Sananda Maitreya: "Let Her Down Easy"

10 November 1993

"If you've ever been in love with someone older or younger than you this will break your heart."

— Alex Kadis

As if trying to pull a Rolling Stone, Q Magazine had singer Sananda Maitreya "grace" its cover in June of 1993 wearing absolutely nothing, his member only covered up by a '...in the Q Interview' tag. Somehow or other this didn't convince otherwise neutral consumers from picking up his latest album. Sex sells but not necessarily shameless nudity.

Though they all failed to make the Top 10, the four singles taken from Sananda Maitreya's 1993 album Symphony or Damn did respectable business. Each one peaked somewhere in the teens with runs of four or five weeks apiece. Nothing spectacular but not bad and the sort of results that should have ensured that sales of his current L.P. would shore up. After-all, R.E.M. had been in a not dissimilar situation at around the same time with a series of not-quite smash hits contributing to the year's long success of Automatic for the People. Yet it didn't quite work out in similar fashion for Maitreya. The quartet of singles spent a total of seventeen weeks on the Top 40 while the album did just a dozen weeks on the equivalent listing — with the bulk of them coming in the thirties. By the time "Let Her Down Easy" was hitting the charts, Symphony or Damn was all but done.

Like "Everybody Hurts" (itself the fourth single from Automatic), "Let Her Down Easy" ought to have given him a big late-stage hit. While the record buying public loves a dramatic ballad, they no longer had much affection for the artist behind it. Quite why is another matter. Appearing starkers on the front of a popular music mag didn't help but the backlash came four years' earlier when second album Neither Fish nor Flesh came out. Hardly anyone noticed that it was out and those that did all seemed to dislike it. Kids who bought debut Introducing the Hardling According to Terence Trent D'Arby on cassette had moved on to the likes of Warrant and New Kids on the Block and Happy Mondays; yuppies who purchased it on CD had Tom Petty and Bonnie Raitt to be concerned with. That he managed to come back at all with a perfectly serviceable third album and a handful of singles that did okay is kind of remarkable all things considered.

Yes, perfectly serviceable. I think I overstated just how much I liked Symphony or Damn the last time I blogged about his nibs here. Full disclosure: I had never heard it prior to four months ago and I think its strengths really stood out while I was able to ignore its weaknesses. Such things happen when you've only given an album a single listen. It was brash with all of Maitreya's vast talent on full display. I couldn't believe how all-over-the-place it was. Now, I find it a little too scattered. Some albums such as bassist Jaco Pastorius' self-titled debut and The Style Council's Cafe Bleu are erratic in the best possible sense but this doesn't quite work on Symphony. Clocking in at over an hour is far too long for a non-compilation, especially one with such a ludicrous range of styles that struggle to mesh with one another.

As far as the singles are concerned though, Maitreya's diversity is a point in their favour. As I have already stated, "Do You Love Me Like You Say?" is a groovy rocker featuring the singer as his full-throated best. Next up was "Delicate", a duet with British pop/R&B vocalist Des'ree. Vaguely Asian sounding, it's a bit of a grower that steers clear of your typical soul power ballad cliches. Coming up third was "She Kissed Me" which puts D'Arby in clear rock territory. The tempting comparison to make is with Lenny Kravitz, particularly when it comes to the song's accompanying video, but with far less of a reliance on riffs and better songcraft. If the song itself is a little less impressive than its predecessors (or, indeed, its follow-up), it certainly provides a welcome reminder of Maitreya's extraordinary vocal range.

And so we come to "Let Her Down Easy" which is probably the finest song the man ever created. A classy track to close out Symphony or Damn, Maitreya dispenses with all the instrumentation and all those different styles and paying homage to his many influences (As Steve Sutherland stated in a largely negative review in the NME, "'Turn The Page' is TTD does Dylan, 'I Still Love You' is TTD does country, 'Seasons' is TTD does Jimi) in favour of a simple but highly effective piano ballad. Alex Kadis describes it as "wonderful, haunting, graceful" and she's absolutely correct. And, again, how great of a singer is Sananda Maitreya? 

As the quote above states, Kadis reckons "Let Her Down Easy" to be particularly moving if you've ever been besotted by someone who is either older or younger than you. Maybe but it's pretty fabulous either way really. I used to have a friend who once told me about the importance of keeping a romantic legend in one's memory. Have a spell with someone that goes fairly well and then move on without ever spoiling things in the future with a terrible break up or eventually getting back together. There might be some heartbreak and loneliness for a time but the wounds will heal in time and then you're left with the memory of someone who was just about the one but who slipped away. It's a nice thought and one that comes to mind when considering this single. The girl here is impressionable and full of life but that innocence could be snatched away at any time. If you're going to use her then at least try not to leave her in pieces when you inevitably skip town.

There's a deftness to both Maitreya's songwriting and overall performance. He's dealing with sensitive subject matter but he manages to sink into the nuances. This guy is probably a cad but he isn't painted as an outright monster. The girl is naive but you sense she knows what she's dealing with. This isn't a case of rape or abuse, more of a passing romance that is destined to end just as quickly as it started. Since it's just about done, why not try to end it in the best possible manner? Better to be remembered fondly than as a colossal mistake. Sex sells but bittersweet love keeps us coming back.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Urban Cookie Collective: "Feels Like Heaven"

Kadis hates their name (it isn't great but points for originality) and isn't overly fond of their latest single but otherwise okay, am I right? I've always quite liked "Feels Like Heaven" due to its addictive chorus and poppy techno dynamics but there is indeed something missing. Someone who is a dab hand at pop songwriting might have helped. (Sananda Maitreya for one) Much as I dig the verse-chorus back-and-forth, a middle eight would have been nice. Kadis claims ver Cookies are "at the forefront of the current batch of featureless, meaningless rave pap" and she's not wrong. Her giving them two out of five lacks a bit of generosity but there's no question this catchy record could have been a good deal stronger.

Sananda Maitreya: "Do You Love Me Like You Say?"

14 April 1993

"A fantastic and vibrant record — if it doesn't get to number 1, so help me I'll eat Ian Beale's socks."

— Tim Southwell

Apologies for the deadnaming but Terence Trent D'Arby is known to millions while Sananda Maitreya is seldom-remembered. No doubt there are those out there with well-worn copies of Introducing the Hardline... who aren't even aware that the artist behind this successful and influential album changed his name way back in 2001. As someone who has known about it I would nevertheless have struggled to tell you what it is.

(NB: I have subsequently decided to reverse this position. The excuse above is a weak one. If some of us aren't aware of the singer's real name then it behooves us to learn it. With the exception of the above, I have replaced his former name with the one he prefers to go by. The same goes for every other piece in this space written about him)

That out of the way, let's get to the tale of the genius from the late eighties who was big for a year or so then faded away and everyone forgot all about him. Except that someone didn't get the memo, while the UK still wasn't done with him (at least for the time being).

Tom Breihan's column on the 1988 American number one hit "Wishing Well" (a Top 5 smash about a year earlier in Britain) relates the story of the singer getting rejected by a series of UK record labels because they supposedly didn't want another Michael Jackson or Prince. The pop critic is skeptical and with good reason: who wouldn't have wanted another fabulously talented and charismatic singer with oodles of crossover appeal? But I'm a little doubtful that this was even what happened. More likely is that the likes of BMG, EMI, Polygram and Virgin took a pass on him because he refused to be just like the superstars of the day.

In a previous mini review of "Wishing Well", I took issue with reviewer Vicky McDonald's comparison of Maitreya to Prince but I think the similarities grew as the younger singer's career progressed. By refusing to be just like his supposed idol, he became more resolute, more independent, more single-minded and, thus, more like Prince. Still, if I'm going to take others to task, I might as well do the same for myself. For some reason, I chose to assert that "Wishing Well" was something that the "future Sananda Maitreya would have difficulty topping". All I can say is I didn't have his overlooked output from 1993 on my mind back then. Introducing the Hardline According to Terence Trent D'Arby was his lone blockbuster album but he didn't begin to come into his own until third L.P. Symphony or Damn* (*Exploring the Tension Inside the Sweetness). (Though Tom Breihan remarks that no one did audacious album titles like Maitreya, he didn't even bother to bring up this one)

Having made a second album that derailed his superstar status so spectacularly that it arguably undermined just how massive he had been (Introducing the Hardline... managed to top the British album charts for nine weeks, an astonishing total for anyone much less an artist with their debut release; such was its obscurity that Simon Reynolds didn't bother including sophomore release Neither Fish not Flesh in his list of 'Career Killing Albums'), everyone would've forgiven Maitreya for retreating back to tried and tested slow song territory. So for him to re-emerge with the rock and funk attack of "Do You Love Me Like You Say?" was an especially bold move.

"Talent borrows, genius steals" (though wouldn't the truly talented genius come up with something less cliched?): taking every element of "Do You Love Me..." apart there's nothing especially original going on. There's a percussionist in the accompanying promo and he sure did a bang up job nicking the that "Funky Drummer" part. The rhythm guitar playing is, yes, decidedly Princian. The backing vocalists chirp away like in an old school soul record. And, of course, there's Sananda Maitreya at the centre of it with a throat-shredding performance that nods to his gospel roots. As I say, nothing new to see here but for the fact that they've seldom been sewn together so seamlessly. "She Drives Me Crazy" had been a huge global hit back in 1989 for Fine Young Cannibals but the way they pieced together all its disparate elements seemed jarring; in these more capable hands, however, they merge so well that you'd think they'd always been together.

Even though it had been a return to form and then some, Symphony or Damn couldn't match the sales and chart lifespan of Introducing the Hardline... It would debut at number four but would quickly end up drifting around the lower reaches of the albums chart for the remainder of its run.Yet, its singles all did respectable business with each one nabbing a Top 20 spot in the UK. It's as if everyone found a Sananda Maitreya song they liked and loyally stuck by it at the expense of his other releases, even the sleeper album released at the same time. The Sananda that rocks out, the Sananda that croons soulfully, the Sananda that dabbles, the Sananda that trips on acid rock and post-punk: at most, you may have one Sananda Maitreya but I'll take 'em all.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

R.E.M.: "Everybody Hurts"

I was going to nix my plan to write about every single from Automatic for the People and go with Trash Can Sinatras instead but I couldn't be arsed. Why write about people who want to be R.E.M. when you can have the real thing instead? There are bots out there on social media who claim that this and U2's "One" are lousy; I know they're bots because no human being with a soul would say such things. Quite why Warner Brothers chose to sit on "Everybody Hurts" as long as they did is a mystery — had they put it out as the second single from the album it might have given them that US and/or UK number one that they never had. And that video! I had resisted them for long enough and it was at this point that I started to crack. While it's depressing that it frequently takes a moving slow song to get the public to shell out for a worthy group, at least R.E.M. were getting the giant hit they deserved. If only they'd been so kind towards the future Sananda Maitreya.

David Bowie: "Time Will Crawl"

3 June 1987

"This is a v. wonderful record and it's just a pity the rest of his ropy old "Never Let Me Down" album isn't up to the same high standard."

— Vici MacDonald

When I was a boy, David Bowie was a part of rock royalty. He had songs like "Let's Dance" and "China Girl" which were huge hits and he strutted on stage at Live Aid with Mick Jagger doing "Dancing in the Street". He was also a giant concert draw and seemed cut from the very same cloth as Phil Collins, Dire Straits and Sting: middle class and older than conventional pop stars who appealed more to our mums than to us. Some of his songs were all right but did any of them matter with Culture Club and Duran Duran around? He was establishment and I had little inkling that he had a massive discography of extraordinary works put out during the decade of my birth. Nothing by the mid-eighties would indicate a musical genius, just a big star. Then he seemed to lose his way.

Jump ahead a decade and I am in university. I didn't care much for the frat rock of Hootie & The Blowfish and Blues Traveller, I was quickly growing bored of Britpop and I couldn't be bothered with the bulk of drum 'n' bass and hip hop. It was during this time that I started going back to earlier eras and genres. Miles Davis, The Beach Boys, Stevie Wonder. I began hearing about Bowie in the seventies and I decided to explore his music from that time. Friends of mine who were into music as deeply as I was, nodded as I told them all about Ziggy Stardust and Low but others didn't have much to say on the matter. "He was in Labyrinth, right?" was the common lay response.

This ignorance annoyed me at the time (no one would ever associate a movie star with a one-off pop hit — and, yes, I am aware that Dame David was in fact in several films) but it's understandable in light of Bowie's late-eighties' fall from grace. A superstar in '85, he had become obsolete within a couple years and was so desperate to revive his fortunes that he formed a sad hard rock group by the end of the decade just to kick himself back into gear. Loyal Bowie followers will tell you that he eventually did and it's with (insert-album-title-from-Black Tie White Noise-to-Black Star-here). The fact that few can agree just when he did finally have that long-awaited return to form kind of reveals a hidden truth: it never really happened.

But how did the man who spent fifteen years at the forefront of popular music suddenly come adrift? The run of singles stretching from 1969's "Space Oddity" through to "Let's Dance" in 1983 is simply unbeatable and he did some pretty great albums in that time too. But his desire with the latter to produce a balls-out hit single with Nile Rodgers producing and Stevie Ray Vaughan doing a memorable blues guitar spot proved to be his creative undoing. No longer was he leading the way nor was he cagily latching on to the hip new trend. "Blue Jean" from 1984 proved a big hit but for the first time in ages Bowie seemed content doing more of the same. Parent album Tonight was patchy and easily his weakest LP to date.

Following up a relative failure is never an easy task. Bowie chose to take some time off (a feature in Smash Hits from earlier in the year notes that he'd been doing some production work as well as "reading 18 books a week and sitting around his homes in Switzerland and Scotland") and appeared in both Absolute Beginners and the aforementioned Labyrinth. If not exactly idling away his time, he doesn't appear to have honed his own music during his layover, neither did he seem to be soaking up what others were up to. Returning with Never Let Me Down, he made a conscious decision to get back to rock music. He may as well have told everyone that he'd run out of ideas.

But Bowie being Bowie, it wasn't a complete waste. Most of the album is wretched but a couple tracks salvage things a bit. "Time Will Crawl" makes its case for consideration on the great-songs-from-duff-albums list (along with "This Is England" by The Clash and "Undercover of the Night" by The Rolling Stones) with a powerful vocal — a positive side-effect of Bowie's hands-off approach to his two previous albums was that it forced him to focus his energies on his singing and his range became fuller — and a pretty good tune that does, as Vici MacDonald points out, hark back to better days. Tellingly, however, she compares it to "something" from the Aladdin Sane album, which had been his first long player until Tonight to have been criticised for being too similar to its predecessor. Nevertheless, an eighties Bowie recapturing his seventies paradigm was welcome.

Yet, having Ziggy and Aladdin on the brain wasn't going to do him any favours. Good as "Time Will Crawl" is, it wouldn't possibly have made the cut for either of those albums (it might have been good enough for Diamond Dogs which admittedly isn't one of my favourites). By his reduced standards of the time, it's a perfectly fine record and it still holds up. And even though MacDonald makes a point of bringing up his legacy, it's possible that much of his fanbase had little concern for what he had done a decade and a half earlier. Indeed, considering sales of Never Let Me Down quickly faltered amidst poor reviews, they were similarly apathetic towards his current stuff too. Appropriately, "Time Will Crawl" would limp to a token top 40 position in Britain while missing the US Hot 100 entirely.

Though no classic, "Time Will Crawl" was the best he was capable of at that time. And like his other good singles to come (I'm particularly fond of "Jump They Say" and "Hello Spaceboy"), it simply relies on Bowie's innate grasp of pop in order to succeed. He wasn't able to lead the way any longer and the artists he championed — Pixies, Grandaddy, Arcade Fire — weren't able to light enough of a fire under him. His work from 1993 up until the end of his life was respectable but he would never return to his heyday — though, mercifully, he also never reached the nadir of the late-eighties. But the public would eventually come back around to him. Bowie's death in 2016 stunned music fans all over the world and there are many who seem to still be grieving. Not bad for someone who was once 'the guy from Labyrinth'.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Sananda Maitreya: "Wishing Well"

More often than not, groups who everyone says sound like The Beatles actually sound nothing like The Beatles. They don't have that concise lightness and thrill of their early singles, nor the astounding inventiveness of their post-1965 work; in reality, all they have is three chords and a generic quality that isn't so much reminiscent of the Fab Four as just being vaguely similar to everything that has come since them. Kind of like MacDonald's view that "Wishing Well" sounds too much like Prince. Certainly the little perv's influence was everywhere at the time but perhaps more so in Britain than back in the States where white pop and rock music had yet to cotton on to his cool. With his chewy baritone alone, Sananda Maitreya marks himself out as well outside the Prince umbrella though the tune is decked out in those fussy details which were a trademark of the Purple One. An influence, sure but it doesn't feel like Prince is all over this thing. Either way, it's pretty damn brilliant, as I thought then and still maintain today. Poor, old Vic should have listened to Sylvia Patterson, who vainly tried to cajole her colleague into anointing it SOTF. Turns out, it was one of the singles of the year and a song that the future Sananda Maitreya would have difficulty topping.