From what we DJs call "That golden year of 1956..." - John Peel 17/1/93
The Solitaires in that curiously American fashion, were able to release a surprisingly large number of records from 1954 up to 1963, due to local popularity in their native New York, despite never having a national hit. When listening to a tune as glorious as The Angels Sang, one can only rage against the colour bar that operated in the U.S. at the time and which would have ensured that in certain parts of the country, people would have really had to go out of their way to hear this record. Bad timing and luck played a part too, not least in that the Solitaires were signed to play a group of shows on a bill with Buddy Holly, which could have led to greater exposure, only for Holly's premature death in a plane crash to nix their prospects.
My apologies to any natty dreads who happen to stumble upon this post and who may very well recoil in horror at the comparison I am about to make, but each time I’ve heard Swear In, the Cocoa Tea/Ninjaman duet on how dancehall outstrips all other musical forms, I’ve found myself put in mind of Rock ‘n’ Roll is King, a 1983 single by Electric Light Orchestra, which I was introduced to by my wife, last year and which I’ve been cursing ever since as the chorus has been stuck in my head and shows no sign of shifting.
Both tracks extol the virtues of their respective genres at a time when both may have been perceived to be under threat by other forms. However, in ELO’s case this was a diversion, a look back at a musical form which had inspired them when they were younger, but which had nothing to do with their legacy or their future. Whatever ELO’s music could be defined as over the previous decade, rama-lama riffs hadn’t really played much of a part in their rise and the dominant trends of 1983 pop - Synth-pop and New Pop for instance - weren’t going to steal bread from their mouths. But in 1992, Cocoa Tea and Ninjaman were getting panicky and protectionist over some of the forms which were rubbing against - and in their eyes rubbing out dancehall culture and music. At least, I think that's why they seem to spend most of the track's duration weighing up the merits of soca, hip hop and contemporary R 'n' B in comparison to dancehall and finding them all inferior, both intellectually and as music to dance to. The song could also be read as a rebuke to reggae artists who were incorporating these styles into their music as part of a pursuit for wider mainstream commercial success. A look at the UK/US singles charts over the subsequent years showed that their contemporaries weren't paying any notice to them on the issue either.
I'm also sure that the sound of a couple of dancehall artists decrying other musical forms for diverting attention away from them must have caused some derisive laughter among roots reggae musicians, who had endured the same struggles over the previous decade at the hands of dancehall.
The film critic, Mark Kermode, is so devoted to his favourite film, The Exorcist, that he will watch any film or episode of a TV series which contains an Exorcist reference in it. In a similar vein, John Peel could usually be relied upon to play any cover version of his favourite song, Teenage Kicks. The second Peel show I made my own mixtape selections from on 4 June 2002 featured a lullaby version of it.
No such novelty with this cover by The Undertones fellow Ulstermen, Therapy? who chocked out a 94 second version of the tune, backed it with a disembowelment of With or Without You by U2 and distributed it as a limited edition 7-inch single called Have A Merry Fucking Christmas to the first 500 punters through the doors at their pre-Christmas gigs in Belfast and Dublin. Peel had not been to either gig but had managed to wangle a copy. Therapy? could afford to be generous given that they were awash with major label cash after signing to A&M Records and were a few weeks away from releasing the Shortsharpshock EP which contained Screamager, a song that would give them a Top 10 hit and make them into pop stars.
As for their take on Peel’s favourite song, well, it recognises the sexual subtext that underpins the track but in place of the original’s orgasmically joyful release, Therapy? play the track with an overpowering sense of sexual frustration. Where Feargal Sharkey sang with the excited confidence of someone who knew he’d be getting his rocks off sooner or later, Andy Cairns sings with the uptight stress of someone who doesn’t know where their next shag is coming from, despite the fact that he’s overwhelmed with desire for the subject of the song. The girl doesn’t belong to the singer, but whereas Sharkey felt that this would change soon enough, Cairns is tortured by kindness that he was once shown, but which is now withheld. It may only be a brief performance, but Therapy? succeed in fitting Teenage Kicks to their style and worldview.
Peel couldn’t let a play of Teenage Kicks go by without briefly slipping into fanboy mode, albeit as one appalled at the music one of his heroes was currently making. He had no issues with Feargal Sharkey having gone from poacher to gamekeeper by working as an A & R man for Polydor Records, but was in a state of quiet despair at the type of music that Sharkey was recording himself, believing that he was trying to model himself on John Cougar Mellencamp. However, Peel confessed that he was guilty of a certain degree of projection here as he hadn’t listened to any of Mellencamp’s records for years.
I have to confess that I was torn over whether to include Here here*. I thought the verses were terrific, constructed as they are from a gorgeous lo-fi melody, but whenever Stephen Malkmus strayed away from them, I became less certain. Ultimately, I recognised that Here is one of the greatest songs I've heard about disappointment. It starts by being rooted in the personal with Malkmus singing about being dressed for success, though that very quickly flips into him being all dressed up with nowhere to go. From dashed professional hopes, the track glides through romantic disappointment and a host of other anti-climaxes which are represented by analogies and imagery which seemed strained to me when I first heard them i.e. portraits of minions and slaves etc. But increasingly, I saw in their monotonous lives, in the unsold Spanish candles and final quarters fruitlessly spent, the metaphors for dashed dreams, wasted opportunities, tomorrows which never come and a need to make the best out of bad circumstances. With typical contrarianism, Malkmus declares at the end of the track that this is the best time, perhaps indicating that the default position of humanity is “mustn’t grumble.”
*I’ve clearly been doing this blog long enough now to lazily contradict myself given that 5 years ago,
Certainly one of the best bands to come out of Bremen. (John Peel 17/1/93)
Although I have no recollection of hearing Peel play anything by Party Diktator before this show, his support for the band in the early 90s led to him being included in the acknowledgements on the band’s debut album, Worldwide.
There's nothing in Road which could be filed under "Chilly Germanic Cliches". With its clattering, propulsive drumming, a guitar sound which evokes the loudest car engine imaginable and an increasingly anguished vocal by Nick Neumann, who sounds like he's not only trying to race with the devil but has it threatening him from the back seat, this is pure Black Metal/noisecore brilliance. Some songs paint the Open Road as a chance for escape and freedom, but this song captures the mood of someone who has been driving all night and can only stop either when they crash or run out of road and plunge off the precipice. I wonder if the band had been binge-watching nihilistic road movies such as Vanishing Point or Two Lane Blacktop. They drive because to stop would be to cease existence and the closing purrs of dying guitar mixed with a snatched scream of harmonica sound like the collision of mangled metal against the crushed ideals of Americana on a hellscaped autobahn.
