The The: "Uncertain Smile"

30 September 1982

"Some of The The's earlier efforts have been a bit aimless, but this is right on the the button."

— Johnny Black

"The The were an act that I had occasional encounters with over more than a decade but who I could never conjure up much enthusiasm for, which also goes for their name."

As I believe I've discussed previously (I can't be bothered to check), Smash Hits really used to knock Prefab Sprout for their useless name. Maybe I'm just used to it or perhaps it's the fact that I love virtually everything that Paddy McAloon had a hand in but it has never bothered me. What does it mean? Who the hell knows and who cares! I spent a great deal of time trying to think up a better name for this blog than simply VER HITS but I eventually gave up and settled for what had been its working title.

It's easy to forgive a band you genuinely love for having a silly name (and, let's face it, they're all rather stupid; the only group name I care for anymore is Strawberry Switchblade) but it's a whole other matter when you're indifferent towards them or worse. In a sense, 'The The' is the opposite of something like 'Prefab Sprout': rather than sounding a bit naff a first that you eventually just get used to, it seems clever to begin with only to become tired rather quickly. It's easy to imagine Matt Johnson along with whoever happened to be with him at this early stage drunkenly jotting down possible band names only to burst out in hysterics when someone suggested 'The The' — and they liked it enough in the cold light of the next morning to stick with it. Not unlike The Be-Sharps only not as clever — nor as funny.

"All that said, what am I to make of "Uncertain Smile"? Well, I will acknowledge that it would be my choice of SOTF as well."

Did I really like it this much? "A lovely, floating melody"? "An intriguing lyric which manages to read rather well as poetry?" (Laying it on a little think, aren't I?) I clearly enjoyed it during the time I worked on the original blog post but I quickly forgot all about it. 1982 had some stellar Singles of the Fortnight — "Love Plus One", "Party Fears Two", "View from a Bridge", "Faithless", "Man Out of Time", "Pass the Dutchie" — which may explain why a record that I had some fondness for seemed to slip through the cracks. Listening to it now, I still like it but I can't say I'm as willing to gush all over it as I had been.

Context could be a key as to why it stood out at the time. I had long grown weary of all that white boy funk that had been all over the place in early eighties' British music so anything that provided some sort of alternative was welcome. Now, I'm more willing to take all those UK groups who were trying to be just like Chic as they provide relief from over-serious American R&B acts that dominated the early nineties. As long as you're not whatever it is I'm sick to death of then you're in my good books. It is at this stage I remind myself that The The weren't earnest, keeping-it-real Romeos and admit that they did have that going for them.

"Perhaps it's time I filled in the gaps, not just to see if Matt Johnson was up to churning out more equally formidable gems but also if I can catch where it all began to go south."

It's been just under five years since the last time I blogged about this record and the gaps remain unfilled. The The have been covered in this space twice and both times I've had praise for what they had to offer, even if my feelings towards 1986's "Heartland" are somewhat more mixed. Still, they were a band I never thought much of whose earlier efforts impressed me though not enough to get me to investigate "their" output further over the last half-decade. In truth, the thought hadn't crossed my mind ever since blogging about how I really ought to give them more of my time. There's plenty of time for me to explore and, indeed, lots of time left to put off said exploration. Till we meet again, The — or not.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Kid Creole & The Coconuts: "Annie, I'm Not Your Daddy"

"Although certainly a marked improvement over last fortnight's glum crop of singles, the likes of Ultravox's "Reap the Wild Wind" and The Pretenders' "Back on the Chain Gang" are pleasantly unremarkable efforts but nowhere close to this good."

I clearly didn't spend a great deal of time considering the virtues of every new release in this issue. I had started this blog intending to listen at least once to everything that was reviewed but it was something I abandoned almost immediately. (I'm pretty sure I managed to give everything a go from the first two singles reviews covered only to give up because (a) it was pointless and (b) I couldn't be arsed) Take this fortnight. While certainly there are a fair number of "pleasantly unremarkable" newbies, for whatever reason I let this memorable number two hit get away from me. (I blame it being buried at the bottom of the right-hand side of the page rather than my carelessness) A little August Darnell goes a long way but this never hurt his many quite brilliant singles and "Annie, I'm Not Your Daddy" is probably his finest since "Cherchez la femme". Sultry, cool, sleazy and funny. Deserves to have been covered by people who completely miss the song's point — and I say that as someone who isn't sure of it's point either. A good deal superior to "Uncertain Smile" so pay no attention to my nonsense from way back when.

(Click here to see my original review)

Boyz II Men: "Motownphilly"

9 December 1992

"You'll be singing it 'til the reindeer come home."

— Tony Cross

Taking a break from covering the comings and goings of the cast of Beverly Hills 90210, the opening pages of Smash Hits' penultimate issue of 1992 are instead devoted to the magazine's annual Poll Winners party. Rather than showing off pics of the acts with their awards, we have a smattering of people of some note who happened to turn up. The cover features Kylie, Take That's Mark Owen and erstwhile New Kid on the Block Jordan Knight; on the inside, they're joined by East 17's Brian Harvey and a very uninterested Mark Wahlberg (who may well have been plotting his shift from pitiful rapper to overrated actor). What doesn't feature is a spread on Smash Hits trying to work out the favourites for the coveted Christmas Number One.

To what should have been the surprise of absolutely no one, Whitney Houston took the title in '92 with her memorable if hugely overplayed "I Will Always Love You". I'm not sure how it would go on to become her signature song when she already had "How Will I Know" and "I Wanna Dance with Somebody" but there's no denying that it was widely popular and remains so to this day. Also it the chart's upper echelons was Michael Jackson with a single I have no memory of ("Heal the World", I'm just going to assume it was another "Man in the Mirror"), Take That continuing to slowly establish themselves as Britain's most popular group, a pair of undoubtedly hopeless "mega-mixes" and a collaboration between the Stars of the World Wrestling Federation and the now duo team of Stock Waterman with "Slam Jam" (such is the rapidly changing world of pro wrestling that the British Bulldog Davey Boy Smith is one of the vocalists yet was already gone from the WWF by the time the single hit the shops; in fact, by early 1993 only two of this Smash Hits poster's stars — Bret "Hitman" Hart and The Undertaker — were still regulars in the fed's squared circle). It is only if you scroll down a bit that you'll find "Motownphilly" by Boyz II Men reaching what would ultimately be its peak of number twenty-three. I think they call that an also-ran.

"Motownphilly" had already been reviewed just over a month earlier when Mark Frith predicting that their "laid back harmonies and doo-wop hip hop that only Americans love" would catchy on pretty quickly over in Blighty before long. Presumably held off for the Xmas rush, Tony Cross similarly looks into his crystal ball and foresees a festive fave. Well, they aren't professional fortune tellers and even if they had been they would've also messed this one up.

The British have long embraced African American pop stars. Though they took to the likes of Marvin Gaye, The Supremes, Stevie Wonder, Michael Jackson, Prince and Whitney Houston, they often gave particular love to acts that had largely been ignored back home. I already blogged about Shalamar and Cameo becoming like national treasures in the UK and they were joined by Alexander O'Neal and Inner City as Americans with little-to-no popularity in the States who managed to break Britain. But this didn't work out for everyone. Luther Vandross was a big deal in the US for much of the eighties but he only made a modest impact across the water. Similarly, while Boyz II Men would enjoy a string of hits in their homeland, their success in the UK was decidedly more mixed — especially if you happen to ignore that hit.

But let's not ignore it for the moment. Even in the case of "The End of the Road", its record-shattering thirteen weeks atop the Billboard Hot 100 dwarfed the fortnight-and-a-half it spent at number one in Britain. Nevertheless, it had an extended chart run, first when it took its sweet old time getting all the way to the top spot and then as it reluctantly worked its way down the listings (in the week after Christmas, it was still lingering and was just one spot below "Motownphilly" in the Top 30; a week after that and it was up a bit while its predecessor was beginning to fade away). You'd think with such a big hit on their hands that this re-release of a Top 5 US smash from a year earlier would've gone down a treat but the public hadn't yet become tired enough of the one they knew; by the time they did, they had evidently also become sick of Boyz II Men.

Tom Breihan in a largely positive retrospective review of "The End of the Road" admitted that when he was a kid he found the first Boyz album to disappointingly over-stuffed with slushy ballads. He wanted more of "Motownphilly", a song that he couldn't get enough of at the time and which he rates as a ten out of ten classic. I understand the frustration. The masses love their slow songs from movie soundtracks that they can slow dance to in their high school gymnasiums but I'm far less impressed by gushy songs sung with "meaning" and which as clearly meant to be "important statements". They're boring for the most part, especially in the hands of groups who trade in nothing but these slush-fests. Except for one vital problem: Boyz II Men were in their element with slow songs while fast-paced dance tracks didn't suit them one bit.

"Motownphilly" is such an on the nose title but does it really bear any resemblance to the music therein? Motown? Well, I think they were signed to what remained of the old Detroit-based Tamla label but I don't hear it myself. Philadelphia soul? Maybe in the case of something like "The End of the Road" but, again, I can't spot it here. More to the point, citing black popular music's most dominant styles of the sixties and seventies did them a world of good in terms of credibility. Just being yet another reasonable new jack swing dance number just wasn't going to cut it. It was only recently that I discovered that ver Boyz had been the prodigies of Michael Bivins, the Biv of Bell Biv DeVoe, the New Edition offshoot whose hit single "Poison" had been the rap-soul anthem of 1990. Having been globally successful with two separate groups over the past few years, Biv must've reckoned he could be a svengali in his own right for fellow Philadeliphians Boyz II Men. But new jack didn't suit this foursome nearly as well and not one of them could rap worth a damn so they were right to go the Babyface route to smooth R&B chartdom.

The British could only dabble in this kind of thing and I couldn't blame them. Having found a renewed appreciation for female-fronted acts of the time, I was also reminded of just how much I couldn't stand their male counterparts. The girls seemed to have a way with pop hooks and they seemed to delight in their status as riders of the giddy carousel; the guys seemed forever in a pickle over how serious they were meant to be. It was in December of the following year that Boyz II Men guest starred in an episode of the popular sitcom The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Will made a silly pledge to have them sing at his cousin's baptism which he somehow managed to pull off. While everyone else cracked gags with ease, the Boyz came out and did "Silent Night" or "Away in a Manger" or whatever it was (did I mention that it also doubled as a Christmas episode?) looking, as always, like they meant every single word of it. Being funny, looking like they were enjoying themselves, having a laugh, these were all meant for others in the world of pop.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Nirvana: "In Bloom"

I always forget that Nevermind had four singles taken off of it. Nirvana's breakthrough which somehow isn't overrated didn't seem like it was potentially hit-packed but they did well with what they had, especially for a rock album. The first three simply had to be singles but I imagine there was some debate over the fourth. Luckily, the sneering sarcasm of the chorus of "In Bloom" was enough to ensure that they be able to fashion yet another nice video around it which I have to think must have sealed it. The funny thing is, you kind of want to mime along with it like a bunch of dweebs even if you haven't seen its memorable promo. I prefer the subtler Pet Shop Boys-ian style of irony but I dig Kurt Cobain's own unique take on it. An easy Single of the Fortnight Best New Single in my book even if it didn't need to be one.

Sex Pistols: "Pretty Vacant"

25 November 1992

"It will make your head fall off. It will also make you depressed because it will make some bigwig a pile of money."

— Sylvia "Bitter and Twisted, Moi?" Patterson

"Blistering guitar". "The Sex Pistols created some of the greatest pop in history ever". "This is their finest". "It will make your head fall off". (That one is already quoted above but it bears repeating) Sylvia Patterson is so taken by a re-release of this Top 10 hit from 1977 that she forgets the most vital piece of information: the Sex Pistols are hugely important.

The earliest days of Smash Hits coincides with the lingering after effects of punk. Though it has often been said that the Pistols broke up on the evening of January 14, 1978 at the end of a turbulent show at San Francisco's Winterland Ballroom, it was only John Lydon who wisely chose to bring this chaotic clown show to a halt. The remaining core of Steve Jones, Paul Cook and Sid Vicious carried on recording singles that would keep the Sex Pistols as a relevant chart concern well after punk had gone past its shelf life.

Singles reviews of this Lydon-free Pistols aren't entirely dismal but they don't do a hold lot to make anyone want to reconsider this period. Cliff White considered "Silly Thing" to be "unsensastional but commendable, no-nonsense punkarama" but he was more than happy to coat down their cover of Eddie Cochran's "C'Mon Everybody" ("If I'm deeply suspicious of most Pistols 'product' that's precisely because I'm pro Punk") though even then he's willing to once again use the term 'commendable' to give props to Sid's performance. (Still, if 'commendable' is the best thing you can say about someone then it can't be all that brilliant, can it?) David Hepworth was on hand for the release of "The Greatest Rock 'n' Roll Swindle" [sic.] whose review concludes with a firm slam ("about as revolutionary as The Dooleys and not as well made"; it's notable that his proto-Single of the Fortnight went to fellow punks The Undertones) Finally, Deanna Pearson rips into their version of "(I'm Not Your) Stepping Stone" ("THERE IS NO SONG TO LISTEN TO — don't be swindled again!") indicating that there would be "No Pistols, No Bee Gees, No Zeppelin in '80". The Sex Pistols continued to have hits but the critics weren't having it and they weren't influencing anyone anymore.

But this would eventually turn around once a whole new generation with no memory of late-stage Pistols began turning fourteen. Grunge didn't even stand in its way. The mid-nineties would see the rise of No Doubt who should have encouraged a second wave of interest in Two Tone ska. Gwen Stefani may have worshiped The Selecter but her fans clearly weren't as keen. By contrast, getting into Nirvana almost seemed like young people were then obliged to explore the Pistols, Ramones and Clash. While I bought London Calling, my best friend Ethan got Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols. Influential? Sure though mainly so we could explore other bands; moving on from the Pistols didn't take long. The most shocking thing about hearing their one and only album for the first time was just how slow it all was.

With "Anarchy in the UK" and "God Save the Queen" being the Pistols' best remembered singles, "Pretty Vacant" has taken on the status as one for the more than casual fans. This is a little curious when you consider that Glen Matlock admitted the influence of ABBA's "S.O.S.", which ought to have rendered it a de facto persona non grata (or, more accurately, a singula non grata) in the eyes of devotees. That said, the Swedish foursome wasn't considered the enemy in the eyes of the punks which may have kept it safe.

Still, there is a question that must be asked about that ABBA influence: what ABBA influence? Though much has been made about the way Benny and Bjorn impacted Glen and Johnny, you'd never know it if you hadn't already told about it umpteen dozen times. Pop fans talk about how Matlock "stole" from "S.O.S." but more "informed" sources will claim that it's the guitar part borrows from it or the bass line is similar. But I don't hear it and not because I can't see how perfect pop could possibly be source material for punk rock. I just don't hear anything of ABBA in it. Given that it's not as good as I remember it being the last time I heard it (which I'm pretty sure was when I was twenty or twenty-one; Never Mind the Bollocks is one of those supposed "essential" albums that has remained inessential enough for me to have never purchased it), maybe it ought to have been more like ABBA.

But enough with dumping on the Sex Pistols. I'm sure plenty of people out there consider them to be "overrated" (though their later stuff sure as hell isn't) without me having to weigh in. For my part, I'm just well past the age in which I can listen to something like "Pretty Vacant" and enjoy it. It wasn't part of my youth so it doesn't conjure up nostalgia. I was much more of a Clash and Jam fan as a grumpy teen exploring old punk. I wouldn't have liked much of what Patterson had to review this fortnight (barring the record below) but I'm not so sure this would have blown me away either. But, hey, it influenced everybody! If you can't enjoy a song yourself, at least you can be happy that other people whom you may or may not care for did. What more could matter?

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Deacon Blue: "Your Town"

U2 went indie and so did INXS and I'm sure Then Jericho did or would have. The results varied for other eighties' dinosaurs but it worked fairly well for Deacon Blue. A half-hearted stab at a genre they either didn't care for or knew nothing about (or both) but Ricky Ross and co. brought in impressionist elements, hints of sophisti-pop from their debut album, a touch of stadium rock from their second and some Pet Shop Boys-esque dramatics so it hardly seems alternative at all. They started off the decade going in the direction of miserable blues and folk and roots rock so this change of pace is especially gratifying. One of their top flight singles right up there with "Dignity" and "Real Gone Kid" and a welcome return to Scots singing about miserable industrial towns which no other nationality does as well.

Musical Youth: "Pass the Dutchie"

16 September 1982

"Apart from singer Dennis who weighs in a little older, they all seem to be around ten, but play better than many "grown up" groups."

— Dave Rimmer

A great deal happened in the world between 1982 and 1992. The Soviet Union went from global superpower to defunct nationstate. Democratic socialists became neo-liberals who didn't seem a whole lot better than the conservatives they took over from. Hit TV shows like M*A*S*H and Taxi had given way to Cheers and Seinfeld. Young athletes like Maradona, Wayne Gretzky and Magic Johnson hit their respective peaks and then gave way to a younger generation. And I went from being five to fifteen: from just starting elementary school to high school.

The world of pop music that I really began to explore over the second half of this ten-year period was one filled with adults. The post-Live Aid second wind enjoyed by the likes of Paul McCartney, Pink Floyd, The Rolling Stones and Bob Dylan — with more recent acts like Phil Collins, Dire Straits and Sting having been adopted by the Baby Boomers; seemingly overnight, they all became old — made this especially stark but even younger bands weren't singing to the kids much. The Minipops had been contrived, as was the 1988 burst of 'Mall Madonnas' Debbie Gibson and Tiffany. Between "Pass the Dutchie" and "Jump" there had been a dearth of music made by kids for kids to pop the imagination. I was too young for the former and a little too old for the latter.

When I say that Minipops and Tiffany were contrived to appeal to youngsters, I should acknowledge that Musical Youth and Kris Kross were manufactured, albeit not as obviously nor as cynically. While Daddy Mac and Mac Daddy decked themselves out in the requisite hip hop uniform of baggy jeans and baseball shirts (worn, as was their wont, backwards) and had a hit single with "Jump" that was "written" by about three dozen people, Musical Youth got their start as a result of the fathers of boys Kelvin and Michael Grant and Junior and Patrick Waite. Fredrick Waite Sr had been a veteran of reggae groups in his own right and he took on lead vocals until Dennis Smeaton joined just prior to their breakout. While accomplished musicians in spite of their tender ages (though I don't think any of them were as young as Dave Rimmer reckons, even if fun-sized Kelvin and Michael actually appear to be even younger), their piss-poor attempt at miming in the memorable video for "Pass the Dutchie" gives off the distinct impression that it may have been adult sessioners playing in their place. This wasn't the case but the group didn't help their cause any.

As I blogged previously, I had no contact with "Pass the Dutchie" way back when I was five. As a number one hit in the UK, I probably ought to have been aware of it earlier than my forties; but as a chart topper in Canada as well, there seems to be no good reason why it passed me by beyond the fact that I wasn't in a position to be listening to it in 1982. If I hadn't heard it then, what chance would it have five, ten or twenty years later? What is unfortunate is that it would have done me a lot of good and there's every reason to expect that "Pass the Dutchie" would have been my favourite song ever had I chanced upon it. Children getting into pop may need the guiding hand of adults but the presence of slightly older kids in the charts can be just the sort of musical mentor that I would have needed.

And despite my claim above of Musical Youth being contrived, what they released was anything but manufactured pop. Having cut my teeth as a music fan on the formulaic — though, admittedly, occasionally brilliant — late-eighties pop of Stock Aitken Waterman and the family friendly, boy/girl next door images they cultivated in their charges, it's wonderfully refreshing to come across a band of youngsters who'd clearly cooked up something from their own collective imagination (though ironically co-produced by one Pete Waterman). It's a cover sure (in fact its a mash-up of "Pass the Kouchie" with U Roy's "Rule the Nation" and U Brown's "Gimme the Music) but one that they brought enough of themselves into while not sacrificing any musical authenticity. Expunging the original's drug references probably ought to have rendered this a ham-fisted and watered-down recording, consigned to going no further than a very rough home demo on a dodgy tape recorder. The very fact that they pulled it off to the tune of an addictive hit record is nothing short of remarkable.

It probably wasn't inevitable that Jamaican music's seventies golden age and UK ska's two year window of chart dominance would usher in a reggae pop boom but that is indeed what happened in the waning months of 1982. New Pop had gone on sabbatical and five London lads stepped up to fill the void. Musical Youth were never spoken of alongside the progressive leftist pantheon of the Rock Against Racism or Two Tone but what they had to offer may have been just as radical and self-sufficient. British kids of all races could only look on and wonder if they too could be part of the generation to rule the nation.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The French Impressionists: A Selection of Songs

The French Impressionists? Let me guess: an especially hopeless punk group hailing from Exeter who we'll never hear from again. Well, no. In fact, they happen to be a Scottish jazz combo who just about live up to their pretentious name — and who, sadly, we wouldn't hear from again. Vocalist Louise Ness avoids the deadpan delivery of her contemporaries and instead goes for the sultry. There's no attempt on their part to give their material that new wave/post-punk edge; instead, they seem perfectly happy as a jazz act who might play a few Edinburgh/Glasgow hotel bars, plenty of Aberdeen/Inverness dives and as many jazz festivals that would have them. Well worth further investigation which is no small feat for a band we wouldn't hear from again. Take that hopeless punks hailing from Exeter!

(Click here to see my original review)

R.E.M.: "Man on the Moon"

11 November 1992

"A shimmering diamond amongst a sack of dirty socks."

— Pete Stanton

Only once since becoming an adult have I found myself convinced that there was a hidden conspiracy. It was the last day of August, 1997 which had been something of a golden summer. I had been working at a Calgary-area liquor store and on the drive back there came the news of a serious car accident involving Diana, Princess of Wales and her new lover Dodi Fayed. Not being a royalist, the initial shock quickly wore off and I forgot all about it. That evening, however, the news came in that the former future Queen of England had passed away from injuries sustained in said crash. Almost immediately, a thought flashed through my mind that I must have felt was going to rock the very foundation of the British monarchy: they must have faked it.

We're conditioned to believe in conspiracies from infancy: Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy. The simple prospect that it could be our parents who were behind these childhood misdirections didn't even enter into it. Then there's God, who I had mercifully avoided hearing about until my parents put me into a Baptist church-run playschool when I was four. (Even then, Santa still seemed vastly more plausible) Fictional givers of gifts, chocolates and/or money and that twisted nutcase up in the clouds were all handed to me to accept or reject but the only thing I was prepared to believe in due to my own personal creed was wrestling. There were whispers that it was fake but I wasn't having it. Rotten Ron Starr once smashed a bottle of champagne over his head while being interviewed by Ed Whalen on Stampede Wrestling: was it fake when Starr screamed at the camera, his face now a mask of crimson? "Macho Man" Randy Savage once crushed Ricky "The Dragon" Steamboat's windpipe with the ring bell: was it fake when Steamer was stretchered off as he gasped in agony?

In preparation for this blog post, I thought about immersing myself in the unique works of Andy Kaufman. Note my use of the phrasal verb 'to think about' because that's basically all I did. I didn't binge watch all five seasons of the classic US sitcom Taxi. I didn't watch hours of Kaufman's material on YouTube. I only made it about five minutes into My Breakfast with Blassie before deciding it made for pointless viewing — which was at least a useful reminder that the great man didn't always hit 'em out of the park. I didn't even bother with the 1998 Jim Carrey biopic Man on the Moon though I did watch most of its companion documentary Jim & Andy: The Great Beyond — Featuring a Very Special, Contractually Obligated Mention of Tony Clifton.

Having been such a big wrestling fan as a boy, I was especially drawn to Jerry "The King" Lawler's appearances in Jim & Andy. The Memphis legend had been in cahoots with Kaufman when they did their infamous spot on David Letterman but no one knew for sure at the time that they were friendly behind the scenes. Such was the world of kayfabe. (Kaufman's untimely passing at the age of thirty-five did not sway Lawler, who was a good guy in the Memphis territory, into saying anything positive about his old adversary) Taking this on, Carrey refused to break character while on the set of Man on the Moon, much to the annoyance of director Milos Forman and many others. Lawler, for his part, seems baffled and even at times disturbed by Carrey's behaviour. But give credit where it's due: it takes a special kind of talent to out-kayfabe an old school pro wrestler.

The film Man on the Moon got its title from the 1992 hit single by R.E.M. I assumed there must have been a Kaufman sketch about an oddball astronaut landing on the Moon or one involving Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin descending from the Apollo 11 craft only to meet a character like Latka who was already there. But no, the title simply refers to Moon landing conspiracies and how they relate to rumours that Kaufman engineered his own demise in 1984. But also, his commitment to the characters he played. The wrestling heel he portrayed in Memphis in the early-eighties came out of legit grappling exhibits he would put on with any woman who was willing to challenge him. He wasn't able to apply the figure-four leglock, couldn't execute a drop kick and probably didn't even know how to throw a realistic-looking punch. When he and Lawler finally met up in the ring, the King invited him to put him in a headlock, only for his opponent to get out of it with a minimum of effort. Lawler the proceeded to give him two dangerous piledrivers which led to Kaufman wearing a neck brace in public for the next several months.

Hailing from Athens, Georgia, which isn't too far away from the professional wrestling hotbed of Atlanta, southerners Michael Stipe, Peter Buck, Mike Mills and Bill Berry fashioned a good old country-rock number in an appropriately unexpected way of paying tribute to Kaufman. While the three instrumentalists may shine in other R.E.M. tunes, it's the singer who takes centre stage. Stipe has never been noted for his humour and he wisely steers clear of the understandable but misguided approach of being funny as a way of tipping his hat to the great man. Instead, we get some of his finest cryptic lyrics with references to board games (because of the randomness of a roll of the dice can generally override any actual skill), historical figures (mythology) and the seventies band that did "All the Young Dudes" (I have no idea on this one; I always used to think the song's opening line was "Martin Luther and the Game of Life")

Reading Pete Stanton's review I'm struck by how little he's aware of all this stuff about conspiracy theories and wrestling and Elvis; his prime concern is with "Man on the Moon" being "so beautiful you could snog it". (Not snog to it, you can do that to damn-near any record but it takes a really potent song for you to stick your lips to the vinyl and smack away; if you happened to have a North American 7" with the giant hole pressed through the middle you could get up to some kinky stuff if that's your thing; I'm not advocating being a record fetishist, I just think great songs have a way of getting you to do things you wouldn't normally do is all) Whatever meaning there is underneath would be for nothing if it wasn't so brilliant. But it is and then some. Even held up alongside the likes of "Radio Free Europe", "Talk About the Passion", "(Don't Go Back to) Rockville", "Driver 8", "The One I Love", "You Are the Everything", "Losing My Religion" and on towards future greats like "Tongue", "Leave" and "I've Been High" (hey, I don't care if it sounds like Chris de Burgh!), "Man on the Moon" stands tall. It may not be the best track on the mighty Automatic for the People but it's hard to argue that they bettered it at any other time in R.E.M.'s long and storied career.

When right-leading types who complain about political correctness and cancel culture have a tendency to play what Cody Johnston of YouTube channel Some More News calls the "Carlin card". Comedian George Carlin would never have put up with these snowflakes crying about being offended, they seem to be saying (though they never acknowledge that he was able to change with the times and refused to punch down). What's forgotten is that it's Andy Kaufman who would have found more of a home in this era of social media and conspiracy theories. While it's easy to think that we've all become more like Kaufman as we push vaccine skepticism and fake news and all that nonsense, the reality is that we only would've ended up as fodder for more of his shenanigans. Oh the fun he could have had. (Or is currently having?)

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

INXS: "Taste It"

Is it just me or did INXS have a lot of singles that got to number twenty-one in the UK charts? I'm sure they only had two or three but coming in just shy of the Top 20 seems like the optimum chart position for your average XS' hit. 1992 saw the release of the strong Welcome to Wherever You Are, an album that helped get them through their early-nineties' wilderness of good songs that all sounded the same. Self-parody was avoided (at least for the time being) but this was still very much INXS and only INXS. The touch of R&B — not, mind you, the same R&B that had been taking over the charts, more that vaguely laid-back style of groove-heavy dance rock that pops up every so often — proved to be a nice addition as the guitars were scaled back except for in the chorus where they suddenly explode. Yet another top INXS single though it would be more memorable if it wasn't quite so forgettable. Funny how that happens, isn't it?

PM Dawn: "I'd Die Without You"

28 October 1992

"They don't get up till three in the afternoon. They watch lots of cartoons. They talk to children. They take months to make records. What is it that makes PM Dawn so great?"

— Mark Frith

In a tradition that goes almost as far back as recorded music itself, African American artists found that there were appreciative audiences over in Europe while they were being ignored back home. Jazz musicians continued to face discriminitive practices such as having to use servants entrances and having to stay in black-only hotels while across the Atlantic in countries that still had blood on their hands from colonialism and in the midst of the fascist jackboot they were treated to more appreciative audiences and better pay. In Geoff Dyer's wonderful book But Beautiful there are anecdotes about the normally brutish Ben Webster suddenly mellowing as he rides around the continent by train. The sax great eventually lived out his remaining years in Denmark while others like Bill Coleman, Don Cherry and Dexter Gordon would find similarly permanent homes in various European countries. It's actually a wonder more jazz greats didn't end up relocating over there.

In more recent times, black pop groups like Shalamar and Cameo became stars in Britain even though they had been relegated to urban radio back home. These bands even managed to become beloved in the Old Empire (Shalamar for Jeffery Daniel's mind-blowing Moonwalk, Cameo for Larry Blackmon's codpiece). This scenario repeated itself throughout the eighties. While records such as Kon Kan's "I Beg Your Pardon" came with 'TOP US CHART HIT' emblazoned on the sleeve, groups like Inner City and Ten City were left to their own devices to score entries into the UK Top 40 — elusive success back home did nothing to prevent singles like "Good Life" and "That's the Way Love Is" taking the British listings by storm.

And so it was for PM Dawn — or so I thought. "Set Adrift on a Memory Bliss" had already been a British Top 5 hit when they tried their luck back in the States. For all I knew as a Canadian boy with more than a passing interest in the charts, they were British. I first caught "Set Adrift" on an episode of CBC music show Good Rockin' Tonite and I was certain that it would never catch on in North America. When it did, I figured they'd be quickly forgotten about while remaining stars back in the UK. What can I say? I've been wronger and stupider in my day.

PM Dawn's American success was no doubt aided by the smooth novelty of "Set Adrift" but their willingness to be more conventional going forward was also significant. Called in to contribute to the soundtrack to the 1992 Eddie Murphy vehicle Boomerang (a picture that I had completely forgotten about; I was probably waiting on that sequel to Coming to America to care; I would have a bit of wait ahead of me), they didn't take the lazy cover version route and nobly passed on sampling yet another hit from the eighties that few remembered ten years' on. What they had instead was a love song. An underwhelming love song at first but the sort of thing that grows on listeners when they gradually come to the conclusion that this is what they should have been doing all along.

"Set Adrift" remains their biggest hit and it's their one number that people are most likely to be aware of. Yet, "I'd Die Without You" is the better record and honestly it's not even close. Being present on the Boomerang OST seems like a cagey bit of genre classification on their part. With the likes of Boyz II Men and a duet featuring Babyface and Toni Braxton present and correct, this was effectively a sampler for contemporary American R&B. (Speaking of which, what the hell is 'Adult Contemporary'?) PM Dawn's contribution places them square within this movement while also subtly subverting it. The melodramatic title and Prince Be's emotive vocal give it that much needed 'keepin' it real' R&B vibe but the "breath-taking, mind-expanding love lament" that Mark Frith loves so much puts it a cut above those ultra-smooth Romeos that I once despised. This is far from being the sort of pablum used to get the ladies into bed; this is a crazed stalker, a lonely teenage boy scribbling verse which only he considers to be genius, a pathetic dude in his mid-thirties who can't keep a relationship together

PM Dawn only had about another year left as a relevant pop act which is a shame since they could have been the one male R&B troupe it was okay to like. As I have already discussed, the women were doing the heavy lifting, leaving the men to those drippy love songs that top the charts but inevitably leave those of us without the necessary sweet tooth to be throwing up in the can. American had already embraced PM Dawn and the UK didn't run away from them either. So why couldn't they have remained loyal just as Europeans had been towards generations of African American stars from the past?

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Heavenly: The Fred EP

In terms of pure concept, no new release this fortnight can touch The Fred EP. Oh, isn't irony grand? You get to like things that suck! It's so cool! Flowered Up's version of former SOTF "Deeply Dippy" is the best thing going here, a countrified singalong to send up such a painfully British lyric. If I wasn't already convinced that it was Right Said Fred's only half-decent tune then this confirmed it. The Rockingbirds handed in a rocked up take on "Don't Talk, Just Kiss" which to their credit isn't any worse than the Fred's original but either way it's a piece of crap. Mark Frith reckons Saint Etienne's "I'm Too Sexy" is the highlight but I can't agree. Whatever humour had been present is excised here and what remains is a noisy dancefloor bit of nonsense. I love Bob Stanley, Pete Wiggs and Sarah Cracknell as much as any obscure music writer you care to name (not to mention plenty more you've never heard of) but their tendency to wink knowingly at their fans was not one of their strengths. If PM Dawn could buckle down and get serious, why couldn't they?

ABC: "All of My Heart"

2 September 1982

"This record is going to number one. Not least because I have money on it."

— David Hepworth

What The Human League were to 1981, ABC were to '82: suddenly widely successful, flourishing creatively with a terrific album stuffed with potential hit singles, making inroads around the world and tipped to be the future of British pop. Beyond asking them, there's no way of knowing if they modeled their pathway to success after ver League but there certainly are striking similarities. Both got things started with nice, low-key singles that proved to be breakthroughs while still missing out on the Top 10 — "The Sound of the Crowd" and "Tears Are Not Enough" respectively — which they then followed up with improved chart fortunes that really got the momentum going — "Love Action (I Believe in Love)" and "Open Your Heart" from ver League, "Poison Arrow" and "The Look of Love" from ver "C" — before finally releasing albums that sold like mad and were salivated over by the critics — Dare and The Lexicon of Love. All that was left was a killer single to take them over the top: "Don't You Want Me" performed the trick less than a year earlier and now it was "All of My Heart"'s turn.

But did it stand much of a chance? A clear standout on an outstanding album, it nevertheless lacks the immediacy of its chart predecessors — not to mention ace deep cuts such as "Show Me" and "Many Happy Returns". Being as grand a record as they'd ever cut, however, it couldn't not be a single. Fans who'd only previously been exposed to their hits may have looked on in wonder at this great leap forward while other may well have been turned off by the pretentiousness of the single's cover, its B-side being a classical overture of their work, the adult nature of the video and the image of them on the cover of this fortnight's Smash Hits. It's possible, in other words, that they were attracting new listeners just as others were starting to go off them. (Then again, The Lexicon of Love was the consensus album of the year in the UK and Martin Fry's been making bank off of its name in more recent years; not unlike OMD, people didn't really start to turn their backs on ABC until they began to get less pretentious)

Musically it's as magnificent as David Hepworth says and proof that Trevor Horn's work behind the production desk involved far more than plugging in the fairlight synthesizers. Roping in Anne Dudley to orchestrate its gorgeous score was a final touch. Lyrically, however, things are a different matter. Far from the kind of Costello/Weller-type wordsmith, Fry tended to keep things simple, though sometimes in a complicated way. Opening with "Once upon a time when we were friends / I gave you my heart, the story ends / No happy ever after, now we're friends" made me wonder at first if he really thought things through. Then, after several listens, I began to think that he was righter even than he lets on. Settling for friendship when one party clearly wants more never works out, despite what an endless parade of rom coms will have us believe. "All of My Heart" is about laying it out on the line for that special someone, being rejected and then trying again. There's a desperation at play that results in an over-abundance of clichés ("wish upon a star", "...at the end of the rainbow") while being resigned to a situation that will never work out ("Skip the hearts and flowers, skip the ivory towers"). Fry's vocalising deftly balances the melodrama and the nihilism in a way few of his contemporaries could ever think to pull off.

In the end, "All of My Heart" was a Top 5 hit but it came short of the top of the charts, with Hepworth no doubt having lost a few quid along the way. Getting there instead was fellow reviewee "Do You Really Want to Hurt Me" ("A hit, quite possibly," concludes his nibs; how was this great don of music journalism and man who is always struck by something to know that it would be the chart topper that "All of My Heart" wasn't) by Culture Club, another group who were looking to become widely successful, flourish creatively with a terrific album stuffed with potential hit singles, make inroads abroad and become yet another future of British pop. 1982 had to give way to '83.

Since then, "All of My Heart" has had a mixed legacy. Being a key part of arguably the album of the decade (it's either that or Hounds of Love surely) doesn't hurt but it isn't as well remembered as fellow hits. The YouTube numbers say it better than I could: its video's three million views trails those for both "Poison Arrow" (six million) and late-eighties' hit "When Smokey Sings" (just under five million) and dwarfed by "The Look of Love" (over twenty million). But, hey, at least it beats out "That Was Then but This Is Now" which isn't even on the group's official channel. What a duff pile of crap that song is.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Shalamar: "There It Is"

I only recently found out about Shalamar's legendary Top of the Pop's performance. It was on one of those fun timewasters on the Watch Mojo YouTube channel. I had been expecting to see Neneh Cherry prancing about while heavily pregnant but instead they chose to include Jeffery Daniels doing a moonwalk a full year before Michael Jackson (though still about fifty years after it was actually invented). The more I listen to Shalamar the more I appreciate what they were trying to do in moving Chic-esque disco-funk into the eighties. Hepworth notes that their TOTP spot had moved them into a "very special place in the public's affections". It's one thing to be a national treasure but do be able to do so when you're from an entirely different country is no mean feat. Who can blame the British in this instance? Shalamar are the greatest.

(Click here to see my original review)