Echo & The Bunnymen: "Never Stop"

7 July 1983

"With a bit of cello, heartfelt vocals, some disco percussion, a name-check for Russian writer Maxim Gorky and what sounds like someone tapping out a tune on the ribs of a skeleton, this is probably the finest Bunnymen single ever."

— Dave Rimmer

It has now been just short of a year since I first launched VER HITS and we've already come across a few acts more than once (and that's not even including the so-called "cop" picks I've been making). In these cases, it's been interesting seeing how each managed to progress — assuming, of course, that's what they were striving for. ABC's second effort ramps up the loucheness of their first, while Kim Wilde's second kick at the SOTF crown is a tinkering of her patented gloomy song stories that had made her a darling of the Smash Hits staff. The Jam were progressing towards their demise, "Beat Surrender" being as far as they could possibly go. (Only Bobby O's pair of star singles hints at a static level of creativity; for all I know, he could well have cut his two entries at the same session)

Clearly, I am still several years away from growing disillusioned by having to write about five Cure singles (even if they were all pretty good) or four by Billy Idol (and only one of them was dreadful) or another four from Manic Street Preachers ("Motorcycle Emptiness" aside, I don't give a shit about any of the others). Oh the days when doing this blog was a pleasure and not a burden. It seems like such a long time ago.

We last encountered Echo & The Bunnymen here back in September with David Hepworth anointing a SOTF upon "The Back of Love" which also happened to be their first hit single. I describe it as a "breakthrough" for the Bunnies and Heps seems particularly pleased to discover that they at last seemed "fed up with loitering in the backwaters of hipness". Jump ahead eight months later (fifteen if you insist on going by what the calendars recorded) and there's Dave Rimmer pleasantly surprised that they've finally come out with something you might want to dance to rather than ponder over. Ian McCulloch and his Bunny chums seemed to have a lot of trouble shaking their reputation for making music that isn't necessarily to be enjoyed but should make their fans feel vastly superior to those poor, uninitiated sods.

This was never the case with a group like The Jesus & Mary Chain, perhaps because the Reids never considered themselves to be above it all. By contrast, the Bunnymen always seem to exist in a world in which they might enjoy the music they make and they may respect their ever loyal fanbase but they really don't seem to have much regard for anyone else. Pop stars are throwaway, stadium rock acts are self-important and indie artists are so pathetically tragic. And all of this may be true but it applies all the more to this Scouse act who managed to be throwaway, self-important and pathetically tragic all at once. But good on them for recording a handful of brilliant pop songs. I'd even dance to something like "Never Stop" if I didn't think that dancing was so stupid.

Rimmer is so pleased by this apparent shift that he might be guilty of overdoing the praise a touch. While it's hard to disagree that it's "probably the best Bunnymen single ever", I don't know that I'd go so far as to describe the opening as "joyous" or that I'd sum it all up by saying that it's "sheer bliss". Nevertheless, there's plenty here to admire. Musically damn-near flawless (now who's overselling), the cello, disco percussion and "what sounds like someone tapping out a tune on the ribs of a skeleton" manage to overshadow some fantastic Will Sergeant guitar playing (the instrumental break in which he does some fast-paced chugging followed by some fun with a whammy bar is remarkable). Rims is also taken by McCulloch's "heartfelt vocals" but they sound like Mac doing what he always did (and probably still does): a more powerful Terry Hall, a less melodramatic Bono, a Robert Smith you can relate to (yet, strangely, not close to as compelling as any of them). Distinctive enough — when a random song comes on I certainly know when it's not him — if not exactly individual, his histrionic wail couldn't have suited the Bunnymen sound better. If he's heartfelt on "Never Stop" then he's equally affecting elsewhere. (Still, I suppose it provides the only Top of the Pops clip of McCulloch untucking his shirt mid-performance — or is it? — so perhaps that gives his nibs points on the soulful scale)

As stated above, I'd only been at this Singles of the Fortnight blog for about a year when I got to "Never Stop". How it never occurred to me, then, that it is a pretty obvious steal from Haircut One Hundred's "Love Plus One" (a fellow SOTF from a few months' earlier) is anyone's guess. Rimmer doesn't seem to notice it either. Did Ian McCulloch think that Nick Heyward's songs are "woolly"? It feels like something he'd say. Not that I don't blame him for pundering such a fine pop song (one that I had already claimed owed more than a little to Paul McCartney's "Listen to What the Man Said"). You do you, Ian.

I get the feeling that hacks at ver Hits really had high hopes for Echo & The Bunnymen and that goes some way to explaining why they held their weaknesses — the ultra-hipness, the penchant for philosophy — against them so much and celebrated when they were able to overcome them. From the perspective of three and a half decades on, it's difficult to fully comprehend why they were so esteemed. A fine frontman, an inventive guitarist, a tight rhythm section, sure, but there's something missing that kept them from being special. McCulloch may reckon that they could have easily been U2 but I'd say it's much more likely that U2 could have been Echo & The Bunnymen.

Oh, my one substantive point on the Bunnymen. U2 could have been them. I'm proud of this observation even if I've never heard anyone agree with it or (imagine that) quote it back to me. In all honesty, I just wanted to write an essay in which I could use it. What else is there to say?

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Prefab Sprout: "Lions in My Own Garden (Exit Someone)"

"Doubt they'll get far with a name like that," pipes Rimmer, who was getting this 'Prefab Sprout is a crap name' obsession underway as early as possible. (For the love of god, Mark Ellen yammers on about it to this day) This idea that their name held them back from becoming a bigger deal is nice and all but it ignores Paddy McAloon's rather impenetrable compositions. Scritti Politti were only a little more successful and they had Green's Michael Jackson-like falsetto to aid their cause and mask his love for Derrida. McAloon composed "Lions in My Own Garden (Exit Someone)" as little more than an exercise to try to spell out LIMOGES, a town in France. His melodic gifts were already on display, though they would only get better, but so too was his attraction to obscurity, no matter the name of the band he has been fronting.

(Click here to see my original review)

The Valentine Brothers: "Money's Too Tight (to Mention)"

14 April 1983

"It may not be very new, and the Valentine Brothers (a Los Angeles combo) not very familiar, but this knocks the spots off most everything else on this page."

— Dave Rimmer

Eighties' Thatcherite hell was a topic that came up over and over in UK pop. The themes dealt with on albums such as Pink Floyd's The Final Cut, The Style Council's Our Favourite Shop, Deacon Blue's Raintown, Pet Shop Boys' Actually and Julian Cope's Peggy Suicide can all be boiled down to chronicles of a dreary Britain in the midst of the Falklands War, riotting, shabby new towns, union busting, the AIDS crisis, football hooliganism's apogee and the dominance of media empires of Rupert Murdoch and Robert Maxwell. If they hesitated to do so on full length L.P.'s, pop stars took dead aim at Mrs. Thatcher in many individual songs as well: Elvis Costello mocked her in "You'll Never Be a Man" and then went one better eight years later when he fantasied over her death in "Tramp the Dirt Down", a sentiment echoed by Morrissey — who one might expect would've had some political sympathies with the Iron Lady — in "Margaret on the Guillotine". The Specials' "Ghost Town", Hue & Cry's "Labour of Love", Billy Bragg's "Between the Wars", Depeche Mode's "Everything Counts", The Housemartins' "Flag Day", Wham!'s "Wham Rap!"...I'd go on but I think I've made my point — plus I can't think of any more.

So, that's Britain but what of the USA at this time? I had trouble thinking of a song about Ronald Reagan and/or Reaganite America until I remembered The Ramones' "Bonzo Goes to Bitburg", which the good Tom Hibbert named a Single of the Fortnight in 1985. Beyond that, however, there's not much. Some older liberal rock stars came up with tunes condemning the old coot's vulgarity and there are lots records about his involvement in the arms race but many of those are by the likes of U2, INXS, Frankie Goes to Hollywood, Genesis and Midnight Oil, groups who didn't share a great deal in common beyond simply not being American. As for what real Americans were dealing with in the decade of post-New Deal individualism and tax cuts for the wealthy, there's not much to go on. (Bruce Springsteen's "Born in the U.S.A." had been used as a rallying call for Reagan's conservatism only for it to come to light that it was about Vietnam war vets being left behind by a nation that didn't want to have anything to do with them; while it fits, it's important to note that it wasn't regarded as anti-Reagan until well after the fact, the Boss evidently not keen to cross his fanbase which may have leaned right wing)

In this void we say hello to the Columbus, Ohio brother duo of John and Billy Valentine. While it would be convenient to place them in the context of politically conscious black American pop, it's rather difficult to do so since "Money's Too Tight (to Mention)" is a one off for them. Appearing after a brief overture which — duh! — opens their second album First Take, the song concludes and is followed by four smoochtastic love songs before wrapping up with an instrumental rendition of the present song and a reprise of the overture (which ought to have been the finale if we're being technical) — I think it's fair to say that the duo didn't exactly have a glut of material with which to pad their latest work. (The track's placing near the LP's opening could be taken as a warning to any interested ladies that these Valentines are (appropriately) romantic but perhaps a wee bit too cash poor to show them a really good time but better that than leaving the message of 'oh, and by the way, we're broke; you don't happen to have a ten spot you could lend us, do you?' for the end)

The remainder of their discography may be politically apathetic but that only underscores the poignancy of this attempt. These are average guys, interested in women and having a drink and watching sports on TV, they're not concerned about pollution or Apartheid (not sufficiently to have recorded and released songs about them at any rate). A lack of cash in their pockets is what's driving them. The bank turned them down for a load but treated them with dignity and family members can't help because they, too, are feeling the pinch but the government has been giving them the runaround. The supposed economic stimulus of tax breaks has resulted in an improvement in their lives, or this is what the new has been saying at any rate. This is, of course, nothing new or profound but is a welcome change in an American music landscape of the time so lacking in everyday problems.

With vocal stylings clearly influenced by Marvin Gaye, it's tempting to wonder if this is the sort of thing he ought to have been doing during his final years rather than pissing them away on nauseating sex tracks. With Marvelous Marvin's What's Going On already a massive influence, you'd think this would be right up his alley. The only trouble is, Gaye's work had his ego to deal with, putting himself at the centre of everything he did. (A key track on What's Going On is "What's Happening Brother" in which an out of touch Gaye is gamely attempting to reconnect with his people, community and the world around him while never quite managing to shake the feeling that it's all about him) "Money's Too Tight" has an everyman quality about it that Gaye could never have pulled off, even when his creative faculties were still intact.

A minor hit on the Billboard R & B charts, it's unlikely that it or the First Take album did much for their finances. Luckily, they were to make a pretty good windfall from a cover a couple years later by yet another British act who also had a problem with Mrs. Thatcher. Though Simply Red have a spotty discography (especially when it comes to their many cover versions), their recording of "Money's Too Tight" is one of their highlights, perhaps because it hit so close to home. Yet, the Valentine Brothers' original is the preferred rendition. Proof that you didn't need to be a socialist of any kind to find the Reagan-Thatcher years abhorrent, you just needed to be like the many who were thrown away as a result of them.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Nile Rodgers: "The Land of the Good Groove"

"Unusual dance track from the former Chic guitarist turned David Bowie producer," Rimmer observes, unaware that the deeply influential group he formed with Bernard Edwards was still active in 1983. This suggests that sitting behind a mixing desk was much more Nile Rodgers' day job than playing in a band that used to be (a) successful and (b) good. Speaking of which, bandmates Edwards and Tony Thompson play on this and the rest of Rodgers' debut solo outing Adventures in the Land of the Good Groove. One wonders why they didn't cut it under their own name since it displays far more creativity and sass than their own work at the same time. That said, you'll never need to hear it again once you've gotten through it the once.

(Click here to see my original review)

Prince: "1999"

20 January 1983

"I first heard this at a disco and decided it was probably the Jacksons."

— Dave Rimmer

I turned six in the spring of '83 so I'm probably not the best judge but I can't believe that people were giving much thought to the millennium back then. I recall first hearing about the return of the Hong Kong colony to China a few years later — I was a news buff at a fairly young age — and thinking that 1997 was so way off in the future that it hardly merited consideration.The fact that the year 2000 and the millennium was approaching didn't occur to me until the mid-nineties when everyone began talking about Y2K and, in my pedantic family at least, how 2001 was the year everyone should be recognizing since "there wasn't a year zero". (It never occurred to us that there really had never been a year one either and that the calendar is a fabrication but that's a whole other matter) But to adults it was fast approaching — assuming humanity was going to survive long enough to see it.

The Bomb was something everyone heard about back in the day but it wasn't something I was particularly afraid of. (I was far more scared of volcanoes, that huge hole in the Ozone Layer and those disgusting slugs on the coast of British Columbia) We never did nuclear war readiness drills in school and Communism may not have seemed quite so threatening at a time when the world of Reagan and Thatcher was so bleak. To the older generation, however, the threat of nuclear war was still very much in the air. While some went out and protested, others were getting down and enjoying those few precious days that they had left. People like Prince.

"1999" is the beginning of Prince's ascendancy to pop's aristocracy. The fun-sized genius had his moments prior to this (as Dave Rimmer mentions, "I Wanna Be Your Lover" is a prime example) but this is where he kicks off the work that he'll always be remembered for. I've long had mixed feelings towards him myself. I admire his willingness to do his thing without thought for anyone else, his immense talent and the fact that he was always so balls out prolific in an era when more and more of his contemporaries were going three or four or five years between albums. As for his music, his songs have never thrilled me quite as much as I feel they ought to (the closest was probably when I first heard either "When Does Cry" or "Purple Rain" and even then I was too young and weirded out by his image) and I've never been too crazy about his weedy voice. I can take him in small doses but that's about enough. I can't pretend to like him more than that even if it flies in the face of the critical consensus.

Appearing on every good Prince compilation, "1999" is one of those ones I can happily give a listen to, even if I hadn't actually done so since the last time I dealt with it in this space. Taking the same snappy melody that he would put to good use on "Manic Monday" a couple years later (I must say I'd never noticed but clearly others have picked up on it for some time), he and his soon-to-be-christened band The Revolution pump out a saucy funk rhythm that really provides the blueprints for the emerging new jack swing movement — Janet Jackson's still awesome Rhythm Nation being something repeated plays of this really put me in the mood for. Fantastic and something that Prince may have never bettered.

It's odd to think there was a time when one might mistake a Prince record for the organization which Michael Jackson was still ostensibly a member of but it's not quite as crazy as it seems at first glance. For one thing, the sweet, brotherly harmonies of the Jackson 5 may have given them an impressive run of hits in the early part of the seventies but jump forward a decade later and their work had become much more individual. There's also the fact that the vocals on "1999" are divided up between Prince and Revolution members Coleman, Dez Dickerson and Jill Jones. (For my part, I thought it was a trio of singers, not being award of Jones at all; this tells you how much of a Prince fan I am!) Given that the Purple Perv was already known for playing a multitude of instruments and it probably wouldn't have surprised people to discover he was something of a control freak, hearing him share the singing might have surprised a few people. Why would one assume it to be Prince at all? I wouldn't necessarily have guessed the Jacksons but I understand the confusion.

The end of the Cold War is now past its thirtieth anniversary but "1999" is still relevant due to the imminent threat of climate change. It's looking more and more as if the damage is irreversible and it's only going to get worse. Maybe it'll soon be time for humanity to accept that its days are numbered. Partying like it's 2999 might be all we have left.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Weekend

Kajagoogoo: "Too Shy"

Given that he has to be dragged from the spotlight, it's impossible to imagine Limahl being Too Shy in any situation. (Exactly how many lame British reality shows hosted by Ant & Dec has he been in so far? I honestly have no idea but I'd bet it's in the several "range") Good thing, then, that he's singing about someone else so good on him for not pretending to be the vulnerable, Prince-sized vocalist lost in a sea of much taller and more musical bandmates. And about the rest of Kajagoogoo: well done to that lot for not being the typical above-all-this-pop-nonsense prog rockers that the likes of Nik Kershaw and Howard Jones clearly were; the video makes it look like they're enjoying themselves just as much as Limahl himself. And well done for having a UK number one and a pretty big hit around the world which is still well-remembered to this day. All that said, "Too Shy" isn't all that good. Rimmer hates it but I just mildly dislike it. But, as I say, well done to all concerned.

(Click here to see my original review)

Musical Youth: "Pass the Dutchie"

16 September 1982

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

— Dave Rimmer

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The French Impressionists: A Selection of Songs

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

(Click here to see my original review)

Weekend: "Past Meets Present"

22 July 1982

"But although Weekend don't make an instant impression, they leave an atmosphere hanging in the air afterwards. Three plays and you're hooked on it."

— Dave Rimmer

Play #1

Gosh this singer sounds an awful like the girl from Young Marble Giants. They both have that deadpan voice that was commonplace among post-punk female singers but done in a fashion that implies that they are convinced that they can carry a note. Does this make their form of non-singing singing a fraud since they can sing all along?

The instruments don't really mesh, do they? But I suppose that's the point. The strings and sax are meant to be all laid back but the guitars refuse to toe the line. It is the only instrument that matters so of course the guitarist has to be different.

Play #2

Nah, this isn't the girl from Young Marble Giants. This one's way too downbeat. Dave Rimmer thinks everything's in the background but maybe the vocals and instruments are all up in the front, trying to compete for the listener's attention. It's not a great way to listen to a record though.

I liked "A View from Her Room" a whole lot more I have to say. That song felt perfectly at home being a jazzy new wave song but this just isn't sure what it's supposed to be. And is there really the need for two sax solos?

Play #3

Honestly, this would have been a really strong album cut (ideally, as a final or penultimate track) but for the fact that no one bothered to put it on Weekend's album La varieté, the clots. "Past Meets Present" just isn't single material. Not sure if anything they did was compatible with the 45" format though.

Rimmer's right that it does linger in the air but so do farts. It's strange how you can fart when you're out on the street and then get on a bus and it follows you. This single isn't quite the same: it's easy to be rid of it unless you concentrate enough and then it sticks around a while. Good thing farts don't tend to be that powerful.

So, despite the pathetic "gag" above, I know full well this is Allison Stratton, formerly of Young Marble Giants. (As Brian Eno said, only 10,000 people bought the only YMG album but everyone who did formed a band that didn't get anywhere) You can have your skeletal indie rock, I'll take uneasy lounge jazz any day, even if this song is just all right.

Sorry Rims, not hooked.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Kid Creole & The Coconuts: "Stool Pigeon"

Play #1

Damn, this one's a banger!

Play #2

Still a banger! And rather miraculous considering August Darnell's zoot suit trousers go up to his nipples and he was flirting with novelty pop on "Stool Pigeon". But who could resist such a catchy delight?

Play #3

The bangiest banger that ever did bang! FYI, I was hooked three plays ago.

(Click here to see my original review)

China Crisis: "Scream Down at Me"

13 May 1982

"Probably too off-beat for the radio, but a great record. And it doesn't even feature Trevor Horn!"

— Dave Rimmer

Bands are seldom static. Members come and go for a whole variety of reasons. Yet, there's this unwritten, unspoken understanding that they should retain the essential elements of a group. There ought to be a lead singer who may or may not play an instrument at the same time as well as your standard guitarist-bassist-drummer dynamic with a keyboardist being an optional extra. This is the basis for a pop-rock group.

In the seventies, however, some bands ended up reduced in size, usually as a result of an authoritative leader who'd rather play a multitude of instruments themselves or hire session players in order to keep stress to a minimum. Groups such as the Bee Gees, Sparks, Steely Dan and Wings at all started off as quintets only to see membership dwindle and, crucially, not be replaced.

This trend would continue into the eighties with powerful duos typically ending up with the balance of power while their rhythm sections ended up getting pushed out of the way. The Associates presented themselves as a five-piece but it was the partnership of Billy McKenzie and Alan Rankine that called the shots and was in effect the band itself. The same thing happened to OMD. Simple Minds experienced a gradual cull over the course of the decade until it began to seem like Jim Kerr was the only one left. XTC (see below) quit touring only for drummer Terry Chambers to depart at which point they became a trio that spent their remaining twenty years relying on a revolving door of percussionists as well as a spell with a drum machine backing them.

China Crisis had been built very much on these lines. The partnership of Garry Daly and Eddie Lundon had been established for some time when, only just exiting their teens, they began putting out records. Steely Dan had been their biggest inspiration (the admiration must have been mutual since the late Walter Becker would play synths on their 1985 album Flaunt the Imperfection) which no doubt motivated them to spurn playing live. Daly and Lundon would soon relax their aversion to concerts which is where having a permanent drummer in one Dave Reilly would come in handy. 

Trevor Horn is one of those significant musical figures who was never as inescapable as we might now assume. He was part of Buggles whose megahit "Video Killed the Radio Star" is chiefly remembered for a chorus is easily its weakest link. He was also there at the tail end of Yes as the once formidable yet typically impenetrable progressive rockers were attempting to pull a Genesis by suddenly becoming an eighties' middle aged pop group. And he produced The Lexicon of Love, a masterclass of lush dance-pop which is frequently cited as one of the albums of the decade. Not such a bad resume all told.

More would come in the future (Frankie Goes to Hollywood, Seal, the last Belle & Sebastian album that anyone needs to bother with but why do I always forget about the Art of Noise? Oh because they were critically acclaimed but no fun whatsoever to listen to? Yeah, that tracks) but was he really one of those midas touch types? No, he wasn't. The guy worked with Dollar for god's sake. Plus, he had nothing to do with China Crisis and look what they accomplished even at this early stage and with a single that they have subsequently (and wrongly) disowned.

You know what else Horn had nothing to do with? Avalon by Roxy Music, that's what. The chugging guitar in "Scream Down at Me" sounds like it had been cribbed from deep cut "The Space Between" from Roxy's final album. The thing is, it wasn't out at this point and wouldn't be reviewed by Smash Hits until a fortnight later in the following issue. Could Daly and Lundon have been granted a sneak peak at the latest release from one of Britain's biggest acts? (Doubtful) Could the thirtysomething Bryan Ferry have had his finger on the pulse so acutely that he was aware of an obscure new wave act from just outside of Liverpool whose sound he just had to mimic? (This is even less likely) Or could this funk-driven sound have been in the air and it was affecting the famous and the obscure alike? (Yeah, that's it)

China Crisis would eventually become popular enough to rack up four Top 20 hits but they scarcely sound like the same band that put out early-eighties gems like "Scream Down at Me" and "African and White". Complaining to Chris Heath in ver Hits in the middle of '85 that everyone bashes them for being "wet" and/or "wimpy", they could've done worse in looking for inspiration had they delved into their back catalog for some tougher material. No, they were never balls out rockers but "Scream Down" is powerful and invigorating. This is what being a proper band with a drummer who isn't simply guesting will do.

Yet, the evidence suggests that they were perfectly happy being "wet and wimpy" while leaving this harder stuff to the dustbin. While "African and White" always had a place in their repertroire, "Scream Down at Me" has been effectively written out of their history. It was left off of their debut album Difficult Shapes & Passive Rhythms, Some People Think It's Fun to Entertain, released near the end of 1982, and didn't appear on China Crisis compilation until the two disc set Ultimate Crisis, a collection that the pair likely had little involvement in.

The synth-pop duo dynamic arguably began with bands being reduced to their core. It became so commonplace that it led to groups with only a passing use of synths got shoehorned into a subgenre they otherwise had little to do with. Were The Associates ever synth-pop? Were China Crisis? ("You can't be a synthesizer duo with only one synthesizer!" exclaimed Daly to Neil Tennant, who would later have a something to do with synths himself) But what they all shared were pairings that called the shots. Other members could be disposed of. It worked for Steely Dan, Sparks and Eurythmics. Pet Shop Boys were thoughtful enough not to bother having anyone else join them only to eventually be spurned. Too bad it didn't quite work for China Crisis since "Scream Down at Me" buries their future hit singles.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

XTC: "No Thugs in Our House"

I'm going through another phase of listening to almost nothing but XTC at the moment so I might as well discuss this single, Rimmer's winner of the 'Silly Packaging of the Week Award'. In a move only the Swindon foursome could have pulled off, they had managed to nab defeat out of the jaws of victory and they were now paying the price for it, hence the silly packaging since why else was anyone going to buy the damn thing. They could have been bold and put out either "Yacht Dance" or "Jason and the Argonauts" as a third single from the English Settlement album but they went instead with "Respectable Street" "No Thugs in Our House". It must have seemed like a good idea to have a rockin' stormer that harked back to their brilliant Black Sea album but this wasn't what they were about anymore. Except for the fact that it does indeed go on a bit, as Dave Rimmer points out; Andy Partridge was becoming something of an expert at hammering the point home which wasn't one of his better qualities.

(Click here to see my original review)

B.E.F. presents Sandie Shaw: "Anyone Who Had a Heart"

1 April 1982

"The old Cilla Black number is beautifully delivered by fellow '60s chanteuse Ms Shaw, who's been dragged out of retirement and given a pair of shoes especially for the occasion."

— Dave Rimmer

In an episode of Slate's Hit Parade podcast, host Chris Molanphy discussed the 'featuring' credit in pop music, something which has grown increasingly common in recent years. While as fascinating as ever, I was expecting him to go into more detail about other forms of artist credits. 'And'/'&' denotes a certain equality and even provides hope that their collaboration may be more than a one off. 'With' has an imbalance to it, with the headline act having a distinct prominence over the other. 'Featuring', by contrast, gives the guest the upper hand, putting the spotlight on a vocalist — or, in the case of the brilliant "Big Fun" by Inner City featuring Kevin Saunderson — a producer/mixer type who wouldn't normally be getting such credit.

Those are the most common pop collaboration credits but there are others. One of my favourite singles of the early nineties (though it really isn't anymore) was "In Yer Face" by 808 State who had previously enjoyed Top 10 success with "The Only Rhyme That Bites", credited to M.C. Tunes vs. 808 State. While there were elements to enjoy there — Tunes' shifting between lightning-fast raps and audible pauses to gasp for breath, State's lush, spy-thriller backdrop — I hated the contrived nature of the 'vs.' credit. The two parties weren't in competition with each other and even if there was a considerable amount of tension to merit such a combative description it doesn't mean a thing to me. (Happily, 'vs.' never took off to any great extent, its most prominent placing in "It's Like That" in which Run D.M.C. took on Jason Nivens; generally, it has been used to denote a remixer pretentiously taking over the record in question) Though not strictly speaking a credit per se, albums on the legendary jazz label Verve with titles such as Louis Armstrong Meets Oscar Peterson and Coleman Hawkins Encounters Ben Webster gave off a mythologising vibe that jazz musicians would show up unannounced at a studio and start playing with whomever happened to be there at the same time.

Finally, we come to the billing for the present offering, "Anyone Who Had a Heart" from B.E.F. presents Sandie Shaw. Here sophistication is the name of the game. Good taste brigadiers Martyn Ware and Ian Craig Marsh — formerly of a pre-fame Human League and but by '82 they were heading the British Electric Foundation production team and in charge of Heaven 17 — have used their good graces to coax Ms Shaw back into the spotlight and here she is with a very special performance. The fact that they gave their album the title of Music of Quality and Distinction says all you need to know. 'Presents' is effectively the same as 'featuring' but with added style. It is a credit that you almost never come across in pop music.

"Anyone Who Had a Heart" was originally a hit in the mid-sixties for Dionne Warwick in North America and Cilla Black in the UK and Europe, an Anglo-American divide which was common at the time for Burt Bachrach and Hal David compositions. Shaw would have a Bachrach-David hit of her own with "Always Something There to Remind Me" (also recorded by Warwick) and here she makes up for never having had the chance to take her own crack at AWHAH. The fact that Warwick and Black were both in their early twenties at the time gives their readings a naivety and vulnerability; being by this point in her mid-thirties, Shaw's is tougher and more defiant, even if she toes ever so closely towards power ballad territory. Dave Rimmer expresses surprise that the Ware-Marsh "electrickery" is so sparse (it's hardly detectable at all, not unlike the guitar playing of Shadow ace Hank Marvin which Rimmer can't make out at all — and he'd not alone); perhaps they felt it best to stick with the basics of sixties pop. It shimmers, as all classic Bachrach and David deserves to.

In terms of production and musicianship, all three versions are a wash (as is Dusty Springfield's rendition); but as far as vocals go, it's Shaw by a mile over either Black or Warwick. Those two girls might think they've experienced heartbreak but it's nothing like a spurned woman in her mid-to-late thirties. Of course, Shaw's contemporaries who also tried their hand at "Anyone Who Had a Heart" did so with all the professionalism one would've come to expect but there isn't the lived experience which the once barefooted songstress treats it. Who's to say how much of Hal David's words applied to her but she gives off the impression that he had written it with her in mind all along.

And, yet, Dusty Springfield's version on her 1964 debut album A Girl Called Dusty is probably the best of the lot. Those smoky vocals give it a similar edge that Shaw's reading lends it. Plus, Dusty happened to be the finest singer of her generation: with all due respect to Cilla, Dionne and Sandie, they were all out of her league)

As a potential hit this went absolutely nowhere and the Sandie Shaw revival was still a couple years away. But as cross-generational collaborations go, B.E.F. proved to be ahead of the game. Eighties synth deconstructionists Art of Noise had yet to register and it's easy to imagine Bob Stanley and Pete Wiggs using this template as the basis for Saint Etienne a decade later — not to mention all the incessant irony-laced modern pop which produced William Shatner, Shirley Bassey and Tom Jones comebacks in cahoots with the glitterati of studio techno alchemy. A lot to answer for then.

Yet, Marsh and Ware seemed to thrive more in their role as producers of B.E.F. than in their supposed day job in Heaven 17. The pair doubtless had vast record collections and they seemed like the types who had encyclopedic knowledge of pop's history (another parallel between them and the Stanley-Wiggs duo). They also knew their way around a studio. B.E.F. recordings never sold to the extent that singles like "Temptation" and "Come Live with Me" did but there's no question which project has the sturdier discography. "Anyone Who Had a Heart" is but a sample for a labour of love which is well worth investigating.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Bananarama & Fun Boy Three: "Really Saying Something"

They had been billed as 'Fun Boy Three with Bananarama' on "It Ain't What You Do" earlier in the year but the credits were reversed for the follow-up and to the much more democratic 'and', though ver Hits alters it to 'with'. They were right to change it since the 'Narns were already becoming the bigger group while the FB3 had less than a year to go. Apologies for including yet another Bananarama single in the Also Reviewed This Fortnight section but I couldn't muster the enthusiasm to go with anything else (and didn't wish to go with Roxy's masterful "More Than This" yet again). That's what happens when you've got both Dollar (the utterly wretched "Give Me Back My Heart") and Bucks Fizz ("My Camera Never Lies" is a mess and they were trying way too hard to be like ABBA but it's not bad really) to deal with, not to mention virtually everything else here.

(Click here to see my original review)

Linx: "Can't Help Myself"

26 November 1981

"Amid all the dross released this fortnight to cash in on Christmas, this one stands out as one of the few worth slipping on the turntable at your favourite festive occasion. Dance? You can't help yourself."

— Dave Rimmer

When Dave Rimmer talks of "Christmas dross" in his glowing review of the latest single from Linx, the reader's eyes naturally wander over to the most obvious spot on the page: to a dual review of John & Yoko's "Happy Xmas (War Is Over)" and Wizzard's "I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday". More than forty years on from the 1981 holidays, it's difficult to imagine a time when these two records weren't perennials of the season. In the frenzy that followed Lennon's murder a year earlier, "Happy Xmas" was rush released as several of his singles competed with each other for number one. It came up just short, not peaking until the second week of the new year and it was already back for another go. The public gradually grew weary of all that Lennon product that had flooded the market but Apple/EMI was betting that there was still some life in the single for the first anniversary of his assassination.

Roy Wood, formerly of The Move and, briefly, ELO had been a hit maker of some note in the early seventies with his band Wizzard. While perhaps not superstars like T-Rex or Slade, they were just a step below the top tier, a point that would've been reinforced when "I Wish It Would be Christmas Everyday" failed to take the coveted Christmas number one in 1973. Slade were in their imperial period and that alone justifies "Merry Xmas Everybody" nabbing the crown. But as far as quality goes, to me there's no question that Wizzard's is the stronger record. Feeling it still had some life, Wood had it reissued in '81. Due to problems with the original master, he had to start from scratch with a new children's choir, though you'd never know the difference.

Hopes were dashed when the two Christmas classics failed to make much of an impact on this year's charts. Lennon and Ono's anti-war anthem only just dented the Top 30 while Wizzard missed out on the Top 40 altogether. Interest in the festive faves wasn't like what it used to be — and, indeed, not like what it would be like in the future. (Rimmer ends his review of the two singles by wondering where Slade is. "Re-released next week, I shouldn't wonder". He was correct: it did similarly modest business that December)

The true dross is elsewhere. Bucks Fizz's "The Land of Make Believe" is a limp effort, even by their standards. While "Making Your Mind Up" had been a moronically catchy chart topper and Eurovision winner, "The Land of Make Believe" isn't even that clever nor as enjoyable. It only rose up the charts slowly and was unable to make a serious threat for the Christmas number one but it had enough juice to give them a chart topper in January. Four More from Toyah attempted to repeat the trick of putting out an EP in order to get Adrian Mole and his chums to go out an purchase it; the only trouble was, Toyah Wilcox and her band had run out of passable material by that point. A still pre-imperial Duran Duran offered up the forgettable "My Own Way" which they must've known wasn't a serious threat for the Christmas crown (the fact that it did as well as it did suggests that they were on their way up). Non-seasonal reissues of a boring Elvis Costello/George Jones duet and an old Ian Dury number are also up for consideration but who the hell cares? Kirsty McColl's cover of The Beach Boys' "You Still Believe in Me" which ought to have been good but isn't. You can go on and on here. (Rimmer's distaste for much of this fortnight's twenty-three newbies is such that he even brushes aside The Human League's "Don't You Want Me", considering it to be an unnecessary release since virtually everyone already has it on the album Dare. How wrong he was on that one)

With all this in mind, I can see why Rimmer is so taken with solid soul-funk workouts by Linx and Imagination (see below). I previously blogged about "Can't Help Myself" rather dismissively, perhaps because I was already getting a bit tired of half the singles back then sounding like Chic rejects but I can now see that it's a fine song in its own right. I struggle to remember it but I certainly can't help myself whenever it's on.

It's hard to picture it lighting up many festive occasions since its chart performance was so poor. Linx had been coming off four straight Top 30 hits but "Can't Help Myself" started them off on a run of flops that would close them out as a recording concern. With ABC and a suddenly soulful Jam providing a much more literary side to R&B and groups like Imagination flourishing with more of a club sound, it's possible that Linx slipped between the cracks somewhat. It's all well and good to sound like Michael Jackson but not when it's at the expense of sounding more like themselves.

Rimmer made his debut as a Smash Hits singles reviewer — a role he would excel at for the next five years — just four weeks earlier, giving ABC the prize for their stellar effort "Tears Are Not Enough". Recognising their musical chops, songcraft and production, he concludes by asserting that they "inspire optimism for the future of Brit-Funk". That's not so much the case with Linx, however. They seemed to offer no way forward as they churned out respectable, fun to listen to works like "Can't Help Myself". While some set the future in motion, others looked to be on their way out. Such is the way of things.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Imagination: "Flashback"

Linx's David Grant hailed from Hackney in the north of London and so, too, did the stupidly-named Leee John from Imagination. While Linx was operating in the mindset of trying to be as much like Chic and Michael Jackson as possible, Imagination managed to be sort of disco and sort of synth-pop while bucking other trends, which is perhaps why their stock was higher than an act like Linx. (There's that and Leee John being far more charismatic than Grant) Another one for Rimmer and the Christmas parties he imagines everyone to be attending though how much "Flashback" got played at these gatherings is anyone's guess. Pub jukeboxes were still pumping out John & Yoko, Wizzard and Slade but hopefully there were plenty of discos around the UK who had more than enough time for some Imagination — and not just in Hackney.

(Click here to see my original review)

ABC: "Tears Are Not Enough"

29 October 1981

"Passionate, intelligent and proud, with a defiant dance rating, ABC inspire optimism for the future of Brit-Funk."

— Dave Rimmer

It has been more than two and a half years since I first began blogging from two separate points of Smash Hits time. Back when I started this blog in the spring of 2018, I kicked things off with "Skin Deep" by The Passions which was about the point in which the term 'Single of the Fortnight' began to be used on a regular basis. I then went from there. It was only later that I decided to go back almost to the beginning, to the early part of 1979 which allowed me to fill in the blanks. Not every I wrote about had been specifically named 'SOTF' or 'best new single' or 'single of the week [sic.]' but I made a few educated guess along with the odd wild stab in the dark in order to piece the whole thing together.

Since that point I've been blogging three times every two weeks. As I approach each fortnightly period, I try to spot links between the trio of acts up on deck. So far there haven't been many — and even then they've been tenuous at best. It was just about two years ago in which I blogged about Duran Duran's "Skin Trade" (phenomenal song), The Cure's "Jumping Someone Else's Train" (good but they would go on to do much better), and — keep note of this one for later — Boy George's "Everything I Own" (pitiful though I tried to be as generous as possible). All were or remain major acts in British pop and I figured that was enough of a connection. Similarly, there was this past August in which I covered George Michael's "Praying for Time" (fantastic), The Human League's "Love Action" (even better) and INXS' "Suicide Blonde" (not their best but still strong). Again, a formidable threesome of giant chart acts but with little otherwise in common.

It is only now that I'm able to find a real link between artists. Back (BACK!) is George Michael from the last time I blogged, this time it's ABC's turn and next time we'll be looking at (also back (BACK!)) Boy George. They've all been written about a number of times in on this blog and, more importantly, they were all at the forefront of Britain's New Pop (aka the Second British Invasion) movement of the early eighties. What separates them is how well each of them navigated their way out of it.

Given that I'm looking at both the Georges (christian and surname respectively) in '91 and ABC a full decade earlier, I'm approaching them all at different points of their careers. The former leader of Wham! was at the end of his imperial period while the erstwhile Culture Club vocalist was vying for yet another comeback. ABC, however, were just getting started, the "latest in a long line of incredibly hip Sheffield bands" but one that no one could've predicted would go on to rule British pop for a short time — even if Dave Rimmer did correctly identify them as saviours of UK blue-eyed funk.

ABC are not typically thought of as a DIY group. After-all, they put a premium on production, they used horns and strings and Martin Fry owed a songwriting debt to the likes of George Gershwin and Cole Porter. These are not the kinds of people who get lumped alongside bands with guitars and surly, deadpan vocalists and a modest sense of melody. And, yet, they were as DIY as anyone. They were on a tiny indie label based in their hometown (one they stuck with for an unusual length of time, even if they also had the backing of a major at the same time) and they had yet to hook up with Trevor Horn.

I previously blogged that "Tears Are Not Enough" owed a great deal to Chic, a band who influenced as many British groups as Joy Division or The Sex Pistols, if not more so. Leaders Bernard Edwards and Nile Rodgers may have been jazz-trained studio cats but their addictive grooves were copied by guitar-bass duos up and down the country. (In Manchester, teenagers and future Smiths' Johnny Marr and Andy Rourke were aspiring to their some Chic-ism of their own) Fry admitted to Rimmer in the following issue of ver Hits that they were using the Smokey Robinson & The Miracles' classic "Tears of a Clown" as a model ("you've got to aim high") and this is exactly the type of song that appealed to the soul/funk crowd at the time: first class songwriting, musical precision, hooks aplenty and all of it is deceptively simple. Some DIY groups aspired to more than others. (By the way, did Fry have "When Smokey Sings" in mind at this early stage?)

"Tears Are Not Enough" (not to be confused with the song of the same name by the Canadian Band Aid/USA for Africa) would later be spruced up for ABC's remarkable debut album The Lexicon of Love. It is one of the LP's many highlights but its bitter, cynical message gets lost among the lush production and so much misidentified romanticism (Lexicon's ten tracks are all much darker than they initially appear but lumped together they somehow become a sweet selection from a box of Christmas chocolates). As a first single from the band once known as Vice Versa (as an aside, those people who insist on saying 'vica versa' are just the worst), it is more obviously sour. The funk beats and horns are a bit more in the background as Fry's irritable voice dominates. This makes for a welcome reminder of how he may have desired to sound like Smokey Robinson but he sure didn't sing like him. For sure he was capable smoother singing but he could rage well before his brave creative left turn/disaster Beauty Stab.

ABC were off to a strong start. "Tears Are Not Enough" gave them a Top 20 hit and they would soon be back (BACK!) with three more excellent singles that took them within inches of a number one. The Lexicon of Love would go on to be 1982's album of the year and it still finishes well in greatest albums of all time lists to this day. But the long term future wouldn't belong to them. George Michael would enjoy a lengthy period of massive success, first in Wham! and then later in his solo career. Boy George would be just about as big in Culture Club though his musical pursuits on his own would be more up and down. Nevertheless, he remained a tabloid favourite and his comebacks at least did well before inevitably petering out. ABC started the nineties off with a greatest hits album and a horrifically bad remix but they were non-factors for the rest of the decade. They would eventually be back (BACK!) but not until they had reverted to the group everyone always wanted them to be. 

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Scritti Politti: "The "Sweetest Girl""

They don't get much more "incredibly hip" than Scritti Politti, even if they hailed from Glasgow or Wales or New York or someplace other than Sheffield. (Sheffielder Martin Fry — from (huh!) ABC — would go on to give his stamp of approval to Scrit single "Faithless", just as compatriot Martyn Ware would do for Prefab Sprout; Sheffield approved!) If ABC were able to deftly hide their darker elements, then Green Gartside was right there with them. I like this period of their's in which the DIY of their old sound remained as they began adding elements from soul and dance music. Pop kids would've surely taken to "The "Sweetest Girl"" (those double quotation marks are giving me some pain) had it been done in the style of future hits "Wood Beez" and "The Word Girl" but that's the journey of pop. Not quite as strong as ABC this fortnight but, as Rimmer suggests, they weren't all that far off. Not quite the future of New Pop but aren't you glad we live in a world in which Scritti Politti have occasionally graced us with records? Or is it just me?

(Click here to see my original review)

UB40: "Rat in Mi Kitchen"

31 December 1986

"I say, just play the horrid beast this tune and when it comes dancing out, brain it with a rolling pin. Ker-blam! That'll teach it."

— Dave Rimmer

In an episode of the hilarious but kind of maligned American sitcom How I Met Your Mother, the characters Ted (Josh Radnor) and Barney (Neil Patrick Harris) have made a bet to see who can land the same girl first. Ted initially gets the upper hand and tells his friend all about her. "She plays bass in a reggae band," he enthuses. "Oh, does she know that one song 'mm-mm chaka, mm-mm chaka'?" Barney asks, "what's that song called? Oh right, it's called every reggae song". Though no genre is more identified with a particular sound, I think the idea that all reggae songs sound the same is a recent one — and much of it stems from an octet from Birmingham named after an unemployment benefit form.

There's this idea that UB40 started off well enough with a brilliant debut album and a respectable run of singles before lapsing into cover version hell. There's more than a little truth to this (all three of their UK number ones are covers and they never had a big hit in the US with an original) but it's not quite as simple as its portrayed. They spend much of the eighties relying on their own material and their first album of covers (1984's Labour of Love) is actually quite good. In truth, their only real howler at the time was their weedy version of "I Got You Babe" with Chrissie Hynde. Yes, "Red, Red Wine" set a bad precedent but we'd see scant evidence of it until the nineties rolled around when they began butchering Motown and soul classics. I think it's even possible that they were self-aware enough to know that their spike in sales came with a backlash. Previous album Baggariddim made a case for legitimacy by reworking older tracks with guest singers and toasters. Results were mixed but the successful yet terrible "I Got You Babe" overshadowed the rest of the set and did little to re-establish their reggae cred. UB40 returned in '86 with Rat in the Kitchen. Album's cover and title imply a return to their working class roots but the results fail to match the magnificent Signing Off from six years earlier. But it's fine and Colette Campbell's brief review in Smash Hits pretty well nails it.

Dave Rimmer isn't especially taken with the near-title track "Rat in Mi Kitchen" (he reckons it's "not bad" and considers it a "jaunty reggae number" and that amounts to the musical "analysis") and chooses to focus on its title. Indeed, Rims spends much of the singles page looking at song titles at the expense of content. Fair enough, I would imagine that he was getting bored with doing standard evals for the nineteenth time and decided to take a different tack this time round. (Also, he doesn't exactly have a loaded lineup of records in front of him, what with the post-Christmas lull and all, which also explains his desire to jazz up a poor selection by examining something other than the tunes themselves). And, yes, this is the Title of the Fortnight, albeit mainly due to there not being much else of note.

The song itself is lively enough and it's easy to imagine it being a firm favourite on the touring circuit. There's not much to say about it musically that Barney Stinson hasn't already said and they weren't in any hurry to push away from their established pop-reggae sound. (Significantly, two of their better later numbers, "Reckless" and a remix of the brilliant "One in Ten", were done in cahoots with Afrika Bambaataa and 808 State respectively and are also two of their least formulaic efforts; the two records also both reached number seventeen, fact fiends) Lyrically, it's dominated by sloganeering with hypotheticals ("when I catch you up, I'm gonna pull you up, I'm gonna check out inside your brain") that don't seem to be as menacing as they think. The group had been out of the political game for a while and it shows. It doesn't really work as a dig at Mrs Thatcher (assuming that's who this nutria is meant to be) but as generic advice for the listener it also seems confused. Of course, I initially thought it was all about poverty, having assumed that they were singing about how they were intending to "feast on it": so there's yet another misheard lyric on my part (just once could the correct line be superior to the one I thought up?).

Nevertheless, "Rat in Mi Kitchen" charmed enough of ver kids who were no doubt prompted into using up Christmas record tokens on it that it got into the Top 20 in the early part of 1987. Having just missed the charts with its pretty good predecessor "All I Want to Do", this was a bit of a coup for the band, who typically only enjoyed considerable hit parade success with each album's maiden single. It also ushers in a run of SOTF from '87 by prominent acts. We'll see an abundance of Rock & Roll Hall of Famers, major chart fixtures and critical darlings as the also rans begin to fade away. Though if you're a fan of That Petrol Emotion then prepare to be dead chuffed.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

XTC: "The Meeting Place"

"An original title but a fairly yawnworthy one", Rimmer sniffs. I cover XTC a lot in this space because I am a fan. Not a rabid obsessive (having each album in one format apiece is plenty for me) but they are one of my favourite groups — and "The Meeting Place" is one of my favourite songs. One of five Colin Moulding contributions to their masterpiece Skylarking (Andy Partridge "only" got nine tracks on the album which prompted a great deal of sulking), it is a beautiful piece and a perfect example of its composer's ability to base a pop song around his innate modesty. For when you're both excited and a little apprehensive about meeting that special someone.