— Kimberley Leston
"The only thing I can remember distinctly are the train journeys I used to take from suburbia to the West End. I would always look out over the buildings and say to myself that I'd never know all the people who lived in them. Or more to the point, that they'd never know me."
— Boy George
In his wonderful memoir Rock Stars Stole My Life, Mark Ellen describes settling in as a writer for Smash Hits and cooking up colourful descriptives with Neil Tennant. Once hugely successful types who'd suddenly found themselves with a pair of flop singles would be 'Down the Dumper'; those still maintaining hits were riding the 'Giddy Carousel of Pop'. As a reader of the Hits, albeit one who was still a good half-decade away from coming into contact with it, this left me imagining groups in these states. Being down the dumper, I figured, left pop stars in a state of unwashed disrepute. Bandmates would gather together in a dank flat, chainsmoking and lamenting their run of bad luck and desperately trying to work out how to get it all back (and doubtlessly failing). Being on the Giddy Carousel of Pop meant money, popularity, adulation, respect and enjoying every last second of it; those fortunate few wandered about as if in the midst of a parade. This was a high they weren't about to come down from (until they inevitably did).
Like many before them (and, to be sure, plenty who would follow), Culture Club experienced both the heady Carousel and the dreaded Dumper, Having shot their way up the charts seemingly overnight, "Church of the Poison Mind" is an unapologetic ode to their success. Effortlessly pilfering Stevie Wonder's "Uptight", it has a confidence about it that could only come from a group that has an innate understanding of current pop and a knack for capturing varying styles of twenty years worth of pop. (As Dave Rimmer notes in his excellent study of UK New Pop in general and ver Club in particular, Like Punk Never Happened, "simply listening to their first three hit singles — as the light lover's reggae of "Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?" was followed by the neo-Philadelphia balladry of "Time (Clock of the Heart)" and then the big Motown beat of "Church of the Poison Mind" — [is] like flipping backwards through the pages of some glossy coffee-table book on the history of black music") Boy George never shied from charges of plagiarism and even boasted of it ("Culture Club is the most sincere form of plagiarism in modern music — we just do it better than most") long before Noel Gallagher speculated in a Q interview as to whether he should try nicking from "All the Young Dudes" for a third time.
The song itself is really nothing spectacular particularly when held up against their two previous hits. "Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?' and "Time" captured people on a wave of wistfulness and, while far from profound statements, were touching and signalled the arrival of a major act. Having gotten their work from the Kissing to Be Clever album out of the way remarkably quickly (it's hard to believe their record company didn't force them into delaying the release of any new material in favour of giving a second shot at chart action to flops "White Boy" and "I'm Afraid of Me"), they were setting themselves up for "an album with the singles coming off it," announced Boy George as if he was the first pop star to come up with such a plan, in order to "get a number one album in America". As the first sign of their imperial period, "Church of the Poison Mind" is exquisitely crafted and fantastically catchy but about little more than their mammoth ambition. It is about being at the top, even in the midst of early-eighties Thatcherite hell.
— Boy George
In his wonderful memoir Rock Stars Stole My Life, Mark Ellen describes settling in as a writer for Smash Hits and cooking up colourful descriptives with Neil Tennant. Once hugely successful types who'd suddenly found themselves with a pair of flop singles would be 'Down the Dumper'; those still maintaining hits were riding the 'Giddy Carousel of Pop'. As a reader of the Hits, albeit one who was still a good half-decade away from coming into contact with it, this left me imagining groups in these states. Being down the dumper, I figured, left pop stars in a state of unwashed disrepute. Bandmates would gather together in a dank flat, chainsmoking and lamenting their run of bad luck and desperately trying to work out how to get it all back (and doubtlessly failing). Being on the Giddy Carousel of Pop meant money, popularity, adulation, respect and enjoying every last second of it; those fortunate few wandered about as if in the midst of a parade. This was a high they weren't about to come down from (until they inevitably did).
Like many before them (and, to be sure, plenty who would follow), Culture Club experienced both the heady Carousel and the dreaded Dumper, Having shot their way up the charts seemingly overnight, "Church of the Poison Mind" is an unapologetic ode to their success. Effortlessly pilfering Stevie Wonder's "Uptight", it has a confidence about it that could only come from a group that has an innate understanding of current pop and a knack for capturing varying styles of twenty years worth of pop. (As Dave Rimmer notes in his excellent study of UK New Pop in general and ver Club in particular, Like Punk Never Happened, "simply listening to their first three hit singles — as the light lover's reggae of "Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?" was followed by the neo-Philadelphia balladry of "Time (Clock of the Heart)" and then the big Motown beat of "Church of the Poison Mind" — [is] like flipping backwards through the pages of some glossy coffee-table book on the history of black music") Boy George never shied from charges of plagiarism and even boasted of it ("Culture Club is the most sincere form of plagiarism in modern music — we just do it better than most") long before Noel Gallagher speculated in a Q interview as to whether he should try nicking from "All the Young Dudes" for a third time.
The song itself is really nothing spectacular particularly when held up against their two previous hits. "Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?' and "Time" captured people on a wave of wistfulness and, while far from profound statements, were touching and signalled the arrival of a major act. Having gotten their work from the Kissing to Be Clever album out of the way remarkably quickly (it's hard to believe their record company didn't force them into delaying the release of any new material in favour of giving a second shot at chart action to flops "White Boy" and "I'm Afraid of Me"), they were setting themselves up for "an album with the singles coming off it," announced Boy George as if he was the first pop star to come up with such a plan, in order to "get a number one album in America". As the first sign of their imperial period, "Church of the Poison Mind" is exquisitely crafted and fantastically catchy but about little more than their mammoth ambition. It is about being at the top, even in the midst of early-eighties Thatcherite hell.
But back to America for a sec. I don't know if Vera Lynne ever obsessed over breaking big in the States but for sure the idea of Brits triumphing in the US had long been established. While it would eventually become a curse to almost an entire generation of UK pop acts, British post punk and new wave groups in the early eighties still had a realistic shot at topping the Hot 100. Yet, Culture Club was far from a sure thing. Though Boy George seemed born to ride the Giddy Carousel, it's likely that there were many who doubted that his cross-dressing act would have gone down well Stateside. More obvious pop types have done everything they can to win over America and most failed. But Culture Club was not about to be one of them.
Even the video, which is naff in a way only Culture Club promos could be, has such a likable energy to it that the whole thing comes off as charming. Cruising in a convertible (with the steering wheel on the right-hand side since only pop stars on that Giddy Carousel could afford a car shipped over from America!), they're having difficultly hiding their glee: Boy George can't stop grinning as he lip-synchs words of "desolate loving in your eyes" while bassist Mikey Craig and guitarist Roy Hay just appear happy to be along for the ride (only business-like drummer Jon Moss maintains some degree of composure). All of a sudden, members of the paparazzi pop out from some hidden part of the car to snap pics of the band. Ver Club flee in a zany caper that leads the press into a room full of Boy George lookalikes. Running up to the roof of the building, the foursome are suddenly in the cockpit of a Pan-Am jet, headed for an undisclosed — though no doubt glamourous — location. Does any of it make sense? Not even a little. But this is Culture Club getting the most out of their new found fame and more than pleased to show it off.
And this was only the beginning. Boy George was to spend the next two years as one of the most recognisable faces in the world. They somehow reached the top but hadn't the faintest idea about maintaining it. A year on and the Giddy Carousel of Pop would become their albatross. How would they ever be able to handle the grubby old Dumper?
Even the video, which is naff in a way only Culture Club promos could be, has such a likable energy to it that the whole thing comes off as charming. Cruising in a convertible (with the steering wheel on the right-hand side since only pop stars on that Giddy Carousel could afford a car shipped over from America!), they're having difficultly hiding their glee: Boy George can't stop grinning as he lip-synchs words of "desolate loving in your eyes" while bassist Mikey Craig and guitarist Roy Hay just appear happy to be along for the ride (only business-like drummer Jon Moss maintains some degree of composure). All of a sudden, members of the paparazzi pop out from some hidden part of the car to snap pics of the band. Ver Club flee in a zany caper that leads the press into a room full of Boy George lookalikes. Running up to the roof of the building, the foursome are suddenly in the cockpit of a Pan-Am jet, headed for an undisclosed — though no doubt glamourous — location. Does any of it make sense? Not even a little. But this is Culture Club getting the most out of their new found fame and more than pleased to show it off.
And this was only the beginning. Boy George was to spend the next two years as one of the most recognisable faces in the world. They somehow reached the top but hadn't the faintest idea about maintaining it. A year on and the Giddy Carousel of Pop would become their albatross. How would they ever be able to handle the grubby old Dumper?
~~~~~
Also Reviewed This Fortnight
Marvin Gaye: "Joy"
High note, shy note. Muhammad Ali's last fight wasn't against Joe Frazier or George Foreman or Ken Norton while still in his prime, it was against Trevor Berbick while he was a shell of his former self. In that spirit, Marvellous Marvin's final single is a far cry from "I Heard It Through the Grapevine" and "Mercy, Mercy Me" and "Got to Give It Up". "There is a joy in a sweet word that's been spoken," he explains. Marv then lists off the many other places where we can find this joy, though, tellingly, he neglects to include the joy in this particular song, probably because there isn't any. Kimberley Leston tries to be as generous as possible by noting that his vocal is the best thing about it but it feels phoned in. Proof that no, he wouldn't have been worth listening to had he sung the phone book. Depressingly, he is said to have dedicated it to his dad during live shows in 1983. A sad and bizarre tale to the end.
(Click here to see my original review)
