever since yet it was a double A-side, a fact often overlooked. Indeed, so taken is she with the anthemic tune that Kelly Pike neglects to even mention "Dreams of Children" in her review (and this was at a time when it was still fairly common for Smash Hits critics to comment on B's. And she's far from alone in that regard. While The Jam are renowned for some superb B-sides ("English Rose", "Smithers-Jones", "Liza Radley" and "Tales from the Riverbank" are among their most popular numbers), the flip side of their biggest hit is seldom cited and isn't always included on comps. 

"Going Underground" is beloved while "Dreams of Childrean" has largely been ignored but the two make a perfect single pairing. The tenth part of a continuum of singles stretching back to "In the City", the former is as pounding and driven as anything they'd ever done and gives a sense of completion to the narrative of Weller going from cynical, know-it-all youth to a young man growing comfortable with himself. I had never heard The Jam until the summer of 1991 when I got a copy of Greatest Hits on cassette. Side one had been a rush of numbers that I found exciting but didn't quite know what to do with; flipping the tape over, I was bowled over by the thrilling song with lines about how "you've made your bed, you better lie in it" and "we talk and we talk until my head explodes" (Weller's frantic wordplay and cottonmouth vocal made very little of it intelligible to me at the time and it still didn't matter) had me locked in as a fan for life. The explosive song ushers in The Jam's era of aggressive psychedelic rock and soul revivalism to close out Greatest Hits: a sign of what's not to come.

Yet that sign was right there on the other side. Weller admitted that he had been getting into post-punk acts like Gang of Four and Joy Division and this was the direction he ended up taking the band on their fifth album Sound Affects. He was also tripping on The Beatles' Revolver (to the extent that the single "Start!" brazenly nicked its bass line from the George Harrison classic "Taxman") and Michael Jackson's Off the Wall. These disparate influences may all be found on "Dreams of Children", with its mix of sparse instrumentation and production, horns, organ and backwards acid rockery and infectious R&B grooves. The same Jam that went along for the ride with punk and had molded themselves into part of the next generation of rock classicists was now beginning to shed what had made their name in the first place.

"Going Underground" / "Dreams of Children" ought to be ranked alongside Elvis Presley's "Hound Dog" / "Don't Be Cruel", The Beatles' "Strawberry Fields Forever" / "Penny Lane" and Bomb the Bass' "Megablast" / "Don't Make Me Wait" as the finest double A-sides of all time. (One of them is not like the others but I'll be making my case for it soon enough) Having two potential hits on both sides of a 7" record only tells part of the tale: the two songs ought to compliment one another in a way not required of the traditional A-side/B-side dynamic. With their zeitgeist chart topping single, welcome to the past, present and future of The Jam.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Genesis: "Turn It on Again"

Growing up in the eighties, there seemed little difference between Genesis and Phil Collins' solo career and it was difficult to tell just what was his day job. Others weren't so coy: The Police broke up, Sting went solo and that's the way it was supposed to be. Not yet a solo artist and not quite established as frontman of increasingly regressive prog rockers, Collins seems to be laying the groundwork for both the future of his band and his status as an unlikely pop superstar in his own right. "Turn It on Again" seems like Collins, Tony Banks and Mike Rutherford are trying to figure out how this mainstream pop stuff works, not aware that the chorus doesn't need to be saved for the last thirty or forty seconds. There's a hook but it ends up getting frittered away by some unnecessary busyness. Traces of a good song. They had a lot to work out if this pop caper was going to fly,

Lloyd Cole & The Commotions: "My Bag"

23 September 1987

Pat: "Whawha guitars and funky clipped chords on a Lloyd Cole record???"

Greg: "And that's because both the drummer and the guitarist used to rehearse with us and they've obviously learnt something."

Pat: "That's the most arrogant statement Hue and Cry have yet made — we taught Lloyd Cole and the Commotions all they know — you print that."

— Pat and Greg Kane (Hue & Cry)

There seemed to be a trend among British pop stars of the late eighties to hate pop music. During my year of being an avid reader of both Smash Hits and Number One, I read a lot of interviews and I was always struck by how little most of them cared for what their contemporaries were doing. They all seemed to worship Marvin Gaye and their musical heroes were largely drawn from old Motown and soul. Rock and metal acts were devoted to old school rawk and coffee house singer-songwriters were all about the previous generation of singer-songwriters who also played coffee houses. But that was about it. Current pop? Pull the other one!

Pat and Greg Kane are brothers from Glasgow and had formed the duo Hue & Cry a couple years' earlier. Like a lot of Scottish acts that tried to brush off the supposed pop naffness of seventies groups like the Bay City Rollers and Silk, they were serious about their craft. Painfully serious. While it wasn't necessarily a rule that Caledonian bands be such humourless tits, the bulk of them were. Some, to their credit, managed to pull it off. I've never been a fan of Simple Minds but I have to admit that their glum approach worked: they did über-serious post-punk that a lot of people to this day rate very highly and they transitioned to stadium rock act without losing a trace of their earnestness. The Blue Nile all wore overcoats and looked like they'd never cracked a smile between them but they did bleak but touching songs.

The 'soulcialist' wing of Scots pop in the eighties, however, seemed buried in their weightiness, when a touch of lightness could have come in handy. Wet Wet Wet were quickly becoming a mammoth act by copying Al Green, a task they were very serious about; they also despised the vast majority of pop in '87. Deacon Blue would prove to be the best Scots group of the year with their excellent debut album Raintown but there was no hiding the fact that they too were low on humour (which makes Ricky Ross' forced chuckle on the single "Loaded" even more inexplicable). Good or bad, these people from Scotland all seemed to be deeply serious while intensely disliking most current pop — and Hue & Cry were right there with them.

A naturally gifted vocalist who could easily have followed the money to lounge singing, Pat Kane was much more rooted in jazz than many of his fellow Scots. He and Greg were talented individuals but much of their material was boring, even if they did have their moments. Their biggest hit, "Labour of Love", tapped into the Red Wedge and anti-Thatcher sentiments of the time and it has a lot more meaning that much of their early material. Like far too many leftist acts of the time, their politics frequently ended up losing out to bland love songs that gave them hits. As with Simply Red and their decent if unremarkable cover of "Money's Too Tight (to Mention)" and the Wets with "Wishing I Was Lucky", the Kane's were at their best when airing their left wing views, something Billy Bragg and The Housemartins never shied from. But why be interesting when you can be doing lame Sinatra pastiche that no one asked for?

Lloyd Cole could have been one of these same earnest Scots. An Englishman, he attended the University of Glasgow in the early eighties right in the midst of the city's post-punk pop boom that produced Altered Images, Aztec Camera and Orange Juice as well as the influential indie label Postcard. These groups were attempting to forge their own sounds and could even be — gasp! — playful in their music and lyrics. Looking like a more well-nourished Morrissey (I'm, of course, talking about Morrissey back in the eighties; he looks like he has enjoyed plenty of vegetarian quiches in more recent years), Cole had the trappings of a guy who wouldn't know a joke if he'd jammed with the Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band but his songs had wit and the spark of free-thinking individual about them. At a time when anything 'studenty' in pop could be counted on to be sneered at (in contrast to the US where the college rock charts were becoming influential), Lloyd Cole & The Commotions were students who made music for students. They never became a major indie act the way New Order and The Smiths would but they had a loyal following and a generation of British songwriters namecheck Cole as a major influence.

"My Bag" is an engaging record, if not terribly remarkable by the usual standards of the Commotions. Sort of a more-of-the-same record with added bells and whistles to disguise that they were beginning to run out of ideas. As Pat Kane says, the guitars are a departure (as are the 'cha-cha' samples at the beginning, which could have come straight out of a Pet Shop Boys single; the purist Kane's for whatever reason fail to point this out) and could very well have been pinched from groups like Hue & Cry, even if it's just the sort of thing that comes straight out of the Nile Rodgers playbook and had been used on Aztec Camera's superlative 1984 single "All I Need Is Everything". Pat's being facetious, I guess, though since they're normally allergic to any kind of jollity, who's to know?

Though the cult of Cole-Commotion was as loyal as ever, "My Bag" missed the top 40 and the group's subtle creative decline was mirrored by the commercial slide they took with the ironically-titled final album Mainstream. The group would disband in 1989 and Cole would relocate to the US, where he resides to this day. It may have been the fresh environs or having new bandmates to kick ideas around with (or both) but either way the change was good for him as his solo career became much more interesting and his songwriting continued to develop. Meanwhile, Hue & Cry carried on for a bit as a relevant chart act with a level of success comparable to the Commotions before Pat Kane got into journalism. I sure hope he, too, improved upon his craft; maybe he even managed to throw in the odd funny line.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Bananarama: "Love in the First Degree"

Yet another fantastic Narns single dismissed on the Smash Hits singles review page. At least Dave Rimmer had positive things to say about "Cruel Summer" and "Robert De Niro's Waiting..." (and at least he mentions their name, for the love of god) but all the Kanes are able to do here is bash Stock Aitken Waterman. They're either unaware or don't give a toss that Keren, Sara and Siobahn wrote it with SAW and don't even bother giving consideration to its quality. They hate the record simply for political reasons. I guess that's fair enough but they missed out on some top pop while being all high and mighty. Their stint with Britain's dominant songwriting-production team (I had no idea they were already considered ubiquitous back in '87; I wonder how Pat and Greg felt in '89 when their ever-presence had become nauseating and their records really began to suck) didn't always result in classic singles but "Love in the First Degree" is one of their finest moments. A great song from a three-piece that was about to lose Siobahn to marriage and Shakespears Sister. They'd never be the same again.

Heart: "Who Will You Run To"

9 September 1987

"Ah, me, they are resolutely unfashionable, these two elderly Canadian "lovelies", Ann and Nancy Wilson, and their three "rugged" backing blokes (each with his own personal ugliness problem) but I'm afraid I can't resist their dubious charms."

— Tom Hibbert

1987 has been a banner year for Singles of the Fortnight. If it isn't exactly stacked with killer records, at least it's loaded with name pop stars. The local independent labels that arose in the aftermath of punk were beginning to fade away and those that were still clinging on (Factory, Mute, Rough Trade) managed to do so with acts that were regulars on the charts. Curios like indie-jazzers Weekend or Dutch synth act Spectral Display weren't able to make the kind of impact with critics that they used to. The mainstream was taking over. With fewer independents around, the big acts were able to flex their muscle in the singles review page.

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is well represented by the '87 crop of SOTF. So far, Aretha Franklin, Prince, U2, Depeche Mode, David Bowie, Iggy Pop, The Beatles, Michael Jackson and Dusty Springfield have all been inducted in the hallowed halls in Cleveland, Ohio. Others have been passed over but have credible cases. George Michael hasn't received much consideration over the years but you have to think he'll be in someday — he was simply way too big for them to keep him out forever. Duran Duran seem similarly likely for eventual enshrinement but I'm not so sure with them; I suspect that the Hall's governing board will have to be populated by children of the eighties for their time to finally come. Boy George as a member of Culture Club seems like a longshot, his star having faded considerably since their year-or-so at the top. Pet Shop Boys? Now you're just being silly.

The 2013 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame class was headlined by Public Enemy, Rush and longtime snub Donna Summer. One of the other inductees that year was Heart — Ann and Nancy Wilson, as well as four guys I've never heard of. I don't know if there was much opposition at the time to the supposed Canadians getting in but they don't seem particularly deserving considering the above groups that have so far been denied entry (and, it must be said, all were eligible back then). George Michael and Duran Duran are out but Heart are in? I don't want to suggest a North American bias but that's the only explanation I can think of. (Either that or they're convinced the 'rock' in Rock and Roll is of utmost importance)

To be fair, the Wilson sisters were big in their own right and it may be easy to forget just how popular they were. They started off based in Canada (sorry Hibbs, but they're American, though they had a connection to Vietnam War draft dodgers fleeing north of the US border which is an important, if underexplored, facet of Canadian history and culture) and were much more of a folk-rock act on their debut album Dreamboat Annie, with just hints of what was to come. People who liked that early period of Heart may not have been fond of the way they evolved into a hard rock metal group over the next decade. Like Whitesnake, they were much more of a metal look than a sound and it's likely that folk who would be raised on the likes of Metallica and Slayer would deny Heart's place on the metal family tree. But that's the odd thing about metal: it constantly tries to out-metal what comes before to such an extent that it renders older acts as simply "rock". Nevertheless, they were in that metal sphere.

Heart's big hit in 1987 was "Alone", which was a global smash. One of those classic eighties weepies, it's the sort of thing people might scoff at — or be what they used to call a 'guilty pleasure'. I used to have it on a British compilation called Soft Metal and it sat alongside other eighties rock staples such as Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" and Starship's "We Built This City" which only reaffirmed it as a schlocky favourite. Out of curiosity, however, I put it on earlier this week and had I been British my astonished reaction would have been simply "Tune!" (As much as I am a lifelong Anglofile, there are some things I just can't do: I don't understand cricket, I can't sing a football chant without feeling like an idiot, I can't do any kind of British accent and I can't say 'Tune!' when I hear a song I like — and I'm fine with that)

Yeah, "Alone" is actually pretty great. Ann (or is it Nancy?) has a great voice, one she can let rip on when she so desires but also one where the words become merely a whisper in places. There's a touching vulnerability in her vocals as well. The power ballad was already fast becoming a cliche by '87 but the Wilsons transcend it with what is a superb composition and Tom Hibbert is right to make the link with an ABBA slow song (I guess he means either "I Have a Dream" or "The Winner Takes It All"; the extraordinary "The Day Before You Came" is simply too individual and sinister for it to have any connection at all). You may wonder what the jiggins old Hibbs is on about with this observation but I think he was trying to picture the sort of song Benny and Bjorn would have written had they been in the pop metal game. (A clue is found in the power ballad structure of the unofficial tenth ABBA number one "I Know Him So Well" by Elaine Paige and Barbara Dickson from the musical Chess) 

Alas, "Alone" isn't the song we're dealing with here. Its follow up was never going to be more of the same; hard rock groups had an iron-clad rule that ballads are to be followed by anthemic numbers. In metal that's normally for the best. Poison's "Nothing but a Good Time" is vastly superior to "Every Rose Has Its Thorn", Motley Crue's "Girls, Girls, Girls" is better than "Home Sweet Home" and every other song Kiss did is better than bloody "Beth". But Heart weren't quite a metal act and couldn't cut a decent uptempo single the way they could a tender love song. "Who Will You Run To" has a very metal chorus that you can sing along with right from the off but there's little else to recommend in it. Not bad but nothing I want to listen to again. Significantly, I've listened to "Alone" far more over the past week

I suspect that Hibbert would agree to some extent. It's notable that much of his review is about how much he liked "Alone". In addition to the ABBA comparison, he discusses the song's video and how the sisters looked in it. Plus, he really liked the song as well. His praise for "Who Will You Run To" is a little more guarded, pointing out the chorus as a highlight and that it's a rousing tune. Dubious charms? Absolutely. American rock of the eighties was a wasteland of power chords and living the rock 'n' roll lifestyle and Heart were certainly at home in this territory. But they knew a thing or two about writing a song and, again, Ann (or is it Nancy?) was a generational talent in terms of vocal prowess. She just put it to much better use on a love song than on some rip roarin' rawk. And who can argue with her? They're in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, you know.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Donna Summer: "Dinner with Gershwin"

Gosh, Donna wasn't going to play this dreck for Georgie Gershwin while having said dinner, was she? I somehow think the composer of "I Got Rhythm" and "Summertime" wouldn't be terribly impressed by this "tribute". Donna Summer weathered the end of the disco era better than most of her colleagues but her star had faded by the late eighties. Still, I guess it tells you a lot about her name recognition that this lousy single ended up making the charts. Proof that just because someone can sing the phonebook, it doesn't mean that should. Luckily, the queen of disco would soon hook up with pop's dominant songwriting team to record something that didn't shame the legacy of "Love to Love You Baby" and "I Feel Love".

Snips: "9 O'Clock"

6 March 1980

"Well, now that the Pile On My Left has become the Pile On My Right and the Ovaltine is nearly ready, I make no apologies for giving the First-Annual-Happiness-Is-Seven-Inches-Across-And-Goes-Round-Swiftly Award to Snips for "9 O'Clock" (EMI)."

— David Hepworth

Still trying to keep the new (but ultimately doomed) format afloat, David Hepworth describes his process of reviewing the singles in some detail. He has his Pile On His Left, a stack of fresh new records that he must evaluate which, once completely, begins to form his Pile On His Right. It sounds like a very organized system, with just a small turntable and a notepad in between the two stacks. Future issues of ver Hits that feature pop stars as guest critics are accompanied by photos of them posed on a spread of 45s and, in some cases, happily destroying discs and ripping up sleeves but it seems the paid staff behaved much more professionally — even if they absolutely hated the task in front of them.

I have written previously that Hepworth took no pleasure in reviewing the singles and it seems to be here that it was really starting to wear on him. Given what he's having to listen to here, who can blame him? I, too, shake my head at what was left of the post-Hotel California Eagles and their pitiful offering "I Can't Tell You Why". I'm with him on the lame, bloodless rock of my fellow Canadians April Wine and their single "I Like to Rock" which somehow became their biggest "hit" in the UK. Former sensations The Knack and M had difficulty following their smash singles "My Sharona" and "Pop Muzik" respectively and it is clear they didn't have anything left in the tank with their feeble latest releases. Yeah, alongside such company, I might also go a tad overboard with praise for "9 O'Clock" by Snips.

The alias of Stephen W. Parsons, who has subsequently gone on to some success composing film scores, Snips was one of those acts that was unlucky not to have broken through to a larger audience. Hepworth has long been an admirer but he's especially taken by his latest effort. Having Midge Ure twiddling the knobs behind a recording desk was probably a big key. Though his recording career has had at least as many downs as ups, one cannot deny that the man knows his pop inside and out. (A chancer he may be but there's an upside to going from seventies boy band to punk rock to touring with Thin Lizzy and on to new wave and synth-pop — and this was all within less than a decade!) The pairing of Parsons and Ure proves a bounty of pop rock scholarship, from The Beatles and sixties' Nuggets classics to Roxy Music's early work and all those great Electric Light Orchestra singles. It may sound spontaneous and fresh but its bedrock is the previous twenty years of British pop.

It is at first, however, a little disappointing. Upon first listening, it feels like little more than very competently made power pop. This, of course, may well be recommendation enough for some who worship at the alter of Big Star and get their rocks on to Cheap Trick. I'm not as thrilled by the genre as I usually find it far too formulaic. And, indeed, "9 O'Clock" sticks to power pop orthodoxy. Luckily, it has that dynamic Ure production and all those hooks that Hepworth can't get enough of. Snips' voice sounds like every new wave singer back in 1980 with that punk-esque urgency that dials back on the invective. Am I supposed to love this? Shouldn't it be better?

But it has grown on me as well. It's not simply a decent record that sounds better than it is held up next to a bunch of nondescript new singles; it lodges itself in the brain but only bits of it which means I've been forced to seek it out further than most songs I write about on here, particularly those that fail to excite me from the off. There's something to "9 O'Clock" that you just don't hear in every post-punk power pop record — I just can't quite put my finger on what it is. I might need to get back to you on this one — maybe, say, in about a year from now.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Joan Armatrading: "Rosie"

Ignored by Smash Hits for at least a month (Hepworth considers their negligence to be particularly shameful given her ability to sing a "VAT form and mak[e] it mean something" but those are always the performers we take for granted), "Rosie" is given a courtesy review even though it was peaking just shy of the top 40 this very week. Engaging as ever, it's a nice reminder that Joan Armatrading could do lightness just as well as she could do gravitas. She could also do a whole lot better though.

The Housemartins: "Me and the Farmer"

26 August 1987

"This single proves — once and for all! — that The Housemartins have wit, intelligence, brevity, humour and the sparkliest nippy pop tunes ever created."

— Sylvia Patterson

With all due respect to the likes of Brian Wilson, Carole King, various members of Fleetwood Mac and Max Martin, none of them can write a song about relationships like Paul Heaton. During his time with The Beautiful South, he captured couples on the brink of breaking up ("A Little Time"), dealing with an unwanted pregnancy ("Bell Bottomed Tear"), being unable to communicate ("You Keep It All In"), growing old ("Prettiest Eyes") or sticking with loving but unfulfilling relationships ("Tonight I Fancy Myself", "We Are Each Other"). These traits would eventually descend into either grotesque pieces about dominance and S&M ("Worthless Lie", "Mini-Correct", a song so vicious that it prompted Brianna Corrigan to quit the group and she was able to put up with the controversial "36d") or self-parody ("Perfect 10") but these shouldn't gainsay how he was once able to craft work dealing with couples that was realistic yet imaginative, cynical yet romantic.

This quality was a marked change from when Heaton was leader of previous group The Housemartins. A common charge leveled at The Beautiful South was that they had become "soft", that the boozy Marxism of "Happy Hour" had been watered down to songs about cozy domestication. Yet, socialism and football terraces aside, there had always been the spirit of the individual buried in his material. "Happy Hour" is drunkenly sung along to in pubs all over the world to this day but this belies the fact that it's about being alienated by the jollity of crowds and the watering holes they frequent. The skiffle-drenched favourite "Sheep" deals with being baffled by the mentality of mindless mobs. Yet, they didn't really do one-on-one human interaction.

The very day that Heaton and the supposedly dishy Stan Cullimore (sorry, Sylvia, but I just don't see it) wrote "Happy Hour", however, the pair composed a song about a relationship. It wasn't about a miserable couple who may once have been in love but about an employer and his employee. "Me and the Farmer": workplace dysfunction in song. Though it was kept, it didn't make the cut for their first LP and would have to wait so it's possible they weren't as thrilled by it as they should have been. They weren't to know it then but they had a breakthrough on their hands.

It's hard to picture this song having a basis in reality. A peasant toiling the land wouldn't have had this kind of close contact with his feudal lord. In more recent times, a migrant worker or a penniless labourer wouldn't be so indentured to their boss to the point that quitting their job would be (at least technically) impossible. Nit picking? Sure but the song is so great that it retains its potency.

Heaton refuses to allow the song's narrator to feel too sorry for himself. The song opens with a line, "me and the farmer get on fine / through stormy weather and bottles of wine" that indicates a camaraderie. But if this farmer sometimes treats Heaton well, then he's still a ruthless land baron and has no qualms about using humans, animals and nature to his ends. Being very much of its time, it's clearly a parable for Thatcherite deregulation, albeit one told on the scale of a single individual.

I never knew The Housemartins when they were active. I was still a good decade away from entering university during their brief two years of activity so I was well outside their target audience. For me, they were primarily the group that Paul Heaton used to be in. Going from the 'Hooses' to ver South was hardly the most radical creative shift that a singer-songwriter has made (bassist Norman Cook's post-Martin career took a much more unexpected turn, even if he always had an affinity for DJing and house music) but it wasn't without howls of protest. Early South gigs from 1989 were marred "fans" chanting for Heaton's old act as well as demanding they play calling card single "Happy Hour" (the band, for their part, responded in kind with a barrage of rude words hurled back at the crowd).

As I mentioned earlier, critics, too, weren't always crazy about where Heaton was going as the nineties progressed. The Beautiful South's more MOR-friendly sound (as well as, implicitly, the fact that they always had a female vocalist) resulted in reviews that weren't always glowing. And the music journalists could never seem to get past what Heaton had previously done; by comparison, even Morrissey's hit-and-miss solo career wasn't as dogged by his days with The Smiths and only occasionally did New Order reviews bother to mention Joy Division. As a longtime fan of 'the Pet Shop Boys you can't dance to', I never understood this. It wasn't until after several years of South fandom that I turned to The Housemartins, and even then I did so reluctantly. The hacks were always trashing my second favourite band and I had little desire to discover that they may have had a point.

"Happy Hour" was their biggest self-composed hit and would cast an unwelcome shadow over both The Housemartins and Beautiful South. Well before the rise of laddish groups like The Stone Roses and Oasis, the Martins acted like a bunch of goons in their videos and looked like normal blokes who signed on every week, were regulars at the local betting shop and had wives who looked like barmaids. They enjoyed a pint and read The Sun. Their socialism didn't matter since you could sing "Happy Hour" with your mates on a bus and they looked just like their fans. All of this was completely true except for the fact that it was bollocks.

Heaton had been a longtime fan of Motown and Northern Soul and the influence of black music is all over his work. Added to the mix was some skiffle and indie rock of the age. All of these styles tended to appeal to working class types but it was a sound they began refining for their second album The People Who Grinned Themselves to Death. Just as the last Jam album could almost be the first Style Council LP, the use of a choir and horns on People... makes it a proto-Beautiful South record — at least in places. There's also a tougher sound with some rock guitar and pounding drums from new recruit Dave Hemmingway. This subtle change of pace might explain its lack of big hits and its lower album chart placing. Indeed, it would prove to be the lowest charting LP of Heaton's career until The Beautiful South's Gaze in 2003 (that said, it would also prove to be the last album of his to produce three top 20 hits for over ten years). But it's a better album than the very fine London 0 Hull 4 and there are hints that they were already keen to ditch what had made them successful.

"Me and the Farmer" was one of the rockier numbers from their forthcoming album. Predecessor "Five Get Over Excited" had the skiffle shuffle of old and a singalong chorus for the crowds to appreciate and the catchy "Bow Down" would prove to be a fan favourite album track but "Farmer" seems cut from a slightly different cloth. For one thing, the chorus is tricky to join in with due to the call-and-response (I can never decide if I should join in with his bandmates' backing vocals — "won't he let you go? — or with Heaton himself — "probably no"). And though the tune itself is yet another jolly number, the subject matter hardly seems fitting for a knees up round the pub. Fittingly, for an early piece about an individual, it appeals more to the solitary listener.

Much of this was obscured by the group's image, which remained steadfastly ordinary. It has a typically wacky video too. But people couldn't get behind it the way they did "Happy Hour", a song that they wrote ten minutes later but which sounds like it's from a much earlier age. Using up every second of its just-under-three-minute playing time to fullest effect, "Me and the Farmer" is simply wondrous pop, the kind of song that can easily hold up to repeated listens and which never fails to delight, as well as being a welcome reminder of just what an underrated group of musicians they were. You can have "Happy Hour" and I'll take this: a song they never bettered and which Heaton would struggle to equal.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Bros: "I Owe You Nothing"

Matt, Luke and Ken would soon be causing a stir by getting the British youth to start putting Grolsch bottle caps on their Doc Martens (though no one ever explained how they got the ruddy things to stick) but they were far from a sensation in the midst of 1987. "When Will I Be Famous?" is one of the great boy band singles and a perfect debut for a trio so keen to grab hold of the spotlight but, in truth, this ode to their well-documented grumpiness is probably just as much a part of their reality. "People think we're completely contrived," complains Matt in this same issue of the Hits, a high horse they would never descend from. No, they didn't owe anyone anything but they sure felt they deserved everyone's respect from the off.