I was never much of a fan of the now-deceased Word magazine, whose last issue recently came out. It always seemed a slight read, didn't offer much that Uncut and Mojo didn't already feature and the covers were usually wretched.
However, its final breath did bring up an important point: why does NCIS not get the credit it deserves? Its had nine series, has high ratings but is rarely mentioned by the mainstream press. I, for one, am a huge fan. Yes, its plots aren't anything new and at the heart, it's just another crime drama. So what makes it work?
Well, 90% of that for me is Mark Harmon and how he plays Leroy Jethro Gibbs, a former Marine sniper turned investigator for the Navy. Along with Shawn Spencer from Psych and Abed from Community, he's my favourite character on the box right now. He takes no shite from anyone, kicks arse when needed but also knows the right words to say when one of his team has a moment of crisis.
Let's be frank, Agent Gibbs is fuckin' awesome. I'd love to have a boss like him. Yeah, so OK, he might give you a slap on the back of the head when you do something dumb, but on the other hand, when you've been kidnapped by international terrorists, he can snipe them from half a mile away. I'd also like to point out I don't have any kind of affinity with him based on our mutual admiration of female redheads. No way.
However, NCIS has more than just that. A show like this lives and dies on the strength of the chemistry between the team: luckily, it's strong here. A major highlight is David McCallum as Ducky, the pathologist, who is possibly the only character who isn't somewhat of a cliché: you have the computer geek (McGee), the action girl (Ziva, who also has daddy issues) and the smooth lothario (DiNozzo). I guess Abby is a tad unusual in being a very upbeat goth. And, of course, there's the usual unresolved sexual tension between various characters, as is always going to be part of such shows.
Yet, I cannot help but watch it. There's something oddly compelling that I can't quite put my finger on, and I suspect this is why it never gets much coverage in the media. Plenty of people are probably in the same boat as me: avid watchers without quite knowing why. I can only think it's the absolute charisma of that silver-haired fox Gibbs - it's the only explanation I have that I am very annoyed that the series finished and I have to wait till the new year for my next NCIS fix.
Monday, 30 July 2012
Friday, 27 July 2012
Non-Hit Parade
The singles charts of today are of absolutely no interest to me whatsoever. This is almost natural: after all, I'm 31 years old and pop music (in the main part) is for people a lot younger than I.
That doesn't mean I'm not interested in stuff that happened in the past. How did Laurie Anderson get something as weird as O Superman to nearly top the charts in the UK? Were Frankie Goes to Hollywood all a matter of hype, or are the songs any good? (Not really, to my ears)
Then there's the songs that sound like they were born to boom out of a million radios but went absolutely nowhere. Here's a few songs that, to me, should have been hits but never were. And by hit, I mean reached the top 40 of the singles charts in either the UK or the US.
The Comsat Angels - Will You Stay Tonight?
The Comsats started out as a great moody post-punk outfit who peaked with the brilliantly bleak Sleep No More album in 1981. However, they moved from the darkness (perhaps understandably so) and by 1983, were pushing for a chart breakthrough.
This song should have been it, given it's got all the right ingredients: hooks galore, great chorus, tight pop structure. Instead, it didn't even make the UK top 75, the latest in a series of disappointments that began when their first record label failed to send out enough copies of an album to satisfy demand that would have put them into the charts.
Not long after Will You Stay Tonight? failed to set the world on fire, they came the closest they ever would to a hit when a re-recording of early single Independence Day made the dizzy heights of #71.
Nowadays, they've gained some level of recognition, with film critic Mark Kermode hailing them as his favourite band.
Psychedelic Furs - All That Money Wants
In a way, the Furs have only themselves to blame for this. At the start of the 80s, they were a post-punk six piece with a cult following. As the decade wore on, they shed members as they got more popular. Fourth album Mirror Moves just about managed to keep on the right side of the line, but by 1987 and the Midnight to Midnight album, it was all daft haircuts and bad production values. All the same, it became their biggest hit album and provided their only US top 40 hit with Heartbreak Beat.
Lead singer Richard Butler gave himself a mild case of heart trouble due to feeling so stressed by this straying from what the band used to mean and soon got rid of the bad clothes as well as the bad songs from the setlist. Naturally, this pissed off all the new fans on top of all the old fans who'd long moved onto bands like the Cure, Depeche Mode and U2 - all less perceived to have "sold out". So, when they brought out this single to support the All Of This and Nothing compilation in 1988, it's failure to hit made some kind of sense.
On the other hand, it was their best song in years, as well as being produced by Stephen Street, then hot from working with the Smiths and on Morrissey's solo stuff. It's the sound of a band really giving it everything again, with Butler's old angry croak returning to form after a few years signing more vapid poptones - indeed, the title alone may reflect his views on the band's chasing of commercial success at the cost of their souls. "I don't believe that I believed in you" could be a line to the band from an old fan.
No matter that it sounded amazing, had a brilliant b-side in Birland and saw them back using guitars properly, it went nowhere and the band's career in terms of a popular act was over, which was a shame as their next two albums were also excellent.
New Order - Bizarre Love Triangle
New Order's first chart peak had been in the wake of Blue Monday selling by the shedload. Both Confusion and Thieves Like Us had hit the top 20 at home, but by 1986, they couldn't buy a decent hit. Perhaps Factory was going through one of their 'slump' periods.
But all the same, BLT was born for radio play, was superbly produced and featured an atypical straightforward lyric from Bernard Sumner. I can't find any fault with this perfect pop song, and yet it only made #56 in the UK charts in September 1986. Perhaps if it had come out two years later, when the band were scoring big hits everywhere and topping the album charts, it might have got the contemporary recognition it deserved.
Time, however, has been kind to the song and it's gained status as one of the New Order's classics.
XTC - Great Fire
What a difference a year makes. In 1982, XTC seemed to have finally made the big time. Their fifth album, English Settlement, and it's lead single, Senses Working Overtime, had cracked the UK top 10 and their well-deserved success seemed assured.
But then years of non-stop work caught with with singer/songwriter Andy Partridge. Add to that a harsh withdrawal from Valium, and a nervous breakdown was no surprise. He decided playing live was just too much, and the band retreated into a studio-based existence they never really came back from. Naturally, record company and related sales plummeted and XTC wouldn't get a sniff of a hit for a decade.
Of course, the whole fire/love metaphor is as old as time itself, but Partridge still makes it sound fresh, in particular during an absolutely glorious middle eight where he sings "I've been in love before, but it's never been as hot as this", his feelings for a new beau seeing "memories of loves crack and blister". Perhaps it was bad timing: 1983 was a period of synths and big hair, and some guy from Swindon playing a simple guitar riff perhaps didn't find what was happening on Top of the Pops...
The Go-Betweens - Pretty much everything
I mean, really, how the fuck did the Go-Betweens not get a hit? People say Morrissey/Marr were the Lennon/McCartney of the 80s, but it doesn't really hold up as a comparison. No - Robert Forster and Grant McLennan were the true heirs to the "genius songwriting partnership" throne. They looked the part too, and had strong musicians in the band
Yet somehow, they spent years struggling along, bringing out albums of sublime pop songs. OK, so their early stuff could be rough around the edges, but come on: Bachelor Kisses, Spring Rain, Bye Bye Pride and just about everything on 16 Lovers Lane scream "hit". And what was the best they got? Streets of Your Town made it to #80. I can't really explain that one at all.
And you Australians aren't off the hook. You gave birth to this amazing band, with the best songwriters your fair isle has ever produced and they couldn't buy even a minor hit down there either? People are idiots!
That doesn't mean I'm not interested in stuff that happened in the past. How did Laurie Anderson get something as weird as O Superman to nearly top the charts in the UK? Were Frankie Goes to Hollywood all a matter of hype, or are the songs any good? (Not really, to my ears)
Then there's the songs that sound like they were born to boom out of a million radios but went absolutely nowhere. Here's a few songs that, to me, should have been hits but never were. And by hit, I mean reached the top 40 of the singles charts in either the UK or the US.
The Comsat Angels - Will You Stay Tonight?
The Comsats started out as a great moody post-punk outfit who peaked with the brilliantly bleak Sleep No More album in 1981. However, they moved from the darkness (perhaps understandably so) and by 1983, were pushing for a chart breakthrough.
This song should have been it, given it's got all the right ingredients: hooks galore, great chorus, tight pop structure. Instead, it didn't even make the UK top 75, the latest in a series of disappointments that began when their first record label failed to send out enough copies of an album to satisfy demand that would have put them into the charts.
Not long after Will You Stay Tonight? failed to set the world on fire, they came the closest they ever would to a hit when a re-recording of early single Independence Day made the dizzy heights of #71.
Nowadays, they've gained some level of recognition, with film critic Mark Kermode hailing them as his favourite band.
Psychedelic Furs - All That Money Wants
In a way, the Furs have only themselves to blame for this. At the start of the 80s, they were a post-punk six piece with a cult following. As the decade wore on, they shed members as they got more popular. Fourth album Mirror Moves just about managed to keep on the right side of the line, but by 1987 and the Midnight to Midnight album, it was all daft haircuts and bad production values. All the same, it became their biggest hit album and provided their only US top 40 hit with Heartbreak Beat.
Lead singer Richard Butler gave himself a mild case of heart trouble due to feeling so stressed by this straying from what the band used to mean and soon got rid of the bad clothes as well as the bad songs from the setlist. Naturally, this pissed off all the new fans on top of all the old fans who'd long moved onto bands like the Cure, Depeche Mode and U2 - all less perceived to have "sold out". So, when they brought out this single to support the All Of This and Nothing compilation in 1988, it's failure to hit made some kind of sense.
On the other hand, it was their best song in years, as well as being produced by Stephen Street, then hot from working with the Smiths and on Morrissey's solo stuff. It's the sound of a band really giving it everything again, with Butler's old angry croak returning to form after a few years signing more vapid poptones - indeed, the title alone may reflect his views on the band's chasing of commercial success at the cost of their souls. "I don't believe that I believed in you" could be a line to the band from an old fan.
No matter that it sounded amazing, had a brilliant b-side in Birland and saw them back using guitars properly, it went nowhere and the band's career in terms of a popular act was over, which was a shame as their next two albums were also excellent.
New Order - Bizarre Love Triangle
New Order's first chart peak had been in the wake of Blue Monday selling by the shedload. Both Confusion and Thieves Like Us had hit the top 20 at home, but by 1986, they couldn't buy a decent hit. Perhaps Factory was going through one of their 'slump' periods.
But all the same, BLT was born for radio play, was superbly produced and featured an atypical straightforward lyric from Bernard Sumner. I can't find any fault with this perfect pop song, and yet it only made #56 in the UK charts in September 1986. Perhaps if it had come out two years later, when the band were scoring big hits everywhere and topping the album charts, it might have got the contemporary recognition it deserved.
Time, however, has been kind to the song and it's gained status as one of the New Order's classics.
XTC - Great Fire
What a difference a year makes. In 1982, XTC seemed to have finally made the big time. Their fifth album, English Settlement, and it's lead single, Senses Working Overtime, had cracked the UK top 10 and their well-deserved success seemed assured.
But then years of non-stop work caught with with singer/songwriter Andy Partridge. Add to that a harsh withdrawal from Valium, and a nervous breakdown was no surprise. He decided playing live was just too much, and the band retreated into a studio-based existence they never really came back from. Naturally, record company and related sales plummeted and XTC wouldn't get a sniff of a hit for a decade.
Of course, the whole fire/love metaphor is as old as time itself, but Partridge still makes it sound fresh, in particular during an absolutely glorious middle eight where he sings "I've been in love before, but it's never been as hot as this", his feelings for a new beau seeing "memories of loves crack and blister". Perhaps it was bad timing: 1983 was a period of synths and big hair, and some guy from Swindon playing a simple guitar riff perhaps didn't find what was happening on Top of the Pops...
The Go-Betweens - Pretty much everything
I mean, really, how the fuck did the Go-Betweens not get a hit? People say Morrissey/Marr were the Lennon/McCartney of the 80s, but it doesn't really hold up as a comparison. No - Robert Forster and Grant McLennan were the true heirs to the "genius songwriting partnership" throne. They looked the part too, and had strong musicians in the band
Yet somehow, they spent years struggling along, bringing out albums of sublime pop songs. OK, so their early stuff could be rough around the edges, but come on: Bachelor Kisses, Spring Rain, Bye Bye Pride and just about everything on 16 Lovers Lane scream "hit". And what was the best they got? Streets of Your Town made it to #80. I can't really explain that one at all.
And you Australians aren't off the hook. You gave birth to this amazing band, with the best songwriters your fair isle has ever produced and they couldn't buy even a minor hit down there either? People are idiots!
Sunday, 22 July 2012
Predictive Text
Sunday afternoon and it's certainly summer in Manchester. There's not a cloud in the sky, people are wandering round Didsbury in shorts and shades, determined to make the most of it, judging by the numbers enjoying a cold beer in the bars and cafes.
All of which would come as no surprise if you read a certain UK tabloid newspaper. Let's call it the Maily Sexpress, a paper of good standing which reported that hot weather was indeed on the way. "Forget the rain" was the headline, and it seems their Cassandra-like powers have worked for today at least.
But what's this? A front page from the same paper, from only two weeks ago? "It will rain till September"? Well, who'd thunk it? I often think weather reporting in the mass media is often a case of the journalist sticking his head of the window, seeing it's a bit drizzly and writes that the next few weeks will bring rainfall so hard that the biblical floods produced a puddle in comparison.
Mind you, the bod on weather is a journalism king compared to whatever clown they have covering football. Mediawatch noted that a story on Southampton signing a player from Crystal Palace managed to:
a) Get the player's name wrong.
b) The name of Southampton's manager wrong.
c) Stated that this will be Southampton's "maiden" season in the Premiership, ignoring the fact they spent all of the 1990s in the top flight and were only relegated in 2005.
Superb! Can anyone beat the record for most basic facts wrong in such a short story? Perhaps all the senior hacks have taken off on holiday, leaving the work experience kid to cover. Or maybe not. After all, football writing has often seemingly been a case of making any old shit up and printing it as "a source says". I know if my team had signed all the players that were said to be doing so in the newspapers, we'd probably have won about ten Champions Leagues by now.
All of which would come as no surprise if you read a certain UK tabloid newspaper. Let's call it the Maily Sexpress, a paper of good standing which reported that hot weather was indeed on the way. "Forget the rain" was the headline, and it seems their Cassandra-like powers have worked for today at least.
But what's this? A front page from the same paper, from only two weeks ago? "It will rain till September"? Well, who'd thunk it? I often think weather reporting in the mass media is often a case of the journalist sticking his head of the window, seeing it's a bit drizzly and writes that the next few weeks will bring rainfall so hard that the biblical floods produced a puddle in comparison.
Mind you, the bod on weather is a journalism king compared to whatever clown they have covering football. Mediawatch noted that a story on Southampton signing a player from Crystal Palace managed to:
a) Get the player's name wrong.
b) The name of Southampton's manager wrong.
c) Stated that this will be Southampton's "maiden" season in the Premiership, ignoring the fact they spent all of the 1990s in the top flight and were only relegated in 2005.
Superb! Can anyone beat the record for most basic facts wrong in such a short story? Perhaps all the senior hacks have taken off on holiday, leaving the work experience kid to cover. Or maybe not. After all, football writing has often seemingly been a case of making any old shit up and printing it as "a source says". I know if my team had signed all the players that were said to be doing so in the newspapers, we'd probably have won about ten Champions Leagues by now.
Thursday, 19 July 2012
Weighty Issue
Sad to say, the day has come. I've realised I'm in serious danger of becoming a fat bastard. Sat on my old bed last week, I looked down to see my belly was way, way too big.
The warning signs have been there for years. I was lucky in my early 20s to have a metabolism that burned up all the crap that made up my diet, but my body's warranty has finally expired. At 21, I might have not been able to go on all-day drinking sessions anymore but at least I could keep stuffing pizza and sweets down my gob with little worries.
Now, there's a new Sheriff in town, and he's kicking arse and taking names. Action needs to be done, and quickly, lest I end up like one of those sad cases you see wobbling around, all skinny limbs but a gut big enough to rest a tray of drinks on hanging over the belt on their jeans. It's a nightmare scenario that I must do all I can to avoid.
This means, horror of horrors, doing exercise. Yes, the dirtiest of all words. If I want to carry on my lifestyle of spending plenty of time on the sofa playing video games, I'm going to have to pay the price. That means I'm going to have to start shifting my sorry arse around by foot a lot more.
It's not like I haven't been warned. Three years ago, when I bought a car, I also picked up a couple of dumbbells, rationalising that I'd use them to make up for not travelling in a way involving my own energy. Sadly, the concept of self-discipline has never been one I've subscribed to all that much, and they've lain in the corner of the room somewhat unused for a fair old while.
But no more. They're getting a few uses a day, and I'm walking part of the way to work and back, weather permitting, as walking home through torrential rain isn't going to be doing me any favours, is it? Then, the ultimate horror, I'm going to have to start on the sit ups. Wah.
I have friends who like to go on 50 mile bike rides on a Saturday and the weirdest part to me is that they do it for "fun". Well, I'm never going to get that part: all I feel after walking any length of time is the need for a bit of a lie down. Yet needs must, much as that completely pisses me off.
The warning signs have been there for years. I was lucky in my early 20s to have a metabolism that burned up all the crap that made up my diet, but my body's warranty has finally expired. At 21, I might have not been able to go on all-day drinking sessions anymore but at least I could keep stuffing pizza and sweets down my gob with little worries.
Now, there's a new Sheriff in town, and he's kicking arse and taking names. Action needs to be done, and quickly, lest I end up like one of those sad cases you see wobbling around, all skinny limbs but a gut big enough to rest a tray of drinks on hanging over the belt on their jeans. It's a nightmare scenario that I must do all I can to avoid.
This means, horror of horrors, doing exercise. Yes, the dirtiest of all words. If I want to carry on my lifestyle of spending plenty of time on the sofa playing video games, I'm going to have to pay the price. That means I'm going to have to start shifting my sorry arse around by foot a lot more.
It's not like I haven't been warned. Three years ago, when I bought a car, I also picked up a couple of dumbbells, rationalising that I'd use them to make up for not travelling in a way involving my own energy. Sadly, the concept of self-discipline has never been one I've subscribed to all that much, and they've lain in the corner of the room somewhat unused for a fair old while.
But no more. They're getting a few uses a day, and I'm walking part of the way to work and back, weather permitting, as walking home through torrential rain isn't going to be doing me any favours, is it? Then, the ultimate horror, I'm going to have to start on the sit ups. Wah.
I have friends who like to go on 50 mile bike rides on a Saturday and the weirdest part to me is that they do it for "fun". Well, I'm never going to get that part: all I feel after walking any length of time is the need for a bit of a lie down. Yet needs must, much as that completely pisses me off.
Friday, 13 July 2012
Vacation, All I Ever Wanted
It's that time of the year, at least if you live in the Northern Hemisphere, where people pack up their bags and take off on holiday for a week or two. I'm no different, in a way, as I'm coming to the end of my own seasonal break.
Other people I know are going to the South of France, to Crete and Spain. All to lie around in the sun all day, a matter on which I have to concur with Bill Hicks of it being a complete waste of time. As a kid, once dad had worked his way up the career ladder a little bit, I got took away on these kinds of holidays and they were the most boring points of my childhood.
"Oh, you miserable git!" I get told. "Complaining about having a holiday. I bet they were other kids in your school who would have loved that!"
No doubt, and I wish my mam and dad had took them instead. As soon as I was old enough, I opted out and for my summer holiday aged 15, I went down to my auntie and uncle's place in Milton Keynes and mainly played Championship Manager with my cousin. That I found this an infinitely better use of my time tells you how I feel about spending days on the beach. Somewhat tragically, the two of us can still recall our campaigns in great detail to this day.
A holiday to me these days means a week travelling to see my parents, in which I tend to sleep till eleven most mornings, then mooch around the old town a bit and spend the rest of the time catching up on my gaming and going to the pub quiz with my dad. It's not much in the way of excitement, but it feels enough for me.
But is it? I always have the nagging feeling I should be doing more with my leave days. My trip to LA was about the only real holiday I've had as an adult, and the two weeks that involved is the longest time I've had off work. A big part of me would like to see the great cities of Europe, like Paris, Prague and Berlin. I'd really love to visit Japan and I have friends in Canada and Australia that I should get round to visiting. The latter is somewhere I've long wanted to visit (several generations of my family on the paternal side migrated there, so I guess it's a genetic pull to the other side of the world) but issues get in the way.
Or perhaps make that "issue", it being the contradiction in my head of wanting to check out more of the world up against a brain that goes into meltdown whenever my usual routine is broken, or I find myself in new places with new people. How I managed to keep it together to get out to California I don't know, but perhaps the excitement and anticipation of the experience overcame the rest.
Of course, I need to tell myself that this would be the case if I went anywhere else, to stop saying "maybe next year" and sort my sorry excuse for a mental state out and get doing things before all the oil runs out and we're back relying on horse and cart to get around.
Other people I know are going to the South of France, to Crete and Spain. All to lie around in the sun all day, a matter on which I have to concur with Bill Hicks of it being a complete waste of time. As a kid, once dad had worked his way up the career ladder a little bit, I got took away on these kinds of holidays and they were the most boring points of my childhood.
"Oh, you miserable git!" I get told. "Complaining about having a holiday. I bet they were other kids in your school who would have loved that!"
No doubt, and I wish my mam and dad had took them instead. As soon as I was old enough, I opted out and for my summer holiday aged 15, I went down to my auntie and uncle's place in Milton Keynes and mainly played Championship Manager with my cousin. That I found this an infinitely better use of my time tells you how I feel about spending days on the beach. Somewhat tragically, the two of us can still recall our campaigns in great detail to this day.
A holiday to me these days means a week travelling to see my parents, in which I tend to sleep till eleven most mornings, then mooch around the old town a bit and spend the rest of the time catching up on my gaming and going to the pub quiz with my dad. It's not much in the way of excitement, but it feels enough for me.
But is it? I always have the nagging feeling I should be doing more with my leave days. My trip to LA was about the only real holiday I've had as an adult, and the two weeks that involved is the longest time I've had off work. A big part of me would like to see the great cities of Europe, like Paris, Prague and Berlin. I'd really love to visit Japan and I have friends in Canada and Australia that I should get round to visiting. The latter is somewhere I've long wanted to visit (several generations of my family on the paternal side migrated there, so I guess it's a genetic pull to the other side of the world) but issues get in the way.
Or perhaps make that "issue", it being the contradiction in my head of wanting to check out more of the world up against a brain that goes into meltdown whenever my usual routine is broken, or I find myself in new places with new people. How I managed to keep it together to get out to California I don't know, but perhaps the excitement and anticipation of the experience overcame the rest.
Of course, I need to tell myself that this would be the case if I went anywhere else, to stop saying "maybe next year" and sort my sorry excuse for a mental state out and get doing things before all the oil runs out and we're back relying on horse and cart to get around.
Wednesday, 11 July 2012
Sowing The Hurting Songs From The Big Chair
Seeing Curt Smith appear in the "Shawn 2.0" episode of Psych a few weeks ago made me go back and listen to the work of his band Tears for Fears, something I'd not done for a few years. A wise decision, as it turned out, as I'd forgotten how great they were and later found out how they'd managed to do their best work years after their supposed peak.
Smith (bass/vocals) made up half the band along with Roland Orzabel (vocals/guitar) - both had grown up in Bath, children of separated parents, a factor which would influence Orzabel's songwriting in the future. Initially, they played in mod-revival band Graduate, scoring a hit in Spain with Elvis Should Play Ska, that being Costello rather than Presley. It wasn't happening on the home front, though, and the duo fronting the band weren't happy with band dynamics getting in the way of their ideas.
Therefore, they quit and formed Tears for Fears to ensure the direction lay entirely with them, and idea made a lot easier by technological advancements such as drum machines, synths and sequencers allowing them to dispense with having other people involved, though local musicians drummer Manny Elias and keyboardist Ian Stanley would soon be recruited, existing somewhere between being in the band (their names were listed as so on albums) and sidemen (Smith and Orzabel would do most of the interviews and photo-shoots).
Taking a name from Arthur Janov idea of 'Primal Scream' therapy set a tone of where the songs were going: their debut single in November 1981 was titled Suffer the Children, though the lyrical tone was helped along by a strong pop tune. It went nowhere in the charts, though, and the same fate befell Pale Shelter a few months later.
Luckily, just when it may have been looking grim, third single Mad World cracked the charts and made it up to #3, either helped or not by a video that saw Orzabel do a strange dance that brings to mind a more angular Ian Curtis. Despite it's pop verse/chorus structure, it's hookline of "the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had" still made them strange pop stars, though Smith's good looks doubtless helped get them in the pages of Smash Hits.
With the band now up and running, their debut album The Hurting went to the top of the British album charts. It's not a set with many laughs, hence the title, but it's a great listen, especially if you're an angst-ridden 17 year old, as I was when I first heard it. I imagine it sold well with teenagers who would have been listening to Joy Division four years earlier: indeed, the closing Start of the Breakdown uses mental illness as a theme in the same way Ian Curtis did on Closer.
Change and a re-recorded Pale Shelter both went into the top five of the singles chart, making the band one of the biggest in the country at the time.The album and Change also both made #73 in the US top 100 charts, further adding pressure to build on these successes with the next album.
Initially, the signs weren't good. A stand-alone single The Way You Are stalled at #24 in the UK: an attempt at repeating a formula that had worked so far, it's weird rhythms and weak lyrics weren't likely to make for a big hit. Doubtless it was this relative failure that led to the subsequent changes that 1984/85 would bring.
Working again with producer Chris Hughes, the band looked to create a huge, commercial sound. The hard funk-tinged Mothers Talk snuck them back into the top 20, but it was the epic anthem Shout that put Tears for Fears back on the map.
The album that followed, Songs From The Big Chair would become one of the defining albums of the era. Orzabel, writing with Ian Stanley on several songs and Smith on Head Over Heels, carried across some of the themes from the début album but looked to tinge them with a more adult approach. It also sounded made to crack the States.
Which it did, big time. The lead single over there, Everybody Wants To Rule The World, went to the top of the charts and Shout followed suit. Suddenly, they were one of the biggest bands in the world: Songs would go onto the sell five million in the US and Head Over Heels became the third massive hit from it. Of the eight songs from the album, five were released on a single, which exposes the sets biggest flaw: it's lack of songs. Broken is essentially only a lead into Head Over Heels - sharing as it does a central riff.
More recent re-issues address this by including some excellent b-sides: Pharaohs uses the shipping forecast to create an atmospheric number while When In Love With a Blind Man shares a riff with The Working Hour (from the album proper) but improves it with a sensitive Smith vocal, cutting out the slightly indulgent sax and making it a lot shorter.
After becoming mega-stars beyond their imaginations, Orzabel and Smith did the understandable thing and took an extended break. Sessions for a follow-up eventually started in 1987 but become problematic - recordings with Chris Hughes were scrapped and a new man, Dave Bascombe, was brought in. Ian Stanley and Manny Elias had left the band, though keyboard player Nicky Holland, who played with the band on the Songs tour stayed around to co-write a fair chunk of what would become The Seeds of Love, which finally arrived in September 1989.
It was led on by the single Sowing the Seeds of Love, which threw away the synth aspects that had made their name in favour of a Beatles-esque approach that Lennon and McCartney themselves would have proud to write. Making lyrical jabs at Margaret Thatcher ("Politician granny with your high ideals, have you any idea how the majority feels?") and, strangely, Paul Weller ("Kick out the Style, bring back the Jam!"), it was a huge hit both sides of the Atlantic.
But the album failed to build on this. There was too much self-indulgence (not surprising from a band cooped up in the studio for so long with access to a huge budget) on songs like Year Of The Knife and not enough strong tunes. Woman In Chains was saved from dodgy production by the presence of American singer Oleta Adams, who the duo had seen in the bar of their hotel while on tour. On the back of this profile-boosting, she went on to have a few hits in the early 90s. But the album did have one other major ace: Famous Last Words was a touching closing song, a cheery tale of a couple facing the end of the world. It sounded great and Orzabel has rarely sound better.
Bigger problems were afoot, however. Curt Smith wasn't happy and tensions between him and Roland Orzabel were getting serious: perhaps understandably, as the two had been in bands together for over ten years. Smith may also have been aggrieved at his role in the band - while he sung half the songs on The Hurting (including all the hits), by The Seeds of Love he only had lead on one song.
With the album somewhat of a failure in context (it still went Platinum in the States, but only produced one big hit single), tensions may have come to a head faster than might have otherwise. By 1991, Smith had quit and Orzabel decided to keep the name for his future work, perhaps reasoning that he was singing the vast majority of the band's new songs anyways. Signalling a new rockier direction, Laid So Low (Tears Roll Down) got the band back in the top 20, promoting the Tears Roll Down (Greatest Hits 82-92) compilation that was a big hit at home and in Europe.
While Smith moved to New York for work on a solo album he hated, then with his band Mayfield (bad pun alert), Orzabel brought out the albums Elemental and Raoul and the Kings of Spain to diminishing commercial returns, though the lead single from the former album, Break It Down Again provided a last hit single, and a worthwhile one at that. For the main part, however, the songs were hampered by some stodgy AOR production.
All of which seemed to be the end of that. Orzabel dropped the name and produced some weird experimental electro album in an attempt to get away from lyric-heavy music, Smith moved out to LA and kept doing his thing. Negative feelings towards each other - which may have been understandable given they'd been together since they were teenagers - dripped away with time and distance. By the start of the next decade, the two began talking and plans were put afoot to maybe work again.
Around the same, by pure coincidence, their stock rose to it's highest point since the mid 80s when the film Donnie Darko used Head Over Heels and a cover of Mad World on the soundtrack. The latter, by Michael Andrews and Gary Jules, ended up being an unlikely #1 single in the UK.
At the same time, Tears for Fears, working with Smith's writing partner Charlton Pettus, was slowly crafting away. Writing for the first time largely as a unit, songs came together and following some messing around with labels, Everybody Loves a Happy Ending came out in 2004.
Surprisingly, or not, the "comeback" album turned out to be the best thing they'd ever made. Taking Sowing the Seeds of Love as a starting point of sorts, it had plenty of Beatles-tinged pop like the title track and Closest Thing to Heaven - though Who Killed Tangerine? has the biggest (and best) Hey Jude style singalong outro you could wish to hear.
There was also Big Star-tinged power pop on Call Me Mellow, 70s soul smoothness on Last Days On Earth and all round epics like Secret World. Working with Smith again seemed to shed Orzabel of his more indulgent tendencies, as well as given him a strong voice to harmonise with.
Sadly, it didn't enjoy the chart success it deserved, failing to crack the top 40 on the US or UK. A crime. If you have a love of beautifully written pop music, you should go and buy it now. Really.
Since then, the duo have sporadically played gigs around the world, but are yet to bring out another album, perhaps feeling there's a lack of interest from the public. A shame if so - one of the best groups of their time deserve a better legacy and a proper critical re-evaluation.
Smith (bass/vocals) made up half the band along with Roland Orzabel (vocals/guitar) - both had grown up in Bath, children of separated parents, a factor which would influence Orzabel's songwriting in the future. Initially, they played in mod-revival band Graduate, scoring a hit in Spain with Elvis Should Play Ska, that being Costello rather than Presley. It wasn't happening on the home front, though, and the duo fronting the band weren't happy with band dynamics getting in the way of their ideas.
Therefore, they quit and formed Tears for Fears to ensure the direction lay entirely with them, and idea made a lot easier by technological advancements such as drum machines, synths and sequencers allowing them to dispense with having other people involved, though local musicians drummer Manny Elias and keyboardist Ian Stanley would soon be recruited, existing somewhere between being in the band (their names were listed as so on albums) and sidemen (Smith and Orzabel would do most of the interviews and photo-shoots).
Taking a name from Arthur Janov idea of 'Primal Scream' therapy set a tone of where the songs were going: their debut single in November 1981 was titled Suffer the Children, though the lyrical tone was helped along by a strong pop tune. It went nowhere in the charts, though, and the same fate befell Pale Shelter a few months later.
Luckily, just when it may have been looking grim, third single Mad World cracked the charts and made it up to #3, either helped or not by a video that saw Orzabel do a strange dance that brings to mind a more angular Ian Curtis. Despite it's pop verse/chorus structure, it's hookline of "the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had" still made them strange pop stars, though Smith's good looks doubtless helped get them in the pages of Smash Hits.
With the band now up and running, their debut album The Hurting went to the top of the British album charts. It's not a set with many laughs, hence the title, but it's a great listen, especially if you're an angst-ridden 17 year old, as I was when I first heard it. I imagine it sold well with teenagers who would have been listening to Joy Division four years earlier: indeed, the closing Start of the Breakdown uses mental illness as a theme in the same way Ian Curtis did on Closer.
Change and a re-recorded Pale Shelter both went into the top five of the singles chart, making the band one of the biggest in the country at the time.The album and Change also both made #73 in the US top 100 charts, further adding pressure to build on these successes with the next album.
Initially, the signs weren't good. A stand-alone single The Way You Are stalled at #24 in the UK: an attempt at repeating a formula that had worked so far, it's weird rhythms and weak lyrics weren't likely to make for a big hit. Doubtless it was this relative failure that led to the subsequent changes that 1984/85 would bring.
Working again with producer Chris Hughes, the band looked to create a huge, commercial sound. The hard funk-tinged Mothers Talk snuck them back into the top 20, but it was the epic anthem Shout that put Tears for Fears back on the map.
The album that followed, Songs From The Big Chair would become one of the defining albums of the era. Orzabel, writing with Ian Stanley on several songs and Smith on Head Over Heels, carried across some of the themes from the début album but looked to tinge them with a more adult approach. It also sounded made to crack the States.
Which it did, big time. The lead single over there, Everybody Wants To Rule The World, went to the top of the charts and Shout followed suit. Suddenly, they were one of the biggest bands in the world: Songs would go onto the sell five million in the US and Head Over Heels became the third massive hit from it. Of the eight songs from the album, five were released on a single, which exposes the sets biggest flaw: it's lack of songs. Broken is essentially only a lead into Head Over Heels - sharing as it does a central riff.
More recent re-issues address this by including some excellent b-sides: Pharaohs uses the shipping forecast to create an atmospheric number while When In Love With a Blind Man shares a riff with The Working Hour (from the album proper) but improves it with a sensitive Smith vocal, cutting out the slightly indulgent sax and making it a lot shorter.
After becoming mega-stars beyond their imaginations, Orzabel and Smith did the understandable thing and took an extended break. Sessions for a follow-up eventually started in 1987 but become problematic - recordings with Chris Hughes were scrapped and a new man, Dave Bascombe, was brought in. Ian Stanley and Manny Elias had left the band, though keyboard player Nicky Holland, who played with the band on the Songs tour stayed around to co-write a fair chunk of what would become The Seeds of Love, which finally arrived in September 1989.
It was led on by the single Sowing the Seeds of Love, which threw away the synth aspects that had made their name in favour of a Beatles-esque approach that Lennon and McCartney themselves would have proud to write. Making lyrical jabs at Margaret Thatcher ("Politician granny with your high ideals, have you any idea how the majority feels?") and, strangely, Paul Weller ("Kick out the Style, bring back the Jam!"), it was a huge hit both sides of the Atlantic.
But the album failed to build on this. There was too much self-indulgence (not surprising from a band cooped up in the studio for so long with access to a huge budget) on songs like Year Of The Knife and not enough strong tunes. Woman In Chains was saved from dodgy production by the presence of American singer Oleta Adams, who the duo had seen in the bar of their hotel while on tour. On the back of this profile-boosting, she went on to have a few hits in the early 90s. But the album did have one other major ace: Famous Last Words was a touching closing song, a cheery tale of a couple facing the end of the world. It sounded great and Orzabel has rarely sound better.
Bigger problems were afoot, however. Curt Smith wasn't happy and tensions between him and Roland Orzabel were getting serious: perhaps understandably, as the two had been in bands together for over ten years. Smith may also have been aggrieved at his role in the band - while he sung half the songs on The Hurting (including all the hits), by The Seeds of Love he only had lead on one song.
With the album somewhat of a failure in context (it still went Platinum in the States, but only produced one big hit single), tensions may have come to a head faster than might have otherwise. By 1991, Smith had quit and Orzabel decided to keep the name for his future work, perhaps reasoning that he was singing the vast majority of the band's new songs anyways. Signalling a new rockier direction, Laid So Low (Tears Roll Down) got the band back in the top 20, promoting the Tears Roll Down (Greatest Hits 82-92) compilation that was a big hit at home and in Europe.
While Smith moved to New York for work on a solo album he hated, then with his band Mayfield (bad pun alert), Orzabel brought out the albums Elemental and Raoul and the Kings of Spain to diminishing commercial returns, though the lead single from the former album, Break It Down Again provided a last hit single, and a worthwhile one at that. For the main part, however, the songs were hampered by some stodgy AOR production.
All of which seemed to be the end of that. Orzabel dropped the name and produced some weird experimental electro album in an attempt to get away from lyric-heavy music, Smith moved out to LA and kept doing his thing. Negative feelings towards each other - which may have been understandable given they'd been together since they were teenagers - dripped away with time and distance. By the start of the next decade, the two began talking and plans were put afoot to maybe work again.
Around the same, by pure coincidence, their stock rose to it's highest point since the mid 80s when the film Donnie Darko used Head Over Heels and a cover of Mad World on the soundtrack. The latter, by Michael Andrews and Gary Jules, ended up being an unlikely #1 single in the UK.
At the same time, Tears for Fears, working with Smith's writing partner Charlton Pettus, was slowly crafting away. Writing for the first time largely as a unit, songs came together and following some messing around with labels, Everybody Loves a Happy Ending came out in 2004.
Surprisingly, or not, the "comeback" album turned out to be the best thing they'd ever made. Taking Sowing the Seeds of Love as a starting point of sorts, it had plenty of Beatles-tinged pop like the title track and Closest Thing to Heaven - though Who Killed Tangerine? has the biggest (and best) Hey Jude style singalong outro you could wish to hear.
There was also Big Star-tinged power pop on Call Me Mellow, 70s soul smoothness on Last Days On Earth and all round epics like Secret World. Working with Smith again seemed to shed Orzabel of his more indulgent tendencies, as well as given him a strong voice to harmonise with.
Sadly, it didn't enjoy the chart success it deserved, failing to crack the top 40 on the US or UK. A crime. If you have a love of beautifully written pop music, you should go and buy it now. Really.
Since then, the duo have sporadically played gigs around the world, but are yet to bring out another album, perhaps feeling there's a lack of interest from the public. A shame if so - one of the best groups of their time deserve a better legacy and a proper critical re-evaluation.
Sunday, 8 July 2012
Brief Encounter
Life can be incredibly random in what it gives you. Quite often it's bad - person gets hit by lightning, for example. But there's also little bits of life-affirming randomness that make you glad to be on this rock.
Today brought one. It begins with me lugging my bag onto the train heading up North from Manchester. I've not booked a ticket, so I just jump on the first carriage that looks like it has some spare seats. I find one and settle down to read a magazine I'd bought to help beat the tedium of travelling. Another Rolling Stones related cover for Mojo, ho-hum.
After a while, I begin checking out my fellow travellers. No screaming kids, thankfully. There's a young Japanese couple, maybe students, who look to be heading on holiday, judging by the amount of baggage they're lugging and that they look fairly excited (therefore not coming back). Suddenly, a blonde haired guy in glasses catches my eye.
"He looks just like Richard Butler," I think. I know he's been in the country, touring with the Psychedelic Furs, but why would he be on this train? I decide he must be some guy who just looks like him. Then I spot the man directly across the aisle.
"He looks just like Tim Butler", I think, this time with a bigger hint of excitement.
See, in my heart I'm always a music fan first. I may play in a band, I've written songs and played on stage, but I was a geek for the whole world before any of that. And as anyone who knows me will tell you, I love the Psychedelic Furs. Ask me to list my top 20 albums, and chances are Talk Talk Talk, Forever Now and Book of Days will be in there, and here's two of the guys responsible sat a few feet from me.
I've met musicians I've had huge respect for in the past, always in a journalist context. This allows me to be professional, prepared and able to keep my fanboy tendencies in check. But this - I'm almost in shock: my hands are shaking before I even get up. I stand up and pretend to be stretching my legs just to get a proper look. I always wondered how people who've had a bit of fame like strangers coming up to them, wanting time and attention. It must get annoying, but at the same time, I might never get a chance like this again. The universe has conspired to put me on the same train, on the same day in the same carriage as two people who have improved my life with their art. So, eventually:
"Sorry for bothering you, but are you Richard and Tim Butler?"
A lot of people have stories of meeting musicians, actors and writers they admire, who turn out to be complete dicks. I'm dreading this happening here.
"Yeah," comes the reply from Richard. But he's smiling and I feel like I'm 15 years old.
"I'm a huge fan," and I offer my hand, which they both shake. I don't even tell them my name, I just babble on for a bit of how I love their work, and tell Tim as a bassist, I really dig his playing. Turns out they're heading North to visit their mother. They ask where I'm from, and I say I'm off to visit my own parents, but I live in Manchester and moved there because there was nothing to do back home.
"So what's in Manchester?" asks Richard.
"Football, gigs, my girlfriend," I reply to which Richard laughs. I mention I'm in a band myself, but we're struggling to find a singer.
"It's usually the drummer," he says, before asking "Why don't you sing?
"I'm a bassist. I prefer standing at the back looking moody."
This makes Tim laugh: "There's an artform to that."
I have to ask whether they're doing another album: turns out Tim has written the music for one, but Richard needs to sort the lyrics out. Here's hoping he gets to work soon.
As Neil Finn said, "one of those times, wish I'd had a camera on me" yet I'm aware that I'm taking up their time from talking to the people they're with. So I shake their hands again and wish them a nice time over in the Dales. When they get off at Oxenholme station, they both bid me farewell, which made me smile like a goon. Naturally, I then pulled my mp3 player out, stuck on Love My Way and wish I had asked Tim Butler to show me the bass part sometime.
Oh, and they're both still handsome devils too.
Today brought one. It begins with me lugging my bag onto the train heading up North from Manchester. I've not booked a ticket, so I just jump on the first carriage that looks like it has some spare seats. I find one and settle down to read a magazine I'd bought to help beat the tedium of travelling. Another Rolling Stones related cover for Mojo, ho-hum.
After a while, I begin checking out my fellow travellers. No screaming kids, thankfully. There's a young Japanese couple, maybe students, who look to be heading on holiday, judging by the amount of baggage they're lugging and that they look fairly excited (therefore not coming back). Suddenly, a blonde haired guy in glasses catches my eye.
"He looks just like Richard Butler," I think. I know he's been in the country, touring with the Psychedelic Furs, but why would he be on this train? I decide he must be some guy who just looks like him. Then I spot the man directly across the aisle.
"He looks just like Tim Butler", I think, this time with a bigger hint of excitement.
See, in my heart I'm always a music fan first. I may play in a band, I've written songs and played on stage, but I was a geek for the whole world before any of that. And as anyone who knows me will tell you, I love the Psychedelic Furs. Ask me to list my top 20 albums, and chances are Talk Talk Talk, Forever Now and Book of Days will be in there, and here's two of the guys responsible sat a few feet from me.
I've met musicians I've had huge respect for in the past, always in a journalist context. This allows me to be professional, prepared and able to keep my fanboy tendencies in check. But this - I'm almost in shock: my hands are shaking before I even get up. I stand up and pretend to be stretching my legs just to get a proper look. I always wondered how people who've had a bit of fame like strangers coming up to them, wanting time and attention. It must get annoying, but at the same time, I might never get a chance like this again. The universe has conspired to put me on the same train, on the same day in the same carriage as two people who have improved my life with their art. So, eventually:
"Sorry for bothering you, but are you Richard and Tim Butler?"
A lot of people have stories of meeting musicians, actors and writers they admire, who turn out to be complete dicks. I'm dreading this happening here.
"Yeah," comes the reply from Richard. But he's smiling and I feel like I'm 15 years old.
"I'm a huge fan," and I offer my hand, which they both shake. I don't even tell them my name, I just babble on for a bit of how I love their work, and tell Tim as a bassist, I really dig his playing. Turns out they're heading North to visit their mother. They ask where I'm from, and I say I'm off to visit my own parents, but I live in Manchester and moved there because there was nothing to do back home.
"So what's in Manchester?" asks Richard.
"Football, gigs, my girlfriend," I reply to which Richard laughs. I mention I'm in a band myself, but we're struggling to find a singer.
"It's usually the drummer," he says, before asking "Why don't you sing?
"I'm a bassist. I prefer standing at the back looking moody."
This makes Tim laugh: "There's an artform to that."
I have to ask whether they're doing another album: turns out Tim has written the music for one, but Richard needs to sort the lyrics out. Here's hoping he gets to work soon.
As Neil Finn said, "one of those times, wish I'd had a camera on me" yet I'm aware that I'm taking up their time from talking to the people they're with. So I shake their hands again and wish them a nice time over in the Dales. When they get off at Oxenholme station, they both bid me farewell, which made me smile like a goon. Naturally, I then pulled my mp3 player out, stuck on Love My Way and wish I had asked Tim Butler to show me the bass part sometime.
Oh, and they're both still handsome devils too.
Tuesday, 3 July 2012
Staying Out For The Summer
With the school holidays set to start soon, I can look forward to six weeks of relative quiet on the bus in the morning. It's the small things that make the work slog a bit more bearable and the relative peace is pleasant before I arrive at the office where I have to bite my tongue when Fifty Shades of poxy Grey is getting raved about.
Perhaps I should read it too, only the extracts I have seen suggest it was written by a 16 year old virgin whose knowledge of sex comes entirely from the letters sections of gentlemen's "rhythm" magazines. Although that's perhaps an insult to many young lads partaking in regular onanism, as I'm sure even that version of me could have made a better go of it. And seriously, you should see the stuff I wrote at 16 - I'd have beaten the Volgons in a bad poetry match anyday, and probably in a bad skin contest too.
Anyways. The prospect of an empty bus led me to think about the worst part of childhood. And it's not having to go to school, which obviously is pretty crap when you're going through it. It's also not having to grow up to see your skin go completely to cock and your voice having to be like Scooby Doo's for a little while.
No. The worst part isn't living through it, it's the hindsight. It's being on that bus at 7.30am on a workday, being thankful it's not full of screaming kids pissing about and then realising that they're probably all still in bed and will have the whole day to themselves. Which is followed by the thought "that was me once".
It's horrific. Whereas we used to have six weeks of summer to enjoy, now we didn't get that in a year. It's a depressing thought to think we won't get that kind of freedom unless we either come into some serious money or make it to retirement. It's easy in such moments to get misty-eyed of such times, out playing football for hours on end on the municipal pitch despite the council have removed the goalposts (why did they do that?) - I think that up to a certain age, maybe around nine or ten, you don't give much if any thought to the future. Perhaps two decades on, I'm idealising that time.
And it's that which brings the sucker punch, the knowledge that there's no going back. Real life, whether it comes aged 16, 18, 21, whatever, hits hard. I remember the first summer after I'd started doing "proper" jobs, looking out of the window into sunny climes, feeling wistful even if it did look out over Oldham.
What can you do? Well, you can be like me and think of those kids running around with their freedom with the thought "yeah, make the most of it, because one day soon you might end up like those poor sods I saw today, dressed like a pizza box standing on the pavement advertising special deals for a certain well-known takeaway franchise". Reality bites, kids.
Perhaps I should read it too, only the extracts I have seen suggest it was written by a 16 year old virgin whose knowledge of sex comes entirely from the letters sections of gentlemen's "rhythm" magazines. Although that's perhaps an insult to many young lads partaking in regular onanism, as I'm sure even that version of me could have made a better go of it. And seriously, you should see the stuff I wrote at 16 - I'd have beaten the Volgons in a bad poetry match anyday, and probably in a bad skin contest too.
Anyways. The prospect of an empty bus led me to think about the worst part of childhood. And it's not having to go to school, which obviously is pretty crap when you're going through it. It's also not having to grow up to see your skin go completely to cock and your voice having to be like Scooby Doo's for a little while.
No. The worst part isn't living through it, it's the hindsight. It's being on that bus at 7.30am on a workday, being thankful it's not full of screaming kids pissing about and then realising that they're probably all still in bed and will have the whole day to themselves. Which is followed by the thought "that was me once".
It's horrific. Whereas we used to have six weeks of summer to enjoy, now we didn't get that in a year. It's a depressing thought to think we won't get that kind of freedom unless we either come into some serious money or make it to retirement. It's easy in such moments to get misty-eyed of such times, out playing football for hours on end on the municipal pitch despite the council have removed the goalposts (why did they do that?) - I think that up to a certain age, maybe around nine or ten, you don't give much if any thought to the future. Perhaps two decades on, I'm idealising that time.
And it's that which brings the sucker punch, the knowledge that there's no going back. Real life, whether it comes aged 16, 18, 21, whatever, hits hard. I remember the first summer after I'd started doing "proper" jobs, looking out of the window into sunny climes, feeling wistful even if it did look out over Oldham.
What can you do? Well, you can be like me and think of those kids running around with their freedom with the thought "yeah, make the most of it, because one day soon you might end up like those poor sods I saw today, dressed like a pizza box standing on the pavement advertising special deals for a certain well-known takeaway franchise". Reality bites, kids.
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