2) Like Vi Ploriontos, Slugger made my list of inclusions - albeit with a question mark next to it - then I was going to pass on it, only to reprieve it.
I don’t think Slugger is as good a track as Vi Ploriontos, but this could be down to it being harder to get a handle on. I think it’s about outsiders trying to break into a clique, but doing a bad job of it, though it’s not easy to decipher that from the vocals. I was helped by the fact that part of the lyrics are included in the liner notes for Deep End:
Fly in to town on a saucer of gold.
You wouldn’t know cool
If it crept up and slugged you in the nose.
I was probably guilty of giving up too easily, but I initially wrote the track off as being too insubstantial for inclusion. However, when I found myself thinking about Vi Ploriontos, I was convinced that the riff to Slugger was from Vi Ploriontos. The fact that that chugging riff had clamped itself to my brain convinced me to put it back on the metaphorical mixtape. Sometimes, you just have to go with the vibes.
Having recently written a post about what it felt like to be dumped after a long term relationship, it makes sense that within the same Peel show, we should also be able to enjoy a track written from the perspective of the one who has decided it’s time to pull the plug on a relationship. I think, in comparison to the subject of derision in Vi Ploriontos, I probably got off lightly as co-authors Marcy Mays and Sue Harshe firmly go in two-footed on their soon-to-be ex.
One thing I didn’t mention in my break up post was the way in which, when you’re dumped after a lengthy relationship, you find yourself wondering why you bothered putting in all the time and effort that you did. Once you get over the end of the relationship, all the good times and happy memories become a comfort to you, and something to remember with pride. But when you’re in the immediate aftermath of the break-up, then every kind word, every happy time, every penny spent feels like it was a waste of time, given that it ultimately led to heartbreak.
What’s interesting about the dynamic in Vi Ploriontos, is that Scrawl feel exactly the same sense of disappointment and let-down. They reflect back on the trinkets that were bought: fine wines, Megadeth concert tickets, trips away etc; though there is a note of ambiguity as to whether these were things bought by Scrawl or by their ex. Regardless, at this point, it only counts as wasted money and poor taste. The key line by which Scrawl announce their intention to end the relationship is You’re not worth all the space that I let you use up. So, a point of no return has clearly been passed.
Given that Vi Ploriontos translates from Latin as “I forced them to cry” and with its ongoing refrain of You’re gonna cry, I suspect that the break up has come about because the ex has done something unforgivable rather than because they’ve simply drifted apart.
Despite it making my list, I had originally thought that I was going to pass on Vi Ploriontos, but what reprieved it was hearing some more of Scrawl’s music from Peel shows broadcast later in 1993, in particular a track called Your Mother Wants to Know, which showed me that Scrawl had a very nice line in tracks about romantic and interpersonal dysfunction. I want to enjoy them while I can because Peel stopped playing them after ‘93, though this wasn’t helped by them singing to Elektra and a three year delay between albums.
Video courtesy of Scrawl -Topic.
Lyrics are copyright of Sue Harshe and Marcy Mays.
This was the second of three sessions which Fun-Da-Mental recorded for John Peel, so there’s time for me to revise my opinion, I’m sure, but listening to this three track session, all of which is included in the video above, I found myself having to confront an uncomfortable personal reaction to Fun-Da-Mental’s music. What they sing about is important, necessary and vital….but on the evidence of this session, they’re also very boring to listen to. It’s a tightrope that a lot of socially conscious groups have to walk. Music with a message that needs to be heard, but which can end up being an aural slog.
Fun-Da-Mental don’t help themselves given the stature of some of those that they sample. And when they work in blasts of oratory from figures like Malcolm X, Mahatma Gandhi and Louis Farrakhan, they inevitably end up sounding weedy in comparison once they start rapping themselves. Even worse in tracks like Front Line and Tribal Revolution, which made my initial list of selections, they become so overwhelmed by the noise that they make, that the listener becomes passive; hit by a wall of samples and sloganeering, but utterly unengaged by either the content or form. You may feel differently, and for all my carping, I’m glad that the session is out there in full for you to listen and decide for yourself. But it begs the question, has anyone ever listened to a Fun-Da-Mental track for pleasure? Is such a thing possible or desirable with their music?
I don’t think it is, but one thing which links Fun-Da-Mental with the other bands listed above is that when they do come up with something which hits the mark, they really make it count, and Countryman - which is the opening track on the video, but was their session closer on the 7/5/93 show - is a magnificent piece of music, which has stayed with me ever since I heard it again for the first time in several years, when I was prepping this post.
Several things are striking about Countryman, but the thing that stands out to me is that regardless of the anger which features in the track either from the sampled Midlands bigot or the contemptuous laugh that Aki Nawaz gives after he reveals the ratio of Victoria Crosses awarded against the number of Indian born servicemen who served in the British Army during the Second World War (25:2,000,000), it’s all undercut by the mood of sadness that runs throughout the track. It’s there in the string sample that opens the track and recurs throughout (dilruba?, esraj?, Tar shehnai?, taus?); it’s in Bad-Sha Lallaman’s baffled vocal, wherein he wonders why Asian men would give up the comforts of family love and village peace to travel to a promised land that only offers them poor housing, jobs that are only fit for animals and an expectation that they turn their back on their cultural roots in order to follow…what exactly?
….they bring their ways, but they don’t want our ways. And yet nobody ever asks the bigots, what ways immigrants are expected to follow. Change religion? OK, but how many BNP members attend church every Sunday? Show deference to the British? In other words, transpose Empire mentality within our own streets and communities? How would that work? Must they work only as our inferiors? Bow to us in the street? What is it that you want? Can you explain it in any way that makes sense? And they can’t.
That undertone of sadness in Countryman even extends to the bigot, whose ignorance seems rooted in bewilderment as much as anything else.
Mind you, Fun-Da-Mental give him and his brethren cause for concern as they announce at 6:20 that they can build a new society alongside their countrymen, and given that this will be done to white man’s surprise, it implies that they are done with trying to meet the likes of the bigot halfway, they will do it themselves and try to make it work. The inference is clear: if you want separation, we’ll give it to you. And we will flourish.
Flash forward 33 years, and we find ourselves in a country where the political landscape currently sees the children of immigrants all chasing the vote of the bigot by emphasising just how much they’ve followed our ways and that they too see those that bring their ways as the problem that over-rides all others. Meanwhile those of us who would prefer it if we all just work together to make the greatest country on Earth, into a place where we can all prosper are patronised and told that we don’t understand the concerns of people in this country. If the direction of travel continues in the way that the lamp post flaggers and vast sections of the media are trying to move it, then maybe the time will have come for the ideas Fun-Da-Mental floated in Countryman to be put into practice. And it won’t be a moment too soon.
Fun-Da-Mental put out Countryman as a single, later in ‘93. The order of the verses is different from that in the Peel Session.
Videos courtesy of FruitierThanThou and NationRecordsLabel.
Lyrics are copyright of Amir Ali and Inder Matharu.
Another track from the Black Dog Productions album, (Bytes). Close Up Over was an Ed Handley alias, and one of 3 on the LP which was credited to Close Up Over. In playing Olivine, Peel indulged in a spot of audience pleasing given that, compared to Jauqq and Caz - the two other Close Up Over tracks on the record - Olivine manages to include the dance part of Intelligent Dance Music. I’m particularly drawn towards this track because it includes more of the bicycle spoke sound that I always enjoy hearing in dance tracks. Though unlike previous examples like Date M by The Traveller or 20 Hz by Capricorn, the sound is achieved through the keyboards rather than as a percussive adornment.
Everton Blender’s career is a reminder that talent can always find a way, even if you don’t succeed first time around. After releasing a number of records in the late 70s and early to mid 80s, a lack of commercial success had seen him leave the music business and go back to working as a house painter. But, his honeyed voice had caught the ear of Garnett Silk, and that led to Blender getting signed to Star Trail. He returned to recording and performing in the early 90s and Create a Sound would act as the starting track on his first album, Lift Up Your Head, which even made some British charts in 1994.
Create a Sound acknowledges that this a second chance for Blender, one that he’s surprised and relieved to have been given. He’s spent many days working through the slog of painting houses, and it sounds as though some of those jobs were in pretty rough neighbourhoods, so now he’s going to relish the chance to do what he most wants to do:
In the same way that we like to wish that MPs had experience of the world before going into politics, so Blender assures us that his working background and experience will inform the music he makes and keep him grounded if he becomes successful:
The longer you live, the more you learn.
The harder you work, I know you will earn.
The heights I reach, I will surely keep.
The Lord is the shepherd and I am the sheep.
I wish he had kept this narrative going, as the track eventually moves into standard reggae semi-religious homilies i.e. A happy father is the result of a wise son etc, but I suppose he worried that to keep singing about his new opportunity risked showing a lack of humility. There’s a likably amusing section in which Blender suggests that having avoided being harmed by the criminals in the neighbourhoods he worked in due to good fortune or pure front, that his music will now have the effect of turning them from crime, which seems a far bigger boast than any of those stated at the start of the track. Might it be worth playing some of his music in the Donbas?
Lyrics copyright of Everton Williams (Blender)
Video courtesy of Reggae Nineties (and early 2000s).
I never like to speculate on whether John Peel would have liked any record released after his death, but I really wish he’d lived long enough to hear a copy of Petra Haden Sings: The Who Sell Out, in which the violinist/mandolinist recorded an a cappella version of The Who’s 1967 concept album. It was released in February 2005, four months after his death. I’d have loved to know whether the record would have tickled or irritated him. It may also have caused him to dig into his record collection and pull out something by that dog. a Los Angeles based band that Petra was part of alongside her sister, Rachel, drummer Tony Maxwell and guitarist, Anna Waronker, who is perhaps, the third most famous music personality in her family after her father, Lenny (president of Warner Records) and her brother Joey (drummer with R.E.M., Beck and as part of the Oasis reunion tour).
For me, Petra’s violin contributions are the best thing about the eponymous double-7 inch mini album that introduced that dog. to the world. And Paid Programming is the only track that deserves being listened to more than twice. The rest of the record veers between fairly dour acoustic arrangements - albeit enlivened by some good harmony vocals - or short, sharp, punk songs written by Anna Waronker’s friend, Jenni Konner, who swapped music to work in television and later collaborated with Lena Dunham on Girls.
It’s the mood of Paid Programming which makes it stand out. With the rise of digital television, everyone in the world now has the chance to experience the American attitude to television which I remember from the 80s & 90s; namely 99 channels and nothing worth watching. America though was, and remains, very much the land of the infomercial, a set of extended commercials stretched out to full programme length, and advertising products, services, lifestyle choices etc. They tended to be broadcast on local affiliate TV stations and go out as overnight broadcasts, usually between 1am and 9am. Perfect fare for insomniacs, stoners, the lonely and depressed; aspirational viewing for those who found mainstream advertising too intimidating, noisy and shallow. Here, the sellers really had to work to build up a connection with their potential customers. It may be that if you found yourself actually watching any of these shows with your full attention, you may have cause to consider what’s happened to your life. But that dog. aren’t here to sneer, and Paid Programming does a great job of evoking a sense of how this kind of television could provide a late night comfort blanket to those who had nowhere to go out to or no need to go to bed, because they had no reason to get up early in the morning. Though, it should be said that from their relevant positions of privilege, one could well believe that Waronker and friends really would dream of strawberry whip delights as something to enjoy at their favourite coffee shop the next day.
If we consider the song from the perspective of those without an emotional, employment or financial safety net, then Paid Programming deserves to be seen as coming from the same sort of musical support network as Realize by Codeine. The curtains are drawn and the sun has gone down, but at least the television is on and maybe Richard Simmons can provide some inspiration for those unable to get off their couch for even a little exercise, while the thought of owning a vacuuming haircut machine could stand as a status symbol comparable to a new car for those down at the bottom of the pile who’ve found that, for whatever reason, they’ve let themselves go or are looking a little shabby. The dream of owning one could be the catalyst to the best night’s sleep they’ve had in ages.
When it came to the work that former members of The Undertones released through the mid/late 1980s and early 1990s, we know that while John Peel felt despairing exasperation at the records Feargal Sharkey was putting out, he was more accommodating towards the music of That Petrol Emotion, which included John and Damian O’Neill. They had featured fairly consistently on his playlists since 1985, including three Peel Sessions. Even John O’Neill’s departure from the band in 1988 hadn’t dented Peel’s willingness to play their records. But, this 7/5/93 show marked the last time in his life he would play anything by That Petrol Emotion while they were an active band*.
Catch a Fire’s appearance on the Volume Six compilation album acted as a trailer to That Petrol Emotion’s fifth and final album, Fireproof, which appears to be the only one of their albums that Peel never played anything from directly. One might have expected him to be all over the record given that it features a Jew’s harp on Catch a Fire, while Heartbeat Mosaic includes a pedal steel guitar. But, for whatever reason, it clearly wasn’t his bag.
On my first re-acquaintance with Catch a Fire, I wasn’t sure if it was mine either. There was a vein of pouting theatricality running through it, especially in Steve Mack’s vocal which I found slightly off-putting. He sounded like he was turning in an overly camp audition to be the lead singer for a Damned tribute act. However, on the second listen, I got it. Catch a Fire is what the theme song for a James Bond film written by Suede would sound like. There’s a particularly enjoyable, ascending guitar line from 2:31 to 2:52 which conjures up images of naked women dancing in Maurice Binder-inspired silhouettes, while John Barry’s orchestra provide underpinning support. Taken on those terms, I was able to enjoy Catch a Fire much more. It’s just a shame that by the time the James Bond films resumed production in 1994, after a four year legal battle, That Petrol Emotion had split and Catch a Fire’s authors, Ciaran McLaughlin and Raymond O’Gorman had to watch the theme song gig go to southern Ireland instead of to the North.
