An inconsistent and oftentimes unintentional exploration into the quantum nature of obscurity, partially obfuscated itself with fits of periphrastic circumlocution and all manner of quixotic delicacies, thereby rendering it perhaps less than optimally twitter-friendly (though I suppose pith too craves context).
Like me, you may simply prefer to softly gaze at the pretty pictures as the sounds and the words parade through your head.
Catching Elephant is a theme by Andy Taylor
I am following these:
Query
I’m wondering whether this is a common phenomenon or something to which I’m uniquely prone: I’m having trouble thinking of instances where I was really really into a record and then even more into its followup. Why is this so? If this phenomenon is widespread, in what ways does it sway critical and popular opinion?
There have been many cases where there was a great record I was sort of into, followed by a great record I was really into, cases where I got really into a record and then really into its predecessor, and cases where there was a great record I was really into, followed by one I wasn’t as into, and then followed by a third record I was really into – these cases seem to indicate that the lack of examples of the other case is an objectively discernible phenomenon, and it would be interesting to gather more information so as to better understand its dynamics.
So, is there a record you were/are really really into, and then afterwards even more into its followup? Are you really more into the followup, or do you just think its a better record even though your heart remains with the predecessor?
it is my intention to begin posting again soon; should that intention change, i will post to say so ♥
“Wouldn’t You Love To Love Me?”
Is it me, or would this have been referred to as a “faithful” cover, had it turned up on the first Neon Indian record? I kind of think it would have also been the single.
Which says a lot, since this summer 1978 basement studio demo didn’t find release until 1987, when a substantially remade version showed up on the Taja Sevelle record, because there are some artists who are prolific, and then there is this one guy from Minneapolis who is so compulsively prolific that not only does he have his own prodigious discography, including handfuls of unreleased records, but he has a whole roster of artists for whose records he writes, arranges, produces and performs all the music, only to replace his vocals with theirs and credit the whole thing to them, just so he can get away with releasing a compulsively insane amount of music, and it’s mostly so uniformly amazing that a great song like this doesn’t see the light of day for a decade and winds up on a Taja Sevelle record (though it was first offered to Michael Jackson as an apology of sorts for declining to appear as a duet vocalist on Jackson’s 1987 Bad album).
Taja Sevelle - “Wouldn’t You Love To Love Me?” via YouTube
Bow Wow Wow - “Elimination Dancing”
In the midst of the watershed year in music that was 1979, Adam and the Ants debuted with Dirk Wears White Sox. Displaying both an early goth look and a sound that fell somewhere between Ultravox’s Systems of Romance and Joy Division’s Unknown Pleasures, Dirk… was a very good slice of early post-punk that probably should have hit and nevertheless missed, both critically and commercially.
“rule 8: postulate”
Deciding a new approach was in order, the band hired former Sex Pistols manager and über-villain Malcolm McLaren, who was looking for a new band to use as models for Vivienne Westwood’s fashion designs and as proxies for his own brand of nihilist agit-prop, and so agreed to manage Adam and the Ants. Cue Faustian allegory.
“rule 7: pray, pray, pray”
McLaren’s first contribution to the group was their famous pirate look. So far, so very very good. Next, he brought them a tape of a 1971 Mike Steiphenson record called Burundi Black, on which Steiphenson recorded guitars and keyboards over a 1968 recording of Burundi drummers made by French anthropologists. McLaren suggested this African style as the new musical direction for the Ants, who readily concurred.
“rule 9: danger sign”
For better and/or worse, McLaren’s makeover was far from over. Wheedling guitarist Matthew Ashman, bass guitarist Leigh Gorman and drummer David Barbarossa into believing Adam Ant was disproportionately dominating their spotlight, McLaren convinced them to quit Adam and the Ants in order to form Bow Wow Wow. The ostensible reasoning used for the move after the fact was a perceived need for a female vocalist, though it took a six-month search before McLaren found a “woman” deemed suitable - thirteen-year-old Annabella Lwin.
“rule 10: you gotta beat your friend”
Meanwhile, Adam formed an entirely new group of Ants, recorded 1980’s Kings of the Wild Frontier, and rode it to the top of the UK charts in early 1981. Several years of joyous pirate-y romping ensued.
“rule 2: giddy up, giddy up”
Back over in the Bow Wow Wow camp, operations proceeded in fits and starts. The band’s first single, McLaren’s “C30 C60 C90, Go”, a single-side-cassette-only release directing listeners to use the blank side to make pirate recordings from the radio, did not go over well with their label, EMI (though it served EMI right for dealing with McLaren again after he’d abused them to promote Sex Pistols). EMI refused to promote it, and then promptly dropped the group after a contract-fulfilling second single.
“rule 4: go sit down if you wear a frown”
Bow Wow Wow’s fortunes improved somewhat over the next couple of years on RCA, culminating in one big hit, their 1982 cover of The Strangeloves’ “I Want Candy.” Lwin was an okay vocalist, especially for a teen, though it is easy, at least in hindsight, to imagine many other singers faring far better in that role (including Adam Ant). But I suppose that after years of John Lydon, singing ability wasn’t particulary high on the list of qualifications to McLaren, who seemed considerably more keen on utilizing Lwin’s age and gender for the promotion of controversy, first in the overtly sexual content of 1980’s Your Cassette Pet (particularly on “Sexy Eiffel Tower” and “Louis Quatorze”), and then on the original artwork design for 1981’s See Jungle! See Jungle! Go Join Your Gang, Yeah! City All Over, Go Ape Crazy, a remake of Édouard Manet’s Le déjeuner sur l’herbe with Lwin as the naked maiden, which resulted in an investigation by Scotland Yard.
“rule 1: knock yourselves out”
Bow Wow Wow’s music also engendered controversy among critics, who not only accused the group of plagiarizing the Burundi drummers beat-for-beat (and accused with the condescension that implied stealing beats was somehow a strictly nefarious punk invention), but also accused them of creating many of their lyrics simply by deliberately applying mondegreen to the original African chants. The group (especially Lwin) eventually wore down from the accumulated controversies and criticisms, and disbanded in 1983.
“insist; persist; knock out”
In spite of all this, Bow Wow Wow managed to create an oftentimes exciting and influential (just ask Red Hot Chili Peppers) body of work. When they were on, and particularly when Lwin was on and in sync with the group, the songs could be extraordinarily captivating, as on the above and below tracks (both of which first appeared on See Jungle!…). There are several Bow Wow Wow compilations out there, but the one I recommend as superior is 1996’s The Best of Bow Wow Wow, which assembles all their most worthwhile tracks on one compact disc.
Bow Wow Wow - “Chihuahua” via YouTube
New Order - “True Faith”
1987 was not the greatest year in music history. The Smiths broke up. Echo & the Bunnymen broke up. R.E.M. broke up (no, THEY BROKE UP). Prince broke up The Revolution. MTV broke up with all their original VJ’s. And David Bowie broke up with all of us by releasing the mockingly titled Never Let Me Down.
To simply blame the cocaine and the acid wash and the horribly overproduced snare drums and the ascendency of the compact disc and the grandiose save-the-world rock star sapping all the fun out of pop would amount to a rather glib whitewashing of a profound societal shift into grim cultural nihilism. And sure, the baby boom was turning forty, turning on the lights and telling everyone that culture was over, now go to bed. And sure, we were all still visibly shaken by the long-term socio-economic implications of Andie choosing Blaine over Duckie. But when it came down to it, we were making excuses because we didn’t know what to do next and felt we had no one to turn to for guidance.
Enter our heroes, New Order. Yes, that same lot that had started the whole damned, damned, utterly damned decade off as Joy Division reminding us what being alive feels like, they were back to show us how to transcend our cultural death through embracing our contradictions (and the contradictions of the moment, seemingly nihilistic dread included).
Think I wax hyperbolic? Please, a little approbation whilst I explicate. So, that very band who had defined the bleakness of the initial post-punk moment, inspiring goth in the process, had then been reborn as the purveyors of synth disco bliss, the progenitors of all our conceptions of modern dance pop. And in 1987, at the very zenith of their powers, they put out that most contradictory of releases: the singles compilation of immediate and lasting cultural significance.
Substance, released August 17, quickly became one of the most played, most effortlessly enjoyed, most important records of the late 80’s, even though it was a singles compilation. Heck, it wasn’t even a true singles compilation, being in actuality full of remixes and remakes, which are notorious for short-circuiting the good intentions (and credibility) of many a comp. And yet, in keeping with its exception-proving-the-rule dharma, Substance’s remixes and remakes somehow have the effect of enhancing, of illuminating, of [npi] synthesizing otherwise disparate tracks into a virtually seamless whole.
Further contradictions abound (and we finally getting around to the topic of the song above): “True Faith,” the single released a few weeks prior to Substance and (the superior remix of which) used as the compilation’s closer, not only achieved the rare feat of being the new single on the hits comp that actually fits in with the hits, but might actually be the best song on the record, surpassing even such seminal masterpieces as “Blue Monday” and “Bizarre Love Triangle.” As if to drive the point home, the contradictory lyrics of “True Faith” transcend their textual tale of drug addiction to envision redemptive joy within the heart of the vapid void, and in doing so perfectly account for the entire cultural moment:
I feel so extraordinary
Something’s got a hold on me
I’ve got this feeling I’m in motion
A sudden sense of liberty
I don’t care ‘cos I’m not there
And I don’t care if I’m here tomorrow
Again and again I’ve taken too much
Of the thing that costs you too much
I used to think that the day would never come
I’d see the light in the shade of the morning sun
My morning sun is the drug that brings me near
To the childhood I lost replaced by fear
I used to think that the day would never come
That my life would depend on the morning sun
When I was a very small boy
Very small boys talked to me
Now that we’ve grown up together
They’re afraid of what they see
That’s the price that we all pay
Our valued destiny comes to nothing
I can’t tell you where we’re going
I guess there’s just no way of knowing
New Order - “True Faith” via YouTube [glorious contradiction = an 80’s dance video with no Bob Fosse references]
Strawberry Switchblade - “Since Yesterday”
Continuing on last week’s theme of how differentiation between the merits of an artist’s visual presentation and her/their music oftentimes requires particular focus and effort, we turn our attention to 80’s Glaswegian duo Strawberry Switchblade… and we sigh.
Caught up in the hyper-feminine, ornate, terribly precious new-romantic-cum-gothic-lite doll costumes and makeup, the soft allure of Glaswegian accents, the Orange Juice/Postcard Records pedigree, I’ve wanted so badly for their music to be just as creative, attractive, interesting. Some other folks have said the music’s great, and I freely admit that to me there exists an inherent understatement in predominantly downtempo indie pop. Sadly I’m still not feeling it. But the real question is: will the painful truth of that opinion be enough to prevent me from giving Strawberry Switchblade a free pass nevertheless? Perhaps it’s like a guilty pleasure (however you might define that loaded idea), only even less conventionally defensible.
Strawberry Switchblade interviewed on BBC Breakfast Time in early 1985; via YouTube
Strawberry Switchblade - “Since Yesterday” via YouTube
The Go•Go’s - “Automatic” (live, 1981.08.31, Cherry Hill, New Jersey)
Disclaimer: The Go•Go’s were my “coming of age” moment. As such, the argument could be made that I should perhaps be recused from making any critical evaluation of the group.
And certainly I have been guilty one or fifty times of momentarily confusing artists’, um, charisma for, well, artistry. The thing is though, one listen to this group’s debut LP, Beauty and the Beat (1981, I.R.S.) should render any cry of bias (one way or the other) fairly moot. Universally praised (outside of a few “boy’s club” dinosaurs), wildly popular (charted at number one for six consecutive weeks), and one of my personal all-time favorites, Beauty and the Beat is a timeless A+ record. The 30th anniversary edition comes out this month, and I urge you to pick it up and confirm this opinion for yourself.
So anyway, the group is heading back out on tour this summer to commemorate/support this release, hence this post’s inspiration.
The above performance comes from The Go•Go’s August 31, 1981 show at Emerald City in Cherry Hill, NJ. The near-perfect sound recording is courtesy of then-FM-pioneers WMMR, who, before their new-wave-rejecting/classic-rock-codifying/morning-zoo-infesting moment of profound cultural betrayal, were generally genuinely excited to bring listeners the best new music available. Legend has it that this show also inspired the song “The Way You Dance,” which appeared on the group’s 1982 followup, Vacation.
From 1978 to 1983 Emerald City was a disco. As the 80’s dawned and disco momentarily waned the club began booking touring acts, which also included James Brown, Talking Heads, XTC and others. Today, the building serves as corporate headquarters for Subaru America.
But that summer’s night in 1981 it served as a proving ground, unequivocally demonstrating what should have been taken as given: that an all-female band could have both the chops and the looks, that the one did not preclude the other, and that to dismiss this band would therefore amount to an open embrace of a “boy’s club” agenda. And gee, that sentence sounds awfully over-politicized in 2011, doesn’t it? We have the Go•Go’s to thank for that.
The Go•Go’s - “We Got the Beat” (live, 1981.12.04, Palos Verdes High School, Los Angeles) via YouTube
Poster from the 1981.08.31 show:
Grauzone - “Eisbär”
Alternately floating in the detached synth-pop motorik cold and embroiled in nervy agit-industrial anxiety, Swiss new wave outfit Grauzone occupied but a brief moment, playing ten gigs, releasing a few singles and an LP; nevertheless, they left a distinct impression upon the neue deutsche welle movement, due in no small part to their 1981 debut single “Eisbär” (means “polar bear”). This track and every other have been recently remastered and compiled on 1980-1982.
Grauzone - “Film 2” (which accompanies a short film, also called Film, which features some interesting ballet) via YouTube
