Erasure: "Chorus"

12 June 1991

"More power to your perv-tights, "missus"!! (P.S. And it made the household cat jump out of the first floor window, nearly, and you can't say fairer than that.)"

— Sylvia Patterson

Gracing the cover of this fortnight's issue of Smash Hits is The Twins, an Australian sister act of Gayle and Gillian Blakeney. The not-entirely-ugly pair had been on the popular soap Neighbours which led to them getting signed up for a music career in the UK. While the likes of Kylie Minogue, Jason Donovan (see below), Stefan Dennis and Craig MacLachlan had all enjoyed some degree of chart success, Gayle and Gillian flopped. They flopped hard in fact. In a steady decline for nearly a year-and-a-half, the songwriting/production team of Stock Aitken Waterman had been hemorraging acts and Kylie was really their last vestige. Figuring they needed to roll the dice, SAW handed the single "All Mixed Up" to The Twins. Unfortunately, the combination an uninspired composition, a Euro-pop sound the once-powerful trio struggled with and some ghastly singing torpedoed its chances.

With The Twins getting an undeserved Hits cover, Erasure were once again denied the chance to finally grace the front of the magazine themselves. In the five years since "Sometimes" broke them in the UK, the likes of Nick Kamen, Nick Berry, Pepsi & Shirlie, Philip Schofield (three times!), Sinitta, Halo James, Candy Flip (twice) and Gazza all graced the front of the top pop mag. Between them, these seven acts had nineteen Top 40 hits; Erasure had have thirty-five. (The duo would remain a top pop act for the next three years but coming changes at ver Hits meant that Christian Slater and the cast of Beverly Hills, 90210 would become preferred cover stars at the expense of actual pop groups)

I've written before that Erasure were the last major synth-pop group but this depends on how one would go about defining the term 'major'. They had seventeen Top Ten hits and five of their albums went to number one in the UK so they were hardly a minor act. Yet, they had trouble avoiding the 'also-ran' tag. Pet Shop Boys, their closest competitors, were bigger around the world and they seemed to matter to people more. Label mates Depeche Mode weren't hit makers on nearly the same level but they, too, outstripped them internationally and they had indie cred. So did New Order, whose legacy was already immense. All three synth acts had also been seminal at some point, as were The Human League, OMD and Soft Cell. But Erasure? They just never seemed as important as their synth-pop brethren.

There was also the problem of consistency — specifically, their lack of it. Though mostly a singles band (it's still hard to believe they had so many chart topping albums considering what a mixed bag their LP's are), their 45's didn't always hit the mark. On 1989's very patchy Wild!, for example, there's one absolute belter ("Blue Savannah"), another one that's quite good ("Drama") and two more that just go through the motions ("You Surround Me", "Star"). '88's mighty The Innocents produced two bangers ("Ship of Fools", "A Little Respect") and another that was just all right ("Chains of Love").

Returning swiftly in '91, Andy Bell and Vince Clarke were back (BACK!!) with some of their strongest material to date. The four singles were all top notch and the Chorus album would prove to be one of their better long players. (Ver Hits' Johnny Dee was less impressed, arguing that much of it sounded like "frightening techno muzak they play in McDonald's to make you eat your cheeseburgers quicker") Overall, it's probably a notch below both The Innocents and their self-titled 1996 release (ie the first one in ages not to got to number one) but it's still a quietly brilliant work. But even Erasure's best albums weren't especially essential affairs: you could always enjoy the hits if you couldn't be bothered with the LP.

First up was the title track and it's as great as anything they've ever done. The song's first half is seemingly as repetitive as "Stop!" until the bridge kicks in ("Holy Moses, our hearts are screaming...") which then gives way to another bridge ("The sunlight rising over the horizon..."). If the standard verse-chorus was thrilling enough (and it is), its these sections that put it over the top. And then there's Clarke putting away his acoustic guitar. I don't know, sometimes that strumming can be just the thing an Erasure song needs it's not what we were there for. "Chorus" opens some computerized notes and electronics are what the listener is treated to throughout — and it paid off. At last they had a single that was as good as "Don't You Want Me", "Tainted Love" and "West End Girls". (Sadly they were unable to repeat the chart topping success of those singles; the public, as ever, was much more willing to take a punt on drippy love songs)

Sylvia Patterson suggests that "Chorus" might have something to do with the environment. Its chorus does go on about covering up the sun, birds flying away and the fish going "to sleep" so she may be on to something but who's to say? Bell has always liked spouting indecipherable philosophical lyrics; the more difficult to pull apart the better, in fact. It could be all about their ecological concerns or about some of Bell's patented overwrought heartbreak or it could be just yet more or his nonsense set to a blistering techno-pop tune. Whether meaningful or meaningless, Bell had the voice to pull it off

Erasure always seemed like a group that everyone 'quite liked' but was nobody's favourite. While they may not have inspired the devotion that fans had for Depeche Mode, New Order and Pet Shop Boys, they managed to avoid the backlash that the others occasionally faced or were visible enough that they weren't easily forgotten about. They somehow toed the line between prominence and obscurity into over a decade of hit singles and best selling albums. They weren't as big or as important or as seminal as their contemporaries but they continued to be Erasure, a band who were sometimes great, typically reliable and seldom boring. What more could they have done?

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Jason Donovan: "Any Dream Will Do"

Some broke away from the Stock Aitken Waterman hit factory in order to assert their creative independence; Jason Donovan wasn't one of them. No one leaves one restrictive media empire for an even bigger restrictive media empire thinking that their artistic vision had any kind of hope. Then again, Jase never gave anyone the impression he had an artistic vision to begin with. You would at least expect the jump from SAW to Andrew Lloyd Weber's inner circle would've resulted in better "sounding" records but "Any Dream Will Do" is as cheap as they come. As Patterson says, it's distressingly superior to the detritus Pete Waterman had been flinging his way (possibly his best single since "When You Come Back to Me") but this wasn't saying much. Though it would spent a fortnight at number one, it would quickly become overshadowed by the single which would usurp it. It's one you might know.

Lenny Kravitz: "It Ain't Over 'Til It's Over"

29 May 1991

"He's sort of stolen lots of bits and pieces from other people and put them together to create his own sound."

— Dannii Minogue

One of the less commonly known Hits-isms is to be "in reception". I do not have the time or patience to see if it ever got printed in the top pop mag but it was a used by Hits staff as shorthand for desperate pop types who weren't going to wait for the press to call them, they were going to call upon them instead. Miranda Sawyer explained that being "in reception" meant that whoever was waiting there wasn't worth bothering with. It was the preferred location of the likes of Sinitta and Dannii Minogue. (Hits staff became so cynical about someone being "in reception" that one day they neglected to notice that Morrissey was paying them a visit!)

Pop stardom seemingly came easy to Kylie but her younger sister had to work for it. Not, mind you, by crafting a series of nifty records or working on her vocals but by being as shameless a pop shill as one can imagine. She was "in reception" enough to get her face on the cover of three separate issues of ver Hits in 1991 alone. With Hits staff having better things to be getting on with, she even got drafted in to sift through the singles — and, by the standard of your average pop star "in reception", she doesn't mess it up.

She's dealing with an odd assortment of "new" releases, some of which aren't new at all. The use of oldie "Should I Stay or Should I Go" in a Levi's advert took it to number one which resulted in a newfound interest in The Clash; "London Calling", title track from their classic 1979 double album, was their third (and final) re-release of the year. Oliver Stone's biopic The Doors starring Val Kilmer ("more Van than Jim", as Q Magazine drolly observed) was on its way and their American chart topper from way back in 1967 was put out to promote it, giving them a belated hit with a song that somehow didn't catch on the UK the first time round. Finally, a supposed remix of Madonna's "Holiday" was given a second life, which was a tacit acknowledgement that Madge wasn't what she once was.

Still, Madonna wasn't the only one delivering subpar work at the time. Pet Shop Boys' "Jealousy" is a great song and an outstanding closer to their masterpiece Behaviour but there was no need for it to be a single in the spring of '91. The once great Deacon Blue had fully embraced middle-of-the-road tedium with, again, a single no one asked for. Gloria Estefan had given up on entertaining people in favour of depressingly trying to inspire them. And who else? Feargal Sharkey? Pass. Kim Appleby? Nah. Living Color? Uh, no. Dannii's old chum and future "charismatic" Christian leader Mark Stevens? No, I don't think we'll be doing that, Let's just jump ahead to the only rock star of the age who still made kids want to be rock stars, even those who were already having hits of their own.

Young and impressionable pop types tend to look up to their betters. Late-eighties' pop was full of artists who worshiped Prince; it mattered little that they couldn't demonstrate an iota of the purple one's creativity or even copy his sound all that well, the important thing was that they had good taste. With post-Batman Prince not being much in the way off "cop", there was room for another pop-rock god for pin up stars of the era to hold in high esteem. A few years' earlier it might have been Guns N' Roses or Terence Trent D'Arby but in 1991 there was really only one act who could reliably fill the void: Lenny Kravitz.

Lisa Bonet's soon-to-be ex has already appeared in this space, from an issue of Smash Hits less than two months' before this one. Then, he was given a "prized" Single of the Fortnight by up and coming star Chesney Hawkes, a youngster of about the same age as Dannii Minogue. While the Aussie singer gushes about equally about the record and his nibs, Hawkes is far keener to wax about Kravitz himself ("What a dude. What a cat"). The two clearly idolize Lenny. They both were pursuing conventional pop careers but there's the sense that they yearned to be earning it the way he seemed to be.

Hawkes had apparently been chuffed about previous single "Always on the Run" but it didn't catch on enough to reach the Top 40. There were no similar difficulties this time as "It Ain't Over 'Til It's Over" came just shy of the Top 10. Minogue reckons it's "pretty mellow" for him but she likes it all the same and, indeed, so did quite a few other people. As I said a few weeks earlier, he would've done better reversing the order of release of these two singles. "Always..." did little to pave the way for "...Over..." and it probably stood a better chance of riding the coattails of it into a respectable Top 30 placing of its own had it come out second.

The one thing "Always..." has going for it is that it hides its influences a bit better. On ",,,Over...", however, it's easy to agree with Minogue's observation above. Doing his best Marvin Gaye and with an elegant string section on hand, he's paying tribute to Philly soul. Yet, the Beatle-esque melody and use of a sitar confirm that he's borrowing as liberally as she suggests. This also hints that not only was it important for pop stars to have good taste in music but for their heroes to be similar. Liking Prince meant you had good taste but liking Kravitz meant he had good taste.

"It Ain't Over 'Til It's Over" sure seemed to be a brilliant record when it came out in the spring of 1991. Not so much now, mind you. There's nothing particularly wrong with it but it certainly doesn't seem as spellbinding as it once was thirty years ago. I don't think it has aged poorly per se, only that knowledge of older pop is far more commonplace nowadays. In spite of Dannii Minogue claiming that it was a mish mash of styles, it seemed to younger listeners that there had never been anything like it. And in a way, that's correct. Such studied, deliberate pop had never been seen before people like Kravitz emerged (at approximately the same time, a quintet in Manchester was ironing out their own sound plundered from vast record collections; they'll doubtless be cropping up in this space before long). It seemed like the coolest music around until I discovered Roxy Music, Curtis Mayfield, Chic, Burning Spear, Laura Nyro, Sly & The Family Stone, Joe Henderson and Emmylou Harris and others who valued true originality. At that point, who needs Lenny Kravitz? 

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Pixies: "Planet of Sound"

A "crock of shit" according to the lovely yet potty-mouthed Danielle — and honestly she's not wrong. Pixies have always been one of those indie acts that indie kids adore in spite of some glaring holes in their catalog. Peaking with the great Doolittle in 1989, they were still strong on the following year's Bossanova but the continuing lack of respect for bassist Kim Deal's contributions to the band left them increasingly at the mercy of leader Frank Black's madness. Trompe le Monde was by far their weakest album to date; "Planet of Sound" was representative of their gradual decline as they embraced noise over pop hooks and melody. The imminent arrival on the world stage of a certain Seattle three piece should have made the Boston scene irrelevant but love for Pixies in particular would never fade away. While there are reasons to hold them close to the bosom, there are an equal number of reasons you needn't bother with all but their best stuff. To wit.

R.E.M.: "Shiny Happy People"

15 May 1991

"Summer's here and everything's groovy."

— Mark Frith

It is a song that everyone allegedly hates. Michael Stipe supposedly can't stand it and neither can his bandmates, to the extent that they chose to leave it off of their In Time greatest hits album. Hardcore R.E.M. enthusiasts deplore it. Many of those who were involved in indie rock at the time didn't care for it. Critics who aren't Mark Frith say it's a blot on an otherwise classic album and, indeed, a rare botch in one of the more sturdy and admirable discographies in all of popular music.

I always feel that R.E.M. ended the eighties in a bit of a slump. After putting out four straight top quality albums, they began to slip, first with 1987's Document and then with Green, released the following year. The two are sometimes lumped together due to both having socially conscious material but their faults are in opposition to one another. Document has three brilliant singles — "The One I Love", "It's the End of the World as We Know It (and I Feel Fine)" and "Finest Worksong" — but many of its deep cuts let it down; Green, in contrast, has some wonderful album tracks but its singles — "Stand", "Orange Crush", "Pop Song '89" — are uncharacteristically weak. Nevertheless, their trajectory was still looking up as their records were selling better. After a decade on the fringes, word of mouth had finally begun to spread.

1991's Out of Time sees them begin to reclaim their lofty status as one of the finest groups in the world. Melancholy but catchy first single "Losing My Religion" was everywhere for a while; in terms of airplay it certainly seemed like a number one smash. A Top 10 hit in several countries, it got no higher than number nineteen in Britain. This may seem like a modest peak for such a popular song but there's a little more to it. The single remained in the Top 20's penultimate spot for three weeks and then took its sweet old time to tumble out of the charts. Meanwhile, Out of Time proved to be the chief beneficiary: it entered the album charts at number one and remained in the Top 10 for twenty-one straight weeks. Not bad for a group who had previously been bit players in the UK.

Out of Time should have produced hit single after hit single but in effect it resulted in only two hits anyone remembers. ("Near Wild Heaven" and "Radio Song" both made only brief appearances on the charts but, significantly, their third substantial hit of '91 was a reissue of "The One I Love", a single that ranks right up there with "Losing My Religion") Instead, there was just one more record to consolidate their position and it just so happened to be the most commercial tune they would ever craft.

Frith loves "Shiny Happy People" (I'm going to assume that he didn't grow sick of it within a couple weeks of this issue of Smash Hits hitting the shops and that it remains a firm favourite to this day), I quite like it but, as I say above, it has many detractors, including R.E.M.'s own lead singer. Over the years, however, Michael Stipe has softened his stance on it.. He has stated that it's one of R.E.M.'s "fruitloop songs" along with "Stand", "Pop Song '89" and "Get Up". What makes it superior to any of those efforts is that it isn't so damn repetitive and that it makes no bones about it being a piece of pure pop. There's no indie rock bullshit here.

This is where the naysayers miss the point. As an alternative rock group, R.E.M. weren't supposed to have a pop song in them. Those fellow "fruitloop" tracks off of Green benefited from having more musical muscle behind them (at least in the case of "Get Up") and "Pop Song '89" had that naughty video with topless girls but there was no hiding what was behind "Shiny Happy People". I didn't care much about college rock and it didn't irritate me. I even liked it a bit. Not as good as "Losing My Religion" but plenty good enough to have on and not switch off. Pop you don't especially need but pop you're rather glad to have.

But just who are these Shiny Happy People anyway? I remember hearing that it was meant to be a touching tribute to mentally challenged people who we may pity but who often go about their lives seemingly happier to be alive than the rest of us. Stipe has said that it was originally a propaganda slogan used to calm the masses down in post-Tiananmen Square China, a claim that I don't recall being made at the time. To Frith, however, they're simply "those types you'll see wandering around the streets this summer being friendly, giving big hugs left, right and centre and being generally amiable". This is the most probable interpretation. The lyrics are straightforward and minimal. If Stipe is feeling down then it's best he see some smiling faces to cheer him up — though it doesn't always work that way.

Released in May of 1991, it came out a little too early to really qualify as a summer hit. No doubt Britain was experiencing yet another scorching spring that got headmasters to decree the dispensing of blazers and jumpers from school uniforms and those maddening hose-pipe bans but I was back in western Canada which was entering a pattern of cool summers with afternoon showers at ten in the morning. A lot of the those nineties' summers were miserable so we needed shiny happy pop more than ever to help get us through them. Is it any wonder I was dying for some old school jangle pop, especially since I was fourteen and in serious need of curing some of my angst.

In the end even if you don't care for it, "Shiny Happy People" has its place. Hardcore fans of their's from the eighties hated it, likely viewing it as proof that popularity and being signed to a major record label had sucked the life out of them. And the band may well have agreed. Notably, R.E.M. didn't tour their first blockbuster album, promotion of follow-up singles was minimal and they promptly went back to various favourite studios around the US to record 1992's Automatic for the People. Not only had they returned with one of their finest albums but the material was much more serious. (The only two numbers that dealt in lighter matters — singles "Man on the Moon" and "The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonight" — did so with absurdity rather than cheeriness). Rather than doing a sprightly line dance, their videos were edgy and filmed in black and white. The album was even tipped to be a return to more plugged-in rock in the vein of Document, though this is something they would eventually decide to put off until 1994's Monster. They had indie cred to be worried about, even as they were set to once again become the greatest group in the world.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Massive Attack: "Safe from Harm"

Like Out of Time, Massive Attack's Blue Lines was a popular and influential album that failed to launch a half dozen or so memorable singles. There's a reason "Unfinished Sympathy" is the only song anyone remembers off of it. As Frith states, there's really no need for "Safe from Harm" to have been released in 45" form (unless it encouraged a few more people to go out and purchase a copy of the album, that is). In fact, it could have enjoyed the reputation as an outstanding deep cut — not unlike "Country Feedback" and "Texarkana" on Out of Time — but I guess being a quite-like-the-last-one-only-not-as-good hasn't really harmed its reputation. Massive Attack have had some glorious moments but they've also been ordinary and even awful at times. I'll go right out and admit it: "Safe from Harm" is no "Shiny Happy People".

Altered Images: "I Could Be Happy"

10 December 1981

"This will equal, if not better, the success of "Happy Birthday". No problem Jimmy."

— Ian Birch

In an episode of Word in Your Ear, co-host Mark Ellen theorized about the early days of Smash Hits and how it attracted bands who had been around but went about making changes to adapt to the landscape of a bright new pop magazine (although it probably had at least as much to do with the rise of the music video at about the same time). These groups included Dexys Midnight Runners, The Human League and Madness. There were also those, Ellen continued, who seemed birthed with ver Hits in mind. Significantly, one of these acts came with a name that would sum up changes that were afoot: Altered Images.

In a pop world free of glossy mags, colourful promos and high fashion, it's difficult to imagine what Altered Images' image would have been like. Post-punk bands weren't supposed to be fronted by charming pixies like Clare Grogan; the few women who did emerge tried their best to look tough, menacing and/or scary, like Chrissie Hynde, Siouxsie Sioux and Patti Smith. Others like Kate Bush and Lene Lovich were very clearly artists. But a cute, girl-next-door? They weren't in high demand in the late-seventies.

Yet, Grogan couldn't have been a more fitting front woman for Altered Images. The four blokes who accompanied her could easily have been members of moody fellow Scots Orange Juice but they followed their lead singer by daring to smile in photos and look like they were perfectly happy to be riding the giddy carousel of pop right along with her. In a music business increasingly concerned with appearing to be serious, the Ims were having none of it.

Giving that serious pop made by serious people would be the norm for the next few years, it would have been difficult to trace the legacy of Altered Images. It was not until quirky Scottish indie pop became a cottage industry beginning in the late-nineties that their influence began to be felt. Where would Belle & Sebastian have been without them? And, yet, I wasn't overly fond of "I Could Be Happy" four-and-a-half years ago when I last blogged about it.

As I mentioned previously, it didn't help that Ian Birch oversold it. The bassline is barely noticeable so I don't know where he gets the idea that it sizzles. Martin Rushent clearly produced it well enough but there's no evidence that he and the band had any real "chemistry". And for the love of god, who's this "Jimmy" fellow mentioned above? Guitarist Jim McKinven? Another music industry type? A mate of Birch? The royal Jimmy?

With the passing of the years, however, I feel more well-disposed to the Ims. Sure, the lyrics are as naff as ever but Grogan's singing is zesty enough that it really doesn't matter. The guitars hardly surge, the bass may or may not sizzle but the overall performance of the group is bouncy, full of pop energy and just new wavy enough that it doesn't smack of a period piece.

It's been a while since I saw the acclaimed film Juno and declared that "quirky must die" but my derision for this particular style has not dulled. And while Altered Images certainly helped bring it about, their best work manages to transcend being 'intelligently throwaway'. They were ahead of their time enough that it doesn't blight their legacy. They'll never be my first choice of music to listen to while washing dishes, going hiking, grading exams and just being a good-for-nothing lump but there's no real reason to oppose what they were all about either. A fine record from the first band who seemed tailor-made for Smash Hits.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Rolling Stones: "Waiting on a Friend"

Poignancy never came easy to Mick and Keef, though it wasn't something they aimed for very often. But "Waiting on a Friend" is perhaps their most poignant number since "I Am Waiting" from their 1966 masterpiece Aftermath. Following the success of the overrated "Start Me Up", this laid back number dating back to 1972 didn't get the airplay of its predecessor and couldn't hope to repeat its success. Nonetheless, "Waiting on a Friend" is a much better song. It's release at the end of 1981 makes it timely as well since this was when tensions in the band were at an all time high — a situation that would remain for the bulk of the decade. The eighties wouldn't be one of their best periods but at least they had a few wonderful little numbers tucked away to see them through their near-breakup. Plus, the video gives an idea of what the Stones would've been like had they done a guest spot on Sesame Street. Wonderful.

(Click here to see my original review)

Banderas: "She Sells"

1 May 1991

"Verily, a song amongst songs."

— Caroline Sullivan

Though very much a product of the eighties, synth-pop at the beginning of the nineties did not appear to be slowing down, especially when it came to the big names of the genre. Depeche Mode and Pet Shop Boys both released their finest albums that year (Violator and Behaviour respectively), New Order recorded their sole UK number one single and Erasure were still riding the wave of hit singles from their Wild! album issued late in 1989. Sure, The Human League were faltering with the patchy Romantic? but it had been a while since they'd been at their best anyway.

As 1990 turned into '91, there seemed to be an even greater thirst for angsty, doomed electro pop. Erasure handed in their best album yet (happily, it won't be long before I can go on about the magnificent Chorus in this space), OMD were back and as good as ever and supergroup Electronic were more of a going concern with their self-titled LP and single "Get the Message". Greatest hits albums by the Pet Shops and Soft Cell proved popular, as was the collection from synth-adjacent Eurythmics. Fueled by a mix of irony and genuine interest, eighties nostalgia was already setting in and nothing said 'eighties' more than synth-pop. (It really says it all that eighties nostalgia commenced almost as soon as the decade ended whereas nineties nostalgia took over twenty years to become a thing)

One worrying aspect, however, was that no one new seemed to be stepping up. Late-eighties acts such as Information Society, Kon Kan and When in Rome all had their moments but soon began to fade. It took former members of another synth-pop group to give some fleeting hope to the idea that it was a genre with a future.

Caroline Buckley and Sally Herbert had been in the backing band of The Communards, a synth duo in a world of synth duos. Jimmy Somerville and Richard Coles decided to go their separate ways in 1989 and this opening left Buckley and Herbert to form a pairing of their own. But where The Communards, Pet Shops, Sparks, Yazoo, Eurythmics, Blancmange and Erasure all had at least one male — if not two in most cases — Banderas was an all-female two-piece. (Had anyone been worried that this arrangement would affect the classic synth duo dynamic, keyboardist Herbert fitted in perfectly with the moody Chris Lowe-Vince Clarke other member type)

With an arresting image (Buckley in particular really pulls off having a shaved head) and unique status as all-female, Banderas looked like a promising part of synth's next generation. (Though, in truth, they were no younger than pop veterans Erasure) Though it deserved a bit better, debut single "This Is Your Life" gave them a Top 20 hit in the early part of '91 and they looked to follow its success with more of the same on "She Sells". Not that the latter was just a redo of the former: where their first record happened to be dreamy, soaring and beautifully sung by Buckley, the follow-up proved to be darker and more aggressive.

Sounding not unlike something Propaganda would have come up with back in '85 — either that or a more sinister take on Swing Out Sister's hit "Breakout" — "She Sells" ought to have been a decent-sized hit. Sadly, in spite of Caroline O'Sullivan's glowing write-up, it just came up short of the Top 40. Had they been around four years earlier, it's easy to imagine it getting to a respectable chart position like number twelve ("This Is Your Life" would've been a sure fire Top 10 smash in this reality) with a Top of the Pops performance to go with it as well as appearing on a Now That's What I Call Music compilation. But timing is everything in music: the two-pronged onslaught of trashy Euro-house and earnest indie rock meant that new comers to the world of synth-pop didn't have the staying power of the core acts. By 1993, all that remained were the big names — and even they (Depeche Mode, New Order, Pet Shop Boys) would never be as popular from that point on.

We may bemoan the lack of prolonged success for Banderas but it's likely that they coped well it. The two were very down-to-earth with neither craving fame and fortune ("...I was walking around Sainsbury's yesterday and thought that if anyone recognised me then I would have to hit them," Herbert admitted to Smash Hits). Hopefully there remains a loyal following of Banderas backers to preserve the legacy of an unfortunately overlooked act, one that ought to have been held in similarly high esteem as all those angsty and moody synth-pop groups that came before them.

~~~~~

Not Reviewed This Fortnight

The Wedding Present: "Dalliance"

Reduced to the Also Released This Fortnight sidebar down at the bottom of the page, Caroline O'Sullivan for whatever reason didn't review this outstanding single from Dave Gedge and his Wedding Present chums. She really ought to have especially considering how subpar most of the new releases are in this issue. Nevertheless, "Dalliance" is a first rate banger, the sort of song that feels like it has existed forever even if it could only have come from the mind of Gedge. Starting off quietly, it gradually builds into a racket. They say rock music ought to be played at maximum volume but rare are those tracks that seem to get louder even as you turn it down. Gedge can't really sing as such but his voice is a thing to behold. There's desperation, desire, heartbreak and I can even detect some humour and irony present. I always forget how brilliant The Wedding Present were but being reminded of it is always a welcome (re)discovery. Not for everyone though I can't imagine why.

Vic Reeves: "Born Free"

17 April 1991

"Oh dear. It's all too much, but it makes you chuckle and that exercises those all-important facial muscles, eh?"

— Miranda Sawyer

It has dulled a bit since becoming an adult but I am an Anglophile. Unless we're talking about jazz, most of my favourite music comes from the UK. I tend to favour British writers. Their films and TV shows are generally a cut above everyone else's. I'm not quite as crazy about travelling over there nowadays (all things being equal I'd much rather go back to Thailand) but I am looking forward to returning before long.

This began when I returned to Canada and immediately began to miss England — and sought out anything British as a crutch. Music was an obvious outlet but I was probably going to be into that stuff anyway. I began to turn to sitcoms, in part because the American comedies of the age were so dire (aside from The Wonder Years). If it cropped up on one government-supported channel or other and the characters had any kind of British accent I was in. It didn't even matter if I enjoyed them or not.

British sketch comedy wasn't as prevalent. We got A Bit of Fry & Laurie and, eventually, The Fast Show (though, sadly, not for very long) but not much else that I can recall. The phenomenon of Reeves & Mortimer meant nothing over in North America. It was only because of The Wonder Stuff that I had any idea who they were. Meanwhile, Canada was being rocked by The Kids in the Hall: their influence was such that I didn't need Saturday Night Live and I sure as hell didn't need tepid light entertainment, such as Vic Reeves Big Night Out, from across the pond.

Anyone approaching Vic Reeve's brief music career would never know that he was a comedian in his day job. He croons numbers like "Born Free" and its B side companion "Oh! Mr. Songwriter" with as much earnestness as an American lounge singer in a tacky old Omaha bar. Miranda Sawyer detects "many a wink and a winning smile" and I'll take her word for it — she was there and was presumably a fan — but it's all way above my head (and I stand 195 cm so the humour is awfully high up and out of reach). In a way, I can respect this since comedy is often at its finest when it's played straight, I'm just not laughing — not unlike most of his comedy.

I'm afraid the same goes when it comes to "Oh! Mr. Songwriter", the flip side which really won Sawyer's heart. It was the song that was used to play Reeves' show out so it must have already been familiar to her (which also explains its prominence on the single's cover). Good for her and all that but, once again, I'm lost when it comes to spotting the gag. Reeves was adamant that his music career be taken seriously and that he wasn't doing comedy songs and that's great. But as pop songs go neither side is up to much either.

"Born Free" is a song I assumed to be American, recorded by a singer I assumed to be American, written by a songwriting team I assumed to be American. This is where I part ways with my love all most things British: their embarrassing love for most things American. (People from the UK will deny this but you are advised not to believe a word of it) A good comic ought to have done a send up of Brit Americana. Reeves goes about it as authentically American as Matt Munro did in his original recording from 1966; again, if there's a joke in all this then by all means explain it to me. Or belittle me for being am imbecile, whatever rocks your boat.

Ultimately, it's impossible to be an Anglophile. The British themselves had no use for such a concept and the rest of the world can never be English, Scottish and/or Welsh enough to truly appreciate their culture. The bulk of the music I listen to that isn't jazz is from the UK. I tend to prefer their novelists, poets and essayists. Their films and TV dramas and comedies are typically a cut above the Americans. Yet, their are individuals who elude me. I think Delia Smith is a cook but I can't say for sure, I still don't know who Jeremy Beadle is or was and I'll never find Frankie Boyle funny. I'll just be content with The Beatles, Adrian Mole, Blackadder, the British Bulldogs, XTC, Geoff Dyer, Paddington, Kate Bush, Hugh Grant and visiting every so often.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Blur: "There's No Other Way"

And so it begins: the media's complicated relationship with Damon, Alex, Graham and Dave, the foursome that they sometimes would admire but never quite love, a gang that was supposedly "too clever by half". (Do you ever notice that no one is ever described as "too thick by half"? What's up with that?) Sawyer gets the ball rolling with an extended diatribe about what a load of pretentious gits indie bands are. Turns out, "There's No Other Way" is a banger so what does she know? Well, this would be the story of Blur, a group who would have been critical darlings but for the prejudices of those blasted critics. Sure, there were hacks who praised them from time to time but there was always a strong contingent of naysayers wishing nothing but ill will upon them. I always maintained they weren't just superior to Oasis but also Radiohead but who else took them this seriously? In any event, "There's No Other Way" is their first of many great indie pop numbers. The video is excellent too: much funnier than anything I've encountered from Vic Reeves certainly.

Linx: "Can't Help Myself"

26 November 1981

"Amid all the dross released this fortnight to cash in on Christmas, this one stands out as one of the few worth slipping on the turntable at your favourite festive occasion. Dance? You can't help yourself."

— Dave Rimmer

When Dave Rimmer talks of "Christmas dross" in his glowing review of the latest single from Linx, the reader's eyes naturally wander over to the most obvious spot on the page: to a dual review of John & Yoko's "Happy Xmas (War Is Over)" and Wizzard's "I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday". More than forty years on from the 1981 holidays, it's difficult to imagine a time when these two records weren't perennials of the season. In the frenzy that followed Lennon's murder a year earlier, "Happy Xmas" was rush released as several of his singles competed with each other for number one. It came up just short, not peaking until the second week of the new year and it was already back for another go. The public gradually grew weary of all that Lennon product that had flooded the market but Apple/EMI was betting that there was still some life in the single for the first anniversary of his assassination.

Roy Wood, formerly of The Move and, briefly, ELO had been a hit maker of some note in the early seventies with his band Wizzard. While perhaps not superstars like T-Rex or Slade, they were just a step below the top tier, a point that would've been reinforced when "I Wish It Would be Christmas Everyday" failed to take the coveted Christmas number one in 1973. Slade were in their imperial period and that alone justifies "Merry Xmas Everybody" nabbing the crown. But as far as quality goes, to me there's no question that Wizzard's is the stronger record. Feeling it still had some life, Wood had it reissued in '81. Due to problems with the original master, he had to start from scratch with a new children's choir, though you'd never know the difference.

Hopes were dashed when the two Christmas classics failed to make much of an impact on this year's charts. Lennon and Ono's anti-war anthem only just dented the Top 30 while Wizzard missed out on the Top 40 altogether. Interest in the festive faves wasn't like what it used to be — and, indeed, not like what it would be like in the future. (Rimmer ends his review of the two singles by wondering where Slade is. "Re-released next week, I shouldn't wonder". He was correct: it did similarly modest business that December)

The true dross is elsewhere. Bucks Fizz's "The Land of Make Believe" is a limp effort, even by their standards. While "Making Your Mind Up" had been a moronically catchy chart topper and Eurovision winner, "The Land of Make Believe" isn't even that clever nor as enjoyable. It only rose up the charts slowly and was unable to make a serious threat for the Christmas number one but it had enough juice to give them a chart topper in January. Four More from Toyah attempted to repeat the trick of putting out an EP in order to get Adrian Mole and his chums to go out an purchase it; the only trouble was, Toyah Wilcox and her band had run out of passable material by that point. A still pre-imperial Duran Duran offered up the forgettable "My Own Way" which they must've known wasn't a serious threat for the Christmas crown (the fact that it did as well as it did suggests that they were on their way up). Non-seasonal reissues of a boring Elvis Costello/George Jones duet and an old Ian Dury number are also up for consideration but who the hell cares? Kirsty McColl's cover of The Beach Boys' "You Still Believe in Me" which ought to have been good but isn't. You can go on and on here. (Rimmer's distaste for much of this fortnight's twenty-three newbies is such that he even brushes aside The Human League's "Don't You Want Me", considering it to be an unnecessary release since virtually everyone already has it on the album Dare. How wrong he was on that one)

With all this in mind, I can see why Rimmer is so taken with solid soul-funk workouts by Linx and Imagination (see below). I previously blogged about "Can't Help Myself" rather dismissively, perhaps because I was already getting a bit tired of half the singles back then sounding like Chic rejects but I can now see that it's a fine song in its own right. I struggle to remember it but I certainly can't help myself whenever it's on.

It's hard to picture it lighting up many festive occasions since its chart performance was so poor. Linx had been coming off four straight Top 30 hits but "Can't Help Myself" started them off on a run of flops that would close them out as a recording concern. With ABC and a suddenly soulful Jam providing a much more literary side to R&B and groups like Imagination flourishing with more of a club sound, it's possible that Linx slipped between the cracks somewhat. It's all well and good to sound like Michael Jackson but not when it's at the expense of sounding more like themselves.

Rimmer made his debut as a Smash Hits singles reviewer — a role he would excel at for the next five years — just four weeks earlier, giving ABC the prize for their stellar effort "Tears Are Not Enough". Recognising their musical chops, songcraft and production, he concludes by asserting that they "inspire optimism for the future of Brit-Funk". That's not so much the case with Linx, however. They seemed to offer no way forward as they churned out respectable, fun to listen to works like "Can't Help Myself". While some set the future in motion, others looked to be on their way out. Such is the way of things.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Imagination: "Flashback"

Linx's David Grant hailed from Hackney in the north of London and so, too, did the stupidly-named Leee John from Imagination. While Linx was operating in the mindset of trying to be as much like Chic and Michael Jackson as possible, Imagination managed to be sort of disco and sort of synth-pop while bucking other trends, which is perhaps why their stock was higher than an act like Linx. (There's that and Leee John being far more charismatic than Grant) Another one for Rimmer and the Christmas parties he imagines everyone to be attending though how much "Flashback" got played at these gatherings is anyone's guess. Pub jukeboxes were still pumping out John & Yoko, Wizzard and Slade but hopefully there were plenty of discos around the UK who had more than enough time for some Imagination — and not just in Hackney.

(Click here to see my original review)

Lenny Kravitz: "Always on the Run"

3 April 1991

"He finds these grotty studios to work in so he can get the worst sound he possibly can."

— Dizzy the Dog with Chesney Hawkes (with more from a wonderful pet and some guy here)

The sixties are back. (BACK!!) Or they're still here. (HERE!!) In fact, they never left. (LEFT!!)

Indeed, the decade that people supposedly can't remember has never gone away. What has changed is the way we approach it. Some groups have tried to hide the influence, as though they were attempting to deny any connection, while others are proud/unashamed of their debt. This brings us to the nineties when everyone gave up and stopped pretending that the sixties didn't matter. They owed everything to that time and there was a whole new generation of rock stars who wanted everyone to know it.

The age of hippies and James Bond is all over the singles review in this issue of Smash Hits. Guest reviewer Chesney Hawkes is the son of Chip Hawkes, who was a member of beat group The Tremoloes (the same act that Dick Rowe signed to the Decca label instead of The Beatles; if "groups with guitars are on the way out" then The Tremeloes didn't get the memo). Lenny Kravitz was so open about his love for the sixties that he thought there was something wrong with people who didn't worship John Lennon. Jellyfish (see below) were adored by critics for their alleged return to old school power pop. Legends (both in their own minds and in reality) Cher and The Rolling Stones have new releases. A fast fading Bananarama have a cover of a classic from the golden age. Hawkes likens Milltown Brothers to The Byrds and (wrongly) thinks that Alison Moyet's "It Won't Be Long" is a cover of The Beatles (it doesn't even sound like them despite what he thinks). His nibs even saves most of his derision for records that aren't drenched in flower power and all that gooey stuff of old.

Not unlike Chet's own current chart topper "The One and Only", which may well have been the last number one single of the eighties. There's a big, shouty chorus, some big drums, a big, rockin' guitar solo. So very big. Though low on synths and with permed mullets strictly forbidden, it isn't an obviously blatant rip off of Richard Marx and Icehouse but the similarities are there. Nik Kershaw's songwriting talents are on display with hooks that are difficult to resist but after a month at number one in the UK it became almost a kiss off to a fast fading era. Rather than signalling Hawkes as a budding superstar, he began to fade almost as soon as "The One and Only" began going down the charts. (In North America he seemed like even more of a throwback when the single became a hit on the back of Doc Hollywood starring Michael J. Fox who didn't appear to have much of a future in the nineties — at least for the time being)

Lenny Kravitz was another rock star in waiting in the first half of 1991. I had assumed he was in his early twenties at the time but he was in fact nearly twenty-seven. Not a giant gulf, no, but it's notable that his rock 'n' roll idols back in the sixties had all made it at a much younger age than he was. His following was modest but he had influential backers. He was then married to Lisa Bonet from The Cosby Show and Different World, he opened for the likes of David Bowie and Bob Dylan, he co-wrote Madonna's "Justify My Love" and produced the noble but dismal Peace Choir cover of Lennon's "Give Peace a Chance". It was only a matter of time before he would become as big those he surrounded himself with.

But not quite with "Always on the Run" (aka "Mama Said", which would become the title of his second album released at around the same time). There's no doubt it's an excellent rock song — and not just because of a guesting Slash with a typically magnificent guitar solo. Kravitz has always been a bit of an underrated vocalist, able to do smooth and silky when called upon but with an equal facility for gusto-filled sandpaper singing as he does here. A classic for budding air guitarists everywhere. But it's hard to understand why he and/or the A&R people at Virgin thought it would be an ideal first single. As we'll see in a few weeks, he had a much more commercially viable record in the waiting that would put him over the top. Had they left "Always on the Run" on the shelf for a bit it would have made for an effective second single, one that would have thrown people who thought he was America's next soul music great.

Hawkes' review really doesn't get into the music a whole lot, preferring to praise Kravitz as "one helluva dude". With his image, looks, lifestyle and beautiful wife, there's a lot to admire in him even if his songs aren't to your taste. Being a wannabe rocker himself, our Ches may have looked up to a figure like our Len and who can blame him? Young men around the world who dreamed of being a rock star had few living role models and the job fell to him almost by default. Chesney Hawkes could be the "One and Only" all he wanted, we all yearned to be Lenny Kravitz, even those of us who could give or take his music.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Jellyfish: "Baby's Coming Back"

Beatle-esque — or so say miserable baby boomers who want nothing more than to spoil all the best music by claiming it's just a product of when they were young. I know my Beatles pretty well and I'm quite sure they never did a song that sounds like this. Still, Jellyfish had their influences and they weren't Duran Duran or Bon Jovi. While a part of this early-nineties' rock revivalism (if a fairly minor one considering they weren't exactly superstars), the San Francisco foursome were also suckers for pop and their videos and image made them stand-out from all those bands who were looking increasingly like ruffians on the street. Hawkes is impressed and hopes it will be a hit (it wasn't though it definitely deserved to be). He also observes that they sound like they're "stuck in a 60s timewarp". Of course, so was everyone in 1991. "Baby's Coming Back" is utterly brilliant, by the way. With all due respect to Lenny Kravitz, this is easily my favourite of the bunch this fortnight. They're time together would be short-lived and not overly successful but Jellyfish burned bright — or bioilluminated bright if you wish to be technical.

Scritti Politti featuring Shabba Ranks: "She's a Woman"

20 March 1991

"No, our Green merely wants to know where you purchased your happenin' threads from. That's because he's a trendy old so and so and when it comes to his music he's exactly the same."

— Marc Andrews

It was towards the end of 1964 that The Beatles returned with a new brand new album and a stand-alone single. I say 'returned' but it wasn't as if they had gone anywhere. They had only been profession recording artists by that point but they had already put out three best-selling LP's and seven hit singles. As if out to prove that they could be even more absurdly prolific, they also released a four track EP of brand new material — albeit not necessarily of the highest quality in that particular case. They also had been touring at a near non-stop rate and also found the time to make their first motion picture, A Hard Day's Night. Yes, the Fab Four kept themselves busy back then.

But burnout was beginning to show. On the cover of fourth album, the cynically-titled Beatles for Sale, they appear to be exhausted, fed up and, in John Lennon's case at least, possibly putting on some weight. While their output had been gradually improving over the previous eighteen months, the material inside suggested that they were slipping a bit. Predecessor (and masterpiece) A Hard Day's Night had been made up of all originals but the well had dried up so much that they were back to recording a series of dismal and/or unnecessary cover versions (except for "Rock and Roll Music" which is a banger). Their own material on it has its moments (why "Eight Days a Week" wasn't released as a single in the UK is anyone's guess) but the likes of "I Don't Want to Spoil the Party" and "What You're Doing" are among the most forgettable numbers in their repertoire.

As the great Ian MacDonald has said, A Hard Day's Night's closing track, "I'll Be Back", is a sign of coming maturity. Beatles for Sale acknowledges that changes are in the air but it hints that The Beatles aren't quite sure how to get there. They had only just met Bob Dylan and were only beginning to explore London's cultural scene but Lennon and, particularly, McCartney had remained tied to the juvenile boy-meets-girl, boy-falls-for-girl, boy-pines-for-girl formula that had made them wealthy. But musically they were beginning to stretch out, something that was apparent on their Christmas 1964 single. Lennon wrote the bulk of the A-side "I Feel Fine", which opens with the arresting sound of peeling guitar feedback. It's also punchier than normal and sets the stage for the metallic drone of "Ticket to Ride" and the outrageous riff fest "Day Tripper", both of which would come out the following year. On the flip was Paul McCartney's "She's a Woman", a rocksteady-ish shuffle that does nothing but clang all over the place. It's far from the most brilliant thing he ever thought up but it was a significant departure for Macca and it indicates that there may have been a lot more to him than all that sweetness and light.

The trouble with covering The Beatles is that their material is so familiar that it's almost impossible to forget their originals. Green Gartside avoided that particular hurdle when he chose a B-side that didn't make any of their UK albums and wasn't on many of the major compilations. This meant that it wasn't overly familiar with fans and this may have freed him up to alter a song by the sainted Beatles.

Looking at photos of Green, it's amazing how little he has aged over the years. He is currently sixty-seven years old but he could easily pass for fifteen years younger. Do a very simple bit of mental arithmetic and you'll deduce that he was in his mid-thirties when Scritti Politti released "She's a Woman", yet in its accompanying video he looks like he could have been in the same year at school with Chesney Hawkes, the dashing young pop figure who was just starting to ride high with the single "The One and Only". Dressing youthfully typically makes veteran pop types seem even older than they are but not so with Green. (This is all the more surprising when you consider how unwell he had been for the better part of a decade; it would seem that convalescing back home in deepest, darkest Wales had done him good)

An accomplished songwriter (there aren't many pop stars who get royalty checks for having their compositions on Miles Davis albums), it is perhaps a surprise to see him taking on a Lennon-McCartney tune. That said, his long-held interest in deconstructionism never took him in the direction of cover versions previously. That said, there isn't much in the way of channeling Derrida in a simple song with some poor lyrics (rhyming 'presents' and 'peasant' is bad enough but the lines they're used in don't even make sense) and minimal chord changes. That said, Green was right to explore its Jamaican roots. That said...oh, stop it!

Updated and with some samples that you don't hear everywhere — no small feat back in '91 — Scritti Politti gave "She's a Woman" a fresh coat of paint that it deserved. The old homophobe Shabba Ranks contributes some fine toasting that also aids in fleshing out such a frankly underwritten piece. Marc Andrews goes a bit overboard in his review, confident that it's as strong as vintage Scrit, but it's by no means a "Sweetest Girl" or a "Faithless" or a "Wood Beez". Strong and as solid as anything on 1988's Provision but still a clear step down from their very best work. Nevertheless, there are many worse things than a Green Gartside record even if it's a cover of a throwaway number.

It seems though that Green had been on something of a cover version kick in the early nineties. He had already hooked up with Martyn Ware for a revival of the B.E.F. brand on a remake of "I Don't Know Why I Love You (But I Love You)" (whose B-side happened to be a cover of The Beatles' "In My Life" sung by Billy Preston; it's not one of the better Fabs covers) and he would go on to do his take on Gladys Knight & The Pips' "Take Me in Your Arms and Love Me". Like Lennon and McCartney themselves at the end of '64, was he going through a bout of writer's block? Though he didn't look it, he was feeling the pressure of the pop life. "I don't feel well at all", Green tells William Shaw in Smash Hits, at a time when most would be milking the life out of a precious hit single. "I think I've got bronchitis". Notably, it wouldn't be long before he went on another health-related sabbatical from music before re-emerging in 1999. It would be nice to have him back again, if only for just a short time.

~~~~~

Also "Reviewed" This Fortnight

Morrissey: "Sing Your Life"

"Then again, please don't. Away and boil yer head, "Mozzer"": Andrews' thoughts on Morrissey's latest single in "full". I'm all for giving short shrift to racists with a victim complex but for the fact that there's nothing wrong with "Sing Your Life". 1991 was about where the rose was coming off the bloom since no one much cared for the Kill Uncle album but Morrissey was still pulling his weight as a singles act. Written with former Fairground Attraction guitarist Mark Nevin, it comes from a time when he could just dabble in light rockabilly rather than going full-on as he would a year later with the overrated Your Arsenal. Not particularly memorable and Moz is beginning to edge ever so close to self-parody but it's an engaging little toe-tapper and a whole lot better than anything else on offer this fortnight other than Scritti Politti.

Dexys Midnight Runners: "Liars A to E"

12 November 1981

"P.S. I've got my pen and notebook ready, Kev. That's my job."

— Johnny Black

In a Q Magazine 'Cash for Questions' feature back in 2000, Julian Cope was asked by a fan if he liked Blur's "Country House" because it poked fun at fellow ex-Teardrop Explodes member and Food Records exec David Balfe. The 1995 single famously defeated Oasis' "Roll with It" in 'Battle of Britpop' number one sweepstakes but it also had its detractors. The goodwill Blur had been slowly building over the course of the nineties was beginning to dwindle just as they were at their commercial apogee.

Cope didn't mince words. He felt that "Country House" was "dreadful" and a "pile of crap". "To me," he reasoned, "a piece of art's intention doesn't automatically qualify it for a tick [of approval]". The singer, bassist, author, historian and madman also likened it to much of the work of Dexys Midnight Runners and, in particular, "Liars A to E". "You'd read what it was about and you'd go, Yeah! And you'd hear it and you'd go, Urrgghh."

While I understand Cope's point, I can't agree with the examples discussed. First, "Country House", while far from Blur at their best, isn't that bad. Guitarist Graham Coxon, who most people cite as being the prime instigator of their move from Britpop to lo-fi indie rock, has admitted that he has made his peace with the song and has even stated that it's fun to play live. It's easy to get sick of but every so often I hear it and I find myself getting sucked in. As for Dexys, I have a question for ol' Jules: Huh???

As a Motown/Northern Soul enthusiast, I have a difficult time imagining Kevin Rowland sacrificing the quality of a song just to prove a point. The man put every bit as much of himself into his music, compositions and performances as Cope did and this is not what those coasting on good intentions do. I have no doubt that Julian dislikes Dexys Midnight Runners, I just don't think it has anything to do with the reason he gives. (Hint: it's a matter of taste, as it always is)

There's another peculiar aspect to this comment of Cope's and that's "Liars A to E" itself. "Country House" was a number one smash at the forefront of the Britpop boom and it would have been difficult to avoid for a few weeks in the summer of '95; Dexys' seventh single, on the other hand, failed to chart. If Cope didn't want to have anything to do with Rowland's latest offering he wouldn't have had to put himself out very much.

But enough with Julian bloody Cope — at least for now. Hit or flop (and their chart peaks were seemingly so random that there would have been no way of knowing quite where they were going to place) every Dexys single from "Dance Stance" to "Because of You" is first rate and "Liars A to E" is no exception. In terms of significance, it is only a notch below "Geno" and "Come on Eileen": while only a fraction as popular their pair of number ones, it signals the change that was coming as they went from their early horn-fueled sound to the fiddles and banjos that marked the second wind they enjoyed in 1982.

Yet that's cold comfort to this record, one that is typically overlooked likely due to its failure to dent the Top 100. As Johnny Black suggests, the masses simply didn't have the patience for it. With hollers of "now that I'm fit to show it, don't want anyone else to know it...", some listeners may have geared themselves up for something relatively harsh; others may have found the transition from acapella rage to a lush string section jarring. It's a deceptive song that can get stuck in the brain without warning, making it almost as catchy as "There There My Dear" or "Come on Eileen" but without the ecstatic wedding dance cheeriness of either.

Perhaps feeling like he didn't get it right the first time (even though he did), Rowland ended up having it redone the following year for the Too-Rye-Ay album. The shouting at the beginning was jettisoned, he re-recorded his lead vocal to make it more considered and sensitive and he added a group of backing singers who added nothing. An exceptional single had suddenly become a forgettable (and, frankly, skippable) deep cut. Kevin Rowland should have known better than to second guess his instincts. Like Julian Cope, he had his convictions and was always at his best when he kept to them. Bandmates, critics and fans be damned!

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Teardrop Explodes: "Colours Fly Away"

Sadly, I am unable to locate a Kevin Rowland quotation in which he rips into The Chemical Brothers' "Setting Sun" as belabouring the acid rock-ness and comparing it with The Teardrop Explodes' "Colours Fly Away". Those early Teardrop singles "When I Dream", "Reward" and "Treason" are all wonderful examples of new wave psychedelia but there's nothing new going on here. Black curiously describes it as "Byrds meets Pink Floyd" while also praising Cope for being ahead of the field, though he may have a point considering the mid-to-late eighties would be increasingly about looking back at the sixties. In truth, Cope probably was indeed ahead of the pack, especially the band he had clearly outgrown. "Sunshine Playroom", "Sunspots" and "Trampolene" would be the future which had no place for the likes of something so uncharacteristically ordinary.

(Click here to see my original review)

Dream Warriors: "Ludi"

6 March 1991

"If you can't dance to this, your name is John Major."

— Sylvia Patterson

When it came to board games, it always seemed like everyone else had a better selection of them than we did. We had an ancient edition of Monopoly in which the bank notes had all turned brown with everything kept in a box that had been taped up. We also had Scrabble which no one ever played (my parents would eventually become enthusiasts but not until they got a much nicer set), Trivial Pursuit which no one ever played and Mille Bornes which I could never understand (or even pronounce correctly — and I did French immersion in school!). One year someone gave us Sorry! for Christmas which we played once and then never touched again. No, we weren't a game night kind of family. (When we did, we generally just played cards; I seldom got anyone else interested in joining me for a few rounds of the Canadian cult game Crokinole which I still love)

Sorry! apparently goes back to India, along with several similar games. Parcheesi, which always seems to get mentioned in American movies and TV shows in spite of the fact that no one seems to play it, is descended from it, as is the British game Ludo, something I had never heard of until reading this review of Sylvia Patterson's. And so, it seems is Ludi which inspired this typically wonderful, silly and pointless tune from Toronto's Dream Warriors.

Now, by 'pointless' I do not wish to disparage it. (The fact that I also described it as 'wonderful' in the same sentence should've been the first hint that I wasn't knocking it) "Ludi" just doesn't have much to do with the game. There's not even all that much to it, with the opening verses being about Dream Warrior Capitol Q's mother ("or is it the other one?" as Patterson asks on behalf of everyone) and how this song is dedicated to her and everyone else in his family and the good people of every Caribbean nation and/or territory which he proceeds to list. He later tries to go into the details of the game but quickly gets sidetracked by giving a positive assessment of his rap skills and how much he misses his mum back home. To the extent that it's about anything at all, it certainly isn't about playing Ludi.

Patterson's review of "Ludi" represents a refreshing change of pace for the way ver Hits dealt with hip hop. I have discussed at length about the way other critics took great pains to praise a rap single by emphasising what wasn't there. The obnoxious, boastful rappers of the past had been supplanted by a new generation of much more thoughtful types like De La Soul, Redhead Kingpin and Monie Love. This is something that would have made me roll my eyes even if it had only been brought up the once but for it to have used repeatedly was really straining the point. To be certain, Dream Warriors were very much aligned with the new school (musician and writer Bob Stanley included their brilliant Top 20 hit "My Definition of a Boombastic Jazz Style" on the Ace Records compilation The Daisy Age which also includes many of their colourful hip hop contemporaries) but they weren't above bragging about how wonderful their raps were. While I initially had them pegged as a welcome antidote to both the admittedly tiresome 'aren't I great?' branch and the self-righteous 'rap has a message' gang, I now am able to recognize that there was more than a little of both in them. Luckily, they also had humour, playfulness and a way with jazz and reggae influences to make them stand out.

It's a pity that "Ludi" lacked the hooks of predecessors "Wash Your Face in My Sink" and the aforementioned "My Definition..." since its charms weren't quite sufficient to give them a third nice-sized hit in the UK, only just nudging its way into the Top 40 for just a week. Nevertheless, their debut album, And Now the Legacy Begins, quickly followed and it sold well. (It's strange to think that there was a time in which a group could put out three singles before even releasing the LP that featured all of them) They even had critical acclaim with a ten out of ten review for And Now... in the NME.

The success they had in Britain contrasts with how they were received back home. While "My Definition..." and "Ludi" were played a lot on Canadian cable channel MuchMusic (I have no memory of "Wash Your Face..." getting much attention at the time, though that may have been down to us not having cable in the first half of 1990), they were taken as a comedy act with none of their singles managing to make the Top 40. With all that hip hop coming from down south, Canadians had trouble recognizing that some of their own were capable. Maestro Fresh Wes proved to be relevant enough but he never seemed quite like the real thing. Kish's "I Rhyme the World in 80 Days" was cringey and he seemed to lay the groudwork for Snow's huge but ghastly "Informer" at the end of 1992. Barenaked Ladies were gaining traction in the early part of '91 and it seemed like Dream Warriors were the rap equivalent.

That Canadian sense of self-loathing isn't as strong as it used to be so it's high time my fellow citizens appreciated Dream Warriors and even acknowledged them as a point of pride. Where else are you going find a rap duo with odes to tissues and West Indies board games? Name another country that would produce an iconic gameshow theme that would be sampled for an iconic hip hop single, one that would later be adopted for the iconic Austin Powers movies? (And I had always assumed that Mike Myers had borrowed it from Dream Warriors, that's the kind of silly young Canadian rube I was)

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Dannii Minogue: "Love and Kisses"

Kylie had a nice smile, Dannii had a nice smile. Kylie played the tough but lovable Charlene in Neighbours, Dannii played the tough but lovable Emma on Home & Away. Kylie was rolling along with some of the finest pop hits of the era, Dannii...well, she was also a pop star of sorts. With her big sister going all pervy, it probably seemed like a good idea for young Danielle to be a girl-next-door but it mattered little when her pop songs were so pitiful. Just like Kylie's stuff from three years earlier only much worse. It says a lot about the state of the charts in 1991 that there was an appetite for such awfulness. And so the Dannii era had begun: lots of Smash Hits covers, loads of exposure she didn't deserve and a metric ton of horrible music. And to think people thought that Kylie wasn't much of a singer.