— Richard Lowe
This batch of singles has a distinctly Mancunian air to it. With five Greater Manchester acts represented, this truly was the year of Madchester. Or was it? Among the groups here hailing from the so-called Warehouse City (does anyone actually call it that?) is New Order and A Certain Ratio, not exactly the baggiest of groups. That said, why shouldn't they qualify too? Just what linked these bands beyond their locale (and even that was flexible given that Scots Primal Scream and The Soul Dragons and Scousers The Farm were also involved)? Was it that they all made indie music that people could dance to? Only sometimes really. Oldham's Inspiral Carpets were on the second tier baggy groups and no one could possible get down to any of their stuff — and, also, New Order's best material is their songs you can dance to. Was it that they were all one indie labels? I suppose so even if the indies in 1990 were an entirely different beast from a decade earlier — and, also, New Order and A Certain Ration both happened to be on small labels themselves. Did they tend to be young? Not for the most part, barring the odd Charlatans — most weren't a whole lot younger than members of New Order and A Certain Ratio. In an era when anyone could do Madchester, everyone seemed to belong.
Usually when it's your year, everything goes right. The Human League toiled through half-a-decade's worth of anemic sales before and general indifference before their commercial prospects blossomed with hits such as "Love Action (I Believe in Love)", "Open Your Heart" and, of course, the global smash "Don't You Want Me". They did so well that a grave pop injustice was righted when former flop "Being Boiled" got reissued and they had yet another Top 10 hit. ABC quickly became the next Human League when their Lexicon of Love album took the place of Dare as Britain's LP of choice in the early eighties. They also reeled off a string of hits from their masterpiece. A year on and it was Culture Club's turn to sell boat loads of albums and singles.
Though different from The Human League, ABC and Culture Club in terms of style and form, Manchester's Happy Mondays seemed to be the same sort of group that could do no wrong during their big year. "Step On" had already given them a breakthrough Top 5 hit and they seemed primed for more of the same. The only trouble was they didn't have anything new to capitalize on their fame. Their third album wouldn't come out until close to the end of the year and a proper follow-up was being held back until closer to that time. Until then, it would have to be yet another remix that would have to suffice.
"Layzitis" had originally popped up on their second album Bummed back in 1988. Like much of that LP, it's a fine track that didn't draw much attention to itself beyond the blatant theft of The Beatles' "Ticket to Ride" in the chorus. Ripping off from the Fab Four as well as Sly & The Family Stone and David Essex may seem beyond brazen but it's actually a clever way of hiding all that plagiarism. Feel nervous about having stolen a riff or chord? Why not bury the song in yet more layers of riffs and chords that have been nicked from a variety of sources. Sure, clever clog reviewers like Richard Lowe will notice but no one else will. The group that had previously relied on sampling themselves was now bogged down in plundering others to such an extent that it could scarcely be heard.
Perhaps what is most surprising is how this 'One-Armed Boxer' mix sounds so unlike a remix at all. You're not going to track down the great yodeler Karl Denver only to pointlessly use him on some dodgy Ibiza party mix, are you? While not a folk or country record that the veteran singer would have been accustomed to, a straight up jangle pop record suits him just fine. What is off-putting at first is the fact that he and Happy Mondays leader Shaun Ryder are out of synch with one another. It's not unlike the overrated David Bowie/Bing Crosby Christmas perennial "Peace on Earth/Little Drummer Boy", only it seems less deliberate. While old pros Bing and the Dame find their sweet spot to finally come together ("Every child must be made aware..."), Denver and Ryder meet up almost accidentally at the song's half-way point. It is only then that I realised that the two were singing the same lyrics. Indie pop's greatest living junkie had laid his vocal down much earlier and there clearly wasn't any effort made for him to re-record it along with Denver for this remix. It's unprofessional and slipshod but I think it gives the song character and charm. And in any event, why would you be anything but shoddy on a song called "Lazyitis".
It's very much a grower and must have been too strange for much in the way of public consumption. Lowe considers it the "weirdest record in a long time" and this is a point in its favour for him. But the pop kids who shelled out for "Step On" must have found this a difficult one to swallow. A light, twinkling melody? A slightly warped take on sixties' baroque pop? An old man with a crackling voice who could've been Ryder's dad? It may not have mattered that one couldn't dance to it because it was Madchester all the same but that didn't mean they had another sure-fire hit on their hands. Unjustly but understandably, "Lazyitis" just missed the Top 40. (A few weeks of chart action may have allowed listeners to get used to it and it might have enjoyed a more respectable run) In what seemed to have been the Happy Mondays' year, they couldn't avoid having a flop single to throw off their momentum a tad. The run up to the release of their third album — more on that in a few weeks: this blog is sure getting its fill of these loony Mancs — was handcuffed enough that it failed to reach number one, yet another odd anticlimax in a year that was should've been filled with nothing but highs. But enough about Shaun Ryder's drug habit...
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Also Reviewed This Fortnight
Englandneworder: "World in Motion"
And New Order's Single of the Fortnight-less streak continues. "Lazyitis" is an excellent record and it would normally be a fine SOTF but it's no "World in Motion", not even close. (Discerning listeners love the Substance compilation which covers the early part of New Order's recording career but I'm more partial to The Best of New Order which is well stocked in their 1988-93 pop side of which this is one of many highlights) People will always point out that this is easily the finest football pop song but it's outstanding even without factoring in the chanting at the end and the samples of the patrician announcer calling the final seconds of England's '66 World Cup triumph. The lyrics from comedian Keith Allen manage to evoke the beautiful game while avoiding being drowned in it and that's all you can ask for. Purists scoff but there aren't many New Order songs that are better — and, for once, it's as if they know this too. No longer everyone's second or third favourite group.
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