Yazoo: "Don't Go"

8 July 1982

"Vince coaxes a sterling song out of his synthesizer while Alf balances its metallic clip with a deep, emotion-packed vocal that gets better with every hearing."

— Ian Birch

A mash up of a pair of songs with the same title: no, I didn't strain any brain cells coming up with this one. Helped along by the words 'Don't Go' being at the end of one chorus while starting off another, it only really works when I'm singing them to myself; I never hear one "Don't Go" and end up thinking of the other.

To have the hits of Yazoo and Hothouse Flowers merge is meaningless but it's illustrative of a point I hinted at but ultimately failed to make five years ago the last time this Single of the Fortnight came up in this space. I suggested that the song sounds rushed, as if Vince Clark and Alison "Alf" Moyet had been under serious pressure to deliver a quick follow-up to their excellent debut smash "Only You". Clark had written this acclaimed hit while still a member of Depeche Mode (there's a pop music what if for you) but it is in fact "Don't Go" which is much more reminiscent of the keyboardist's previous group, even down to the ultra-repetitive chorus being not unlike that in "Just Can't Get Enough".

Clark penned ver Mode's early hits but he wouldn't really come into his own as a songwriter until he began working with Alf. Dave Gahan is a charismatic lead singer and he has the right kind of voice for a gloomy and pervy synth act but he was no Alison Moyet. (Who was?) Writing material for a such a commanding vocalist would have been a challenge, one that Clark proved up for. Yet, "Don't Go" demonstrates that she possessed the kind of cliched 'she could sing the phone book' voice that so very few have.

"Depeche Mode brought a new warmth to electronic pop," Neil Tennant observed in a May, 1982 profile. "Yazoo will give it some soulful passion". Again, this is chiefly down to what Alf was able to bring to the duo, though it's a credit to Clark that he began contributing compositions that worked along those lines as well. The pairing wouldn't last but the big beneficiaries were Clark and eventually partner Andy Bell after they formed Erasure. While both the Mode and Yazoo hit the ground running with standout singles, this third attempt at a Vince Clark project that might last (needless to say, it did) started slowly but half a decade of songwriting and recording graft would pay off with a series of good-to-great hits starting off with 1986's "Sometimes". Bell's voice proved to be almost as strong as Alf's. It was wise of Clark to start doing co-writes with his Erasure co-hort. (Last time round I argued that Yazoo was actually the best group Clark was a part of; I take it all back now)

It was probably inevitable that the Alf-Clark duo was destined to come undone in short order. His background in electro-pop clashed with her first love the blues. Ironically, the musical valley that separated them helped Yazoo stand out in a world of synth-pop duos, especially considering that most if not all of them were all male units. Clark also had this very un-rock 'n' roll lack of commitment to the bands he was in: leaving Depeche Mode after just one album, he planned to do the same with Yazoo until he was convinced to stick it out longer, only for him to form a deliberately unstable outfit called The Assembly (as well as lending his talents to a unique Anglo-Indian supergroup who also appear in this space). Once Alf was done with Clark, she went the torch song route, rather than returning to her blues roots.

I'm tempted to bemoan the wasted opportunity that was Yazoo but perhaps it's best if I just celebrate the fact that such an unlikely pair managed to find one another. "Only You" is still brilliant, "Don't Go" is all right in spite of my comments above and further hits "The Other Side of Love" and "Nobody's Diary" deserve to be much better remembered. Synth duos like Sparks, Blancmange, Eurythmics, Pet Shop Boys and, yes, Erasure all had compelling lead singers with moody keyboardists all standing in the background but Yazoo managed to flout this convention. Alf happened to be a woman with a voice that could scare off a mountain lion who represented a way forward for Clark. "Synthesizer bands do get into this rut of having to look dead cool and composed," she told Tennant. "Whereas we intend to make complete idiots of ourselves". Which certainly explains the video for "Don't Go".

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Pato & Roger: "Pato and Roger a Go Talk"

Not credited to The Beat but included on their third album Special Beat Service, "Pato and Roger a Go Talk" is a platform for Ranking Roger and buddy Pato Banton to do what they were both best at. Basically, there's lots of back-and-forth toasting almost as if they're in a forties' jazz cutting session and they're Coleman Hawkins and Lester Young. There's less of that dated new wavy action that The Beat had done to death by this point and all the better for it. The late Roger Charlery had always been the heartbeat of two-tone's second best group and this feels like an attempt to return them to their ska roots. Engaging, light, fun and with a dark heart. I'd say the two should've paired up more but their 1995 outing, the Top 20 hit "Bubbling Hot", proves they were probably better off leaving things alone.

(Click here to see my original review)

Kim Wilde: "View from a Bridge"

15 April 1982

"Have you ever noticed how clever the Wilde intros are?"

— Ian Birch

"There's this word 'Art'," Kim Wilde explained to Mark Ellen at the end of 1981. "There seems to be this tremendous disrespect for Pop Stars, but if people put this 'Art' sticker on you, then they don't feel so guilty about liking you."

As one of the rising stars of '81, Kim Wilde had to deal with a pair of labels that chafed. One was that she was just another chart topping bimbo (something she would later embrace and satirize on future Single of the Fortnight "Love Blonde"), the other was the contention that she was in fact a serious artiste. As you may have noticed, one of these descriptions isn't as damning as the other. No matter, Kim wasn't having any of it. Except for the fact that she was entering her most artsy period.

Ellen's interview with Wilde took place at about the time she was promoting "Cambodia", her fourth single of the year and first not to be tied to her self-title debut album. It also happened to have a much darker edge to it than the new wave power pop that had made her successful. Though critically acclaimed (not, mind you, by Smash Hits, who didn't even review it — and this was from a time when there would typically be two dozen new releases on the singles page), it failed to return her to the Top 5 heights of both "Kids in America" and "Chequered Love". Nevertheless, number twelve is fair enough and interest in it was enough to allow it to linger around the Top 20 for six weeks.

"Cambodia" signaled that changes were coming. Father Marty Wilde was still writing the lyrics and he evidently chose to go into deeper subject matter than trivial affairs like boys and tinnitus. Quite whether "Cambodia" happens to be about "someone who loses her lover in sad circumstances" (Kim's explanation) or PTSD caused by the early-seventies' Cambodian incursion (my interpretation; who's to say who's correct even though it's Kim), it was heavy. Not keen to lighten things up for the follow-up, Marty went with thoughts of suicide.

That's right, thoughts of suicide. The song concludes with Kim's character's fate left undecided. Sure, she admits to hearing a voice that said "jump" and she "just let go" but then admits that she's unsure if this is "fact or fantasy". Actually, I wonder if it's all meant to be a dream: she's watching from the bridge as a heartbroken girl plunges into the Thames or the Severn or the Tyne only to discover that the jumper is in fact her ("I see it's me").

Luckily, the grim lyrics contrast with a more upbeat, synth-driven tune composed by brother Ricki which gives it much more of a pop feel than its predecessor (and, indeed, the single that followed it). Though her chart fortunes were trending downward, this probably helped it give her a fifth Top 20 hit on the bounce. It would be difficult not to conclude that the narrative is bleak but the bounciness of the tune may have fooled a few youngsters out there.

Marty the lyricist spun perhaps his finest verses, Ricki the musician/producer put together a gorgeous arrangement with, as Ian Birch rightly notes, a stirring intro and, not to allow her father and brother to hog the credit, Kim the vocalist dials back on her patented vacant style of singing in order to put in a much more emotive performance. Quite whether the Wilde trio caught this audio synergy due to their familial ties is not for me to judge but there's no question all three had peaked in their respective tasks all at once. Kim Wilde may have been perfectly happy being a pop star but singles like "View from a Bridge" are art pop documents able to stand proudly alongside the best creations of many more serious artistes.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Joan Jett & The Blackhearts: "I Love Rock 'n' Roll"

Another one of those 'Songs You Didn't Know Were Covers' even though I did know that but thanks all the same. Strangely, it never comes up on lists of 'Popular Songs That Actually Suck'. I guess that's because of all that cool rockin' out with leather jackets and guitar parts that anyone could play and all that shouting. Good stuff unless you're one of those miserable spoil sports like myself who wants something more from their pop music. The video opens with a rip roaring selection from the far superior Joan Jett number "Bad Reputation" which really ought to have undermined "I Love Rock 'n' Roll" in the eyes of more people than just your's truly. Birch reckons it's nothing but a "lumbering elk" and "Suzi Quatro on a slow turntable". Dismal — but by all means keep shouting along if you're into this sort of shit.

(Click here to see my original review)

Haircut One Hundred: "Love Plus One"

7 January 1982

"A band who'll have us all slipping into chunky knits and brogues before you can say Captain Mark Phillips."

— Ian Birch

Where do we go from here?

Nick Heyward's goofy yet handsome face ("Everyone keeps saying to me I look just like their brother") graced the cover of Smash Hits on three occasions. The first time was alongside fellow members of his band Haircut One Hundred just as stardom beckoned. A few months' later he had returned but this time he was on his own and he was busy formulating plans for further notoriety and success. It would be more than two years' later by the time he'd be back for a third cover and this time he was now searching for advice on how to move forward when everything had imploded in on him.

Nick Heyward only enjoyed a brief period near the top — and all at an age in which he may not have fully appreciated it. He was still in his early-twenties when he began to go down the dumper, a place he has managed to more or less remain in ever since. And, yet, he has maintained a career as one of pop's finest songwriters. Few have managed to reside in the dumper with their dignity still intact.

In a talk with former Hits staff members David Hepworth and Mark Ellen (who wrote the first two profiles on ver Haircuts in the top pop mag), Heyward has stated that he spent his youth soaking up musical influences, in large part due to his older brother's own pop music aspirations. From the boozy hard rock of Montrose and Status Quo to Yes's intricate progressive rock adventures, the adolescent Nick was open to all of it. Unwilling to disavow prog and jazz fusion, he found punk appealing because he was able to play it. It was then that he began tripping on some of the more musically accomplished new wave acts, particularly Talking Heads and XTC.

I previously had "Love Plus One" down as his own "Listen to What the Man Said" but I think that was at least in part down to the use of soprano sax on both. Yet, the Paul McCartney influence weighed heaviest on Heyward. His gift for ear-catching melodies could not have come from any other source. Yet, this song is very much an amalgamation of his myriad influences.

Recency bias favours the work of David Byrne and Andy Partridge of brainiac groups Talking Heads and XTC respectively. The former is especially identifiable with jangly guitars that also manage to stutter, the use of unconventional rhythms and Heyward spinning an oddball tale that we as listeners are convinced must have some kind of meaning precisely because we have no idea what he's on about. There's certainly more than a little of that in Partridge's work as well (this very fortnight also saw the release of XTC's lone Top 10 hit "Senses Working Overtime", a song which one would assume to be a father to "Love Plus One" but for the fact that the two are far too contemporaneous for there to have been much influence in either direction) but it's probably a little closer to the compositions of Colin Moulding, someone Heyward acknowledges as being a major influence on his bass playing.

Heyward tells Ellen all about his theory of the changing tastes of your average pop kid (basically, it's preteen Beatles and Monkees, followed by rejecting them in favour of hipper acts, then a depressing jazz phase and ending with being resigned to a happy life of yet more Beatles and Monkees) while bassist Les Nemes admits to massive funk influences while disavowing the latent Brit-funk movement. All seems well in Haircut land — even if there are hints that his bandmates are as puzzled as anyone over the those lyrics — but there are already signs that there may not have been the required group unity to ensure a lengthy tenure. While Heyward spent the seventies absorbing his older brother's record collection, Nemes along with Blair Cunningham, Graham Jones and Phil Neville Smith had their own interests.

Quite what the rest of them were into six months later is anyone's guess. This time, it's just Ellen and Heyward discussing the state of the band and plans for a TV series. All that knitwear and those boating jackets was still a part of the group's distinctive look but the singer admits that a change is likely in order for the follow-up to their brilliant debut album Pelican West. A major change was certainly forthcoming, something that, again, is just hinted at by Heyward's ambitions being far beyond the scope of a mere pop outfit. He doesn't come across as arrogant or spoiled by fame, merely a young bloke who is just interested in making the most of his opportunity.

Finally, Nick Heyward is on the cover of ver Hits to interview erstwhile punk and sometime pop star Feargal Sharkey. That's correct, he made the cover as a glorified member of the Smash Hits editorial crew. (In fairness, he did have more of a face for magazine covers than the former lead singer of The Undertones) Both had departed successful groups and were struggling with what to do next. Both, Heyward reckons, have battled with that whole 'next Beatles' nonsense which he considers to be a "kiss of death". Hits or misses, prolific pace or keeping still for a bit, he learns from the Ulster vet that there's contentment to be had in writing and recording.

Where do we go from here? If not necessarily in the direction of the career young musicians set out for then the sort of career that individuals can look back upon with pride. What I wouldn't give to have Nick Heyward's talent for just long enough to compose one song, even if it's a poor cousin of "Love Plus One" or "Tell Me Why" or "Perfect Sunday Sun". There's a reason people like Heyward make songwriting seem so easy — and that's because it's so damn hard for the rest of us.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Robert Palmer: "Some Guys Have All the Luck"

As I observed the last time I blogged about "Love Plus One", this fortnight's singles are a thin bunch. Not necessarily in terms of quality, mind you; there's a solid selection of XTC, Joan Armatrading, OMD, a post-Hall/Staple/Golding Special AKA and Orange Juice up for consideration. (I also hinted that Ian Birch made the wrong choice for Single of the Fortnight but pay no attention to what I used to think) Robert Palmer was entering his prime years of soul, rock, calypso, lounge and overall tastelessness and his cover of The Persuaders' "Some Guys Have All the Luck" is a good primer on his skills as a vocalist. Never an easy guy to sing along with and this is one of his trickiest yet. While a generation of nineties divas chose to both astonish and frustrated listeners by hitting single notes for as long as possible, Palmer unleashes his incomparable range here with soulful, Marvin Gaye-like passages through to his ability to munch on sandpaper in song like few others, Not one of his absolute best (it's no "Clues" or "Woke Up Laughing") but "Some Guys Have All the Luck" is a tasty thing indeed — and one that far surpasses Rod Stewart's unconvincing cover. (I mean, seriously, does anyone think that Rod is envious of anyone else's dumb luck? The man has fallen upward more times than he can count)

(Click here to see my original review)

Altered Images: "I Could Be Happy"

10 December 1981

"This will equal, if not better, the success of "Happy Birthday". No problem Jimmy."

— Ian Birch

In an episode of Word in Your Ear, co-host Mark Ellen theorized about the early days of Smash Hits and how it attracted bands who had been around but went about making changes to adapt to the landscape of a bright new pop magazine (although it probably had at least as much to do with the rise of the music video at about the same time). These groups included Dexys Midnight Runners, The Human League and Madness. There were also those, Ellen continued, who seemed birthed with ver Hits in mind. Significantly, one of these acts came with a name that would sum up changes that were afoot: Altered Images.

In a pop world free of glossy mags, colourful promos and high fashion, it's difficult to imagine what Altered Images' image would have been like. Post-punk bands weren't supposed to be fronted by charming pixies like Clare Grogan; the few women who did emerge tried their best to look tough, menacing and/or scary, like Chrissie Hynde, Siouxsie Sioux and Patti Smith. Others like Kate Bush and Lene Lovich were very clearly artists. But a cute, girl-next-door? They weren't in high demand in the late-seventies.

Yet, Grogan couldn't have been a more fitting front woman for Altered Images. The four blokes who accompanied her could easily have been members of moody fellow Scots Orange Juice but they followed their lead singer by daring to smile in photos and look like they were perfectly happy to be riding the giddy carousel of pop right along with her. In a music business increasingly concerned with appearing to be serious, the Ims were having none of it.

Giving that serious pop made by serious people would be the norm for the next few years, it would have been difficult to trace the legacy of Altered Images. It was not until quirky Scottish indie pop became a cottage industry beginning in the late-nineties that their influence began to be felt. Where would Belle & Sebastian have been without them? And, yet, I wasn't overly fond of "I Could Be Happy" four-and-a-half years ago when I last blogged about it.

As I mentioned previously, it didn't help that Ian Birch oversold it. The bassline is barely noticeable so I don't know where he gets the idea that it sizzles. Martin Rushent clearly produced it well enough but there's no evidence that he and the band had any real "chemistry". And for the love of god, who's this "Jimmy" fellow mentioned above? Guitarist Jim McKinven? Another music industry type? A mate of Birch? The royal Jimmy?

With the passing of the years, however, I feel more well-disposed to the Ims. Sure, the lyrics are as naff as ever but Grogan's singing is zesty enough that it really doesn't matter. The guitars hardly surge, the bass may or may not sizzle but the overall performance of the group is bouncy, full of pop energy and just new wavy enough that it doesn't smack of a period piece.

It's been a while since I saw the acclaimed film Juno and declared that "quirky must die" but my derision for this particular style has not dulled. And while Altered Images certainly helped bring it about, their best work manages to transcend being 'intelligently throwaway'. They were ahead of their time enough that it doesn't blight their legacy. They'll never be my first choice of music to listen to while washing dishes, going hiking, grading exams and just being a good-for-nothing lump but there's no real reason to oppose what they were all about either. A fine record from the first band who seemed tailor-made for Smash Hits.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Rolling Stones: "Waiting on a Friend"

Poignancy never came easy to Mick and Keef, though it wasn't something they aimed for very often. But "Waiting on a Friend" is perhaps their most poignant number since "I Am Waiting" from their 1966 masterpiece Aftermath. Following the success of the overrated "Start Me Up", this laid back number dating back to 1972 didn't get the airplay of its predecessor and couldn't hope to repeat its success. Nonetheless, "Waiting on a Friend" is a much better song. It's release at the end of 1981 makes it timely as well since this was when tensions in the band were at an all time high — a situation that would remain for the bulk of the decade. The eighties wouldn't be one of their best periods but at least they had a few wonderful little numbers tucked away to see them through their near-breakup. Plus, the video gives an idea of what the Stones would've been like had they done a guest spot on Sesame Street. Wonderful.

(Click here to see my original review)

The Police: "Invisible Sun"

1 October 1981

"These are the goods! After the most hypnotic intro of the week (Sting takes a leaf out of Bryan Ferry's book), the song develops the kind of creamy propulsion that might give psychedelia a good name."

— Ian Birch

Given that Sting would go on to compose "Every Breath You Take", "Russians" and "Shape of My Heart" and considering he rarely looks especially pleased with himself, you might assume that Gordon Sumner was always something of a grumpy old git. And, let's face it, that's probably what he always has been. Yet, there was a time when he knew how to play the pop game. While The Police were hardly the youngest act around, they took to promoting videos of themselves right from the beginning. They may have been the new wave act with the most baby boomer appeal but they weren't above appearing on the cover of Smash Hits.

But this wasn't to last. "Invisible Sun" commences their much more serious period. "I think it's your job to refine yourself out of existence," Sting told Mark Ellen in this fortnight's issue of ver Hits. Where the trio would normally prance about merrily in front of an airplane or lumber about awkwardly in the snow, in this instance they are barely visable. Black and white images of Belfast at its bleakest with just silhouettes, barely recognizable close-ups and snippets of their instruments being the only trace of The Police themselves. "[The video] is a rather crude way of saying 'forget about us, forget about three blonds, and just try and listen to the images that the song's about".

I as previously wrote, there is some debate as to which conflict inspired "Invisible Sun". The video obviously suggests Ulster which was something that British audiences could identify with. (The single didn't receive much attention outside of the British Isles; in most countries it was passed over in favour of "Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic", which even Sting conceded was the more "obvious" hit) Drummer Stewart Copeland had been raised in Beirut and he considered it to be about the Lebanese capital. For my part, I live in the southwest corner of Korea and the first thing I think of is the nearby city of Gwangju and what its citizens went through in the spring of 1980. 

When the Korean military entered the city it was ostensibly to quash demonstrations by university students. Had hundreds of twentysomethings been the victims this would have been outrageous enough but there were children as young as five and people in the eighties who were among the dead. Government propaganda labelled protesters as North Korean sympathizers so is it any wonder troops felt that those they were going after were, in Sting's words, "not 'people' anymore, so we can kill them". This invisible sun should have brought hope to the citizens of Gwangju while renewing the humanity of those who entered the city and mowed people down with bullets. This is far too much to ask of a song but it is the fleeting sense of hope that is what matters.

The current day issue that "Invisible Sun" addresses is the Russian invasion of Ukraine but there is also the genocide of the Uyghurs in China and Iranian women protesting their country's repressive regime. Even the issue of trans rights applies as conservatives try to paint them as groomers. When music buffs talk about songs and albums being "timeless" I'm not sure "Invisible Sun" being relevant to stories in the news forty years on is what they have in mind. But this is probably the only truly accurate way that a record is able to age well. It is timeless because the message is needed regardless of time.

"Dammit, Sting, sing about something that matters for once!" This was something I wrote the last time I blogged about this song. He put his melodic talents to good use on a hit-and-miss selection of earlier Police singles ("Message in a Bottle" is great,"Don't Stand So Close to Me" is all right and "De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da" is balls) but his lyrical skills were mostly wasted. "Invisible Sun" ended up being a breakthrough for him — and something he took with him into his hugely successful solo career. While other groups lose something by going serious, it was when they began touching upon issues that The Police began to come into their own. Women may have always swooned over Sting's brooding good looks but he didn't really become the Sting of rainforest conservation, Tantra and "We're Sending Our Love Down the Well" until he stopped writing with his mind on the "man in the factory floor" and began the search for "something else".

In truth, however, Sting never really bettered "Invisible Sun". The song is simply too good that even someone of his abilities couldn't quite deliver a similar triumph. It has never seemed especially 'psychedelic' to these ears but maybe that's because it's so phenomenal that it avoids comparisons of all kinds. I used to think that I never knew that The Police had it in them but now I'm just grateful that they got it out for us to be touched by it as we live in a world in which its lyrics never fail to ring true.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Toyah: "Thunder in the Mountains"

Few have been redeemed in recent years as much as Toyah Willcox. It would be nice to say that her music has been given a long overdue reappraisal but that is not the case. It was those charming home movies that she and hubby Robert Fripp posted on Twitter during the last two years of Covid that did it. And good for them. Her music isn't really to my taste but "Thunder in the Mountains" is about as strong a record as she ever cut, her voice only somewhat histrionic, the music propulsive as it guides her along. If any Toyah single deserved to be a big hit, "Thunder in the Mountains" was it. I'll never be much of a fan of either Toyah or The Police but their attempts this fortnight are as close as I'll ever get.

(Click here to read the original review)

Thomas Dolby: "I Scare Myself"

29 March 1984

"Written by the extremely eccentric songwriter Dan Hicks (ideal for Tom really), it's a stunning song performed with delicate restraint and sung in a way that brings tears to the eyes of grown men (and women)."

— Ian Brich

The Beatles and George Martin, Miles Davis and Teo Macero, Madonna and (insert name of currently fashionable boffin): the last century or so of recorded music has resulted in many great artist-producer team-ups. One half sets down a glorious piece of music in the studio, the other sets about making sure it all comes together in order to be cut onto a disc. Not every such pairing is long standing — see Madonna, who was ahead of the curve on the modern trend of frequently switching up production collaborators — and plenty of groups and singers eventually found themselves toiling behind the mixing desk as well as in front of a mic. But few are those who prove equally adept wearing both hats — and most of those that do tend to 

Brian Eno, Lee "Scratch" Perry and Todd Rundgren are three of the most beguiling studio wizards. All may well have prided themselves on their abilities as vocalists and musicians but all were better suited to the production side. Eno's recorded output includes the first two extraordinary Roxy Music albums (as much as I enjoy the next two, it's clear the band was never the same after his departure) in addition to several acclaimed solo albums that I'm happy to have heard just the once. Though not credited as such, his primary role on David Bowie's Berlin Trilogy was very much as a producer, there to guide the more impressionistic tracks. He was also there as the final piece in making U2 into the powerhouse that would dominate the eighties and nineties. Perry is by all accounts a terrific vocalist but his musical contributions are practically irrelevant next to his production work at his famed Black Ark studio. Rundgren did manage to deliver one masterpiece, 1972's Something/Anything?, but by the time of its overrated follow-up, A Wizard, A True Star, he was already becoming far too concerned with studio trickery than laying down some solid tunes. Producing himself he begins to seem too busy, too caught up in showing off his immense talents; producing others (the first New York Dolls album, Meat Loaf's Bat Out of Hell and XTC's Skylarking, a wonderfully catholic resume even if you're not crazy about some or all of them), he got the best out of his charges resulting in far better works than the ones he was putting out.

Thomas Dolby is an eighties equivalent, though in the context of a music scene that had him pegged for pop stardom. Like contemporaries Howard Jones and Nik Kershaw, there's a sense that he was dragged down by having to wear too many hats and that he may have been better off finding an area of expertise - though, unlike those two, he would soon find his musical calling.

There are a lot of ways of doing a cover version. The simplest way is to do a carbon copy. Another approach is to to do something similar but with more modern sound. Some will try to improve on the original, others try to bring a whole new sound or genre into it. One thing that should be avoided, however, is to cover a song that makes one only want to listen to its source. I think Dolby is trying to grasp at something that may not be readily apparent in Dan Hicks' prototype but it doesn't quite work. Where the original sounds dashed off and toyed with, Dolby's rendition is considered. Perhaps too considered. Hicks brought his usual maverick sensibilities, shoving heaps of rootsy Americana, jazz and gypsy folk all together; Dolby keeps the jazz with just traces of Hicksian cram-it-all-in spirit in Kevin Armstrong's folk-funk guitar solo. Hicks' vocal has a slight twist of irony as if he'd fully aware that what he's singing of is utter hokum but knows it will be effective at getting his lover to submit to his advances; Dolby sings every word like he means it. It's possible he was simply to close to a record he so obviously and rightly loved but in paying homage to a musical kindred spirit he ended up unwittingly doing him a disservice.

So, I'm rather blase towards this record and, to be fair, a lot of that is down to expectations. Not one who has followed Dolby's lengthy career to any extent, I had always surmised that the man was all about keytars and fairlight synths and audio pyrotechnics. I was, therefore, thrown to discover that he was willing and able to turn out some smooth (mostly acoustic) jazz. I would like to say that I was pleasantly surprised to make this discovery only it's too smooth and unwilling to take risks. Happily, Thomas Dolby's production work with one of my favourite groups would right that ship.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Phil Collins: "Against All Odds (Take a Look at Me Now)"

Between Dolby's contribution, Cyndi Lauper's "Time After Time", a reissue of Rick Springfield's "Jessie's Girl" and this we seem to be entering the era of MOR. His best work both as a solo artist and with Genesis already behind him, Phil Collins was easing himself into the power ballad market that would make him his fortune. Like a lot of his maligned material from the age, this is much better than we've been led to believe. On the other hand, it's nowhere near as good as his staunch defenders will claim. A nice throwback to an era when pop songs could be far more popular than the films from which they came — and a reminder of a time when James Woods was still relevant.

Eurythmics: "Here Comes the Rain Again"

5 January 1984

"If Eurythmics think they're making a run-of-the-mill record, they don't panic. They simply add the 'squint factor'. It turns an everyday event into a Royal Variety Performance."

— Ian Birch

Let's perform a thought experiment. Annie Lennox and Dave Stewart form the duo Eurythmics from the ashes of their previous group The Tourists in the early eighties. They go on to record the same eight LP's and rack up dozens of hits in the UK but their American chart fortunes dwindle following the chart topping success of their breakthrough "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of These This)" in 1983. Do North American critics and listeners look upon them any differently than they do now?

One-hit wonders are fodder for endless fascination among fans and people who like to compile lists. Though the songs are often fondly remembered, singers and groups that produced them are typically ridiculed for failing to notch a second smash hit single. British acts such as Soft Cell, Dexys Midnight Runners and Madness all have the supposedly dubious distinction of being one and doners (though surely that solitary hit is better than having none at all) in the States but they are now joined by many who may have had more hits at the time but who have been consigned to a de facto one-hit wonderdom by radio and playlists opting for that one single worth remembering. Thus, Eurythmics have effectively become one-hit wonders.

I think I understand what Ian Birch is on about when talks about the 'squint factor'. It reminds me of hearing Miles Davis' renowned album Kind of Blue for the first time during the glorious summer of 1997. I had previously expressed nothing but contempt for jazz but I was curious and decided to give it a go. I was impressed with the modal playing of Davis, Coltrane, Evans and the rest but it struck me as deliberate and too perfect, a far cry from the spirit of impromptu freedom associated with jazz. Then I got to the CD bonus track, an alternate take of album closer "Flamenco Sketches". Commencing with much the same slow moving piano and bass as the original version, I was startled by the shrieking notes played by Davis to kick things off. I braced myself for some more piercing trumpet sounds that I was convinced were coming only to find myself laughing at having keyed myself up for something that failed to materialise. The squint factor, I would gradually figure out even if I never used the term until now, is all over jazz.

But here? My expectations for Eurythmics amount to lyrics that seem deep until a moment's pause for thought reveals very little, the accomplished vocals of a wise Lennox who I don't really care for as a singer and videos starring a pair who seem to be above it all. No squint factor here, I'm afraid. Luckily, the song's all right and was released among a January wasteland of lousy records Ian Birch had to review. The melody is pleasant and Lennox seems to be using a degree of conviction in her reading. It's nothing terribly special and it leaves the unsettling feeling that pop was quickly shifting from teen audiences on meager allowances to more well-to-do middle-age types with disposable incomes. If only Eurythmics had been a few years younger: there's a thought experiment for you.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Wang Chung: "Dance Hall Days"

Another de facto one-hit wonder, "Dance Hall Days" made the charts in North America but it soon became overshadowed by the iconic "Everybody Have Fun Tonight" (which failed to do anything in Britain, making them a true OHW in their homeland). In this case, it must be said that the public were right to forget all about the Chungs first hit. Did these dance halls they speak of feature similarly boring tunes? The one saving grace may be found in having fun rhyming different body parts. How about "take your baby by the tooth / you can get down, that's the truth"? Or "take your baby by the hip / take a trip and spare the whip"? Or "take your baby by the tongue / it ain't time for some Wang Chung"? (I'm keeping ones about rude body parts to myself, thank you very much) 

The Cure: "The Lovecats"

13 October 1983

"I'm solid — but solid — gone, man. You will be too."

— Ian Birch

In a write-up of her great 1995 career rethink Wrecking Ball, Stuart Maconie makes the case that Emmylou Harris can never not be a country singer, regardless of the material or how it's presented. In common with Ray Charles (who was apparently never not soul), she may dabble in other genres but only ends up countrifying them because she is Emmylou Harris. I can't recall if Maconie elaborated but it may well be best suited to be one of those pet theories music lovers carry around with them no matter what the evidence says. It feels kind of true even if it isn't. Just like when people describe The Cure, who were never not goth.

Coming off of their trilogy of Teutonic bleakness LP's Seventeen Seconds, Faith and Pornography, the group was in chaos with members departing and substance abuse taking hold. Looking to change things up, Robert Smith went about searching for new members and looked towards synth-pop for inspiration. The resulting stand-alone singles, "Let's Go to Bed" and "The Walk", are admirable stabs at something new while not quite managing to shake the goth off. With a brand new stable foursome in place (at least for the time being, this is The Cure we're talking about), Smith had all he needed to go balls-out pop.

Or is it jazz-pop? Or twee indie? (Or do they all fall under the umbrella of goth: jazz-goth? Twee goth? Pop-goth?) Labels aside, this is The Cure at their lightest. While the group was never short of hooks and riffs to plant in the mind, "The Lovecats" is about as addictive as they'd ever sound. Yet, it's very much the sound of Robert Smith in his element. The piano twinkles in sinister fashion, cats poke around the room and the whole thing is not unlike the cartoon-Gothic universe that Tim Burton would create with his superb run of films from Beetlejuice through to The Nightmare Before Christmas. Childlike horror — no wonder this was the first Cure song that ver kids embraced.

"The Lovecats" is where casuals and Cure agnostics go but it seems to be one that committed fans steer clear of. Journalist Zoe Williams considers it "the song that would make you think "Cure" if you don't particularly like the Cure, just as "Creep" makes you think Radiohead even if you don't particularly like them". (She then goes on to describe it as a "song that 29-year-olds now snog to when they go to those theme clubs where you dress up like Britney Spears" while happily reporting that "they aren't short of authentic, hardcore fans") Significantly, Smith and whoever else may happen to currently be members of The Cure recently left it out of their five-song set after Trent Reznor inducted them into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame (which consisted of early indie/goth numbers and a pair of US hits, this being very much the American vision of The Cure, aside from "Friday I'm in Love" which they also neglected to play). This being their first entry into the UK top 10, it was bound to alienate some who'd been there from the days when they were just another home counties post-punk outfit but something would be lost if it were fully expunged from their oeuvre. (I must admit to building a strawman here since no one I know of has ever suggested such a thing, even if there are some who wish they'd never switched course from their goth sound)

Robert Smith looks and sounds the part — even when caressing an adorable kitten — and can never not be goth. Even if he happens to be churning out something as charming and inspired as this little goth-jazz-twee pop gem.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Duran Duran: "Union of the Snake"

Having been picking up steam throughout 1981, '82 and '83, the Duranies were quickly becoming the biggest group in the world and "Union of the Snake" looked set to officially mark their ascendancy. It did well but not quite well enough and the coronation had to be delayed a few months. But what did they expect releasing an obvious third or even fourth single as the kick off to the long-awaited Seven and the Ragged Tiger? I mean, the lead singer couldn't sing very well and many of their records were a mess (often a very catchy mess but a mess nonetheless) but Duran Duran records were never supposed to be so ordinary. It's as if they were beginning to figure out what they were doing and the Chic-meets-Roxy Music sound was never so deliberate. The first big hit from Simon, Nick and the Taylors that no one counts as their fave Duranie song, the luster was bound to come off someday. In any event, they still had that world's biggest group thing to look forward to.

Yazoo: "Don't Go"

8 July 1982

"Vince coaxes a sterling song out of his synthesizer while Alf balances its metallic clip with a deep, emotion-packed vocal that gets better with every hearing."

— Ian Birch

There were a pair of mix-gender duos in UK pop in 1982 (actually there were a lot more than the two — the hair salon model pairing Dollar springs to mind as well as the much maligned Renée & Renato — but for the purposes of this study let's just assume that there were just two who mattered). Both were fronted by unconventionally charismatic women, both of whom possessed deeper than normal voices. Backing them were a pair of moody gentlemen (hardly anything special in the world of eighties electropop) and some icy synths. But there were some differences between the two groups: one was young and inexperienced, the other a bit older and veterans of several bands who either went nowhere or swiftly faded away; one hailed from the detritus of an Essex New Town, the other from Glasgow and Sunderland respectively; one was on the rise, the other was floundering.

It's possible that you were able to guess that I am referring to Eurythmics and Yazoo from the above but you may be surprised to discover which one was happily riding the Giddy Carousel of Pop while the other could only look on with envy, hoping themselves to go for a spin soon. Every mum's favourite synth-pop group would soon have its (very prolonged) day but for now it's Basildon "super""group" Yazoo's turn to grasp on to chart success for dear life.

Coming off the initial burst of success for Depeche Mode, Vince Clarke had become alienated by, well, everything. Being unhappy with hitting the charts, touring and fan adulation might prompt some to start giving life a rethink but he was promptly in a new band and back in the Top Ten within just a few months. Quitting ver Mode may seem like a giant-sized blunder in retrospect but for (a) the synth-goth overlords would have been equally synthy but far less gothic and lordly had Clarke remained their chief songwriter and (b) Yazoo ended up being the best group he was ever to be a part of.

Which brings us to Alison "Alf" Moyet. A blues singer round Basildon way, she placed an advert in the Melody Maker and received only one reply. (I used to think that they hooked when Clarked returned to his old Essex stomping grounds following his departure from the Mode and discovered her crooning Roberta Flack hits in some dreadful Pitsea pub but, in effect, she found him) While other female singers of the time were content to warble out a vocal apathy or something downright weird, Moyet must have seemed positively old school by comparison — even though she seemed to apply some punk ferocity to belting out numbers with Aretha Franklin-like power.

Her extraordinary range is on full display on "Don't Go" but it lacks a fabulous musical performance to service it. The follow-up to their poignant debut single "Only You", it feels rushed, as though they felt an urgency to get a second single out while the going was good. While Clarke may have coaxed a sterling song out of his synth, as Ian Birch notes, his synth sure didn't coax much out of him. The song itself is rather good though and it's a minor crime that it hasn't become a standard by this point. (It's very easy to imagine "Don't Go" being interpreted across several genres by the likes of Shelby Lynne or Lauryn Hill or, yes, a bloke could sing it too, Rufus Wainwright) A shame that a little more care wasn't put into the recording.

It's impossible to say if Yazoo could have been Eurythmics — although as alternate scenarios go, it's certainly easier to swallow than Echo & The Bunnymen being U2. They had superior songs to hang on and a better vocalist in Alison Moyet but they weren't as keen to garnish their material in strings or some slick guitar (a much easier proposition for Annie Lennox and Dave Stewart, neither of who played synthesizers). I was going to write that Clarke and Moyet weren't chancers like their contemporaries but she was a struggling blues singer looking to put together a rootsy group when he rang her up so they were as opportunistic as they come. Maybe they just lacked that it factor that everyone talks about. (But then did Eurythmics have the it factor? Seriously? Those two?) You don't get it factor coming from Basildon.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Dexys Midnight Runners & The Emerald Express: "Come on Eileen"

From number one hit in '82 ('83 in North America in an era when it could take several months for a hit single to make its way across the Atlantic) to staple of eighties retro, it's hard to imagine a time when "Come on Eileen" wasn't ubiquitous but the early nineties were just such a terrain for once and future favourites to be cast aside. It was a song I'd read about and wanted to hear but I was unable to do so until I found it on a dodgy Rock 83 compilation tape of my sister's. I was beside myself with joy. A departure from their soul 'n' horns sound of the previous two years, this nonetheless fits in perfectly with their run of pristine singles. Birch wonders how much better it would be if Kevin Rowland had injected a dose of humour into it but wit was never their bag. For all of us who ever figured we could get a woman into bed by showing off our record collections: how wrong we all were. (Please see Tom Ewing's wonderful review which provides vastly more insight into this pop landmark than I ever could)

Kim Wilde: "View from a Bridge"

15 April 1982

"The Wilde family comes up trumps again. Dad's written a spry story, Ricki has peppered his production with some Trevor Horn tactics while Kim supplies those wonderfully subdued and smokey vocals."

— Ian Birch

It's difficult to pinpoint the precise moment that Smash Hits — top pop mag loaded with song lyrics, features and reviews — became Smash Hits — even better pop mag with all of the above plus pages full of whimsy, hilarity and getting the members of U2 to draw pictures of ducks — but a key issue in along the way came out in the middle of April 1982 with contributor Mark Ellen pointing his fellow scribes in a direction they'd all soon be heading towards. Putting the newly famous Bananarama on the cover, ver Hits decides to dispense with all that exclusive interview/intimate profile nonsense and has the 'Narns traipsing around some popular London spots, including the Zoo, the Monument, Pall Mall and, er, Burger King. The "haystack-haired" trio overate, palled around with a very unconvincing pair of Charles and Di impersonators, picked out some ridiculously overpriced duds from an upscale fashion boutique on South Molton Street and enjoyed 75p slices of rich chocolate gateau, all of the Hits' dime (desserts AND clothing).

Possibly on the very next day (there's nothing to lead me to believe that the two pieces were done on consecutive days, I just like to think that's how it worked back then), Ellen flew off to America in order to interview Meat Loaf. Sitting down in his rock star lair in Connecticut, they discuss Meat's work ethic, the inspiration he provides to fans and his cash-flow troubles — despite receiving instructions before hand to under no circumstances ask His Nibs about money — before the county sheriff shows up in order to help repossess the Loaf family home. The plus-size star suddenly goes mental and is soon off in pursuit with a baseball bat in hand and murder in his eyes. (This anecdote is expounded upon in Ellen's autobiography Rock Stars Stole My Life! which I highly recommend)

The insanity of the preceding two features are sadly not hinted at in the Singles Review for that fortnight. Of course when your SOTF is a paean to suicide then one might be forgiven for dialling back on the craziness.

One of the clichés of suicide is the assumption of many that those who take their own lives are cowards. Facing a grim future, the theory goes, people are too afraid of whatever is in store for them and they ultimately decide to end it all as a result. It's a nice idea — and, to be sure, one I've not been above uttering myself — but it overlooks that the act of ending one's life takes a certain amount of bravery. How does one get to the precipice of existence and go through with it knowing that it'll all be over and there won't be any second chances?

Quite whether the protagonist in "View from a Bridge" ends up going through with offing herself is another matter. Songwriter, former pop star and patriarch Marty Wilde has offers up the following analysis:

"I don't know if any of you have ever travelled across the Forth Bridge, but if you have and you've ever stood in the middle of it when the mist is very low you will get more of a feeling of what the song is all about. That's how I pictured the song, a girl in the middle of the bridge, in a raincoat, jumping off and disappearing into the fog." 

But the lyrics indicate there may be more to the story. Building up to such a desperate moment, the crushed, heartbroken girl finally makes the leap, only to feel the tug of her ex-boyfriend's arms, who then, it transpires, turns out to be a "ghost without a face". Our Kim then admits that she doesn't know "what's fact or fantasy / Cause when I look below the bridge, the girl I see is me."

Confusing, then, but getting a grasp of suicide is something few who haven't been there have been able to explain. Marty Wilde's lyrics do his best to work it out and perhaps he has succeeded. Daughter Kim's delivery is also commendable, even if it's largely how she sang at the time; emoting probably wouldn't be the best way to convey the moment before (possibly) jumping. (In a review of the accompanying Select album, Elly McDonald considered her voice to be "amazingly vacant" which I initially took to be a compliment)

So there you have it: a day out with Bananarama, a Meat Loaf meltdown and high praise for Kim Wilde's single about suicide. They don't make top pop mags like this anymore.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Bardo: "One Step Further"

Kim Wilde's SOTF triumph would appear to be all the more impressive considering the big names who also put up singles for consideration. No less than seven artists or co-artists here have been inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame (In truth, however, that number really ought to be either five or nine, although you're invited to try to convince me exactly why Hall & Oates and Joan Jett & The Blackhearts belong while Olivia Newton-John and Simple Minds don't) and that's not even including other notables such as Spandau Ballet, Squeeze and Talk Talk. Some formidable names but it's not as if the likes of Bowie, Costello and McCartney/Wonder submitted some of their finest work here. Tedium reigns on the singles review page and a half and it's up to cheery Eurovisionist duo Bardo to pick up some of the slack. "One Step Further" is far from a brilliant number but it's a likable, hook-filled singalong which makes for a welcome change alongside all the more-of-the-same synth-pop and white boy funk. Blimey, am I getting tired of eighties music?

Haircut One Hundred: "Love Plus One"

7 January 1982

"The band who'll have us all slipping into chunky knits and brogues before you can say Captain Mark Phillips."
— Ian Birch

It could be as a result of a post-Christmas lull but the singles review section is noticeably trimmer than in previous issues of the Hits. Whereas hapless, overworked critics like David Hepworth may have had as many as two dozen forty-fives to deal with — and that's not even considering discs that may have been passed over from the round-up due to either issues of space or sheer indifference — the paltry eleven records featured here were of such little burden to Ian Birch that they share space on the same page with the albums. Picking a favourite shouldn't have been much of a challenge.

Now, I'd say that he picked the wrong record as SOTF but opting for Haircut One Hundred wasn't a huge howler. The Cuts seem to have been a band that a lot of people quickly became high on. They'd only had one hit prior to this — "Favourite Shirts (Boy Meets Girl)" which was a cop pick a few entries ago — but it was enough to get them a very respectable second runner-up for Most Promising New Act for 1982 in the Smash Hits Reader's Poll. Recency bias, perhaps, but that shouldn't gainsay just how impressive they must have seemed. Quite why they impressed so many is another matter.

Putting oneself back in the early eighties, it must have been refreshing to hear an up and coming act that didn't seem absolutely drenched in punk. Up until now, virtually every British group to have arisen in the previous half-decade had the whiff of punk (or its offshoots) about them in one way or another. In many cases it had little to do with sound: the aggressive ska of The Specials might have emerged independent of Johnny Rotten and Joe Strummer and Rat Scabies but their presentation and live energy was more Kingston-upon-Thames than Kingston Town. Dexys were always going to be soul revivalists but punk only added another layer of grime.

But the Haircuts seemed to exist independent of all that. Leader Nick Heyward's obvious first love was The Beatles — particularly Paul McCartney, especially in light of how much this sounds like "Listen to What the Man Said". While such a grounding resulted in gorgeous melodies and some outstanding musical inventiveness, it also meant he could fall for a lack of meaning and this is where "Love Plus One" falters. We're entering a period of some lyrical mumbo jumbo that was a far cry from either the thoughtful early seventies singer-songwriters or the direct and to the point punks. Much as Birch likes this — and, to be sure, he's not wrong — he concludes his review by expressing puzzlement at the lyrics. The lines "Where do we go from here / Is it down to the lake I fear" make him wonder if they've been watching too many late night horror movies on TV (This, I suppose, being the time when serial killer flicks set in teen summer camps were the big thing). But I think even that's giving Heyward far too much credit for something I don't imagine he put all that much thought into. And then there's the issue of the missing comma: perhaps the line is actually "Is it down to the lake, I fear"; is he scared of this body of water or worried that that's the only place left to go? Either way, what the hell does any of it mean?

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

XTC: "Senses Working Overtime"

The one Birch should have gone with. (With an honourable mention to Joan Armatrading's typically beautifully sung "No Love" which I was tempted to write about in this space until I realised that I had absolutely nothing to say about it other than it being pretty good) Andy Partridge was all about putting meaning in his songwriting, even if it didn't happen to mean much to many punters. Wondering if they were ever going to get the due he — and the press in general — believed they were due, Birch was likely pleasantly surprised that "Senses Working Overtime" got them into the Top Ten. Putting everything they have into it, Partridge and co. perform as if this is their last chance to reach the masses. Sounding as if he's going over the edge becomes much more poignant when you later discover that that's exactly what would soon happen. (Aside from the limpness of her voice and the absurd production, a big part of why Mandy Moore's cover doesn't work is that she had no desire to enact a nervous breakdown on disc, for good or bad) The whole band chip in with some fantastic playing, particularly from drummer Terry Chambers, a striking reminder of how missed he's soon become. They payed a heavy price for this burst of success and they'd never be the same.

Altered Images: "I Could Be Happy"

10 December 1981

"Another certified winner...Clare's subdued singing slides over a surging guitar sound and a sizzling bass."

— Ian Birch

"I Could Be Happy" is the last Single of the Fortnight of 1981. It was reviewed in the penultimate issue of the year, the singles page — and, indeed, all reviews — getting the boot from the finale in favour of the first annual poll winners issue. The cover stars of that Christmas Eve, stocking filler issue? None other than Altered Images. (Well, it's actually a close up Clare Grogan's cheery visage but I'm sure that the other four weren't too far out of shot, it was their band too...)

No, the Ims didn't carry home a packing crate filled to the brim with awards. They were nowhere to be found in the running for Best Group, Best Single or Best Album, though Grogan did all right for herself in the Best Female Singer and Most Fanciable Female categories finishing fifth and third respectively. But they did manage to snare the prize for Most Promising Act for 1982. A kind-of, sort-of best newcomer award — though, as the short write-up points out, U2's fifth place was exactly where they came in a year earlier and that "isn't it about time they came up with a really hot single and fulfilled some of that potential?" — it would alter over the years, eventually evolving into separate trophies for Best New Group and Best Solo Artist. One thing that would never change about it was its status as a prize for dashed expectations.

Rewind a fortnight and the Ims are headlining the singles review page and Ian Birch is beside himself with how much he loves their latest record, though I can hardly blame him considering what dull pickings he had to choose from. Still, I can't help but feel that he's overstating things a bit. I suppose the vocals are subdued, even if they're undermined by the far too joyous video, but "surging guitar sound and sizzling bass"? I'd opt for well played musicianship which suits the material, though I will cop to my assessment being not quite as punchy. He also praises the "chemistry" and "magic" at play between the band and their producer. Yeah, I guess they worked well in the studio with a professional crew, good for them.

I don't wish to bash on Grogan and co. I really wanted to enjoy this single but I couldn't manage to get up the requisite enthusiasm that everyone else seems to have for it. The lyrics don't help matters. If the first verse doesn't strike the listener as twee ("I would like to climb high in a tree", "Maybe swim a mile down the Nile") then minds could very well be altered upon hearing them a second and then a third time. "All of these things I do," Grogan repeats throughout, a sentiment diminished considerably by her disinclination to list off a few more activities that might get her away from the unhappy situation she's in.

A silly video featuring five very smiley young Scots, those supremely repetitive lyrics and some musical gumdrop perkiness all adds up to giving "I Could Be Happy" the taint of a novelty song. And as we all know, novelties eventually wear off. Hope that Most Promising Act award won't be your millstone.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Clash: "This Is Radio Clash"

Some confusion going on here. Birch seems to have actually reviewed "Radio Clash", the B-side. Not that it matters a whole lot: both tunes are the same tune, running at the same length, with just a few extras and some added dub going on. And Birch is right to have reviewed the wrong side: "Radio Clash" is much more in keeping with what the only band that matters to people who demand that bands matter to them were up to in '81. Following on the heels of the much misunderstood, near career suicide of Sandinista!, this is The Clash at their boldest and bravest, even if as actual singles go it can't possibly hold up to their best work. It could only have meant that they had further tricks up their sleeves for the year ahead. Speaking of dashed expectations...