Top Of The Pops To Return?

Stop whatever it is you’re doing (actually, hang on, don’t – just keep reading) because great news is just in. Rumour is circulating that the best TV programme in the history of the universe, Top Of The Pops, is to return to the BBC on a weekly basis during 2009. There has been a bit of a “kerfuffle” of late regarding the cancellation of the Top Of The Pops Christmas Special (which is so obviously the best thing about Christmas TV that I hardly need to go into details). Simon Cowell threatened to step in and take the show to ITV, but apparently BBC “bosses” are reconsidering their decision to CANCEL CHRISTMAS.

Now, according to “insiders” a proper return is on the cards, with miming and the charts and probably dancers and balloons and Radio 1 DJs and all of those things that made TOTP brilliant in the first place. There is an argument being made that the resurrection of Top Of The Pops would amount to a public service. Noel Gallagher – never one to talk out of his rear end of course (cough) – blames the recent growth in knife crime to the lack of pop on telly. While visiting Westminster, Lemar of all people told the UK’s Culture Secretary Andy Burnham that TOTP urgently needs to return. The cabinet minister agreed. This speaks volumes about the show really. Top Of The Pops was always very “establishment”. Rivals like Ready Steady Go, The Tube, Whistle Test and The Roxy set out to be raucous and “edgy” but all fell by the wayside after a few short years. There’s nothing more boundary pushing or shocking than rolling out a show which features Cliff, Paul Young, Kylie, Bananarama and Midge Ure, and then throwing Nirvana or The KLF or the Manic Street Preachers in balaclavas into the midst of it. That’s how to do “subversive”.

Pop fans like myself have been deprived of a fix of mainstream pop performance on telly for too long. And as we approach 2009 the charts are in rude health. Singles, or downloads, climb the charts over several weeks, just like they used to. Then big hits stick around for two or three months just like they used to. It’s great being a chart watcher these days, and that’s all TOTP needs to focus on – the UK Top 40. From now on, they’ll want to feature more forthcoming releases but otherwise it’s simple: stick to “the formula” (something TOTP stridently failed to do in its later years) and you can’t really go wrong.

To conclude my rather excited post, then: THIS MUST HAPPEN.

My favourite Top Of The Pops moment happened in 1987. After showing the video for George Michael and Aretha Franklin’s I Knew You Were Waiting (For Me), John Peel quipped: “Aretha Franklin, the ‘first lady of soul’ there – she could make any old rubbish sound good. And I think she just has…”

Lawrence of Belgravia

In the latest issue of Analogue I suggest that someone ought to make a film about Lawrence. It turns out someone just has. Lawrence of Belgravia is directed by Paul Kelly and has its premiere on November 4th. You’ll have to travel all the way to London’s South Bank to see it though.

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Felt “Penelope Tree”

Lawrence was the leader of Felt who released ten albums – five for Cherry Red, four for Creation and one for él records – between 1981 and 1989. Lawrence (he tried to keep his surname a secret) hailed from Water Orton on the outskirts of Birmingham. In 1979 he released a single under the Felt moniker (“Index”) which was named Single Of The Week in Sounds. By 1981, Lawrence had relocated to Windsor where he encountered Maurice Deebank and together they made Felt’s debut LP Crumbling the Antiseptic Beauty. Felt’s music was elaborate; their early records shot through with Deebank’s classical guitar, Lawrence’s lyrics were full of religious imagery and rich in allusion to Romantic literature. Under Lawrence’s instruction, their drummer was not allowed use cymbals or high-hats. They were influenced by The Velvet Underground, Television and Patti Smith but – Lawrence’s Lou Reed-y voice aside – they had their own distinct sound. Their 1986 album Forever Breathes The Lonely Word is one of the great independent albums of the 1980s. But Lawrence was fond of shooting himself in the foot. Maurice Deebank, his songwriting collaborator quit the band in 1985, shortly after the release of the classic single “Primitive Painters” – a rather astonishing, swirling thing featuring Cocteau Twins Elizabeth Frazer and Robin Guthrie which very nearly made the proper charts. The following year Felt signed to Alan McGee’s Creation and it looked like a commercial breakthrough was on the cards. A single, “Ballad Of The Band” augured well, but Felt failed to capitalise on the momentum and decided to release an 18 minute long album of instrumentals called Let The Snakes Crinkle Their Heads To Death. This became a hallmark of how Felt would operate. In 1988, when everyone else at Creation was embracing acid house, Felt released an album of instrumentals for hammond organ and vibraphone called Train Above The City. Incredibly, Lawrence thought that this was what it took to become a bona-fide pin-up popstar. He strove to be a paragon of art-pop virtue in a world of popstars who – in Lawrence’s eyes at least – continually let their fans down. Lawrence was an oddball and he knew it. He was obssessive about hygiene to the point of not allowing visiting journalists use his toilet. He claimed that he only ate meat. He also boasted that his only hero was George Best, and the he owned a football shirt which Best had signed, but he wouldn’t allow anybody to see it. After a final introspective release in 1989 called Me and A Monkey On The Moon, Felt’s 10th album in 10 years (something Lawrence claimed was all part of some overall plan), Lawrence moved to New York for a rethink.

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Denim “Middle Of The Road”

He finally returned in the autumn of 1992 fronting Denim. A quick comparison of some Felt and Denim lyrics should suffice to show the scale of the artistic u-turn…

Felt:
“I like those deep-down thoughts that leave you stranded way in mid-air/ And I’d like to do something that makes somebody somewhere care” (“Hours Of Darkness Have Changed My Mind” from Forever Breathes The Lonely Word, 1986)

“Haunting the ghost of the noble crusader/ Who recalls the pellucid ice, clutching the aching twigs…” (“The Stagnant Pool” from The Splendour Of Fear, 1984)

“Primitive painters are ships floating on an empty sea, gathering in galleries we’re stallions of imagery”
(“Primitive Painters” from Ignite The Seven Cannons, 1985

Denim:
“Look in the mirror, tell me what you see/ Is it a face of beauty staring back at me or should I face the facts: I’m just an old roadie.” (“Here Is My Song for Europe” from Back In Denim, 1992)

“There’s an auction goin’ down at Christie’s and they’re selling his headband/ They say it’s gonna cost a bomb, don’t know why – the guy’s still alive/ And there’s a beermat from the Hope and Anchor in Islington/ There’s a corner chewed off, they say he ate it in ’75…” (“The Great Pub Rock Revival” from Denim On Ice, 1996)

“My mate’s got a garage and it’s full of stuffed animals/ I snuck in there once and I stole a cat/ I put it on the windowsill but if fell down the floor, babe/ The ol’ man with the lawnmover, he ran over it.” (“Brumburger” from Denim On Ice, 1996)

“We ain’t been going very long/ We’ve only written one good song/ And here it is, we will play the best song that we’ve got/ It’s called ‘Internet Curtains’.” (“Internet Curtains” from Novelty Rock, 1997)

Denim released the single “Middle Of The Road” and followed it up with the LP Back In Denim. It is 50 minutes of thumping glam rock with shoutalong choruses and a garish lollypop coloured sleeve. Where Felt were fey and heavy, Denim revelled in the downright daft. The album’s opening title track sounds like The Arrows’ (and Joan Jett’s) “I Love Rock and Roll”. Throughout the album the spirit of the early to mid 70s is constantly evoked. “a href=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7JJ8I8Npjbg”>”The Osmonds” is a list song of 70s artifacts, but touchingly dwells on the Birmingham pub bombings of 1974. “I’m Against The Eighties” is a crazed rant against the decade which saw Felt confined to the fringes, obviously to Lawrence’s disgust. At one point he rants “I’ve made a new sound, this ain’t goin’ underground…” which makes it all the more poignant that Denim never had a hit. Three years passed until the release of Denim On Ice, more hit and miss than the debut but it has its moments. Around this time Denim toured in support of Pulp. Novelty Rock, an album of b-sides with some new tracks, was released in 1997 to not-very-much fanfare. However in the summer of 1997 Denim found themselves playlisted on BBC Radio 1 and were poised to finally make the charts with a novelty summer hit called “Summer Smash”. Unfortunately, two weeks before it was supposed to be released Princess Diana’s death made radio station managers think twice about playing the single and once again Lawrence was foiled. Another Denim album was recorded, but remains unreleased.

Since then Lawrence has released two albums as Go-Kart Mozart, both very much in the vein of Denim’s novelty rock and both albums really are quite demented. Lawrence has talked about releasing a solo album (his Berlin, apparently) but it has yet to emerge. Hopefully Lawrence of Belgravia will see Lawrence finally get the attention he’s craved for so long, and which he so thoroughly deserves.

Blimey, Q Magazine Is Quite Good Again!

I was going to use my allotted space this week to talk about how Steely Dan were one of the specialist subjects on Mastermind earlier this week. Having an older brother who likes that sort of thing, I was brought up listening to Steely Dan, and thought I could have a stab at answering the specialist questions for once. I was wrong. Still, brilliant group all the same.

I’ve decided to give Steely Dan the swerve for now because there is news just in… Q has been given a new-look this month. Not particularly exciting news, you might say, but they’ve actually put some real effort in. The November issue is on sale today. They’ve brought back the “Who The Hell…?” feature which helped make Q’s name but which was abandoned in 1997 (this month they feature Will Self, but it’s not exactly scornful of the man). Back also, are the Q Charts. They’ve also got John Harris, Dorian Lynskey, Billy Bragg and – best of all – David Quantick as regular columnists. There’s still lots of Bob Dylan and articles about Snow Patrol and Keane, but that’s what Q is there for (and by the way Keane’s new album looks like it could be really good). Why the interest in Q? Because it’s cheering to see printed music journalism take a step in the right direction, and once upon a time Q was a really great read.

It was launched in October 1986 by Mark Ellen who now edits Word. He established Q as a monthly, more grown up version of Smash Hits (Ellen and fellow Q founding staff members David Hepworth and Tom Hibbert had been Hits writers). It had a good word count, and a great sense of humour. Tom Hibbert’s “Who The Hell..?” column was the best thing about it, his interview with Ringo Starr was priceless (e.g.: “Ringo doesn’t like my question and lunges forward in the chair almost doing himself a mischief, and scowls ‘What’s wrong with you man?! This is a bloody legend sitting in front of you! I’m not asking you to comb the bloody legend’s hair but you could at least mention the new album!’”). It’s too much to hope that they get Tom Hibbert back. But with lengthy features on AC/DC, New Order and a lighter feel throughout, it is a good start. Here’s hoping they’ve left the stupid “100 Best Beatles Albums” stuff in the past.

Why I Love Nick Drake

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His catalogue extends to just three proper studio albums and a clutch of posthumous compilations, but Nick Drake’s influence has been enormous. His records didn’t sell much when he was alive, but his legend is now such that in 2007 a BBC Radio 2 documentary on Drake was narrated by Brad Pitt. More importantly, he was an extremely gifted songwriter and talented musician. Sometimes I feel that the fact that he apparently commit suicide overshadows his work, and it can be tempting to portray Nick Drake as a desperately lonely, depressed voice crying in the wilderness. Personally, I think Drake was a great artist, and as is the case with all great art, the truth is a little more complicated than that.

By all accounts Drake was a shy, withdrawn figure. Here’s a short extract from Joe Boyd’s book “White Bicycles”, where the author talks about calling Nick for the first time to express an interest in hearing some of his demos:

“Uh, hello?” The voice on the other end of the line was low and soft, almost embarrassed. In the years to come, I would get used to Nick Drake’s way of answering the telephone as if it had never rung before. When I told him why I was calling he was surprised. “Oh, ok, uh, I’ll bring it in tomorrow.” He appeared at my office the next morning in a black wool overcoat stained with cigarette ash. He was tall and handsome with an apologetic stoop: either he had no idea how good-looking he was or he was embarrassed by the fact. He handed me the tape and shuffled out the door.

Stories like the one above have contributed to the mythology surrounding Nick Drake. It helps that on record, Drake’s voice is soft and gentle. So the image of the middle class, university educated poet is hard to resist; Drake is seen by some as a depressed, isolated figure who had led a rather charmed life in some respects. Drake was born in Rangoon, the son of a doctor, and he had attended public school in Marlborough. Well-posh. In Patrick Humphries’ excellent Nick Drake biography he mentions that, at one point at Marlborough, Drake had played in a band with one Chris De Burgh, adding that De Burgh was sacked from the band for being too short! It seems that many people admire rock’s outsiders, and while Drake certainly had links to the proper establishment (not just the rock establishment), I think it is his singularity, his peculiar talent for addressing subjects like the fleeting nature of fame and human isolation which endear Nick Drake to so many people so many years after his death.

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I’ll write a little here about Nick Drake’s three main albums, all of which I believe to be essential listening for fans of English folk, or rock music of the late 60s/early 70s. Starting with 1969’s Five Leaves Left which was produced by Joe Boyd. Initially it was felt that Nick should work with a professional string arranger, but after some faltering sessions with Richard Hewson (James Taylor’s arranger) it was decided that Drake’s friend from Marlborough Robert Kirby should take on that role. Kirby had worked with Drake before any recording contracts or studio time had been negotiated, and it was felt by some people at those initial Drake-Kirby sessions that this was a bit of risk; to let an ‘unknown” amateur take the reigns could be an expensive folly. As they soon discovered, and as we all know now, Kirby’s arrangements are beautiful, and it’s impossible to overstate their importance on Nick Drake’s records. When they combine, Nick’s loud, ringing, finger-picking guitar and Kirby’s strings are one of the great joys of modern English music. Five Leaves Left is the example par excellence of this sound. It is sustained over ten extraordinary songs. On “Way To Blue” we’re left with just the strings and Nick’s vocal and it is probably my favourite song on the album. “Time Has Told Me” which opens the set is a combination of chiming acoustic and electric guitar and piano. Elsewhere “Cello Song” is as hypnotic a song as you could wish to hear in Drake’s catalogue. For me, it’s a record that’s full of colour and changes of pace and mood; there’s never an overly abrupt break in this mood, but listening to the cold wintry sounding “River Man” and then thinking about the bright “Thoughts Of Mary Jane”, I can’t help but be struck by the broad palette of sounds and moods contained on this album.

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On 1970’s Bryter Layter, it sounds like an effort has been made to make a glossier, more produced-sounding record; perhaps an attempt at having a proper hit album. It seems that Nick was uncomfortable with being a marginalized talent, that he yearned for recognition, and the constant waiting for success to happen bothered him immensely. “Hazy Jane II” is startlingly upbeat. If it does represent a proper attempt to make an obvious pop song, I’m not sure it’s entirely successful. It isn’t tremendously catchy, and it sort of shambles along on a wind of brass. Drake is further back in the mix and sounds a bit lost. It is quite out of step with the rest of the album. “At The Chime Of A City Clock” is more representative of Nick Drake’s output overall – more downbeat and introspective and subtly arranged. Here we encounter a lone saxophone, which actually sounds like it has a right to be there and adds to the song where on “Hazy Jane II” the brassy bits distract the listener. The highlight of Bryter Layter for many, myself included, is “Northern Sky”. Joe Boyd, impressed by John Cale’s arrangements on Nico’s The Marble Index invited the ex-Velvet Underground member to contribute and the end result is just wonderful. “Fly”, was recorded at the same time, also with John Cale. Another personal favourite from this LP is “One Of These Things First”, again just a gorgeous mélange of piano and guitar with a drum part so subtle it’s almost subliminal. Perfect music for hangovers. “Poor Boy” is jokey and self-mocking in a way which is just great and a nice reminder that Nick Drake wasn’t necessarily this tortured artist, as he is so often portayed. It features a chorus of female backing singers bellowing “A poor boy! So sorry for himself!” It’s a solid album, but in some ways it feels like an end of the road, because from here on Nick became withdrawn to the point of losing contact with his friends and all of the people who wished to further his career and nurture his talent.

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Nick had lost contact with his record company, management and friends by the time Pink Moon was recorded in 1972. An announcement/advert was issued in the music press to this effect: “PINK MOON – NICK DRAKE’S LATEEST ALBUM: THE FIRST WE HEARD OF IT WAS WHEN IT WAS FINISHED”. This is how the album was launched on the public. Nick had recorded the album without telling anyone but the engineer. By this time Nick was utterly disenchanted with the music business and seemed resigned to being a cult figure. The album itself is bleak and initially intimidating but it has gone on to be his biggest selling album. The standout tracks for me are the title track, “Road” and “Things Behind The Sun”. It’s a terrific, introspective record. Within months of its release Drake had a mental breakdown and was hospitalized. His subsequent recordings can be found on a compilation called “Time Of No Reply”. If anything, they’re even darker than the “Pink Moon” material. “Black Eyed Dog” is especially painful to listen to, Drake’s voice is shaky and distant – here he does sound like a man at the end of his tether.

The “Fruit Tree” box set has recently been reissued and features the three studio albums and a documentary DVD (parts of which are also available on YouTube). I’d recommend the box to anyone, but if you wanted to just tip your toe in the water as it were, the “Way To Blue: An Introduction To Nick Drake” CD compilation on Island is an excellent place to start. You’ll want to buy up everything else by the man anyway. I also recommend Joe Boyd’s superb autobiography “White Bicycles” and the Patrick Humphries biog “Nick Drake: The Biography”. Both books are examples of rock writing and its absolute best. Therein you can read about Nick’s formative years, in-depth analysis of his recordings and anecdotes and commentary from his family, friends and colleagues. I like the stories about Danny Thompson joking around with Nick in the studio, and Beverley Martyn plying Nick with chicken soup.

File Under: Unpopular

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Sometimes a bit of rock criticism just makes you honk with laughter. This week’s NME contains a review of the new album by Seasick Steve. Receiving just 2 out of 10, its opening paragraph caused me to laugh out loud in an otherwise church-like village coffee shop…

“Without dwelling on the complex socio-economic factors that can render a person homeless, really, Seasick Steve should have a bath, get a job and shut the fuck up.” (James McMahon)

It’s funny because it’s so wholly inappropriate. I haven’t heard the album but I suspect that the review isn’t very fair. Really bad reviews rarely are.

Whilst browsing the excellent Metacritic.com, I decided to see which album had the lowest critical rating on the site. It turned out to be Kevin Federline’s “Playing With Fire”. Here is a choice quote from the All Music Guide:

“Soon, he was dubbed as an “aspiring musician” in the tabloids, which soon gave way to “aspiring rapper.” The fruits of his labor were first tentatively revealed when a portion of “Y’all Ain’t Ready” was leaked on the Net toward then end of 2005. It may have lasted no longer than a minute, but that minute was jam-packed with memorable absurdity, most notably his timeless malapropism of calling paparazzi “Pavarottis” and his boast that his style was “straight 2008″ when his sleepy drawl and backing track recycled every white wannabe-gangsta cliche from the past 15 years. Bloodied but not beaten, K-Fed” which he was now being called, with absolutely no irony on his part unveiled his first full-length single on New Year’s Day 2006. “PopoZao”, “a celebration of Brazilian ass” was let loose on the Internet, where it was greeted with unfettered and deserved ridicule, as it lived up to the promise of “Y’All Ain’t Ready.” Both singles were awful, but they were gloriously awful, the work of a hack who believed he was a genius and was surrounded by yes-men were either too well paid to tell him otherwise, or were laughing behind his back as they gave him enough rope to hang himself high.”

To be honest that review makes me eager to track the album down and listen to it. Is this the desired effect of a bad review? For some time now, I’ve enjoyed searching out notoriously bad albums. Or just albums that killed an artist’s career. I enjoy the stories behind such records. One of my favourites is the story of how, in days long before the invention of the internet, fans of the 1970s prog-rock group Spirit petitioned the band’s record company to force them to issue their “Journey To The Centre Of Potato Land” album. When the album finally got a release, the general consensus among fans was that it was unmitigated rubbish.

Over the next few weeks I’m going to write about a few career-destroying, award-losing albums. Some of them have been dismissed unfairly. Others deserve all of the criticism they get. Feel free to use the comments section to talk about records which you believe to be the worst you’ve ever heard, or which you think are mocked for no good reason.

First up, ABC’s 1983 album “Beauty Stab”…

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ABC “That Was Then But This Is Now”

This is one of the most unfairly overlooked albums I can think of. Where to start… Let’s start with the end then. The end, that is, of their previous album “Lexicon Of Love”. You may be familiar with “4 Ever 2 Gether”, it was a grim, apocalyptic closer to what is otherwise a glamourous, glossy pop album. A real manifesto album – the ultimate realisation of New Pop principles. “Lexicon of Love” was lavishly produced by Trevor Horn, featured the fledgling Art of Noise and was bursting with singles and wit. ABC had the world at their feet. So they toured the world. And in Tokyo, Martyn Fry flushed his gold lamé suit down the toilet. It was a symbolic gesture.

The England which ABC returned to after their fairytale round-the-world trip was in a slump. Miners striking, mass unemployment, youth disenchantment – that type of thing. So ABC changed tack by swapping tack for substance, or at least they tried to, and they weren’t as unsuccessful as is claimed. “Beauty Stab” was met with a fair amount of derision on its release and regularly crops up in discussions of career destroying records. Where other British pop groups were busy polishing their sound – copying “Lexicon…” in other words – ABC made a 180 degree turn. Pianos and strings were, largely, out. Guitars were in. Not acoustic ones. Chugging rawk ones. Riffs, even. The spirit of “Lexicon…” still hovered about though. “S.O.S.” musically at least, mined a similar vein of sweetness. “By Default By Design” is another string-driven thing and is one of the highlights of the album.

Lyrically, Martyn Fry was still quick with a pun and a witty couplet (such as “The Power Of Persuasion”‘s “Workless, cashless, hungry and in debt/ Out of house, out of home, out of pocket…”). Thematically, it dwells on Thatcherite Britain. “King Money” is a good example of an 80s pop record rejecting the aspirations of yuppy culture. Its refrain is simple and straightforward, critics would say overly simplistic and platitudinous: “If your king is money, then I feel sorry for you”. In his book “Rip It Up and Start Again”, Simon Reynolds criticises the sentiment of lyrics like this and suggests it just sounds hypocritical coming from a band who promoted their “All Of My Heart” single dressed as aristocratic huntsmen. That’s fair enough, I suppose. I celebrate the tentative and sheepish retraction of those values which “Beauty Stab” represents though. Not many were brave enough to make a move like it.

The album saved from being outright gloom by its zippy production (I think Gary Langan does a great job, personally, but he’s often considered to be Trevor Horn’s apprentice.) It is tempered by a kind of righteous anger, often clumsily expressed but commendable nonetheless. It tackles Reaganism (“Russians should be babysitted/ Americans resist it”), consumerism (“They persuade you that they made you/ Then betray you and they blame you/ With the power of persuasion”), and the dangers of being seduced by the lies of politicians (“Love’s a dangerous language/ Survey the damage/ Look what we’ve done”).

So it’s a meatier album than it’s given credit for. I suppose it depends on who people are prepared to accept politically-charged music from. It’s ok coming from Gang of Four or the Clash, but it’s as if ABC are too frivolous a pop to get away with this sort of thing. That’s quite a patronising view, I’d say. It’s not as if “Lexicon…” is just silly fun either. Compare “Beauty Stab” with that other long-awaited follow up of the time: The Human League’s “Hysteria”. That also incorporated guitars into the band’s sound. It didn’t really work. It sounded really tinny and awful. Overall, “Hysteria” is a big, big disappointment. Time hasn’t been kind to it either. Its legendary attempt at political commentary, “The Lebanon” is rather cringeworthy (although I do like the rhyme “Before he leaves the camp he stops…/ And where there used to be some shops…”). In attempting to swing away from the whole New Pop thing, in the spirit of the endlessly challenging avant-garde, it really does protest too much and gets it all wrong. It contains “Rock Me Again and Again and Again and Again and Again and Again (Six Times)” which has to be among the most dreadful cover versions in history. “Dare” is one of the greatest albums ever made. “Hysteria” is not even the best album called “Hysteria” to come out of Sheffield.

“Hey Citizen!” (from “Beauty Stab”) contains the line “All through summer/ There’s no glamour in the slammer”. It always makes me smile to hear it. I keep a mental list of lyrics like that.

Next week: Dexys Midnight Runners “Don’t Stand Me Down”

Stereolab

“I think we’re not savvy enough in terms of computers, having a blog, showing ourselves. I think we’re missing out on that a bit.” Laetitia Sadier, the immediately recognisable singer with avant-pop darlings Stereolab is discussing the band’s low profile. “Radiohead – they’re really taking their fate into their own hands. I think they’re a really good example of people who know what they are doing and are really successful at it. And I find that we’ve always done the music and when it comes to the marketing we leave it to someone else, it’s not our job.”

For almost twenty years now, Stereolab’s brand of retro-futuristic space-pop has kept writers like myself searching for new ways of saying the same thing. As is the case with The Fall, their records are always changing, and yet somehow always the same. You know there will be French lyrics, xylophones, buzzing guitars and ancient synths and improbable songtitles (‘Puncture In The Radax Permutation’, ‘Lo Boob Oscillator’, ‘The Noise of Carpet’ and so on). Likewise, you can be guaranteed gorgeous tunes, glorious string-arrangements and “alittlebitofpoliticsladiesandgentlemenyesindeed”, as Ben Elton would once have had it.

Since forming from the embers of McCarthy in Camberwell in the late 80’s, Stereolab have released at least twenty, exemplary, long-form examples of airy, other-worldly pop music. Some of it, like ‘Ping Pong’ and ‘French Disko’ sounded like hit material. Others didn’t quite frankly, like the 18 minute ‘Refractions In The Plastic Pulse’ or the succinctly but precisely titled ‘John Cage Bubblegum’. Yet almost all of it, however odd, is superb. No-one else can really pull off the combination of drone-rock, lounge music and pure pop like Stereolab. If you need further convincing, try 2001’s Sound Dust for size. It’s a career high, one of the very best records of this young millennium and each ‘lab record since has faced the daunting task of topping it or even matching it.

Stepping up to the plate this summer is Chemical Chords, which has already been well received among the critics, and one hopes this reception translates into sales. This is their brightest, poppiest and, let’s not be coy, grooviest record yet. “We wanted it to be an upbeat record, so it’s good if it makes you feel like dancing. Then the aim is achieved,” says singer Laetitia, “It may not sound like it now, but there was the idea of Motown rhythms which of course is pure pop, pure dance pop.” This is certainly in evidence on songs like ‘Three Women’ and ‘Neon Beanbag’. Also in evidence is Stereolab’s interest in all things scientific. There’s a track here called ‘Pop Molecule (Molecular Pop)’. What provoked this long-time obsession? Laetitia explains: “I don’t know, maybe Tim is attracted to that. A kind of futuristic idea, a hopeful idea of the future where science maybe comes into play and solves a lot of our problems. Within the music there’s also a lot of spirit. It’s not as materialist as it may sound. Within those musical molecules, those chemical chords I think there’s also a spiritual dimension, you know, that is not necessarily stated, but it’s there between the chords.”

One of the album’s standouts is the childlike ‘Daisy Click Clack’, a track which might stand a chance of climbing the charts, if someone is astute enough to have the characters from In The Night Garden fronting it. This is no criticism, but Laetitia is defensive: “That’s the sunniest of the tracks on this record. Personally, I like it. Tim [Stereolab’s other founding member and all-round boffin] wasn’t so sure about it. He thought it was maybe a bit over the top. I was like ‘if you think that don’t put it on the record’, but it still made it on the record. There were 16 others that didn’t.” And what will happen to those? “Hopefully they will come out at some point on a proper LP with a proper release and the attention it deserves. Because it’s really a two-parter, this record. We did record 31 tracks for it. It’s like this is the day side and the other batch will be the night side. They can’t all fit on one record but it couldn’t have been a sort of double album because really that’s way too heavy, way too much information to carry within one same box, so I think it’s best to separate them. The only danger is that the other batch gets kind of ignored because you only get one shot every two years in this business.” So the Ash route of whacking single tracks up on their website is not for Stereolab. “I guess we still think in terms of albums. We’re so conditioned to that ,I mean how can we not think in terms of albums? Sometimes you buy an LP and you’re not ready for it and it sort of goes over your head a little bit. It’s only a year later you totally get that record. I’m sure that’s happened to all of us who are of a certain age, heh heh. How can it always be immediate, the impact a song has on you?”

Of course, one of Stereolab’s strengths has always been the attention they have always paid to records as artifacts. For every major release LP or single there are hoards of obscure split singles, or one-off single releases on coloured vinyl. This should come as no surprise as the band are noted record collectors. Perhaps they are a dying breed in the age of mp3s and ringtones. Laetitia laments the lost art of record hunting, “It’s a pity but what can be done? You just have to accept that people aren’t buying records like they used to. Ways of getting to music have changed. I guess we just have to accept that.” Some of our readers may remember Laetitia and Tim’s appearance on The Adam and Joe Show, where they were required to justify the stranger inclusions in their universe-sized record collection. There were vinyl records which played in reverse from the centre to the rim, recordings of motor car exhausts and the slightly less outré Beach Boys Christmas album.

Are there any obscure records which have eluded Stereolab’s vast record collection? It turns out Laetitia’s bandmate and ex-beau was the hoarder in that particular relationship: “You’d have to ask Tim that! Cause he’s the record-acquirer. I’m sure there are things… I know there was a thing in France in the 70’s when it was at the end of the night, you know around 1 o’clock, when programmes had ended on Channel 2. They would have a sort of little cartoon that was very poetic. It was of a man wearing a big coat that sort of flies up in the air, and I think it was Hofer de Roubaix that did the soundtrack to it and it was very very pretty. I don’t think Tim ever managed to track that down.”

Apart from several examples of fine indie pop, Laetitia and Tim have also managed to produce a child together. One wonders what sort of music a child of this pair grows up to like. “He likes reggae” asserts the mother who knows best, “and he’s really into Daft Punk.” How does he feel about Stereolab’s out-there output? “He’s actually really proud! He doesn’t tell us so, but we hear that through others.” Quite rightly so. Back in 1999, on an LP called Cobra and Phases Group Play Voltage In The Milky Night, Stereolab’s famous interest in Marxist theory met the personal on the track ‘People Do It All The Time’, the singer urging her child to “grow… reviving old ideas that will carry”. It was a gentle touch, displaying a warmth one doesn’t always associate with the world of dialectical materialism. I ask Laetitia if she actually gets involved in praxis. Do Stereolab vote? Have they ever been involved in a political party? Do they protest? Laetitia gathers her thoughts: “No not really. I would like to be more politically active but somehow I’m doing other things. I’m doing music and a school of shiatsu at the moment and it’s strange that I’m not in a political party… But maybe it’s because I feel it would be a bit pointless at this stage because I think there’s not enough people who want, and I include myself in this, who really want profoundly to change society. To radically change society, that is, because I think society is changing every day. It’s just shifting you know? But what I think is really important at this stage is for consciousness to stay as wide as possible. For people to be aware. When you think of that huge blurb of people, that mass, the consumer mass… I mean I see that last night 20 million people watched this horrifically stupid show en masse but I thought ‘I don’t meet these people, where are they? Who are they? Do they really have an influence?’ The whole of the media is catering for these people, whom it completely despises. But I think people are cleverer than that or can be anyway. Maybe they’re watching it but totally not buying it at all. Aware that it’s for 15 year olds or 12 year olds who are attracted to this kind of…pap. I’d say it’s important to remain critical, aware and conscious.”

Warming to this idea, we discuss the state of television, radio and the music press in general. I came across Stereolab via the brilliant and much-missed ITV Chart Show one Saturday morning in 1994, when I caught the video to ‘Ping Pong’ on the indie chart. Does Laetitia think it’s a pity that quirky-pop on TV has been relegated to digital music TV stations? It seems I’ve touched on a particular bugbear, and have prompted something of a rant. “Oh! Yeah, listen, you know that sucks! I mean really this thing where the media is really catering for that nondescript blurb in the middle I mean what’s wrong with having an hour a week of some indie news you know? Bloody hell! Like how come we’re not represented at all? There used to be John Peel and he’s gone and there’s no-one to replace him! And that really pushes bands like us into the ground.”

It’s difficult to disagree with that. But there is one beacon of hope: “I was watching [BBC’s] The Culture Show and it’s great!. I only saw it once last week and it’s really great. They had… whatsisface…Primal Scream. They played a song at the beginning and one at the end. I mean I don’t really like Primal Scream. My expectations were really low…” Probably just as well given their current incarnation… “But I was thinking ‘oh there’s a song there! Wow! It’s rocking! Alright!” Just when I think the lady is going quite bonkers she settles into her theme again. “So here you can hope to see a bit of music and hear it but it’s…too few and far between. On French TV there’s a channel called ARTE. It’s part French owned, but mostly German and basically you end up only watching ARTE. I know I did. And there’s a programme called Tracks and it’s kind of alternative culture and music. But you know it goes a lot to the US, hip hop or New Zealand in the tribes you know? It’s a bit out there. But you can hope to see a little reportage on Peaches for example.”

Laetitia adds, “You know there was a lot of people who thought we’d split up! And we were saying ‘no actually we’ve been making records all this time!’” Let it be known. It remains a joy to have them around.

Illustration by Sarah Jane Comerford

Concept Album

Art by Sarah Jane Comerford

For many people, myself included, the phrase ‘concept album’ will forever be associated with the progressive rock of the early to mid seventies. That period of time when it was perfectly acceptable to release lengthy, portentous, rockified variations on classical themes in ornately illustrated triple-gatefold sleeves (preferably designed by Roger Dean). Frank Sinatra may have got there first with In The Wee Small Hours, and The Beatles may have pushed the concept album further with Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, but the concept album truly came into its own in the purple, unfashionable, pre-punk seventies.

Many of the ‘concepts’ explored in these albums are daft beyond belief. Side two of Emerson, Lake and Palmer’s Brain Salad Surgery contains a monstrous thing called ‘Karn Evil 9: Three Impressions’ a twenty five minute long a suite of music which ‘boast’ the world’s longest drum solo, and lyrics which give an account of a dystopian future where humanity is enslaved by a centralised computer’s army of evil robots. Brilliantly, its co-author Pete Sinfield went on to write Heart’s “These Dreams” and “Rain Or Shine” by Five Star. Meanwhile, Rick Wakeman donned a cape and recorded prog-dramatisations of The Six Wives of Henry VIII, Journey To The Centre Of The Earth and the supremely ridiculous The Myths and Legends of King Arthur and The Knights Of The Round Table, which Wakeman preformed on ice while touring, causing the sometime Strawbs/Yes member to go bankrupt. No wonder that these days he’s a Grumpy Old Man. It may have been a lot of twaddle, but listening to such records now makes one yearn for a bygone age where mellotrons were inescapable and songtitles looked like the table of contents from some academic book you find in a university library. Yes’ The Yes Album, the least pretentious and best album the band ever made in many ways, contains a track called ‘Starship Trooper: (i) Life Seeker (ii) Disillusion (iii) Wurm’. The subtitles and Roman Numerals seemed to say “This is important! Pay attention!”, but Jon Anderson’s frustratingly flowery lyrics are more likely to draw chuckles from the unconverted, while ardent Yes fans look on disapprovingly.

The very best concept albums manage to shake off that air of self-importance, and are extraordinarily good whether you care to pay heed to the story or not. Gentle Giant’s Octopus is a prime example of this. The album is about the friendship between two giants. And why shouldn’t it be. It’s not exactly prog, being much more jazzy, punchy and danceable than that tag might suggest. Gentle Giant comprised Kerry Minnear and brothers Ray and Derek Shulman, both of whom had been members of Simon Dupree and The Big Sound. Camel’s Music Inspired By The Snow Goose is, as the title suggests, indebted to Paul Gallico’s short story of the same name and still sounds great thirty-three and a third years after its initial release. Pink Floyd’s Dark Side Of The Moon, Wish You Were Here and The Wall may be the best-known, best-selling concept albums of the 70s, but the curious are directed to the output of Gentle Giant, Camel, Yes and ELP, certainly they’re the most entertaining of the seventies concept album boom.

Looking beyond progressive rock, there aren’t many great concept albums to choose from. A notable exception is Donald Fagen’s The Nightfly. His debut solo album from 1982 is the first part of a trilogy that also included Kamakiriad and Morph The Cat. While those latter albums may be a little slick and tasteful for some, The Nightfly is an absolute treasure. It revolves around a series of images of 1950s America. The beginning of the Cold War, the dreams of the future, the space-race, the post-war optimism – all of it is presented here. ‘I.G.Y.’ sums up the mood perfectly in the lines “What a beautiful world this could be/ What a glorious time to be free”. Even the promise of “spandex jackets – one for everyone” is celebrated. It’s breezy and utopian, but the perceived threat of a nuclear holocaust lurks around every corner. ‘New Frontier’ is sung from the perspective of someone in “a dug-out that my dad built, in case the reds decide to push the button down”.

The last word in concept rock must go to The Residents, who are themselves a concept band. Everything they do is part of a concept. What that concept is exactly, is far too sprawling, complicated and downright crazy to outline here, but some things are clear. They like their anonymity, so nobody really knows who the members of The Residents are. They perform in a variety and disguises but publicity shots usually show them in tuxedos with eyeballs for heads and wearing top hats. They have a spokesperson give interviews on their behalf. They have collaborated with XTC’s Andy Partridge, Tina Weymouth and Chris Frantz of Talking Heads and Lene Lovich. Their first major album, Meet The Residents, had a sleeve which parodied that of With The Beatles (titled Meet The Beatles in the US, of course). Cartoon seafish were scrawled over the Fab Four’s faces. They released an album called The Third Reich ‘N’ Roll which is ostensibly about the fascistic allure of rock and roll. Its second side was subtitled Hitler Was A Vegetarian. Its sleeve depicted Dick Clark brandishing a carrot. The music contained therein is an astonishing and frightening cover-megamix of rock and roll and sixties pop faves. Their best album though is 1980’s The Commercial Album. The Residents decided that the true music of America is the radio jingle, so they released an album containing 40 minute-long jingles. A note on the sleeve suggests that by repeating each track three times you can listen to the album as a collection of three minute pop songs. It is a superb album, dark, perverse, funny and occasionally very catchy. Everything a concept album should be, in fact.

Why I Love Norman Whitfield

“Norman Whitfield and Barrett Strong/ Are here to make right everything that’s wrong” – Billy Bragg “Levi Stubbs’ Tears”

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Norman Whitfield, ace Motown songwriter, producer and pop maverick has died at the age of 67 from complications related to his diabetes.

Whitfield was born in Harlem, New York in 1940. He travelled to Detroit in his late teens in the hope of securing a job at Motown. While Berry Gordy made him sweat, he got by as a pool shark, until Gordy finally gave in and hired Whitfield as an A&R man and quality controller. Eventually, Whitfield teamed up with songwriter Barrett Strong and together they wrote an incredible string of hits. He also worked with Marvin Gaye, Lamont Dozier, Gladys Knight, Rare Earth, Edwyn Starr, Frank Wilson and Rose Royce among many others. He co-wrote “I Heard It Through The Grapevine”, “Needle In A Haystack”, “Papa Was A Rollin’ Stone” and “He Was Really Sayin’ Somethin’” and the list goes on. “I Heard It Through The Grapevine” is one of the greatest singles there is. Even his “flops” were brilliant. The Velvelettes’ “Lonely Lonely Girl Am I”, for example, is incredible too.

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Track down the recent “Complete Motown Singles” boxsets – they add up to what is a truly astonishing body of work and Norman Whitfield’s thumbprint is all over them. He guided The Temptations in their progression from pure pop into darker, more psychedelic territory. In the 1970s he set up Whitfield Records, whose main attraction was Rose Royce. Cue: “Car Wash”, “Love Don’t Live Here Anymore”, “Is It Love You’re After” and “Wishin’ On A Star”. It wouldn’t be right for Analogue to allow Whitfield’s passing to go unmentioned, so let’s doff our caps to one of the great architects of pop music as we know it.

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If you’ve ever spun around your living room like a giddy child to the strains of a northern soul compilation, or if you’ve ever found yourself grinning like an idiot at the sheer joy of classic Motown, then you’ll know that this is a sad day for pop music.

R.I.P. Richard Wright

Pink Floyd’s Richard Wright died yesterday, aged 65. He had been suffering from cancer.

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Pink Floyd “Paintbox” Written and sung by Wright, and in my view, the best song on Pink Floyd’s best album (i.e. the “Relics” compilation from 1971).

R.I.P. Richard.

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