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.

Jesus Loves You: "Bow Down Mister" / "Love Hurts"

20 February 1991

"It's a bit silly, but it's got a bit of spirit and it's so catchy, we could all be marching around chanting Hindu mantras before you know it."

— Richard Lowe

The Dumper. Few have fallen into it only to climb their way out as frequently as Boy George. Though Culture Club's third album Waking Up with the House on Fire was considered a disappointment by many, it was only on their following long player that the end looked near — and it wasn't going to be pretty either. The dumper surely beckoned for the once imperial Culture Club.

George O'Dowd's heroin habit spiraled out of control but he steeled himself to nab a number one single with his cover of "Everything I Own". It was painfully on the nose but it didn't matter: Boy George was something of a national treasure in Britain and he possessed enough goodwill with the buying public to take him all the way to the top of the hit parade. People wanted to like it but they weren't loyal enough to keep him in Top 40 hits indefinitely. Three more minor hits followed before he was back in the dumper. This time, it looked like it might be for good. Reviewing his 1989 number sixty-eight "smash" "Don't Take My Mind on a Trip" in Smash Hits, Richard Lowe notes that his lack of success is "terribly sad" because he's a "nice bloke, a great pop star and he's yet to make a truly awful record (even his flops like "No Clause 28" and "Keep Me in My Were Rather Good")". Indeed, this second period of dumperhood resulted in some of his best work since the heyday of Colour by Numbers and "Karma Chameleon".

Boy George would end up having seven flop singles on the bounce, a streak that would take him into the nineties and see him adopt the band/collective name Jesus Loves You. He had once been the golden goose for Virgin Records but you've got to think that he was under threat of being dropped at this time. But rather than go the tried and tested cover-version-ofa-famous-ballad route to resuscitate his career, he instead stayed the course. The pop kids would eventually find their way back.

It's hard to say they fully did but he did have spurts of chart action. He once again crawled his way out of the dumper with the fourth Jesus Loves You single "Bow Down Mister". ("Love Hurts" made it part of a double A-side even though it failed to garner much interest; I wonder if it was given co-prominence just in case DJ's were turned off by its companion's religiosity; otherwise, there's not much else to say about it) Less of a nod to underground house music than some of his other recent material, it's still far from being a cynical attempt to give him a hit at all costs.

In pop culture, the Hare Krishnas were those people in orange robes who for some reason were always at the airport. I didn't fly a lot as a youth and so I never encountered them but that was the collective impression (one that would be spoofed by The Simpsons). Not to be simply uttering a bunch eastern mystical babble, they went by the name 'Jesus Loves You'. In 1991, I was a fourteen-year-old atheist who found anything remotely pious to be embarrassing. (I even hated the use of gospel choirs in pop videos, finding them to be the height of groups trying way too hard to be authentic) "Bow Down Mister" didn't have a hope in hell of appealing to me.

But somehow or other it did. It certainly helps that it's as catchy as Richard Lowe says. References to "karma" (if you're a decent person then others will be good to you, which is nonsense) and "kun kun" (something you put in your hair) are there but they don't overwhelm the song. Boy George was said to have been moved by a visit to India and this prompted him to pen "Bow Down Mister" (under the pseudonym 'Angel Dust': good job getting the drugs out of your system there) in tribute. It's not likely he immersed himself in it much since it isn't exactly awash in much beyond cliches about 'sacred cows' and 'lotus flowers' (what, no tantric sex?) and that's for the best. 

It says a lot for George's skills as a pop craftsman that he could pull it all together. Lowe likens it to a mix of country and western, gospel and folksy church songs that "trendy vicars put on to "relate" to the kids. All those are there, even if I don't hear much country myself, but there's also some bollywood melodies and some simple house chords at the end. Not unlike West India Company's equally outstanding East meets West extravaganza "Ave Maria", it dabbles in all sorts of styles and philosophies. Rather than being cultural appropriation, it's an example of cross-cultural blending. Though his once silky-smooth voice sounds rougher, he gives an impassioned performance, deftly lagging slightly behind his colleagues in the chorus to a sparkling effect.

Though just a Top 30 hit, "Bow Down Mister" helped Boy George out of the dumper. A re-release of the 1990 Jesus Loves You flop "Generations of Love" (another quality item) gave him a second minor hit before he would be dumper bound once again. Things would be so grave that he would be persuaded to go the cover-version-of-a-famous-ballad route. Luckily, he was Boy George and was up to the task of pulling it off.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Beautiful South: "Let Love Speak Up Itself"

"Not their best", admits Lowe, who spends much of his review of "Let Love Speak Up Itself" praising Paul Heaton's talents as a songwriter (he's much better than that "pompous, self-obsessed bore" George Michael, you know; I would agree though I'm not quite as down on George, though I probably would have concurred back then). No, not The Beautiful South's best tune but a worthy one nonetheless. Free of humour and irony, even if "the oldest swinger in town" is an unexpected character, this is about as earnest as Heaton gets. The magnificent "My Book" failed to reach the Top 40 (a major comedown following the number one success of "A Little Time) and this did even worse. In truth, a single no one needed but it's still a fine track on their underrated second album Choke. The Beautiful South had entered their unpopular period which happened to also be their creative zenith. Weird how that works.