George Michael: "I Want Your Sex"

20 May 1987

"Good grief. What on earth has happened to George Michael?"

— Barry McIlheney

This issue of Smash Hits happened to come out on my tenth birthday. Hitting the double digits seemed to get me feeling more mature. I remember making a conscious decision at the time to stop calling my parents 'mummy' and 'daddy' and I began to feel the onset of puberty when my folks presented me with my first stick of deodorant (which, for some reason, was more their idea than mine). Boys my age began taking their lunch to school in brown paper bags and I followed suit, lunchboxes being very much a throwback to childhood. Always tall for my age, I was occasionally asked if I was older than my classmates, thereby making my one really striking feature something of a negative (did everyone think I was this giant dolt who'd been held back a couple grades?). 

But I was still very much a child in other respects. I never missed Saturday afternoon wrestling on TV (or I'd tape it if I had basketball or swimming lessons), I still read comic books, still played with toys and still met the boys in my neighbourhood for street hockey. And sex was something I didn't want to think about. Pop songs weren't supposed to make me feel uncomfortable. Some of the boys at my school were really into a tune called "Boom Boom (Let's Go Back to My Room)" which they played on a (surprise, surprise) boom box and sang along with at full volume. I hated it — even more than I hated "I Want Your Sex".

(Nowadays I'm far less of a prude but I have another objection to the song: its wonky syntax. Sure, I Want Your Body, that's something people say. I Want to Have Sex, of course. But I Want Your Sex? Having a determiner in front of such an intangible concept is highly irksome. But I imagine I'm alone on this one, just as I find Eurythmics interchangable use of this and these in "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)" irritating but which fails to bother anyone else that I've ever met)

When "I Want Your Sex" dropped in the spring of 1987, much of the hubbub surrounded its supposedly racy video. In truth, it was never that bad and the suggestive movements of bodies under silk sheets paled in comparison to the female frontal nudity in U2's promo for "With or Without You", which wasn't banned or placed only in late-night time slots. But I hadn't been aware that the song itself had been controversial, with an embargo on daytime play on the BBC's Radio 1. Again, this had been a lot of to do over very little. The explicit title masked what was a very responsible message of monogamy. With AIDS spreading and panic over the virus spinning madly out of control, you'd think a pop song all about enjoying rumpo with one person would have been welcome. Not that any of this bothered me in the slightest: sex was gross and singing about it was even more disgusting.

I've written on here previously about some of the ills of the 12" single. Basically, far too many of them were either pointlessly extended, had extras tacked on poorly or were given a lousy dance remix — or, indeed, some were subjected to all of the above. But my big problem with them as a boy was I had no time for anything over four minutes. Double that amount and I would have been seriously tempted to hit fast forward on my Walkman. Add on more and said artist would have been dead to me.

Nevertheless, "I Want Your Sex" makes a good case for length over brevity. Divided into three "rhythms", the so-called 'Monogamous Mix' clocks in at a protracted thirteen minutes but with each part serving a purpose. The first part ("Rhythm One: Lust") is the song that radio and TV mostly chose not to play — and is the section that Barry McIlheney is looking at here. The debt to Prince is obvious, especially in the verses that start with "I swear I won't tease you". It really shows you how overwhelming the Purple Perv's influence was over British music of the time when even a figure like George Michael wasn't immune. (He would tell Chris Heath that he no longer had any significant domestic competition and that the next move would be to take over America: he would be the last British pop star to talk over conquering the US without have the stench of hubris all over him)

As though the public hadn't missed much what with it being banned and all, the second part ("Rhythm Two: Brass in Love") is probably much more familiar, appearing on the soon-to-be-released debut solo album Faith (tipped in a June issue of ver Hits as possibly to be called Kissing a Fool) as well as the compilation Ladies & Gentlemen: The Best of George Michael. Why this middle section is so well-known is beyond me, being just a glorified breakdown. Sure, the funk grooves are well done and a clear indicator of Michael's facility with a tune but where's the song? Oh yeah, it was all left behind in the first part.

Well, mostly. The third and final section ("Rhythm Three: A Final Request") is much slower and more in line with seduction. You can practically smell the sandlewood oil burning as he plies his conquest with gin and tonics. Perhaps surprisingly, this part doesn't owe much to Prince and seems to be a genuine plea from Michael himself. I respect what he was trying to do here (and I appreciate his motivations behind the song in general) but I'm not crazy about the results. Having topped the British charts a year earlier with the reflective "A Different Corner" (vastly superior to "Careless Whisper" if you ask this particular blogger), it was clear that there could be a great deal of depth to his work. He could do better and he eventually would. He just had some growing up to do and he wasn't the only one.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Suzanne Vega: "Luka"

Yet another one that should have been SOTF, "Luka" is Suzanne Vega's biggest hit and signature song. While the narrative of child abuse is poignant, the undercurrent of the adult stranger helplessly trying to be there for a youngster who is depressingly bogged down in the reality of the situation ("Yes, I think I'm okay / I walked into the door again / If you ask that's what I'll say / It's not your business anyway") makes it even more touching. Vega's girlish, pixie-like vocals match the lovely melody and it makes me wonder just who is the naive innocent in this story. The "You just don't argue anymore" line is used a lot and it seems to hint more at spousal abuse than beating a child which makes me wonder if the song's roots were significantly different than what eventually came about. Even the eighties' production can't ruin such a fantastic single.

Prince: "Sign o' the Times"

11 March 1987

"If anybody else tried to turn such a cautionary tale into a brilliant single, they would undoubtedly end up sounding like Billy Bragg."

— Barry McIlheney

Marvin Gaye's What's Going On is a classic of seventies pop and soul. Keen to free himself from the Motown straitjacket of solo numbers and duets penned in house, the singer began seeking out his own collaborators to set his vision to music. When recordings done at the famed Hitsville USA studio in Detroit proved unsatisfactory, he transplanted to Los Angeles where he started from scratch. The resulting LP was (and still is) a revelation. Few would have ever thought that the black Sinatra that Motown head Berry Gordy had envisioned would have had something so beautifully crafted and well thought out (the only aspect that wouldn't have surprised anyone was how well the man could sing).

What's Going On ushered in Gaye's period as an albums artist. Follow ups Trouble Man, Let's Get It On, I Want You and Here, My Dear are all very different from each other but they all share the quality of having a consistent mood throughout. When rock hacks noodle on about concept albums they rarely mention Gaye but there may not have been anyone better at crafting them. The title track of What's Going On opens the album and it then segues into the very similar "What's Happening Brother"; the former is meant to create a dialog with someone who is hostile towards opposition to the war in Vietnam and the rule of Richard Nixon while the latter is about catching someone else (likely a veteran just back from 'Nam) up on current events. Themes shift from religion to ecology and on to inner city strife but all nine of its tunes maintain a kind of chilled intensity to them. By the time he got to the alimony-paying Here, My Dear (his true masterpiece), Gaye had been able to create essentially the same song again and again over the course of a sprawling hour and a quarter double album and the result was astonishing.

Prince didn't have Marvellous Marvin's singing voice but he was his artistic superior in every other way and his rise to pop dominance coincided with the demise of the Prince of Soul. He didn't pick up where Gay or anyone else left off because he had simply too much ground to cover. Always independent, the Purple One kept his distance from record company executives and showbiz glitz by keeping to himself in his native Minnesota. If he had any restraints, they were of his own creation.

Gaye and Prince aren't terribly similar but one thing they both shared was a propensity for leaving projects unfinished or unreleased. Gaye had an innate laziness to blame but Prince's reasons for abandoning various works over the years are much more complex. He would sometimes complete an entire album and have it ready for release before deciding at the eleventh hour to have it shelved, such as his famed Black Album which he suddenly decided was "evil". He was also a perfectionist and had a thing for butting heads with his longtime record label Warners.

Prince's supposed attempt at his own What's Going On goes back to previous albums that were subsequently ditched. Dream Factory had been a longstanding project that was meant to be a much more collaborative affair with members of The Revolution than what the normally dictatorial leader was accustomed to. Giving the likes of Lisa Coleman and Wendy Melvoin some creative control may have seemed like a good idea (the two were capable enough that we'll be encountering the duo in their own right on this blog before long) but it didn't suit Prince's style, which would have been not unlike Duke Ellington allowing members of his vast orchestra a say in their solos and recordings. Unsatisfied with the results, Dream Factory eventually fell apart and so, too, did his loyal band.

We then come to Camille, yet another aborted project. Using a female alter ego of the same name, Prince presumably sought to channel his feminine side into an album. I suppose it's an interesting concept and something we shouldn't be the least bit surprised he ever embarked upon but I can't say I'm yearning to give it a listen someday. Prince's voice was hardly butch to begin with yet the very idea of him having his vocals altered to a higher register makes me shudder. The album was in the can but it was nixed and it's likely that Warners got in the way. Undeterred, he went straight back into the studio for an ambitious triple album called Crystal Ball. Again, it was mostly finished but the suits didn't fancy putting out such a giant package. (It's surprising that Prince didn't have more pull with his record label back in those days but they must have correctly realised that his muse wasn't as commercial as Michael Jackson's or Madonna's)

Dream Factory, Camille and Crystal Ball failed to emerge but that meant that there was a glut of unreleased material, a sizable amount even for someone as prolific as Prince. Having rejected a pair of albums in the past few months, it behooved Warners to green light the double album Sign o' the Times. Far from being just a work of social consciousness, the LP covers a lot of thematic ground. His usual perviness is dialled back but there are still a great deal of more mature love songs. The fact that the sources of this material were so wide ranging is a credit to his ability to make the album hang together as well as it does. Indeed, the mood is so consistent that it could well be his Here, My Dear rather than his What's Going On.

As for the single itself, "Sign o' the Times" is really good though it can be difficult to pin down exactly why. It isn't flamboyant like so many of his previous hits and the arrangement is quite sparse. This isn't so remarkable in the context of his overall career but as a mid to late eighties pop superstar it isn't what listeners would have expected. Parade's dense, European soundscapes did set something of a precedent for this move but his more recent work only cemented it. The beat is simple and there are only flourishes of jangly guitar. Yet, restraint suits Prince: those over the top theatrics, those unnecessarily long solos, that voice that hits those high notes far more often than I ever would request: not present here and not missed.

So, the album isn't his What's Going On but how do the title tracks compare? On the surface they may seem similar but there are differences. There's a sense that Marvin Gaye really was concerned with the state of the world (even if his interest was fleeting as he moved on to themes of seduction and humiliating his ex-wife on future albums) while Prince is merely observing it. He reels off a laundry list of troubles in the world in the concerned manner of someone watching the evening news (something he even acknowledges with "you turn on the telly and every other story is tellin' you somebody died"). These then build up into a frenzied fear of a nuclear war and the end of life as we know it. He once encouraged everyone to dance as if The Bomb was on its way yet here he is planning to start a family ("we'll call him Nate...if it's a boy": his choice of baby names being a sadly telegraphed excuse to rhyme something with 'late': Prince wasn't always the greatest lyricist). A maturing Prince was no bad thing.

The Sign o' the Times album became a landmark and was his best work since 1999. Purple Rain was like more of the same but without the thrill and spark of its predecessor, Around the World in a Day was good fun but too much of a stylistic exercise to take completely seriously and Parade was uncharacteristically dry. Most artists thrive within the confines of the thirty-five to fifty minute album length but here was a guy who seemed to be at his best with the double album. So much music to make with so much to get out and so much left in the vaults, Prince needn't worry about concepts since he was a theme unto himself.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Johnny Hates Jazz: "Shattered Dreams"

So, I was eleven and I was at an age in which I was torn between the things of my childhood and growing up. Puberty was coming, I began thinking about having a girlfriend someday (not as soon as I was expecting but still) and dreaming about being a singer or an actor. For some reason, "Shattered Dreams" became this song of aspirational adulthood. Now that I am all grown up I know just how hollow this is. Clark Datchler is one of those classic puts-so-much-of-himself-into-something-so-meaningless vocalists that I can't help but chuckle at how pained he has convinced himself to sound. It would be a guilty pleasure save for the lack of pleasure to be found. They always said Johnny Hates Jazz were naff but I was convinced that they had to be good. They were right. Let the kids with big dreams for the future have 'em.

Debbie Harry: "French Kissin' in the USA"

5 November 1986

"Why, I was just saying the other day, "What the world needs now is the return of Debbie Harry", and lo and behold here she is, sounding just as brill as she did 250 years ago with Blondie."

— Barry McIlheney

More changes were "afoot" in the Carnaby St. offices of Smash Hits in the autumn of 1986. Longtime design editor and editor-in-"chief" of the past eighteen months Steve Bush was off to the greener pastures of other magazines. He was the last holdover from the seventies, witnessing the early days of Dexys Midnight Runners, Dexys at their commercial and creative zenith and Dexys' long, painful slide into the dumper — though, alas, he didn't stay long enough for Kevin Rowland's return in drag. He received cross words from Hits faithful who were none-too-pleased that he mixed up the two sides of Madness' first single but he overcame that particular hiccup to help oversee it into the phenomenon it would become. Did you enjoy many of those covers back in the day? The layout? The fonts? The fact that every little single-page photo would "helpfully" point out that what you have is a poster? Be sure to thank Steve Bush for making your teenage years just that little bit less of a nightmare.

With his departure, it became incumbent on the bigwigs to find someone else to thanklessly put together eighty-eight pages of pop delight every fortnight to enthrall ver kids. Choosing not to go in "house", they found their man in Barry McIlheney (aka Barry McWhateverhe'scalled as he's dubbed in the affectionate tribute to Bush in this issue's Bitz). Recently employed at trusty muso journal the Melody Maker, McIlheney decided to immature with age by jumping over to Smash Hits. He has admitted in interviews that everyone at parent company Emap was young, a sharp contrast to the aging staff found at the Maker and this prompted him to cross enemy lines. With a new job on his "plate", you would think the last thing McIlheney would have wanted was more of a burden on his hands. Yet, here he is in his maiden issue reviewing the singles. Wisely, this was not something he did often during his tenure of just over two years.

Given all of his new responsibilities, I'll give him a pass with his choice of a decent-but-nowhere-near-as-good-as-she-used-to-be effort from Blondie's Debbie Harry when he could have opted for vastly superior singles from Billy Bragg (see below) and New Order. With the likes of Cyndi Lauper and Madonna in the pop charts, it's odd that he would express the desire to have a blonde vamp from an earlier time back but I sort of see what he means. First, Blondie were a brilliant group, their run of hits from "Denis" through to "Island of Lost Souls" being pretty much flawless. Then, there's Harry herself: more attractive than those who had followed her, she cut a striking figure on stage and in print and she gave the average heterosexual male that dream image of a dreamy woman fronting a fantastic band (see also: Stevie Nicks).

This desire on McIlheney's part to have her back may have contributed to him overestimating comeback single "French Kissin' in the USA". Just as brill, Barry? Really? Compared to her appropriately icy reading of "Heart of Glass"? The sensual existentialism of "Atomic"? The coy flirtations of "Dreaming"? (To be fair, she restrained her instinct to rap so there is that) She didn't write the song (it was written by Chuck Lorre, who would later create a number of successful but not terribly funny American sitcoms) so she probably didn't have as much invested in it but "Denis" had been Blondie's UK breakthrough back in 1978 and it was a cover version.

Mention of their first British hit brings to mind the last time she tried singing in cod French. On "Denis", she does so because her beaux is a Parisian rogue who has her wrapped around his little finger and she's trying to impress him ("Denis Denis, je suis si folle de toi / Denis Denis, oh embrasse-moi ce soir /Denis Denis, un grand baiser d'eternite), not unlike the way Paul McCartney tries to tap into the tender heart of a French girl on "Michelle"; here, it seems to be in aid of giving her performance a sexy vibe that is otherwise lacking. Repeating the line of "embrassez si Francais" doesn't really do much for me though I suppose at least it's funny that it sounds like she's saying "are you sexay, Francais?".

The French kiss is about as French as the 1918 Spanish Flu was Spanish. So named because the French are so much more open and far less uptight than the Americans or British, it would only make the act of necking naughtier and more illicit, reserved for the back row of a cinema or one of those lookout points where people park their cars late at night. Harry sings of the act as something sophisticated but the accompanying video makes it clear that the damn Yanks are gonna ruin it all with their tacky, nouveau riche Walmart culture. A young woman in a bikini makes out with a blow up Godzilla flotation device and this is a good ten years prior to freak show reality TV and talk shows. Of course, this would have gone right over the heads of British audiences who happily welcomed Harry back to the Top 10. The mid to late eighties was peak UK adulation for all things American, what with the popularity of Dallas and McDonald's and Michael Jackson and this video fed into that misguided romanticism — though, with the charts filled with offerings from the cast of Eastenders and plenty of novelty song pap, who could blame them? McIlheney advises that we should "listen with eyes firmly closed and tongue in cheek for best effect" but I'm convinced few bothered listening to him. Good thing Barry McIlheney would have the chance to help turn British pop around just as the magazine he was now in charge of was reaching its apogee — and at a time when the Aussies would begin taking over from the Yanks.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Billy Bragg: "Greetings to the New Brunette"

Billy Bragg typically kept his love songs and his political message numbers separate but he brought them together beautifully for "Greetings to the New Brunette". With some of his funniest and most touching lyrics, there's lots to unpack here which space and laziness precludes me from going into too much. It's unclear just what becomes of Billy and Shirley but I'm convinced it's painful and this is his way of saying goodbye with as much dignity as possible. The "new brunette" he sings of may be her replacement for him (a rare case of reverse sexism has to be the fact that men with brown hair are classified as 'brunettes') or his for her which gives the song a heartbreaking climax: someone else will come along but they'll never replace what we had. In any case, "Greetings..." should have been the moment in which the UK gave itself over to Billy Bragg; too bad they were so infatuated by everything American.