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.

~~~~~

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)

The Lemonheads: "It's a Shame About Ray"

17 March 1993

"When they were handing out looks and talent, Evan Dando of The Lemonheads was at the front of both queues."

— Tom Doyle

I may have been a bit too young at the time and living over 3,000 kilometers away but the late-eighties/early-nineties' Boston scene felt like the sort of thing that you only heard about after the fact. There were all these deeply influential bands with silly names whose actual music never seemed to get played. It was as if we were being forced to seek it out which was no easy task in the era which predated YouTube and Spotify. College radio supposedly adored these bands but why were they never being played, at least when I was (irregularly) tuning in?

'What about the Pixies?' you may be asking. What about them? Yes, they were the closest thing Boston had to a breakthrough act (scratch that: Bell Biv Devoe had been far bigger but I guess they don't count) but it's telling that their popularity only grew following the release of 1991's Trompe le Monde and the start of Frank Black's solo career. By the end of the nineties, the band had arguably as many fans who were Millennials as Generation Xers. Yes, they influenced thousands and people who had good taste in music liked them and all that nonsense but what kind of impact did have on the music scene in 1993?

It was only following the grunge explosion that the public seemed ready for the 'Seattle of the East' (as absolutely no one called it) but this happened to coincide with scene being ripped apart. Pixies were no longer together and the likes of Dinosaur Jr and Buffalo Tom ('you mean they aren't from Buffalo?') never had much commercial potential so it was left to The Breeders, Juliana Hatfield Three and The Lemonheads reap the benefits, modest though they mostly were. Erstwhile Pixie Kim Deal gave The Breeders a number forty hit with "Cannonball" but otherwise it was Evan Dando who made the most of this upsurge of Beantown interest.

Initially released in the summer of 1992, "It's a Shame About Ray" failed to do much in a Britain that didn't seem especially interested in American alternative rock that either didn't come from Seattle or wasn't recorded by R.E.M. It's understandable in a way: with James and Lightning Seeds around, there wasn't much call for indie pop that came from outside of the UK. But The Lemonhead's thrashier but still unnecessary cover of the Simon & Garfunkel classic "Mrs Robinson" took them into the Top 20 which presented them with an opportunity to capitalise with some of leader Evan Dando's own work, which, at its best, was as good as anything bloody Paul Simon ever cleverly put to paper.

A re-release of the title track from their acclaimed 1992 album would have made sense but it was decided that a double A-side of deep cuts "Confetti" and "My Drug Buddy" would follow their breakthrough hit. Neither really worked. While the former was too loud and lacked the hooks of Dando's best work, the latter suggested the singer's fondness for country music but smacked of that favourite album track that the general public know little about. Neither song made much of an impression, coming up just short of the Top 40 which did have the upside of allowing "My Drug Buddy" to remain a relative obscurity for devotees while being unheard by the masses. But their momentum was already beginning to fade.

At long last, "It's a Shame About Ray" was given a second chance at some chart action. Despite being far more appropriate for single release, it could only spend a pair of weeks in the thirties before fading away. It's no sure-fire number one smash or anything but had it been re-released earlier, it could have given them a hit similar in size to "Mrs Robinson" while also helping to drive up sales of their current album (which did return to the lower reaches of the LP charts at the same time). Bad timing, then. (Indeed, the other thing they could have done was to have them sit on it for a while and wait until it was closer to summer when their brand of sunny indie pop would've really prompted the toes to tap)

American alternative had been prone to self-importance especially with people like Kurt Cobain, Michael Stipe and Eddie Vedder in the limelight. (Yes, this overlooks the fact that the troubled Nirvana frontman had a playful and sometimes cutting sense of humour) On the horizon was a new generation of good-for-nothings who smoked lots of dope, wore those ghastly knit hoodies and made light of absolutely everything under the sun in their songs. Dando seemed to be one of the few songwriters of the time who could combine the feeling of the former with the lightness of the latter. Grunge acts like Alice in Chains (also reviewed this fortnight much to the displeasure of Tom Doyle) and Soundgarden were beginning to sound more and more like the metal bands they were meant to have buried a year or two earlier; it was left to the remnants of those from the Boston scene (didn't it have a name like Grunge or Madchester or Shoegaze?) to pick up the pop slack, which Dando did albeit only some of the time.

With Nirvana still on top and a selection of outstanding groups of varying genres and subgenres spread throughout the United States, The Lemonheads ought to have been a part of an American pop-rock renaissance. Yet, 1993 proved to be the end of an era for a number of groups. Jellyfish released their brilliant second album Spilt Milk which nevertheless failed to sell and cause the Bay Area band to fall apart. Uncle Tupelo really started to come into their own with fourth album Anodyne but its release and the group's subsequent tour was blighted by the growing schism between co-leaders Jay Farrar and Jeff Tweedy. Even Nirvana were almost finished with Cobain's life coming undone throughout the course of the year. For his part, Dando remained a Lemonhead but his bandmates came and went. His talent was always there but his muse was erratic. Fans and critics may have praised what they were doing at the time but they could have amounted to a whole lot more.

Finally, a comment about Dando's status as a supposed indie heart throb. He never struck me at the time as being anything special in the looks department and the females and guys who fancied other guys seemed to agree. (He was seldom a topic of conversation but it says a lot that he wasn't brought up much if ever) Looking back now, however, he does have those prized slacker good looks that clearly did the likes of Gram Parsons and Dennis Wilson well with the womenfolk. In the seventies this wouldn't have stood out as much since it wasn't unusual for rock stars to be dishy but by the nineties this was much more found in the boy band pin ups. Indie heroes weren't just meant to sound like Frank Black but they were apparently expected to look like him too.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Heaven 17: "Penthouse and Pavement"

I'm no fan of The Lemonheads but they're easy winners as my selection for this issue's Single of the Fortnight Best New Single due in large part to the appalling selection of new releases in the running alongside it. Virtually everything else on offer is wretched, except for this barely passable remix of a near hit for former Human League members Ian Craig Marsh and Martyn Ware (as well as some singer they had with them...Glenn something). For a decade that everyone in the nineties liked to take shots at, the eighties sure had plenty of splendid pop. "Penthouse and Pavement" didn't need a Tommy D remix in order for it to age well, it just needed to be re-released at a time when the pop scene was so dire that it sounded great by comparison. Sad to think that synth-pop was drawing to a close just as we needed it more than ever.

Monie Love: "Born 2 B.R.E.E.D."

3 March 1993

"It's about doing the right thing in relationships and bringing up kids — but there's no preaching, just an immediate tune that grabs you and won't let go."

— Tony Cross

Since his untimely death in the spring of 2016, Prince has been showered with arguably more love and good vibes than he ever enjoyed while he was still alive. As is normal when a giant in the pop world perishes, his music returned to radio and his albums returned to the charts. Many fans realised that they cared for him far more than they ever had known. We would've been even more overwhelmed by public grief had his passing not occurred in the same year as fellow stars David Bowie, Leonard Cohen and George Michael. (The fact that I'm quite sure there were other stars who died that year but can't recall who they were says all you need to know)

I have to say that hyperbole surrounding Prince's posthumous legacy has taken a backseat to how that public reacted (and continues to react) to Bowie's death just three months' earlier. Yes, there was a headline about the Purple One being the "greatest recording artist of all-time" but it was isolated. Revisionism has been kept to a minimum. That said, you don't hear much about how increasingly irrelevant he was becoming over the course of the nineties or that he was mired in something of a creative slump. Lovesexy had been a minor let down following the universally praised Sign O the Times. A year later Batman came out and suddenly its predecessor seemed a lot stronger. But at least people like me bought it. The same can't be said for Graffiti Bridge, the soundtrack to a film no one saw.

1991's Diamonds and Pearls took Prince back into the charts where he belonged but it was clear that he was no longer leading the way. New Jack swing had come about independent of him, even if it leaned heavily upon his influence. Hip hop, however, he didn't seem to have an answer for. What he did still have was a command of the studio and instincts for great pop. Which is how one of his finest works of the entire decade was one in which the spotlight was placed on someone else.

As a quirky British rapper who was respected though not as commercially successful as she probably ought to have been, Monie Love doesn't seem to be the sort who Prince would choose to work with. Then again, neither did The Bangles and who doesn't love the Prince-composed "Manic Monday"? Similarly, there's the late Sinead O'Connor whose rendition of "Nothing Compares 2 U" is simply one of the greatest singles ever released. Yet, these were both numbers written by Prince but produced by others and recorded in studios which weren't in Minnesota. "Born 2 B.R.E.E.D." is a full-on collaboration with the Artist Soon to Be Known as Prince in control.

At first, the Prince-influence is scarcely noticeable. It is only after discovering his involvement that his touches reveal themselves, namely the chugging guitar that had been a staple of his work throughout the eighties. While "Manic Monday" and "Nothing Compares 2 U" do sound like songs he could have recorded himself (probably because they were), "Born 2 B.R.E.E.D." could never have been released by anyone but Monie Love.

A while back, I did a two-part series exploring what it meant to be "Beatle-esque" and "Princian", via back-to-back Singles of the Fortnight from Prince disciples Wendy & Lisa and Cat. I didn't do a great job and they now read like I had some ideas but left them unfinished (not unlike much of what you'll find in this space). Hopefully, this post will address some of the unanswered questions. While Wendy Melvoin, Lisa Coleman and Cat Glover were all members of his inner-circle and, thus, caught in the shadow of the great man, Monie Love previously had next to nothing to do with him, beyond, perhaps, liking his music when she was growing up in south London. True Princian traits of creativity, self-belief and stubborness are best found in those not in thrall to him.

Early nineties' hip hop was in something of a no win situation: it was a genre that seemed to be taken far too seriously or not seriously enough. You make hard-hitting rap music about life on the streets and that "message" that no one ever explains and it's far too earnest to make for an enjoyable listen; turn it into a joke and it can't possibly be taken seriously. The involvement of Prince was enough for everyone to take "Born 2 B.R.E.E.D." for what it was, a catchy and fun rap about making sure kids get educated or something. You might expect a motherly Monie to have lost more of her youthful spirit from earlier efforts such as "Grandpa's Party", "Monie in the Middle" and "It's a Shame" but she's still able to have a laugh while delivering a "message".

Sadly, Monie Love's recording career was pretty much finished by the time "Born 2 B.R.E.E.D." had wrapped up its modest four week stay on the Top 40 (even if the peak of number eighteen for a fortnight was fair enough). Though her presence in the US was minimal, she had relocated to the States by this point which probably didn't help her fortunes back in Britain. (It doesn't appear she made a Top of the Pops appearance in 1993 and there doesn't seem to have been much UK promotion done at all; it's actually a wonder this single managed to do as well as it did) On the other hand, having more of a footing in America likely made sense since hip hop allies De La Soul, The Jungle Brothers and A Tribe Called Quest were all based there. In any case, she must love it over there since she now calls Atlanta home where she hosts a radio show. It's just too bad she didn't have more rap hits in her. I guess she should've give her pal Prince a call.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Jamiroquai: "We're Too Young to Die"

Jay Kay has a douchy name and he looked like a bit of a douche so his music must've been just the sort of thing for the douche bag in your life but that wasn't always the case. Those of us who only knew Stevie Wonder from "I Just Called to Say I Love You", "Ebony and Ivory", "Part-Time Lover" and his guest spot on The Cosby Show wouldn't necessarily have guessed that Kay was copying the great man's imperial period of the seventies actually thought he was pretty cool. Even if we were aware of the similarity, at least he wasn't aping Michael Jackson. Now that I'm older and I have Innervisions, Songs in the Key of Life and the rest I'm less impressed by Jamiroquai. I have a lot of time for middle class Brit-Funk but I'll take the warm, enthusiastic chops of Brand New Heavies instead. But like him not, that douche sure did a mean Stevie impersonation.