Showing posts with label Josephine Collins. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Josephine Collins. Show all posts

Wednesday, 1 September 2021

The Sugarcubes: "Birthday"


"Q. Why are The Sugarcubes' record company re-releasing this splendiferous waxing?
A. Because it's the best thing that Iceland's sole famous pop group have ever done and because this is actually a brand new version recorded with the help of Jim and William from The Jesus And Mary Chain."
— Josephine Collins

People had been trying to warn us for a long time that there was this fabulously talented chanteuse from the tiny nation of Iceland who was going to be huge. The Sugarcubes had only formed in 1986 but hipster critics from the NME and the Melody Maker were already praising them to death just a year later. Twelve months on from that and they were the musical guests on an episode of Saturday Night Live and they still hadn't had a Top 40 in either the UK or US. Their fanbase grew but for the rest of us they remained this group whose debut album was always in the discount racks of HMV stores. Then it was 1993 and Björk was everywhere. It only took seven years but here she was, an overnight success. (Of course, no one knew what was coming for her but it was easy to see that The Sugarcubes were going to be something else — and this wasn't all down to their unique vocalist)

Rock guitarists were on the defensive by the end of the decade. Most of them found the eighties to be a cess pool of fairlight synths, drum machines and, more recently, sampling. The "real" music they had grown up on in their bedrooms, basements and garages no longer had a place alongside all this "manufactured" junk that was dominating the charts. They seemed unaware that hip hop had been every bit as D.I.Y. as punk and were similarly ignorant to their beloved Beatles having been masters of studio trickery which clashed with rock 'n' roll mythology. The remix had long been a staple of dance pop but Coldcut's groundbreaking retooling of Erik B & Rakim's "Paid in Full" made it a much more commercially viable option. So, too, did the Quincy Jones remix of New Order's "Blue Monday", once a brilliantly dark 12" sensation that the legendary producer/jazz musician turned into a glorious pop song (one that this writer prefers to the original).

Remixes were anathema to rock purists so it was a good thing that Jim and William Reid were anything but classic rock snobs. Rather than rope in, say, The Beatmasters or Frankie Knuckles to twist their 1987 single "Birthday" into a rave up favourite (something Björk would not have been against a few years later), they got their drinking pals from Scottish act The Jesus & Mary Chain to drench their trademark buzzsaw guitars and slop buckets full of feedback all over it. The results seem unnecessary on paper but proved to be exactly what was needed. While there's no denying that the version from a year earlier is outstanding, it still sounds like they were struggling to hide the influence of the Cocteau Twins. By making "Birthday" more of a Jesus & Mary Chain single, it ended up sounding like nothing that had ever been made.

As I have said before about J&MC, the Reids had patented a method of burying their vocals beneath layers of distortion rather than screaming and shouting over the racket. While this would seem to be exactly what you shouldn't do, it somehow worked and fans had to force themselves to listen closely to whispers among loads of chaos. This is somewhat the case here as well only Björk is a much stronger singer than Jim and William Reid. While it is much easier to appreciate her range on the original mix of "Birthday" (especially the way her voice pierces and wails on the Icelandic version "Ammæli"), her vocal seems all the more extraordinary as she tries to push her way past all that Mary Chain noise. It's impossible to say which is better but the two compliment each other not unlike The Beatles' electrified "Revolution" and its acoustic companion "Revolution 1" — one may prefer one or the other but they're best appreciated in tandem.

In a fortnight teeming with Stock Aitken Waterman releases (no less than four reviewed by Josephine Collins and that's not including stable king Rick Astley with an early stab at creative independence), as well as plenty of solid yet unspectacular pop from the likes of Michael Jackson and even the Pet Shop Boys (big a fan of them as I am, "Domino Dancing" has never been a huge favourite of mine), "Birthday" stands out as a testament to The Sugarcubes as one of the finest groups of their time, the Reids expertly transforming someone else's work into something they could have created and Björk as a generational vocalist and performer. It even suggests what she might have done in the nineties had she gone in the direction of indie rock. The Top 40 wasn't quite ready for them but indie kids were starting to catch on. We can't say we weren't warned.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Pasadenas: "Riding on a Train"

Quite the contrast from a Sugarcubes/J&MC collaboration, it would be easy and understandable to dismiss "Riding on a Train" as derivative fluff. It's not especially profound or fresh but it's a highly enjoyable record nonetheless. All five Pasadenas have top notch voices and none of them resort to over-emoting the way R&B Romeos couldn't stop doing just a few short years later. (This was a time when people were still using the word 'soul' to describe this kind of music which I always felt was much more in line with top flight mainstream pop than the bulk of subsequent R&B acts who always seemed painfully concerned with 'keeping it real' and all that) I thought it was stupid when it began it's push up into the UK Top 20 that September but the earworm tune eventually won me over. We need more groups like The Pasadenas.

Wednesday, 23 June 2021

The Housemartins: "There Is Always Something There to Remind Me"


"In fact, it just makes the whole thing even sadder and...excuse me while I blub..."
— Josephine Collins

In an age when bands never really breakup anymore, it's almost impossible to imagine a group closing the curtain when things were only just getting started. The Housemartins had only been a name act for two years and it naturally caught a lot of people in UK pop off guard. And this was still a time when groups did decide to end things early. The Police were only just reaching a mass international audience when they went on permanent hiatus. Similarly, Wham! wereat the height of their powers when George Michael concluded that going solo was what was best for all concerned — except for Andrew Ridgley. Paul Weller took The Jam to pasture as he began to realise that his musical ambitions were beyond his bandmates.

Speaking of which, the last time this blog dealt with a farewell single was when we looked at "Beat Surrender" by "La confiture". It was Single of the Fortnight as much for its place as an event in British pop than for its quality. The Jam did many, many better singles in their day and their finale could well have been their weakest since the Bruce Foxton-penned "News of the World" (and that was done when they were still finding their feet) but try telling that to their still-loyal following: the group went out on a high note with an exciting, piano-driven rocker with some of Weller's patented sloganeering. It hit number one so who am I to question it?

The breakup of The Housemartins was caused a similar out-of-nowhere shock. They weren't huge like The Jam or The Police or Wham! but, then, they never gave themselves a chance to get that big either. They never did much in America (and sales of their records in New Zealand were never anything special) and weren't quite critical darlings the way The Smiths had been. (For all of its end of decade embrace of all things pop, Smash Hits got behind them more than the weekly music journals for students, venues one might assume would have been a more natural home for ver Hoosies) They were just two albums in and who's to say how much bigger they would have become?

Looking back to childhood is a popular subject for songwriters — and the results generally resonate with fans. "In My Life" was described by John Lennon as his first "serious" composition and reflective songs of this sort have since been taken up by many (including by former Housemartin Paul Heaton with "I'm Your No.1 Fan" from The Beautiful South's 0898 album). Others go for a more playful look back at younger days. Stevie Wonder's "I Wish" is filled with fond reminisences of youthful hijinks of hanging out with "hoodlum friends" and "playing doctor" while "Baggy Trousers" by Madness just lists off examples of "all the fun we had" in spite of some terrifying teachers. There's more than a little of this going on in "There Is Always Something There to Remind Me" too: "drawing mustaches and glasses on the ruling classes" does appeal to boys bored and bratty alike but there's also something less-than savoury going on. There's some real fear in some of Heaton's lyrics and they still manage to nag at him in adulthood.

A seemingly playful song like "Baggy Trousers" is able to hide its dark side underneath all that nutty boys fun but there's less of that here with the equally goofy Housemartins (their image as merry men of pop was something they all despised and it likely contributed to how The Beautiful South were received as confrontational and prickly just a year later). I listen to it and think of the many slights I have felt at the hands of teachers, students and even friends and how they still come back to me on occasion. I am also reminded of stupid things I said or did that still cause me to shudder. "I've more than you" — incidentally, I always thought it was "Our mother knew": I am always finding new mondegreens — is not a phrase that haunts me but I imagine it would stick with young people growing up in a class-based society like Britain. We finish school and get on with our lives but we never quite move on from those incidents that were traumatic.

While last singles like "Beat Surrender" and Wham!'s "Edge of Heaven" were both number ones, "There Is Always Something There to Remind Me" underperformed, only reaching a peak of 35 in May of 1988. This broke a nice streak of six top 20 hits on the bounce and it's bizarre that such a good single would fail where others had done well, especially as it was their swan song. A problem, however, was that the single wasn't brand new. It had been recorded several months' earlier for a John Peel session and buyers may have been turned off by the group calling it a day with some recycled product. (They admitted in Smash Hits that they weren't interested in prolonging the end by playing a farewell concert which stands to reason considering they couldn't even be arsed to record a proper final single) More importantly, there's little that's self-congratulatory to it nor does it bring the group to an end by bringing tears to the eyes of their fans. They went out the way they wanted to go out and didn't much care what anyone thought. Luckily, they left plenty behind to remind us of them.

~~~~~

Also of some cop

Joyce Sims: "Walk Away"

"Come Into My Life" had been a hit single that made you wonder why there weren't more songs just like it. A rare groove with stylish soul and a club hit that managed to crossover to the UK charts. It's still a great song but why weren't there more? No one managed to emulate it and Joyce Sims herself struggled to match it. "Walk Away" is perfectly acceptable eighties' soul-pop but it suffers from being not up to scratch alongside its predecessor. Well sung by Sims and it's not a song I'd turn off though nor is it anything that commands the listener's attention. She never did another "Come Into My Life" but just be glad she pulled it off the once.

Kim Wilde: "Love Blonde"

21 July 1983 "Now that summer's here, I suppose the charts are likely to be groaning under the weight of a load of sticky, syrupy s...