The Shamen: "L.S.I."

8 July 1992

"Old folk but they know a cuffin' good groove when it tweaks their ear-lobes."

— Johnny Dee

It's interesting how bands can alter their identities. Freur (ie the band whose actual "name" was in fact a "squiggle resembling a poorly tapeworm") evolved in M|A|A|R|S. Colorbox eventually retooled as Underworld. If at first you can't make a go at being a "proper" band, why not try out this house stuff everyone was going on about at the end of the eighties?

The case of The Shamen is somewhat different though forged along much the same lines. Between 1985 and 1991, a great deal had changed for the Scottish group. A total of eleven individuals counted themselves as members of this organization, a turnover rate that was excessive even by the standards of struggling indie outfits. And why did so many people come and go? I'm sorry to say that little of it appears to be down to old rock faves sex and drugs but from boring old musical differences — and death in one instance. They had previously been known as Along Again Or, an on-the-nose nod to sixties' LA group Love which signaled where they were coming from, something they were slower to rid themselves of than disgruntled bandmates and guitars. The music changed but the approach hadn't.

Coming in between "Move Any Mountain" and "Ebeneezer Goode" (the two singles anyone remembers from The Shamen), it's inevitable that "L.S.I." would have slipped through the cracks. I actually assumed that it was only really remembered because of its full title which seemed prone to being misheard. And as opposed to "hold me closer Tony Danza" or 'scuse me while I kiss this guy", interpretations vary. On the excellent Back to NOW! podcast, host Iain and guest Catrin Lowe discussed possibles like "Love, Sex and Chatterpants" and "Love, Sex and Teletext". My sister had initially thought it was "Love, Sex and Janet Jacks" (which I was happy to see had also been misheard by at least one commenter on YouTube). But I haven't been able to find much else. I thought up "Love, Sex and Taller Gents", which appeals to me as a guy of considerable height but it's clearly a stretch. (That said, it was nice to hear that others thought that fellow chorus line "comin' on like a seventh sense" was in fact "comin' on like a set of stamps": you can never predict just what people will manage to get wrong)

In a bubble, "L.S.I." is a perfectly good dance-pop record. It's catchy, it's a lot of fun and if you enjoy clubbing or raves or any of that stuff, it'll get you on the dancefloor pronto. As a Shamen release, however, it's a bit of an anticlimax. The liner notes from Now That's What I Call Music 22 state that it's the "long awaited follow-up to "Move Any Mountain", a single that had been in the Top 5 way back in the summer of '91 when people still weren't utterly sick to death of Bryan bloody Adams. Having been a chart afterthought for over six years, you would think that The Shamen would've hastily put out something to cash in on finally having a hit on their hands. Instead, fans were just going to have to wait while they dealt with the aftermath of the tragic death of member Will Sin who had drowned in Tenerife while they were shooting the video to their breakthrough single.

"Move Any Mountain" had proved that they could translate their sixties' influenced psychedelic rock into a house-dance rave up and not miss a beat. (It hadn't been their first attempt but it was easily their most successful) This was the way that the acid house of A Guy Called Gerald and 808 State had been meant to sound. (Ironically, The Shamen ditched the guitars just as The Stone Roses and Happy Mondays were starting to "do" house music with old school instruments) "L.S.I." does have a smattering of subcontinental mysticism but little else to connect it to their roots. It's a perfectly fine dance number but didn't they have more in their trippy vault to share?

Apparently not. "Ebeneezer Goode" was certainly soaked in drugs but its contents have much more in common with the more intense and thrashy school of dance music of overlords The KLF and The Prodigy, with rapper Mr. C beginning to sound more like the late Keith Flint. If this was the sound of rave culture and the Ibiza bars in '92 then they were being taken over by a harder element, one that would become a fixture of Britpop, Cool Britannia and the lad mags. This was no longer about blissfully floating away among a tribal congregation of zonked out youths in a field in Kent but of getting the aggression out without the hassle of having to play an instrument or bash someone's head in. By the early nineties, a generation had changed every bit as much as The Shamen.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Aztec Camera: "Spanish Horses"

The summer of '92 was pretty crummy (at least it was on the Canadian prairies where I hail from) but the Barcelona Olympics were a ray of sunshine. After decades of Games ruined by politics, cheating, corruption, jingoism, terrorism, poor planning and doves being burned to a crisp, the Games of the XXV Olympiad were fun, exciting and made the Spanish city look like a whole lot more than just the place that Manuel came from. As if sensing this, Roddy Frame had the appropriately Iberian "Spanish Horses" released. Johnny Dee predicts a hit which it might have been had Frame handed it over to someone more fashionable. (Amazing how someone who was still only twenty-eight years old could have been considered passe but that's the world of pop for you; fun fact: Frame is four years younger than 100 meter gold medalist Linford Christie) Yet another musical artifact that commemorates the Spanish Civil War (as conflicts go, it's been well-represented), it isn't quite Miles Davis' Sketches of Spain or The Clash's "Spanish Bombs" but it is good enough that it should've been this issue's Single of the Fortnight Best New Single, even if it isn't quite premiership-level Aztec Camera.

F.A.B. featuring Aqua Marina: "Stingray Megamix"

28 November 1990 (with more highly unfunny remarks here)

"It's like that Thunderbrids record, isn't it?"

— Timmy Mallett

"I didn't know Eddie the Eagle had a TV show!"

This was my initial reaction to Timmy Mallett. Surely one bespectacled irritant with no discernible talent is enough for the British. But for all the many things I love about pop culture in the UK, they never quite mastered the art of finding tolerable people to host TV programs. At best, I was indifferent to Bruno Brookes and Simon Mayo hosting Top of the Pops and had nothing against Philip Schofield and Andy Crane because none of them made me cringe. The rest all seemed to do so — but none quite like Timmy Mallett. (Mercifully, I have no memory of the vile Jimmy Savile despite the fact that a run of Jim'll Fix It episodes were shown on Saturday evenings on BBC1 in the first part of 1989; I suppose we were too busy taking weekend trips during that period to bother tuning in to a predatory sex offender granting wishes to children) I was eleven-years-old back then and I still had a fondness for childish things but even I knew that this guy was intolerable. I made sure to avoid his show Wacaday from that point forward.

That first encounter with Mallett on the telly was probably in September of 1988, right about the same time that I first saw old re-runs of Thunderbirds. The expressionless puppets flying around in planes brought back fond memories for my dad who suggested we watch it for a bit. It was good fun but kitschy and I quickly guessed that if you've seen one episode you've seen them all. Thunderbirds are cool but I didn't need to see them again: I wouldn't turn them off if they came on the telly (it wasn't bloody Wacaday with Timmy bloody Mallett for god's sake) but I didn't seek it out either.

We would return to Canada after a year and I didn't give Timmy Mallett or Thunderbirds a second thought — until I discovered that they had both improbably become pop stars. Both jumped on the bandwagon of the era's sixties' revivalism. Mallett teamed up with Andrew Lloyd Weber under the name Bombalurina for a cover of the 1960 Brian Hyland smash "Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini" while a faceless unit under the name of F.A.B. put together a techno mix of theme song "Thunderbirds Are Go" with additional samples of dialog from the show. It's still difficult to figure which of the two climbing the charts was more unlikely though I will say that Aloysius Parker, Lady Penelope and Jeff Tracy all possessed oodles more charisma than Timmy Mallett — and their record wasn't nearly as terrible.

Nevertheless, that "Thunderbirds Are Go" isn't great. A lot of TV shows from the sixties had iconic themes but Thunderbirds wasn't one of them. What it did have was catchphrases, something that DJ's had already been exploiting in remixes and their own records. Bomb the Bass' breakthrough house hit "Beat Dis" is littered with Thunderbird references. Those blokes behind F.A.B. were astute enough to realise that they had the source, though it is possible that younger listeners might have assumed that they had been ripping off from house music rather than the other way around.

Probably because I never considered Thunderbirds to be anything more than all right, I never knew that the show spawned an empire of animated puppet programming, all of it from the brain of creator Gerry Anderson. Stingray might now be regarded as an underwater Thunderbirds but it actually predated its much more famous cousin by about a year. Watching it now on YouTube, I don't find there's a lot of difference between the two but you've got to think that British kids in the sixties found jets and space crafts far more enthralling than a submarine. But while one series left an imprint and the other disappeared, there's no question which of the two had the better theme tune.

It's no surprise then that "Stingray Megamix" is fun single, even for someone like myself who never watched the show. It could easily be the the theme to a sad reboot of the original and it would doubtless have been the highlight of it. The F.A.B. organization decked out previous singles "Thunderbirds Are Go" and "The Prisoner" (they even did theme songs with actual people in them!) with far too many DJ effects but they are kept to a minimum this time round. Rather than being a dated remnant of the nineties it was a good time period piece tribute to a sixties throwback. Timmy Mallett was certainly a prat but he didn't pick such a bad Single of the Fortnight.

Thunderbirds have been revived over the years, often to a distinct lack of success. By contrast, interest in Stingray has been minimal ever since its sixties' heyday. Thus, a single consisting of its theme song with added dialog would not have been in demand and its very modest chart performance reflected that. But at least "Stingray Megamix" wasn't harmed by modern trends: Captain Troy Tempest and Aqua Marina aren't given embarrassing updates like poor old Aloysius "MC" Parker in a hip hop track suit and baseball cap turned to the side. Thunderbirds became a victim of its success but Stingray remained unsullied in its obscurity.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Aztec Camera: "The Crying Scene"

Shameless right wingers like Timmy Mallett really like to tell everyone what pop music should be like. (Perhaps Roddy Frame had his own vision of it as well but who was asking him back then?) Apparently, it's "out of date to be political in your songs" and that "pop music should be entertaining, that's the prime thing". Leaving his nibs' own enjoyment of this single aside ("If I was still a DJ I'd be playing this"), the politics in "The Crying Scene" are clearly subtle enough that one could dig the tune without giving a toss about Frame's opinions on the state of the world. (I mean, we're not exactly talking about Rage Against the Machine here, are we?) Oddly, Mallett expresses admiration for Aztec Camera's previous hit "Good Morning Britain" which wasn't without a political bent of its own. Sadly, it failed to make the Top 40. As Frame sings in this very song, "you only get one hit": he deserved far more.

The Smiths: "Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want" / Aztec Camera: "Jump"

30 August 1984

"If "Jump" and the Smiths B-Side were A-Sides, they'd be joint Singles of the Fortnight."

— Robert Hodgens

So, let's make 'em A-Sides then, Bobby.

Flipping a single due to preferring the B-Side is nothing new in pop music. Way back in 1958, a young singer formally known as Harry Webb and his backing band — soon to be formerly known as The Drifters — recorded a song called "Schoolboy Crush" which had been intended to be their debut single. An influential TV producer of the time became much more interested in its B-Side and the two songs reversed roles. "Move It" went on to become the first hit for Cliff Richard and The Shadows. Paul McCartney's "Coming Up" had been a success in Britain in its intended, new wave-influenced form but deejays in North America liked the the more conventional version that Wings recorded in Glasgow a year earlier on the other side which went on to top the charts. When Kraftwerk proved too lazy to record a fresh B-Side to accompany their recent single "Computer Love" they stuck a three-year-old cut from their Man Machine album on the other side. "The Model" quickly got the bulk of the radio play and it sent the robot-wannabe's to the top of the charts. If only Bobby Bluebell had had a little more influence, we may well have seen The Smiths and Aztec Camera have sizable hits with their own cast-offs.

Well, probably not. "Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want" is indeed superior to its headline track but it doesn't exactly scream mega hit. For one, it's way too short, finishing up a good thirty seconds quicker than "William, It Was Really Nothing", a song that Bluebell figures will have people complaining of its brevity (though he argues that it's "just the right length" and he's correct). Because of its conciseness, there's not a whole lot to it, just a pair of to-the-point verses and a tidy, little chorus followed by a beautifully memorable instrumental fade-out. It's a brilliant track but one that would have required fleshing out with more lyrics and a longer running time; in short, it would have needed ruining in order to give it any sign of hope for chart potential. Not ideal. As it happens, "Please, Please, Please,..." works as a B-side to be proud of: the sort of hidden flip that fans may cherish and provide a sense that they are privy to something exclusive. In addition, it's a superb way to close out an album — as it did on Smiths collections Hatful of Hollow and Best...I, as well as the soundtrack to the 1986 Molly Ringwald vehicle Pretty in Pink.

The fact that head Smiths Morrissey and Johnny Marr were sticking such remarkable songs on B-sides (the 12" release of "William..." also features the staggering "How Soon Is Now") is indicative of a subtle sea change that occurred during the course of their first year as recording artists. Their early batch of singles culled mostly from their great debut album The Smiths are remarkable. "Hand in Glove", though marred by some misguided echo effects and a pointless fade-in on its original release, is an eye-popping record, a sign that this was going to be a very special band. Now regarded as a classic, "This Charming Man" is full of sleazy jangle pop and some of Morrissey's wittiest lyrics ("I would go out tonight but I haven't got a stitch to wear" being but the most priceless). Third single "What Difference Does It Make?" is now held in low esteem by at least one of its songwriters — did Moz realise that "your prejudice won't keep you warm tonight" might apply a little too closely to himself at some point? — but it's a menacing number, catchy and evidence of what a tight foursome they were. Finally, there's "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now", a stand alone single and signpost for all of Morrissey's self-absorption and self-pity. One could chuckle at a one line, fall in love with him with another and feel like he's speaking for a world of losers and outcasts and nitwits with the whole thing.

But "William..." kicks off a period in which the singer began looking outward and this would set a dangerous precedent. Whether or not it's about his short-lived friendship with Associates singer Billy McKenzie, the song patently isn't about Morrissey (at least not the bulk of it). In the end it doesn't matter too much since The Smiths were still at their creative peak and it's a cute tune with some always excellent guitar playing from Marr but it got the vocalist to start making observations about the world at large and likely played a role in the shell of a man we have today. Had Morrissey just continued to be the self-obsessed curmudgeon we all loved, he would have done us all a favour.

Though not quite in the same realm as Morrissey and Marr, Roddy Frame is plenty gifted himself. Something of a prodigy, he cut his (possibly baby) teeth in Glasgow's famed Postcard Records scene that also produced Edwyn Collins' Orange Juice. Having already made the ultra hip swoon with Aztec Camera's debut album High Land, Hard Rain (query: is it a rule that Scots groups must give such maddeningly Celtic titles to their works?), Frame's pop sensibilities meant they were never going to be simply indie darlings. Chugging along not unlike Haircut One Hundred at their finest — having recently fallen off considerably since Nick Heyward departed in a strop — "All I Need Is Everything" is a delight, buoyant and with hooks not unlike a Motown hit from yesteryear. Bluebell is impressed at a distance, loving Frame's vocal and enjoying the record enough but feeling rather disappointed that it's just more of the same. Listening to it thirty-five years later it's nice to have a little more of the same. Reliable, a jolly good singalong, impossible to dislike. What more could one want from one of UK pop's finest craftsmen?

Such is my esteem for "All I Need Is Everything" that I'm not quite so bothered about "Jump", Bluebell's other proto-SOTF. I suppose it's most impressive as a project: here we have Frame taking Van Halen's monster pop-metal hit from earlier in the year, slowing it down to make it sound like The Velvet Underground's "Sweet Jane" — as the muso Bluebell points out — and imbuing in it some melancholy and grace. The idea of it is stunning but the result is just a pleasant aside. Frame's reflective side had already been ably demonstrated on fine songs such as "Walk Out to Winter" and "We Could Send Letters" but I'm not sure just what doing so here is meant to accomplish. There's little to chew on once the novelty of such a unique cover wears off and they didn't quite pull off making it their own. That said, it's fine on it's own terms even if there's that gnawing feeling that they invented the ironic cover version and, as such, must be punished.

With the revival of the single in the early eighties, it was probably inevitable that there would be an upsurge in the quality of B-sides at the same time. The Jam spent their entire five year recording career crafting brilliant flips to accompany their sturdy run of singles. In the latter part of the decade, the Pet Shop Boys would begin to churn out a remarkable run of pristine B's that resulted in Alternative, a collection of also-rans that manages to be higher quality that most of their very fine albums. It's only right, then, that two of British indie's brightest lights would make their mark on the joys of turning a single over to see what else there is on offer. Plenty, as it would turn out.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Lloyd Cole & The Commotions: "Andy's Babies"

Blimey, Bobby Bluebell has done his due diligence! In addition to flipping over and writing about the B-sides above, he has also given his thoughts on the other side of Commotions' signature "Forest Fire". He must have done so with every single he reviewed, right? Well, no. At any rate, "Andy's Babies" doesn't measure up to either "Please, Please, Please,..." or "Jump" — and, indeed, Lloyd Cole never measured up to the likes of Morrissey and Marr and Frame either — but it is a nice compliment to its A-side. The dramatics of "Forest Fire" are nicely counterbalanced by the grumpy "Andy's Babies". Bluebell seems sure it's a tirade against Cole's bohemian lifestyle — and he should know give his association to the Commotions — but it's hard to decipher for this punter: I just thought it was about some bloke called Andy who had babies who Cole doesn't think much of. As you do.

C.O.D.: "In the Bottle"

12 May 1983

"Mr. Hip Hop himself, Man Parrish, had a hand in producing it and, needless to say, Dave Rimmer's had it on import for weeks."

— Neil Tennant

As has been discussed on here before, Neil Tennant was busy getting his musical aspirations in order while also toiling away the Hits. (I was going to say he was doing so in his space time but I wouldn't be terribly surprised if the two tasks crossed over quite a bit) Pop dominance wasn't the forefront of his mind as this early stage, however; what he and partner Chris Lowe envisioned was to cut a single in the States that would only be available on import in the shops in Britain. With the balance of power in the hands of the big record labels at the expense of the indies and the spread of HMV, Tower Records and the Virgin Megastores in the nineties, imported music became easier to get but it still retained a certain cachet, if only to get a shrink-wrapped compact disc with an IMPORT sticker emblazoned on it. Nevertheless, it's not quite the same  as poking around in a dusty old shop and coming across a record that somehow worked its way over the Atlantic or ordering the latest 12" dance sensation from an obscure enthusiast label (or so I hear, having never done so myself).

Sigh, another Tennant review, another piece all about the Pet Shop Boys. Readers of this blog will doubtless be wondering if I have nothing else of note to say about eighties' dance music and they're not wrong. If anything, this project has only upped my appreciation of ver Pet Shops as a pair who managed to cram the best bits of disco, hip-hop and synth-pop into their sound while deftly avoiding the pitfalls of their some of their forefathers. In short, what got them out of the specialty import shops and into every Our Price, Boots, WH Smith's and Woolworth's. In terms of song structure, no one influenced them more than Bobby O; as far as sampled sound effects go, we may look no further than C.O.D. Indeed, the first fifty-or-so seconds of "In the Bottle" practically sound like an awkward instrumental megamix of songs from the first PSB album Please as well as some of its accompanying B-sides.

Where they don't work so well is on "In the Bottle" itself. A cover of the Gil Scott-Heron number from his Winter in America album about rampant alcoholism in the black community, it trades in the lush R & B groove and soaring flute of the original in favour of some hard-edge breakbeats (as was the style of the time). Scott-Heron's relaxed, effortless vocal, too, is dropped with preference on an angry rap. Choices made: nuance loses out but I can definitely see opting for a bitter take on this song. 

It's in the production of lead C.O.D.'er Paul A. Rodriguez and boffin Man Parrish where it comes apart. Aside from having a song about the ill-effects of boozing being lost on your average clubber and/or breakdancer, there's a pointlessness of putting together a song with such an important message only for much of it to be drowned out by this all-you-can-eat buffet of effects. It's as if Rodriguez and Parrish knew all about crafting music to be danced to but hadn't the faintest idea about making pop records. Cue Tennant and Lowe.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Aztec Camera: "Walk Out to Winter"

Aztec Camera shared a lot in common with fellow eccentrically-named groups Prefab Sprout and Scritti Politti. All three transitioned from D.I.Y. indie darlings into purveyors of smooth sophisti-pop and were led by talent figures who gradually took charge to the extent that their "bands" became glorified solo projects. "Walk Out to Winter" was never as appropriately bleak as the snowy wastes of the title imply and it seems on this single version Roddy Frame decided to go full-on breezy mode. Some fantastic janggly acoustic guitar playing closes out a song that impressed Tennant by being their first attempt at pop. Too bad C.O.D. weren't up to it too.