Ride: "Twisterella"

15 April 1992

"Goodbye droning guitar, hello chiming chords. Goodbye depressing moaning vocals, hello pop music. Ride have come out of their shells."

— Johnny Dee

This blog's unofficial look at all things indie in '92 resumes with shoegaze, a subgenre I had very little to do with back in the day. Alternative acts often lack charisma once you get past your Stipes and Morrisseys but even by this modest standard, the shoegazers were low on the showmanship. Looking like you'd sooner be wiping saliva off the faces of the elderly for a living than being in this wretched pop business was precisely the point: you want a star, then listen to bloody Seal.

Shoegaze never seemed like much of a genre per se. Fans and critics praised it to the hills but they never managed to make it seem appealing. I once bought a copy of My Bloody Valentine's seminal album Loveless because I felt like I ought to but it remains unplayed to this day (unless whoever ended up with it decided to remove the shrink-wrap and give it a go themselves). Why did I even bother? All anyone ever did was tell me how important it is, no one ever bothered with how good it is to listen to. On the other hand, groups like Lush and Ride were much better than shoegaze enthusiasts led us to believe. Just as The Jesus & Mary Chain had always been much more of a pop act than indie credibility obsessives would like to think, the better shoegazers seemed content to have a go at all sorts of styles.

There are many great mysteries in pop but few are as puzzling as the one surrounding the two singles that were selected to promote Ride's second album Going Blank Again. One of them is an absolute delight: a chiming slice of jangle pop that generations of boring old power pop bands could only dream of crafting. The other is a much more difficult affair: an uncompromising eight minutes of toe-tapping noise which is ultimately rather forgettable. One of them is an obvious single, the other would have struggled in the format even if it had been edited down to half its length. One came out in advance of the album, the other only after Ride's fanbase had snapped it up on CD and cassette. One of them did rather well for itself on the charts, the other barely registered. How the less commercial, more avowedly "shoegaze" "Leave Them All Behind" fared far better than the irresistible "Twisterella" is beyond me.

The one thing "Leave Them All Behind" has going for it is as a statement of intent. As on-the-nose as The Stone Roses' "What the World Is Waiting For", it was meant to affirm Ride's place above their shoegaze competitors. The fact that they had already gone about proving their superiority with a succession of top notch E.P.'s and a fine debut album Nowhere was evidently not enough. In a subgenre that happened to be defined by musicians who didn't appear to be arsed, here was a band that really seemed concerned about what everyone thought of them. (Many were surprised when Ride guitarist and songwriter Andy Bell eventually became bassist of Oasis at the tail end of the nineties but it's likely he had an ego to match the Gallagher brothers)

The members of Ride and their inner circle considered "Twisterella" to be a potential breakthrough for the band but it ended up being held over because Creation Records head Alan McGee did a backflip or something when he first gave "Leave Them All Behind" a listen. It was eventually released as a potential springtime hit. Johnny Dee was convinced ("a record that just bursts into splendid life like fireworks in the midnight sky") but the reception was muted elsewhere. Perhaps the inkies had become turned off by Smash Hits' newfound interest in the band. (Sian Pattenden was similarly enthusiastic towards Going Blank Again, stating that it explodes the myth that Ride are a bunch of malcontent youths and describing it as a "right poppy affair") Indeed, it's even likely that they're own studenty fans had reservations towards this far more upbeat and hook-filled direction. The BBC wouldn't even play it. Under the circumstances a solitary week in the bottom of the Top 40 really isn't all that bad.

Of course it deserved better. "Twisterella" is an absolute banger, a candidate for single of the year. Ride members Andy Bell, Mark Gardener, Steve Queralt and Loz Colbert (is it just me or were there a lot of indie musicians called "Loz" back then?) were all first rate players and the quartet meshed so well together. Queralt's bass playing is hardly noticeable on those early E.P.'s but here it is full, driving and even a little bit funky. Colbert was the era's preeminent drummer and this is an excellent example of why he stood out from the pack: he's as steady as Charlie Watts, as pounding as Budgie and as willing to fly off in whichever direction he pleases as Tony Williams. Bell and Gardener were only just starting to make their marks as songwriters, not above pinching from others but with a talent for sounding wholly original. Sure, "Twisterella" sounds like The Byrds if you really think about it but being caught up in such a brilliant song leaves such dull analysis in the dust.

Fortunately, the band soldiered on this new beat group path when they could have easily reverted back to their indie safespace. The overlooked Carnival of Light album pushed them further towards The Beatles — which in turn nudged Andy Bell a little bit closer to Oasis — even as it alienated them from their once loyal following. Power pop is frequently used as a crutch for groups who are too timid to explore so it's nice that it helped lead Ride out of their own stylistic dead-end. And if you don't like it? Go find yourself another band who can't be arsed.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine: "The Only Living Boy in New Cross"

Camp, tasteless rock with hints of Slade, Meat Loaf, Madness, ZZ Top, Billy Idol and music hall, Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine never really became the institution they seemed destined to become. Maybe they were too much of an indie rock Right Said Fred for their own good. In any case, "The Only Living Boy in New Cross" is their most endearing moment. Dee reckons it's just a copy of earlier hit "After the Watershed" but I don't really hear it myself. It's a credit to Jimbob and Fruitbat that they were able to use time-tested references to wrestling and crass lyrics about "butchered bakers and deaf-dumb waiters / Marble Arch criminals and Clause 28ers" in what turned out to be a poignant song about the AIDS crisis. (U2's "One" went one way with this serious topic, Carter went another). Fantastic when I was fifteen and just as good now, though I can't quite put it over "Twisterella".

Echo & The Bunnymen: "The Back of Love"

27 May 1982

"Cutting loose and cutting deep as well."

— David Hepworth

Let's start things off with the sleeve. Jazzier, more laid back bands like Weekend and Aztec Camera might have opted for such an artsy single cover had the once gloomy Echo & The Bunnymen not beaten them to it. (It could have even been used by hip twenty-first century acts like Bright Eyes and others who are so hip that I've either forgotten who they are or they're way too cool for me) In one respect this is completely on brand for them: it's an image taken from The Promise by Liverpool artist Henry Scott Tuke. Considering that The Bunnymen would one day organize a day long tour of Merseyside complete with breakfast at their favourite cafe, a cycling trip around the city and finishing up with them playing a concert (a day out which Bill Drummond once described as his "favourite Bunny moment"), Ian McCulloch and his mates were typically more than happy to promote a fellow Scouser.

On the other hand, such supposedly downcast groups aren't expected to use such a wistful image for their cover art. Previous Bunnymen singles had sleeves much more in line with their brand of new wave/post-punk. That said, their new sound wasn't really jiving with what they had been about up until then.

As David Hepworth says, there's the sense that they were no longer satisfied being on pop's fringes and that they would make a go at trying to have a hit for once. Rather stunningly, it worked. It isn't as if "The Back of Love" was a radical departure for them, only a refinement into something that could be consumed by the public at large.

Being part of the same neo-psychedelic scene that briefly turned The Teardrop Explodes into the band of the future, it seems only right that they would borrow some of Julian Cope's buoyant vocal mannerisms and some choice horns at the song's closing to put "The Back of Love" over the top. If anything, it suggests that the future all of sudden belonged to the them. (A pity Cope never claimed that they could easily have been Echo & The Bunnymen)

But the seeds of their very first hit go back much further. There's glam rock, particularly in the way that McCulloch delivers his lines with a whole new swagger. The clipped guitar sounds like it could've been played on a synth. And this single is a welcome reminder of what a tight outfit Echo & The Bunnymen always were, as frenetic as Dr. Feelgood, as musically sharp as Elvis Costello & The Attractions and as deceptively idiosyncratic as Squeeze. Yes, had they not been careful, those Bunnies could've ended up as a pub rock combo selling out Southend's Kursaal Ballroom. And as far as them "cutting loose", this has to be the first time that such an uptight band actually sounded as if they were enjoying the task of cutting records.

I've never been a huge Echo & The Bunnymen fan but this blog has made me realise that had they come into my life at the right time, I would've been all in for them. An impressionable youngster could do a whole lot worse. That sleeve would've grabbed my attention and the music would have lifted me out of my angsty, teenage languor. Spotty, miserable youths are supposed to be these losers who lock themselves in their bedrooms and refuse to speak to anyone but is that the reality? I was a fully grown 195 cm by the age of fourteen, I was rake-thin, I had bad acne, I was a lazy good-for-nothing and I listened to way too much Morrissey. Yet, I was also on the basketball team, I watched hockey on TV, I wished to live a life like I saw on The Wonder Years, I drank slurpees almost every day and I often found myself loving mainstream pop. That's the way it's supposed to be and Echo & The Bunnymen are very much the band that represent these contradictions.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Space: "Magic Fly"

A huge hit single five years earlier that only missed the number one spot because of Elvis paying the inevitable price for his over indulgence in pharmaceuticals, "Magic Fly" was nevertheless way ahead of its time — and still is. Like The Tornados' extraordinary "Telstar" it is futuristic while also being a period piece about how the future was envisioned when it was conceived. Playful in a way I could only dream of Kraftwerk being, it has more than a little of Japanese Shibuya-kei to it. Hepworth enthuses that it's the "most tasteful record of the week" but the audience wasn't there for it anymore. Perhaps it was due to them being French but "Magic Fly" subsequently disappeared. So forgotten were they that another Liverpool band would emerge in the nineties calling themselves Space. (Did Paris record shops insist on referring to them as something like The English Space or Space UK?) It's high time we all did some rediscovering of this weird but irresistible classic.

(Click here to see my original review)

If?: "Saturday's Angels"

1 April 1992

"Cancel that trip to Maccesfield...everything's going to be Ooooooh Kaaaaay!!"

— Sylvia Patterson

If You Don't Mind?

If? is the name of the latest pop sensations who are set to take over the charts with their danceable pop explosion "Saturday's Angels". But who are If? and why do is their name also a question?

The band known as If? are made up of four blokes from London. Two of them were once in a group called JoBoxers who had a hit about 76 thousand years ago called "Boxerbeat". It was bloomin' marvellous and Smash Hits even put them on the cover! But then their next single flopped and so did the one after that. But now they're back with another "kick" at the "can". One member of the Hits staff reckons its ace while the rest think it's quite good.

No one was able to find out much about this If? lot so we present some notable If's from the world of pop and beyond...

If....

An ancient film starring a younger, far less crusty Malcolm McDowell. Older lads in a public school are menacing the younger boys and everything erupts into violence because there wasn't any custard for their cornflake pie one day or something. Even the adults are naughty, as seen when everyone else is at chapel and the housemaster's wife wanders about the boys' dormitory starkers. Rather than leaving paper bags with poo on their doorsteps as any right-thinking schoolboy would do, the lads resort to shooting everyone with guns

"If"

A horrible old song by a horrible old band from the sixties called Bread. It was then covered by a horrible old bloke called Telly Savalas who had no hair and couldn't sing. Everyone claimed to like it and bought up enough copies to fill several thousand seaside chalets in Eastbourne which were then chucked off Beachy Head when everyone came to their senses.

"If You Don't Know Me by Now"

Another hoary old chestnut originally done by an American group called Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes only to become the umpteenth cover in the Simply Red catalog. It's about how a lass ought to get to know her beau pronto or else she'll never, never, never know him which overlooks love being a journey and how you're supposed to never stop learning about that special someone.

"If I Fell"

A weepie by The Beatles from their first film A Hard Day's Night. They were all about being jolly back in those days but this one of their first heartfelt songs. John Lennon opening his heart and soul to the world was undermined quite a lot by him pulling cripple faces while singing it in the movie, the clot!

Iffy Onuora

Striker for third division side Huddersfield Town. Iffy also happens to be the state of the club he plays for.

Iftody Uppingham-Jones, esq.

A foppish, dim character in a P.G. Wodehouse story no one ever got round to reading. Probably.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

SL2: "On a Ragga Tip"

Hold on, this has nothing to do with the word if! Or does it? What about if everyone in the land buys a copy of this then it will go straight to number one and stay there well into the summer. Or if SL2 can have a second hit to follow "DJs Take Control" then they might not go down the dumper. Or if you play "On a Ragga Tip" enough times then you might actually work out what the bleedin' heck they're going on about. Or if an impressionable spotty youth happens to give it a listen then maybe it will convince them to get out of the bedroom they share with their older brother and create something of their own. And if you can't be bothered with it then you'll find another record to go all gooey over instead. So many possibilities. If only we had more time.

Right Said Fred: "Deeply Dippy"

18 March 1992

"But although completely different from their last two flings, it's rather catchy and ruddy pleasant."

— Sian Pattenden

One of the things I have learned from doing this blog over the past five years is that narratives have the power to take on a life of their own, even if contradicted by hard evidence. It's something I do in this space all the time so it's no wonder I have become good at spotting it when done by others.

Take "Deeply Dippy" (it is, after-all, the topic of this post). In the comments in Tom Ewing's review, there are suggestions that it's a "consolation" number one for Right Said Fred. Their first big hit, "I'm Too Sexy", had the stuff to give them a chart topper — it would eventually hit the top in the US, Australia and New Zealand — but it was held off by the immovable "(Everything I Do) I Do It for You)" by Bryan Adams. Spending six weeks at number two is a feat in itself but if you're good enough to be runner up then you're good enough to be disappointed by it. Six months' later, however, the public was given the chance to right a wrong by taking "Deeply Dippy" to number one. Hardly anyone remembers it now which only reinforces how it got as far as it did based on the goodwill from an earlier hit.

This notion of having a number one following a lower charting signature hit isn't an uncommon talking point for fans and critics. Madness had eleven Top 20 singles before finally topping the charts with "House of Fun", a feat they'd fail to replicate on any of their subsequent singles. Billy Joel's lone UK number one was with the decent but unremarkable "Uptown Girl". Erasure wouldn't get to the top of the singles charts until they put out an E.P. of sadly lifeless ABBA covers. In each of these cases (among others) there's this idea that they were all due since they'd come up short so many times before.

It makes nice fodder for pub/social networking discussion but there isn't sufficient evidence to prove that number ones like "House of Love", "Uptown Girl", ABBA-esque and "Deeply Dippy" got to the top based on it being their "time". It doesn't work that way. There's the matter of competition (or lack thereof) with the Fred only having to see off the likes of Iron Maiden and Vanessa Williams during their three week stint at the chart's pole position. Timing plays a significant role as well. And then there's the record buying public knowingly giving a boost to a lesser product just to give 'em that chart topper they supposedly deserve: if there are indeed a lot of people who purchase records in this fashion then I've never met any of them. What it really comes down to is three singles on the bounce that many people seemed to really like but only one of them had the good fortune to get to number one.

Yes, there had been a hit in between "I'm Too Sexy" and "Deeply Dippy". Right Said Fred followed the hook-filled ode to supermodel glamour (not only is the group dated but so too is the concept of supermodels themselves; go into any airport duty free shop and try to spot the image of someone shilling perfume or luxury timepieces who isn't best known as an actor or star athlete: the glory days of a Naomi Campbell or a Helena Christensen are long gone; sorry to belabour the point in parentheses but in my day models went into acting; nowadays, actors go into modeling) with the not-dissimilar novelty pop of "Don't Talk Just Kiss", their attempt at nabbing the 1991 Christmas Number One which ended up falling just short at number three. It was just like "I'm Too Sexy" only way less memorable and nowhere close to as catchy. Two records in and they were already a one trick pony. 

"Deeply Dippy" is not without its own flaws, chief among them Richard Fairbrass' poor sandpaper singing. "I'm Too Sexy" is aided by is lousy voice since it only affirms that this is a very unsexy individual and that's what makes it so amusing (I guess). On what is a more earnest love song, his gravelly vocals are a lot harder to take. There's also the lack of originality. "Daydream" by The Lovin' Spoonful comes immediately to mind before the pace picks up and it becomes a poor cousin of a classic Bachrach and David number. That said, Right Said Fred never seemed like especially talented individuals so expecting something fresh is probably asking too much.

Sian Pattenden isn't overly thrilled by most of what was there for her to review this fortnight. She gives middling to reviews to Erasure (good but "Breath of Life" smacks of a deep cut), James ("Ring the Bells" is yet another banger, what else is new?), Annie Lennox (see below), Salt-N-Pepa (with a reissue/remix of "Expression" which has already been covered here) and an ancient tune by Dinah Washington used in a Levi's commercial (surprised I don't like it more; Pattenden's three star rating is about right). The rest she's quite happy to trash. Alongside all that company, describing a song as "ruddy pleasant" goes from faint praise to seemingly overwhelmingly positive. I'd be more than happy never to have to hear "I'm Too Sexy" again but I feel almost well-disposed towards this one by comparison. No doubt it helps that it hasn't been overplayed but I'm just impressed that an okay song done by a bunch of idiots still sounds all right. People like Ewing describe it as "end of the pier" and that seems about right, even if I'm not sure quite what that means. (I'm picturing being on the end of Southend pier, the air damp and with the smell of greasy chips and diesel oil in my nostrils and the hazy view of Kent on the other side of the Thames: I can imagine "Deeply Dippy" being well suited to this type of setting)

There is a fine line between being a national treasure and being the sort of figure who no one wants to have anything to do with. The Fred were clearly tapping into that same English music hall variety show culture that helped both Slade and Madness first become successful and then find a place in the hearts of the populace. The Fairbrasses and the other one did okay for themselves in this role but it was never destined to be longterm. "Deeply Dippy" suggests that they were on course for the cabaret circuit but doing a crappy Comic Relief single the year after and putting out an even worse number about Sonic the Hedgehog put them right back in the novelty pop game. And say what you will about embarrassing variety shows and playing on cruise ships but at least there's an audience for that shit.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Annie Lennox: "Why"

My mum always said she liked Annie Lennox. Fair enough too, mums from the eighties were supposed to dig her — and they were the cool mums. Following the dissolution of Eurythmics she then went solo and teenagers began joining their mums in appreciating all things Annie. Not this particular teenager, mind you. Liking Lennox's music was supposed to mean that you had good taste. I was in my high school drama club and the Diva album was played a lot during breaks. (Even the mostly bad Medusa had its fans among my circle: and to think we were convinced we were cooler than everyone else) It's depressing to think of teens digging a whole crapton of Annie but what about now when I'm middle-aged? I think I've managed to grow into "Why" a lot more than I would've expected. It certainly helps that Lennox doesn't overdo the vocals. She's always had a great voice yet she's often derided for being unappealing to listen to but I've give her a pass just this once.

China Crisis: "Scream Down at Me"

13 May 1982

"Probably too off-beat for the radio, but a great record. And it doesn't even feature Trevor Horn!"

— Dave Rimmer

Bands are seldom static. Members come and go for a whole variety of reasons. Yet, there's this unwritten, unspoken understanding that they should retain the essential elements of a group. There ought to be a lead singer who may or may not play an instrument at the same time as well as your standard guitarist-bassist-drummer dynamic with a keyboardist being an optional extra. This is the basis for a pop-rock group.

In the seventies, however, some bands ended up reduced in size, usually as a result of an authoritative leader who'd rather play a multitude of instruments themselves or hire session players in order to keep stress to a minimum. Groups such as the Bee Gees, Sparks, Steely Dan and Wings at all started off as quintets only to see membership dwindle and, crucially, not be replaced.

This trend would continue into the eighties with powerful duos typically ending up with the balance of power while their rhythm sections ended up getting pushed out of the way. The Associates presented themselves as a five-piece but it was the partnership of Billy McKenzie and Alan Rankine that called the shots and was in effect the band itself. The same thing happened to OMD. Simple Minds experienced a gradual cull over the course of the decade until it began to seem like Jim Kerr was the only one left. XTC (see below) quit touring only for drummer Terry Chambers to depart at which point they became a trio that spent their remaining twenty years relying on a revolving door of percussionists as well as a spell with a drum machine backing them.

China Crisis had been built very much on these lines. The partnership of Garry Daly and Eddie Lundon had been established for some time when, only just exiting their teens, they began putting out records. Steely Dan had been their biggest inspiration (the admiration must have been mutual since the late Walter Becker would play synths on their 1985 album Flaunt the Imperfection) which no doubt motivated them to spurn playing live. Daly and Lundon would soon relax their aversion to concerts which is where having a permanent drummer in one Dave Reilly would come in handy. 

Trevor Horn is one of those significant musical figures who was never as inescapable as we might now assume. He was part of Buggles whose megahit "Video Killed the Radio Star" is chiefly remembered for a chorus is easily its weakest link. He was also there at the tail end of Yes as the once formidable yet typically impenetrable progressive rockers were attempting to pull a Genesis by suddenly becoming an eighties' middle aged pop group. And he produced The Lexicon of Love, a masterclass of lush dance-pop which is frequently cited as one of the albums of the decade. Not such a bad resume all told.

More would come in the future (Frankie Goes to Hollywood, Seal, the last Belle & Sebastian album that anyone needs to bother with but why do I always forget about the Art of Noise? Oh because they were critically acclaimed but no fun whatsoever to listen to? Yeah, that tracks) but was he really one of those midas touch types? No, he wasn't. The guy worked with Dollar for god's sake. Plus, he had nothing to do with China Crisis and look what they accomplished even at this early stage and with a single that they have subsequently (and wrongly) disowned.

You know what else Horn had nothing to do with? Avalon by Roxy Music, that's what. The chugging guitar in "Scream Down at Me" sounds like it had been cribbed from deep cut "The Space Between" from Roxy's final album. The thing is, it wasn't out at this point and wouldn't be reviewed by Smash Hits until a fortnight later in the following issue. Could Daly and Lundon have been granted a sneak peak at the latest release from one of Britain's biggest acts? (Doubtful) Could the thirtysomething Bryan Ferry have had his finger on the pulse so acutely that he was aware of an obscure new wave act from just outside of Liverpool whose sound he just had to mimic? (This is even less likely) Or could this funk-driven sound have been in the air and it was affecting the famous and the obscure alike? (Yeah, that's it)

China Crisis would eventually become popular enough to rack up four Top 20 hits but they scarcely sound like the same band that put out early-eighties gems like "Scream Down at Me" and "African and White". Complaining to Chris Heath in ver Hits in the middle of '85 that everyone bashes them for being "wet" and/or "wimpy", they could've done worse in looking for inspiration had they delved into their back catalog for some tougher material. No, they were never balls out rockers but "Scream Down" is powerful and invigorating. This is what being a proper band with a drummer who isn't simply guesting will do.

Yet, the evidence suggests that they were perfectly happy being "wet and wimpy" while leaving this harder stuff to the dustbin. While "African and White" always had a place in their repertroire, "Scream Down at Me" has been effectively written out of their history. It was left off of their debut album Difficult Shapes & Passive Rhythms, Some People Think It's Fun to Entertain, released near the end of 1982, and didn't appear on China Crisis compilation until the two disc set Ultimate Crisis, a collection that the pair likely had little involvement in.

The synth-pop duo dynamic arguably began with bands being reduced to their core. It became so commonplace that it led to groups with only a passing use of synths got shoehorned into a subgenre they otherwise had little to do with. Were The Associates ever synth-pop? Were China Crisis? ("You can't be a synthesizer duo with only one synthesizer!" exclaimed Daly to Neil Tennant, who would later have a something to do with synths himself) But what they all shared were pairings that called the shots. Other members could be disposed of. It worked for Steely Dan, Sparks and Eurythmics. Pet Shop Boys were thoughtful enough not to bother having anyone else join them only to eventually be spurned. Too bad it didn't quite work for China Crisis since "Scream Down at Me" buries their future hit singles.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

XTC: "No Thugs in Our House"

I'm going through another phase of listening to almost nothing but XTC at the moment so I might as well discuss this single, Rimmer's winner of the 'Silly Packaging of the Week Award'. In a move only the Swindon foursome could have pulled off, they had managed to nab defeat out of the jaws of victory and they were now paying the price for it, hence the silly packaging since why else was anyone going to buy the damn thing. They could have been bold and put out either "Yacht Dance" or "Jason and the Argonauts" as a third single from the English Settlement album but they went instead with "Respectable Street" "No Thugs in Our House". It must have seemed like a good idea to have a rockin' stormer that harked back to their brilliant Black Sea album but this wasn't what they were about anymore. Except for the fact that it does indeed go on a bit, as Dave Rimmer points out; Andy Partridge was becoming something of an expert at hammering the point home which wasn't one of his better qualities.

(Click here to see my original review)

Nirvana: "Come as You Are"

4 March 1992

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

— Tom Doyle and Cecy (his cat)

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blur

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

EMF

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

Manic Street Preachers

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

The Wonder Stuff

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

British Bands in General

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

No One at All

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

The Cure: "High"

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

Kingmaker: The Celebrated Working Man

19 February 1992

"The charts have gone mad in recent months and become full of manky, fringed lads playing greasy rock anthems. Great!"

— Mark Frith

We'll be getting to the relative merits of shoegaze before long so let's spend some time here ripping into it a little. Actually, it's not even shoegaze itself that I find problematic, more the perception of it as being more serious than other subgenres of UK indie from the early nineties. I'm all for musicians not smiling in their videos and on stage and in photos but appearing to be bored and/or acting as though this pop business is a total imposition does not a great back catalog make. With all due respect to the likes of Lush and Ride, I'll take the people who are seemingly having a laugh making records and playing shows and doing some press.

(At any rate, who says looking at the floor, head titled slightly is the only way to make it look like you're above it all? Why not pout with the air of superiority instead? It will make you appear more like an aspirational pop star and you might even become an unexpected sex symbol along the way — no small feat considering people like Kingmaker's Loz Hardy and Cud's Carl Puttnam looked like the long-haired, good-for-nothing cousins of XTC's Andy Partridge)

Mark Frith's enthusiasm for a group like Kingmaker is refreshing since they didn't really get their due at the time and they have become largely forgotten ever since. Rightly or wrongly, they got lumped in with the likes of The Wonder Stuff, Pop Will Eat Itself, Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine and Ned's Atomic Dustbin, bands which enjoyed a brief period of success but didn't have the longevity. Also, they weren't exactly darlings of the critics (as opposed to, say, those pesky, allegedly more serious shoegazers). Yet, their discography is respectable even as the spirit of youth began to evaporate.

The new singles review section of Smash Hits altered more than just the layout. Scores out of five are now included but out is information of record companies. Of course, most readers wouldn't have given a toss about who happened to be signed to WEA or Jive or FFRR but Frith could have avoided a tiny error had it been included. Previous single "Really Scrape the Sky" (in actual fact another E.P. released as Idiots at the Wheel; "Really Scrape the Sky" did have a video made) had been reviewed by Sian Pattenden at the start of the year. It is listed as a Chrysalis product; The Celebrated Working Man, however, was released by the tiny Sacred Heart Records. (It was in fact a re-release, having initially hit the shops a year earlier prior to Kingmaker signing with a major) But Frith seems unaware of this, commenting that this extended play is a "step beyond their recent chart hit, more tuneful and hard-hitting". It's not exactly progress if your debut record sounds like an improvement on your more recent work.

Chrysalis was no doubt a step up from an obscure indie label but their track record of getting promising bands into a higher level hadn't been great. Both The Waterboys and offshoot band World Party had received critical acclaim but neither managed to be as big as many felt they deserved. A glut of record companies back in the late twentieth century meant that there was plenty of money being thrown around but that didn't mean that acts got sufficient attention. That's not to say they were ignored since label interference harmed Kingmaker. They would eventually complain that CD single formatting was gouging their modest fanbase while also bleeding the band dry of material but it's likely that being on a major hurt them almost from the off.

I like The Wonder Stuff. I am well aware that they typically lacked subtlety but I think their energy, drive, anger and humour more than compensate. Yet, one Miles Hunt was more than enough. Guitarist/singer Hardy had his own talents as a frontman without having to mimic the charismatic leader of one of Britain's top groups. On the four tracks that comprise The Celebrated Working Man, Loz has a chewy vocal sound that must have been his natural way of singing; by the time of major-backed E.P.'s like Idiots at the Wheel, he could be a Hunt impersonator appearing at a variety of Stourbridge pubs. (A notorious review in the Melody Maker of a concert the band played later in the year with an up-and-coming opening act called Suede leaned heavily on them being supposed Wonder Stuff copy cats) I don't think it's crazy to suggest that record company pressure led to them trying to have a "Size of a Cow" of their own.

A lack of individuality was something a lot of "alternative" groups had to work around in the nineties. The members of Kingmaker had a strong inter-band dynamic but it wasn't as if they were doing anything new. Nevertheless, when it comes to the kind of "greasy rock anthems" that Frith is evidently so fond of, they could be among the best in the business. Nowhere is this better displayed than on their maiden E.P. release and before major labels and bullying critics got in their heads. If only indie could have remained independent.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Shanice: "I Love Your Smile"

My indie period dominated the first half of 1992 but that doesn't mean I was immune to the charms of catchy pop. If you were to create a mix or playlist of songs it's impossible to dislike then "I Love Your Smile" ought to be in there. It came out at a time when I was beginning to turn my back on black male vocalists over-emoting to their very unrhythmic, unblusey brand of R&B; luckily, a whole new generation of African-American female vocalists was emerging led by Shanice and Ce Ce Peniston with back-to-basics dance pop and real R&B. Although I don't care for rambling on about how different songs have aged over the years, I'm happy to discover that I still love this song since it means that I'm aging well.

Scritti Politti: "Faithless"

29 April 1982

"Words like "righteous, testify and faith" do not a soul record make but this is studded with more soul than 78% of the trans-Atlantic garbage on offer this week."

— Martin Fry

It didn't occur to me the first time 'round but it is shocking just how piss poor the bulk of the singles on offer this fortnight are. This outstanding Single of the Fortnight aside, there's aren't many winners present. And don't go away assuming that some of them are brilliant records that the public ignorantly passed on; the bulk of this sorry bunch is dreary faux-soul or tired post-punk. It's almost as if not everyone was meant to create sturdy pop.

Two that succeeded in doing so were ABC's Martin Fry and Scritti Politti's Green Gartside. As I already mentioned the last time "Faithless" came up, the two had their similarities in coming out of punk before eventually evolving into purveyors of slick eighties' sophisti-pop. It's a transition that isn't easily squared unless the petty critic takes the simplistic path of charging that they both "sold out".

If you happened to caught an early Scritti Politti gig in Camden or heard one of their D.I.Y. efforts like "Skank Bloc Bologna" on John Peel's Radio 1 show, then went several years without encountering them before coming across mid-eighties' hits like "Wood Beez" or "The Word Girl" then it be understandable to conclude that they had indeed "sold out". If, however, you'd been paying close attention to their progress then there's no excuse. Those scratchy indie records had always been leaden with literary and political references but it took longer for the music to catch up. The excellent compilation Early displays a gradual shift from skeletal post-punk towards the soul music that Green had grown up on.

The other thing is that the minimalism was still present even as the presentation and sound had shifted. Like "The "Sweetest Girl"" before it, "Faithless" is soulful and lush but so too is it as bare as anything he released half-a-decade earlier. The Blue Nile's Paul Buchanan would express surprise that the D.I.Y. punk ethos hadn't been identified in his group's work since chords were kept to a minimum, their playing was deceptively simplistic and they had little beyond a Linn drum machine in terms of backing. On "Faithless" there is a little more going on than on, say, "Tinseltown in the Rain" but when a vocodor and a trio of backing vocalists in place of a gospel choir are what you're relying upon for backing then 

Moving away from post-punk but not quite ready to embrace pop the way they would on 1985's Cupid & Psyche '85, this period of Scritti Politti's erratic lifespan has been somewhat forgotten. Their smattering of hits was still a ways off and Green would eventually return to the guitars following several largely successful experiments with hip hop which concluded at the end of the nineties. What is one to do, then, with a part of the group that few identify with?

Album Songs to Remember (as well as its companion singles "The "Sweetest Girl"", "Faithless" and the double A-side "Asylums in Jerusalem"/"Jacques Derrida" which were all decked out in gorgeous sleeves making them all look like luxury goods purchased Hong Kong airport's duty free lounge) deserves much better. Rather than being too much of a compromise between what came before and what was to come, it is the most fully realised account of Green's immense musical talents. His deconstructionist pop peaked during this time, with future attempts being much more loving and heartfelt and not in the spirit of his literary interests.

To the extent that Scritti Politti did sell out, the best they were capable of was a Top 20 album and three singles which all stalled outside the Fun 40 — hardly a case of Green selling his soul for pop stardom. More to the point, his creativity wasn't dulled in pursuit of the mainstream; it is only in a

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Shakin' Stevens: "Shirley"

With such a pitiful pile of singles to deal with, is it any wonder Fry overdoes the praise a little for the latest from Shakin' Stevens? Shakey "sounds like he enjoys making records and that sets him apart from 95% of the other acts on display today". Too right but does his obvious enjoyment translate into a top record? It's good fun like many of his nibs' big hits but there's not a whole lot to it. Clocking in at just over two minutes, it nevertheless feels a bit too long. That said, he hammers the point home much more annoyingly on 

The KLF: "America: What Time Is Love?"

5 February 1992

"Get stuffed, Grandad — The KLF, The Voice Of God!"

— Sylvia Patterson

When your pop group philosophy is based on (a) getting maximum value out of minimal talent and (b) constantly retooling of the same half-dozen songs, you're probably not going to have a lengthy run in the charts. While this would no doubt disappoint many, those who lean towards "bird-watching and the countryside" might have found an upside in it.

On the surface, The KLF seemed like ideal pop stars. While their music was rooted in the clubs and the raves of the era, their innate pop sensibilities lent themselves to a world of Smash Hits and Top of the Pops. They even created this fictional universe of themselves being the Justified Ancients of a country called Mu Mu whose capital city was this place called Transcentral. It was like Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars only they didn't have to create a concept album around it: they were the concept. Though they were both in their mid-thirties at the time, they seemed to immature with age, fawning upon the Pet Shop Boys, writing songs that name checked Kylie and Jason and getting into a minor pop star squabble with EMF, accusing the Forest of Dean indie rap rockers of stealing the 'F' in their name.

Relying on samples so heavily that they barely had to play any instruments, Bill Drummond and Jimmy Cauty showed how punk values could be transferred over into the nineties — but then again, so did plenty of others. It was irrelevant that DJ's couldn't play the guitar or keyboards: they had their turntables to "play". But what set The KLF apart was the fact that they had no more training on a deck than on "proper" instruments. This meant that their love of pure pop as well as a myriad of other genres could augment their sound more easily. It also ensured that they never got clever with their mixing. Updates of older JAMMs tracks managed to be improved upon whereas other house music boffins tended to get it right on their first try. Remixing may have been the bread and butter of DJ's yet few of them ever managed to get it right.

"America: What Time Is Love?" was yet another re-working of a chill out track that had evolved into a stadium house number and had now become a rock anthem. North America had mostly ignored the UK Top 5 hit "What Time Is Love?" when it first emerged in late 1990 and the title suggests that they were intent on belatedly breaking it into the US market. The video (a considerable departure from the group's previous promos) even hints at them leaving Britain in order to conquer America. Perhaps coincidentally, this was also the time in which "cracking" the States had become an increasingly daunting task for bands from the UK.

It was only after "Justified and Ancient" came close to giving them a third UK number one that "America: What Time Is Love?" came out in Britain. Americans had been immune but Drummond and Cauty's countrymen once again fell at their feet, with this new version actually outperforming the original's chart peak of number five. This is partly due to the mini-imperial period they had been enjoying but one should never underestimate the power of the US to get the British all giddy. They may have altered the song in order to sway the Americans but this only managed to reaffirm just how beloved they were in their homeland.

And, yet, it was all coming to a close. "America: What Time Is Love?" proved to be their swansong. Sampling Motörhead's iconic "Ace of Spades" and having former Deep Purple/Black Sabbath vocalist Glenn Hughes screaming all over it put them in harder, thrashier territory (additions which happen to give it the edge over the more standard house version from a year and a half earlier), something that they clearly used to the extreme when they performed an almost unrecognizable rendition of "3 a.m. Eternal" at that year's BRIT awards alongside Ipswich hardcore metal band Extreme Noise Terror just a week after this issue of ver Hits hit the shops. They closed out the show by announcing their retirement from showbusiness. Not long after this fiasco, they had their entire back catalog deleted.

There we have The KLF. They would have preferred to have gone bird-watching but their reluctance to embrace the spotlight only made them more intriguing. When they did try to pursue publicity it was in aid of firing machine guns loaded with blanks at those same BRIT awards or infamously setting a million pounds on fire. They crafted brilliant pop records with unusual methods and then fled while still on top. They boasted of the fact that they could have hits with cover versions of their own work. They don't make bands like this anymore. Hell, they didn't make 'em like this back then either.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

Massive Attack: The Hymn of the Big Wheel (aka the imaginatively titled Massive Attack E.P.)

Last week I argued that Primal Scream's Dixie-Narco E.P. was a more than adequate replacement for the group's not-especially-thrilling album Screamadelica. Massive Attack also released a big LP in '91 and they too decided to start the new year off with an extended play — but in this instance it is a poor facsimile of debut Blue Lines. The KLF were good at remixing and retooling older numbers like "What Time Is Love?" but this is something most who worked within house music struggled to match. The Paul Oakenfold remix of "Be Thankful" is rather good but the other two tracks from Blue Lines are pointless. New offering "Home of the Whale" is as dreadful as Sylvia Patterson reckons, so it's obviously not just remixes that they could get wrong. Not a great sampler for what made Massive Attack special but a useful reminder that they were a lot more hit-and-miss than many would care to admit.

Primal Scream: Dixie-Narco

22 January 1992

"The trendiest band in the world — so cool they even turned down an invitation to play at Prince's club in Minneapolis."

— Johnny Dee

And Smash Hits officially joins the nineties.

Over the previous thirteen-and-a-bit years, Smash Hits refused to remain the same. The pages had once been black-and-white before editors such as David Hepworth and Mark Ellen began garish colours, the first step on the road to full on glossy pop mag. Changes tended towards subtlety, unless you count the handful of times the font bearing the words SMASH HITS was altered.

This time, the only thing that remained the same was the font, that iconic Grecian lettering remaining a fixture until yet another retooling eight years later. Bitz, a longstanding feature at the beginning of every issue, was replaced by Start, which was similar to its predecessor but with less emphasis on humour and a mandate to cover the world of entertainment in general. This is one of the most noticeable qualities of the all-new Hits: music having to share the spotlight with films and TV — and in some instances, taking a clear backseat to them. Hot from America, another new edition, includes a brief anecdote about pop starlet Paula Abdul and four notes about Hollywood. Not only were actors beginning to appear on the cover more frequently but they were even beginning to push aside groups and singers in the pages of this once top pop mag.

The glossier, more nineties look to the magazine didn't deter Hits critics from putting forth some edgier acts for the Single of the Fortnight Best New Single. In fact, 1992 is packed with bangers with connections to subgenres such as grebo, Madchester, shoegaze, grunge, punk, jangle pop and the still unknown and unnamed Brtipop. Indie rock's past, present and future are all represented. Appropriate, then, that a band that encompassed all three would kick things off.

Glasgow's Primal Scream rose to prominence in 1990 with the Top 20 single "Loaded". It had initially appeared on their self-titled second album under the name "I'm Losing More Than I'll Ever Have". Then, DJ/producer Andrew Weatherall got his hands on it and transformed it into an intense chill out groove that barely resembles its source material. Primal Scream got a hit single out of it but it was Weatherall who did the heavy lifting. Wisely, they would double down on working with the boffins of house music in the prolonged sessions for third album Screamadelica; the exception was opening cut "Movin' on Up", produced by American Jimmy Miller.

Though he worked with a number of bands from the late-sixties up until his death in 1994, Miller will always be remembered for being behind the desk for Beggar's Banquet, Let It Bleed, Sticky Fingers and Exile on Main St., the big four albums that are generally considered to be the creative peak of The Rolling Stones. While I prefer Aftermath and Between the Buttons to at least a couple of them, there's certainly no arguing with success. Though hugely popular, the Stones had been in the shadow of The Beatles for much of the sixties; it was only when Miller came on board that they began to show signs of becoming the institution they've remained ever since.

Primal Scream's Bobby Gillespie was undoubtedly looking to re-create the Stones' grubby rock mixed with gospel and R&B when Miller was drafted in. What he and his bandmates failed to consider was the tune they had for him to produce was more in line with The Monkees than The Rolling Stones. And I say this as no hater of the prefab four. If ver Scream had done something that brought to mind "Pleasant Valley Sunday" or "Daydream Believer" or "Randy Scouse Git" then it would have been one thing; but for "Movin' on Up" to sound like the lightweight "A Little Bit Me, a Little Bit You" is stretching credibility.

To be fair, cred hasn't always been a benchmark of Primal Scream. I they strive for it in terms of image and influences but their actual music generally misses out. When they don't care (later albums Vanishing Point and XTRMNTR rank as their finest works due to doing their own thing and playing around with a wide variety of genres), they're much better off. But in the early nineties they were all about pretending to be on the cutting edge when in reality they were living off the fruits of their producers, with few original contributions of their own. That they were desperately trying to ape the Stones while sounding more like The Monkees is all you need to know

Screamadelica was released in the autumn of 1991 and would go on to win the first ever Mercury Prize. To this day, it remains a favourite of fans but to the neutrals out there it's over-long, tedious and it appears to demand the listener be as high as balls as the members of Primal Scream were. A whole bunch of singles had already come out and so to give ver kids extra incentive, they threw "Movin' on Up" on to an EP. As I say, I never cared much for Screamadelica but I'm okay with this little four track. It's as if they had plucked the high spots from the album onto a modest sampler while ditching most of the self-indulgent acid rock.

Johnny Dee seems to be most interested in "Movin' on Up" but it is the remainder of Dixie-Narco that has grabbed my attention. Described as "melt city" by his nibs, "Stone My Soul", "Carry Me Home" (a Dennis Wilson composition that had been left off The Beach Boys' brilliant Holland album; it is very much to the credit of Gillespie and his fellow Primes that they chose to record such an obscure number; it isn't difficult to imagine the wayward drummer being a role model for the members of Primal Scream) and the still unreleased title track to their most recent album are all strung out anthems. They were always suckers for extended tracks (often to their detriment) but "Screamadelica" is more like a suite of half-a-dozen unfinished songs presented in a ten minute package. The rave ups from the night before had morphed into chill out tunes for the morning after.

Never the most talented group, Primal Scream managed to carve out a respectable career in spite of an overrated breakthrough album and its poor follow-up. They had been so concerned with their twin passions of jumping on the acid house/rave bandwagon and being a Generation X equivalent of The Rolling Stones that they let their abilities wallow. Luckily, Dixie-Narco started them off on their own path. The past they could only regurgitate and the present proved they were in over their heads; assuming their egos didn't clash and the drugs didn't consume them, they still had the future, a point in time they would eventually figure out how to navigate.

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Also Reviewed This Fortnight

James: "Born of Frustration"

Like Primal Scream, James had been a long standing indie band of little renown until they got lumped into Madchester. Unlike the Scots, however, the Mancunian septet could rely on their own devices in order to craft some stellar pop which transcended the fads and trends. (Though it must be said they never made an album as strong as Vanishing Point) While the likes of "Come Home", "Sit Down" and "Laid" commanded more attention, "Born of Frustration" is the quintessential James single with Tim Booth's mesmerizing yodels, chords that feel like they've been heaven sent and secret weapon Andy Diagram with some dreamy trumpet parts. Melancholy indie is normally meant to bring the listener down but James were always masters of using sorrow to give their fans an emotional boost. No one in the nineties churned out quality singles as reliably as James — and James never delivered as strong a single as "Born of Frustration". Would've been an easy Single of the Fortnight Best New Single for me.