Wendy & Lisa: "Sideshow"

13 January 1988

"It churns and stonks along and has some shiveringly pretty singing and the best thing about it is the way they pronounce "sideshow" as "satchel" on account of their "funny" American accents."

— Tom Hibbert

1988. A key year for Smash Hits and for your humble blogger. Pop itself may not have been in peak form but the magazine tasked with glorifying it was at the top of its game. An ace "crew" of music journos with a very liberal use of "inverted" commas made the British youth keep coming even when the pop stars themselves weren't much cop. Traces of the mag's roots in punk, new wave and New Pop remained even as the era of Stock Aitken Waterman and the return of the boy bands was upon us. You might say that late-eighties Smash Hits encompassed the entire decade.

For myself, 1988 was the year in which everything changed. I began to slowly get into music over the first several months of the year which would only serve as a teaser for our move to England that August. My sister began buying Smash Hits, we never missed Top of the Pops and I quickly took to sitting through the entirety of Bruno Brooks' Top 40 rundown on Sundays. (Saturday morning pop-centred fare such as Going Live and The Chart Show was a rarity, however, since we went away a lot on weekends) Many of my childish passions had been left behind in Canada, never to return. I also discovered my love for travel and took my first steps towards becoming the person that I am today. (Read into that whatever you will...)

In the world of ver Hits, '88 began right where they'd left off. Tom Hibbert takes the reigns once again as singles reviewer. Nothing new here, this was his tenth "go" at it. Turns out, it would also be his last. Hibs had been with the top pop mag for a while, a throwback to the days when critics were about his age, not several decades younger. He would act as inspiration and mentor to a generation of excellent writers but this chapter was beginning to close. He wasn't yet done — it wasn't as if there was anyone else capable of replacing him as Black Type — but as this was his last kick at the singles "can" then this entry can be his farewell. And what a run it was: from getting me to shift ever so slightly on Big Country to making me suspect that he used his position in order to give the covert impression that modern pop was nothing but crap

His final SOTF was awarded to Wendy & Lisa for their single "Sideshow" and, for once, I don't think he's trolling anyone either. He reckons it's "really groovy" and "frightfully "sexy", if you will pardon the term". A much more convincing case than his justifications for the likes of Red Lorry Yellow Lorry, Limahl and even Heart. Hibs actually liked at least one pop song from this time? Yes, I believe he did.

The Revolution had been modern pop's answer to Duke Ellington's orchestra. Both organizations had immensely talented figures at the forefront and both were backed by musicians with considerable abilities of their own. People like Johnny Hodges, Barney Bigard and Cootie Williams all seemed like stars but their lofty status only remained while under Ellington's employ; on their own, they could never escape his shadow. Not unlike Prince's backing band. The Purple Perv had a formidable lineup that had helped him through his prime years and it seemed like these people were all stars in waiting as opposed to, say, The E-Street Band, a group that looked like they'd end up right back in Asbury Park, NJ as plumbers (or accountants in the case of Max Weinberg) if The Boss had ever had them disbanded.

On the other hand, Ellington knew that he needed the key members of his group. The departure of Hodges in 1951 resulted in a lukewarm four year solo career for the alto saxophonist and a bit of a creative downturn for Duke. He composed with particular soloists in mind and struggled a bit with one of his top players missing. Prince had been underpaying his musicians for some time and his decision to augment The Revolution was unpopular. He would eventually blow the group up and the success of the resulting solo trilogy — Sign o' the Times, The Black Album and Lovesexy — must have led him to believe that he was better off doing everything himself. Being a generational talent — as multi-faceted musically as Paul McCartney, as chameleonic as David Bowie, as prolific as Miles Davis — this was something he was always capable of but the price he paid was the end of his great period.

Wendy Melvoin and Lisa Coleman decided to venture out of the ashes of The Revolution as a duo, though one that also utilised former Revolution drummer Bobby Z. as well as Wendy's twin sister Susannah, who had been a member of Prince associate act The Family. Carrying on where they left off, their sound's source is unmistakable. Fair enough too since Prince's influence was all over the world of pop in the late eighties so why shouldn't his former bandmates indulge? It did, however, keep them tied too much to Prince who they would never fully get away from.

Much of Wendy & Lisa's self-titled debut album is about them finding their feet and establishing a sound of their own. A lot of the time it works and it mostly does on "Sideshow" except for the fact that it revels a little too much in its obscurity. In sending up their also-ran status as a mere 'sideshow', the pair display a degree of humour that Prince often lacked but there's the worrying sense that they were predicting their fate. Of course, this is easy for me to say in 2021 but listeners in 1988 may not have taken them seriously if they weren't in on the gag.

Otherwise, it's a perfectly nice pop-funk-soul number and one that holds up well alongside Prince's work from the same time. They're both excellent musicians and good vocalists, even if I wouldn't exactly describe their singing as "shiveringly pretty". It's far from being a mind-blowing performance but it suggests that they were on to something. They were sure to be the Next Big Thing — all they had to do was move themselves away from the Last Big Thing.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Fall: "Victoria"

Mark E. Smith and whoever else happened to be in The Fall (was Brix still a member?) displayed a bit of thing for the sixties back in '88. Faithful and fun covers of both The Beatles' "A Day in the Life" and The Kinks' "Victoria" resulted. They're both good but the latter is preferred despite its predictability. One can almost imagine Ray Davies believing all his royalist irony but you won't make the same mistake with Smith. Musically it lacks the charm of the original but there's a strong group performance and Smith "sings" it with far more swagger than Davies. A good effort that deserved to give The Fall a second top 40 hit and one that you might want to listen to a few times. Unlike "A Day in the Life", in which once will suffice.

Heart: "Who Will You Run To"

9 September 1987

"Ah, me, they are resolutely unfashionable, these two elderly Canadian "lovelies", Ann and Nancy Wilson, and their three "rugged" backing blokes (each with his own personal ugliness problem) but I'm afraid I can't resist their dubious charms."

— Tom Hibbert

1987 has been a banner year for Singles of the Fortnight. If it isn't exactly stacked with killer records, at least it's loaded with name pop stars. The local independent labels that arose in the aftermath of punk were beginning to fade away and those that were still clinging on (Factory, Mute, Rough Trade) managed to do so with acts that were regulars on the charts. Curios like indie-jazzers Weekend or Dutch synth act Spectral Display weren't able to make the kind of impact with critics that they used to. The mainstream was taking over. With fewer independents around, the big acts were able to flex their muscle in the singles review page.

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is well represented by the '87 crop of SOTF. So far, Aretha Franklin, Prince, U2, Depeche Mode, David Bowie, Iggy Pop, The Beatles, Michael Jackson and Dusty Springfield have all been inducted in the hallowed halls in Cleveland, Ohio. Others have been passed over but have credible cases. George Michael hasn't received much consideration over the years but you have to think he'll be in someday — he was simply way too big for them to keep him out forever. Duran Duran seem similarly likely for eventual enshrinement but I'm not so sure with them; I suspect that the Hall's governing board will have to be populated by children of the eighties for their time to finally come. Boy George as a member of Culture Club seems like a longshot, his star having faded considerably since their year-or-so at the top. Pet Shop Boys? Now you're just being silly.

The 2013 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame class was headlined by Public Enemy, Rush and longtime snub Donna Summer. One of the other inductees that year was Heart — Ann and Nancy Wilson, as well as four guys I've never heard of. I don't know if there was much opposition at the time to the supposed Canadians getting in but they don't seem particularly deserving considering the above groups that have so far been denied entry (and, it must be said, all were eligible back then). George Michael and Duran Duran are out but Heart are in? I don't want to suggest a North American bias but that's the only explanation I can think of. (Either that or they're convinced the 'rock' in Rock and Roll is of utmost importance)

To be fair, the Wilson sisters were big in their own right and it may be easy to forget just how popular they were. They started off based in Canada (sorry Hibbs, but they're American, though they had a connection to Vietnam War draft dodgers fleeing north of the US border which is an important, if underexplored, facet of Canadian history and culture) and were much more of a folk-rock act on their debut album Dreamboat Annie, with just hints of what was to come. People who liked that early period of Heart may not have been fond of the way they evolved into a hard rock metal group over the next decade. Like Whitesnake, they were much more of a metal look than a sound and it's likely that folk who would be raised on the likes of Metallica and Slayer would deny Heart's place on the metal family tree. But that's the odd thing about metal: it constantly tries to out-metal what comes before to such an extent that it renders older acts as simply "rock". Nevertheless, they were in that metal sphere.

Heart's big hit in 1987 was "Alone", which was a global smash. One of those classic eighties weepies, it's the sort of thing people might scoff at — or be what they used to call a 'guilty pleasure'. I used to have it on a British compilation called Soft Metal and it sat alongside other eighties rock staples such as Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" and Starship's "We Built This City" which only reaffirmed it as a schlocky favourite. Out of curiosity, however, I put it on earlier this week and had I been British my astonished reaction would have been simply "Tune!" (As much as I am a lifelong Anglofile, there are some things I just can't do: I don't understand cricket, I can't sing a football chant without feeling like an idiot, I can't do any kind of British accent and I can't say 'Tune!' when I hear a song I like — and I'm fine with that)

Yeah, "Alone" is actually pretty great. Ann (or is it Nancy?) has a great voice, one she can let rip on when she so desires but also one where the words become merely a whisper in places. There's a touching vulnerability in her vocals as well. The power ballad was already fast becoming a cliche by '87 but the Wilsons transcend it with what is a superb composition and Tom Hibbert is right to make the link with an ABBA slow song (I guess he means either "I Have a Dream" or "The Winner Takes It All"; the extraordinary "The Day Before You Came" is simply too individual and sinister for it to have any connection at all). You may wonder what the jiggins old Hibbs is on about with this observation but I think he was trying to picture the sort of song Benny and Bjorn would have written had they been in the pop metal game. (A clue is found in the power ballad structure of the unofficial tenth ABBA number one "I Know Him So Well" by Elaine Paige and Barbara Dickson from the musical Chess) 

Alas, "Alone" isn't the song we're dealing with here. Its follow up was never going to be more of the same; hard rock groups had an iron-clad rule that ballads are to be followed by anthemic numbers. In metal that's normally for the best. Poison's "Nothing but a Good Time" is vastly superior to "Every Rose Has Its Thorn", Motley Crue's "Girls, Girls, Girls" is better than "Home Sweet Home" and every other song Kiss did is better than bloody "Beth". But Heart weren't quite a metal act and couldn't cut a decent uptempo single the way they could a tender love song. "Who Will You Run To" has a very metal chorus that you can sing along with right from the off but there's little else to recommend in it. Not bad but nothing I want to listen to again. Significantly, I've listened to "Alone" far more over the past week

I suspect that Hibbert would agree to some extent. It's notable that much of his review is about how much he liked "Alone". In addition to the ABBA comparison, he discusses the song's video and how the sisters looked in it. Plus, he really liked the song as well. His praise for "Who Will You Run To" is a little more guarded, pointing out the chorus as a highlight and that it's a rousing tune. Dubious charms? Absolutely. American rock of the eighties was a wasteland of power chords and living the rock 'n' roll lifestyle and Heart were certainly at home in this territory. But they knew a thing or two about writing a song and, again, Ann (or is it Nancy?) was a generational talent in terms of vocal prowess. She just put it to much better use on a love song than on some rip roarin' rawk. And who can argue with her? They're in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, you know.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Donna Summer: "Dinner with Gershwin"

Gosh, Donna wasn't going to play this dreck for Georgie Gershwin while having said dinner, was she? I somehow think the composer of "I Got Rhythm" and "Summertime" wouldn't be terribly impressed by this "tribute". Donna Summer weathered the end of the disco era better than most of her colleagues but her star had faded by the late eighties. Still, I guess it tells you a lot about her name recognition that this lousy single ended up making the charts. Proof that just because someone can sing the phonebook, it doesn't mean that should. Luckily, the queen of disco would soon hook up with pop's dominant songwriting team to record something that didn't shame the legacy of "Love to Love You Baby" and "I Feel Love".

Iggy Pop: "Isolation"

17 June 1987

"Why is this so wonderful when everything on Bowie's own LP is so useless?"

— Tom Hibbert

David Bowie, Sparks and, now, Iggy Pop: we've been encountering our fair share of critical favourites as of late. Well, at least to some extent. Bowie always had a on/off relationship with the press and his occasional fallow periods would be duly knocked by the music mags, even if each new post-Tin Machine release would inevitably be hailed as his "return to form". Sparks, as I have already gone into, have only recently been darlings of the hacks, their penchant for changing up their sound being viewed with suspicion by some who didn't understand what they were up to. Still, there's no denying that both Bowie and the Maels have have "enjoyed" favourable reviews of late, with the former's death only solidifying the immortality of his music in the eyes of critics.

Iggy Pop seems to have always been a favourite of journos, even at times when very few other people were listening at all. Lester Bangs was one of the first to take notice, finding The Stooges to be a very welcome continuation of early Velvet Underground (incidentally, another act with a notable Bowie connection — ironically, the legendary writer never had much time for the Dame himself) and the heyday of garage rock. Others would follow suit, especially once his reputation as a godfather of punk has been solidified. Pop isn't the most obviously talented figure so his appeal among journalists may not be overly clear but his commitment to his live shows (even subsequent to his days of self-mutilation), single-mindedness and the fact that he's made the most of his abilities deserves respect and these were elements they were quick to recognise. Growing up, you'd seldom hear his music on the radio or see his videos on TV and he was never in the charts but his name would regularly pop up in print and he'd frequently be listed in end-of-the-year polls. Nobody bought his stuff but everyone with an opinion seemed to like him. (As Brian Eno once said, only 10,000 people bought the first Stooges album but all of them would go on to set up their own underground music magazine) 

The peak periods of Pop's career often coincided with his interactions with David Bowie. When the pop chameleon convinced The Stooges to reform so he could record them properly for their third and final album Raw Power, it came at a time when the producer had just been coming off the breakthrough success of The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars. They don't have much in common but they are both brilliant LPs. Though Bowie had been playing around with a harder rock sound, it's nothing compared with the harsh, piercing sludge rock of Iggy & The Stooges. Despite his creative impulses, it's possible that he saw Pop's work as just what he would have wanted to do had he been so limited.

Pop was dormant through much of the mid-seventies but then he and Bowie reconnected and the two shared a flat in West Berlin. To say this period was prolific would be an understatement. Each would record a pair of albums in 1976 and '77 and they would all be first rate. Pop's The Idiot, with its Kraut rock beats and warped funk sound, was unlike any other record in his career and was, as Bowie would later admit, a dry run for the remarkable Low and Heroes albums that he would soon record. Lust for Life would arrive later in the year and it would be much closer to a straightforward Iggy album with less of an obvious debt to Bowie. To this day they are an amazing quartet of albums.

Though this had been a fruitful period, the pair would soon go their separate ways and wouldn't reconvene for nearly a decade. By this time, Bowie had become the rock and roll superstar he had always threatened to be while Pop just continued being himself. As I have previously discussed, Dame David took some time off from recording in the mid-eighties and one of his side projects was producing the latest album by his buddy from Michigan with the wrinkles and the plasticine physique. They'd struck gold before so why not this time too?

Bowie expressed some regret that he used his friend as a "guinea pig" on the sessions for The Idiot but he wouldn't need to feel quite so guilty this time round. Where the Dame had been young, ambitious and hungry in '72 and drug-addled, penniless and even hungrier five years later, he was now clean, rich and well-nourished and always up for hitting the slopes in the Alps; for his part, Pop had been rescued twice previously by his friend but now he was relatively sober and taking up golf and wasn't in need of getting his career going again. Yet, it still helped, as his cover of the Johnny O'Keefe 1958 hit "Wild One" (rechristened here as "Real Wild Child") gave him a UK hit single and got him into several film soundtracks of the age — although not as many as I would have guessed. This unexpected smash didn't lead to anything else but not for lack of trying: "Isolation" would be a third unsuccessful attempt at more hit parade action. But it's likely that Bowie's comfortable lifestyle had dulled his quality control: he wasn't going to use Iggy as a guinea pig this time but he wasn't about to drop some mind-blowing new musical discovery in his lap either.

Clearly Tom Hibbert appreciates "Isolation" but I have to wonder if this is due at least as much to his admiration for the artist as the record itself. As ever, Pop puts his all into it, his underrated voice hitting notes usually reserved for his buddy, the former Thin White Duke. The song shares more than a little in common with "Teenage Wildlife" from Bowie's Scary Monsters LP but it must be said that Pop has believability on his side. His friend and collaborator was the consummate performer yet one could sometimes see the performance all too clearly ('Acting Without Acting' as they call it in Curb Your Enthusiasm); Pop's shtick was to live himself out in his act. It's still a performance but still...

Iggy Pop and David Bowie's third go round wasn't nearly as successful as their first two stints together and their work from 1986-87 is now mostly forgotten. The back-and-forth inspiration of old had been diminished to the bare means of Pop grasping his chum's big eighties' sound and Bowie moving back into the heavier world of the former Stooge. And while his partner struggled to get back on track, Pop improved upon the disappointing Blah-Blah-Blah album that they did together and has released a series of respectable records ever since. Bowie may have been the one with the legacy but he could have still stood to learn a thing or two from Iggy Pop.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Fleetwood Mac: "Seven Wonders"

Iggy Pop and David Bowie hit peaks in 1977 but neither came close to the mammoth success of ver Mac, a British blues group that evolved into a California soft rock colossus. Everyone bought Rumours but they swiftly alienated their fans with subsequent album Tusk, a disjointed but brilliant work. Nevertheless, they would remain a big act through the eighties though they were never able to properly follow up their giant billion seller until 1987's Tango in the Night. It was big but it really goes to show how giving the public what they want comes with a price. Sounding like a mainstream country song of the time (if a pretty substandard one), "Seven Wonders" failed to impress anyone as the Fleets feebly attempted to recapture a soft rock sound that they had already mastered and moved on from. The mighty had fallen but at least it was into yet more billions.

Limahl: "Love in Your Eyes"

23 April 1986

"He's back. Back! With a moving imitation of a piece of pink tissue paper (i.e. his singing is gigantically wispy) and a completely weedy pop song. Hip hip hooray!"

— Tom Hibbert

He invented silly nicknames for pop stars. He brought in the "liberal" use of inverted commas and then did it to "death". He was even Mr. Black Type. Yet, he often lavished praise on mediocre records by the likes of Red Lorry Yellow Lorry and Limahl and allowed Margaret Thatcher to drone on in a very boring interview. Paul Margach risks pissing all over the grave of beloved rock journalist while insulting a generation of pop music writers who worship him when he asks... 

Who the hell did TOM HIBBERT think he was?

Tom Hibbert is late for our interview. Very late. I've been holding up a table in a busy diner for three hours and there's still no sign of him. Granted, he's been dead for nearly a decade so I suppose I shouldn't wait much longer.

To pass the time, I try imagine how our conversation will go. I look over the questions I have prepared and I realise that I haven't the faintest idea how he will answer them. Will he respond quixotically? Will he be the grumpy bastard that he frequently laments others for being? Will he charm the pants off me to the point where merely the thought of this tongue-in-cheek hit piece will make me coil in shame? Will he dig the fact that I'm turning the tables on him? Will he scoff at this pratt with a blog no one reads?

I look over the file I have complied of his clippings and interviews and I try to go about piecing together a Q & A out of answers he has already given. Cut and paste all the way!

Tom Hibbert. Hibbs. (Somehow he avoided being anointed with one of those silly nicknames he gave many of the subjects he covered in the magazine. His Hibbs might have been a nice, simple go or maybe something like Thomas Ciggies 'n' Booze) The man generally credited with giving Smash Hits its unique voice. Credited by many in fact, even himself. It's easy to forget that the top pop mag wasn't always awash in "ver" and "what the jiggins?" and so forth but that was all the doing of one man. But what was it like before he arrived? "It was rather boring," he reckons.

But then he went about re-christening everyone. Sir Billiam of Idol. Lord Luccan of Mercury. Wacky Macca Thumbs Aloft. Dame David. Horrible Headband. Madge. Lardo le Bon. Mark Unpronouncable Name. And these are just the ones anyone remembers. But did any pop stars take their new monikers badly?

Kate Bush was one. "She didn't like being Kate 'Hello Earth, Hello Birds, Hello Sky' Bush. She didn't think that was at all amusing." (Who would ever have guessed that she of all people would be so prickly?) Good thing Hibbs was there to give her just enough rope to hang herself because has anyone heard even the slightest peep from her in the last three-and-a-half decades since?

"My interview technique," he explains, "was to keep a straight face and embarrass people into answering the questions. If there was a long silence, I'd stay silent too. It seemed to work, although Boy George once threatened to beat me up. He was a very large fellow so that was quite frightening. He's even larger now, ha ha! Then there was that ghastly chap Ringo Starr. He threw me out of his hotel room!"

That's quite the selection of pop stars he managed to piss off. But he may have had a wee bit more trouble once he ventured out of his comfort zone. He famously interviewed Mrs. Thatcher and you might say the player got played. Allowing her to drone on endlessly about how ver kids should "do something", she comes across as quite reasonable. "She was absolutely bloody marvellous," he recalls. Now, to be fair it's been well-documented that getting a word in while dealing with the Iron Lady could be a tricky task but it might have been nice had he come back with asking about what kind of "something" those redundant miners might have "done" with themselves. A missed opportunity perhaps. Good thing he was there to take the mickey out of her taste in music. Tory insiders must have reckoned she was finished after revealing that "How Much Is That Doggy in the Window?" was her favourite song. But at least he got a nice photograph of the two together as a keepsake.

But what of Hibbs' own musical tastes? I think it's fair to speculate that he may not necessarily have liked everything he reviewed favourably. Did the man troll us Hits readers with recommendations for Red Lorry Yellow Lorry's "Monkeys on Juice"? ("...you even want to dance to it in a funny kind of way") Or The Lucy Show's "Undone"? ("You can dance to it, you can call it art if you wish..."; curious the kind of music he figured we were all dancing to) Or Limahl's "Love in Your Eyes"?

I imagine asking him if he ever challenged himself to lavish excess praise on an utterly naff record — or if one of his troublemaking colleagues at ver Hits dared him to do so. Are you seriously going tell me that you enjoyed this over-lush, tedious ballad by one of the era's silliest pop stars? You even claim that it's better than "The Never-Ending Story" (something I actually can't argue with) as if that dreck was itself something to behold. His own protegee Sylvia Patterson later gave Limahl's Colour All My Days album a harsh but fair zero out of ten which is much closer to the objective truth. Didn't he come across as a bit of a fuddy-duddy for championing something so (a) MOR and (b) crap? (Then again, he could very well also have been trolling those who looked up to him by giving his approval to something so utterly uncool)

I search for an answer to insert but I come up empty "handed". Maybe he really did enjoy Limahl's music. Maybe he genuinely felt that challenging Mrs. Thatcher's rubbish record collection was much more practical than going after her policies. Maybe he felt that it was a part of his job to rub pop stars the wrong way. 

I'd very much like to find out from the "horses" "mouth" but he still hasn't turned up. I'm not going to wait much longer.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Pete Wylie & The Oedipus Wrecks: "Sinful"

Sorry, was I too hard on poor old Hibbs? I don't wish to bash him any further so how about some praise? Certainly his reviews are anything but boring and this fortnight none of 'em read better than for Pete Wylie's "Sinful". So much does he like it that if it weren't for the Single of the Fortnight designation I'd assume that this is his pick. And well it should have been. Transcending the cliches of eighties pop production, it makes the best of the big drums and grandiose sound for a sublime singalong that you'll have difficultly tiring of. Hibbs asks questions that presumably will never be answered (I know how he feels) but does manage to come to the conclusion that Pete Wylie has a massive hit on his hands. I hope he wasn't too disappointed that it only did all right.

The Lucy Show: "Undone"

6 November 1985

"Not much of a song tune-wise, but the sound is dashingly gloomy. You can dance to it, you can call it "art" if you so wish — either way it's shimmeringly cool."
— Tom Hibbert

As I wrote last week, changes were afoot at ver Hits during the final months of 1985. Colourful pages abound with the black and whites being left mainly for the crossword puzzle and the letters page. The singles review has recently started using SINGLE OF THE FORTNIGHT as a banner, albeit tucked away in the bottom left-hand corner. It's a good thing they've brought in this designation since you might not guess simply by reading about what's on offer.

Taking a casual glance at page forty-two of this issue of the Hits, you might assume that Wham! would be walking home with SOTF honours. The write up on their latest single "I'm Your Man" is accompanied by a large photo of George Michael and Andrew Ridgeley, prominently placed just below reviewer Tom Hibbert's name in bold print. And His Nibs (or shall we say "His Hibs"?) is taken with their latest effort. He observes that Michael has shown no sign of losing his touch while recognizing just how redundant Ridgeley has become. He doesn't gush over it or anything but he sees it for what it is: yet another well-crafted megahit for a group at the peak of their powers.

Hibbert likes other records as well. His review of "In This Heat" by Simonics (whoever they are) concludes with an observation that despite the "absurd" narrative, its "overpowering hypnotic qualities will get you anyway. Ber-rilliant." Meanwhile, "No Rope as Long as Time" by Latin Quarter is a quietly poignant affair about average citizens caught up in the midst of Apartheid in South Africa. "This Is What She's Like" by a returning — and, inevitably, restructured and remodeled — Dexys Midnight Runners he considers "LUDICROUS" but I reckon he means it in the best possible sense. His former Smash Hits colleague Neil Tennant has been giving this pop stuff a go and his latest, "West End Girls", is chilling and sinister.

But there's another single that has really drawn Hibbert's attention. He's already a fan of these guys, regarding everything about them highly save for the well-nourished frontman's image. Everything they've done previously has been "impeccable" and this new one is "lovely". A bit confused as to the story going on, he decides to give it another listen — "don't mind if I do..." he concludes. And he's right: "The Lost Weekend" by Lloyd Cole & The Commotions is a fantastic single. Strange it's not his SOTF.

Finally we get to "Undone" by The Lucy Show. While he has plenty of praise for it, I'm not convinced he actually prefers it to Cole's latest. He doesn't exactly go over his word limit here and much of what little he has to say (see the quotation above) is on how one might approach it. Not unlike earlier pick "Monkeys on Juice", he sees value in dancing to songs one might not normally think of as floor fillers. That's fine and even kind of noble in a way but what does it tell you about his appreciation for the record? He enjoyed "I'm Your Man" and "The Lost Weekend" but this one? I suppose he must have done but other than the claim that it's "dashingly gloomy" he's rather stingy with his praise.

So, I think that Hibs wanted to give a struggling band a leg up. The Commotions had already received loads of acclaim for their debut album Rattlesnakes a year earlier and "The Lost Weekend" was set to become their second Top 20 hit on the bounce so what did they need with a critics choice in a top pop mag? Dexys had had their time and still had a loyal following to ensure respectable sales (well, not really...). Choose the Pet Shop Boys and he might have felt like he was going to be accused of giving a boost to a mate. He could have opted for Simonics or Latin Quarter but neither possessed the hip indie factor that would have marked them out as acts to watch out for. I can go either way with "Undone" but it's easy to see they had promise.

Tom Hibbert wasn't about to spoonfeed us "viewers" his pick and, SINGLE OF THE FORTNIGHT mini-banner aside, perhaps he was content to let young people read these reviews for themselves and see what, if anything, they'd want to search out. Nevertheless, I can't imagine many who happened to have a few extra bob laying around looked at this piece and decided to go round to the Boots on High Street to see if they had a copy of this new Lucy Show single. Hibs being a mischievous presence in pop lit, he wasn't about to care either way. The SOTF didn't necessarily have to go to the best record on offer, just the one that stood out the most or the one that might be a harbinger for things to come or whatever he felt like. He could pick a specimen with a drama school background who never met a spotlight he didn't have to be dragged away from for all he cared.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Pet Shop Boys: "West End Girls"

Now a bona fide classic, it's difficult to imagine listening to "West End Girls" for the first time — as well as wondering quite what to make of it. A posh English accent rap about dive bars and hard or soft options doesn't quite scream 'world-wide chart topper' nor would you guess that it would provide the basis for a remarkable thirty-five years of Pet Shop Boys. Of course what Tennant and Chris Lowe had already mastered was mixing London's Beefeater postcard image with its seedy underbelly into a place even more glamourous than anyone could have imagined. With top notch pop instincts, a passion for imported 12" dance singles and grounding in British culture from top to bottom, they pulled off their first of many superlative singles here. They got jobbed out of the SOTF (though maybe they should have been co-winners with Lloyd Cole) but we'll be seeing them here again before long.

Ramones: "Bonzo Goes to Bitburg" / Prefab Sprout: "Faron Young"

3 July 1985

"Ah, they don't make records like this anymore — unless, of course, "they" are the Ramones who continue to thrash away in their leaky jeans and unhygenic [sic] sneakers as if it were still 1976."
— Tom Hibbert

It had been nearly ten years since the release of the first Ramones album, no great amount of time looking back now but lengthy enough while it was happening. During that time, they had overseen the invention of punk, played about in a New York scene featuring groups that couldn't have been more different from them, witnessed the UK punk revolution take off (then saw it rapidly crumble), saw off contemporaries who all went the pop and/or stadium rock and happened to be not too far away as hip hop began to take off. Everything changed but them.

But not really. They went through drummers, their sound got poppier, they had to endure the trauma of having Phil Spector produce them with firearms present (and possibly aimed in their direction), normal rock star shenanigans. But their core remained with each member retaining their distinctive traits (Joey's deadbeat guttural vocal, Johnny's whiplash buzzsaw power chords, Dee Dee's perceptively dumb lyrics). They were very much still the Ramones.

"Bonzo Goes to Bitburg" was seen as a huge departure because it dealt with Ronald Reagan's controversial trip to a German military cemetery in May of 1985. While the visit was reputedly to commemorate the end of the Second World War, the American president drew the ire of many for laying a wreath near the burial sites of actual war criminals. Surviving victims of the Nazis were upset, as were many in Israel, as well as veterans back in the States. And one Joey Ramone.

The Ramones didn't do politics. (For all of that "left wing entertainers" stuff you hear about, the only member of the group who happened to be open about his political tendencies was Johnny who was never shy of praising Reagan or George W. Bush) Their debut single "Blitzkrieg Bop" borrows from Nazi bombing raids but it's a song about idiots falling in line. Idiocy was their bag. They weren't idiots themselves but performed from the perspective of them. Though college kids would eventually become their core audience, they were really singing to lonely youths from broken homes who dropped out of school, committed petty crimes and were losers — people just like the Ramones.

A good thing, then, that "Bonzo..." isn't quite as political as you might think. In reality, it's about watching the evening news and being dumbfounded by it. Joey looked at Reagan giving a speech at Bitburg and asked himself, "what the fuck is he doing?" but didn't have an answer. Perhaps not knowing quite what to say, the song was co-written by Dee Dee and Jean Beauvoir of The Plasmatics. Having three authors could have reduced the impact of the song but I think they only ended up making it more disjointed. The verses focus on the absurdity of political home truths ("you watch the world complain but you do it anyway"), the chorus is focused on taking shots at that B movie actor currently in the White House and then there's its extension ("my brain is hanging upside down") that sums up a ludicrous situation that leaves everyone in a state of helpless stupidity.

And that's the genius of the Ramones — and I don't even like them all that much.

~~~~~

"This is an English truck-drivin' song about having to eat Yorkie Bars in the horrific surroundings of "service areas" and listening to the ghastly weepies of country crooner Faron Young on a crackling in-cab radio. At least, that's what I think it's about."
— Tom Hibbert

America, America, America. The British love America. Even when they tell you that, in fact, they're very anti-America, there's a sense that they just don't like the brand of America that's being currently forcing itself upon them or that they feel let down that the country they look to has lost its way and has left them adrift.

Pop stars from the UK tend to make no bones about their debt to the US. A lot of them move there (even when they've never attained Stateside success), they all jump at doing vast American tours of cities major and minor (my Law of Tour T-Shirts states that you'll always find the name of at least one town in Oklahoma or South Dakota that no one has ever heard of on it) and some even get into the dodgy business of mythologising it. Because nothing says stick to your roots like pretending to be part of a culture that you don't belong to while ignoring the one you come from.

One may never be more British than when they're to be trying to be American but if one is to do so then the best strategy is either to not be overwhelmed by the influence or to get it completely wrong. Don't go the route taken by U2 (yes, I know they're Irish but it still applies) and pull a Rattle & Hum: soak up Americana if you must but don't act like you're an integral part of it, steep yourself in old school soul and country and rhythm 'n' blues but don't lose your own sound in it, visit Muscle Shoals but don't forget you come from Melton Mowbray.

Paddy McAloon is a gifted figure and has gradually become recognised as one of the UK's finest musical talents after a few years there in the eighties in which he was considered to be, in Tom Hibbert's words, "flitty and too clever by half". Perfect pitch, prodigious talent, songwriting skills to die for are among his strengths. What he doesn't possess is an understanding of America and doesn't pretend otherwise. While he would later explore it in greater depth on the 1988 album From Langley Park to Memphis, "Faron Young" is an early example of coming to grips with not quite getting America. (Even earlier dry runs, such as "Cue Fanfare" and "I Never Play Basketball Now", appear on Prefab Sprout's first album Swoon)

The truck driver here may indeed scoff Yorkie Bars in service areas in the middle of Northumbria while listening to old country laments, as Hibbert states, but he's at a loss. Not because of his job or strife with his family but because the tunes on the radio that are supposed to mean something to him don't, as Morrissey would sing a year later, say anything to him about his life. Where's the disconnect? Hauling crates of orange squash all over the Britain is not unlike the American trucker on his way through the mid-west, shouldn't the very same songs move them? (Changing stations on the radio dial is obviously not an option in this narrative)

McAloon is projecting but it's more than a little condescending to assume that the working class will react to a careworn country ballad in the same way. Having grown up near the petrol station that his father ran, he may have known more than a little about the tastes of your average trucker and that they might fly in the face of our expectations. Speaking of which, the fact that he was raised in such a working class environment goes against the image of a cozy, middle class youth who studied to be a priest and listened to "Georgie" Gershwin and Stephen Sondheim. 

Expectations are further left like roadkill on the M6 by the song itself. Knocked for preciousness, being too bloody clever for their own good and some impenetrably hard to decypher lyrics, Swoon wasn't appreciated by many at the time. Determined to get people to appreciate what they were trying to do, the Sprouts delivered Steve McQueen, a lush album-of-the-year (well, probably the runner-up to Hounds of Love by Kate Bush) produced lovingly by Thomas Dolby. "When Love Breaks Down" impressed critics (though never quite enough to get them another SOTF) but failed so they doubled-down on the surprise factor with the hard hitting country swing of "Faron Young". It's hard to imagine McAloon and his chums really thought it stood a better chance than the gorgeous single that just flopped (even though it did enjoy a modest chart improvement, at least until its predecessor got released) but it does a great job of proving that they weren't wimps, weren't above doing supposed workingman's music and understood America. Only Prefab Sprout seemed to know that not understanding it is much more interesting.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Sparks: "Change"

I get the feeling it's much easier to get into Sparks retrospectively. You can dabble in various periods and phases and not feel much of an attachment to any one particular Mael sound. Hibbert seems to miss the Sparks of "Amateur Hour" and "This Town Ain't Bit Enough for the Both of Us" but their ambitions are way past that point. Cluttered, sure, but Ron and Russell Mael were never exactly minimalists and something like "Change" is all the better for being loaded with ideas. Perhaps knowing that their days as serious chart contenders were up, they throw together some sweet European synth-pop together with a bit of mid-eighties production and even a tasteful guitar solo. It's now thirty-five years on and they just  keep changing. All hail Sparks.

Julian Cope: "Sunspots"

14 February 1985

"This is a stern, strident and invigorating march through some lunatic wasteland where tinny guitars slash, people whistle out of tune and someone pipes up on a jaunty recorder during the most compulsive sway-along chorus since long before Foreigner."

— Tom Hibbert

Nothing beats a reference to Foreigner to make you well disposed to a rival record. "Well, this really isn't my sort of thing but I don't hate it and it's not bloody Foreigner so it's okay by me!" "I'm not especially into much pop music beyond the mid-nineties but at least I've existed in a musical landscape for over a quarter-of-a-century without Foreigner." "The latest Maroon 5 record? We'll it's balls but not compared to..." Okay, I over-reached myself.

Oh well, is it too much of a backhanded compliment to say that I don't have a whole lot of interest in listening to the bulk of Cope's work but I'm still happy to see him around? Someone's gotta put out "lunatic wasteland" records and he's plenty lunatic for it. Like heroes Syd Barrett, Roky Eriksson and Skip Spence, there must be some sort of genius lurking in there and we can but hope that it will peak through in time. These casualties of sixties drug culture were always given the benefit of the doubt but seldom did their talents emerge. On the other hand, Cope is alive and well and still active and his main skill might be in being Julian Cope. But does he craft excellent pop records?

We're a few years out now from Cope's commercial golden year when his act The Teardrop Explodes exploded on the scene and the hits — both of them — came forth and he's clearly not especially interested in replicating their former success. (Either that or going round wearing a tortoise shell happened to be his best idea for how to market himself and give the punters what they want) Still, his solo career has been much more accessible than one might think and "Sunspots" is a prime example. Well constructed and with hooks and plenty of that swaying that Tom Hibbert is evidently so fond of, it's a fine listen but one that fails to invite replays and doesn't manage to get stuck in the mind. It's easy to picture young people listening to John Peel or Janice Long and really digging Cope's latest record — not even necessarily this one — but forgetting all about it once the latest Smiths, Cure or New Order single got played immediately after it.

Being both highly individual and prolific, Cope was slowly building up a loyal following so it's not as if everyone felt this way about "Sunspots", even if they couldn't get it any higher than number seventy-six. Less produced than Teardrop Explodes material, one might feel captivated by the singer's commanding vocal and how well the tinny guitars, out-of-tune whistling and jaunty recorder all mesh. I'm not convinced he won a lot of new fans but I can't imagine many Cope cultists were beginning to push away either. Pretty bloomin' great if you like this sort of thing and perfectly acceptable if you're a neutral.

Julian Cope has always been a figure to admire: he has a unique voice and presence, he's always done things his way and he doesn't care what you or I think of him. All that's great but it's worth pointing out that we may feel just as apathetic towards his work as he does towards our opinions of him. Plus, too much admiration can overwhelm our perceptions of an artist: I hold Prince as an individual in high esteem and sometimes these feelings manipulate myself into believing that I also like his music. Same goes for Cope: I don't mind when I hear his stuff but I never feel that I need to. And he's way better than Foreigner.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Nirvana Devils: "Some Foreign Shore"

His nibs oversells things a bit here by calling it the greatest German record of all time. No, it's nowhere near Kraftwerk's "Trans-Europe Express" or Can's "Spoon" or even Culture Beat's "Mr. Vain" — though Hibs wasn't to be aware of it for another eight years, assuming he ever was — but that doesn't mean it isn't worth seeking out. Stellar, speed-infused garage rock that threatens to turn into a psychedelic Nuggets masterpiece, it maintains a furious pace and, again, I can certainly understand why our madcap reviewer is so captivated. Like Cope's SOTF, however, it's like that Milan Kundera novel you read that you're pretty sure you liked but which didn't stay with you in any way. Enjoy music in the moment then move on.

Red Lorry Yellow Lorry: "Monkeys on Juice"

2 August 1984

"The disquieting voice and its strident, metallic accompaniment tickle the spine, and you even want to dance in a funny kind of way."

- Tom Hibbert

Being a goth seems to be quite the commitment. There's applying all that black nail polish and eye liner and lipstick. There's having to dress in a particular way that doesn't look too coordinated but which still fits. There's attempting to look seductive but not overtly sexy. There's putting effort in but not so much that it looks like dressing up. There's having to be a goth without sliding too closely towards parallel genres like punk and metal and country. Like golf and vegetarianism, goth acts as a lifestyle that other the followers of other subcultures could never come close to.

But those are really just the fans. Goth rock stars have decidedly more leeway and not just in terms of image. They may have a pop phase (The Cure), they may name themselves after a Leonard Cohen song (Sisters of Mercy), they may play little more than folk music (All About Eve), they may worship country and western (murder) balladeers (Nick Cave) and they may just be good old rock 'n' rollers at heart (The Mission). (The occult spiritualism of Bauhaus may well mark them out as the only true goths and they didn't even look the part) Which brings us to Red Lorry Yellow Lorry: indie band name, post-punk sound, garage rock influence but they're goth because...the singer has a deep voice?

Opening with a guitar riff not unlike Blue Öyster Cult's classic "(Don't Fear) The Reaper", "Monkeys on Juice" really gets going once some very big and very goth drums - possibly from a drum machine although they don't sound artificial - kick in along with the voice of Chris Reed. As I just mentioned, he's got that full-throated, perfectly enunciated yet muffled pitch that suits goth rock. (Then again, so did Ian Curtis and no one ever called Joy Division goths) In reality, it's mostly a Teutonic record because of the way the production so clearly captures the music but get the vocals on lo-fi. Otherwise, it's competent hard rock.

Yeah, competent. I can't bring myself to get quite as enthusiastic as Tom Hibbert, since, whatever the  type of music the Lorries play, this is not my thing. A good record for what it is, one I haven't minded having on over the last week but one I won't be rushing back to anytime soon. That said, as Hibs also mentions, it's by far the best record on offer as this may well be the poorest batch of singles in a single issue of ver Hits to date. The nineties will be coming eventually so it's not likely a distinction that's going to remain but it's worth pointing out since we're starting to see a gradual decline. The vigour of new pop and new wave is now at an end and there's a scarcity acts and genres to take over. So, why not look to some supposed goth on an indie label for that elusive next thing? It didn't take but it was worth a try.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Residents: "It's a Man's Man's Man's World"

The eyeballed-ones always had a thing for ripping up classic pop and their proposed, though ultimately doomed, American Composers Series seemed just the sort of thing that they could have gotten a lot out of. This was a decade on from the astonishingly horrific The Third Reich 'n Roll and their uncanny ability to shock, amuse and cause physical illness wasn't quite as it once was. A companion single to the George Jones/James Brown tribute album George & James, it is remarkably low key and about as commercial as they'd ever get. ("The Residents have made a listenable record. Was this the intention?" wonders Hibs) That trademark whiny, Louisiana drawl on vocals perhaps gives away that it's meant to subvert the Godfather of Soul's macho posturing (even though I never saw The Residents collapse on stage like a certain sissy vocalist) but there's little by way of weirdness. Stick with Eskimo for some genuinely brilliant Residential loopiness.

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.

Big Country: "Chance"

1 September 1983

"But where Springsteen would muck it all up with a surfeit of sax frenzy and over-enthusiastic vocal, Stuart and friends, with their clanking guitars, remain persuasively restrained, saving a power chord-drive chorus for a final treat."

— Tom Hibbert

This fortnight's singles review page in ver Hits is significant for three reasons. First (admittedly only of significance for the purposes of this blog) is the appearance of the words 'Single Of The Fortnight' at the conclusion of the headline review. Second (of much more significance to the Smash Hits world in general) is the debut in the critics' chair of Tom Hibbert, one of Britain's top pop mag's most colourful figures. Finally, the star single is by Big Country, making this the first SOTF from the sub-genre of eighties stadium rock (this is of very minimal significance for this blog and for the Hits but it's worth bringing up for one reason that I'll touch upon below).

Yes, VER HITS celebrates the Smash Hits Singles of the Fortnight and it's been going for just over a year now (don't worry, I wasn't expecting any messages of congratulations for hitting this first anniversary) but this is the very first time that the words themselves were printed. Tom Hibbert is usually credited with creating much of the unique Hits vocabulary ('What the Jiggins...?', which would eventually morph into 'juggins' and take up use on this very blog, was among the many Hibbertisms that I plan to explore in a future post) but doesn't seem to be acknowledged as a pioneer of the singles page. Well, he certainly is here. All hail Hibbs!

Tom Hibbert is one of those music journalists who take on an aura among readers as kind of a rock star himself. Not unlike Lester Bangs and Nick Kent, he seemed to live out his fantasies as a wannabe pop star through his writing; unlike those two, however, this meant silly reviews, irreverent interviews and curious status as the letters page dean known as Black Type, rather than tense confrontations with Lou Reed and shooting up with Sid Vicious. Hibbert anointed pop stars with ludicrous names which couldn't have been more accurate (rather appropriately, Big Country, the "subject" of this week's entry, had one such christened member, drummer Mark Unpronounceable Name), baited readers with cryptic replies to their (mostly) thoughtfully considered correspondence and may have used his criticism in order to take the mickey out of readers.

I can't prove that last one — I can't just yet at any rate — but I first began to suspect it when I went about cataloguing the Singles of the Fortnight and happened to notice that he picked Big Country. Big Country? Eighties Scots rockers who made bagpipes even less cool? Oh Hibbs, surely you're taking the piss.

Well, probably not. While the boys in plaid had their share of duff moments this isn't one of them. "Chance" is, as Hibbert points out, as Springsteen as you can possibly imagine — and, if anything, more Springsteen than Springsteen at the time when you consider that his most recent work had our Bruce lay down tracks with just an acoustic guitar onto a glorified tape recorder, a world away from the overstuffed pomposity of Born to Run (not to mention what he'd be putting out less than a year later). There's room for subtlety here. Where The E Street Band would have doubtless turned this into a concert favourite, Stuart Adamson's approach would have driven punters into a similar frenzy while retaining an individualism that could touch lowly, friendless types in Dundee council flats. A fine single that isn't really my cup of tea but one I can appreciate on its own terms nonetheless.

(Considering the tragedy that would eventually befall Stuart Adamson, it's easy to read way too much into a number like "Chance". That said, his suicide nearly twenty years later only makes lines such as "Oh Lord, where did the feeling go? / Oh Lord, I never felt so low" that much more touching and resonant)

The first stadium rock number to get a SOTF, "Chance" signals a coming roots rock revival that would culminate with the eventual rise of U2 and coincide with the end of New Pop, then dominant in the British music scene. And all because of a mischievous scamp reviewing the singles who couldn't help but take the piss. Even when he wasn't.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Culture Club: "Karma Chameleon"

Big Country's ascension spells the end of New Pop? Well, the beginning of the end maybe? Nah, that's all a bunch of rubbish. Truth is, "Karma Chameleon" is the pinnacle of the early-eighties' UK pop boom. The fact that it's seldom played anymore — retro nights and period radio shows tend to opt for the slightly inferior "Do You Really Want to Hurt Me" — shouldn't undercut just what a massive hit it was all over the world in 1983 and '84. I loved it then and still do even if I'll admit that Hibbert has a point with his minor quibbles. Yeah, the harmonica player does get in the way at times, Boy George was indeed a lousy dancer and the use of 'karma' is way too much of a seventies throwback to "My Sweet Lord" and "Instant Karma" and pathetic self-help nonsense from the time. Whatsmore, people still go on about bloody karma to this day. But at least Boy George got all that Eastern stuff out of his system, right?