The Cure: "A Letter to Elise"

30 September 1992 (carrying on over on the next page)

"Sombre, beautiful, packed with ideas...I've gone all cheery! There's a big sloppy grin on my face!"

— Rob Newman

I recently quit Twitter. It was a day or so after the stupid X rebrand but it had been a long time coming. And it wasn't all the fault of that dipshit Musk. I was bored. Others found Music Twitter to be a welcoming place where opinions could be shared and everyone could discover new acts to follow but all too often I found it to be a place where I'd go to be ghosted. And, in a way, fair enough: if people didn't want to hit that 'like' button then I just had to deal with it. Plus, the challenges had begun to get to me. One month it would be 'Post a song about travel', then the next it would be 'Post an album that defined your teenage years' and so on ad infinitum.

I didn't bother to announce my departure, nor did I bother to join a rival social network. (A couple weeks' prior to quitting, a guy I follow posted a survey asking if we were planning to join (a) Bluesky, (b) Mastodon, (c) another network whose name escapes me or (d) just stick with Twitter till it breathes its last dying breath. I would have chosen option (e) ('To hell with social media') but, alas, it wasn't provided)

One of the (many) weaknesses of Music Twitter was that it got me sick to death of acts that I don't normally have anything against. I had my David Bowie phase back in 1998 when I went on and on about Ziggy Stardust and Low but I have since moved on, yet on a daily basis I would be greeted with tweets about the alleged virtues of Hunky Dory, Diamond Dogs, Station to Station, Scary Monsters and, ludicrously, Tin Machine. My Joy Division period was even earlier than my dalliance with Dame David and didn't really result in much so I quickly tired of seeing the memorable cover of the overrated Unknown Pleasures regularly popping up on my feed. Music Twitter is (was?) also flush with Fall fans, people who seem unaware that if you've heard one album recorded by Mark E. Smith and his ever-changing line-up then you've heard them all. I once liked Depeche Mode quite a bit until I got sick of them constantly popping up on my feed. And then there's The Cure: the world's best band that I've never been all that fussed about.

I've known some Cure fans. They're pretty much the same as any other group of people who are into something that I am not: nice people on the whole though I don't have a whole lot in common with them. What I was unaware of is how many of them there are. Music Twitter seems to have a lot of time for Pornography and Disintegration, albums that have always provoked not much more than mild disinterest. But I'm probably just jealous: Twitter Cure and Twitter Mode and Twitter New Order are much more popular than Twitter Pet Shop Boys or Twitter Beautiful South — and, yet, fans of those bands are far more likely to mark themselves down as outsiders.

A Smiths fan since the early nineties, I went along with that made up rivalry with The Cure. Apparently, we just had to choose between the two. This was absolute nonsense and I for one should have known better since I dug "Love Song" every bit as much as I was into "Everyday Is Like Sunday". Yet, my antipathy remained, even after I had moved on from my late-teens worship of Morrissey and Marr. Goth Cure left me feeling cold and unmoved, while jangly Pop Cure could depress me a lot more than their darkest stuff. Beyond Smith and co.'s mastery of the music video, there hadn't been much for me.

This blog has corrected this misjudgment on my part, though only to an extent. "The Lovecats" and "The Caterpillar" are both brilliant singles and I'd have a higher opinion of "In Between Days" if it wasn't such a prototypical Cure outing. None of these singles had been unfamiliar to me prior to when I started up VER HITS but fresh ears can do a world of good. "Jumping Someone Else's Train" isn't so bad itself, even if it isn't quite up to the standards of early efforts like "Killing an Arab" and "Boys Don't Cry".

Yet, "A Letter to Elise" tests the patience and provides a welcome reminder that while I may respect Robert Smith's considerable talents and dig some of his work, I'll never love his band. Rob Newman makes a good case for it virtues which would no doubt be echoed by many Cure fanatics out there. Actually, he probably makes a better pitch for them than devotees ever could, unless, of course, big sloppy grins are much more commonplace than I ever would have guessed. A "great testament to human survival against the banal in these times" is about the nicest thing I've ever heard said about The Cure, even if I don't understand it myself.

Maybe it's my state of mind at the moment but I'm struggling to think of a record previously covered here that I felt so numb towards. I've disliked plenty of others far more but few have inspired such an uninspired state. I've been listening to it for weeks yet I can't recall anything about it. I know that Newman is correct about the lyrics being so thoughtfully considered — it's actually one of Smith's strengths as a songwriter — but I couldn't tell you without looking them up what any of them mean or what this letter from Robert to Elise is all about. It's useful mainly as a reminder of what a slog their ninth album Wish has always been. Convinced I'd be into it, I borrowed my sister's copy only to discover that its more than sixty-six minutes of running time was way more Cure than I could hope to handle. But that's being a Cure neutral in a world of Cure Twitter: I don't need them in my life even if I'm glad they're still around.

 

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

R.E.M.: "Drive"

"I loved Losing My Religion and hated Shiny Happy People", Newman states. Indeed, much of his review of "Drive" consists of him deriding the latter's "breakfast time jolliness" while also knocking R.E.M.'s fanbase for being far too precious and snobby. Perhaps this explains why he gave their latest single just one out of five despite having a "bit of genuine emotion and depth". Sounds like three out of five to me. Then again, what were they doing putting out "Drive" as a single when they had four or five better 45's on the way from their forthcoming masterpiece Automatic for the People as well as deep cuts like "Try Not to Breathe" and "Sweetness Follows". "Drive" is a perfect opener to such a brilliant album but I would never have considered it for singlehood. Not unlike "A Letter to Elise".

Nirvana: "Come as You Are"

4 March 1992

"Pogo-ing has never been so much fun."

— Tom Doyle and Cecy (his cat)

"Come as you are, as you were, as I want you to be,

As a friend, as a friend, as a lame-ass limey band..."

This is something I just can't let go of. Nirvana had been scheduled to headline the final day of the 1992 Reading Festival with Kurt Cobain being given special permission to choose that day's line-up. His picks leaned heavily on American alternative acts though it is less grungy than one may have expected. It's surprising to note that Pavement were relatively low on the bill (eighth, one spot below Aussie ABBA tribute act Bjorn Again; the lo-fi'ers' superb debut Slanted and Enchanted had only recently hit the shops which may explain their bottom-feeding position) while Mudhoney were fairly prominent (third) but most notable is the almost total lack of British bands. Scots Teenage Fanclub aside, they're nowhere to be found. Cobain wished to keep the "lame-ass limey bands" as far away from him as possible.

But why? Cobain was a massive fan of The Beatles, his band did a memorable cover of David Bowie's "The Man Who Sold the World" for their famed appearance on MTV Unplugged and he spent his youth in Olympia, Washington listening to post-punk acts like The Raincoats, The Slits and Young Marble Giants (who, it should be noted, happened to be Welsh). 

A schism developed between American and British indie rock as the eighties came to a close. While Morrissey and Robert Smith may have still been worshiped by angsty youngsters throughout North America, a younger generation of UK bands had more trouble connecting with listeners outside their shores. At the same time, the US music press was becoming much more dismissive of supposedly over-hyped Brit rock (it's always struck me as rich that Americans of all people would object to anyone else overdoing it on the praise front but maybe that's just me). Groups like The Stone Roses claimed they were sure to "crack" America but the more this kind of thing got bandied about, the more it seemed sure to fail. British bands like Elastica, James and Dodgy started to seem like token acts on North American festival bills. The "lame-ass limeys" were being left out everywhere.

As a longtime Anglophile, I can't help bristling at this "lame-ass limey band" comment. But even more significantly, it seems to undermine the welcoming vibes of one of my favourite Nirvana songs. Or does it? Here is the VER HITS guide to just who Kurt Cobain may have been referring to when he condemned the crummy bands from a nation that had once been a musical powerhouse.

Blur

Nirvana played on the opening day of Reading '91 alongside the likes of Dinosaur Jr, Sonic Youth and headliner Iggy Pop; I daresay he was happy with that day's bill. Less so the next day, however, as buddies Teenage Fanclub were followed by Blur who had recently enjoyed a Top 10 breakthrough with "There's No Other Way". It's easy to picture Kurt seething at the sight of Damon Albarn's cockney schtick but this likely never occurred since Nirvana played at another festival in Cologne, Germany that very same day. In any case, Cobain is said to have loved "There's No Other Way" as indeed he should have.

EMF

With the Second British Invasion having long since faded, UK groups entered the nineties struggling to make much of an impression in the US. Jesus Jones' earnest, End of History hit "Right Here, Right Now" proved a rare success story, as did EMF's "Unbelievable", an American chart topper at the start of 1992. Of the two, I would take the Forest of Dean's hip hop rock any day over the insufferable Jones but it was clear which way the backlash was heading. Plenty of people hated EMF and I'm not so sure it was entirely down to being sick to death of their one major hit. Of the bands listed here, they're the most deserving of the "lame-ass" tag. Not as deserving as Jesus bloody Jones mind you.

Manic Street Preachers

What if Cobain objected to the only band in Britain that could conceivably provide an alternative to his own? He was known to have disliked both The Clash and Guns N' Roses, both of whom ver Manics were often compared to which (I suppose) is something but there's not much else to go on with this theory. Manic Street Preachers were still not a big deal in the UK at this point and their visibility across the pond would never be notable. For what it's worth, the Manics were huge fans of Nirvana, covering "Pennyroyal Tea" (often as "Penny Royalty"...they were so clever) and using the Cobain's true masterpiece In Utero as the basis for their mostly great third album The Holy Bible. Oh, and, like Young Marble Giants, the Manics hail from Wales so get your slurs straight there, Kurt!

The Wonder Stuff

It may seem hard to believe now but the Stuffies were one of Britain's leading groups at the beginning of the decade. Other bands had some hope of eventually cracking America but they weren't one of them. There was even talk that Americans had been turned off by the likes of leader Miles Hunt and Shaun Ryder of Happy Mondays being allegedly anti-American. (It's impossible to imagine either of them excluding US groups from an American music festival because they wanted to have nothing to do with "hopeless Yankee bands") But their presence in North America was minimal so it's hard to picture Cobain being bothered enough with them. They headlined the Friday night of Reading so I don't imagine they felt put out had they been spurned. Plus, I have a sneaking suspicion that Cobain and Hunt would have liked each other. (During the group's eighty minute Reading spot, Hunt took jabs at both John Lydon and Morrissey; if he'd had any kind of beef with Nirvana's leader he would've shared it with everyone who either wanted to know all about it or the vast majority who didn't give a toss)

British Bands in General

It's always possible that Cobain wasn't thinking of anyone in particular and that he just imagined a bunch of groups who all looked and sounded like The Lightning Seeds. He wouldn't have been entirely wrong on that one.

No One at All

What if the whole "lame-ass limey band" thing had just been made up or uttered by a stoned Cobain who didn't know what he was saying? What if he just picked a bunch of friends to share a bill with him, along with Nick Cave, who it's easy to imagine Cobain adoring, and Bjorn Again just for shits and giggles? What if it's all as simple as that? (Additionally, what if it was just some dumbass in Nirvana's orbit who claimed he wanted to keep the limeys out when all he had wanted to do was get his pals in?) A British press which had been hounding the singer over his whirlwind relationship with Courtney Love and rumoured drug habit chose not to follow-up on his dismissal of some unnamed groups from their homeland seems a little odd.

"Smells Like Teen Spirit" had broken Nirvana outside of the Pacific Northwest and it would go on to top many 'Greatest Songs of All Time' lists but I was indifferent to it. "Entertain us? How about you entertain me? You're the goddamn singer!" People I hated in school all loved it (something that would parallel Cobain's own aversion to his band's popularity as he noted glumly over jocks who liked his music) "Teen Spirit" may have been an anthem for a generation but "Come as You Are" was much more effective at speaking to the individual.

Being in the bubble of the Canadian prairies, I wasn't up on grunge culture. Those grey cardigans with holes were probably unwanted items in a Value Village thrift store but seemingly overnight they became sought after fashion accessories. Those flannel shirts were being scooped up from Eddie Bauer locations, something I was blissfully unaware of until after Cobain's death. That silly Generation X fad of wearing cool t-shirts over a long sleeve tee was something I was similarly slow to adopt.

But all of this made "Come as You Are" all the more appreciated by awkward youths like myself. It didn't matter that I still wore high top running shoes and nut-hugging jeans and bland stuff my mum and grandmothers bought for me. (For god's sake, my favourite item of clothing back then was a sweatshirt with an outline of the Great Lakes and the moronic slogan Let's Keep Them Great!) I was fourteen and was into mostly British indie but also "I Love Your Smile" by Shanice and "Jump" by Kris Kross. I wasn't in any way cool and was decidedly behind the curve. Even if I had little in common with most of the Nirvana fans I knew of, I could rest assured that Kurt Cobain wouldn't have cared.

Musically, it is also superior to "Teen Spirit" since there's Krist Novoselic prominent bass part that I, a rookie bass player of very little promise, could aspire towards. Is it repetitive? I suppose but that meant there was that faint possibility that I might be able to replicate it (I couldn't). A bit Peter Hook, a bit Mike Mills, a little bit Tina Weymouth, I ate this shit up. Critics would later claim that well-spoken Novoselic happened to be Nirvana's weak link: this was news to me.

It's now time to exorcise my annoyance over a comment that Kurt Cobain may or may not have made over thirty years ago. Even if he meant it and even if it was intended to coat down every single British band I've ever held dear (he couldn't possibly have been referring to XTC, could he?), what do I care? He was a troubled soul but one who accepted everyone from all walks of life. And he loved "There's No Other Way" so he probably had soft spot for a fair share of "lame-ass limey bands" all along. Bless him.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Cure: "High"

What's odd about older English acts being still held in high esteem was that they were all getting so boring around this time. Robert Smith and Morrissey had long been adversaries but they did both have some undeserved popularity in '92 in common. On paper combining "The Lovecats" with "Pictures of You" seems intriguing but the results smack of a band trying way too hard to sound way too much like themselves. I have time for GothCure and I'm particularly fond of PopCure (and how I wish they'd done more JazzCure) but BoringCure trying to be all things to all people is the worst Cure of all. A good song if I haven't heard a Cure number for a while; much less so if I've recently been playing my copy of Not one of their classics though it would suddenly start to sound a whole lot better once its follow-up came out.

Happy Mondays: "Kinky Afro"

17 October 1990

"At least they're thieving stuff with a bit of humour."

— Robert Smith

By the autumn of 1990 I had become a full-on Anglophile. My TV viewing was made up of Coronation St, Home & Away (an Aussie soap but one that I first encountered in Britain so it was close enough) and any British sit-com new and old that I could find. I drank tea everyday, wore my Tottenham Hotspur and Norwich City scarves regularly and began reading Sue Townsend's Adrian Mole novels. And the music I listened to was almost entirely from the UK.

There were, however, gaps. I have still never seen an episode of Only Fools & Horses, imported British chocolates were prohibitively expensive and as a result were only consumed at Christmas and The Stone Roses somehow completely passed me by until I sought them out in 1995. I also lacked context for what was going on. I didn't have access to Smash Hits (I now wonder why I didn't get a subscription but the thought never occurred to me at the time) which ensured that I'd be permanently out of the loop. When baggy emerged it took time working its way across the Atlantic. I suddenly became aware of a whole new generation of indie guitar bands and I figured they all came packaged together. If it now seems odd putting Happy Mondays, The Stone Roses and Inspiral Carpets (a group who have never come close to prompting me to want to dance) under one umbrella, Madchester had become even more of an odd ball assortment when they were teamed up with Candy Flip, Jesus Jones, EMF, Blur, The Beloved and even The Cure.

While most acts put out remix albums because of record label pressure, Robert Smith and whoever else happened to be in his band at the time seemed to do so as an artistic statement. Mixed Up came out that fall and if it is "complete bandwagoning" as Smith admits, at least they did so in a timely manner. Like most remix LPs it isn't very good, consisting mainly of extended mixes that fail to add anything to the originals. The highlights are new track "Never Enough", which is as baggy as they ever got, and a Paul Oakenfold reworking of their 1985 single "Close to Me".

Smith must have been happy with the results as he nearly made it his Single of the Fortnight in his second go at reviewing the new releases for Smash Hits. I suspect that not wanting to be seen as a total prat prevented him from doing so. Instead, he goes with Happy Mondays and their latest offering "Kinky Afro". Where The Cure busy were doing their "bandwagoning", Smith praises ver Mondays for sounding "refreshingly unlike [their] and it hasn't got that "Manchester beat" on it".

This is the third SOTF for Shaun Ryder, Bez and the rest which reaffirms that 1990 was their year. It wasn't quite an imperial period (while "Step On" and "Kinky Afro" would both become big hits, their remix of "Lazyitis" failed to grace the Top 40; album Thrills 'n' Pills and Bellyaches got a lot of critical acclaim but it failed to top the charts) but impressive nonetheless for a bunch of ne'er-do-wells who hadn't sniffed a hit single prior to a year earlier. While there are a small number of singles and albums from that year that I prefer, no one better represented the first year of the nineties like the Mondays.

As I have previously mentioned, there was a lengthy gap between the Top 5 success of "Step On" and the release of their third album. More acid house/indie rock rave ups were expected of them (which probably goes at least some way to explaining the failure of "Lazyitis") but the Mondays were surprisingly musically diverse in their own warped fashion: they weren't about to try to master one sub-genre when there were several more they could butcher in their own unique way.

Smith makes note of Ryder's memorable "yippie-yippie ey-ey ay-yay-yay" in the chorus being nicked from Labelle's classic seventies' hit "Lady Marmalade" (even if he initially thinks it came from Sister Sledge) and this something that older listeners would have been aware of. To those of us of a more tender age it wasn't borrowed at all, it was something new and cool. Now it seems cool that they chose to pinch a bit of nonsense from an R&B trio that dabbled in funk and glam rock.

"Kinky Afro" proved to be an apt opener to their breakthrough album. Are you expecting loads and loads of Madchester beats? Look elsewhere. But if you want something grubby, loutish, sexy, moronic, funny and wise? This is the place. It was also an effective single to move them away from the baggy scene. Who knows which direction they were going but it was certain to be someplace mad and unique.

While it doesn't have quite the thrill of "Step On", "Kinky Afro" is still an ace number in its own right. Robert Smith is impressed that they returned with something so unexpected and this is a quality that few would credit Happy Mondays with. All ten tracks stand out on their own but it manages to be an effective taster for Thrills 'n' Pills and Bellyaches because it opens up listeners to a host of possibilities, not unlike the way "Taxman" got The Beatles' Revolver going. 

Meanwhile, I had grouped all these indie dance bands from Britain together when most of them had nothing to do with one another. In my isolated world, Madchester was alive and well throughout 1991 and '92, the groups that were using hip hop influences or were Shoegazers or were ushering in the Britpop era or were typically classified as 'grebo' were in my mind all extensions of baggy. And I think I proved correct because very few of them had anything in common beyond being unruly youths with crappy haircuts and bad clothes — and that's precisely what Madchester had always been. As Brian Eno said, only 10,000 people bought the first Happy Mondays album but everyone who did grew a mushroom cut, dropped acid and formed a band.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Seal: "Crazy"

The man who sang on Adamski's "Killer" didn't get a featured artist credit but being on one of the singles of the year must have raised his stock. "Crazy" was nothing like its predecessor but vocalists venturing out on their own have put out far worse. Smith doesn't give it all of his attention, his thoughts diverging to crapping on rap and Adamski's "bloody ugly" dog, with only the observation that it sounds like "half the groups in the charts" being directed at the song itself. Surely Seal's voice alone gave it a fresh air, right? It sure seemed like a might good record at the time but the singer's subsequent move towards more mainstream pop has undermined it a bit. He could do well to go a little crazy himself from time to time.

The Cure: "Jumping Someone Else's Train"

29 November 1979

"It's the first of their records to actually sound finished and the first of many classics, I would venture."

— David Hepworth

Forty years and counting, numerous hit singles, million selling albums, a consistently popular concert attraction, a still-devoted worldwide fanbase, the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame: David Hepworth foresees a bright future for The Cure but he couldn't possibly imagine what was to come for Robert Smith and his band with an ever changing lineup. In truth, it would have been much easier at the time to imagine groups like Squeeze and XTC enjoying that type of career arc instead. A Surrey-based three-piece fronted by some young bloke who yawns rather than sings? Give over!

Hepworth's forward-thinking praise is as much a credit to the critic as it is to the band. The trio had just two British singles and an album up to this point so there wasn't much to indicate that there were "many classics" in their future. Sure, they were already getting a fair share of acclaim (Red Starr considered them to be a "cross between The Police and The Banshees" while making debut LP Three Imaginary Boys his 'Almost Pick of the Fortnight') but they could just as easily have been a post-punk flash in the pan like The Adverts. Buzzcocks had been killing it as the finest English singles band since T-Rex and they had already just about dried up. So what made The Cure so special?

One could tell as early as 1978's "Killing an Arab" that there was something to this group. The Fall may have named themselves after a Camus novel but you'd never know it listening to their music; to base a song around the French author's extraordinary book The Stranger was an entirely different proposition. The punks may not have been universally moronic but they all played up to it and weren't about to go name dropping a book. The song's title would eventually come back to haunt them but that says as much about pop's lack of literary awareness as anything else. Being able to quote a book is one of many assets that Smith brought: his often overlooked guitar playing and distinctive voice being but two others. 

With positive reviews and the fact that "Boys Don't Cry" is one of their signature numbers, you might wonder what Hepworth means about "Jumping Someone Else's Train" being their first record to sound "finished". I don't know if I completely agree with him but it's understandable. Plenty undoubtedly love "Killing an Arab" for its rawness but others may be turned off for sounding like it was recorded on a cheap tape recorder in a musty old loft. "Boys Don't Cry" is a much more professionally made record but it gets a bit repetitive after a while and could do with a chord change and/or some lyrics that elaborate on its theme. "Train" has the ideas of the latter with the polish of the former which indeed makes it a fully-realised Cure effort. (This ignores many of the tracks on Three Imaginary Boys, which Hepworth may not have been entirely familiar with)

"Jumping Someone Else's Train" may have been a turning point for The Cure but it doesn't have quite the wow factor anymore. They would go on to cut far better singles, including follow up "A Forest" a few months later. Nevertheless, it's a fascinating piece that puts their early work into perspective. Their most punk-like number, the amphetamine rhythm section of Michael Dempsey and Lol Tolhurst is allowed a share of the spotlight, something that Smith's various subordinates over the years would often be denied. The Cure would soon expand to a quartet and would eventually become a five-piece as they entered their most popular period in the late eighties but this trio in 1979 may have been their most powerful unit. One would be tempted to ponder what they would have been like had they carried on in their Smith-Dempsey-Tolhurst iteration if not for the fact that lineup flux is a vital part of the Cure story.

The 'see also' section of the song's Wikipedia page has a link for 'List of train songs'. The locomotive is there in the title — as well as giving its POV of a journey from London's Victoria Station to Brighton in its promo — but it's not a train song the way "Homeward Bound" by Simon & Garfunkel or "Driver 8" by R.E.M. are. It's really about bandwagon hopping and following trends while neglecting one's own path. Few in pop have steadfastly gone their own way like Robert Smith, as he would show throughout the eighties and far beyond.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Dave Edmunds: "Crawling from the Wreckage"

"This man should be elevated to a peerage," Hepworth concludes. His nibs seems to be as fond of "Crawling from the Wreckage" as he is with "Jumping Someone Else's Train" and with good reason. The third single from album Repeat When Necessary, it has a tougher sound than predecessors "Girls Talk" and "Queen of Hearts" and Edmunds' sometimes weak voice seems to be filled out and sped up not unlike Elvis Costello or Nick Lowe. He was a good five to ten years older than most of his circle of British pub rock/new wavers (which, in addition to Costello and Lowe, also included Graham Parker, this song's composer) and was incapable of writing his own material but he could give them all tips on how to take command of a record. Far better than "I Hear You Knocking" (seriously, six weeks at number one?), it fully deserved to be a hit in its own right. It failed, as did that campaign for a peerage — at least so far.

The Cure: "In Between Days" / Colourbox: "The Moon Is Blue"

17 July 1985

"Just the thing for a hot day."

"This achingly great ballad tells a sad tale of lost love — grandiose synthesizers pound away while a woman sings lushly about the moon not being blue after all."

— William Shaw

One of the things I've been trying to do with this blog is to understand why different critics picked certain singles. Not to necessarily agree with their picks, just to get a grasp of what they must have seen in them. I feel that I've done so fairly well though with the nagging feeling that I've been apologising for some pretty duff records along the way.

There's little to apologise for this time, however. Last week, I dealt with joint Singles of the Fortnight as chosen by Tom Hibbert and this is the second issue on the bounce to have a pair of new releases sharing the crown. Just as Hibs handed out co-honours to one record he was very comfortable with (The Ramones: "ah, they don't make records like this anymore...") and a more left field pick as an act of contrition (Prefab Sprout: "having previously dismissed [them]...I now find myself having to eat my words"), top music journalist turned brilliant mystery novelist William Shaw is in a not dissimilar position, even if the pair of singles aren't as far apart stylistically (though they aren't all that similar either).

The safe pick for Shaw is The Cure. Admitting that they don't quite hit the mark every time ("every once in a while they turn out a completely and irresistably loveable tune..."), he nevertheless knows just what Robert Smith and whoever else happens to be part of his band are capable of. Having already toned down the gothic gloom of Seventeen Seconds and Pornography, a lightness had been added to their sound as well as an array of instruments heretofore unheard on a Cure record. "The Lovecats" and "The Caterpillar" and album The Top were the results of these experiments but it wasn't to last. By '85, percussionist Andy Anderson was out and Simon Gallup had returned to the fold and, as if acknowledging that they had to look back in order to go forward, a darker tone came back. Mixing the chiming whimsical nature of their work from the previous year with a more morose sound of old was the result.

The downside is that it's harder to appreciate now than back when it came out because it seems too much like a prototypical Cure single. It soars like "Just Like Heaven" and has the same sort of New Order-esque bass like "Pictures of You" and trips about like "High", records that all came after it. "The Lovecats" had been a one off but "In Between Days" sounds like a blueprint. Significantly, it became their first record to dent the American Hot 100 — albeit just barely — and feels like their journey to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame begins here. (None of this is intended to knock the record, only to show that when we think about music being 'dated' perhaps it means that we as listeners are the ones who haven't aged well and that we aren't able to listen to a song in a vacuum)

Shaw also makes a case for "The Moon Is Blue" by Colourbox. Not clouded by anything that would come later (a fairly easy task for a group that would promptly fold up shop), it is possible to listen in relative isolation. Their earlier stuff ("very obscure and pretty damn arty singles") is admirable indie pop of the time, a Cocteau Twins with easier to decipher lyrics, but nothing terribly brilliant either. Going the more pop route here may have alienated some of their fanbase (even though it still did well on the indie charts) but the group deserved compensation in the form of a massive hit single that never happened.

With traces of doo-wop and the classic girl groups, this is hardly a record without precedent. But the way it so effortlessly combines them with a beautiful synth-pop arrangement, a bit of indie rock darkness and even the sound of chanting monks in the backgroud makes this such a thrillingly original piece. Bits of Lorita Grahame's stupendous vocal and traces of the tune stay with you to hum at your leisure ("now you've let me down" is a line I've been repeating all week) but other elements come back upon relistening, revealing themselves covertly as if putting together one piece at a time of a sonic puzzle. Absolutely riveting.

But that's the thing: I'm so familiar with The Cure that their pretty great single seems like just another Cure song in a world packed to the brim with bloody Cure songs yet an out-of-nowhere work from Colourbox knocks me over. Three and a half decades ago it may have been easy to have been blown away by both, just as Shaw was. Still, it beats apologising for some duff singles which I'm afraid might be coming up.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Dentists: "Strawberries Are Growing in My Garden (and It's Wintertime)"

Not to be confused with the neo-Nazi punk band of the same name, The Dentists go full on sixties psyschedelic and nearly score a SOTF with "Strawberries Are Growning in My Garden". While you can't deny that they play with enthusiasm and their scholarship of Nuggets-era acid-garage is first rate, it feels too much like the throwback that it is. XTC's Dukes of Stratosphear project managed to pay homage to flower power pop while also sending it up but this sounds way too much like it's in love with the music of the past to bother with humour. But at least the combination of English tea-in-the-garden whimsy with some blistering American freak out Moby Grape energy makes for a fun listen. Destined for obscurity but worth seeking out.

The Cure: "The Caterpillar"

12 April 1984

"Lightweight but far from empty."

— Tom Hibbert (ie the one on the left)

It was 1996 and we were all searching for the next thing. (Scratch that: we were waiting; we didn't seek anyone out, we were just hoping they were going to fall into our laps) The watered-down supposed alternative music of American frat boys Hootie & The Blowfish, Spin Doctors and (shudder) Deep Blue Something had failed to inspire any of us and it was now growing increasingly irritating. Britpop had its big timers but also a pretty shallow talent pool that meant precisely nothing to North Americans (a year later Dodgy played at my university pub to a crowd of myself, three of my chums and a half-dozen swooning bespectacled girls and this was a group that enjoyed a Top 10 album and a handful of hit singles back in the UK). The drum and bass stuff was starting to happen but we were all so stuck in our reverence for the guitar to take it seriously so we were turning our noses up at the bad and the good.

Some musician friends of mine took stock of the bleak landscape and declared "the best groups in the world are R.E.M., U2 and The Cure". Now, there may have been a decent case to be made for this way back in '86 but this was ten years hence. R.E.M. had just released the kind-of live album New Adventures in Hi-Fi but this is also happened to be just when no one seemed to care about them anymore, U2 were increasingly seen as a brand rather than a band and what business did the bloody Cure have being so highly ranked to begin with? Those other two groups may have sort of mattered but who did The Cure matter to beyond Cure fanatics? 

With all that in mind, I'd like to take this opportunity to apologise for underestimating them — at least a little. They're still not completely my cup of tea but I should now admit what a major talent Robert Smith has always been. Funny it should take something so lightweight but perhaps that's the point; I'd stand by my dismissiveness if all they ever managed to record was that bunch of heavy going gothic stuff others seem to care for.

With a feel not unlike The Associates' 1982 SOTF "Party Fears Two", "The Caterpillar" breezes along effortlessly. This is no doubt aided by the presence of percussionist Andy Anderson and Lol Tolhurst on piano, probably the two Cureists who contributed the most individually to the sound of an famously dictatorial group. Obviously Smith is the man who has made them and is The Cure but it's rather nice to hear a more collaborative dynamic going on. As Tom Hibbert says, things are kept simple with nice hooks and minimal lyrics. What we have, I suppose, is a woman in Smith's life who is of modest means and background but who will no doubt one day morph into a sophisticated, worldly butterfly destined for better things and a someone more befitting her new station. It is either a pessimistic account of the inevitability of being left behind or a game attempt at generously letting go (or a clever attempt to appear to be the latter when you're really just the former).

In my searching waiting for that next thing (a year later and we were all convinced it was Radiohead and I suppose it was for a bit though it seems hard to believe now) I could have done worse than stumble upon "The Caterpillar". For while I awaited for the next big thing to emerge, I was also hoping to have another chance at love — once again, not in search of it but just biding my time until it presented itself to me. Smith's tender, mature reading may have helped me finally get over any lingering heartbreak while his more twisted side may have encouraged a more cavalier approach to attracting a special someone. And, anyway, if girls were throwing themselves at Smith — not to mention those half-dozen bespectacled girls at the members of Dodgy — there'd have to be at least one out there who'd opt for me. But I could wait.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Billy Joel: "The Longest Time"

Your first album and first concert ought to be embarrassing and on both fronts I am proud to be ashamed. A ticket was available and I joined my mum, sister and aunt to attend A Night with Billy Joel. I wasn't a fan but I didn't have anything against him but almost as soon as the show was done I realised I wasn't going to be boasting to friends about seeing our Billiam. Not a great concert but it was astonishing to discover that I knew every last song he performed when all I thought I was familiar with was "We Didn't Start the Fire" and other contemporary minor hits. He did this one which of course I didn't know I knew. A near-a capella masterpiece of vocal stylings from the doo-wop era, Joel managed to make it seem fresh back in '84 and it still holds up to this day. One of those songs that's impossible to dislike. But I should refrain from saying any more since I don't want anyone to know how much I like it.

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.