Leila K: "Ça plane pour moi"

23 June 1993

"Phew! Ruck and Rool! (Or whatever it is in French)."

— Sylvia Patterson

This is the second consecutive Single of the Fortnight Best New Single which is a rather unnecessary though endearingly naff cover version. Last time it was "I Am the Walrus" recorded by an entrepreneur-turned-crowded pleasing doofus in hippie garb; now it's "Ça plane pour moi", a new wave/pop classic of the late-seventies transformed into a something on the thrashier side of Eurodance.

Being in her mid-twenties, Leila K was a much more marketable figure than Mike Fab-Gere so she ought to have been pumping out the hits. To some extent she did but in the UK the chart hits were more modest. The catchy pop-rap of "Got to Get" took her into the Top 10 in 1991 but her only other Top 40 entry was "Open Sesame" from early '93 which reached a respectable but ultimately nothing special number twenty-three. What did both of these records have in common for the Swedish model-turned-pop princess? She rapped and/or sang in English on both of 'em.

The influence of the Continent had been all over the pop charts in 1993. Eurodance duos like Culture Beat, 2 Unlimited, Capella and The Good Men (aka Chocolate Puma) all scored major hits. Solo artist Haddaway was also a player in this movement. While they hailed from different countries, they all shared more than just their pumping beats: their vocals were done in English. The same applied to Swedes Ace of Base at the same time though they were much more of a "proper" group. They may have performed in the mother tongues when they were back home but once they'd gone international it was the world's lingua franca all day.

To do a cover of "Ça plane pour moi" in the context of early nineties' Eurodance must have seemed like a timely move. Not only does it capture that Eurotrash aesthetic of runway models and fast fashion and tanned guys with ponytails cruising around in their Lamborghinis but it manages to undermine the original by Plastic Bertrand by shoving it into the similarly lowbrow culture from its own time. Where it was once a fresh bit of catchy pop-punk, it was now transformed into a theme for endless rail strikes, trashy holiday spots on the Costa del Sol and pathetic bands representing Yugoslavia at Eurovision. Eurotrash wasn't a recent phenomenon, it had always been around.

Plastic Bertrand's original managed to survive if only because Leila K's interpretation wasn't as big as it deserved to be. While said to have been something of a big deal in the newly established Czech Republic, it came up well short of the UK Top 40. Sylvia Patterson's assessment is bang on but this had little effect on its chances. She would have been well-advised to have done it in English (or just covered its Anglo equivalent "Jet Boy, Jet Girl" instead) since Britain in '93 had very little time for foreign languages on their charts.

It probably isn't quite as fun and mad as the Plastic Bertrand original but Leila K's rendition has charms of its own. As Patterson suggests, it's updated for the nineties and the Eurodance scene while still retaining some crazy guitar work. Speaking of how it managed to undermine Bertrand's '78 hit, isn't it strange that it hadn't been a disco floor filler until '93? Sure, it's punk and/or new wave and/or post-punk (the very fact that no one can seem to agree on a genre or subgenre tells you all you need to know about how unique it is) but at it's heart it's always been a dance track. We just never knew it until Leila K set us straight.

With the completion of the Channel Tunnel imminent, it looked as if Britain was becoming much more European as the nineties progressed. Voices like that of that great French resident Nigel Lawson that the European Union was fast evolving into a 'United States of Europe' were being rightly ignored. Yet, the British wanted nothing more than to be British: the sort of people who spend about half their time worshiping America and the other half despising their godforsaken friends on the other side of the Atlantic and who typically didn't want to have that much to do with Europe itself. The coming lad culture wasn't expecting to help bring about Brexit but they should take some of the credit for having done so.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Blur: "Chemical World"

The vendetta against Blur continues. I guess it's easy to see in retrospect but why didn't these pop critics recognize a talented quartet when one was right there in front of them. Patterson has never hid her distaste for Damon Albarn but I have to wonder if that's more to do with his unwillingness to reciprocate the friendship she desired rather than him being the utter git she long claimed him to be. Still, at least she's big enough to admit that "Chemical World" is  ace. But why the surprise? Well, she (rightly) didn't think much of "Popscene" from a year earlier but "For Tomorrow" had already been released nabbing them their customary number twenty-eight spot and that should have signaled to all that they had arrived. Yet, some were still in denial. But it wouldn't be long before the bulk of the critics began to give it all a big rethink.

Mike Fab-Gere & The Permissive Society: "I Am the Walrus"

9 June 1993

"Yes, no wonder we're bitter."

— Sian Pattenden

It is remarkable how often The Beatles managed to entertain, fascinate and perplex their vast audience. Even at the height of Beatlemania their songs were outrageously original with even Bob Dylan managing to see past their bubblegum facade. Always a step ahead of both their competition and their fans, they couldn't stop flooring everyone. The Rubber Soul album was released at the end of 1965 was a major step forward but even it must have seemed quaint about nine months later when follow up Revolver came out. Rinse and repeat with Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club band less than a year after that. From "Tomorrow Never Knows" to "Strawberry Fields Forever" to "A Day in the Life" and on to the B side of their number one hit "Hello Goodbye": all hail the genius of John Lennon.

"I Am the Walrus" has long been something many budding musicians have aspired to but even the most accomplished have failed to match its brilliance. Electric Light Orchestra's Jeff Lynne has carved out a very successful career based on a combination of an ease with hooks to die for and a seemingly unquenchable desire to ape those distinctive cellos which accompany this most unorthodox Beatle number. XTC (under the pseudonym The Dukes of Stratosphear) and Tears for Fears did their own "Walrus" parodies in the eighties — and rather flippin' great they are too. As if admitting that they weren't capable of Walruses of their own, a number of nineties' acts came out with well-intentioned but flawed covers. Let's take a look at them in order from worst to least unbearable.

Jim Carrey & George Martin: "I Am the Walrus"

From In My Life, a collection of dismal sessions led by The Beatles' producer and a series of MOR pop stars and the Hollywood A list. Martin revives the song's studio effects competently enough (while somehow managing to make it sound infinitely less inspired) but Carrey's decision to sing it as if impersonating the titular character he played in The Mask dooms it to hell. Amazingly enough, Goldie Hawn, Robin Williams and Celine Dion all surpassed Carrey's shoddy performance with absolute abominations of their own. Proof that, like all four Beatles, Martin was not above the dredges of bad taste.

Oingo Boingo: "I Am the Walrus"

One would think that a a music geek and film score wizard like Danny Elfman would be able to recreate and update sixties' acid rock but he isn't up to the task in this instance. He's probably guilty of being too close to the material to give it any kind of uniqueness as well as bring too preoccupied by his new-found day job of composing music for The Simpsons and all those Tim Burton films you enjoyed as a kid but actually kind of suck when you go back and watch them now. Proof that all the musical genius in the world won't cut it when you're trying to live up to the Fabs.

Oasis: "I Am the Walrus"

Awfully close to the Oingo Boingo version but the Gallaghers get bonus marks for having some spirit (or is it spirits?) in them. They would've been better off tackling something like "Day Tripper" or "Ticket to Ride" but it wouldn't be Oasis without at least some degree of overreach. Lots of thrashing guitars which speaks to the role that both grunge and shoegaze played in hardening the Oasis sound in the early nineties. Proof that The Beatles inspire a love of music but their fans are seldom inspired enough to create great music of their own.

Mike Fab-Gere & The Permissive Society: "I Am the Walrus"

The subject of this week's blog — clearly — so I needn't go into much in this instance but let's just say I could probably talk myself into giving it another listen. Eventually. Proof that if you're going to do a cover of a famous song, you might as well do so with some guts and bravado.

So, how does a guy with a business background who sold his company and made a bundle pull of the least bad version of "I Am the Walrus"? While it may help that Mike Southon, the alias of Mike Fab-Gere, would have been an impressionable teen when The Beatles first released it back in 1967, it should be noted that he's the same age Elfman as well as other members of Oingo Boingo. Being too reverential towards the Fab Four rarely results in excellent music being made. Luckily, there's little evidence of Southon marking out in similar fashion.

With enthusiasm, deep pockets and the shamelessness of a good old-fashioned promotions guy, Southon seems to have approached his dalliance with pop music with a kind of amateurish professionalism.  He and The Permissive Society seem like little more than a glorified wedding band. An eight-minute feature up on YouTube starts with a quote proclaiming them to be "the best corporate entertainment I've ever seen". Another states they "adapted completely to our requirements". This PR video even trumpets them as "reliable". How very rock 'n' roll of them. Yet, there's something charming about Southon launching himself into this embarrassing alter-ego of an old hippie who's down for putting on a night of good time fun at a convention for financial planners taking place in Torquay. Had he ever played Singapore, it's easy to imagine Nick Leeson nodding along agreeably to his interpretation of "Roll Over Beethoven" just as he was pondering his latest con job.

"I think The Beatles should've done it that way in the first place frankly", asserts then-features editor of Smash Hits Alex Kadis, perhaps in an effort to overdo it for the cameras. "I think Mike Fab-Gere is a sign of the future". Honestly, she isn't wrong. Not only does this look ahead to the coming Britpop wave in a year's time but it also anticipates just how corporate everything has become in mainstream music. I don't think I would want to pay thousands of dollars to ride on a cruise ship with a half dozen legends of eighties' pop but there are people out there who are more than happy to do so.

"I Am the Walrus" wasn't quite a one off Mike Fab-Gere & The Permissive Society. A follow-up, "Summer of Love" which was co-written by Southon, came out the following year. It's actually the better of their two singles with a slightly more contemporary, techno-friendly sound and is the sort of thing punters actually might have wanted to dance to at one of their corporate or student union gigs. But the crowds weren't coming out to hear their original material; sixties revivalists wanted the real thing. Meanwhile, young people began flocking in the direction of a new generation of revivalists, one of whom had a version of "I Am the Walrus" of their own which wasn't much cop but they supposedly sounded like The Beatles and that was more than good enough.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Björk: "Human Behaviour"

Sian Pattenden is far less excited by this debut effort from the former Sugarcube than she is by Mike Fab-Gere and I'm not so sure she's wrong either. It's a curious choice to launch what would prove to be a highly successful solo career; I actually wasn't aware it even was a single until just recently. Björk had "Big Time Sensuality" and "Venus as a Boy" and "Violently Happy" all in her back pocket but they were all held over in favour of this? Somehow "Human Behaviour" managed to sneak in for a minor Top 40 hit but you have to think that something this unmemorable could have easily stalled her future prospects. Hotels and shopping centres have soft openings so why not a pop career as well? Saving her best stuff for later may have been risky but it all proved to be worth it.

Manic Street Preachers: "From Despair to Where"

26 May 1993

"James' whispered opening lyrics and strummed guitar mark the polite return of the Manics to the music scene. Then they kick the door down and take the joint over."

— Tony Cross

It wasn't all that long ago that found myself growing sick of writing about The Cure in this space so many times. In the case of their mid-eighties' indie-pop trilogy of UK hits "The Lovecats", "The Caterpillar" and "In Between Days" this wasn't much of a problem since it presented me with a welcome reminder of how good they could be when Robert Smith and whoever he deemed fit to join him were at their best. "Jumping Someone Else's Train" (which, full disclosure, I was in no way obliged to cover since this was pre-Single of the Fortnight era) is a perfectly acceptable early Cure number though not among the true high spots of their goth years. But by the time I got to "A Letter to Elise" I had had my fill of them. It wouldn't have mattered if it had been one of their finest moments (even though it isn't) because I had covered a band I'm not all that into more than enough by that point.

I'm already reaching a similar stage when it comes to Manic Street Preachers. This is now their third time on this blog and I know for a fact that they'll be coming up at least one more time. Because online scans of nineties' issues of Smash Hits are incomplete, I'm dreading the prospect of eventually having to blog about them a fifth, sixth and even seventh time. It actually makes me feel well-disposed to a once great pop mag for going too far down the road of disposable pop because at least it might help curb the numbers of times I have to deal with this band who I did enthused over a little too much the last time they came up. (Granted, I was blogging about a hell of a song so no wonder) My usual indifference is turning into a faint sense of loathing for this lot — a statement which could easily be confused for a Manics' song title.

"Motorcycle Emptiness" had been the first obvious sign that there was far more to these Welsh oiks than met the eye and they used much of second album Gold Against the Soul (I always think 'God Against the Soul' would've been a catchier title) reaffirming this. The intention is there but they are aren't up to the task of repeating what made the most acclaimed single they'd ever release able to imprint itself on seemingly an entire generation of British youths. You want passion? James Dean Bradfield has got it nailed and he's going to hammer it home. You want angst? Lyricists Richey Edwards and Nicky Wire could put pen to paper and make Siouxie Sioux look like Debby Boone, all the while talking at their audience at least as much as they talked to them. You want a powerful indie rock foursome that made no bones of their debt to punk and metal? Oh, their chords could rip your grubby old jean jacket given half a chance. You want subtlety? Look someplace else.

The Manics at their absolute best were always touching. "Motorcycle Emptiness", "La tristesse durera", "A Design for Life", "The Everlasting": these are the four songs of their's that I genuinely care about and I'm not alone in this regard. John Aizlewood's perceptive review of their 2001 album Know Your Enemy points to at least three of these very same tracks ("La tristesse..." being the one possible exception: I don't have the source to consult or provide a link to, I'm just going on memory) as examples of when the group truly was "4REAL". The Q Magazine wit and Lightning Seeds fan also pointed out that they could be their own worst enemies.

Thus, "From Despair to Where", a classic example of how there's a fine line between getting it just right and ballsing it up big time. (Manics are unique in the sense that while I feel largely indifferent to them, I seldom feel non-pulsed by any of their individual songs: either I love them or I have no used for 'em) A rational rock fan might find plenty to enjoy and I would agree they're in there, only they don't mesh well at all. Bradfield can't tone it down, the words are just the sort of thing that a pair of university graduates would come up with while play acting as though they're bedsit anthems for the young and the passion just never lets up.

I wouldn't have made this charge at the time (even though I've never really taken to Manic Street Preachers) but they really do represent the rock and roll con job at its finest. Have guitar, will turn heads. It doesn't matter that much of what they had to say was tosh or had been so poorly communicated as to mean precisely nothing. I used to scoff at Meat Loaf for putting his entire (and considerable) frame into his recordings but how is this Welsh foursome any different? "From Despair to Where"? How about, I don't care!

Critics and fans will sometimes lay into the likes of XTC and Talking Heads for being "too clever by half" but somehow or other Manic Street Preachers have managed to avoid such a charge, particularly in the early, Richey period. No doubt being a blistering old school rock group helps in this regard. That shouty Bradfield voice also plays a significant role. Yet, music that sets itself up to diagnose teenage moodiness is really the ultimate in clever-clever pop. It's easy to laugh at The Clash being the "only band that matters" but the Manics made mattering into all that mattered. Yes, they could do extraordinary things but this probably only convinced them that everything they did could sparkle. They didn't but at least those rare moments of inspiration remain. Let's have some more of them come up on this blog if I'm meant to continue this Manic love fest.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Willie Nelson & Sinead O'Connor: "Don't Give Up"

One of the more forgotten trends of '93 was the duet album. Elton John's Duets sold very well in spite of some poor material and some not great singing partners for old Reg. Frank Sinatra's, also with the highly original title Duets, was also a big success as it made old Blue Eyes relevant with Generation X. Willie Nelson didn't release his own album also called Duets this year but the first half of current release Across the Borderline — with four cuts suggests the thought had crossed his mind. This rendition of the 1986 Top 10 hit for Peter Gabriel and Kate Bush isn't a favourite of Tony Cross and I would agree that Willie Nelson and Sinead O'Connor's voices don't really gel. Possibly a kind gesture of solidarity from one performer at the previous year's Bob Dylan 30th Anniversary Concert (in which a large portion of the Madison Square Garden crowd booed O'Connor the same way they would have greeted Dylan some twenty-five years earlier) to another but a brave attempt at something memorable can't quite cut it. Two outstanding artists but they can't all be winners, can they?

Kid Creole & The Coconuts: Christmas in B'Dilly Bay with Kid Creole & The Coconuts

9 December 1982

"The man who proves once and for all that you can be 100% hip and highly commercial at the same time, goes for his fourth hit in six months with a bonzer-value Christmas EP."

— Tim De Lisle

I have long maintained that Ella Wishes You a Swinging Christmas is superior to A Christmas Gift for You from Phil Spector. Honestly, it's not particularly close. While Ella Fitzgerald handled fun festive favourites and po-faced works of faith equally well, just over half-an-hour of the Wall of Sound is about twenty minutes too long for my tastes. The material is not dissimilar — the two albums have six Yuletide hits in common — the running times are near-identical and Spector charges The Ronettes and The Crystals are almost as good at bringing childish joy to a vocal as Ella Fitzgerald herself. But she was a pro like very few others of any generation so it's no knock on Ronnie Spector that she can't quite measure up. Yet, there's no question of its importance and it certainly has its moments.

There aren't many other Christmas albums that are as critically acclaimed as either Ella Wishes You a Swinging Christmas or A Christmas Gift for You. Indie fans are fond of Low's Christmas which opens with the wonderful Spector-ish "Just Like Christmas" and is followed by the moving "Long Way Around the Sea" and a distortion-filled version of "Little Drummer Boy". Unfortunately, the remaining five tracks don't really do much. I seldom bother playing the whole thing. For lovers of too-cool-for-school indie, they'd do better seeking out the 1981 collection A Christmas Record.

It is not a single-artist release nor the work of a psychopath producer and all those poor souls who worked for him but it is much more than your typical seasonal compilation. The mandate from the deeply hip label ZE was for everyone to compose their own Christmas song and then have them bundled together. By far the best known track on it is "Christmas Wrapping" by The Waitresses. Though nearly a hit at the time in Britain, it has since become much-loved by a wider spectrum of the public. Those chiming, chunky guitars and a catchy indie rock beat make it hard to dislike and that's before you even get to the unique tale being told in the lyrics. "Christmas Wrapping" mixes the American love for fantasy with the dry British practice of introducing a touch of reality to their Christmas songs. No one has ever been able to pull off a decent cover but who needs a facsimile when you've got the glorious real thing?

"Christmas Wrapping" is probably my favourite Christmas song of all time but there's another selection on A Christmas Record that is nearly as good. "Christmas on Riverside Drive" was initially credited to August Darnell the leader of Kid Creole & The Coconuts who was looking to get on with a solo career. He was also currently busy getting his album Wise Guy ready for release and this was the first sign that he could be on his own from this point forward.

Then, ZE began to fret over their bottom line. Darnell was just about the only artist they had signed with much commercial potential (Was (Not Was) would've also had potential but they were still five years away from having hits) so they got on him about altering his latest recordings to spark sales and even bringing back the Kid Creole & The Coconuts name. This all could have and should have blown up in their faces but then the re-titled Tropical Gangsters became a massive hit in Europe. Singles "I'm a Wonderful Thing, Baby", "Annie, I'm Not Your Daddy" and "Stool Pigeon" all made the UK Top 10.

A fourth single from Tropical Gangsters wouldn't have been out of the question but the end of 1982 presented the group and their record label with the opportunity to kill three birds with one stone. First, they could milk the success they'd built up that year. Second, they could pique the interest of their suddenly large fanbase by recycling a deep cut from previous album Fresh Fruit in Foreign Places. Third, further recycling could be done by giving single release Darnell's magnificent contribution to A Christmas Record. Thus, "No Fish Today", "Dear Addy" and "Christmas on Riverside Drive" ended up bundled together as the E.P. Christmas in B'Dilly Bay.

As I have already said, the concept — hey, if there can be concept albums then surely concept E.P.'s can't be out of the question — doesn't really work. "Dear Addy" and "No Fish Today" both have island rhythms guiding them but I fail to see the connection to Christmas; "Riverside Drive" obviously fits the holiday but Manhattan sophistication is quite a leap from wherever B'Dilly Bay is meant to be. I guess that's what happens when three songs are randomly shoved together much to the disinterest of the public. (Getting into the Top 30 would have been quite the feat for the Coconuts just a year earlier but now it must have seemed like a flop)

But let's not quibble since all three tracks are outstanding, just like everything Darnell did at around this time. In a way, not really fitting together kind of works to its advantage since they show just what an effortlessly brilliant talent he was whether he was playing around with reggae and Asian melodies or if he was the next Cab Calloway. The record itself may be all over the place but, Jesus, isn't that Kid Creole guy just the greatest?

"Christmas on Riverside Drive" really ought to be as beloved a NYC holiday classic as The Pogues' "Fairytale of New York" but there isn't really the interest in wealthy couples having a night out, drinking cocktails at a swanky hotel bar and then dining at that wood-paneled steakhouse that Johnny Weissmuller used to frequent. I've never been to New York so I can only go by the music I've listened to, Seinfeld and the three Woody Allen movies I've seen (three's enough, right?). I'm sure much of it isn't magical just as there's probably a lot of the city that isn't even all that great. It probably isn't even all that dangerous. All I know is that when I finally do go there, I'll be singing this damn song to myself (and, possibly, out loud) even if I happen to be there in the middle of the summer. Especially in summer.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Yoko Ono: "My Man"

She used to wear black. Then, she wore nothing with that chap who allegedly was responsible for her breakup with the Fluxus movement. In the early seventies she began favouring berets and hot pants; by the time she reached her seventies, she finally began embracing chic fashions that surprisingly suited her. But for my money the Yoko Ono look that I'll always remember her for is her mullet in a ponytail with those iconic wraparound shades. While her Man often thrived in the avant-garde terrain that he didn't always feel comfortable in, his Woman generally recorded stronger material the closer she inched herself towards the mainstream. They aren't all that similar but "My Man" reminds me a little of "Sisters, O Sisters" form the slightly underrated Some Time in New York City; perhaps it's because they're both funnier and more playful than most would credit Ono with. Her widowhood was still fresh so people may have expected something of a tearjerker but there's plenty of knowing absurdity which implies that the influence may have been much more of a two way street than what we've been led to believe.

(Click here to see my original review)

Saint Etienne: "Who Do You Think You Are" / "Hobart Paving"

12 May 1993 (with more Britpop bitchiness here)

"I think they have real trouble having those sorts of faces and sounding like they do."

— Alex James

"It's wonderful shopping mall music. It's shopping mall music with attitude. That's what it is."

— Damon Albarn

First off, let's take that great, charming prat Alex James to task for the above quote. I know we can't all look like Dave Rowntree but is there something objectionable about the way Saint Etienne members Bob Stanley, Pete Wiggs and Sarah Cracknell look? Surely the Blur bassist and future Tory-supporting buffoon has seen Bobby Gillespie at some point, if not in the flesh then certainly on screen and/or in print at some point. While it may be that Stanley and Wiggs aren't over-blessed in terms of looks (though they're hardly ugly or anything), what of Cracknell who was an absolute knock out and probably still is.

To be fair to James, it's possible he's clumsily making the point that the combination of their pop sound with their supposedly rough appearances are too much of a contrast for pop stardom. It's possible but is it especially relevant? Given that Blur themselves had both James and singer Damon Albarn as pinups along with the geeky chic appeal of guitarist Graham Coxon (and, lest we forget, Rowntree, who was obviously trying to cover up his good looks by trying to appear like he worked in high street betting shop) and were also struggling with this whole pop game, it probably didn't matter either way.

It's hard to imagine Blur existing prior to the nineties. Yes, there had always been a place for The Kinks and XTC to serve up similarly in-your-face Britishness but they weren't composed of members that girls fancied and that other fellows longed to emulate. (That said, I could be wrong when it comes to The Kinks but I can't get past Ray Davies' slappable face) For their part, it's equally difficult to picture Saint Etienne being around earlier either. Though irony and knowing winks had been long-established pop music traditions, the genius of Stanley, Wiggs and Cracknell was that they were able to marry them to a surprisingly earnest retro chic that was only able to thrive once the fairlight polish had worn off from the eighties.

It's actually kind of a pity that Stanley or Wiggs never tried to pull an Ian McCulloch by claiming that Saint Etienne could easily have been Blur. Not, mind you, because there's any accuracy to such a statement — because clearly there isn't — but because it would have given them more of that pop star clout that the Essex Britpoppers chased and then rejected. For people so in love with all things pop, the 'Tienne never seemed keen enough to rush towards it. And that, Mr Cheesemaker and member of the ultra-douchebag Chipping Norton set (you've seriously lost touch with reality if you happen to be part of a "set"), held this pop trio back far more than their looks.

Not to get too much like the leader of Echo & The Bunnymen myself but in some ways Saint Etienne were far ahead of Blur in 1993. While a Top 10 hit eluded them (and still has), their run of 45's over the previous couple of years had been first rate and of a much more consistent quality than the supposedly great singles band who had the spirited baggy anthem "There's No Other Way" and not a whole lot else. Second album Modern Life Is Rubbish is now highly regarded by many but I consider it to be high on ideas while low on results. Character sketch numbers like "Colin Zeal" and "Pressure on Julian" fail to hold up the way the likes of "Tracy Jacks", "Magic America" and, yes, "Charmless Man" do. Hey, they got better and all the credit to them for doing so but they weren't quite ready for the top in '93 and it shows.

This isn't to say that Saint Etienne were perfect. Their pursuit of what Hits editor Mark Frith called their "perfect pop moment" could be grating at times. There was something far too deliberate about every step they'd take as well. And they seemed to have this desire to release a sublime double A-side when there was absolutely no need to do so.

The pairing "Who Do You Think You Are" and "Hobart Paving" is the sixth double A to take a Smash Hits Single of the Fortnight Best New Single in the first decade-and-a-half of the top pop mag. Significantly, though, only one (Jesus Loves You's "Bow Down Mister" / "Love Hurts") was acknowledged as being part of that particular medium in the reviews page. The others (The Jam's "Going Underground" / "Dreams of Children", Tracey Thorn's "Goodbye Joe" / "Plain Sailing", Bomb the Bass' "Don't Make Me Wait" / "Megablast" and, lo and behold, Saint Etienne's "Join Our Club" / "People Get Ready") only had one of their sides credited

A double A-side ought to force fans into making a choice which seemed to happen whenever The Beatles put one out. Do you prefer "We Can Work It Out?" or "Day Tripper"? "Yellow Submarine" or "Eleanor Rigby"? "Strawberry Fields Forever" or "Penny Lane"? "Come Together" or "Something"? If that doesn't happen then it's because fans of the Fab Four just wanted to keep flipping these brilliant records over. (How "Paperback Writer" and "Rain" was never a double A I'll never know) And while this can happen with other bands — "Don't Make Me Wait" / "Megablast" are both bangers — it generally doesn't. Much like on "Who Do You Think You Are", the single people are likely to remember, and "Hobart Paving", the one you either forgot all about or was never even aware of.

Not that "Hobart Paving" is poor. It's actually fairly poignant for them. It just isn't a single under any circumstance. What it sounds like is the penultimate track on an album whose creators wanted to go out on a less downbeat note. (Oh, those jokey closing tracks, the blight of damn-near every Byrds album) In the context of 1993 hits like R.E.M.'s "Everybody Hurts" and Sting's "Fields of Gold" (not to mention plenty of other slow songs I'd rather not bring up) it might make sense to have such a lush "ballad" compete for a chart position but I'd much rather go with the on-brand Etienne approach of covering an obscure minor hit and turning it into some modern dancefloor fun.

That said, there is more than a little boogie to Candlewick Green's original version of "Who Do You Think You Are?" but it's to the immense credit of Stanley, Wiggs and Cracknell for bringing out in full. (The version by Bo Donaldson & The Heywoods which was a hit in North America is mostly a retread of the original barring the odd sitar spot; did no one prior to Cracknell think of singing it from a female perspective?) Respect to them as well for digging out a largely forgotten single that would have been crying out for a modern rendition. Stock Aitken Waterman wouldn't have drum machined the life out of it had someone like Hazel Dean done a cover of it a decade earlier.

But let's not go nuts here. "Who Do You Think You Are?" is a superb composition but just another fairly great Saint Etienne single. "You're in a Bad Way" blows it out of the murky Thames water. "Avenue" makes Little Debby look like a pile of puke and it's a good deal better than this as well. "Join Our Club" can get a bit much with all it's cleverness but there's really nothing like it that first couple times you put it on. This being a really grim fortnight for new releases, an irritating Alex James and a not as irritating as his detractors claim Damon Albarn (sorry, Sylvia Patterson) were right to go with this admittedly ill-considered double A-side but Saint Etienne was capable of much better. Not to mention Blur, who would soon get a whole lot better, leaving the likes of the 'Tienne well behind. And it wasn't even strictly down to their looks either.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Streetband featuring Paul Young: "Toast"

Erroneously credited to "Street Gang" on the singles review page, this 1978 novelty hit for the band that would soon evolve into The Q-Tips, who would in turn be a gateway for the lengthy and successful MOR recording career of Paul Young, is Albarn and James' runner-up for Best New Single, only losing out due to it being a reissue. I, for one, appreciate hearing Young doing something other than belting his heart out of unnecessary Joy Division and Crowded House covers and duets with Italian Madonnas. But the gag gets tiresome awfully fast. Unless, of course, they really do love their toast. I may just be bitter having not had a decent piece of toast since about 1996 or something. But if that's the worst thing going on in my life (and, let's be honest, it probably is) then I'll take it. The sort of song I can happily never listen to again.

Spin Doctors: "Two Princes"

28 April 1993

"A thumping drum beat with guitars rocking all over the place, it makes you want to jump onto the nearest table and dance and twirl and swing your head around until you eventually, er, pass out!"

— Leesa Daniels

The rock and roll canon is largely the baby of drab baby boomer mag Rolling Stone and their quest to turn a once-rebellious medium into something as establishment as the government and giant corporations. Nauseating individuals like the magazine's founder Jann Wenner anointed themselves as a good taste brigade which dictated the popular music they deemed it okay to like and, equally crucially, that which they felt wasn't worth bothering with. With the rise of so-called poptimism in the twenty-first century, however, the canon was faced with a do or die choice: open it up to the candyfloss pop which they once despised (Wenner is the same person who won't let The Monkees even be considered for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame) or be even more irrelevant than they already were. It was an easy choice to make.

Because poptimism stood against the idea of listeners having guilty pleasures, the reverse canon of crap has faded away over the last twenty years or so. You like what you like and that's all there is to it. Sure, make your 500 Greatest Albums or 200 Hundred Greatest Singers lists but let's all steer clear of the worsts. Why even have 'worst of' lists when it's okay to like everything?

Yeah, those worst of lists, they were something else. Maxim Blender, an ill-fated but noble attempt to bring Smash Hits/Q bitchy humour to North American music print media, was a big backer of these. Starship, which had once thrived with critics as Jefferson Airplane, typically topped them with their massively popular albeit now seemingly universally despised hit "We Built This City" but NYC quartet Spin Doctors also played a part in the canon of music you were supposed to hate. Not that there wasn't good reason to dislike this bunch of irritating slackers whose recorded work really made alternative music even more meaningless than it already was. 

But what if Spin Doctors were never that bad? What if their biggest hit "Two Princes" was fun, uplifting and insanely catchy rather than annoying, overplayed and trite? What it it's something the majority of us wish to come back to on Spotify or YouTube from time to time rather than the kind of thing we could happily do without for the remainder of our days?

"Two Princes" has the grain of a good, sturdy song hidden underneath a load of nonsense. The drum part sounds vaguely sampled which lends it a familiarity that avoids making it sound exactly like everything else. (It's as if the band couldn't secure the rights to "Funky Drummer" and, thus, had percussionist Aaron Comess attempt to replicate it which he couldn't; this is something that jazz trumpeters have been doing since the heyday of Louis Armstrong: in failing to imitate their hero, they develop a voice of their own) The guitar is just about punchy enough without taking them too far down the grunge route. It all teeters on the edge of being legit indie but doesn't quite make it.

As the good folk at Maxim Blender said, "the very sound of "Two Princes" evokes the way the Spin Doctors looked". This is an uncharitable view — as they themselves acknowledge — if unquestionably true. Chris Barron "sings" like a lovable stoner idiot and that's precisely the way he looked. On the other hand, that was their charm. They looked like people out of Dazed and Confused (or, better yet, the sort of people who should have been in Dazed and Confused). Grunge acts had done away with attempting to make themselves presentable and we were now left with very little gulf between bands and their audiences. Did it matter to people who chose to put on Spin Doctors' CDs how goofy their lyrics were? No, I'm quite confident that they either expected them that way or they didn't care one way or the other.

Writing about this, I'm feeling rather lost. I don't love this song, I don't even like it much, but I don't hate it either — and, most concerning, I'm not feeling indifferent. There's so much to unpack (is it all calculated or did they fall ass-backward into a hit single?) with a great deal that fascinates me. Did I ever like this? (I don't think so) Did I used to hate it? (No, but I certainly recall getting sick of it, especially the infernal 'just go ahead now' line) Who did like this? (Well, people who looked like members of the Spin Doctors, obviously but there must have been others) Was it really worth the bother of anyone hating it? (No, the charts have seen much worse) With the benefit of hindsight, the backlash towards "Two Princes" says a lot more about its time than the song itself. The nineties were supposed to be a return to authentic rock but the Spin Doctors only revealed how hollow alternative music had become. "Alternative to what?" various grunge artists would ask in interviews. Well, quite.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

David Bowie: "Black Tie White Noise"

With the disastrous Glass Spider tour now a distant memory and that very pointless Tin Machine project out of his system, it was time for Dame David to have a much-needed return to form. Black Tie White Noise would be just that sort of thing and if you didn't happen to agree follow-up The Buddha of Suburbia would be his next return to form, followed by Outside the following year and so forth for the remainder of his career (except for Hours, which everyone seemed to know right away wasn't all that good). Top 10 hit "Jump They Say" was the more obvious hit but the title track was a worthy 45 in its own right and probably deserved a good deal better than the cup of coffee it "enjoyed" in the lower end of the Top 40. Not quite Bowie in peak seventies form but an impressive start to those 'return to form' years.

The Jam: "Beat Surrender"

25 November 1982

"You made a lot of people very happy, ripped a few tunes off but chose to call it a day while you were still at the top."
— Deborah Steels

The local betting shop isn't just a place for taking a punt on Stoke City's chances in the First Division or on some Argentine horse or on catching a dodgy disease just from touching the counter. No, it's also where you can go to put a bob down on your favourite record as it vies for the "coveted" Christmas Number One spot.

A year ago The Human League took it in a walk but the competition looks a good deal tougher this time round. Some of pop's biggest acts are vying for this year's title. The Jam (who, let's not forget, are splitting), Culture Club, Wham!, Madness, The Human League who clearly didn't get enough the last time. Some old codgers are also present and correct. Let Bitz be your guide to the best bets as well as those with an outside shot. At least one has got to be worth a flutter!

The Jam: "Beat Surrender" (2-1)

Mods from Woking all the way to, er, at least the other side of Surrey are blubbing that their heroes The Jam are bowing out. Indeed, there may be members of The Jam who are similarly downing tears at moment. But instead of weeping, how about celebrating? The Jam of old with chorus to shout along with! A tune to spin round the Christmas tree! Words that are a mystery to all but Paul Welder (and even he may not have the foggiest what he's going on about here!). It is said that 'succumber' is when "one" succumbs to a cucumber which is something no one round the Smash Hits office has ever done, though Tom Hibbert did confess to once bowing down to a courgette. A sure fire winner!

David Bowie & Bing Crosby: "Peace on Earth/Little Drummer Boy" (5-2)

Not a double A-side but two songs sung at the same time. A swizz! Dame David and grizzled old Bing couldn't agree so they both croon on top of each other, the clots! Yet, there's a welcome round-the-fire mood and it's just the sort of thing that will appeal to both your uptight auntie and your hip older sister. A contender!

David Essex: "A Winter's Tale" (5-1)

Some Yule warmth from the Essex boy. While everyone else will be at home with their grannies who complain about mum's trifle, our David will be all by his lonesome for the big day. Nothing brings joy to faces of the young than the misery of others! A definite dark horse for the prize.

Culture Club: "Time (Clock of the Heart)" (6-1)

As your Granddad will no doubt say as Christmas evening draws to a close, "that's it for another year". What we need in this situation is Time and who better to be on the side of this precious commodity than the Boy himself. But it may take Time to get used to this one. Time is of the essence, Boy, get to it!

Madness: "Our House" (7-1)

A jolly knees up for the whole family! Just the sort of thing to have on while Mum and Dad are clearing up the wrapping paper on Christmas morning as your younger brothers and sisters are fighting over who gets to read the Beano annual first! A song for when Mum yells at you to get out of the kitchen while she's getting the yuletide goose prepared. But, sadly, one that might miss out on the top spot since ver kids won't be spending their precious record tokens until after Christmas. An early fave for the coveted New Years Number One Spot though!

The Human League: "Mirror Man" (10-1)

They took the prize a year ago with "Don't You Want Me" but lightning doesn't look to be striking Phil, Joanne, Sue and the other three this time round. A couple at odds over their future is one thing to get behind this time of year but a bloke who can't stop staring at himself in the mirror? He's probably the sort of chap who gives his "bird" oven mitts instead of a nice necklace for Christmas and he's the one miserable soul round the table who refuses to wear the tissue paper crown from his cracker. Pass!

Phil Collins: "You Can't Hurry Love" (12-1)

See below

Wham!: "Young Guns (Go for It!)" (12-1)

Those Wham! lads are so dreamy and they've finally become proper pop stars. It's hard to say if "Young Guns" has the "legs" to see them through to Christmas Day but stranger things have happened. A little more holiday cheer wouldn't be unwelcome. In any case, they're young and talented enough that they could well find themselves in contention for the crown before "long". Give 'em a year or two.

Shakin' Stevens: The Shakin Stevens E.P. (20-1)

"Blue Christmas" had been a hit for Shakey's hero Elvis and he's looking for something similar for himself. There's good value-for-money with four "cuts" but that may prove to be four too many for some. A seasonal hit of his own might do better. Try again, Shakes!

Renee & Renato: "Save Your Love" (25-1)

Like Wham! this pair have been slowly climbing the charts. The only trouble is, they aren't nearly as dishy as George and Andrew (not to mention Dee and Shirley). And their record isn't as catchy. In fact, it's downright awful. Buy it only if you're intent on giving it to your cousin as revenge for him giving you "There's No One Quite Like Grandma" two years ago.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Phil Collins: "You Can't Hurry Love"

Not pinched from The Jam's "Town Called Malice" but a cover of an ancient hit by a group called The Supremes, who Paul Welder, in turn, ripped off. Your mum who is convinced she is still "up" on pop's trends will no doubt be up for some Phil but there isn't enough holiday fun for the rest of us. Just as Culture Club needs more Time, the bloke out of Genesis had better get a move on pronto!

(Click here to see my original review)

Terence Trent D'Arby: "Do You Love Me Like You Say?"

14 April 1993

"A fantastic and vibrant record — if it doesn't get to number 1, so help me I'll eat Ian Beale's socks."

— Tim Southwell

Apologies for the deadnaming but Terence Trent D'Arby is known to millions while Sananda Maitreya is seldom-remembered. No doubt there are those out there with well-worn copies of Introducing the Hardline... who aren't even aware that the artist behind this successful and influential album changed his name way back in 2001. As someone who has known about it I would nevertheless struggle to tell you what it is.

That out of the way, let's get to the tale of the genius from the late eighties who was big for a year or so then faded away and everyone forgot all about him. Except that someone didn't get the memo, while the UK still wasn't done with him (at least for the time being).

Tom Breihan's column on the 1988 American number one hit "Wishing Well" (a Top 5 smash about a year earlier in Britain) relates the story of the singer getting rejected by a series of UK record labels because they supposedly didn't want another Michael Jackson or Prince. The pop critic is skeptical and with good reason: who wouldn't have wanted another fabulously talented and charismatic singer with oodles of crossover appeal? But I'm a little doubtful that this was even what happened. More likely is that the likes of BMG, EMI, Polygram and Virgin took a pass on him because he refused to be just like the superstars of the day.

In a previous mini review of "Wishing Well", I took issue with reviewer Vicky McDonald's comparison of D'Arby to Prince but I think the similarities grew as the younger singer's career progressed. By refusing to be just like his supposed idol, he became more resolute, more independent, more single-minded and, thus, more like Prince. Still, if I'm going to take others to task, I might as well do the same for myself. For some reason, I chose to assert that "Wishing Well" was something that the "future Sananda Maitreya would have difficulty topping". All I can say is I didn't have his overlooked output from 1993 on my mind back then. Introducing the Hardline According to Terence Trent D'Arby was his lone blockbuster album but he didn't come into his own until third L.P. Symphony or Damn* (*Exploring the Tension Inside the Sweetness). (Though Tom Breihan remarks that no one did audacious album titles like Maitreya, he didn't even bother to bring up this one)

Having made a second album that derailed his superstar status so spectacularly that it arguably undermined just how massive he had been (Introducing the Hardline... managed to top the British album charts for nine weeks, an astonishing total for anyone much less an artist's debut; such was its obscurity that Simon Reynolds didn't bother including sophomore release Neither Fish not Flesh in his list of 'Career Killing Albums'), everyone would've forgiven D'Arby for retreating back to tried and tested slow song territory. So for him to re-emerge with the rock and funk attack of "Do You Love Me Like You Say?" was an especially bold move.

"Talent borrows, genius steals" (though wouldn't the truly talented genius come up with something less cliched?): taking every element of "Do You Love Me..." apart there's nothing especially original going on. There's a percussionist in the accompanying promo and he sure did a bang up job nicking the that "Funky Drummer" part. The rhythm guitar playing is, yes, decidedly Princian. The backing vocalists chirp away like in an old school soul record. And, of course, there's Terence Trent D'Arby at the centre of it with a throat-shredding performance that nods to his gospel roots. As I say, nothing new to see here but for the fact that they've seldom been sewn together so seamlessly. "She Drives Me Crazy" had been a huge global hit back in 1989 for Fine Young Cannibals but the way they pieced together all its disparate elements seemed jarring; in these more capable hands, however, they merge so well that you'd think they'd always been together.

Even though it had been a return to form and then some, Symphony or Damn couldn't match the sales and chart lifespan of Introducing the Hardline... It would debut at number four but would quickly end up drifting around the lower reaches of the albums chart for the remainder of its run.Yet, its singles all did respectable business with each one nabbing a Top 20 spot in the UK. It's as if everyone found a Terence Trent D'Arby song they liked and loyally stuck by it at the expense of his other releases, even his sleeper album. The Terence that rocks out, the Terence that croons soulfully, the Terence that dabbles, the Terence that trips on acid rock and post-punk: at most, you may have one Sananda Maitreya but I'll take 'em all.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

R.E.M.: "Everybody Hurts"

I was going to nix my plan to write about every single from Automatic for the People and go with Trash Can Sinatras instead but I couldn't be arsed. Why write about people who want to be R.E.M. when you can have the real thing instead? There are bots out there on social media who claim that this and U2's "One" are lousy; I know they're bots because no human being with a soul would say such things. Quite why Warner Brothers chose to sit on "Everybody Hurts" as long as they did is a mystery — had they put it out as the second single from the album it might have given them that US and/or UK number one that they never had. And that video! I had resisted them for long enough and it was at this point that I started to crack. While it's depressing that it frequently takes a moving slow song to get the public to shell out for a worthy group, at least R.E.M. were getting the giant hit they deserved. If only they'd been so kind towards the future Sananda Maitreya.

New Order: "Regret"

31 March 1993

"The world is a better place with them in it...let's just hope we're all alive to hear the next single."

— Pete Stanton

It took nearly fifteen years and roughly four hundred issues of Smash Hits' publication history for it to finally come to this: a Single of the Fortnight Best New Single for the outfit formerly known as Joy Division but which was now better known as New Order.

Being a magazine that was meant to oppose the weighty analysis of the Melody Maker and the NME, ver Hits took its time warming to the Mancuian foursome. Joy Division efforts "Transmission", "Atmosphere" and the still remarkable "Love Will Tear Us Apart" weren't even reviewed (at least not initially) and many of New Order's best loved moments received frosty receptions from the staff of the top pop mag. David Hepworth wasn't exactly blown away by the classic "Blue Monday" ("after the first twenty minutes or so, it starts to cause a tense, nervous headache..."; hey, if you're going to dump on a much-loved record then at least be funny in doing so) while Ro Newton kinda, sorta digs the brilliant "True Faith" though it wouldn't have killed her to have been clearer in saying so (though, to be fair, she's right on the mark when it comes to the so-so "State of the Nation"). Guest reviewer Wendy James is at least forthright about her disdain for the awesome "Fine Time" so there is that I suppose (plus, it is a bit of a grower). All that said, Richard Lowe liked the memorable 1990 World Cup theme "World in Motion" quite a bit even if he didn't like it quite enough to make it his SOTF. Worst of all, however, was the fact that the killer Quincy Jones remix of "Blue Monday" (aka "Blue Monday 1988") wasn't reviewed at all.

Reading the above paragraph you might detect that I'm something of a fan of New Order — and you'd be correct but for one very crucial problem: they couldn't put out a satisfying full-length album to save their bloody lives. From 1981's Movement to '93's Republic (I can't be bothered with anything they've done since then) their L.P.'s have all been different but they've all been blighted by similar problems: too many jangly, metallic guitars, too many repetitive synths, too many of those distinctive Peter Hook bass parts and too much of Bernard Sumner's word salad vocals. On a simple 45, these aren't much of a problem; if anything, they're typically beneficial to their singles.

I daresay that most agree even if there are some out there who doubtless reckon that Power, Corruption & Lies, Low-Life, Brotherhood and Technique are all "criminally underrated" (word of warning: they aren't). Most people's favourite New Order album, though, is Substance, the two-disc compilation from 1987. There's some site known as Slicing Up Eyeballs which is about how great (and, to be sure, "criminally underrated") eighties' indie music is and they're always pumping up this NO greatest hits while remaining silent on everything else they've done. As we are gearing up for Christmas 2023, a deluxe re-issue with two extra discs of remixes and live cuts is set to hit the shops. The trouble with Substance is that it concludes with "True Faith" which to my mind is where New Order really started to be great. It's hard to take a greatest hits seriously when it doesn't have many of a band's greatest hits. Which is why 1994's The Best of New Order is the far superior collection, despite its uninspiring title.

"World in Motion" gave the group a number one single but it started to look like New Order wouldn't be a part of nineties' pop. Sumner resumed working with Johnny Marr and Tennant and Lowe on the self-titled Electronic album while Hook was busy with projects of his own. Smash Hits might wonder from time to time what had happened to the likes of Pet Shop Boys, Erasure, OMD or Depeche Mode during any of their respective layovers but the relatively anonymous quartet from Manchester who had never graced the magazine's cover were such an afterthought that they wouldn't even be mentioned. It was only until they came back in the early part of '93 that anyone realised how much they missed them.

But how could we have felt otherwise given the state of "Regret" which is perhaps their finest single aside from "True Faith"? Fresh New Order singles released prior to an album (they were one of the last 'singles don't go on a L.P.' holdovers) had the tendency to make a solid but unspectacular Top 20 or Top 30 splash but this was something altogether different. North Americans, who previously didn't have much to do with them, were even paying attention. Seemingly everyone could tell that "Regret" was something special. But what was it?

New Order singles would frequently balance lyrical melancholy with irresistible dancefloor grooves but this was hardly unique to them — in fact, this was a specialty of all synth-pop acts. But a girl I was friendly with in high school called Zeynin revealed why one day during PE class. We were in the weight room when it came on the radio. She hummed along merrily to it and sang along with the chorus. "This song makes me so happy," she smiled. "I love it too," I replied. But its positivity was lost on me. Sumner's closing remark of "just wait till tomorrow, I guess that's what they all say"

Of course, joy has always been present. The tune is as close to uplifting as New Order ever came. For them to do so with seemingly little reliance on synthesizers makes it all the more incredible. I mean, I know they're present but they're difficult to detect, unless that hint of a string section is all the work of Gillian Gilbert's keyboards. Depeche Mode had also been drifting away from synths and programming at this same time but New Order's shift was subtler and less of an opportunistic creative turn. The outstanding 12" Fire Island mix of "Regret" even makes it much more of a synthy number, giving it a slight Pet Shop Boys vibe and without having any of those metallic, jangly guitars and Hooky's done-to-death bass.

Downbeat or positive, this Pete Heller and Terry Farley remix illustrates what a fantastic song "Regret" always has been regardless of genre. Its gospel piano solo towards the end makes me wonder how Marvin Gaye would've handled it. Or Curtis Mayfield. Or Aretha Franklin. Hell, let's throw in Johnny Cash, Neil Diamond and Ricky Lee Jones while we're at it — and, indeed, any of your favourite vocalists too. "Regret" holds up to all sorts of eras, styles and voices, though they'd be hard pressed to top New Order's sublime original. I think I've fallen in love with it all over again.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Duran Duran: "Come Undone"

In one of the more unanticipated comebacks of the year, Duran Duran were back and people really seemed into them again. Not so much me, mind you, but I'm the only person who likes my taste in music so what the hell do I know. For some reason, "Come Undone" left more of a mark on me than predecessor "Ordinary World", which had been the far bigger hit. Nevertheless, it was, as Pete Stanton says, "a load of codswallop". Still is too. On the other hand, it only made me appreciate "Rio", "Hungry Like the Wolf" and "Skin Trade" all the more so good on them for coming up with new stuff that didn't ruin my childhood by wrecking their legacy. I don't ask for much, me.

Bobby O: "I'm So Hot for You"

11 November 1982

"The deejay in the Carnaby Street shop over the road keeps playing it and so do I."
— Neil Tennant

In their follow-up to the landmark single "Blue Monday", New Order flew to New York to record "Confusion" with famed producers Arthur Baker and John Robie. They had no sooner completed the session and Baker was off, a presumably still warm reel-to-reel of his latest recording under his arm. He hopped in a cab which made its way through Manhattan just as a young woman, who for these purposes we'll call Wendy (mostly because she looks like a Wendy, a name which was a lot more common back in the eighties than it is today), got off her job slinging pizza and rushed home to change for a night out (without even acknowledging her very sullen looking parents and younger sister, sitting round a chess set at the dining room table). The members of New Order, meanwhile, had been busy packing up their instruments while sharing a joke with their manager but they would soon be on their way too. They're headed to The Fun House, as are Baker and Wendy. The producer arrived and handed over his latest recording to DJ John "Jellybean" Benitez. Wendy hit the dancefloor and immediately became the star of the show as she got her groove on with some shirtless mustachioed. At the same time, he band posed for some photos and then looked on as Wendy and everyone else at the club got down to their latest single "Confusion".

The above is a description of the plot of video for "Confusion", a likely mythologized account of the song's transition from recording to dance sensation. Quite how it was actually cut and distributed to the clubs is beside the point but two things are significant. First, Baker's priority was getting his latest work to The Fun House, having it pressed and in the shops could wait until the next day. Second, the band, in taking in the dancefloor rave up from the DJ booth, becomes the song's audience and Wendy becomes its performer. In short, the charts don't matter so much and who cares about the artist so long as the kids are dancing.

"I'm So Hot for You" comes from this world of the New York dance clubs. Not unlike the Rockers Revenge/Donnie Calvin team-up that resulted in fellow Tennant-backed Single of the Fortnight "Walking on Sunshine", there was a long line of American-made dance-pop which seemed to stand much more of a chance over in the UK. Producers and DJs led a cozy existence, with some even doubling in both roles. Bobby "O" Orlando was more into playing music and studio wizardry than spinning but he nevertheless understood what would go down in the clubs even if he had no idea and/or no interest in what might work for radio. Disco having long been considered passe, mainstream American radio had little time for this type of thing (for the time being at least) but it had a sufficient enough following in New York to keep the clubs packed. In the UK, however, radio could make a hit record but it didn't always have the power to break one. If the right act was able to play the pop game by doing the rounds of Smash Hits, a variety of talk shows and be up for some miming on Top of the Pops then they always stood a chance with the British.

Still, it didn't exactly catch on in Britain either, in spite of the best efforts of Tennant and the "deejay over the road". Seeing as how there are so many flop records that were anointed SOTF, I've wondered just what was missing that failed to get them on the charts (aside from, of course, the reviewer having absolutely lousy taste). While some lack that commercial spark, a modern sound and/or big time record company money, "I'm So Hot for You" suffers from the kind of anonymity that comes with being the product of the New York dance scene. The vocalist — who I was surprised to discover was Bobby O himself; DJ's sometimes look like lead singers but they don't typically sound like them — is workmanlike but that probably helps not to distract from the production and the superb percussion. Nicking, as Tennant notes, the distinctive synth from The Human League's "Don't You Want Me" gives it a familiarity which may have worked in the clubs ("I think I've heard this one before") but could seem like shoddy pilfering when sitting down to give it a listen.

Britain could have been open to a record like "I'm So Hot for You" but Bobby O was unwilling or unable to put in the promotional time. He had better things to do. He wasn't featured in the Hits beyond Tennant's glowing review and it wasn't until the following year that the pop journalist sought out the mysterious producer/singer while in New York to interview The Police at Madison Square Garden. Bobby O didn't come to them, Tennant had to come to him and he did so with his aspiring pop star's hat on. Though the pop critic-turned-singer along with long-time collaborator Chris Lowe would get their start with him, Bobby Orlando would remain something of a mystery to the pair. In Chris Heath's splendid account of their first tour Literally, someone mentions Bobby O and they ask about him. The individual tells them he's heard he now weighs over three hundred pounds, has found Jesus and is in the process of writing a book about why Darwin was a chump. None of this appears to be true but it says an awful lot about a man who could've been a pop star himself only he couldn't allow himself to do so. You wouldn't expect that having the ability to craft records at a prolific rate would hinder someone's path to stardom but there you have it.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Pale Fountains: "Thank You"

The just about the closest thing to a hit that longtime unsung hero Michael Head ever had. No doubt music critics and his small but loyal following thinks this is "criminal" but I'm confident the rest of us will remain free from prison nonetheless. As Tennant says in a way only the future Pet Shop Boy wit could, it sounds like "one of the duffer tracks on a Cilla Black LP in the 1960s" yet he's somehow also rather fond of it, as am I. Just as Bobby O tweaked with The Human League to get dancers feeling familiar and comfortable, so too does Head by stroking that lovely Bachrach/Gainsbourg sixties' sound to chill out his crowd (or something to that effect). The great Andy Diagram contributes some perfectly-placed trumpet spots which adds to the cool vibes. No one would've noticed it back in '66 but, luckily, a handful more were paying attention sixteen years later. Not enough, mind you, to satisfy critics and fans but if they were being honest they'd admit that they prefer to have The Pale Fountains remain "criminally underrated", whatever the hell that means.

(Click here to see my original review)