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".

Snips: "9 O'Clock"

6 March 1980

"Well, now that the Pile On My Left has become the Pile On My Right and the Ovaltine is nearly ready, I make no apologies for giving the First-Annual-Happiness-Is-Seven-Inches-Across-And-Goes-Round-Swiftly Award to Snips for "9 O'Clock" (EMI)."

— David Hepworth

Still trying to keep the new (but ultimately doomed) format afloat, David Hepworth describes his process of reviewing the singles in some detail. He has his Pile On His Left, a stack of fresh new records that he must evaluate which, once completely, begins to form his Pile On His Right. It sounds like a very organized system, with just a small turntable and a notepad in between the two stacks. Future issues of ver Hits that feature pop stars as guest critics are accompanied by photos of them posed on a spread of 45s and, in some cases, happily destroying discs and ripping up sleeves but it seems the paid staff behaved much more professionally — even if they absolutely hated the task in front of them.

I have written previously that Hepworth took no pleasure in reviewing the singles and it seems to be here that it was really starting to wear on him. Given what he's having to listen to here, who can blame him? I, too, shake my head at what was left of the post-Hotel California Eagles and their pitiful offering "I Can't Tell You Why". I'm with him on the lame, bloodless rock of my fellow Canadians April Wine and their single "I Like to Rock" which somehow became their biggest "hit" in the UK. Former sensations The Knack and M had difficulty following their smash singles "My Sharona" and "Pop Muzik" respectively and it is clear they didn't have anything left in the tank with their feeble latest releases. Yeah, alongside such company, I might also go a tad overboard with praise for "9 O'Clock" by Snips.

The alias of Stephen W. Parsons, who has subsequently gone on to some success composing film scores, Snips was one of those acts that was unlucky not to have broken through to a larger audience. Hepworth has long been an admirer but he's especially taken by his latest effort. Having Midge Ure twiddling the knobs behind a recording desk was probably a big key. Though his recording career has had at least as many downs as ups, one cannot deny that the man knows his pop inside and out. (A chancer he may be but there's an upside to going from seventies boy band to punk rock to touring with Thin Lizzy and on to new wave and synth-pop — and this was all within less than a decade!) The pairing of Parsons and Ure proves a bounty of pop rock scholarship, from The Beatles and sixties' Nuggets classics to Roxy Music's early work and all those great Electric Light Orchestra singles. It may sound spontaneous and fresh but its bedrock is the previous twenty years of British pop.

It is at first, however, a little disappointing. Upon first listening, it feels like little more than very competently made power pop. This, of course, may well be recommendation enough for some who worship at the alter of Big Star and get their rocks on to Cheap Trick. I'm not as thrilled by the genre as I usually find it far too formulaic. And, indeed, "9 O'Clock" sticks to power pop orthodoxy. Luckily, it has that dynamic Ure production and all those hooks that Hepworth can't get enough of. Snips' voice sounds like every new wave singer back in 1980 with that punk-esque urgency that dials back on the invective. Am I supposed to love this? Shouldn't it be better?

But it has grown on me as well. It's not simply a decent record that sounds better than it is held up next to a bunch of nondescript new singles; it lodges itself in the brain but only bits of it which means I've been forced to seek it out further than most songs I write about on here, particularly those that fail to excite me from the off. There's something to "9 O'Clock" that you just don't hear in every post-punk power pop record — I just can't quite put my finger on what it is. I might need to get back to you on this one — maybe, say, in about a year from now.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Joan Armatrading: "Rosie"

Ignored by Smash Hits for at least a month (Hepworth considers their negligence to be particularly shameful given her ability to sing a "VAT form and mak[e] it mean something" but those are always the performers we take for granted), "Rosie" is given a courtesy review even though it was peaking just shy of the top 40 this very week. Engaging as ever, it's a nice reminder that Joan Armatrading could do lightness just as well as she could do gravitas. She could also do a whole lot better though.

The Housemartins: "Me and the Farmer"

26 August 1987

"This single proves — once and for all! — that The Housemartins have wit, intelligence, brevity, humour and the sparkliest nippy pop tunes ever created."

— Sylvia Patterson

With all due respect to the likes of Brian Wilson, Carole King, various members of Fleetwood Mac and Max Martin, none of them can write a song about relationships like Paul Heaton. During his time with The Beautiful South, he captured couples on the brink of breaking up ("A Little Time"), dealing with an unwanted pregnancy ("Bell Bottomed Tear"), being unable to communicate ("You Keep It All In"), growing old ("Prettiest Eyes") or sticking with loving but unfulfilling relationships ("Tonight I Fancy Myself", "We Are Each Other"). These traits would eventually descend into either grotesque pieces about dominance and S&M ("Worthless Lie", "Mini-Correct", a song so vicious that it prompted Brianna Corrigan to quit the group and she was able to put up with the controversial "36d") or self-parody ("Perfect 10") but these shouldn't gainsay how he was once able to craft work dealing with couples that was realistic yet imaginative, cynical yet romantic.

This quality was a marked change from when Heaton was leader of previous group The Housemartins. A common charge leveled at The Beautiful South was that they had become "soft", that the boozy Marxism of "Happy Hour" had been watered down to songs about cozy domestication. Yet, socialism and football terraces aside, there had always been the spirit of the individual buried in his material. "Happy Hour" is drunkenly sung along to in pubs all over the world to this day but this belies the fact that it's about being alienated by the jollity of crowds and the watering holes they frequent. The skiffle-drenched favourite "Sheep" deals with being baffled by the mentality of mindless mobs. Yet, they didn't really do one-on-one human interaction.

The very day that Heaton and the supposedly dishy Stan Cullimore (sorry, Sylvia, but I just don't see it) wrote "Happy Hour", however, the pair composed a song about a relationship. It wasn't about a miserable couple who may once have been in love but about an employer and his employee. "Me and the Farmer": workplace dysfunction in song. Though it was kept, it didn't make the cut for their first LP and would have to wait so it's possible they weren't as thrilled by it as they should have been. They weren't to know it then but they had a breakthrough on their hands.

It's hard to picture this song having a basis in reality. A peasant toiling the land wouldn't have had this kind of close contact with his feudal lord. In more recent times, a migrant worker or a penniless labourer wouldn't be so indentured to their boss to the point that quitting their job would be (at least technically) impossible. Nit picking? Sure but the song is so great that it retains its potency.

Heaton refuses to allow the song's narrator to feel too sorry for himself. The song opens with a line, "me and the farmer get on fine / through stormy weather and bottles of wine" that indicates a camaraderie. But if this farmer sometimes treats Heaton well, then he's still a ruthless land baron and has no qualms about using humans, animals and nature to his ends. Being very much of its time, it's clearly a parable for Thatcherite deregulation, albeit one told on the scale of a single individual.

I never knew The Housemartins when they were active. I was still a good decade away from entering university during their brief two years of activity so I was well outside their target audience. For me, they were primarily the group that Paul Heaton used to be in. Going from the 'Hooses' to ver South was hardly the most radical creative shift that a singer-songwriter has made (bassist Norman Cook's post-Martin career took a much more unexpected turn, even if he always had an affinity for DJing and house music) but it wasn't without howls of protest. Early South gigs from 1989 were marred "fans" chanting for Heaton's old act as well as demanding they play calling card single "Happy Hour" (the band, for their part, responded in kind with a barrage of rude words hurled back at the crowd).

As I mentioned earlier, critics, too, weren't always crazy about where Heaton was going as the nineties progressed. The Beautiful South's more MOR-friendly sound (as well as, implicitly, the fact that they always had a female vocalist) resulted in reviews that weren't always glowing. And the music journalists could never seem to get past what Heaton had previously done; by comparison, even Morrissey's hit-and-miss solo career wasn't as dogged by his days with The Smiths and only occasionally did New Order reviews bother to mention Joy Division. As a longtime fan of 'the Pet Shop Boys you can't dance to', I never understood this. It wasn't until after several years of South fandom that I turned to The Housemartins, and even then I did so reluctantly. The hacks were always trashing my second favourite band and I had little desire to discover that they may have had a point.

"Happy Hour" was their biggest self-composed hit and would cast an unwelcome shadow over both The Housemartins and Beautiful South. Well before the rise of laddish groups like The Stone Roses and Oasis, the Martins acted like a bunch of goons in their videos and looked like normal blokes who signed on every week, were regulars at the local betting shop and had wives who looked like barmaids. They enjoyed a pint and read The Sun. Their socialism didn't matter since you could sing "Happy Hour" with your mates on a bus and they looked just like their fans. All of this was completely true except for the fact that it was bollocks.

Heaton had been a longtime fan of Motown and Northern Soul and the influence of black music is all over his work. Added to the mix was some skiffle and indie rock of the age. All of these styles tended to appeal to working class types but it was a sound they began refining for their second album The People Who Grinned Themselves to Death. Just as the last Jam album could almost be the first Style Council LP, the use of a choir and horns on People... makes it a proto-Beautiful South record — at least in places. There's also a tougher sound with some rock guitar and pounding drums from new recruit Dave Hemmingway. This subtle change of pace might explain its lack of big hits and its lower album chart placing. Indeed, it would prove to be the lowest charting LP of Heaton's career until The Beautiful South's Gaze in 2003 (that said, it would also prove to be the last album of his to produce three top 20 hits for over ten years). But it's a better album than the very fine London 0 Hull 4 and there are hints that they were already keen to ditch what had made them successful.

"Me and the Farmer" was one of the rockier numbers from their forthcoming album. Predecessor "Five Get Over Excited" had the skiffle shuffle of old and a singalong chorus for the crowds to appreciate and the catchy "Bow Down" would prove to be a fan favourite album track but "Farmer" seems cut from a slightly different cloth. For one thing, the chorus is tricky to join in with due to the call-and-response (I can never decide if I should join in with his bandmates' backing vocals — "won't he let you go? — or with Heaton himself — "probably no"). And though the tune itself is yet another jolly number, the subject matter hardly seems fitting for a knees up round the pub. Fittingly, for an early piece about an individual, it appeals more to the solitary listener.

Much of this was obscured by the group's image, which remained steadfastly ordinary. It has a typically wacky video too. But people couldn't get behind it the way they did "Happy Hour", a song that they wrote ten minutes later but which sounds like it's from a much earlier age. Using up every second of its just-under-three-minute playing time to fullest effect, "Me and the Farmer" is simply wondrous pop, the kind of song that can easily hold up to repeated listens and which never fails to delight, as well as being a welcome reminder of just what an underrated group of musicians they were. You can have "Happy Hour" and I'll take this: a song they never bettered and which Heaton would struggle to equal.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Bros: "I Owe You Nothing"

Matt, Luke and Ken would soon be causing a stir by getting the British youth to start putting Grolsch bottle caps on their Doc Martens (though no one ever explained how they got the ruddy things to stick) but they were far from a sensation in the midst of 1987. "When Will I Be Famous?" is one of the great boy band singles and a perfect debut for a trio so keen to grab hold of the spotlight but, in truth, this ode to their well-documented grumpiness is probably just as much a part of their reality. "People think we're completely contrived," complains Matt in this same issue of the Hits, a high horse they would never descend from. No, they didn't owe anyone anything but they sure felt they deserved everyone's respect from the off.

Pet Shop Boys with Dusty Springfield: "What Have I Done to Deserve This?" / Black: "Wonderful Life"

12 August 1987

"The brilliant thing about the Pet Shop Boys is that they get everything right — memorable tunes, perfect production, intelligent lyrics, excellent sleeves, loads of style and a self-deprecating sense of humour — a very rare combination."

"It's heartening to see someone who a) isn't particularly handsome, b) has a spook-name (ie Colin Vearncombe), c) has no discernible "image" and d) writes slightly odd lyrics, get into the charts purely on the strength of their music, which in this case is very strong indeed."

— Vici MacDonald

March 5, 1988. A fairly typical Saturday. I got up and fixed myself a heaping bowl of cereal which I gingerly carried down to the TV room in the basement. I got in as many cartoons as possible before my parents demanded I get ready to go to my 10:00 AM swimming lesson at the Y. Back home for a quick lunch, I set the VCR to tape afternoon wrestling and then it was back to the Y for basketball. We stopped at 7-11 for a slurpee which I enjoyed while watching two hours of wrestling before the late Saturday afternoon lull. We always ate dinner early because hockey was on at 6:00. I made it through the first two periods of the game, awaiting the bowl of popcorn that my dad always made for us. Once that had been kicked, I was done with my country's national sport and wandered up to the living room. Mum had recently begun listening to the Saturday night Top 30 singles countdown on CBC radio while doing her knitting and I joined her. And this was the night I first heard the Pet Shop Boys.

Neil Tennant worked at Smash Hits for about three years. He had previously been a British editor for Marvel Comics and had also done work proofreading cookbooks and TV tie-in books. Throughout that time, he had been honing his craft as a musician and songwriter and in 1981 he met a young architechture student and amateur keyboard player named Chris Lowe who he quickly partnered with. Being on a top pop mag had its benefits and Tennant's position undoubtedly aided his eventual career in pop, particularly when he went to New York to interview The Police and used the trip to meet Bobby O, the trendy club producer and singer.

Yet, many of his colleagues didn't think much of his budding pop career. They thought the name 'Pet Shop Boys' was rubbish (admittedly, it does take getting used to) and they weren't especially keen on the demos he'd occasionally play them. Nevertheless, Bobby O had produced an early version of "West End Girls", which somehow managed to nab a lowly chart position in Canada, and they would soon be signed to EMI. Figuring that the giddy carousel of pop beckoned, Tennant packed it in with ver Hits and made that unlikeliest of jumps — from pop journalist to pop star.

His former employer would be one of their biggest backers but they weren't initially showered with praise. Tom Hibbert reviewed "Opportunities (Let's Make Lot's of Money)" by expressing surprise that this was a case of "former pop journalist in a case of rather good record shock!!" and compared it favourably to an already passe Frankie Goes to Hollywood. Nevertheless, Ramones and Prefab Sprout impressed him much more. Hibs also gave his thoughts on the reissued "West End Girls" at the very end of 1985. Here, he seems impressed with what they created but doesn't offer much in the way of appreciation or lack thereof. Again, he preferred the not bad/not great sounds of The Lucy Show. Next up, Dave Gahan of Depeche Mode considered "Love Comes Quickly" to be a "good follow up" to their breakthrough hit and reckons it's the second best single on offer (though he also wonders if he should get some revenge on the person who once described "Blasphemous Rumours" as a "routine slab of doom in which God is given a severe ticking off"). Their next two singles, a remix of "Opportunities" and "Suburbia", aren't held in much esteem by critics Ian Cranna and William Shaw respectively before we come "It's a Sin", their first release of 1987. Charges of plagiarism had famously been made by the nauseating Jonathan King but he seemed to have at least one ally in that regard with Tom Hibbert. Enjoying the song, he then points out how much it resembles "Wild World" by Cat Stevens "note for note". (Was Tennant so studious about pop that he couldn't help but copy others?)

So, that's six releases and they've been met with good to middling reviews. Fair enough, there's nothing wrong with that. Respect, though, to the Hits writers for not going out of their way to praise their old colleague The optics of "West End Girls" getting a Single of the Fortnight from a magazine that he'd only just worked at might not have been so good, even though it seems obvious now that it fully merited such an honour. Maybe they were holding out for Tennant and Lowe to craft something that they couldn't ignore. Make 'em earn it.

And earn it they did with "What Have I Done to Deserve This?". Intended as a duet, they had Dusty Springfield in mind and no one else would do. A fortnight earlier, the SOTF had been awarded to "I Just Can't Stop Loving You", a duet that might as well not have been one, which Michael Jackson had failed to recruit either Whitney Houston and Barbra Streisand to join him on. In that case, the lesser known Siedah Garrett guesting was probably for the best but here it's impossible to imagine anyone else being adequate. With Springfield's extraordinary vocals and Tennant's much more limited pipes, you'd think we'd be in for a mismatch but this is avoided due to his refusal to try to keep up. While she glides along with her slightly croaky whispered manner, Tennant does some of his Brit-raps from with some understated singing (one of my favourite bits is "you always wanted me to be something I wasn't" with his voice coming across like a sullen child at the end). George Michael really brought his A game to his duet with Aretha Franklin and Marc Almond would attempt to do the same when he paired with Gene Pitney on "Something's Gotten Hold of My Heart" but if one doesn't have the vocal chops to pull it off then it's best not to bother trying.

It's an irregular duet and an irregular song and one that there was considerable uncertainty about (it had initially been difficult to track down and convince Springfield to join them by which point Tennant and Lowe had gone off it) which is fitting for such uncertain subject matter. Tennant has said that the couple gets back together by the end of the song but that isn't exactly spelled out at any point (the closest is probably in her proto-scatting near the end: "we could make a deal"). If that is indeed the case, then it's an unstable detente that the two have reached. They aren't parallel to one another but going in separate directions. If they do indeed up back together, they'll only end up still not able to get through.

The song was a huge hit all over the world and was only prevented from reaching number one by Rick Astley. Beyond its commercial performance, it represents a turning point for the Pet Shop Boys. Having the cachet of Dusty Springfield as a guest aided their reputation among older listeners and it also helped them as they began to transcend irony. While critics always exaggerated their propensity for "writing pop songs about pop songs", it was a difficult label to shake. But this was a hit single that didn't rely on a knowing wink and perhaps the first time that the public became aware of this other side — and, significantly, their first to fully impress a Smash Hits critic.

March 12, 1988. Another typical Saturday. Cartoons, swimming, basketball, wrestling, hockey. I like music but I am still a year away from becoming obsessed by it (to the extent that it doesn't occur to me to buy the single or album). I don't know the first thing about Neil Tennant, Chris Lowe and Dusty Springfield. I have no interest in girls and heartbreak is completely off my radar. Writing about music — writing about anything — means nothing to me. I liked that song I heard a week ago and wish to hear it again. I was now a fan of the Pet Shop Boys and I remain one to this day. Those other interests of my childhood would all fade away.

~~~~~

"What Have I Don't to Deserve This?" deservedly was Vici MacDonald's pick but it had to share the honour with "Wonderful Life" by Black. The late Colin Vearnecombe had been toiling in obscurity for years before finally breaking through with the hit single "Sweetest Smile". Melancholy, stylish and with a typical soprano sax of the era, it's one to go either way on. While it makes for a nice closer to his debut album Wonderful Life, it isn't overly memorable and doesn't exactly scream "MEGA HIT!". Still, it took him into the top 10 even though it hardly feels like the start of a lengthy run of hits. It wouldn't last

"Sweetest Smile" did well enough but it isn't the song Black is best known for. (One only need look at the YouTube numbers in which his first hit is at close to 750,000 views compared with its follow up at just under 70,000,000) "Wonderful Life" had originally just missed the top 40 but was now back and it managed to equal its predecessor's chart placing the second time round. And it's the big one, the one that should have gotten his brief time as a chart factor going. The only Black song people are likely to know.

I remember once being shown a video in high school about suicide. A very messed up individual had slashed his wrists and was hopelessly trying to outrun the police. The cops soon had him cornered but it took three or four of them to nab him safely before carting him off to the police station. We then saw him in his cell, his wrists wrapped but he had by then calmed down. He said he was glad to still be alive.

There's a bit of that going on in "Wonderful Life". A cheerful sentiment, expressed with sorrow. Only someone who had reached the pits of despair can find joy in a meager life — and, even then, it may not happen. If "What Have I Done to Deserve This?" captures that dreadful uncertainty of a couple clinging to an unhappy relationship, then "Wonderful Life" puts the best possible face on a break up. That vague sense of relief that creeps in among a Niagara of unhappiness.

The song's sentimental connection is poignant enough that its limitations aren't initially apparent. After a while it drags a bit and the chorus gets repeated a bit too much. Rationally speaking, it's a good minute-and-a-half too long. And, yet, when I am in the mood, it can keep going for all I care. The song's refrain becomes a mantra and hammering the point home is its strength.

Black's output was rather up and down. Though not quite musically catholic, the Wonderful Life album manages to combine indie with goth and sophisti-pop and even some very eighties rock. Probably as a result, it lacks consistency. Yet, he got it right with the title track, a song that while still appreciated by many (70,000,000 YouTube views is nothing to sneeze at), ought to be a standard by this point. It's almost as good as the Pet Shop Boys.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Smiths: "Girlfriend in a Coma"

Philip Larkin considered jazz to be either about being a 'Wells' or a 'Gibbon': someone who felt that it was a genre that was always getting better or forever heading downhill. The Smiths are kind of the same: either they started off on a hot streak and then went into gradual decline or they just kept improving right up until the end. I'm a Smiths Gibbon and think they were never better than in their first year or so. "Girlfriend in a Coma" comes right at the tail end of their run ('Smiths Split Confirmed', as this issue's Bitz reports) and seems to show why things weren't as they used to be. Morrissey no longer put the same care into his lyrics and musically it is one of the simplest things Johnny Marr had done to date. The nice melody just about manages to make it seem better than it is and it does all right for itself on compilations but it's probably for the best that they threw in the towel when they did.

The Gibson Brothers: "Cuba"

21 February 1980 (with some spill over here)

"Now if you're the sort of person who reckons that the only good disco record is a dead disco record, then do yourself a large favour and lock into this."

— David Hepworth

What I previously said:

At last, a hit! The only selection here without a trace of indie cred, this has elements of the suave, literary side of disco perpetuated by the likes of Chic and Dr Buzzard's Original Savannah Band. The catchy, discophied Latin rhythms also fit in well alongside reggae and ska. If only the vocal wasn't quite so earnest and pleading. Oh well.

David Hepworth had had enough. He saw what overseeing the singles had done to the late Cliff White and he wasn't about to let it lead him down a similarly dark path. Bags of mail were arriving from all over the country and the bulk of them carried much the same message: I hate the bloke doing the singles. Figuring a change was necessary, he has revamped the format so it is presented as an article rounding up all the new releases. "Specially designed," he states, "to foil those folks who scan the pages for the names of their favourites and then grab pen and paper to fire off the usual "Who does David Hepworth think he is?" letter. Well, that'll show 'em.

It's likely, though, that Hepworth is guilty of cutting off his nose to spite his face here. By altering how the singles reviews were being presented, he may have thrown off the irate readers but at the price of giving himself (and, crucially, other Smash Hits writers who may not have been quite so fond of the new layout) more work. A fortnight earlier, Julie Milton took a look at a total of nineteen records with most of them clocking in at around the forty word mark. Here, however, Heps has more singles to deal with but with nearly a page and a half's worth of space needed. Beyond simply trolling ver kids, I can see an upside to this approach. Rather than giving equal space for every single up for consideration, he has the luxury of devoting several paragraphs to the stand outs while summing up less satisfying listens in just a sentence or two. Yet, it wouldn't last and before long poor old Heps would be having to deal with cross words from grumpy Hits readers.

An error I frequently commit when dealing with vocal acts is assuming that their musical involvement is minimal or even non-existent. Much like the striker in football or the designated hitter in baseball, an apparently non-musical singer just fires off the words while everyone else does the heavy lifting — and then hogs all the glory! But this misunderstands the role of a good vocalist. Most of them do have musical backgrounds and may be capable pianists and/or guitarists. A good singer knows how to fit their voice around the music and production and doesn't just expect it to be catered to them.

Still, the perception that singers are "just" singers persists. This view isn't helped by so-called reality TV with clueless members of the public auditioning for stardom without the faintest idea about making music. Old school Rockism perpetuated the tired notion that "you're supposed to play your own instruments" in order to have any credibility but Poptimism hasn't helped either: singers are now just accepted as singers and who cares if they know how to "play" anything?

It must be said that vocalists often don't aid their cause. Disco had no qualms about skills with a stringed instrument or a keyboard and acts frequently presented themselves as just a bunch of singers. The Bee Gees had once been a "proper" five-piece but their lineup had been reduced to the brothers Gibb by the mid-seventies. They presented themselves as a trio of vocalists but leader Barry was a fine guitarist and Maurice could play just about any instrument he picked up. The Gibson Brothers were almost a Francophonie equivalent to the Gibbs, right down to their names: to the public they were three bothers who could all sing but they were also excellent musicians, a fact few seemed aware of. Hepworth himself seems ignorant of their proficiency. "Discover a rhythm section," he notes, "that makes nine out of ten rock bands sound not only dismally tired but also severely lacking in invention". If only he knew that Chris, Patrick and Alex Francfort (i.e. The Gibsons!) were members of that very rhythm section. But how was anyone to know any better? In the song's promotional video, the three do a simple routine in a studio with a bikini-clad beaut and a simple background of deck chairs and golden palm trees. Instruments? Who needs 'em!

Yet, he's absolutely right about "Cuba" which remains a blinder. Released a year earlier, it was a near hit but they would go on to have chart success with the singles "Ooh, What a Life" and "Que sera mi vida". Feeling that their flop still had life, it got a second chance, something that Hepworth comments on ("...at least there is one bona fide indispensable masterpiece, even if it is a reissue"); it would enjoy a respectable top 20 placing, their third of four on the bounce. And though it would be their lowest charting hit, it is probably the number they are best remembered for to this day.

In my brief write up above, I mention how "Cuba" reminds me of the works of Chic and Dr. Buzzard's Original Savannah Band (which by this point had splintered with leader August Darnell forming the more successful Kid Creole & The Coconuts) but it's difficult to say exactly why. I suppose it has a certain continental sophistication to it (the Francforts were originally from Martinique but had transplanted to France) as well as an exoticism in the Latin rhythms and in extolling the virtues of an island paradise that was otherwise being ruled with an iron fist by Fidel Castro. There's also the crispness of the playing (yet another tip of the hat to the "rhythm section") which is not unlike the economic genius of Chic leaders Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards.

The only sticking point was Chris Gibson's vocal which I found to be far too pleading for my tastes. I'm over all that now though. Yeah, it's a bit much but, listening to a lot of disco over the last year since expanding this blog to include earlier entries, it's kind of nice hearing someone over-emote for a change. Donna Summer and the aforementioned Barry Gibb aside, disco wasn't really packed with outstanding vocalists and their performances often come across as generic (even an excellent single like McFadden & Whitehead's "Ain't No Stopping Us Now" isn't made by the pair's singing). But here we have a vocalist who does tropical with a nice dash of sandpaper and he overdoes it but to convincing affect. And there you have it: as singers and musicians —and as a group — The Gibson Brothers brought it.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Martha & The Muffins: "Echo Beach"

"Outsiders worth backing," Hepworth concludes both his review of "Echo Beach" and his lengthy singles round up. They must have seemed that way at one time. Not many bands are able to ride out a decent reputation based on just one big hit but Toronto's Muffins were lucky that way. "Echo Beach" is a fantastic new wave single, with Television-like guitars and that shuffling beat that everyone used back then. The lyrics seem naff ("from 9 to 5 I have to spend my time as work, my job is very boring I'm an office clerk": how this hasn't been spoofed several hundred times over the years is beyond me) but once they get into the "far away in time" bit and the sax begins to wail this doesn't matter a bit. Perhaps it was so good that they could never hope to better it. Martha Ladly's departure reduced them to just one Martha and they never fully recovered. Still, you try to write a song as awesome as "Echo Beach".

Michael Jackson: "I Just Can't Stop Loving You"

29 July 1987

"P.S. There's 12" version and no video whatsoever — i.e. he's still mad!"

— Ro Newton

The video for the Michael Jackson single "Bad" premiered on August 31, 1987 on an MTV special. Being from Canada, we had MuchMusic, which didn't have much crossover with the more well-known music station south of the border, and the video didn't air until later. When, I'm not sure but it wouldn't have been long after. It seemed like a big deal and so I sat down and watched all eighteen minutes of it. I wasn't the biggest fan of Jackson but I did recall how the promo for "Thriller" had been such an important event that I nevertheless passed me by four years earlier and I wasn't about to miss this second coming of a cultural wave.

As I say, I wasn't a big MJ fan but he was too big to ignore, especially back in that era. Huge as he had been in the early eighties, his world tour and Moonwalker film seemed to make him seem even more of a megastar. The fact that the new LP wasn't selling as well and its accompanying singles weren't charting as high seemed like just an afterthought. Just as he had with Thriller, he released an absurd number of singles from his latest album that stretch in my mind from "Bad" in the autumn of '87 all the way to "Liberian Girl" in the summer of '89. It comes as something of a surprise, then, to discover that there was an earlier record intended as a taster for the new LP. Nine singles spread over two years as he milked it for all he could.

It's easy to forget about "I Just Can't Stop Loving You". As Ro Newton says, Jackson didn't bother with a video, a practice that was still happening at the time but one that was surprising coming from a man who did groundbreaking promos for "Billie Jean" and "Thriller". It also had a fairly brief chart stay, as Bad's title track quickly took over. I'm not sure a lack of a 12" mix mattered much in the scheme of things, what with it hardly being dance record, but for certain it was a low key release, edging Jackson gradually back into the spotlight. Given that he initially had Barbra Streisand and Whitney Houston penciled in to duet with him, it may not necessarily have been intended to get the Bad ball rolling in this fashion; had either of them agreed to appear on it, it's easy to imagine "Another Part of Me" getting the nod as the opening single instead; "I Just Can't Stop Loving You" would've had a video to go with it and fans would remember it much more fondly.

Michael Jackson was capable of many things but one thing he could never really pull off was slow songs. Okay, I might give him "I'll Be There" back when he was just a lad in the Jackson 5 and, in a pinch, "Ben" from right around the same time. Listening to them both now, they aren't quite as good as I remember them being and I'm even tempted to say that Mariah Carey's cover of the former is superior. But they're both still decent and convincing, which is more than can be said for the likes of "She's Out of My Life" and "It's the Falling in Love". Both of these songs are from Off the Wall, an album with a stellar first side ("Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" is still his finest moment) but a boring flip, largely populated by slushy old love songs. (The fact that his very so-so cover of Paul McCartney's "Girlfriend" is the side's high point says all you need to know) Thriller isn't quite as strong as Off the Wall but it does benefit by having fewer slow songs and by having them better spread out among the tracks people actually want to listen to. Though it had a nice melody, "Human Nature" was certainly more tolerable sandwiched between "Billie Jean" and "P.Y.T." than had it been placed in between a pair of weepies.

All that said, "I Just Can't Stop Loving You" is a passable effort and there are worse singles that he chose to release later on from Bad. Songwriter and backing vocalist Siedah Garrett fills in well enough for Streisand and Houston. These more famous guests would have undoubtedly tried to leave a mark of their own on the recording but the restrained approach is much better suited to the material. This is not a duet of contrasting individuals who want different things but people with a passion for one another. It might as well not even be a duet but since it is, why not utilise a female singer who kind of sounds like Michael Jackson? As the song begins to wind down, you scarcely notice Garrett anymore and it starts making sense why they didn't give her an artist co-credit.

Jackson had this irritating tendency of repeating the tricks that made him successful. Seven singles were released from Thriller, nine from Bad. (Remarkably, another nine were siphoned off of 1991's Dangerous; "Black or White" and "Remember the Time" are the only ones I can recall) An absurdly lengthy promo for "Thriller" which begat one for "Bad". (Again, he did this for "Black or White"; did ever occur to him that the novelty of these excruciatingly long and boring videos had worn off?) Where he had it right was in trying new things. He hadn't done a film surrounding his music before so that was fine (I mean, I've never actually seen it) nor had he released a modest little ballad that was only sort of a duet to little fanfare. I guess when you're locked away in Neverland, you might lose the ability to read the room and realise that people might be starting to get sick of you. The Bad period was only just kicking off and I was already tired of him.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

New Order: "True Faith"

With all due respect to Ro Newton, she wasted her SOTF on an average MJ record. There are worse new releases (The Colourfield's version of The Monkees' "She" is utterly wretched; it would be their final release which was a sad end for Terry Hall's third group when he was able to go out on a high note with both "Ghost Town" and "Our Lips Are Sealed" with previous units) but the latest from New Order buries the competition. They had already put out a series of excellent singles by this point but "True Faith" was their first since "Blue Monday" to seem like something really special. Not only is the music as stunning as anything they'd ever record but this is their one song that really connects with teenage angst. As Newton points out, their sound was getting poppier but that's not a bad thing if, like me, you prefer The Best of New Order to Substance. If not, you can have your indie darling New Order and I'll have my indie-mixed-with-some-pop New Order. Happy?

The Beatles: "All You Need Is Love"

15 July 1987

"This is a completely brilliant record."

— Marti Pellow

"I hate Paul McCartney — his records are crap."

— Tommy Cunningham

"I have a soft spot for Paul McCartney because he's a bass player like me." (?)

— Graeme "Graham" Clark

"..."

— Neil Mitchell

4, 29, 40, 45, 62, 53, 52, 65, 70, 86, 79, 78, 63, 65, 47, 63, 67, 52, 74, 84, 84, 78.

If I told you that these were the chart peaks of a certain band's twenty-two singles, you probably wouldn't be overly impressed. Just one big hit and only two more in the top forty (and one of them only just barely) and then a lengthy procession of flops. You might wonder just what such an unsuccessful band was doing being signed to the same record label that whole time — even if the eighties were a different time and awash in record company money. But this was no ordinary group: The Beatles could get away with such poor results since they all did much better the first time round — and who's going to drop the biggest group that ever lived from their label?

A revival in interest in the Fab Four was probably the one positive effect of John Lennon's murder at the end of 1980. Their legacy had been overshadowed by the hit and miss quality of their solo works and the culture was gradually discovering that it was possible to move forward without them leading the way. It's likely that many people had taken them for granted and didn't realise how much they meant until one of their key members was gunned down.

Lennon product selling in the aftermath of his death brought back the commercial viability of The Beatles as a whole. In the wake of "Stars on 45" and the early eighties medley craze, "Beatles Movie Medley" was released and was a hit in spite of its poor quality. The twenty year anniversary of their debut single was approaching and it was decided that their records would be re-released over the course of the rest of the decade. The first single did well, providing "Love Me Do" with the top five hit it had been denied previously but interest rapidly dwindled. It probably didn't help — though it would have been far from the only reason — that Smash Hits had next to no interest in giving these reissues publicity. After Fred Dellar gave a short but terse critique of "Movie Medley", there wouldn't be another Beatles single reviewed until Roland Orzbal of Tears for Fears practically begged the reviews editor to give him their copy of "Ticket to Ride" (he wouldn't name it SOTF, giving the crown instead to XTC's extra curricular project The Dukes of Stratosphear, citing his approval for how much they'd been "studying The Beatles!"; please see my piece on "The Mole from the Ministry" for my theory on what it ended up doing for Orzbal's career). At the beginning of 1987, Lola Borg took a look at "Strawberry Fields Forever" / "Penny Lane" and advised readers not to bother buying it and that they should "nip down to Woolworths instead for a peek in the bargain bin where you will no doubt find both these songs on a compilation LP for an absolute snip". Probably sound advice.

"Strawberry Fields" only got to number sixty-five, a routine showing for their eighties reissues. Yet, "All You Need Is Love" did considerably better and it nearly got them back in the top 40. It was re-released in the summer of 1987 at a time when The Beatles' favourability was on the upswing. Their catalog had finally been issued on compact disc and the June release of Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band in the new format did particularly well. This was still the time in which it was the consensus 'Greatest Album of All Time' and its anniversary was celebrated with the It Was Twenty Years Ago Today documentary. These factors probably contributed more to the respectable chart performance of "All You Need Is Love" than the recommendation of a current pop group. Still, I'm sure it didn't hurt.

During the summer of '87, Glasgow's Wet Wet Wet were on the rise. Though they would soon release a series of grim singles (the first of which, "Sweet Little Mystery", came out just two days prior to publication of this issue of Smash Hits; it was reviewed in the previous issue), their debut in the spring, "Wishing I Was Lucky", was uncharacteristically decent. Keen to play the pop game, singer Marti Pellow and co. agreed to have a crack at the new singles. They aren't terribly impressed with what's on offer for the most part, with positive words saved mainly for The Beatles and fellow re-release "Lovely Day" by Bill Withers (a full year prior to its 'Sunshine Mix' revamp which became his biggest hit in the UK; this version did rather less well). The four do have their disagreements, with Pellow, Graeme Clark and Neil Mitchell disliking The Beastie Boys' "She's on It" (the latter's comment that he doesn't care for "white guys doing that sort of music" is rather amusing considering how the Wets were all about mining soul and R&B for their own benefit) while drummer Tommy Cunningham enjoys it. They don't even appear to be in unison about the SOTF, with Mitchell offering no comment, having previously praised Withers as his favourite.

The Wets were the sort of eighties pop stars who seemed to have excellent record collections yet struggled to create great music of their own. They were born during the sixties pop boom and would have been exposed to much of it from a very early age. They would have been children during the heydays of Slade and T.Rex, approaching adolescence during punk (in some ways, the perfect age for it: old enough to find it exciting but young enough not to be turned off by its negatives) and set for adulthood at the time of New Pop. You're talking about a vast twenty year window of outstanding music to cut one's teeth on. Too much in fact. It could be easy to get overly comfy in these environs with little to object to. Great pop attempts to fill a void but there was no such emptiness for this generation. Rather than carving out their own place in music, they seemed happy churning out substandard soul and Motown tributes.

I don't expect the members of Wet Wet Wet to match the output of The Beatles or, indeed, any of the acts they reviewed this fortnight. They provided their thoughts on some new singles and that's fine. But I don't think it's asking too much for them to show some understanding of what was so brilliant about The Beatles — and, even then, I don't expect it to be expressed on the pages of Smash Hits. The following year they participated in the NME's Sgt Pepper Knew My Father charity album. It's a collection that has its moments but their take on "With a Little Help from My Friends" isn't one of them. Even by Pellow's lofty standards, his vocal is cocky and it loses the vulnerability that Ringo's workmanlike singing provides (you need to believe that singing out of tune is a distinct possibility for this to work). With his voice and his looks, does Pellow even need any friends? Yes, he loves their music but what has he learned from them? Why did he record this cover version when it shows no trace of its prior inspiration?

In the context of the their many remarkable singles, "All You Need Is Love" is nothing special. While I wouldn't quite agree with Ian Macdonald's assessment that it's one of their "less deserving hits", there's nothing thrilling about it like "She Loves You" or "A Hard Day's Night", nothing spectacularly inventive about it like "Paperback Writer" or "Strawberry Fields Forever". It doesn't have a bridge and it glides along happily without even a key change. Pretty substandard work then.

(Lennon's famous wordplay is nowhere to be found and this composition marks the point when he began favouring simplistic chants repeated over and over. It was just under two years later that he assembled another large group to record "Give Peace a Chance" for yet another orchestrated media event. Having put some thought into its predecessor, "Peace" is slapdash by comparison, with lyrics about how everyone is talking about various movements and people though his lists are frequently hard to comprehend with a shambolic crowd packed into a Montreal hotel suite not aiding the audio. "Power to the People" from 1971 actually addresses issues (including the worthwhile observation that feminism had a part to play too) but it lacks a hook and the singalong quality that makes both earlier attempts so special. (Lennon didn't simply reserve his new found sloganeering for his agitprop. "I Want You (She's So Heavy)", his plea to Yoko Ono, lacks any semblance of verse structure and amounts to eight minutes of him wanting her - wanting her so bad, it's driving him mad. It's a better record than it probably ought to be but it's certainly guilty of hammering the point home) Though "Come Together" would be a successful attempt at combining his poetic imagery with a chorus to chant on football terraces, "All You Need Is Love" would be his best simple singalong)

This being The Beatles, however, there's still lots of magic involved. It is now impossible for many people to hear the start of "La Marseillaise" (ie the French national anthem) and not go into a swaying "love, love, love". The brass response to Lennon's cries of 'All you need is love' is one of the most familiar musical passages in their entire repertoire. It's use of various musical quotations lends it an instant familiarity but the deliberately simplistic chorus does so as well. It is one of those songs that feels like it has always been around. I might find myself singing along to it without even knowing.

The ubiquity of The Beatles could turn people off and I remember a time when there was something vaguely shameful about exploring their music. Due in part to the Sgt Pepper documentary, I went through brief phase of listening to them at around this time. Pepper was a record I looked at much more than put on the stereo and I was happy to play my mum's Rock 'n' Roll Music cassettes. This period led me towards getting into the Pet Shop Boys, INXS and Terence Trent D'Arby and on to becoming a pop music obsessive. The next time I really got back into them, however, was six years later when I began to tire of everything going on at the time. (1993 was a favourite year in music for some but not me) Listening to The Beatles at that point was tantamount to conceding that things were better then, at a time before I was even born, and that I was ready to give up on my own music - and, worse still, that my parents had been right all along.

The Beatles would gradually take their permanent place as a group for all generations with the Anthology series but some of us continued to carry around an uneasiness about getting into their music. A number of years ago, I was in a pub with some friends and we bumped into Owen, an old schoolmate who I had always been friendly with. He was a hip hop kid and I was into alternative music back in junior high school so our tastes differed but we still sometimes talked about what we were listening to. "Well, it's a bit embarrassing", he said, sheepishly when the subject turned to music, "but I've been listening to The Beatles a lot lately". I knew exactly what he meant. There's no getting rid of them.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Suzanne Vega: "Tom's Diner"

"Actually, I think it's really brilliant," muses Cunningham, "it won't be a hit though 'cos the radio won't play it". Well, quite. The Housemartins had enjoyed a near-Christmas number one with their acapella rendition of "Caravan of Love" a few months earlier but they were a four-piece and some of them filled out the sound with backing vocals; Suzanne Vega, on the other hand, is on her own and doesn't appear afraid of dropping several seconds of dead air throughout. The song's iconic 'doo-doo-doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo' only comes at the end too! Some electronic boffins need to sort this thing out, pronto! Oh, and Neil: some of us like librarians!

Richard Strange: "International Language"

7 February 1980

"The music from this single jumps from one speaker to another with the agility of a ballet dancer."

— Julie Milton

David Hepworth got a fortnight off from handling the singles, possibly so he could begin plotting how to troll the readers with a less visually appealing review format. (But not to worry, I'm sure the pressure wasn't getting to him) In his place is one Julie Milton, a young woman from somewhere in Britain who calls herself Joolz. This is all I know. I had to infer her nationality because (a) it's a good bet considering Smash Hits was a British publication and (b) Julies from other countries don't tend to go by the nickname 'Joolz'.

Milton hasn't been given a very inspiring batch of records to evaluate. There are several no names (Rockers Express, Niteflyte, Cats UK, a group who didn't have to rename themselves due to an American act of the same name but because of a Dutch unit calling themselves 'The Cats') and some who were fairly big at the time but who no one has any need for nowadays (The Korgis, The Feelies, The Flying Lizards - none of the groups here wasted time trying to come up with a decent band name). To be fair, there are some decent records on offer though the majority as just sort of all right. Milton manages to find about fifteen different ways of saying so this issues which is a credit to her as a writer.

Her two favourites this fortnight are the single below and "International Language" by Richard Strange. She doesn't make it clear which she prefers so I have taken the liberty of choosing on her behalf. (A nice side-effect of doing these early pre-SOTF reviews is that it gives me some degree of freedom of choice) Strange's single is the superior of the two and that's what we're going with here.

Richard Strange. The British punk/post-punk/new wave landscape had been littered with musicians working under stage names. Johnny Rotten, Sid Vicious, Siouxsie Sioux, Billy "Sir Billiam" Idol, Captain Sensible, Rat Scabies, Adam Ant, Sting, Elvis Costello, Fad Gadget and Suggs were just some of the individuals who made their names by taking on a different one. This trend would continue in the eighties with Boy George, Kim Wilde and — huh? — Steve Strange. Yet, the former leader of influential early punks Doctors of Madness had been using his real name all along. I suppose if you're surname is 'Strange' then you might as well run with it.

Doctors of Madness had been a bridge between art rock groups such as Roxy Music and The Velvet Underground and the emerging punk scene. Still, they were too accomplished to fit in comfortably with The Sex Pistols and Ramones. A pair of clips of them performing on Twiggy's TV variety show from 1975 reveals just how close and far apart they were from the next generation: on their opening number (the eponymous "Doctors of Madness"), they sound possessed: sure, they had a violinist but their sound was dark and spooky and perhaps not quite in line with the tastes of the British public in the mid-seventies. That said, they did receive a warm reception from the studio audience. Then, Twiggy joins them for the more ethereal "Perfect Past": though gothic in its own right, there's a folksy beauty to their performance. These people were never going to be marching in step with punk.

The Doctors would split by the end of the decade which prompted Strange to embark on a solo career. By this point, the singer-songwriter pub rockers like Costello, Ian Dury and Nick Lowe were on the ascent, as was the English ska boom and many soul-influenced acts. Strange's work has a lot in common with these diverse scenes but where he differed from many of his contemporaries was in his unwavering belief in his own vision and desire to follow his own path. Pop stardom was doomed but he had making great music to be worried about.

It would be easy just to classify "International Language" as an excellent slice of new wave pop but there's simply too much going on for one category to cope with. Classic songwriting for one: Strange is obviously well-versed in pop-rock at least as far back as The Beatles (he had just turned twenty-nine by this point; during the late seventies, most of the better songwriters tended to be a bit older than the average punk since they were able to better cut their teeth on Lennon, McCartney, Davies, Dylan, Wilson and Holland-Dozier-Holland). There are production tricks that recall Joe Meek far more than any punk-era studio boffin.

Whatever influences are at play, "International Language" is a superlative effort and Milton is right to be hopeful of more to come. It's one of those songs that breezes along so effortlessly that the listener can end up ignoring all the varying ingredients. Subsequent listens gradually reveal everything going on giving each individual play its own unique characteristics. And yet, it all feels very natural. Whereas the overly put upon nature of Talking Heads can begin to grate after a while, the whole has a welcome flow. Strange's vocals bounce around refreshingly irony-free.

Is it criminal that it missed the charts? Well, certainly the top 40 would have been a better place with it as a member but it's hard to imagine it catching on with hundreds of thousands of people. Some people are there to plant the seeds but they fail to reap the rewards. As Brian Eno once said, "only 10,000 people bought the first Doctors of Madness album but everyone who did formed a band and adopted a unique stage name". As opposed to Richard Strange.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Brass Construction: "Music Makes You Feel Like Dancing"

Brooklyn's Brass Construction once had a hit with their single "Movin'" during the early days of disco. It's a great song loaded with urgency and it shows you how seemlessly funk veterans were able to change with the times — up to a point, at least. With disco now on the wane, the group sounds like they're floundering and it points to just how much of a cookie cutter genre it could be even in competent hands. Milton confidently proclaims that everyone will love it which could be true if not for the fact that many of us have heard this sort of thing before. Disco didn't need to die but it sure was in need of a change. Luckily, it would be coming before long.

J.M. Silk: "She's So Far Away"

1 July 1987

"Following in the footsteps of all the other Chicago "House" records that have an entire nation wriggling their rumps all over the dance floors comes this — a "House" record that doesn't sound like one — except for the odd squibbly bit now and then."

— Lola Borg

It's amazing to think what a left field smash Steve "Silk" Hurley's "Jack Your Body" was. It didn't have the benefit of record label promotion, the BBC wouldn't play it and the video looks uncannily like something pieced together by a not-especially-talented YouTuber. Smash Hits didn't bother reviewing it either, although it's impossible to say if that was because they didn't think it merited an appraisal or if they weren't even sent a copy to begin with. Yet, it went all the way to number one. Hurley was back in his native Chicago when he got the news and assumed it had gone to the top of the dance charts. He probably didn't celebrate the way The Beatles did when they found out that "I Want to Hold Your Hand" was topping the charts in the US, no.

As if to compensate, Lola Borg is here this fortnight to give her approval to the follow up to the follow up of "Jack Your Body". She doesn't go right out and say it but it seems he hasn't just put out another house anthem full of samples but now has a proper song along as well. You might think that he had another smash on his hands with "She's So Far Away" but it ended up being an even bigger flop than previous single "Let the Music Take Control", which at least came close to a top 40 entry. Hey, wha' happened?

Looking back at the early days of the house music scene, British reporters and industry types have admitted that they didn't know what to do with it. These weren't pop stars, they were faceless DJ's. They didn't cavort on stage with sexy guitars, they stood behind a mixing desk, one hand scratching away at a record, the other pressing half a headphone set to their ears. Of course they didn't sing or any of that nonsense! Compounding the problem was that there weren't many figures in print, radio or TV championing it, though it wouldn't be long before Bruno Brooks and John Peel began going all in with the house. As Miranda Sawyer told David Hepworth and Mark Ellen on their Word in Your Ear podcast, Smash Hits had difficulty fitting the square peg of house music DJs into the round hole of pop. (Well, she didn't say those words exactly but I'll help myself to some licence)

But members of the British media shouldn't be so hard on themselves since the house acts of the time were equally clueless. Though Farley "Jackmaster" Funk and vocalist Darryl Pandy were smart enough to make the trip across the Atlantic to appear on Top of the Pops to promote their hit single "Love Can't Turn Around", others didn't bother. British groups who enjoy Stateside success despite more modest sales back home, from The Zombies to Bush, tend to promptly head off to the US to tour the country to death — and plenty of them even more there — but American acts aren't usually so keen to transplant themselves to the Old World. Hurley admits that other priorities got in the way and that his management advised him to stay home.

Amongst a media that hadn't the faintest idea how to handle this new explosion and performers who didn't know anything about the world of pop, "Jack Your Body" became an unexpected number one and, just as importantly, would launch house music in the minds of the British public. The fact that it now sounds simple and primitive shouldn't take anything away from its importance. But for Hurley it was meant to be a lark and wasn't representative of his sound. The single had been credited to Hurley himself but most of the rest of his work was done under the name of J.M. Silk. He was back doing his day job, which didn't involve making the kids in Britain go nuts over a futuristic new sound.

The amazing thing about "She's So Far Away" is how it feels as much a part of the past as anything else. House music had its roots in the underground clubs ever since the decline of disco and the synthesized horns, song structure and strong but characterless baritone of singer Keith Nunnally are very much throwbacks. As Borg says, there are those "squibbly" bits but they're far subtler and not about to catch the ears of the impressionable. On the surface, it might seem more commercial but so too is it much more in line with dance music. Fittingly, the "squibbly" bits are the best part; otherwise, it's effectively an afterthought record that Bobby O could have knocked out half a decade earlier.

As ever within the sub-genres of the rock era, the British quickly took to house music and it would be their own acts who would lead the way, particularly when it came to chart presence. But you have to think they learned from earlier missteps. Bomb the Bass followed up their breakthrough hit "Beat Dis" with much more of a pop-based house number but Tim Simenon hedged his bets by putting it out as a double A-side with something much more in line with its predecessor. Mark Moore recruited three young women to perform some "vox", "sampled vox" (whatever that is) and percussion but also to give S'Express the image of a proper group and not a typical house act with a DJ scratching away at a turntable. The Beatmasters, Coldcut and D-Mob all began bringing in guest vocalists. Even some of the Americans began to follow suit: by 1988, Detroit techno house outfit Inner City scored a big UK hit with "Big Fun" and they spared nothing to make themselves known in the country that had taken to them. When their next single "Good Life" was released, they were being featured in Smash Hits and vocalist Paris Grey could be seen mugging for the camera in a video shot in London. The influential DJ and producer Frankie Knuckles would soon spend considerable time in Britain and Marshall Jefferson ended up settling there. House would gradually become known as techno and now it's basically EDM and, if we still don't know what to do with it, then there's certainly no getting rid of it.

~~~~~

Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Deacon Blue: "Loaded"

"Another miserable Scottish group (of which there are many)", is how Borg describes her initial impressions of ver Blue. Fair enough, they were always a group that had to grow on people and "Loaded" would quickly grow on a certain Hits critic. If only other music hacks would be so generous. Not one of the highlights of their superb debut album Raintown, it is nevertheless a solid number albeit one that doesn't suggest greater things in store. The magnificent "Dignity" aside, their early singles failed to give an adequate representation of what they were all about. It wouldn't be for another fifteen months that they would release something that would make plenty of punters suddenly take notice — even if a good many critics would remain unimpressed.