Rediscovering the 90s

I decided to go through my CDs and get rid of the ones I never listen to anymore which seemed a little like sacrilege except for the benefits in terms of storage purposes. Already my CD tower is filled to the brim and the rest of the collection must languish in a box on top of the wardrobe so they do not ever stand a chance of getting played. They might as well be taken to the charity shop to be picked up by someone who might love them more than I. Most of the CDs hidden away are from the 90s when I got into the CD buying habit thanks to Record Collector and Fopp in Sheffield. Record Collector had a massive selection of second hand CDs, perfect for skint students and those obscure records impossible to find anywhere else. Fopp too was outrageously cheap compared to the HMVs and Virgins and also specialised in the harder-to-find albums, e.g. anything that is not mainstream. Looking through the box I was reminded of my one-time consuming interest in drum and bass - like Roni Size, Spring Heel Jack and Goldie - and those strange, lolloping, descended-from-baggy bands like Campag Velocet (which appealed to me for the obvious Clockwork Orange influence but who played one of the most poorly attended gigs I have ever seen) and Regular Fries, who I saw live a couple of times and massively enjoyed because they were completely bonkers, one of their instruments being a bird cage festooned with objects. Then there were the romantic dreamers Suede and the Verve, whose fortunes, and ability, fluctuated quite wildly depending on the mental stability of their frontmen, and, of course Pulp, the first 'proper' band I saw live, being introduced to the craziness that is going to gigs (the second, Suede, was even more carnage) and stood 2 inches away from Jarvis Cocker and got very excited, as well as my sister and I queuing outside HMV in Bristol for hours to get their autographs (whatever happened to Sound City?) It's interesting that a few of these bands seem to be absent from iTunes - for instance Dark Star whose song Gracedelica is a tantilising reference on a cassette tape I cannot play, and an unknown band with a song called 'New Brunswick' - so perhaps I will have to wait until the 90s revival proper before I can listen to the 2nd and 3rd albums by the Regular Fries (I only ever thought there was one!). And bis (!) purveyors of beyond-tweeness with their secret vampire soundtrack and eurodiscos, whatever happened to them?

White Lies - To Lose My Life

I was looking forward to hearing the new album from White Lies, the next group of indie kids to have jumped onto the 80s throwback wagon (wow what would THAT look like??). So far I have only made through one song - To Lose My Life - before laughter prevented me from downloading any more. Its not that I don't like it, far from it, its very catchy in its own right. As usual the media are rushing to compare them to Joy Division, originators of the raincoats brigade, however this is a lazy reference as they bear only passing resemblence. I would like to think that Ian Curtis would wince to think that the excruciating lyrics - example 'Let's grow old together / and die at the same time' - was being compared to his poetry! I would suggest that White Lies have lifted their influences more from the Midge Ure-era Ultravox / Duran Duran school of weighty and portentous song-writing, coupled with the bombast ambition of U2 and Coldplay and Snow Patrol and Elbow and Editors and all those bands stuffed with earnest young men, proving too that they can pack out stadiums with their particular brand of melancholy-lite. And that is why Joy Division are the wrong comparison, their grief was private somehow and introspective, whereas White Lies cannot quite shake the sense of hope and optimism in their music, which Joy Division did well to banish entirely.

Europe after the Rain - John Foxx

After the emotionally distanced and anxiety-ridden Metamatic (Underpass and On the Plaza are anti-advertisements for the modern world) John Foxx reconnects with his romantic side and goes all exuberant for Europe after the Rain.

Reasons why the saxophone is not the work of the devil No 2

Japan - Methods of Dance

"Then out of the blue / you're here by me"

Japan always seemed so incredibly serious about their music; even in their pre-fame glam rock poseur phase they seemed so earnest to get it right (even if everyone else thought they got it terribly wrong).  Their music is so expertly crafted it is often difficult to find anything wrong with it, unless you enjoy nit-picking.  It is not surprising therefore that if anyone can, Japan can do great things with the saxophone.

1980's Methods of Dance from the album 'Gentlemen Take Polaroids' is one of the finest moments in Pop, rock, whatever.  It starts with the lonely wail of the saxophone over low rumbling synths, joined effortlessly by delicate 'piano' and David Sylvian's moody and obscure singing.  I think there is a glockenspiel in there somewhere.  It is the chorus which grazes magnificence however, the music falls only to rise on raptures of synth, voice and sax, all merging into each other, the woman's voice lending it an air of exoticism which Japan were to stamp all over this, and successive album, 'Tin Drum.'  The percussion sounds like the beat of angels' wings.  But it does not stop there, the sax solo in the middle bit (wow I am so un-technical when it comes to songs) manages to show how this much maligned instrument can be graceful without overwhelming, before we are treated to another rendition of the chorus to fade.  Whilst Japan's music continues to beguile and astonish with its apparent simplicity, Methods of Dance cannot be matched for sheer atmosphere and troubling sense of melancholy.

Reasons why the saxophone is not the work of the devil No 1

Ultravox! - Hiroshima Mon Armour

 

"Somehow we drifted off too far / communicate like distant stars"

Tucked away amongst songs filled with the bile, aggression and horror of the emptiness and banality of modern life is the wonder that is 'Hiroshima Mon Armour', possibly one of the most achingly beautiful songs of the post-punk age, a paean to everything innocent lost.  Beginning with the soft, melancholic chunter of the drum machine, then the meandering and eerie synths kick in before the saxophone makes its entrance.  But what a soft and affecting entrance it is, low and subtle rather than the the honking devilish solo that was to become the staple of the 80s.  John Foxx's strangely disaffected croon only adds to the atmosphere as the song rumbles along at a slow and stately pace (the lyric 'riding intercity trains / dressed in European greys' is for me the best description of the images that the rhythm evokes).  Even the lengthy improvisation on sax at the end manages to preserve its dignity - this is the most Polite and English of sax solos, never becoming unrestrained and not Getting Too Carried Away.  This song was notable for me in that it proved to me that saxophones were not always Bad and that Ultravox pre-Midge Ure were infinitely superior.

In Remembrance of Billy Mackenzie

I forgot that yesterday (22 january) was the anniversary of the passing away of Billy Mackenzie (The Associates) so here's to his memory and his wonderful soaring voice

Magic Magic

A band and an album of the same name, Magic Magic are obscure characters being almost impossible to locate on the 'net and with their album only available from Rough Trade (I had the fortune to visit the Rough Trade East shop recently and it was well worth a visit, although my bank account would not agree).  This was one of my attempts to buy an album on the strength of the review alone (I did this with Interpol and it worked very well) - a gushing review in the Sunday Times singing the praises of these young men from the US who have two drummers and use banjos and sing whimsical songs about jellyfish, alongside a picture of them covered in what looked like blood but could be strawberry jelly.  I think it was the picture that enticed me, after all it suggested they would either be very twisted or quirky.  It turns out that Magic Magic are more quirky than twisted after all, their lyrics describing fantastical scenarios sung in a childlike and naive fashion, very sweet in fact but without being cloying.  It took me a couple of listens to get into it properly as it is far more folk orientated than the post-punk fest I have had of late.  Now I love it and will urge everyone I know to rush to Rough Trade and purchase a copy!

Crispy Ambulance - The Plateau Phase

With so much stuff sloshing around in our culture these days it has been remarkably easy to find new avenues for exploration.  It must have been so different for earlier generations, without TV, without cinema, without the enormous printed media, without the Internet.  Sometimes finding stuff so easily does seem like cheating in a way, there is the small thrill of the initial discovery and then it becomes just another bit of stuff along with all the rest.  I try to gravitate towards those albums which have a story behind them, a story that I have often concocted to 'tell' the way in which they were found.  As it is with Crispy Ambulance (a name which seems revealing somehow even though it is nonsense) who first came to my attention whilst watching the film Control about the life of Ian Curtis (I ended up not learning much more really than what the NME has told me).  The singer of Crispy Ambulance, Alan Hempsall, stood in for Ian Curtis once when the latter was unable to perform.  I thought then, what a bizarre name for a band.  I remembered it though, which is how I came to listen to their one and only 'proper' album, The Plateau Phase.  At the time of release in 1982 (I am coming to the conclusion that 1982 was one of the greatest years for music) Crispy Ambulance seem to have been unduly affected by the music media's continuing obsession with Joy Division and were condemned for 'slavishly' copying said band.  I have always thought the praise for Joy Division was somewhat fanatical; Joy Division, to me, on record come across as distant and aloof, rather bleak (live it seems they were far more aggressive), Crispy Ambulance on the other hand feel so much more alive, even if their subjects are as melancholy, and the album throbs at times with a primal power.  Take Are you Ready? which builds slowly and slowly into a mantra, developing the suspense... then unfortunately things falls flat with the dirge-y Travel Time but never mind, they tried.  We are back on track with The Force and the Wisdom, Hempsall howling over minimal keyboards, the bass echoing eerily in and out, conjuring visions of dark forests and night-time.  Although inspired by Sex Pistols and Magazine like most bands at that time, Crispy Ambulance also seem to be closet hippies, I am not sure exactly why I think this but there is something far looser in their sound than the jerky rhythms of the post-punk leaders; that they take their inspiration from nature as well as from the Modern.  Hempsall's voice, whilst flat at times, is unaffected and 'real.'  The repetitive, driving rhythms echo hypnotic 'tribal' rituals (but might also be where the charge of being 'turgid' came from depending upon whether you like that kind of thing).  Take The Wind Season which, close to the end, breaks down into chants of 'oo ah oo', and We move through the Plateau with its refrain 'Nature attacks you and Nature heals you.'  Whilst Death from Above sounds like they were trying to capture the feel of the Arctic, something which Joy Division also excelled at, however Crispy Ambulance's effort comes across as slightly wistful, suggesting there is some optimism beneath the froideur.