— Tom Doyle
Generation X never had a 'Beatles on Ed Sullivan' moment that unified everyone. Nirvana and Public Enemy were probably the two acts that came closest to being spokespeople for us but they didn't speak for everyone — and, in fairness, neither of them were attempting to do so. It wasn't simply that some people didn't like these two groups, more that some were even indifferent to them — and that they, in turn, were indifferent or even hostile to some of their potential fans. Kurt Cobain had no time for racists, misogynists and homophobes and was uneasy with the high school jocks he despised being into his music. (This is all music to my ears though he had to ruin it by insisting at that no "lame ass limey bands" share the bill with them at the Redding Festival) Similarly, Chuck D wasn't overly pleased with middle class white boys listening to Public Enemy albums. For the first time, we defined our tastes in music while groups were defining who was allowed to be into them.
It's possible that the Madchester acts wouldn't have approved of a Canadian fan like myself. I was tall and gangly, had spots, bad dress sense, wasn't popular, did poorly in school and was extremely moody. (Come to think of it, I was exactly the sort of fan they had in mind) I liked some of the old school indie acts like Morrissey and New Order but I needed something new to come along. The baggy groups had been around for a while back in the UK but they didn't mean anything across the pond. It would take a while for them to get exposure in North America and even then they were met with mostly indifference.
But I was fortunate to get a jump on most people in Canada, even if I was still miles behind the British. I was taking the bus to school one morning in the autumn of 1990 when my good friend Ethan lent me the copy of Now That's What I Call Music 17 that he got from a family member who'd been over to Britain that summer. He was very much a rock guy at the time — The Beatles were his first love but he was generally well-disposed to the majority of guitar bands from the sixties and seventies — and he didn't have much time for all that modern pop stuff on Now 17. He knew I was missing the UK and it was as if he let me borrow this comp out of a sense of possibly filling a whole in my heart or something. At no point did he recommend I "listen to the second side of the first tape" or suggest songs that he was fond of. For all I knew, he'd never given it a listen at this point.
Ethan wasn't wrong to be disinterested in the bulk of it, particularly most of the second cassette which leaned heavily on the techno-dance side. Twenty-six of Now 17's thirty-two tracks are somewhere between wan and pretty good but none of them are ear-catching enough to merit much discussion. The six remaining tracks were simply mind blowing, songs I'd never encountered before and had never dreamed of. Just to have one of these present would have made Now 17 worthwhile listen but for there to be a half dozen of them qualifies it for one of the most important albums I've ever heard (This was a big time for me since I was also exploring Pet Shop Boys' Behaviour which is still my favourite album of all time) Five of those songs were Adamski's "Killer" (see below), Beats International's "Dub Be Good to Me", Depeche Mode's "Enjoy the Silence", Orbital's "Chime" and Primal Scream's "Loaded" (The House of Love's "Shine On" and Jimmy Somerville's "Read My Lips (Enough Is Enough)" were two other selections that I loved but they weren't nearly as earth shaking as the others). The sixth was "Step On" by Happy Mondays.
Manchester's baggy scene had been building slowly over the late-eighties. UK indie had been lorded over by The Fall, New Order and The Smiths who all hailed from there but other groups from the area ended up being left behind. (An odd trend of this next generation of acts was that they weren't especially young: members of the Mondays, James and The Stone Roses were in fact a year or so older than Smiths Johnny Marr, Andy Rourke and Mike Joyce) Fortunately, they were trapped in a scene that was still thriving. Acid house had shown the way forward: down in the south of England this meant electronics and house beats but up north it became all about groups with guitars trying to carve out much the same sound.
In this issue of Smash Hits, both Tom Doyle and Sylvia Patterson make note of Happy Mondays and their similarities to the Sex Pistols. Beyond the obvious sleaziness shared the the two groups (something they have in common with plenty of other bands as well), this isn't a comparison I ever thought of before. (Given how rapidly the Mondays would implode over the next couple years, there may have been something to it) What I failed to notice was the modest musical abilities of the two groups. "Step On" was so brilliant that I was convinced that the Mondays were actually a brilliant band, not a bunch of chancers who made the most of their rudimentary skills.
In any case, what difference does it make if a band is of limited talent if they can record songs as great as either "Pretty Vacant" and "Step On"? Possessing an abundance of spirit, band camaraderie and a strangely charismatic vocalist-dancer combo of Shaun Ryder and Bez, Happy Mondays had some elements going for them. Where the Pistols couldn't play (itself an exaggeration), ver Mondays didn't need to. Producers and remixers did the heavy lifting and everyone knew it. "Wrote for Luck" is a hopeless work in their own hands and only gained life when Paul Oakenfold and Vince Clarke were tapped in to transform it into the magnificent "W.F.L.", in which most of the Mondays are pushed to the back as far as possible. Instead of them soundtracking a rave, they are there to witness one, something that stands out even more in the accompanying promo. "Hallelujah" got them into the Top 40 and a memorable spot on Top of the Pops but its remixes are what make it special.
As if remixing themselves, "Step On" is a series of bits of guitar, piano, bass and drums that have been looped over five minutes. It ought to be boring and predictable but the sheer simplicity, the addictive vibes and Ryder's astonishing performance turn it into an incredible single. There isn't a sample of "Funky Drummer", nor Paul Simenon's bassline from "Guns of Brixton" (used to outstanding effect on fellow Now 17 standout "Dub Be Good to Me"), nor those ubiquitous "whoo's" and "yeah's" that were all over early-nineties' house — this is all Mondays playing the same two bars over and over and what more could you want? Ryder's growling vocal is a wonder and his extended whistle near the end even smacks of showing off.
The single also managed to completely overshadow John Kongos' original from 1971. Then known as "He's Gonna Step on You Again", it is an engaging enough record that fully merited its Top 5 placing. Swampy blues rock that hints at both country and glam is remarkable enough but it absolutely pales next to this remake. The majority of cover versions fail to match the originals, while others become so well known that they lead listeners to assume that they are the originals. In this case, however, "Step On" was known to be a cover, albeit one that had rendered its antecedent redundant. No one was going back to explore Kongos, we were all too busy getting into Happy Mondays.
They would fade from the scene but their influence on me would remain. By 1992 I was into the likes of The Wonder Stuff, EMF, Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine and Blur but this music wasn't able to knock me over the way I had been two years' earlier. While English Language Arts class with Mr Harker was my favourite subject in school at that time, I was also into shop class. I wasn't particularly good at making anything but I was interested in trying my hand at photography and printing (I even attempted welding to very little success). Mr Monahan suggested that we could print a sign or even make a t-shirt via silk screening and I chose to do both. I made a very nice Pet Shop Boys Behaviour shirt while the sign read 'HAPPY MONDAYS STEP ON'. Once again, I was living in the past. So much for getting the jump on everyone.
~~~~~
Also Reviewed This Fortnight
Adamski: "Killer"
Another highlight from Now 17 that took its sweet old time elsewhere. In spite it's month topping the British chart, "Killer" was a non-factor on the other side of the Atlantic until the spring of 1991 when vocalist Seal took off with "Crazy" and then usurped Adamski by taking full artist credit with a vastly inferior version. (As Tom Ewing has said, the singer didn't deserve top billing since he had so much around him to compete with) One of several top flight number one singles of 1990, it proved impossible for either Adamski or Seal to top. And who can blame either of them? You try bettering something as wonderful as this.
No comments:
Post a Comment