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PREVIOUS PLAYLISTS:
MARCH - 2007
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PLAYLIST (APRIL 2005) Oceans Apart - The Go-Betweens (Lo-max Records)
Undoubtedly, way too much has been made of The Go-Betweens "also-ran"
status. That, despite the fact they had the songs, the fans in high
places and a whole barrel of goodwill, they never had a hit, they
never "made it." Such arguments can only detract from
the band's obvious desire to just get on these days, to do what
they do best : play humble pop songs to whoever wants to hear. In
truth (and this comes from a hardcore fan), their albums, with the
exception of perhaps 1988's, '16 Lovers Lane,' were always a mixed
bag. Indeed, there's no such thing as a perfect album anyway but
certainly, for every right-to-the-target Go-Betweens song, there's
a near miss. 'Oceans Apart' is no exception. This is, hands down,
the best produced Go-Betweens album - clear as a bell, warm as a
blush and often, surprisingly epic - but even so, it's still not
quite an essential record as a thoroughly lovely listening experience.
You see, The Go-Betweens never quite worked out the magic of "essential."
They had "gracefully emote" down to a fine art but couldn't
quite make you need them. It's probably something to do with the
bones of most GB's songs being campfire acoustic; something to sing
over the flames. You know Robert Forster will get a little tearfully
nostalgic and a little worrying (as in barmy). You know Grant McLennan
is still not over that broken heart; that he has the demeanour of
man at the foot of a mountain he knows he must climb but he's putting
it off as long as possible. Still, within that, there's a damned
sight more magic than you'll ever hear in the "firework"
bands of today. Forster, moreso live but also on record, is a natural
showman. There's a perverse, schizophrenic Preacher/librarian vibe
to the man that's always fascinated me. One minute, he's crying
into his shoe - the next, he's got his head out of a highspeed train
window as the cities whoosh by. And that voice. Here's a man who
loves to sing, to art-ic-ulate; a deep, warm brogue. There is some
absolute class Forster on show here, particularly on 'Darlinghurst
Nights,' the wonderfully off-kilter dub rhythm of 'Lavender' and
McLennan finally gets back on top of his game with the exceptional
'The Statue' and even stumbles on The Waterboys' "big music"
with 'This Night's For You.' The rest, well, it feels very familiar,
in a good way. And as with every Go-Betweens album, repeated listening
only warms your heart to it further. 'Oceans Apart' adds to a breathtakingly
enviable discography but you can't help feel we are one step away
from perfection. Isn't that always the way?
During the long, scorching Summer of 1983, only one record existed
in my life. This one. Belatedly, I feel an overwhelming compulsion
to apologise to my parents for that dreadful teenage insistence
on playing the same album over and over again whilst they were trying
to lead the good life. As Alan Whicker explored Tahiti in the living
room, upstairs, to paraphrase, I was bleeding sweat with Matt Johnson,
cutting chunks from my heart and rubbing the meat into my eyes.
Indeed, the crux of The The's "Soul Mining" is the autobiography
of a psychotically tortured individual, hollowed out, stretched
to tearing point by the very racks of Hell, as painfully chronicled
by opener, "I've Been Waitin' For Tomorrow (All Of My Life).'
Sometimes it pays to be entirely ignorant of a band's track record.
I come to World Standard from scratch and thus, they are a bona
fide jewel amongst the dirge of what passes for music these days.
This is thoughtful, careful, delicate, pastoral fare from Japan
that, as evidenced by the attached delightful mpeg4 film footage,
perfectly soundtracks your most sparkling Technicolor childhood
nostalgia. It often feels as though Sohichiro Suzuki and his extremely
patient musicians seem to be playing this music with their eyes
closed, on a sunny porch, miles from anywhere. There's a soothing,
meditative ambience to the proceedings, though without the new age
stickiness that usually implies. Here, time takes it's time. Guitars,
ukelele, banjo, mandolin, bass, piano, organ, kalimba, cymbal, electronics,
strings, Wurlitzer, violin, cello, classic guitar, Irish harp, euphonium,
flugelhorn and trumpet mark off the breezy moments. A cover of Paul
Simon's "Kathy's Song" does little to upset the ebb and
flow.
There's obviously a fair amount of walking on thin ice involved here. OMD's place in pop music history is undoubtedly tarnished by a questionable moniker, some questionable dancing (and singing) and by the late 80's, some extremely questionable music. Still, the gift of forgiveness is built into most fans of early 80's synthpop. It's a given that, with the exception of Kraftwerk, none of these groups hung onto their creative integrity. Soon as the dollar came calling for The Human League, Depeche Mode, Tears for Fears and OMD, the quality started slipping, the accents started twanging. So, hooray for the archive. This 1980 OMD album possesses one atrocity - the post-punk saxophone-anchored turkey that is 'Mystereality,' for which the "skip" function was invented on CD players. That aside, you get some class Kays Catalogue drum-machine, syndrums, bass and monosynth which, if you're of a certain age, should take you back to swinging your arms uncontrollably at school discos, much to the amusement of your peers. Like Kraftwerk and The Human League, OMD were retro-futurists. They were all science kits and Fritz Lang films and diagrams and what-happens-if-I-press-this-button? They were also, despite Andy McCluskey's rather bleating vocal, on the brink of chart stardom. (Paul Humphreys was the more palatable singer as 'Souvenir' later evidenced). They had the right equilibrium of fizzling technology and melody at the right time. If Tandy means anything to you or you've ever owned a Casio calculator watch, you will be in your element here.
You might wonder what this is doing here. And you'd be right to
wonder that. Certainly, it would be hard to believe that anyone
in a group like Piano Magic would be a fan of Washington DC Neanderthal
early 80's 'harDCorists' Minor Threat? Well, think again. Though,
sonically, there's basically one idea here (hammer it fast and hard),
Minor Threat had a fuck of a lot more to say that 99% of today's
bands and unquestionably more energy than 99% of today's bands.
Some clever fucker out there is probably thinking : well, if they
had so much to say, why didn't they say it a little slower? Well,
buddy, that's why the lyrics are printed on the sleeve. Of course,
Ian MacKaye considerably refined the medium later in Fugazi but
the message stayed pretty much intact. 99% of bands today would
benefit from a 'straight edge' approach because, let's face it,
junkies are boring. Drunks are boring. Sluts are boring. Minor Threat
waged war on self-obsession and blind ignorance. You may not want
to buy this but you should know it's out there, that someone once
had something to say.
Like 13 Moons or Pacific, a footnote to a footnote, Woo are one
of those bands that seemed to escape the attention of everyone.
Mark and Clive Ives are so wonderfully unrestrained by the need
or perhaps desire to sell a million records that they do exactly
what they like, go where the mood takes them and this absolute liberation
gives a breezy, nonchalance to their records. Indeed, 'It's Cosy
Inside' sounds home-recorded, jammed out, started and stopped when
the concentration expired. It's a flittery emporium of guitars,
clarinet, bass, voice, electronics and percussion that could've
been made anytime between 1979 and now for no other reason than
because it could. It made me think of an early incarnation of Cabaret
Voltaire on holiday in Hawaii.
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