FEATURE: Revisiting… Iraina Mancini – Undo the Blue

FEATURE:

 

 

Revisiting…

 Iraina Mancini – Undo the Blue

_________

PEOPLE know how much I love…

Iraina Mancini’s music! A hugely talented D.J., artist and songwriter, she released her much-anticipated debut album, Undo the Blue, on 18th August. One of the last year’s best albums, I crowned it my favourite of 2023. Mancini, too, was my artist of 2023. Such an amazing and natural talent, I was lucky to get Undo the Blue and hear it early. I was impressed by many things: the breadth and eclectic nature of the sounds and styles Mancini covered; the incredible songwriting and her wide and stunning vocal range. She brought you into every song and truly captured the imagination and heart with every single note! I wondered about some of the love songs and who inspired them. Which vinyl albums in her collection influenced particular numbers. A flawless album that could naturally translate to a short film/visual project from Mancini, I think that Undo the Blue hints at a very long and prosperous music career. As we wait for the second album – new music is planned but, as it is early days, no release date yet for a second album -, enjoy a golden album full of musical bounty and sonic pleasure. Go and get this truly magnificent album:

“Needle Mythology, the label founded by music writer, author and broadcaster Pete Paphides, release the eagerly anticipated debut album by London singer-songwriter and renowned DJ Iraina Mancini. Iraina’s singular pop vision will be known to regular listeners of 6 Music, where her singles ‘Undo The Blue’, ‘Deep End’, ‘Shotgun’ and ‘Do It (You Stole The Rhythm)’ have all been enthusiastically embraced. Iraina's obsession with music stretches back into her early childhood, much of which was spent absorbing her parents’ collection of old 45s, in particular her dad’s Northern Soul records – an alternative education which meant that, by her early 20s, she was a familiar presence in the DJ booth at many discerning London club nights. Her love of French ye-ye, British freakbeat, Brazilian bossa nova, soul, and Turkish psych will be well-known to regular listeners of her Soho Radio show. Having always sung from a young age, Iraina embarked on a string of collaborators such as Jagz Kooner (Sabres Of Paradise), Sunglasses For Jaws (Miles Kane) and Simon Dine (Paul Weller, Noonday Underground) which truly saw her find her metier as a songwriter, conjuring melodies that stand shoulder to shoulder alongside her impeccable influences. Iraina describes her first single for Needle Mythology ‘Cannonball’ as “a celebration of that moment when you meet someone you really fall for and it knocks you for six. It can be a bit scary, but you’ve just got to go with what your intuition is telling you.” Written with Simon Dine, the vertiginous heart-in-mouth abandon of the song perfectly mirrors the circumstances that brought it into being. Iraina cites Jacqueline Taïeb’s 1967 single 7h du Matin as an early inspiration for the song: “There’s such a great energy about that song. Her vocal is amazing and all those stops and starts that grab your attention.” “This is an artist I absolutely love, one of our rising stars at 6Music.“ Lauren Laverne BBC 6Music”.

I will come to some positive reviews for Undo the Blue. Even though stations like BBC Radio 6 Music gave the singles a lot of love, I think that more publications and websites should have reviewed and spotlighted Undo the Blue. I want to start out with some testimony from Needle Mythology. Run by broadcaster, D.J. and author Pete Paphides, he was thrilled to announce a mighty debut from the tremendous London-based Iraina Mancini:

“Please give a warm welcome to Needle Mythology’s latest signing.

Can I tell you about the first proper conversation I had with Iraina Mancini? We’d met three or four times in passing, at Soho Radio, where we both host radio shows. And by the most recent of those occasions, I’d heard her own music, three self-released singles.It says a lot about the quality of those songs and about Iraina’s sheer determination that she managed to get them playlisted on 6 Music *without a plugger*. That’s almost unheard of. But if you listen to Deep End, Undo The Blue and Shotgun, you’ll know why. These are songs that stick to you on first listen the way they did when you were a kid and you couldn’t rest until you’d either taped it off the radio or got the money together to get them from your local record shop.

So, last November, on the most recent of those in-passing conversations, I asked Iraina if there was an album on the way. She told me that half of it had been recorded, and the other half existed in demo form. “Who’s putting it out?” I asked her. That process was ongoing right now; a bit of back-and-forth with a couple of major labels. They were dragging their heels. I sensed a sliver of opportunity.

“I run a small label,” I said. “Would you mind sending me the songs?”

“Sure!” she nodded. That night, ten songs landed in my inbox. Ten individually beautiful songs; but also, thirteen songs which, all together, propelled you into the fully-furnished, flawlessly-curated pop universe of their creator. Every detail just-so.

Iraina and I met a few days later at Maison Bertaux. I told her about the label. I told her that my job, as I saw it, was to just get out of the way and let her finish what she’d started. She told me about her – for want of a better word – method. About the melodies that come to her as far back as she could remember. Fully fully-formed tunes that flow into choruses that pitch up in your brain, kick off their boots and make themselves at home. A lifetime spent obsessing upon pop in all its myriad forms: northern soul; French ye-ye; bubblegum; freakbeat. From the Supremes to Betty Boo – her interior world was like a radio station to which no-one else had access.

When she talked to me about Deep End, she hymned “the scuzzy sound of 60s garage rock”; the atmosphere of early Jacques Dutronc records, and the adrenalised harmonies of The Shangri-Las. For Undo The Blue (the song), she talked about creating something that might make people feel something of what she felt the first time she heard the luxuriant psych-soul of Rotary Connection.

We also talked about Jacqueline Taïeb, Margo Guryan and Astrud Gilberto. When Iraina stepped up to the mic to sing Sugar High, she asked herself, “How does it make you feel when Julie London and Dusty Springfield sing about love?” If you want to know what the answer is, listen to Sugar High.

During the course of that conversation, I sent myself a dozen texts – reminders of records she’d mentioned that had in some way established the sonic mood board of Undo The Blue. I had a lot of homework to do. But when I heard them all, no single album managed to resound with quite the iridescent joie de vivre that pours forth from these songs. That’s 100% Iraina.

When pop is done with this sort of full-pelt brio and impeccable taste, what you end up with is an album that will repeatedly remind you why you fell in love with this supposedly ephemeral art form in the first place.

And that’s why everyone who has worked with Iraina on Undo The Blue – Will Harris , Mark Wood , Craig Caukill, Julian Stockton, Martin Kelly, Rupert Orton, James Gosling, Erol Alkan,  Mig and everyone at Cool Badge – is thrilled to have been part of this adventure.

I had a few ambitions when we started this label, but one of the big ones was to put out at least one genius Platonic-ideal-of-pop album. The sort of record just as good on a sunny Saturday morning when you’re doing the dishes as it does when you’re getting ready to go on a night out with your friends. This is all of that and so much more”.

An artist impossibly cool and wonderful – I am predicting she will play Glastonbury and many other big festivals this year -, I feel she is worthy of a big interview with the likes of The Guardian, Rolling Stone, or even U.S. publications like The New Yorker. I feel that her music could translate to the U.S. easily. Maybe there is not a big budget to tour international, though I can imagine Mancini rocking Los Angeles and New York audiences. Paris seems like a natural haven and home for her music. She toured through the U.K. last year, yet I can feel American attention coming her way soon. In addition to her amazing Soho Radio show, Mancini also does D.J. work at a variety of events and locations. She is someone I can also see having an acting career and being on the small screen soon. Last year, House Collective spoke with Iraina Mancini about her route into music:

“The sublime retro chanteuse Iraina Mancini is a singer-songwriter whose star has been in the ascendent since the mid-pandemic release of her first single “Shotgun” - a delectable slice of francophile summer-of-love-inspired pop that has been championed by the likes of Jo Wiley and Lauren Laverne, becoming a firm favourite on the BBC Radio 6 playlist. Effortlessly channelling the style of the yé-yé’ girls of the 60s, it's fair to say that Mancini has a somewhat encyclopaedic knowledge of every element of her craft, having DJ’d rare northern soul and funk sets at festivals all over the world as one-half of the disc-spinning Smoking Guns, and via hosting her own weekly radio show on Soho Radio. And she is a musician with strong pedigree, being the daughter of the singer, dancer and composer Warren Peace, who worked extensively with the legendary David Bowie throughout the 70s, among many others. Culture Collective caught up with the soul songstress to talk about the new single from her forthcoming debut album "Undo The Blue", and to get the lowdown on manifesting your dreams as reality.

What set you out on the path to be a musician?

I grew up in a very creative household, my mother was a photographer and my father was a music producer, so I was surrounded by the importance of expressing yourself through art as a kid, whether it was watching my mum develop film in dark rooms or sitting in on music sessions at my dad’s studio. My dad used to sing with David Bowie back in the day, from Aladdin Sane through to Station to Station, so I used to listen to old tapes and watch videos of him on stage – all of that had a huge impact on my life. My love of singing started at a super young age – I used to do vocals for dad in the studio when he had an advert or film to write for, so, even at the age of four, I was singing on a song he wrote for an Italian clothing brand, hilarious! I also had a music teacher at school that really believed in me. I used to write songs, and he used to push me to sing them in church in front of the whole school. When people started to ask for copies of the songs afterwards, I knew that perhaps I was okay!

Why is musical expression important to you?

If I have gone though a bad patch, I tend to need a way to vent those feelings, and emotion and tension can be expressed so beautifully through melodies and harmonies. I have always had a crazy love affair with music, though. There have been times when I have had long breaks from writing, then, all of a sudden I will get a creative burst and won’t be able to stop. It was actually during the pandemic when my music seemed to take off the most, which was interesting. I really had time to focus on it. I released my first single ‘Shotgun’, and that did really well – it got picked up by lot of radio stations and was playlisted on BBC Radio 6, so that was kind of when I thought, oh, okay, hold on, this is kind of working. Then I really buckled down, and, as with all things in life, when you really focus on something, it kind of works out.

PHOTO CREDIT: Kirk Truman

How would you describe your music?

I would describe it as psychedelic pop. I am very inspired by the 60s and French singers, I love the style of that era. I discovered the album Melody Nelson by Serge Gainsbourg in my 20s and I just fell absolutely in love. I love all the music Serge made. I love the grooves. I love all the girls who he picked to be on the records. I mean, probably chosen because he liked pretty women as well, right? But I don't know – that's one of those things, isn't it? (Laughs) I mean, he was obviously a bit of a player, let's say, but I'm not particularly interested in that side of him, more just the music he made. I think he was a bit of a genius. Nowadays, of course, it's as much about the personality and the way that they choose to live, as well as their art, which can cause problems. I think pre-social media you could actually have some mystique.

What are the key themes on the album?

A lot of it's about a fresh start and letting go of stuff. I had a big relationship end, and I went through a period of self-reflection, and started kind of questioning what was going on inside? I kind of started again, and built myself up again – I did so much work on myself. I really felt like a brand new person afterwards. So, a lot of my songs like “Undo The Blue”, which, which is my latest single, is all about that thing of starting again and undoing the negative. I do find it it's really odd when I write, though. It's like kind of a button I push and it just all comes out – sometimes I don’t know what I'm going to write about at all, I'll just write, and then I'll read the page and it kind of tells me what I'm feeling, and I'll go, oh yeah, that is what's going on in my head”.

Undo the Blue, in my view, is a modern classic. It does nod heavily to classic and older sounds, though it sounds so modern and fresh because of the production and songwriting. It was a shame that this year-best album was not featured by bigger publications. As a result, some people have not heard Undo the Blue. The Afterword were among those to recognised the sublime brilliance and majesty of a phenomenal debut album:

“The first song Deep End has an incredible brass intro and becomes a driving, breathless opener in the style of Republica’s Ready To Go. It certainly got me interested. Iraina gives us a 90s vocal masterclass. Intense and dramatic. OK, I’m in.

Cannonball is more of the same putting me in mind of Garbage this time. I suspected this was where Iraina’s influence lies before I found out more about her. It’s an era that almost passed this 80s boy by but this song has that voice, guitars, organ, passion and plenty of hooks to drag me along.

Sugar High is a lovely shift in styles. Jazzy and dreamy. Iraina’s voice sounds amazing and my crazy brain is getting Olivia Newton John pre-Grease during the chorus. Imagine Olivia doing a Style Council or Blow Monkeys song and we’re there. The string arrangement is exquisite. This is absolutely lovely.

The title track is another smooth delicious piece of pop. I’m going back to Dusty now or Lenny Kravitz doing It Ain’t Over. In fact, such is the range displayed here there it goes from those unlikely sisters Swing Out and Shakespears. It has a fabulous crescendo moment, harmonies and swoon. Some song this.

Do It (You Stole The Rhythm) and we’re back in the 90s with a baggy rhythmed slightly underwhelming song only elevated by Iraina’s voice. Maybe it’s a grower, a slow burner lost in an inferno.

My Umbrella has more than enough hooks for any one song. It’s the Astrud Gilberto moment. Even my old hips are moving (in their own time but moving none the less). I need a hot day, a fast car and an open road to seal the deal on this song. Ooh it’s very good.

Shotgun could be the theme to a smart 60s / 70s detective thriller. It’s no Shaft but it has that smokey late, hot New York night vibe. If Netflix don’t start developing Shotgun on the back of this then they’re not really trying. If Regé-Jean Page doesn’t get Bond somebody send him this song.

What You Doin’? Annoys me in a good way. I’m failing because there’s a 70s glam song in there that wants its groove back and I can’t bloody get what song it is. Suzi Quatro maybe? Showaddwaddy? Can someone help? I am also afraid that What You Doin’? the monster earworrm it is will be rattling round my head at 2 am denying me sleep. Especially if I can’t find what it reminds me of.

Need Your Love is, surprise surprise, a love song with a feel of a Bond theme. A great showcase for Iraina’s vocal range but doesn’t really get going until a lovely spoken section. I will grow to love it I’m sure. Just needs more listens.

In a flash we are at the last song Take A Bow. Come on Iraina let’s finish on a high. She goes back to the 60s again. Join her and float on a gorgeous ride through the great chanteuse of our time. Pick out the voice of your choice it’s in there somewhere. Take A Bow Indeed.

What does it all *mean*?

I’d seen so much about this album on Twitter that it had become like white noise. I came to it with quite a bit of negativity. Come on then, prove you’ve worth all the fuss. I should have trusted Pete. This is something very special that I wouldn’t have listened to without the relentless plugging. Maybe this is the album that will prove to me that despite me being so entrenched musically there is other stuff out there for me. New stuff. You know that special place you always wanted to go but just couldn’t bring yourself to Dave? It’s right here now go and find some more. Cheers Pete. And Iraina obviously.

Goes well with…

Anything really. It’s the sort of album you could put on anywhere and it will lift yours and the mood of anyone listening. Dare I mention Sade here?”.

Undo the Blue was my favourite album of last year for a reason: every song is unique and has you completely gripped. Pete Paphides said Undo the Blue is an album with only singles on it. All the classic albums feel like every song could do well in the charts. That is the case with Undo the Blue. I am not sure whether Iraina Mancini is tempted to release one more single from the album – I know many would love to see a video for the stunning album closer, Take a Bow -, though I guess moving on and creating the blueprints for the second album are in her mind. Seriously, if you have not heard the wonderous and unforgettable Undo the Blue, then go get the vinyl, drop the needle and let it…

TAKE you somewhere blissful!

FEATURE: Spotlight: Maya Hawke

FEATURE:

 

 

Spotlight

Maya Hawke

_________

THERE are artists who…

PHOTO CREDIT: Heather Hazzan for Variety

are accused of being nepo babies or industries plants. That they are there because of their parents’ fame and influence. Maybe the industry has funded them and put money their way meaning they can get a head start. A cynical move to make a group or artist seem new and independent, when it fact they are already signed and getting support. This is something that is levied against quite a few different artists. The Last Dinner Party were accused of being industry plants. Even though her parents are actors Ethan Hawke and Uma Thurman, Maya Hawke is definitely not a nepo baby. Not having to rely on that link to her famed parents to get noticed in music. She is a genuine and talented artist who would have got in the industry regardless. Music has always been her passion. The New York-born actor and artist released her second studio album, Moss, in 2022. She is set to release Chaos Angel in May. I will come to some interview with Hawke. A couple of from last year/2022 and one that is very recent. An artist that people should know about and follow, I am excited to see where she takes her music career. I really love Moss, so I am excited to see what Chaos Angel offers. Here are more details about it:

“Maya Hawke is a musician, songwriter, actor and producer - She has released two lauded albums of music to date, Moss (2022) and Blush (2020), both of which showcase her natural gift for songwriting and storytelling, as well as a knack for striking visual presentation with sleeve designs of her own creation - "Therese," the lead single from Moss, garnered global attention with its mesmerizing Brady Corbet-directed video - and tens of millions of streams - and saw Maya make an impressive network TV performance debut on the Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon.

Now 25 years old, Maya's third album, Chaos Angel, takes the spare, viscerally honest songwriting she has made her name on and goes deeper and bolder. Both her most sonically sophisticated and thematically nuanced collection to date, it feels like a culmination. Across these 10 songs, Hawke catalogues upheavals, revelations, foibles, and broken promises, all while navigating the patterns we repeat while reaching towards growth, wandering astray, and finding our way back to some core understanding of ourselves.

Chaos Angel is also a document of Hawke coming more fully into her own as a musician. More adventurous in the studio after her previous two albums, Hawke leaned into her ambition. Many of these tracks are still anchored by acoustic guitar and Hawke's graceful yet conversational vocals, but their surroundings are more intricate and lush than ever before. She reconvened with longtime collaborators Benjamin Lazar Davis and Will Graefe, with Christian Lee Hutson serving as producer”.

I want to start out with a feature from The Line of Best Fit. They spoke with Maya Hawke in 2022 and asked her about some of her favourite songs. Those most important to her. I have chosen a few from the selection. Useful and interesting tracing some of the origins and influences in her music:

“The 24-year-old daughter of Uma Thurman and Ethan Hawke is an actor with chameleonic instinct, capable of channelling a certain charisma through a lens of vulnerability that belies her years.

She is Robin Buckley in Stranger Things, wry and whip-smart on the surface, but untangling the complexities of her sexuality beneath; she is ‘Flowerchild’, Linda Kasabian in Manson’s California in Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time in Hollywood; she is Jo March in Vanessa Caswill's Little Women, fiery and outspoken - and most recently, she is Eleanor Levetan, an inciter of chaos in the pastel-kissed world of Do Revenge. She is certainly more than a familiar surname.

Hawke’s mind whirrs at a pace that her words have no hope to match – though she is naturally observant, more prone to introspection and quiet pauses of thoughtfulness than her enthusiastic fizz would have you believe. Though the uninitiated may cynically assume that Hawke’s success was pre-ordained through pulled strings, the fact remains that this would soon fizzle were it not sustained by her talent. That, and a devotion to her craft; a sense of humility, of knowing that she is still, and always hopes to be, a student.

As Hawke’s career has gained momentum, she has become a figure of fascination – a ‘Someone’ with a capital S whose life, beyond her work, is deemed worthy of dissection. Reflecting on putting together her Nine Songs, she tells me, “I love doing this kind of thing. Any opportunity to talk about anything without having to talk too much about, like, ‘what you’re wearing’,” she laughs. “It’s nice to have these jumping off points that feel creative and connected to why you wanted to make art in the first place. It’s my privilege,” she adds, “So thank you.”

I catch Hawke at an interesting moment in her life. Everything is about to happen, and right now, she is standing on the edge of it all. Next year, Hawke is set to star in Bradley Cooper’s biographical film about Leonard Bernstein, Maestro, and Wes Anderson’s upcoming romantic dramedy, Asteroid City. “I’m in a beautiful moment of giving away a lot of hard work from the last two years of my life, and closing a chapter,” she tells me. “It’s so nice to give these things away to the world and share them.”

Among these gifts Hawke is leaving with us is her second record, Moss, following the release of her critically acclaimed 2020 debut, Blush. Many described Blush as a “coming-of-age record”, but that’s a chapter that Hawke still feels is being written. “We’re always coming of age to a new place until we die,” she observes. “We’re always changing and evolving. Moss is just as much a coming-of-age record – it’s just coming into a different moment.”

It feels apt, given Hawke’s gift for evocative imagery in her lyrics, that she would say: “You know when you’re playing tarot cards and you draw a death card, and tarot card readers say, ‘Don’t worry, it’s a great card?’ – well that’s how I feel about this record. It was a death card draw. It’s a good death, it’s a great death: a death that will lead to something new.”

Hawke assembled her Nine Songs choices based on retracing her steps. Each crystallises a moment in time from which there was no turning back; without these songs, we wouldn’t know the same person Hawke came to be. Her greatest enthusiasm, however, is reserved for an unexpected corner of music – one which she feels she could make a dozen playlists for, in itself: children’s music.

One of her earliest memories was listening to the likes of Woodie Guthrie’s Songs to Grow on for Mother and Child in the car. And when you listen to Hawke’s music now, that same luminosity, the finely-spun blend of rich, but simplistic language and sharp imagery, is common to both.

“The best children’s music is interesting to listen to, even as an adult, and that’s because it’s good storytelling,” she explains, having written her senior thesis in high school on the genre’s evolution. “It’s an interesting lesson in songwriting. The message is very clear, but if you go back and listen, there’s something powerful, moving and mysterious that lies beneath.”

“Extraordinary Machine” by Fiona Apple

I wanted to start with “Extraordinary Machine” because It's one of the first songs that was put on for me by my parents in the house that wasn't older music - that wasn't Elvis, and Johnny and Willie. This was a new voice. It felt confident. And feminine. And modern. It was rich and lyrically complex.

I was probably eight or nine years old. I was in my dad's house in Chelsea, and I was like, ‘What is this? Because I want to be an extraordinary machine! I want my brain to work that way.’ I certainly hadn’t been shopping for any news shoes; I hadn’t been spreading myself around. I was like, ‘What are those things? What do they mean?’

It made me want to write down all the words and dissect them, to figure out what the lyrics meant. There’s a lyric about being the youngest sibling; there’s a lyric about being a chaperone while wearing sheep’s clothes. I remember it turning my brain on in a big way. There was this voice in it - and I would really say ‘brain’ - inside that made me be like, ‘Who is that person, and how do I turn out like that?’

“Vincent” by Don McLean

This is more my mom’s influence, It’s another on the chapter of sadness with “Radio Cure”, but I was a little bit older. There’s this genre of music in my head that I know means something to some people, and that I know means something to me – and I don’t even really know if it’s true for this song or not – but I call it an ‘upstate feel’.

My mom had this beautiful, kind of ramshackle cottage out at the end of a long, winding road in Upstate New York. There’s something about “Vincent” that really evokes those long drives up that winding road. I’ve been revisiting this song a lot recently – it recalls this sense of being alone in nature.

It’s also ekphrastic, just like my own song, “Thérèse”. This is a song about Vincent van Gogh’s Starry Night in many ways, and I wrote “Thérèse” about Thérèse Dreaming by Balthus. I think I was really influenced by the art of other people, so it’s a combination of those two things. One is that detail of the connective tissue to “Thérèse” and the way in which I’ve been inspired by stealing. I feel that stealing is an artist’s greatest tool, like being a thought thief who runs around finding things that inspire you and make you want to make art.

My favourite movies to watch are movies that make me want to write movies. My favourite music to listen to is music that makes me want to write music. It feels very natural to me: I’m lying on the grass, looking up at the sky and having this melancholy feeling of wanting the people you love to be safe.

BEST FIT: There are so many interesting elements to this song. I had no idea that Don McLean had written the lyrics on a paper bag that sold at auction for $1.5 million, or that this was played when Tupac was taken to hospital after he had been shot.

That’s so beautiful and fascinating. It sounds like a song I’d want to hear in the hospital. It’s comfortable with sadness, and I feel that way about this song and “Radio Cure”. Sometimes, there’s a certain kind of sadness that sets in where you want to escape it – and sometimes you just want permission to feel it. This song gives you that permission, I think.

“Hard Drive” by Evan Dando

This song became really important to me when I left drama school, I was living by myself in Brooklyn and trying to figure out who I was going to be as an adult. You break out of your youth - you have the “Fluorescent Adolescent” roar that comes with older adolescence, and then there’s this moment where you wonder who you are, what it all means, where it’s all going to go and how you want to be loved.

There’s a need to make space for yourself as a person in this world, and the lyrics of this song: “This is the town I’m living in / This is the street I’m walking down”; “This is the girl I’m marrying”, and “This is the face I make when I’m sad” – it was this sense of self-acceptance and self-actualisation in the world; claiming things as your own. Whether they’re big or small, good or bad, they’re yours. That always felt good to me.

The lyrics are so simple, but they kick me in my heart when I hear them. We’re just these big bundles of love and grief and we’re always changing. Sometimes I can be ecstatically happy and sometimes I can be so down. But I think figuring out how to accept yourself as a bundle of feelings is so powerful.

Moving from adolescence to adulthood is about coming to the realisation that even if you’re sad, you will be happy again; if you’re happy, you will be sad again – you can’t have one thing without the other.

A debate that applies to her music career as well as acting, the subject of being a nepo baby arose when Variety spoke with Maya and Ethan Hawke about them acting together. Rather than it being a case of Maya Hawke getting into acting because she has actor parents, she is a natural talent who found her path and forged success on her own terms:

“It’s a testament to her effortless, cool vibe that Maya can make a wonky thesis about a long-dead short-story writer seem like a great idea for a movie. She successfully pitched the passion project to her dad’s production company, Under the Influence; she felt that Ethan’s recent work as a producer and director of “The Good Lord Bird,” an offbeat look at abolitionist John Brown, as well as the Blaze Foley biopic “Blaze,” shared themes with O’Connor’s life story. Also, she admits, “I don’t know anyone else that interested in art, faith and America.”

Ethan was flattered that Maya thought of him. He was approaching 50 at the time and had his own reasons for taking on the film, beyond the chance to create art with his daughter. He envisioned the movie about O’Connor, a deeply religious Catholic, as a way to answer an ever-nagging question: Is human creativity an act of faith?

It would be easy to dismiss the Hawkes’ collaboration as an example of nepotism in an industry where who you know is more important than how talented you are. And both father and daughter are sensitive to the way that sort of thing can be characterized in today’s world. But Ethan reiterates that “Wildcat” was all Maya’s idea.

“Put simply, I’m a nepo dad!” Ethan jokes. “And I’m not embarrassed about it.” The look on Maya’s face suggests she’s instantly concerned about how that declaration will resonate.

She’s not wrong. The conversation about nepo babies — the children of celebrities and the advantages they enjoy — has been a recent obsession of the internet. When Anjelica and John Huston collaborated on “Prizzi’s Honors,” they didn’t have to endure the wrath of Twitter. In a time when simply pursuing the same career as your famous relatives is enough to provoke outrage, starring in a movie directed by your father is basically a declaration of war.

“I had moments of insecurity about it while we were shooting the movie,” admits Maya, who was also a producer. ”But the internet doesn’t have a lot of nuances. My dad has been a massive teacher for me, and we want to work together. We like being with each other”.

PHOTO CREDIT: Josefina Santos

I will finish off with a new interview from The Guardian. Forging her way with a daring new Folk album, there will be a lot of eyes on Chaos Angel. In the interview, Maya Hawke spoke about her acting career and shaking off those ‘nepo baby’ tags. She also discussed her upbringing and path into music:

“I think you probably can tell that I love this work and I’m so grateful to be getting to do it,” she adds. “I can believe anything I want to believe about me having found a way to be an artist even if I’d been adopted. But I don’t know – I’m so grateful for the world I grew up around, for the New York City theatre scene I was raised in, getting to go see plays and sit backstage, and to know about great directors and how I wanted to be.”

She says her upbringing was “rooted in poetry, and a constant conversation about what it means to make art”. Yesterday, Hawke received a phone call from her father “philosophising” about art and life. “It [was] about responding to when things get positive attention that are not your favourite things you’ve ever done, and your favourite things don’t get that much attention,” she says. “How do you not follow the bad wolf that leads you towards being likable? How do you stay true to yourself?”

PHOTO CREDIT: Josefina Santos

An individualistic streak surges through Chaos Angel, where the poetry of 70s folk rock is orbited by modern sounds – a vocodered sea shanty here, impudent brass toots there and an occasional beat switch that suggests the entire mixing desk has been plunged underwater. The record is produced by frequent Phoebe Bridgers collaborator Christian Lee Hutson, who is also Hawke’s boyfriend. Did they get together while making the record? “Not exactly,” she says. “It’s not a secret, but I think it’s a very odd thing about modern pop culture that people that have been dating for two weeks talk about their relationship to the public. It’s a bit unhinged.”

Chaos Angel is a little off the rails itself with its spectrum of sounds enlivened by a performer’s knack for personae. During recording sessions, Hawke tried her hand at different characters, like “whispery depressive” and “pop maniac”. A song titled Okay is a quietly devastating exploration of codependency inspired by Cassavetes’ A Woman Under the Influence. At other times, Hawke’s airy, sure voice needs little else: the opener, Black Ice, recalls the hushed longing of cult songwriters such as Linda Perhacs or Kath Bloom. Talking about her new music gets her fired up. “I’m more excited to put this record out than I’ve been about anything in my life,” Hawke says decisively. “I think you have to narrow down your audience as a creative. If you’re trying to make art for everybody, you’re gonna make bad, neutral art.”

Growing up in New York, Hawke lived between her parents’ New York homes after they split when she was five. While her mother listened to pop radio in the car, her father’s CD collection was packed with Willie Nelson, Wilco and Patti Smith. It wasn’t uncommon for dad and daughter to write poetry, paint and play guitar together well into the night. Still, she was a kid growing up in the 00s. At nine, she saw her first concert. “Hannah Montana meets Miley Cyrus,” Hawke recalls. “She did half the show in the blond wig and half without”

An amazing young artist who should be on everyone’s radar, take out of the equation the fact that she is well-known because of her acting career. Music is definitely a big focus and passion. Maya Hawke is a phenomenal artist that is going to have a long career in music. Such a wonderful talent with a distinct voice and songwriting style, you need to go and pre-order Chaos Angel. This is an artist who is…

AMONG the very best out there.

FEATURE: Pretty/Unpretty: TLC’s FanMail at Twenty-Five

FEATURE:

 

 

Pretty/Unpretty

TLC’s FanMail at Twenty-Five

_________

ONE of the best albums…

IN THIS PHOTO: Rozonda ‘Chilli’ Thomas, Tionne ‘T-Boz’ Watkins and Lisa ‘Left Eye’ Lopes of TLC at the 1999 Video Music Awards/PHOTO CREDIT: Jeff Kravitz/FilmMagic

of the late-1990s, TLC’s FanMail was released on 23rd February, 1999. The title, it is said, relates to the fan mail that the trio were sent during their hiatus. Five years after the iconic CrazySexyCool, we got the magnificent FanMail. It debuted at number one on the US Billboard 200, selling 318,000 copies in its first week of release. It was at number one for five weeks. I am going to get to features and reviews of the album. It is an album I remember buying and loving. Songs like No Scrubs and Unpretty were pivotal and adored by me and my friends. In the final year of high school, we got this incredible album from Tionne ‘T-Boz’ Watkins, Rozonda ‘Chilli’ Thomas and Lisa ‘Left Eye’ Lopes. FanMail received eight nominations at the GRAMMY Awards, including Album of the Year. It won three. It was the group's final album released in Lisa "Left Eye" Lopes' lifetime. She tragically died in 2002; killed in a car crash prior to the release of their fourth studio album, 3D (2002). There are a few features that I need to get to. I will end with a review from NME from 1994. There are many reasons why FanMail is legendary. I will start with a 2019 article from Albumism. They spotlighted and celebrated FanMail on its twentieth anniversary:

“There may have never been an album that marked the beginning of a new musical era as succinctly as TLC’s FanMail. After a four-and-a-half year lay-off, America’s craziest, sexiest, coolest, and most successful R&B group helped craft a new blueprint for how to aurally captivate, visually dazzle, and personally engage millions with a groundbreaking LP.

The dynamic trio of Tionne “T-Boz” Watkins, Lisa “Left-Eye” Lopes, and Rozonda “Chilli” Thomas who were originally fused and later nurtured under the warmth of the Peach State, fostered an unprecedented string of hits and albums sales with their first two long players, Ooooooohhh...On the TLC Tip (1992) and CrazySexyCool (1994). Released as the fourth and final single from the multi-platinum latter album in late 1995, “Diggin’ On You” extended the hot streak for TLC as their seventh top 10 single.

Maximizing their time during their hiatus to strategically select songs that spoke directly to TLC’s maturity, the ladies turned down several songs that proved to be hits for younger recording artists looking to establish themselves. “Where My Girls At?” was passed on to fellow trio 702 as the lead single for their self-titled sophomore LP, which was released later in 1999.  Likewise, “...Baby One More Time” was later used to launch the career of teenage pop sensation Britney Spears for her 1999 debut LP of the same name. Once TLC was finally primed for their third installment, their lead single was as edgy, empowering, and irresistible as any highlight of their acclaimed catalog to date.

Produced by Kevin “She’kspere” Briggs, who also co-wrote the song alongside Xscape members Kandi Burruss and Tameka “Tiny” Cottle, “No Scrubs” propelled TLC toward an even bolder and more unapologetic voice of womanhood. The song’s contentious lyrics led by Chilli shot down some notoriously clichéd pickup lines of the latter half of the 20th Century with hardline rejections like “no, I don't want your number / no, I don't want to give you mine / and no, I don't want to meet you nowhere / no, I don't want none of your time.”

Once T-Boz joined in for the chorus, young women instantly had an anthem to memorize, and guys over 18 who still claimed dibs on the shotgun seat were enflamed by the not-so-subtle jabs at their so-called masculinity. “I don't want no scrubs / a scrub is a guy that can't get no love from me / hangin' out the passenger side of his best friend's ride / trying to holla at me.”

Left Eye, who had always been the major creative force behind the group’s success, contributed to “No Scrubs” by providing a brilliant verse that transitioned smoothly from a spoken word poetry style intro into the hip-hop lyrics “So, let me give you something to think about / inundate your mind with intentions to turn you out / can't forget the focus on the picture in front of me / you as clear as DVD on digital TV screens / satisfy my appetite with something spectacular / check your vernacular, and then I get back to ya.”

The overall performance showed substantial artistic growth for a group that had already scored number one hit singles and achieved multi-platinum status. Aside from stirring up a reasonable amount of new debate material for the never-ending battle of the sexes and redefining the American deadbeat, “No Scrubs” landed as TLC’s third number one single, was nominated for the GRAMMY award in the Record of the Year category, and the Hype Williams directed video won MTV’s Best Group Video award.

Reuniting with long-time collaborator Dallas Austin who wrote and produced “Silly Ho” under his pseudonym Cyptron, the ladies continued with their demonstrative approach to female independence, proclaiming “not goin' let you catch me out / you should take a lesson from me / I ain't the one to be / depending on someone else / I can run a scam / before he can.”

“I’m Good at Being Bad” helped FanMail earn a parental advisory sticker for its unedited version. Produced by the legendary tag-team of Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis, the song begins with an innocent instrumental to complement the lyrics delivered by Chilli, “As we walk hand in hand / just kickin' up sand / as the ocean laps at our feet / I'm in your arms / and all of your charms are for me.” The song picks up the pace as T-Boz and Left Eye join the fray, for their own expressions of new millennium feminism.

“Unpretty” slowed the pace down a few notches, embracing a poetic style of songwriting, while meshing Pop and Alternative Rock with the girls’ R&B roots. Across their acclaimed recording career, “Unpretty” sits atop a mountain of hits as the summit of TLC’s ability to connect with fans on a personal level. The heartfelt lyrics touched on themes of insecurity, peer pressure, and female agency. The coinciding video directed by veteran Paul Hunter effectively conveyed the same message visually and even included sign language to avoid communication barriers.

FanMail was timely for the closing of a decade and served as a remarkable proclamation for the voice of young women set to come of age in a new century. TLC used clever avenues to seize the anticipation of the approaching Y2K, with the album’s binary coded album cover and audio appearances by their computer modulated collaborator Vic-E. The ladies stuck to their brand of fun, while artistically expressing each growing pain they had encountered since their previous LP. With FanMail, TLC not only changed the look and sound of R&B at the time, they introduced a newfound depth to the genre, packaging all of it into a generous aural gift to the fans that made them the most successful American female group of the ‘90s”.

Moving things to Rolling Stone and their 2019 feature about FanMail. They highlight a feminist tour de force twenty years after its release. I have such fond memories of FanMail. It is an album that I have endless respect and love for. A legendary trio creating something astonishing and hugely inspiring:

“Nevertheless, instead of capitulating to the demands of the late Nineties pop machine, TLC decided to stick to their R&B roots, turning to both Austin and Babyface to create something more timelessly TLC. And while much of the first world was panicked about the impending doom of Y2K, the crew leaned into the looming techno-disaster, adapting their “New Jill Swing” to a more 808-infused hybrid sound — including a computerized vocaloid and honorary bandmate, who they fondly nicknamed Vic-E. What resulted was FanMail, a cyber-R&B masterpiece that would serve as a blueprint for a new, digitally-savvy generation of genre-defying musicians.

No song better encapsulated their future-facing transformation than the lead single “No Scrubs.” Co-written with Kandi Burruss, former member of girl group Xscape, the song started as a flippant jab at loose men who rove the streets, looking for women to hassle — but would swiftly became a millennial feminist anthem. “A scrub is a guy that can’t get no love from me,” sing the trio: “Hangin’ out the passenger side of his best friend’s ride/Trying to holla at me.”

“We got a Grammy for writing ‘No Scrubs,'” Burruss told Rolling Stone earlier this month. “It contributed to me getting Songwriter of the Year. I was the first woman to get Songwriter of the Year from ASCAP and ‘No Scrubs’ was part of the reason for me getting it. I couldn’t have asked for a better blessing of a song to have had in my catalog.”

“No Scrubs” was also the first song in which Chilli, who usually ceded the floor to T-Boz and Left Eye’s bad girl swagger, was able to take center stage as a vocalist — and a dissenting voice amid a culture that was all too permissive to sexual harassment. Almost right on schedule, an all-male group called Sporty Thievz led the misogynist backlash against “No Scrubs,” with their own lukewarm track, “No Pigeons.”

“We were cracking up when we heard Sporty Thieves’ [response track] ‘No Pigeons,'” Chilli told Billboard in a recent interview. “There’s so many songs that are negative towards women and you don’t hear a lot of females saying, ‘We’ve got to do an anti version of that one.’ So it’s funny that you have these guys that want to flip “No Scrubs” real quick. They can’t take the heat!”

Their 1994 breakthrough CrazySexyCool delved into the nuances of being liberated women: take their coolly, sexually dominant stance in “Red Light Special,” or their HIV-conscious megahit “Waterfalls,” which cautioned to choose your own adventure wisely — or in other words, by using a barrier method. But in 1999, Fanmail raised the bar to equally stress the need for protecting your heart: the song “Unpretty” was the brainchild of T-Boz, whose boyfriend at the time ghosted her while she was hospitalized with complications from sickle-cell anemia. A gentle, alt-rock reflection on the ways women struggle to embody an unattainable physical ideal — even Grammy-winning vocalists — “Unpretty” was adapted from her book of poems, titled Thoughts, which she penned while in and out of intensive care. “Why do I look to all these things/To keep you happy?” wrote T-Boz, “Maybe get rid of you/And then I’ll get back to me.”

The reception was greater than they ever could have imagined: Letters cascaded in from fans old and new, imparting words of support and stories of their own issues with body image. TLC would invite some of those fans to speak their truths live at the Lady of Soul Awards, where they would be honored with the Aretha Franklin Entertainer of the Year Award. Left Eye, typically accustomed to delivering hard bars, was relegated to perform “Unpretty” that night exclusively in American Sign Language — hinting at her increasing creative divergence from the band. (She barely got the chance to recoup her role in TLC in their following 2002 record, 3D, which she never finished recording; she died in a car wreck that year while on a healing retreat in Honduras.)

Twenty years following the release of their landmark album, TLC still receive fan mail to this very day: In January, it came in the form of a cover song by nerd rockers Weezer, who paid tribute to “No Scrubs” in their latest record, The Teal Album.

“When I heard it, I loved it!” Chilli told Rolling Stone last month. “It feels really good because when you’re in the studio working, you hope and pray that you make songs that have longevity. And we have, so that’s a blessing. I’m telling you, I wanna reach out to [Weezer] and try to make this performance happen”.

I want to go back to 2012. That is when Pitchfork wrote about FanMail. Fifteen years after its release, they revisited a huge commercial success. Despite it not being the best-reviewed album from TLC, FanMail was groundbreaking and history-making. It is an album that came after a difficult period. Pitchfork discussed the period between 1994’s CrazySexyCool and FanMail:

“When most people think TLC, their brains immediately go to the sounds and images of their 1994 R&B classic CrazySexyCool: "Waterfalls", silk pajamas, "Red Light Special". But, perhaps because I still have a very vivid memory of buying it in a New Jersey mall, my thumb obscuring the Parental Advisory sticker so my mom wouldn't see it, the TLC album I've found myself returning to the most in recent years is FanMail.

It was not the group's greatest success (coming off CrazySexyCool, the first-ever diamond-selling album by a female group, six million units in the U.S. is good-not-great), though FanMail did spawn the mega-hit "No Scrubs", the #1 single "Unpretty", and earned two Grammys. But this record doesn't seem as ingrained in the collective cultural memory of TLC. Maybe because it's something of an inconsistent hodgepodge, or because certain elements of its futuristic aesthetic have not aged particularly well. But when we talk about TLC's current influence on a whole crop of web-minded, Tumblr-savvy, android-obsessed artists, we don't seem to realize how much we're talking about FanMail-- a record that, almost a decade and a half after its release, still sounds hauntingly prescient, like a transmission from the future.

In the years between CrazySexyCool and FanMail, the TLC story got tumultuous. Lopes burned down her boyfriend Andre Rison's house and went to rehab, the group declared bankruptcy at the height of their success thanks to a profoundly shitty recording contract, and internal tensions became almost unbearable. Plenty of other things were going on between 1994 and 1999, behind bedroom doors and in front of flickering screens. Over that five-year span, I added a computer, email address, and an AIM screen name to my life, and by 1999 these things had begun to feel intricately interlaced with my personal identity.

Considering CrazySexyCool and FanMail back-to-back, you can hear these cultural changes take place. A skittish, glitchy album full of distractions, interruptions, and ruptures in consciousness, FanMail was one of the very first pop records to aestheticize the internet. And, like most first times, it was not without awkwardness. Its cover is swathed in not-so-subtle binary code accents and features virtual reality avatar portraits of the ladies. Its beats are gilded with the aged chirps of dial-up connections, and then there's the whole conceit of Vic-E (pronounced "Vicki"), the record's recurring android character who narrates interludes and-- in her shining moment-- raps an entire verse on the track "Silly Ho": "You know you can't get with this…/ Stuck on silly shit/ Boy you know you need to quit." On its surface, FanMail screams "Y2K."

But if you can get past that, the album grapples with something much deeper that reverberates throughout a lot of pop music today. Although the way the group's delight in singing about email, cyberspace, and "the future of music" captures a sense of emergent-technology wonder that's always a little embarrassing in hindsight, FanMail is not nearly as interested in what's gained by technology as it

And no song on the album captures that as masterfully as the title track. "Welcome, we have dedicated our entire album to any person who ever sent us fanmail," Vic-E drones over the song's intro, "TLC would like to thank you for your support. But just like you..."-- and here the human voices join in-- "... they get lonely too." If you unfold the booklet accompanying the FanMail CD, you'll see a poster listing the names of thousands of people who had sent the group fan letters, and in the foreground there's a large image of T-Boz, Left Eye, and Chilli made up to look like computer-generated androids themselves, steely and stoic.

As if to say, "this is your brain on the internet," the atmosphere of "FanMail" teems with disembodied voices and interruptions (shouts of "fanmail!" and "the letters!" nag like a backlog of unanswered messages), while T-Boz's gravelly alto lays out the verses: "I got an email today/ I kinda thought that you forgot about me/ So I wanna hit you back to say/ Just like you, I get lonely too”.

There are a couple of features I want to cover before getting to a review. Vibe took us inside a classic that was “A Futurist Prelude To Digital Era Intimacy”. Their 2019 feature revealed some interesting details and interpretations:

“FanMail, from the sound to the art direction, embodied a timely futuristic aesthetic, as everyone was obsessed with technology’s cultural takeover in the new millennium: remember Y2K hysteria, Napster mp3 file sharing, and the Dot.com boom? On the album’s cover, T-Boz, Chilli and Left Eye‘s faces appear as silver-faced avatars floating above an orbit. A code of numbers are printed across the cover, imagery often associated with The Matrix. (Although FanMail dropped a month before the film hit theaters.)

On the title track, listeners are greeted by Vic-E, the everpresent robotic voice narrating the album: “Just like you, they [TLC] get lonely, too.” She reassures listeners that fame doesn’t stop them from being human. The digitized voice is reminiscent of the “tour guide” on A Tribe Called Quest’s 1993 album Midnight Marauders. Yet, unlike Tribe, TLC collaborates with the robot, as it contributes background vocals throughout. Austin also sprinkled FanMail with samples of sounds — check “Communicate (Interlude)” and “LoveSick” for examples — he found on the Internet, movies, and devices like printers, he shared with MixOnline.

It was a smart move to modernize, as it had been five years since TLC released its best-selling 1994 album CrazySexyCool. The sultry mix presented a more mature and stripped back follow-up to the colorful, youthful angst of Ooooooohhh… On The TLC Tip. This five-year gap could have left the group’s fans uninterested, especially if they were releasing in today’s fast-paced consumption environment, in which stans demand new releases on social media after only a year or two. But the time away didn’t hinder TLC. Now 10 years in the game, they managed a successful return by dedicating this project to their fanbase.

“Left Eye came up with the title, and we made it come together creatively as a group, along with Dallas Austin,” T-Boz said in their May 1999 VIBE cover story. “It was like, Let’s write and sing one big fan letter. Let’s put fan names on everything – all the singles, the album cover, T-shirts, mugs. Just show our appreciation.”

Left Eye also chimed in with a transparent business savvy explanation. “Now we know that the way contracts are set up, it’s not really made for artists to get rich from selling records – that’s the company’s one shot to make money,” she explained. “The artist is supposed to use that as an outlet to do merchandising and other things that we never took advantage of because we were too busy sitting in bankruptcy court trying to get a settlement out of LaFace.”

That part. Although TLC were multi-platinum selling artists up until FanMail, they had faced a public financial battle with their management Pebbitone, Inc. and label, LaFace Records. This caused the delay between their sophomore and third efforts. In 1995, the group, who revealed they were “broke” at the 1996 Grammys, filed for bankruptcy in hopes to break their contract and renegotiate a new deal.

They were $3.5 million dollars in debt and earning an 8 percent royalty rate. In November 1996, they settled with Arista and BMG and LaFace for an 18 percent royalty rate. To add to the drama, there were talks of producer Dallas Austin leaving the project because of back-and-forths with TLC and L.A. Reid over the creative direction of the album, the 1999 VIBE cover story stated. Thankfully, the parties resolved their misunderstandings enough to complete one of the biggest albums of the decade.

On 17 tracks, TLC took on sexuality, insecurities, self-reliance, and vulnerability with resistant messaging, their tried and true winning formula. This energy paved the way for Destiny’s Child’s reign in the 2000s, and the transparency R&B singers like SZA, H.E.R. and Summer Walker carry on today. TLC’s defiance gave women of the ‘90s permission to be vocal about the spectrum of their emotions, from their sex drives on “I Ain’t Too Proud to Beg” to revenge cheating on “Creep.” FanMail brought more of those goods.

The most notable “No Scrubs,” also considered pop canon, is a scathing critique on men at bottom of the dating pool. “A scrub is a guy, who thinks he’s fly and is also known as a busta/ always talking about what he wants and just sits on his broke a**,” Chilli belts in opening lines. The no. 1 track became such a phenomenon that it inspired the petty male response, “No Pigeons” from Sporty Thievz, their biggest claim to fame. Former Xscape members Kandi Burruss and Tameka Dianne “Tiny” Harris penned it and Kevin “She’kspere” Briggs, also behind Destiny’s Child’s no. 1 song “Bills, Bills, Bills,” produced it.

TLC tapped the legendary Hype Williams for the “No Scrubs” visual. Instead of setting the video in a club where scrubs are likely inhabitants, the visual features the trio in outer-space suits floating through a futuristic setting no scrub could ever reach. Most notably Lopes, who in the video does martial arts while a drone films her, manages to keep the digital theme, even when dissing the guys. “Can’t forget the focus on the picture in front of me/You as clear as DVD on digital TV screens,” Lopes raps.

The wonky bop “Silly Ho” is another anti-playa anthem, in which TLC proclaim they aren’t the kind of women who are scheming for men’s pockets. “I can run a scam before he can/ I am better than a man/ I always keep my game all day,” they chant. TLC keeps demanding respect on the choppy “My Life,” their Janet Jackson Control moment, appropriate given their music industry woes.

TLC breaks from jittery beats and Vic-E assisted numbers for alternative pop, on the album’s second no. 1 hit single “Unpretty,” which tackles insecurities caused by a toxic partner’s body-shaming. T-Boz deads him by summoning self-love: “Maybe get rid of you/ And then I’ll get back to me, yeah.” The track was inspired by a poem T-Boz wrote, Dallas Austin told CNN in 2000. He also spoke on the songs’ folky essence. “I like a lot of alternative music, and when I saw the title, “Unpretty” reminded me of a song somebody like (alternative singer) Ani DiFranco would have (written). I just went at it,” he explained. The crew also gave us sensual beckoning on the mid-tempo groove “Come On Down,” penned by legendary pop songwriter Diane Warren.

The album ends with soulful bop “Don’t Pull Out on Me Yet,” but it’s “Communication (Interlude)” that feels like the proper conclusion. “There’s over a thousand ways/ To communicate in our world today/ And it’s a shame/ That we don’t connect,” they say in a spoken word that offers a foreshadowing to our present human condition. Loneliness is on the rise, and more screen time and less human interaction are being linked to growing depression among American adolescents. “So if you also feel the need/ For us to come together/ Will you communicate with me?” As technological advancements create the feeling of being in closer proximity to more people’s thoughts and happenings, it reminds us that these interactions can be fleeting and one-on-one intimacy with your chosen tribe could never become obsolete.

Although its 1999 original drop date has come and gone, in 2019, FanMail is still a fitting soundtrack for dating in the digital age. Whether they’re making their contact through the passenger sides of cars or down in the DMs, the personalities pointed out on the poignant album, are still walking amongst us, messing with our hearts one way or another. FanMail proved that TLC was more in tune with the future than their pop peers, and will more than likely continue to be”.

COMPLEX dove into FanMail on its fifteenth anniversary in 2012. Many do not know what was happening in the TLC camp. It was a turbulent and trio for the trio. It is amazing that such a cohesive and excellent album was made considering what was happening around them:

“Beneath all of FanMail's visionary veneer, though, TLC's essence shone, and that meant a lot of sensual, assertive songs about integrity and self-esteem. "No Scrubs," the album's lead single and an international smash hit still, was ushered in by a skit called "Whispering Playa." On it, a corny dude at a party tries to holler at the ladies, who respond with incredulous giggles. Its overall mien, a more mature transition from similar sentiments expressed on Oooh… on the TLC Tip, set a precedent for the bossy steezes of stars that marched in their confident footsteps, Beyoncé, Rihanna, Ciara, Minaj. And, well sure, "Cyptron" was doing his best Timbaland imitation on "Silly Ho" ("Are You That Somebody?" had swept the world off its feet in June of '98), but its message was one of total independence, and not playing one's self out to sit at the feet of a dude. (Even Vic-E wasn't having it, declaring "I'm OUT" on the bridge.)

Yet, they weren't all hard exterior: the popular, proto-"Pretty Hurts" ballad "Unpretty," written by T-Boz, detailed the decline of a woman's self-esteem, at the hands of a debilitating and emotionally abusive man. With the concept of fan-outreach, TLC was sincerely trying to touch all the bases, crafting fist-in-the-air woman-power anthems, as well as weepy, pillow-hugging singalongs.

Maybe too many of the latter, actually. FanMail came at a tumultuous time for TLC. It was their first album after filing for bankruptcy in '95 and a public beef with their label LaFace. More pressingly, it represented a rift that had developed within the group. Left Eye denounced much of their music via a VIBE Magazine cover story that also revealed Dallas Austin, their longtime producer and the father of Chilli's son, had almost walked off the project. On one hand, it's why FanMail is a strong step for TLC's independence: Then in their late 20s, the women were staking out on their own after being burned by bad management, and some of their choices, such as using producers other than Dallas Austin, weren't amenable to everyone in the group. On the other, it's why FanMail is in a bit of disarray, particularly in the album's ballad-heavy latter half, which was partly, according to Chilli, inspired by Shania Twain. (Bless Shania Twain and new directions, but at some point you sacrifice cohesion.) Left Eye told VIBE, "I cannot stand 100 percent behind this TLC project and the music that is supposed to represent me." (She later complained about the group turning down the song "Heartbreak Hotel," which ended up going platinum for Whitney Houston; it's also worth noting that Britney's "Baby One More Time" was offered to TLC first.)

With the perspective of history, FanMail's gleaming prescience is also slightly somber. Left Eye, never quite satisfied after its release, dropped her first solo album in 2001, a week before Aaliyah died. Eight months later, she, too was dead. The weightless beats that informed FanMail—no doubt stemming from Timbaland's influence—fell so far out of fashion they're coming back in style again only now. Drake covered "FanMail" as "I Get Lonely Too," transforming a populist song about unity and empathy into a navel-gazing, self-contained diary entry.

But on the other hand, this world we now live in is the FanMail dream realized. They can talk to their fans directly every day if they like, and Chilli often does, hitting Twitter for bouts of RTs and answering questions when she's in the mood. Cool T-Boz is characteristically less interactive, offering photos of her day, bon mots, or her opinions on current cultural happenings.

The FanMail concept was Left Eye's idea in the first place, though, and while the world she left behind remains only through relics, her bandmates could resurrect her through hologram if they so chose. (They won't. But here we are, the future.) But in a way we really have reached that utopia, talking to each other every single day, separated only by fiber-optics and our own imaginations.

"Communication is the key to life," declared Left Eye on her interlude. "Communication is the key to love. Communication is the key to us. There's over a thousand ways to communicate in our world today. And it's a shame that we don't connect”.

I am going to end with a review from NME. They shared their thoughts about one of the greatest albums of the 1990s. Twenty-five years after its release, FanMail still sounds like nothing else! I would urge anyone unfamiliar with this album to check it out. As a teenager when it came out, I was instantly struck and hooked! The more I listen to the album, the more that I get from it:

“TLC must find it consoling that they can slap stickers on their baby deer-eyed cyber sleeve saying The Biggest-Selling Female Trio Of All Time. In the deluge of midriff-thrusting, control-girls-on-a-sexy-urban-R&B-plus-rap-grit; tip, it's been somewhat eclipsed that they carved the template.

When T-Boz, Left Eye and Chilli strutted on to Babyface and LA Reid's Atlanta label in 1992 they gave definitive shape to female hip-hop attitude in pop. They wore the condoms, took baggy strides into videoland, trilled about AIDS'n'drugs ('Waterfalls') and topped out with an accidental black feminist distress flare when Left Eye burned down her sports star boyfriend's $2million mansion.

The phrase 'go girl' belongs to them, so it's fair enough that four years on from 'CrazySexyCool' they've softened a little and broadened out. 'Fanmail''s overarching 'cyber concept' pushes towards the kind of electronic funk that Prince used to excel at, but no amount of robot FX and virtual fourth members can disguise the solid pop core.

A posse of producers shamelessly boost harmonies and razor beats and the songwriting team cover the waterfront ruthlessly. The acoustics'n'tinkling of 'I Miss You So Much' are Celine Dion for the projects. 'Unpretty' rocks like Hanson. 'Shout' is a close cousin of 'When Doves Cry' and the very mellow interludes of 'Come On Down' and 'Dear Lie' drip with enough spare syrup to reinvent Five Star as street coolsters.

Elsewhere, however, the ruffness levels rise considerably as they contribute to pop's discourse on dating with a cheeky candour that Brit imitators could never ever muster. 'Silly Ho''s minimal funk lays down the law on not being "a chicken-head". The mandolin and beats marvel 'No Scrubs' applies vigorous elbow to men who think they're big, but really live with Mom ('a scrub'), 'I'm Good At Being Bad' blends superfly soul with Donna Summerisms and Left Eye's sly 'bad bitch' lewdness - "A good man is hard to find/Well actually a hard man is so good to find...".

The pop/sex on our own terms manifesto is given a final underscoring by the twinkling soul snog ballad finale 'Don't Pull Out On Me' which combines their trademark pliant, soft-focus purring with explicit, in-control instructions to the boys on how to do the late-night creep properly.

Maturity and cyber tips have not diminished them. Seven years on TLC are still showing the Honeyz, Saints and Spices how real grrrls do it.

8/10”.

On 23rd February, FanMail turns twenty-five. A classic marks its quarter-century. 1999 gave us so many classics. Right there with there with the best of them, TLC’s final album with Lisa ‘Left Eye’ Lopes is a work of brilliance! I have very fond memories of it. I hope that TLC mark the twenty-fifth anniversary and recall their memories. Anyone who has not heard the album needs to…

LISTEN to it right away.

FEATURE: The Digital Mixtape: A 1994 Mixtape: A Year That Changed Music

FEATURE:

 

 

The Digital Mixtape

IN THIS PHOTO: Tori Amos in 1994

A 1994 Mixtape: A Year That Changed Music

_________

IT is interesting…

IN THIS PHOTO: Jeff Buckley in 1994/PHOTO CREDIT: Anton Corbijn

looking at some of the iconic albums from 1994 coming up for their thirtieth anniversary. I have marked a few already, though there are many more approaching. It is, in my view, the best year for music ever. I will go into more depth about particular albums in time. I was keen to compile a playlist of some of the best album tracks and singles from 1994. It was a magnificent year that resonates to this day. The sheer legacy and importance of the albums from that year. If you are a little murky about which great albums came out in 1994, you can find songs from there below. There are also some classic and standout singles. A wonderful mixtape to get you inspired and moved, I would challenge anyone to name a better year for music. Maybe 1989 comes close. If you need a refresher as to the best tracks and albums of 1994, the below playlist should…

GIVE you a real insight.

FEATURE: Don’t Lose That Number: The Timeless Brilliance of Steely Dan’s Pretzel Logic: Their Masterpiece Third Studio Album at Fifty

FEATURE:

 

 

Don’t Lose That Number

The Timeless Brilliance of Steely Dan’s Pretzel Logic: Their Masterpiece Third Studio Album at Fifty

_________

DEBATE will rage…

IN THIS PHOTO: Steely Dan circa 1973

among Steely Dan as to their best album. I guess most would say 1977’s Aja. It would be hard to argue against, as it is a study in sublime and masterful musicianship and command. Such rich and deep songs. My favourite-ever track, Deacon Blues, is on that album. I know people who would plump for 1973’s Countdown to Ecstasy or even their debut, 1972’s Can’t Buy a Thrill. There is no doubt that Pretzel Logic ranks alongside the best. The third studio album from the band, it was the moment Steely Dan became Steely Dan. A version 2.0 where they focused. Where the songwriting shifted a gear and confidence grew. David Palmer, who had been lead vocalist on tracks on Can’t Buy a Thrill and did some backing vocals for songs on Countdown to Ecstasy, was replaced by now-full-time singer. Donald Fagen. He and Walter Becker were the core of Steely Dan and the only permanent members. With Fagen at the front and The Dan in peak form, they released a masterpiece on 2nd March, 1974. It is fifty very soon, so I wanted to highlight it. Everyone needs to buy this album on vinyl. I shall end with a feature that focused on the Steely Dan reissues from last year. I want to start out with Readers Digest on their investigation of an album they deem to be both pivotal and perfectionist:

“As Steely Dan's Pretzel Logic returns to vinyl for the first time in 30 years, we review the record that redefined the band's sound and songwriting

If any record embodies the definition of a make or break album, it’s Steely Dan’s Pretzel Logic. Remembered for condensing the band’s noodling jazz rock into the radio-ready three minute format, it also sounded the death knell for the group’s original line-up.

As Walter Becker and Donald Fagen buried themselves deeper into the studio, adopting a perfectionist pursuit of new sonic worlds, their inclination for the live performances that their bandmates held dear drifted. Jeff Baxter and Michael McDonald eventually left to join The Doobie Brothers.

With the reissue of Pretzel Logic on vinyl—for the first time in three decades—we get to ask ourselves, was it worth it?

"It remains fascinatingly uncategorisable—too surreal to be pop, too psychedelic to be jazz"

“Rikki Don’t Lose That Number” at least is as irresistible as it was in 1974, setting up the band’s propensity for whimsy with a flapamba opening before launching into a cool piano hook.

“East St Louis Toodle-Oo” pays tribute to jazz maestro Duke Ellington, his free-flowing riff gaining psychedelic overtones from an electric guitar and talk box.

The title track meanwhile best manifests Steely Dan’s holy trinity—wit, storytelling and groove—in its time travel sequence, framed by a swaggering bluesy guitar.

It may not be their bestselling album (that spot is reserved for Aja, which perfected Steely Dan’s session musician format with an army of 40 artists), but it remains fascinatingly uncategorisable—too surreal to be pop, too psychedelic to be jazz, and yet managing to merge each into a cerebral funk.

Rikki, don't lose that cassette tape

For a demonstration of Steely Dan’s dogged commitment to the perfect take, look no further than the 1979 fiasco, when an assistant engineer accidentally wiped “The Second Arrangement” in the studio.

After some attempts to rescue the song, and one effort to rerecord, it was scrapped, and fans were left to scrape together a mythology around salvaged bootlegs.

"We knew that if we played it, it could be the last time anyone might hear it"

This summer, at last, that lost take has made its way onto the airwaves, after being discovered on a tape in engineer Roger Nichols’ cassette player.

Cassette tapes are thought to only be playable for 30 years, so Nichols’ daughters made sure to get a digital backup—“We knew that if we played it, it could be the last time anyone might hear it,” they told Expanding Dan”.

There is no doubt that Pretzel Logic was a turning point for Steely Dan. More fully-formed and defined, it was the start of a run of stunning albums. I really love its predecessor, Countdown to Ecstasy, though I feel Pretzel Logic is stronger. In terms of its material and the musicianship. Maybe one or two more memorable songs. Alongside the epic Rikki Don’t Lose That Number, Night By Night and the touching Any Major Dude Will Tell You, there is the magnificent title track, Charlie Freak and Parker’s Band. Such a diverse and fascinating album. This feature from last year highlighted the wonderful production (from Gary Katz and Steely Dan) on an album that was their first U.S. top ten:

“Their enigmatic lyrical imagery was part of the allure of Steely Dan, and they lived up to those expectations with the title of their third album Pretzel Logic, released on March 2, 1974.

Not all of their admirers would have known that the phrase meant “fallible or circular reasoning,” and not all of them would have cared. The important thing was that the band were back, and after the success of their first two records, Can’t Buy A Thrill and Countdown To Ecstasy, they were about to have their first US Top 10 album, and the biggest hit single of their career.

“Pretzel Logic” entered the Billboard 200 at the end of March that year and went on to reach No.8. It would later land at No. 385 in Rolling Stone’s all-time critics’ Top 500 chart of 2003. Produced as usual by Gary Katz, the album featured another selection of intelligent rock compositions by Walter Becker and Donald Fagen, including such favorites as “Night By Night” and “Barrytown.”

The record also wore the duo’s jazz influences on its sleeve with a version of Duke Ellington’s “East St. Louis Toodle-Oo” and the Charlie Parker tribute “Parker’s Band.” The band’s line-up of the time featured Becker and Fagen along with Jeff “Skunk” Baxter, Denny Dias, and Jim Hodder. There were also contributions by such stellar players as Wilton Felder of the Crusaders, British percussionist Victor Feldman, and future Toto members David Paich and Jeff Porcaro.

The album opened with what turned into one of Steely Dan’s signature pieces, “Rikki Don’t Lose That Number,” which outdid their previous best No.6 peak with “Do It Again,” reaching No.4. In the UK, the song inexplicably failed to chart, despite being a turntable hit. It made a modest showing, at No.58, as a reissue in 1979.

Nevertheless, “Pretzel Logic” did become the group‘s first UK chart album, albeit only at No.37 in a two-week run, and won critical approval. Wrote the British music weekly Melody Maker: “They have soul and fire, but leave nothing to chance, with superb productions and songs”.

I am going to end with some reviews for Pretzel Logic. Maybe not as revered and celebrated as Aja, Pretzel Logic is a supreme and astonishing album that sounds as oriignal and fresh fifty years later. It has not dated or lost any of its appeal. I first heard songs from it thirty years ago or so. It still moves me. Rolling Stone reviewed Pretzel Logic in 1974:

“Steely Dan is the most improbable hit-singles band to emerge in ages. On its three albums, the group has developed an impressionistic approach to rock & roll that all but abandons many musical conventions and literal lyrics for an unpredictable, free-roving style. While the group considered the first album, Can’t Buy a Thrill, a compromise for the sake of accessibility, and the second, Countdown To Ecstasy, to emphasize extended instrumental work, the new Pretzel Logic is an attempt to make complete musical statements within the narrow borders of the three-minute pop-song format.

Like the earlier LPs, Pretzel Logic makes its own kind of sense: On a typical track, rhythmic patterns that might have worked for Astrud Gilberto, elegant pop piano, double lead guitars, and nasal harmony voices singing obscure phrases converge into a coherent expression. When the band doesn’t undulate to samba rhythms (as it did on “Do It Again,” its first Top Ten single), it pushes itself to a full gallop (as it did on “Reelin’ in the Years,” its second). These two rhythmic preferences persist and sometimes intermingle, as on “Rikki Don’t Lose That Number,” which jumps in mid-chorus from “Hernando’s Hideaway” into “Honky Tonk Women.” Great transition.

Steely Dan’s five musicians seem to play single-mindedly, like freelancers, but each is actually contributing to a wonderfully fluid ensemble sound that has no obvious antecedent in pop. These five are so imaginative that their mistakes generally result from too much clever detail. This band is never conventional, never bland.

And neither is its material. Despite the almost arrogant impenetrability of the lyrics (co-written by the group’s songwriting team, Donald Fagen and Walter Becker), the words create an emotionally charged atmosphere, and the best are quite affecting. While it’s disconcerting to be stirred by language that resists comprehension, it’s still difficult not to admire the open-ended ambiguity of the lyrics.

But along with Pretzel Logic‘s private-joke obscurities (like the made-up jargon on “Any Major Dude Will Tell You” and “Through With Buzz”), there are concessions to the literal: “Rikki Don’t Lose That Number” makes sense as a conventional lover’s plea, while “Barrytown” takes a satirical look at class prejudice. But each has an emotional cutting edge that can’t be attributed directly to its viewpoint or story. As writers, Fagen and Becker may be calculating, but they aren’t cold.

As the group’s two foremost members, Fagen sings, plays keyboards and leads the band; Jeff Baxter, a brilliant musician on guitar, pedal steel and hand drums, powers it.

As a vocalist, Fagen (who looks like a rock & roll version of Montgomery Clift) is as effective as he is unusual. With a peculiar nasal voice that seems richer at the top of its range than in the middle, Fagen stresses meter as well as sense, so much so that his singing becomes another of the group’s interlocked rhythmic elements. At the same time, there’s a plaintive aspect to his singing that expands the impact of even his most opaque lines.

Baxter, an expert electric guitarist with a broad background in rock & roll and jazz, draws on these influences with pragmatic shrewdness. Even on these short tracks he’s impressive. On one of the band’s more conventional songs, “Pretzel Logic” (a modified blues), he improvises on the standard patterns without referring to a single ready-made blues. And he does things with pedal steel that have nothing to do with country music. At one point — in the vintage “East St. Louis Toodle-oo” — he duplicates note-for-note a ragtime mute-trombone solo. His command of technique is impressive, but it’s his use of technique to heighten the dynamic and emotional range of the group’s songs that makes him Steely Dan’s central instrumental force.

When Fagen, Baxter and the rest can’t give a track the right touch, they send out for it. The exotic percussion, violin sections, bells and horns that augment certain cuts are woven tightly into the arrangements, each with a clear function. Producer Gary Katz provides a sound that’s vibrant without seeming artificial. The band uses additional instrumentation in its live sets as well as on record, traveling with a different array each time they tour. For the current one, they’ve added a second drummer, a second pianist (who also sings) and a vocalist, so that now there are four singers and every instrument but bass is doubled. I don’t think any of their records can equal this band on a good night”.

Let’s end with this feature from last year. They assessed and reviewed  Steely Dan’s Pretzel Logic. They felt that there is a fresh and exciting listening experience with a new, precision-pressed 180g L.P. edition from Geffen/Ume:

“Steely Dan and UMe have thrown fans of the band’s music a sweet-but-curious series of bones when it comes to their current vinyl reissue series. We all know about (and mostly love) the AAA 200g 2LP UHQR editions crafted by Analogue Productions that all have an admittedly steeper SRP entry fee of $150. But the hard reality is that many of us can only really afford the standard 180g 1LP editions being released under the Geffen/UMe label banner. What’s a budget-minded, audiophile-leaning Steely Dan fan to do?

Well, before I dig down into the pros and cons of hitchhiking your way ’round these twisty sonic streets to decide whether the latest entry in the series — February 1974’s Pretzel Logic — is one you need to get, let’s look at the key stats for these new standard-edition albums, courtesy of Steely Dan’s official press release: “All albums are being meticulously remastered by Bernie Grundman from the original analog tapes. . . Lacquers for UMe’s standard 33 1/3 RPM 180-gram version will be cut by Alex Abrash at his renowned AA Mastering studio from high-resolution digital files of Grundman’s new masters and pressed at Precision. They will be housed in reproductions of the original artwork.”

The underlying DNA of these new standard-edition SD releases is certainly promising, especially given the $29.99 SRP, but the digital files notation may give some of you pause. I’m not going to discuss the AAA version of Pretzel Logic in this review, since AP editor Mike Mettler has already explored that edition quite in depth here. Besides, if you are reading this review, you are probably interested in knowing whether the lower-cost edition is worthy of your attention.

Ultimately, the answer to that question, and the final choice you make, will come down to setting and managing your individual priorities for sound and pressing quality, trueness to the original album design and packaging, and, of course, bottom-line cost.

First, let’s look at the going rate of NM original pressings of our review subject at hand, Pretzel Logic. Of the 14 copies currently on Discogs at the time of this posting, only one was less than $50 (a somewhat less-desirable record club version) and most were going for upwards of $100 (including several more club editions). The point is, finding truly clean original copies of any Steely Dan album is not an easy task these days.

These were popular party albums back in the day — especially among the college students of the times — so there are many “well-loved” VG/VG+ editions out there that do indeed play fine but come with a certain amount of ticks, pops, and inner-groove distortion from repeated play on those poorly aligned automatic changers that were a pretty popular thing back then. Add in the reality of the mid-’70s oil crisis (oil being a key ingredient in making vinyl), and you’ll find many of these original pressings weren’t the greatest to begin with, as far as the audiophile experience goes.

Of course, you can get some of the later editions on the rainbow-target ABC Records label — which can indeed sound quite good, if you are lucky to find one! — but you’ll probably want to avoid the MCA Records editions of the late-’70s and ’80s, some of which were often problematic on multiple levels (poor pressing quality, compromised cover art, etc.). I personally saw many returns of these MCA editions coming through the record store I worked in while attending college in the early ’80s.

Circling back to our initial premise, you are probably wondering by now whether this new UMe edition of Pretzel Logic is worth the 30 bucks. I think it is — albeit with caveats, of course! On the plus side, Pretzel Logic certainly sounds better than the last UMe reissue in this series, July 1973’s Countdown to Ecstasy, which had some pressing issues, as I noted in my review of it here. As for my new copy of Pretzel Logic, it is well-centered, and the vinyl is clean, dark, quiet, and solid. So, all those key factors line up just fine with this new edition.

However, the cover art is not entirely accurate to the original editions — which, unusually, put the album pocket on the left front part of the gatefold. So, this new edition is more of a standard gatefold-format scenario, placing the disc in the right-side pocket. And while they do use the original album art, the graphics are not quite as clear as my original pressings (see the above example of that) — even though it is a somewhat blurry black-and-white photo to begin with! The new edition veers toward a near-sepia-toned, higher-contrast image vs. being pure black-and-white with shades of gray. And, as I’ve mentioned in the past, UMe does not recreate the original ABC Records label design on the LP itself, but instead offers a more modern, and simple, Geffen Records logo in its place.

The sound of my new copy of Pretzel Logic wasn’t bad, all things considered. It sounds pretty good for the most part, if a bit rolled off at points. There was definitely some of that crisp digital feel going on, but after a while, I got used to it for what it is.

But, would I replace my originals with it? Well, no, because I have a nice condition black label original, and a decent condition white label promo copy, both of which sound quite good despite some rather significant surface noise — hey, it was the mid-’70s, and, like I said earlier, the oil crisis was on, impacting the quality of vinyl production at the time.

So, therein lies the rub when it comes to deciding what to do regarding these mid-70s Steely Dan albums. If you are willing and interested in trying to score an original pressing and don’t mind listening to used albums that will inevitably have some sort of anomaly on them — again, things like surface noise and perhaps a tick and pop here and there are very commonplace — then you’ll probably want to start looking around for one.

Personally, I don’t mind that sort of thing, as long as it isn’t a major distraction to the music. I find inner-groove distortion far more of an issue, as it’s something that does annoy my, shall we say, sonic sensibilities. I’ve gone through many copies of Pretzel Logic, looking for a copy that plays “East St. Louis Toodle-Oo” — a rare Duke Ellington cover that ends Side A, and the first instrumental-only track the band had issued, just a month before the maestro passed away in 1974.

But for those of you who primarily and simply want that “new album” experience with vinyl that plays very quietly and offers a pretty solid representation of what the album is supposed to sound like, then this Geffen/UMe edition may well be appealing for you. The price is fair, and it is still cheaper than trying to buy a mint or near-mint original pressing of some sort. Yes, there are no doubt tradeoffs involved here, given the digital sourcing and your threshold for what that may entail in terms of your own listening experience preferences. But if that latter fact doesn’t deter you, and you do want a decent clean version of this album, then the new Geffen/UMe 180g 1LP edition of Pretzel Logic should serve you just fine”.

Turning fifty on 2nd March, the remarkable Pretzel Logic is one of Steely Dan’s most essential albums. I have loved it since I was a child. It remains my favourite from them. Establishing their sound and line-up – though Donald Fagen was the lead, they would rotate members through the years -, this is an album that everyone needs to hear. Fifty years from its release, there are few albums as majestic…

AS Pretzel Logic.

FEATURE: Spotlight: Uncle Waffles

FEATURE:

 

 

Spotlight

Uncle Waffles

_________

A name that people should know…

PHOTO CREDIT: Kreative Kornerr

I wanted to shine a light on the brilliant Uncle Waffles. The D.J., producer and artist is someone that I am new to. I have been looking back at her rise to prominence. Perhaps not as well-known as she should be, I feel the rest of this year will see her release incredible sounds and confirm that she is a fascinating talent to look out for. I am going to head back to 2022 for the first interview. Complex UK caught up with a Amapiano (a South African subgenre of House music that emerged in South Africa in the mid-2010s) pioneer:

“Whether it’s house or techno, Black electronic music has been at the forefront of popular culture for decades, often with the Black musicians and communities behind it rarely afforded the credit for actually birthing it. The tides, however, are slowly changing, thanks in part to social media making it easier to credit creators and discover new sounds.

One such sound that began to gain international traction around 2019 is Amapiano—or, as it’s also affectionately referred to by its people in South Africa, ‘piano (which also reflects the literal Zulu translation). Amapiano—a blend of percussive loop samples and melodic, energetic vocals, deep house and jazz—is arguably the biggest sound coming out of the continent right now, with the likes of Burna Boy, Wizkid and Davido all collaborating with its artists and even taking them on global tours. This increased awareness has helped shine a light on the rich and ever-evolving musical legacy of South Africa, a nation where music has been integral not only in soundtracking major historical events, but also in forming Black national identity and culture post-Apartheid.

Someone who has been instrumental to the genre’s growth for the last couple of years is 22-year-old Lungelihle Zwane, more commonly known as the DJ/producer Uncle Waffles. Since shooting to international stardom following a viral clip late last year, Zwane has since performed at a string of sold-out shows—at home and, more recently, here in the UK—and is here to prove that she is more than just an internet sensation. With a laser focus on building her brand, and with all eyes currently on Amapiano, the woman who describes herself as ‘awkward’ is intent on doing things her own way.

We caught up with Uncle Waffles to discuss internet trolls, that “surreal” Drake follow on Instagram, the future of Amapiano, and more.

COMPLEX: Congratulations on a sold-out UK and Ireland tour with Piano People! What was it like going on the first Amapiano all-star tour this country has ever seen, for a sound that is relatively new to this market?

Uncle Waffles: Thank you! I’m feeling so blessed, but also tired. This was my first ever time in the UK, let alone for a booking. The headline show at Ministry Of Sound sold out two weeks before the event, so it was such a pleasant surprise to see how much love Amapiano is getting and how much of an appetite and appreciation there is in every city we’ve been to. Seeing people singing along is such a surreal feeling, especially when in some cases they don’t even know what it means; especially when DJs directly from South Africa are more likely to play the specialist stuff that is less known as opposed to the commercial ones that are more widely available. I think, as the sound grows around the world, producers and DJs from around the world will bring in their influences and tastes and create Amapiano with their own flavour.

You shot to fame when a clip of you DJing at a gig in Soweto, South Africa, went viral last year—which, in turn, has triggered a set of events that have led to international recognition, as well as a follow from Drake. How did it lead up to that?

Nothing was planned, but it all happened at the right time. I’m originally from Swaziland—a small country neighbouring South Africa—and there isn’t much of a creative scene there, maybe two or three gigs a year at best, so I had to work in South Africa to develop my career. The people who have now become part of my team were hosting a show and invited me to come over and DJ; they had originally given me a slot of 6.30pm, which is a horrible time. I had another show that day, too, but after a flurry of cancellations, I ended up covering somebody. I was terrified, because not only was it my first big event in South Africa, it was sold-out too”.

Born Lungelihle Zwane, Uncle Waffles released the SOLACE long-E.P./mini-album, last year. There are a couple of interviews from last year that I want to end with. Back in August, okayafrica. Spoke with the Swazi-born, South African-based D.J. about her new work. We discover how Uncle Waffles rose to become a Amapiano heroine and leader:

“In the beginning, Unce Waffles had simpler ambitions: to express her creativity. She grew up in Eswatini, a country which shares borders with South Africa and Mozambique, and was exposed to a lot of local sounds.

“Born at the turn of a new century in 2000, music was the most natural expression for Waffles. She eventually landed on a name that came from a scene in the DC Comics cartoon Teen Titans, which her friends in high school always sang. In 2020, while Uncle Waffles interned at a local Eswatini TV station, she chanced upon some DJ decks and a professional who frequented the studio taught her to play. At the same time she was learning to produce and create her own sounds.

Her big break came later that year, ironically from something that wasn’t planned. The DJ who was supposed to play the prime slot at the Soweto-based Zone 6 Venue wasn’t available and Waffles stepped in. A clip posted from that performance, featuring Waffles whining to Young Stunna’s “Adiwele” became an internet sensation.

Uncle Waffles' performances are an immersion into dance and visual storytelling. “Traveling around the world,” she says, “I realized that people consume music differently, especially music they don’t understand. So you’re not only introducing a new genre to people but you’re also introducing a genre in a language they don’t completely understand. How do you express to them, so they experience the music the same way you hear it? As you know ‘Piano has so many dances and people know ‘Piano through the dances, so it encouraged me to want to perform more.”

Uncle Waffles’ progression from a viral star to a premier tastemaker in Amapiano was deliberate. “We wanted to ensure that I always stay visible,” says Waffles, “Because the issue with viral moments is that you go viral, and then you step back and you kind of disappear in the midst of people who’s gone viral, so you need to make sure that you are still very visible.”

Earlier this year, Waffles released ASYLUM, whose soundscape was markedly different from her debut. Showcasing a renewed approach, the songs incorporated more features while exploring the motions of everyday life. With SOLACE, she extended the concerns about finding joy and fulfillment that she has reflected throughout her career, although the execution in sound is markedly different this time.

“When you release a project, you get to tell a story through it,” she says. “From Red Dragon, which was my first ever project, to ASYLUM, that’s what has allowed me to put meaning into the music. ASYLUM is meant to represent the chaos of my journey, because you know, waking one day and going viral and having to run with it was quite a lot. There’s been a lot of things that have happened and I want to reflect that in music.”

Creating projects emboldens Waffles to “tell stories that allow the people who support you to feel close to you, to understand you,” she says. Her third project, SOLACE, “represents the part of the journey where it’s beautiful and I’m at rest.” The sound evolves to carry the tranquility of this present moment. Whereas her two initial projects overtly expressed her DJ tendencies, on the third she wants to “show that you can do hard music, but it can still be super soft, actually.”

She describes ASYLUM as the "Side B" to SOLACE, and she was conscious of that multi-dimensional continuity while she was creating the latter. To utilize her global stature within the Southern African scene, she reached out to artists that an international crowd wouldn’t be quite familiar with. On “Echoes,” her favorite song on the project, Waffles features frequent collaborator Tony Duardo, along with Manana and Lusanda, whose videos on TikTok she’d been familiar with for a while.

This new project signifies a graceful run towards global domination for Uncle Waffles. Still deep into her creative process, she wants to explore more pockets within Amapiano, and she’s returning to house music, which she affirms as one of the first genres South Africans championed globally. House music has platformed a lot of acts, especially DJs like herself. “Up till now, DJs were never stars,” she opines, “but now, they are becoming them.”

Uncle Waffles is surely a star. She constantly reiterates her forward-facing vision throughout our conversation towards its endm she lays down the ethos of SOLACE. “This album is meant to represent the actual happiness I feel,” she says. Hearing her speak, there’s no doubt that Waffles is in a good place. She’s earned this peace and happiness, and being a serious creative, she’s gone back into the sound, seeking to extend her three-year grasp on the pulse of global pop culture”.

I am going to finish with an interview from December. This interview goes deep with a truly tremendous artist. I think that we are going to see and hear a lot more from the sensational Uncle Waffles. If you have not heard her music yet, do make sure that you check it out. She is a supreme talent that people need to know about:

“In her short experience with fame, Uncle Waffles has demonstrated that she is a student of her discipline(s). She stands defiant against her critics, though maintains a willingness to learn. Whilst it is unclear what the future may hold for Uncle Waffles, she is determined to make her mark and repel rhetoric suggesting she is “just a pretty face”. We have seen her ability to bring life to the party, and now she is keen to make an indelible mark on the creative industry through multifaceted abilities, and too represent the Southern African region in inspiring fashion. Her love for music is unquestionable and is extremely thankful for what it has done for her so far. “Music just hits you”, she says, pointing to her heart, indicating just how much it means to her.

To understand Uncle Waffles as a human being, and her journey thus far, we spoke to her about her passions, influences and too a snippet on her future plans.

It’s been a mad year for you, let’s be real! But firstly, how are you doing?

I’m okay, I’m doing pretty well.

When you started going viral and you started seeing your face in the newspapers and on Twitter, how did that make you feel?

Initially, I was very overwhelmed but a part of me was like I am just gonna goof around for a while.. it’ll be a cool video but how it turned out was like no.. this is not just a cool video but instead it’s gonna complete launch me!

I was very overwhelmed by the love but of course the love comes with the latter because people want to knit pick.. or say whatever it is they want to say. Having to take everything in at once, an immense amount of love and immense amount of hate, it was a bit of a struggle. I have very severe anxiety so initially it was a bit of a struggle, but now I have just found the balance knowing that the love [of music] is what brought me here and what keeps me here, as well as the hard work but the love overtakes everything. So I think now I am at a place where there is so much good.. I am less anxious, less overwhelmed and I am very, very happy! [Uncle Waffles cannot help but smile]

How long have you been DJ’ing for? Is it something you have been doing for a while or was it quite recent?

Yes, I started learning during the pandemic when we had our first lockdown. It was six months of 8 hours a day, just trying to learn and understand it, and I started taking gigs this year in January

You were practising 8 hours a day?! That is practically like a full time job!

Yeah it is like a job, you have to dedicate yourself, as much as people make it seem like its potentially easy. I already knew that my struggle would be like people would say ‘she’s just a pretty face’, so I always knew that I had to be good at it (DJ’ing) to show no one has nothing to nit-pick, and even if they tried the reality is what it is.

Do you have any DJ’ing inspirations?

I didn’t have someone that I was looking up to… part of me felt like these things weren’t possible [aspiring to be like the DJ greats] given that I was just starting. I was like, maybe if I look at Black Coffee, it’ll be something that I achieve 10 years from now. I didn’t really have someone I was looking up to.. it was more so about ‘I actually really like this’, and I am going to try my best even on days where this [being Uncle Waffles] doesn’t seem like the right thing to do anymore, I still need to push!

Uncle Waffles… where does that name come from?

[Laughs] I need to start coming up with a very serious story, because everyone asks me! My friends came up with it at school.

Was it given to you as a joke?

It was! If you watch Teen Titans, Beast Boy and Cyborg had a waffles song, so my friends would sing it every day and then one of them decided that I am going to be waffles, and here we are today! It’s a real anti-climactic story, I know! But that’s what happened!

On a more personal level, would you say you are more introverted or extroverted?

I am actually quite awkward.. introverted. I am the most awkward person you could probably ever meet! I think when people meet me, they realise I am awkward and they say “oh you’re just normal”, and I am like “yeah I really am!” I don’t know how to act… when people scream at me, I scream back!

How do you spend your down time? Is there a particular TV series you’re watching now or artist you’re listening to?

I watch a lot of YouTube, Emma Chamberlain particularly and she is like my comfort, I don’t know why. She’s quite awkward and gives me comfort. I do also read a lot and music wise, I listen to Mereba. I like that type of music because it calms my spirit and I listen to a lot of Gospel. With this whole thing [being well known] comes with it a lot of internal battles, and so sometimes I feel like I need to connect and just come back to Earth

You were born in Swaziland right? Do you feel your setting a foundation for the world to learn more about Swaziland?

There is no creative space in my country, no creative funding.. we barely have any events that are successful. So I think with what happened to me, a lot people feel there is hope for talent because as much as they don’t have exposure, there is great talent (In Swaziland), very talented people, but we just don’t have the reach. I always say that ‘you can never make it at home’, I feel people don’t support you at home the (same) way other people support you. People are always going to South Africa (for exposure) e.g. the likes of Amanda Du-Pont, but you wouldn’t know because she decided to chase a dream and go to South Africa.

If there was a way to get more reach into countries where there is little reach, we can find very talented people. They just need help. Not everyone will have the faith that I had to take money and go to South Africa, go to promoters to promote themselves. Not everyone has that.

Where do you feel you have been received the best?

Kenya is number 1! The Kenyan crowd was really young, and it was my first fully young crowd. That day, I spent 2 hours taking pictures because everyone wanted one, but even I wanted to take pictures with them because they showed me so much love. When I was on the decks, everyone was dancing! Keep in mind that most of these countries don’t know the words to the music but they still understand it!

Are there any other countries that you really want to perform in?

The UK! I would also love to go to Mozambique, because of the crowd there. I would also love to perform in Namibia, Botswana too. Other countries more so for selfish reasons, I mean.. Dubai, come on! That would be really nice. Ibiza! That would be great!

With fame comes negative press or comments as we know. How do you feel about recent comments on Twitter, where people are trying to police how you dress?

I always feel like people are trying to police a 21 year old. I don’t fully control my own Twitter, but because I want to still have a presence, I pop on here and there. I try my best not to be on it because then I get sucked into reading what everyone is saying and that affects me emotionally. People are allowed to have their own said morals, but once you’re trying to project your morals to someone, that’s not okay. People are saying “it’s too revealing” but if you actually see the outfits in real life, it’s like “is it really” [people on the internet exaggerating].

I get a lot of my [fashion] inspiration from the 2000s, and it was very common at that time [to dress in such a way] and I really liked it. So I started dressing like this, to be comfortable in myself. I feel like, people shouldn’t then look at how you dress as who you are. People should be allowed to be an individual

Who are these inspirations?

Saweetie. I really love her she dresses, it’s very ‘I’m a bad bitch’, ‘I’m on my money’, as well as video vixens from back in the day. I take a lot of inspiration from Aaliyah too, but in the modern day it has to be Saweetie, it’s very cool and they she can switch up and be so sexy, I love it!

Do you feel like this is more so a case of Twitter rather than what happens when people approach you in real life?

I think haters are fictional because those are the same people who want to watch you. So what happens is that they start buying tickets to come watch you, to prove themselves right yet you’re investing time in proving that someone you supposedly don’t like is not doing something right.

I’ve read that you’re planning to start releasing music yourself, is this true?

[Laughs] Yes!

Have you thought about a particular sound you’d like to explore?

I’ve been working with a lot of producers and have been listening to a lot of music daily to find my sound. Initially the sound I wanted to go for was something slower but as I am growing into my brand, I am realising that maybe not. But I will be releasing some stuff [soon].

What are the next steps for you?

To completely expand my brand and to.. there is a lot in the works! I don’t want to only be remembered as the girl for the viral videos, that’s always going to be my start but that’s not going to be my finish!”.

A brilliant D.J., producer and artist, I am relatively new to Uncle Waffles. I feel that she is too good not to be heard by all. I hope that more stations in the U.K. spin the sounds of this phenomenon. I am quite unfamiliar with Amapiano, so to have an artist like Uncle Waffles putting it to the forefront is much-needed. I can highly recommend this…

PHENOMENAL human.

______________

Follow Uncle Waffles

Official:

https://bookwaffles.com/

Instagram:

https://www.instagram.com/unclewaffles_

Twitter:

https://twitter.com/unclewaffffles

TikTok:

https://www.tiktok.com/@uncle.waffles

Spotify:

https://open.spotify.com/artist/68McnNC9twEtiynOAJRRgZ?si=Pci_sALaTtGeaOzYV34Jog

YouTube:

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCDfH7E8iHkEjmZ6H9uQ5o1g

FEATURE: Speaking in Sympathy: Kate Bush’s Love and Anger at Thirty-Four

FEATURE:

 

 

Speaking in Sympathy

 IN THIS PHOTO: Kate Bush in 1989/PHOTO CREDIT: Guido Harari

Kate Bush’s Love and Anger at Thirty-Four

_________

THERE are a few singles…

in Kate Bush’s cannon that are underrated or did not get the reception they deserved. One that stands out is Love and Anger. On 26th February, the single turns thirty-four. Many people will not know about the song. It has a prominent place on 1989’s The Sensual World. The second song in the running, Bush clearly had faith in the track. It was not buried in the middle or left near the end. Following the title track, we get this really amazing number. I have looked at the track before but, as it has an anniversary coming up, there is opportunity and need to revisit it. There are some cool and interesting B-sides worth exploring. Peaking at thirty-eight in the U.K., Love and Anger went to number one on the U.S. Billboard Modern Rock Tracks chart. Featuring David Gilmour on guitar, we get Ken as the B-side on the 7” cassette single. The 12” and C.D. single has the beautiful One Last Look Around the House Before We Go... as one of the B-sides. Kate Bush directed the video. If not seen as one of her best singles, it is a great song that I have never heard played on the radio. It is a song that Bush had trouble putting together and getting finished. I shall come to some press snippets where Bush was discussing Love and Anger. The press redaction was not too positive:

“Is it too late to take back all those gushing hymns of praise we wrote in homage to Kate’s recent LP? [This is] pretty dispensable, fairly orthodox pop-rock listening.

PAUL LESTER, MELODY MAKER, 3 MARCH 1990

Kate seems to have lost the plot… all middle without a beginning or an end… lost in an unfocused mire…

TIM NICHOLSON, RECORD MIRROR, 3 MARCH 1990

Dynamic understanding and depth that is quite untouchable. Bloody fantastic.

PHIL WILDING, KERRANG!, 3 MARCH 1990”.

It is a shame there is not more love for a very good track! I never miss any Kate Bush single anniversary, so I wanted to spend some time with one of The Sensual World’s highlights. Love and Anger is clearly a personal song for Kate Bush. She has revealed how The Sensual World is an album where she was exploring herself as a woman. Sensual. Revealing, honest and deep, there is quite a bit in common with earlier albums. If Bush pointed towards a more masculine sound for albums such as Hounds of Love (1985), its following album was more concerned with Bush taking things in a different direction. I don’t think we have given Love and Anger enough exposure and respect. Going back to the previous website I quoted from, this is what Kate Bush said about Love and Anger:

“Well ‘Love and Anger’, of all the songs on the album, is really the one I know the least about. I don’t really know what it’s about – it’s had so many different faces. But it was one of the first songs to be written, but one of the last songs to be finished. And I think all the songs on this album are about relationships.

VH1 INTERVIEW, 1989

This song! This bloody song!

It was one of the most difficult to put together, yet the first to be written. I came back to it 18 months later and pieced it together. It doesn’t really have a story. It’s just me trying to write a song, ha-ha.

Obviously the imagery you get as a child is very strong. This is about who you can or cannot confide in when there’s something you can’t talk about. “If you can’t tell your sister, If you can’t tell a priest…” Who did I have in the lyrics? Was it sister or mother? I can’t remember.

LEN BROWN, ‘IN THE REALM OF THE SENSES’. NME (UK), 7 OCTOBER 1989

It’s one of the most difficult songs I think I’ve ever written. It was so elusive, and even today I don’t like to talk about it, because I never really felt it let me know what it’s about. It’s just kind of a song that pulled itself together, and with a tremendous amount of encouragement from people around me. There were so many times I thought it would never get on the album. But I’m really pleased it did now.

INTERVIEW, WFNX BOSTON (USA), 1989

I couldn’t get the lyrics. They were one of the last things to do. I just couldn’t find out what the song was about, though the tune was there. The first verse was always there, and that was the problem, because I’d already set some form of direction, but I couldn’t follow through. I didn’t know what I wanted to say at all. I guess I was just tying to make a song that was comforting, up tempo, and about how when things get really bad, it’s alright really – “Don’t worry old bean. Someone will come and help you out.”

The song started with a piano, and Del put a straight rhythm down. Then we got the drummer, and it stayed like that for at least a year and a half. Then I thought maybe it could be okay, so we got Dave Gilmour in. This is actually one of the more difficult songs – everyone I asked to try and play something on this track had problems. It was one of those awful tracks where either everything would sound ordinary, really MOR, or people just couldn’t come to terms with it. They’d ask me what it was about, but I didn’t know because I hadn’t written the lyrics. Dave was great – I think he gave me a bit of a foothold there, really. At least there was a guitar that made some sense. And John [Giblin] putting the bass on – that was very important. He was one of the few people brave enough to say that he actually liked the song.

TONY HORKINS, ‘WHAT KATIE DID NEXT’. INTERNATIONAL MUSICIAN, DECEMBER 1989”.

There are tracks from The Sensual World that get a lot of focus. The title track is one example. This Woman’s Work another. Many of the other songs are underrated and under-discussed. I have said how The Fog is one of my favourite Kate Bush cuts. I realise that hard decisions need to be made when it comes to releasing singles, though many might wonder why Love and Anger was selected as the third single from The Sensual World. Perhaps not as strong as other choices on the album, perhaps there has been this negativity through the years because of what Bush has said. Even if she sees it as throwaway and has been a bit dismissive, I feel that Love and Anger warrants better. There is a Stereogum feature about the song, though it is paywalled. We need to make it accessible and free to all. In fact, there needs to be more features about Love and Anger. From one of Kate Bush’s finest albums, there are many standout lines and moments from the song. I feel the opening lines refer to struggles Bush might have been having. Reflecting on relationship with Del Palmer, perhaps: “It lay buried here, it lay deep inside me/It's so deep I don't think that I can speak about it/It could take me all of my life”. Poetic, emotive and interesting, it is impossible not to jump into the song and the scenes unfolding: “To let go of these feelings/Like a bell to a Southerly wind?/We could be like two strings beating/Speaking in sympathy/What would we do without you?”. As Love and Anger turns thirty-four on 26th February, I felt it deserved salute and spotlight. Not as loved as, say, Deeper Understanding or The Sensual World, it is a track from an album that many hold dear. By 1989, Bush was in her thirties and was perhaps being more personal with her music. More willing to be more open. This can be heard in 1993’s The Red Shoes. Love and Anger might seem disposable and a lesser track, though I feel that it is…

MUCH more than that.

FEATURE: Making Waves: A Busy Year for Promotion: Kate Bush’s 1980

FEATURE:

 

 

Making Waves: A Busy Year for Promotion

IN THIS PHOTO: Kate Bush in 1980/PHOTO CREDIT: Andy Phillips

Kate Bush’s 1980

_________

I recently shared a couple of interviews…

where Kate Bush was speaking with Paul Gambaccini about her favourite music. It was for his BBC Radio 1 show. Those interviews happened at the end of December 1980. It marked the end of a busy year of promotion for Kate Bush. Ignoring the print interviews and any T.V. exposure, Kate Bush was definitely busy when it came to audio promotion. It was interesting discovering that interview with Paul Gambaccini. Bush was involved in a two-part interview. She was revealing her favourite Folk and Classic music in addition to her chosen Rock and Pop. As you can imagine, there were quite a few unusual and esoteric choices from her. What was really intriguing is how varied her selections were. She raved about Captain Beefheart and Steely Dan. We had this rare opportunity for Kate Bush to discuss the music that is important to her. It is an interview not many people know about but everyone should check out. If you look here, you can see that there are some awards honours alongside the interview. Bush won  at the Capital Radio Awards in March 1980. When she was speaking with Kid Jensen in April 1980, Bush was talking about her work. She also revealed that she had a partner (Del Palmer) and that took away some of the pressure. She was never one to reveal too many personal details, though there are these moments where she took us inside her private life. Despite the fact a lot of the audio from 1980 is not great and could do with cleaning up, it gives you a sense of how busy she was that year.

katebushnews.com · BBC Radio 1 Paul Gambaccini Kate's Favourite Folk & Classical 30th December 1980

I don’t think people realise how busy artists like Kate Bush were. 1980 was when she releases Never for Ever. That came out in September. At this point in her career, Bush was not considered a national treasure. Maybe still seen as a curiosity of this rather strange artist, there was some of this misconception and dismissal too. Against this, there was some love. Maybe more people starting to accept her talent and promise. In June 1980, there was a Roundtable on BBC Radio 1 where Babooshka is reviewed. Among those assessing the song is the recently-departed Steve Wright. He notes that the song is quite commercial. He admires the raunchiness of it and Bush’s talents as a vocalist. It is very touching hearing him speak highly of her! Wind back to April, and Breathing was not getting the same acclaim. Music can divide people, I know, but it was fascinating hearing a contrast in views between Breathing and Babooshka. Mainly male figures in the music industry giving their thoughts on Kate Bush. The interviews from 1980 are really nice. On 25th April, 1980, Annie Nightingale spoke with Kate Bush. It is an interview that the majority of people would not have heard of. I really love it. Quite a deep and affectionate discussion. Listening to the interview archive makes me wonder whether there is a way to clean up the audio and keep it somewhere. I don’t think there is a website where we get all of Kate Bush’s audio archive from through the years. 1980 is especially compelling and diverse.

katebushnews.com · BBC Radio 1 "Roundtable" Review of Babooshka 27th June 1980*

In July 1980, Kate Bush was interviewed by Capital Radio. She said how she felt she was being accepted on a male level. Not being dismissed the same way many female artists were at the time. A realisation that her music was starting to penetrate. Bush turned reviewer in August 1980 for BBC Radio 1’s Roundtable. On 5th September, 1980, hearing Never for Ever dissected and reviewed is a real treat. Some positive vibes and feedback coming from that clip. There is a lot of really interesting and varied audio to be discovered from 1980. Producing Never for Ever alongside Jon Kelly, maybe Kate Bush felt that she had more responsibility this time around. Needed to do even more promotion. Between 1978 and 1980, Bush had practically been promoting non-stop. She was very engaging and willing to talk about her music. In turn, many others had their thoughts on her. Something I did not know about her is that, In December 1980, Bush recorded some Christmas jingles. For BBC Radio 1 and Capital Radio, she wrote some unique and cool jingles for the stations! A Michael Aspel interview from the middle of December is worth listening to. We then end with that two-part chat with Paul Gambaccini. He dove deep and wondered what music Kate Bush was inspired and moved by. We are very lucky to have this interview archive. Thanks to Kate Bush News for ensuring that we can discover it! I think we get more context and insight into the year and how her music was being perceived. Never for Ever is quite an underrated album. One that didn’t get all positive reviews. Even so, there was appreciation and fascination from those in radio. Hearing Bush talk about her music and process is really eye-opening and wonderful. These interviews let us into a busy and important year from…

katebushnews.com · Capital Radio Kate's Christmas Jingle December 1980

A truly wonderful artist.

FEATURE: The Kate Bush Interview Archive: 1982: Paul Simper (Melody Maker)

FEATURE:

 

 

The Kate Bush Interview Archive

IN THIS PHOTO: Kate Bush in 1982

1982: Paul Simper (Melody Maker)

_________

I was going to give this feature up…

but there are a few other interviews I want to cover off before wrapping it all up. One interview I have not included before is Kate Bush’s interview with Melody Maker in 1982. Paul Simper was the man charged with interviewing her. Published in October 1982, a month after The Dreaming was released, this was a stage of Bush’s career that was a shock for many. In terms of what people expected from an album and the sound coming from it. I love interviews from 1982, as it sees Kate Bush in a very interesting period. Immersed in various studios working insane hours putting an album together, this was her first time producing alone. As such, what she was making was more layered and ambitious than any album that came before. Her fourth studio effort, The Dreaming is still one of her most underrated works. I think that the album should get more recognition and airplay. Maybe Sat in Your Lap gets played on the radio, though the rest of the songs are largely overlooked. Finishing with two of her best tracks, Houdini and Get Out of My House, there is great need for people to check out this remarkable album:

“To some people Kate Bush has almost ceased to exist. Usurped on the bedroom walls young upstarts like Clare Grogan and Kim Wilde, she is now a much more private lady who rarely goes out and seems quite content to concentrate on her singing and dancing.

It's been two years since her last LP, Never For Ever, and though the single that followed "Sat In Your Lap", reached number 11, the recent commercial failure of "The Dreaming" has seen the undertakers beginning to shuffle and murmur impatiently.

Was the title track the actual cornerstone of the LP?

"No. The thing about all my album titles is that they're usually one of the last things to be thought of because it's so difficult just to find a few words to sum the whole thing up.

"I've got this book which is all about Aborigines and Australian art and it's called The Dreaming. The song was originally called 'Dreamtime', but when we found out that the other word for it was 'The Dreaming' it was so beautiful - just by putting 'the' in front of 'dreaming' made something very different - and so I used that.

"It also seems to sum up a lot of the songs because one of the main points about that time for the Aborigines was that it was very religious and humans and animals were very closely connected. Humans were actually living in animal's bodies and that's an idea which I particularly like playing with."

Have you ever been to Australia?

"Yes, but not recently. I have contact with a few Australians and it seems that at the moment Aboriginal art is becoming very fashionable so the young Australians are starting to take a lot more serious notice of what's happening to them. Also, happily, the Aborigines seem to be growing in number again."

The Dreaming is an LP that mutates at an alarming rate. One minute you're playing walkabout in the outback, the next it's Vietnam and you're fighting for your life. But through the images are diverse and at times oblique, the sound - principally driven by menacing, pounding drums - is more consistent. It certainly owes much to Peter Gabriel's third LP which housed such resounding nightmares as "Biko" and "No Self Control".

"I'd been trying to get some kind of tribal drum sound together for a couple of albums, especially the last one. But really the problem was that I was trying to work with a pop medium and get something out of it that wasn't part of that set-up."

"Seeing Peter working in the Town House Studio, especially with the engineers he had, it was the nearest thing I'd heard to real guts for a long long time. I mean, I'm not into rhythm boxes - they're very useful to write with but I don't think they're good sounds for a finished record - and that was what was so exciting because the drums had so much power."

Another influence you're quoted before is Pink Floyd's The Wall, did you see the film?

"Yes. I've been very much influenced by The Wall because I like the way that the Floyd get right into that emotional area and work with sounds as pictures. I think the problem with the film though is that, although as a piece of art it is devastating, it isn't real enough. The whole film is negatively based. No once during Pink's life is there a moment of happiness which I know in every human's life there is. Even if you have the shittiest life of all there is always one little moment where you smile for a second or you fall in love with someone and feel happy - maybe only for ten minutes.

Listening to The Dreaming and Never For Ever the night before my interview with Kate the two LPs gradually revealed many lyrical similarities - the anti-war theme of "Breathing" and "Army Dreamers", which is continued on "Pull Out The Pin", for instance. One track, though, left me utterly bewildered - "Suspended In Gaffa"...

"Lyrically it's not really that dissimilar from "Sat In Your Lap" in saying that you really want to work for something. It's playing with the idea of hell. At school I was always taught that if you went to hell you would see a glimpse of God and that was it - you never saw him again and you'd spend the rest of eternity pining to see him. In a way it was even worse if you went to purgatory because you got the glimpse of God and you would see him again [??? but you] didn't know when. So it was almost like you had to sit here until he decided to com back.

"I suppose for me in my work, because it's such a sped up life and so much happens to you and you analyse yourself a lot, you see the potential for perhaps getting to somewhere very special on an artistic or a spiritual level and that excites me a lot. And it's the idea of working towards that and perhaps one day, when you're ready for that change, it's like entering a different level of existence, where everything goes slow-mo... it's almost like a religious experience. That's basically what the song's about."

Are you very religious or do you simply have a strong belief in yourself?

"I think I very much believe in the forces and energies that humans and other things which are alive can create. I do feel that what you give out sincerely then karmically you should get it back."

Time seems to have changed your thirst for knowledge. While in "Rolling The Ball" [sic - "Them Heavy People] you were overbrimming with the joys of gathering wisdom, on a track like "Sat In Your Lap" you appear a lot more impatient - "I want to be a lawyer. I want to be a scholar./But I really Can't be bothered, ooh just/Gimme it quick..."

"I think it's also about the way you try to work for something and you end up finding you've been working away from it rather than towards it. It's really about the whole frustration of having to wait for things - the fact that you can't do what you want to do now, you have to work toward it and maybe, only maybe, in five years you'll get what you're after.

"For me there are so many things I do which I don't want to - the mechanics of the industry - but I hope that through them I can get what I really want. You have to realise that, say, you can't just be an artist and not promote. If you're not a salesman for your work the likelihood is that people won't realise that it's there and eventually you'll stop yourself from being able to make something else. There's no doubt about it that every album I make is really dependant on the money I made from the last one."

Do you do a lot of reading?

"No, not really, because I just don't get the time. But whenever I do it really sparks things off in me. The last book I read was The Shining and it just blew me away, it was absolutely brilliant, and that definitely inspired "Get Out Of My House" because the atmosphere of the book is so strong”.

There are a lot of interesting interviews with Kate Bush from 1982. It might have been hard for journalists to get their mind around The Dreaming and what to ask. It is fascinating reading Bush discussing her most unusual and innovative album. If you are someone who has avoided it or only heard a track or two, I hope the interview above gives you impetus to explore it in more detail and depth. It is an album that needs to be celebrated and properly listened to. It has been a pleasure going back to 1982 again for another instalment of The Kate Bush Interview Archive. The Dreaming is a treasure that…

DESERVES more love and attention.

FEATURE: Our Lady the Divine: Madonna’s Like a Prayer at Thirty-Five

FEATURE:

 

 

Our Lady the Divine

Madonna’s Like a Prayer at Thirty-Five

_________

MAYBE not as significant…

as a thirtieth or fortieth anniversary, I think that a thirty-fifth anniversary is still important and big. Madonna’s seminal album, Like a Prayer, turns thirty-five on 21st March. One of the defining albums from the Queen of Pop, it topped the charts in the U.S. and the U.K. With timeless singles such as Like a Prayer and Express Yourself on the album, there are few who can argue against the majesty of this 1989 work of genius. I want to explore it further now. I am going to come to some reviews for Like a Prayer. First, in 2019, Vice marked thirty years of a classic. An album where Madonna truly established herself as a serious and meaningful artist:

“Madonna was already a superstar before she released Like a Prayer, which turns 30 years old this week. She had produced at least half-a-dozen era-defining hits (“Holiday,” “Like a Virgin,” “Material Girl,” “Into the Groove,” “Papa Don’t Preach,” and “La Isla Bonita”), and her previous album, 1986’s True Blue, had sold more than 25 million copies. But, in a way, she was also strangely underrated. When Like a Prayer came out in 1989, six years after she hit the ground running with her infectious debut single, “Everybody,” critics lauded Madonna for changing our conceptions around how a female pop singer could present herself and conduct her career. But they didn’t necessarily regard her as a “great artist.”

"Critics flock to her uneven product the way liberal arts magnas flock to investment banking," Robert Christgau, the self-styled “Dean of American Rock Critics,” wrote in his review of True Blue. "So desperate are they to connect to a zeitgeist that has nothing to do with them that they decide a little glamour and the right numbers add up to meaningful work, or at least 'fun.’”

Like a Prayer certainly confirmed Madonna’s flair for fun; with its kindergarten-friendly lyrics about “pink elephants and lemonade” and treacle-sweet, Beatles-y psychedelia, “Dear Jessie” remains one of her most charming singles. But the album as a whole, Madonna’s first undisputed masterpiece, also proved once and for all that she was a meaningful artist, not just an uncommonly savvy and driven pop star. She bared her navel on the album’s cover, and her soul in its songs.

Even three decades later, it’s difficult to separate the album from the scandal that surrounded its release. When the brilliantly provocative “Like a Prayer” video debuted in February 1989, just a day after the release of a high-profile Pepsi commercial starring Madonna, the Vatican and various religious groups condemned the clip for including allegedly blasphemous imagery. Here was Madonna dancing in front of burning crosses, kissing a Black Saint, and displaying what looked like stigmata on her palms.

As the video continued causin’ a commotion, Madonna stood by it, telling the New York Times that “Art should be controversial, and that's all there is to it.” Pepsi bosses were so keen to distance themselves from the button-pushing singer that they pulled the commercial without trying to take back her $5 million fee.

Today, Madonna still seems fabulously unbothered by the whole thing. She breezily celebrated the anniversary of the “Like a Prayer” furor on Instagram earlier this month, writing: “Happy birthday to me and controversy.” Atta girl!

But where the “Like a Prayer” video controversy captured Madonna at her most bullish and brazen, the album that followed a few weeks later revealed new depths of honesty, vulnerability, and cathartic emotion. “Oh Father,” one of eight Like a Prayer tracks that she co-wrote with regular collaborator Patrick Leonard, is a glorious, classic-sounding ballad about taking back control from male authority figures, including her father. "I lay down next to your boots and I prayed for your anger to end / Oh father, I have sinned," she sings, extending the title track’s conflation of religion and real-life experience.

Funk workout “Keep it Together,” one of two tracks she co-wrote with another frequent collaborator, Stephen Bray, explores how family ties can feel suffocating and comforting at the same time. “Promise to Try,” another stellar ballad, finds Madonna grappling with the memory of her mother, who died when she was just five years old. "She's a faded smile frozen in time," she sings achingly. "I'm still hanging on, but I'm doing it wrong."

Meanwhile, the sad and aromatic “Pray for Spanish Eyes” is a seeming eulogy for lives lost to America’s worsening AIDS crisis. The man Madonna still describes as her BFF, former Studio 54 bartender Martin Burgoyne, had succumbed to the disease in 1986. “How many lives will they have to take? How much heartache?” Madonna sings, pleadingly. It’s certainly worth remembering that Madonna included an AIDS fact sheet with Like a Prayer in a bid to reduce the stigma and ignorance surrounding the disease, one the recently departed President Ronald Reagan had ignored for as long as possible. "People with AIDS—regardless of their sexual orientation—deserve compassion and support, not violence and bigotry," the sheet stated matter-of-factly.

But the album’s most shocking track is probably “Till Death Do Us Part.” Underpinned by a deceptively perky keyboard riff, the lyrics hint at domestic abuse ("The bruises they will fade away / You hit so hard with the things you say") and violent rows ("He starts to scream, the vases fly"), offering a devastating summary of a dysfunctional relationship: "You're not in love with someone else / You don't even love yourself / Still I wish you'd ask me not to go." Coinciding with the end of Madonna’s first marriage to Sean Penn (she’d filed for divorce in January 1989), it’s one of the most affecting moments in Madonna's discography, though she’d later go on the record denying allegations that she had experienced physical abuse during their relationship.

Still, the album never becomes too introspective to work as stadium-ready pop. The Romeo and Juliet-referencing “Cherish” is a retro melodic gem in the vein of “True Blue.” The Sly and the Family Stoinspired funk missile “Express Yourself' offers a feminist rallying cry that would inspire generations to come: Christina Aguilera and the Spice Girls have both hailed it as influence. When Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way” debuted in 2011, many pop fans and music critics noted its distinct resemblance to “Express Yourself.” Madonna said Gaga's song sounded "familiar" and felt “reductive,” but Gaga insisted she didn't intentionally reference the Madonna anthem, telling NME in 2011: “If you put the songs next to each other, side by side, the only similarities are the chord progressions. It’s the same one that’s been in disco music for the last 50 years."

The accompanying video is a queer classic that's been likened to "Tom of Finland meets Fritz Lang's Metropolis," with Madonna presiding over a futuristic city fueled by shirtless male workers. And the immortal title track mixes religious and sexual ecstasy so thrillingly, it could make a celibate atheist want to dance.

Then again, perhaps we shouldn't be surprised that Like a Prayer's most heavyweight track on paper turns out to be its frothiest in practice. Like a Prayer is a rare beast: an iconic pop album that retains its ability to surprise you, using richly evocative songcraft to explore deeply personal themes—sometimes spiritual, sometimes socially conscious—from a woman’s perspective. With it, Madonna had once again remodeled people's expectations of what a female pop singer could achieve. Decades before Beyoncé’s Lemonade and Ariana Grande’s Thank U, Next, it laid the foundation for the deeply persona pop blockbuster, auteured by a strong woman at the peak of her creative powers”.

It is interesting reading these deep features. Ones which provide us with context and background. How Like a Prayer fits into her discography. How it defines Madonna. Even if some would say 1998’s Ray of Light is her greatest work, there are many more who argue that this honour should go to 1989’s Like a Prayer. There was a lot of retrospection around Like a Prayer on its thirtieth in 2019. People keen to mark such an important album. Albumism did so in a fascinating feature:

“Madonna’s Like A Prayer is “as close to art as pop gets,” Rolling Stone’s J.D. Considine opined in his review of her fourth studio album published nearly thirty years ago in April of 1989. Though I don’t doubt that Mr. Considine likely meant well, his declaration is borderline asinine, if you ask me. His insinuation is that pop music can never actually be considered art and is forever destined to fall short of warranting this qualification. That pop music is somehow inherently less than other musical forms. Um, yeah, I’m calling bullshit.

Indeed, it is precisely this type of myopic perspective and critical snobbery that has plagued Madonna since she first emerged on the public stage back in 1982. Despite her millions upon millions of loyalists worldwide, and arguably due in large part to their preoccupation with her unabashedly iconoclastic persona, a sizeable contingency of critics and listeners still refuse to take her seriously as an artist and songwriter. But let’s not waste any more time lamenting the naysayers, shall we? Like A Prayer is, in fact, art. And arguably matched only by Ray of Light (1998) released nearly a decade later, it remains her artistic pinnacle to date, in my opinion.

Other more discerning interpreters of Madonna’s musical repertoire often cite Like A Prayer as her first serious album, following the more whimsical fare—or “brassy dance-pop” as the New York Times’ Stephen Holden likened it—found on her first three studio albums: Madonna (1983), Like A Virgin (1984) and True Blue (1986). “Serious” is a relative term, open to interpretation, mind you. For I know I took Madonna very seriously when I first heard “Everybody” back in ’82. I was five years old. But I knew a perfect pop song when I heard it, even then.

Perhaps more accurately, Like A Prayer is Madonna’s first personal album, throughout which she balances the fictional with the autobiographical more than she ever had up until that point. Joined once again by True Blue co-producers and fellow Michigan natives Patrick Leonard and Stephen Bray, she began recording the album in September 1988. One month prior, she had turned 30, the same age her mother—to whom Like A Prayer is dedicated—had been when she succumbed to breast cancer in 1963, when Madonna was just five years old. The following year, her four-year marriage with Sean Penn—to whom she dedicated True Blue—dissolved and ended in divorce. Meanwhile, Madonna’s attempt to cross over to film and seize upon the modest success of Desperately Seeking Susan (1985) hadn’t gone too well, with two back-to-back box office mishaps in Shanghai Surprise (1986) and Who’s That Girl (1987).

So, suffice to say, Madonna was in a particularly reflective state of mind when recording sessions commenced. Hence it’s no great surprise that amidst all of the other turmoil in her life, she also reawakened all of her conflicted feelings about her Catholic upbringing. These sentiments ultimately informed the title of the album and the controversial, gospel-tinged title track and lead single “Like A Prayer,” the video for which caused an irrationally disproportionate amount of attention and rebuke by more rigid segments of the American populace. It also ruffled the robes of the Vatican brass, due to its religious and racial imagery, coupled with the song’s perceived sexual double entendres.

“It's me struggling with the mystery and magic that surrounds it,” she confided to the New York Times around the time of the album’s release. “My own Catholicism is in constant upheaval. When I left home at 17 and went to New York, which is the city with the most sinners, I renounced the traditional meaning of Catholicism in terms of how I would live my life. But I never stopped feeling the guilt and shame that are ingrained in you if you are brought up Catholic.''

When the dogmatic dust finally settled from the bombastic, bible-thumping brouhaha over the video, listeners were able to devote more of their attention toward the ten other songs that comprise Like A Prayer. The next two official singles lifted from the album reinforced Madonna’s penchant for pop perfectionism, beginning with the anthemic “Express Yourself.” Echoing the clarion call tone heard on the Staple Singers’ 1971 black empowerment mantra “Respect Yourself,” the kinetically crafted song finds Madonna encouraging women to affirm and articulate their own needs, while deconstructing the superficial dependence on materialism in relationships. The buoyant, wistful love song and third single “Cherish” bears the closest resemblance to her radio-friendly fare of previous albums, introducing some warmer, winsome fare to the otherwise ruminative affair.

For my money, the album’s most powerful and memorable moments can be found in its more understated and introspective moments. The plaintive, piano-driven “Promise to Try” revisits the emotional impact of her mother’s death, while the symphonic, strings-laden swell of “Oh Father” is one of the most stirring moments, as Madonna examines her fractured relationship with her father in the wake of the loss they’ve shared. While she harbors resentment toward him for unspecified discretions, she also expresses empathy and understanding, reflecting, “Maybe someday / When I look back, I'll be able to say / You didn't mean to be cruel / Somebody hurt you too.” It’s a refreshingly candid and compassionate moment for Madonna, who has remained relatively taciturn when it comes to discussing her father publicly.

The sobering “Till Death Do Us Part” explores the dissolution of her marriage to Penn, with Madonna fluctuating between playing the real-life role of the victim (“I think I interrupt your life / When you laugh, it cuts me just like a knife / I'm not your friend, I'm just your little wife”) and assuming the voice of the observer (“They never laugh, not like before / She takes the keys, he breaks the door / She cannot stay here anymore / He's not in love with her anymore”). Her second verse is a particularly brutal reproach of her ex-husband, as she declares, “The bruises they will fade away / You hit so hard with the things you say / I will not stay to watch your hate as it grows / You're not in love with someone else / You don't even love yourself,” while her conflicted, vulnerable heart surfaces in the verse’s closing line, “Still I wish you'd ask me not to go.”

Other standout moments include “Keep It Together,” an upbeat ode to family solidarity that lobs another presumed dig in Penn’s direction: “blood is thicker than any other circumstance.” And of course, the lush, leftfield soul of “Love Song”—co-written and co-produced by Prince (whose uncredited guitar work also appears on “Like A Prayer,” “Keep It Together” and “Act of Contrition”)—is notable for being a once-in-a-lifetime songwriting collaboration between two of the most influential figures in the past 40 years of popular music.

"If it had not been clear with True Blue, Like A Prayer staked Madonna's motive to master the album format,” Quentin Harrison, Albumism contributor and author of Record Redux: Madonna, explains. In retrospect three decades on, the album signaled not just Madonna’s emboldened commitment to crafting cohesive albums, but also a pivotal, transitional point in Madonna’s recording career.

As the new decade arrived, and with the expansive, career-to-date compendium The Immaculate Collection (1990) neatly synthesizing her most popular songs to date, Madonna turned to exercising more creative freedom than ever before. In the ensuing years, she continually redefined and reinvigorated her musical footprint, beginning with 1992’s Erotica, which found her exploring not only new and bold thematic territory, but previously untrodden sonic paths as well. She moved on from her longtime partnership with producers Bray and Leonard, and gradually forged stronger connections with dancefloor-friendly collaborators like Shep Pettibone (Erotica), Nellee Hooper (1994’s Bedtime Stories) and William Orbit (Ray of Light). And together with these and other musical kindred spirits along the way, Madonna created art—yes, art—of the most thrilling caliber”.

I am going to end with a couple of reviews for Like a Prayer. I am going to start with a Rolling Stone review from 1989. They were extremely positive about Like a Prayer. One couldn’t deny the power and importance of Madonna then. Climbing to heights few other artists ever have, Like a Prayer is an album that still sounds so compelling and accomplished. The Queen of Pop hitting a peak and standing out as one of music’s greatest ever artists:

“Ever since Madonna‘s bellybutton first undulated its way into mass consciousness, her fame has been more a matter of image than artistry. Never mind whether there was any depth or resonance behind it; for many of her fans, the image alone — Madonna as wily, wanton boy toy, gleefully manipulating the material world — was resonant enough. For others, it was just an act, a coolly calculated pop ploy designed to sell records.

With Like a Prayer, Madonna doesn’t just ask to be taken seriously, she insists on it. Daring in its lyrics, ambitious in its sonics, this is far and away the most self-consciously serious album she’s made. There are no punches pulled, anywhere; Madonna is brutally frank about the dissolution of her marriage (“Till Death Do Us Part”), her ambivalence toward her father (“Oh Father”) and even her feelings of loss about her mother (“Promise to Try”). Yet as intensely personal as these songs are, the underlying themes are universal enough to move almost any listener. Likewise, the music, though clearly a step beyond the pop confections that earned the singer her place on the charts, remains as accessible as ever.

Don’t expect to be won over instantly, though, for Like a Prayer is more interested in exorcising demons than entertaining fans. The album is in large part about growing up and dealing with such ghosts from the past as parents, religion and the promises of love. At times, the album can be heartbreaking in its honesty — read through the lyrics to “Till Death Do Us Part,” and you’ll feel guilty for ever having glanced at a tabloid with a Madonna & Sean Wedding Shocker headline.

This is serious stuff, and nowhere is that more apparent than on the title tune. Opening with a sudden blast of stun-gun guitar, “Like a Prayer” seems at first like a struggle between the sacred and the profane as Madonna’s voice is alternately driven by a jangling, bass-heavy funk riff and framed by an angelic aura of backing voices. Madonna stokes the spiritual fires with a potent, high-gloss groove that eventually surrenders to gospel abandon.

The tracks that Madonna coproduced with Patrick Leonard — which include “Like a Prayer” — are stunning in their breadth and achievement. “Cherish,” which manages a nod to the Association song of the same title, makes savvy retro-rock references, and “Dear Jessie” boasts kaleidoscopic Sgt. Pepper-isms. When Stephen Bray replaces Leonard as coproducer, even an unabashed groove tune like “Express Yourself” seems smart and sassy, right down to Madonna’s soul-style testimony on the intro: “Come on, girls, do you believe in love?”

Believing in love doesn’t seem as easy for Madonna as it once did, though. “Till Death Do Us Part” takes its wedding-vow title almost mockingly, as the singer contemplates all the ways her marriage seems to be killing her. “The bruises, they will fade away/You hit so hard with the things you say,” goes one verse, and it’s hard not to be shocked. But the saddest thing about the song isn’t the abuse endured by Madonna (for this hardly seems a fictional “I”); it’s her helplessness in the face of her husband’s self-loathing: “You’re not in love with someone else/You don’t even love yourself/Still I wish you’d ask me not to go.”

But difficult love seems a familiar refrain in this collection of songs. “Oh Father” mirrors many of the horrors hinted at by “Till Death Do Us Part” (which provides plenty of material for armchair psychiatrists), and despite the song’s lush string arrangement, there’s still a disturbing amount of ache in lines like “You can’t hurt me now/I got away from you, I never thought I would.” Not that it’s all bad love and childhood trauma. “Promise to Try,” for instance, is about gathering a certain strength from feelings of loss and abandonment, as Madonna tries to live up to the memories she holds so dear.

The worst that can be said of the album’s obviously confessional numbers is that they engender such powerful emotions that an admirable pop song like “Keep It Together” seems almost trivial by comparison (when in fact it’s a rather impressive invocation of the importance of family). Fortunately, Madonna maintains an impressive sense of balance throughout the album, leavening the pain of “Till Death Do Us Part” with the lighthearted love of “Cherish,” contrasting the trauma of “Oh Father” with the libidinal power games of “Love Song” (a coy, musically adventurous duel-duet with Prince) and juxtaposing the ecstatic fervor of “Like a Prayer” with the Catholic injoking of “Act of Contrition.”

As for her image, well, you may see her navel on the inner sleeve, but what you hear once you get inside the package is as close to art as pop music gets. Like a Prayer is proof not only that Madonna should be taken seriously as an artist but that hers is one of the most compelling voices of the Eighties. And if you have trouble accepting that, maybe it’s time for a little image adjustment of your own”.

I am going to end with Consequence’s 2019 review of Like a Prayer. If you have not heard this album in a while, then make sure that you do spend time with it. Such a powerful and moving listen from start to finish, we mark its thirty-fifth anniversary on 21st March:

“It helps that Like a Prayer is a masterpiece, representing real growth for the former material girl. It opens with a musical thesis statement: an aggressive, rebellious guitar that’s instantly replaced by a heavenly choir. This is the tension at the heart of the album, and it makes the song, “Like a Prayer”, an electrifying listen. Those gospel-tinged choruses are part of the fun, but the real joy is in the transgression. Madonna grew up in a deeply religious household and is purposefully blurring the lines between sexual and religious euphorias. It means more than it would coming from a born atheist. It’s more wrong. Some — perhaps even Madonna — might call it naughty.

The album starts with a powerhouse 1-2 punch of “Like  Prayer” and “Express Yourself”. “Express Yourself” is probably the single most joyful-sounding track on the album, and it comes from a place of anxiety. Madonna is urging a friend in an uncertain relationship to have a talk with their boyfriend. “Make him express how he feels,” she urges.

Listeners of a certain age might hear the chord progression and expect Lady Gaga to belt out, “Born This Way”. The similarities between the two songs was enough to cause a feud between Madonna and Lady Gaga. Lady Gaga’s defense is that the chord progression goes back to the ’70s, and Madonna told Rolling Stone that “Express Yourself” was “my tribute to Sly and the Family Stone.” Now, we could raise a polite eyebrow at her calling it a “tribute,” or we could just agree that all three artists are great and more people should listen to Sly and The Family Stone.

Most of Like a Prayer was co-written with Patrick Leonard. Two songs, “Express Yourself” and “Keep It Together”, were co-written with Stephen Bray. The only other collaborator is Prince. “Love Song” is a slinky duet with His Purpleness, with Prince’s signature guitar flirting with Madonna’s synths. It’s a drunken first date of a song, where they alternate assuring each other that “this is not a love song,” before asking, “Are you just being kind?”

There are a few purely positive moments on the album. There’s the bubblegum “Cherish” and the bedtime psychedelia of “Dear Jessie”. These are unambiguously happy. But Like a Prayer is Madonna’s best album because it is her most personal album. And a lot of her personal life is dark. “Till Death Do Us Part” deals with the dissolution of her marriage to Sean Penn. “Promise to Try” is a heartbreaking song about the death of her mother. “Oh Father” is all defiance and hurt, addressed to a father who is only half-forgiven. As a group, these songs make a mini-arc within the broader album, and the climax is “Keep It Together”: “Keep it together in the family/ They’re a reminder of your history.”

Does that sound less than enthusiastic? The beat is bright, disco, jaunty. The lyrics are more reserved. This is the same tension in the album from the beginning — the tension between the thing that is fun and the thing that is true, the guitar and the choir.

The final track of Like a Prayer begins how the album begins: with a raucous, muscular guitar. But this time, the church choir doesn’t cut it off. Instead, the choir hollers their approval and begins clapping along. In a solemn voice, sometimes reciting and sometimes singing, Madonna performs a Catholic prayer of contrition. “Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee.” For a moment, it seems that the tension has been resolved. Guitar and choir can coexist. As the prayer concludes, Madonna seems to find herself at a reservation desk — the front desk of Heaven, probably. “I have a reservation,” she says confidently. “I have a reservation,” she repeats. And how does the album end? With Madonna belligerently bellowing, “Whaddya mean it’s not in the computer!”

Ah well, perhaps she won’t get into Heaven after all. Perhaps that tension between guitar and choir cannot be resolved. Madonna’s priorities were never really in doubt, anyway. By mixing the sacred and the profane in a way sure to draw attention, Madonna went from being a regular old star to one of the most famous people on the planet. Of course, courting controversy for profit is as old as profit. But the way Madonna manipulated the media provided a blueprint for generations of the scandal-inclined.

More importantly, the music was fresh, honest, and real: a bubblegum pop exorcism. By making her music more personal, Madonna did more than improve on her earlier records. She stretched the boundaries of popular music and cemented her place as one of the greatest artists of our time”.

One of the greatest albums ever released, Like a Prayer was Madonna’s first real masterpiece – though not her last. Moving to 1992’s Erotica, 1994’s Bedtime Stories and 1998’s Ray of Light, Madonna would keep pushing boundaries and evolving as an artist. At the end of the 1980s, she showed why she was an artist with no peers! Reshaping the idea of what a Pop artist was and showing that she was not to be dismissed or seen as merely a Pop artist, this was an icon in full bloom. Touring at the moment, Madonna is still out there and bringing songs from Like a Prayer to the people. I know she will look back on this album when it turns thirty-five on 21st March. It is an album that is…

TRULY like no other.

FEATURE: Mellow Song: Blur’s 13 at Twenty-Five

FEATURE:

 

 

Mellow Song

Blur’s 13 at Twenty-Five

_________

THE amazing sixth…

studio album from Blur arrived on 15th March, 1999. 13 is an album that sort of signalled the end of Blur as we would know them. It may sound dark, though it was a period where relationships between the band members were strained; members frequently missing from the sessions. In terms of the lyrics, 13 is darker than Blur's previous albums. Inspired by Damon Albarn's breakup with long-term girlfriend, Justine Frischmann, that followed an increasingly strained relationship. 13 was the last for over a decade to feature the original line-up as Graham Coxon left the band during the sessions of their next album, Think Tank (2003), before returning for The Magic Whip (2015). Blur have since got back together again and released The Ballad of Darren last year. They are back on hiatus now. Even if 13 and the end of the 1990s was a struggling and tense period for the band, the album that came from that time is among their best. It contains two of their best-loved songs, Tender and Coffee + TV. I shall get to some reviews to end this feature. Almost twenty-five years after the release of 13, I think the album more than stands out. It is worth of a lot of love and celebration. In 2022, Dig! looked inside Blur’s end-of-a-century masterpiece:

“Released two years earlier, in 1997, Blur’s self-titled album had forced a rethink of everything the group had become known for: Albarn’s lyrics took a more introspective turn, and the band’s music expanded to encompass influences from US alt-rock while also incorporating new working practices that found them recording songs piecemeal in the studio. Shaped by two external factors – a relationship breakup and a cutting-edge new producer – 13 would double down on this new creative process.

Like the music they would record over the latter half of 1998, Blur themselves had been pulling in different directions, with guitarist Graham Coxon’s debut solo album, The Sky Is Too High, further embracing his love of US indie-rock, and Albarn working in secret on a dubby mash-up of styles that would soon emerge as Gorillaz’s debut album.

The latter came together in Albarn’s new flat – a place he shared with illustrator Jamie Hewlett, Gorillaz’s visual foil. Albarn had moved in with Hewlett since breaking up with Justine Frischmann, his longtime girlfriend and then lead singer with Elastica. “A lot of 13 stems from that period,” the singer told Blur biographer Stuart Maconie. “My life was not right. Not in harmony. Everything stems from your emotional life, and mine just wasn’t working at all. It was really dysfunctional. So I was misfiring everywhere.” Suffering from panic attacks, Albarn began working on a song whose lyrics would serve as a salve: “Tender is the day/The demons go away/Lord, I need to find/Someone who can heal my mind.”

Titled Tender, the finished version of the song would be as startling an album opener to 13 as Beetlebum had been to Blur: Coxon’s opening lo-fi guitar melody sounded all the more fragile for having been recorded through a Dictaphone, while the band created a beat by dropping planks of wood on the floor. Realising he needed to bring something entirely new, bassist Alex James swapped his patented pop bounce for a more sensitive bassline played on a double bass, while Albarn – having reportedly immersed himself in Otis Redding’s music – delivered a devastating vocal. Bringing the song’s soulful undertones to the fore, the group topped it off with a guest turn from the London Community Choir, whose repeated encouragement, “Come on, come on, come on/Get through it,” added to the fervour of a song Albarn described as “a celebration of love found and lost but not forgotten”.

“As soon as they started singing, it was instantly and obviously a No.1 record,” James wrote in his memoir, Bit Of A Blur, rightly clocking Tender as one of the best Blur songs of all time. “I’d never been so certain of anything.”

Released as 13’s lead single in February 1999, just three weeks ahead of its parent album, Tender was kept off the top spot by Britney Spears’ … Baby One More Time. But, having nailed the song early in the album sessions, it gave Blur the confidence to keep pushing forward.

Further encouragement came from their new producer, William Orbit. Fresh off the back of his work with Madonna on the all-conquering Ray Of Light album, and delivering what Blur felt were the standout moments on their then recent remix collection, Bustin’ + Dronin’, Orbit’s background in electronica helped take the group’s new material far beyond anything they had released before.

Though there was some trepidation about leaving their longtime producer Stephen Street (The Smiths, Morrissey) after a career-defining five-album run together, Blur also knew their new material needed an outsider’s ear. “It was such a personal thing going on, we needed to have someone who didn’t really know us,” Albarn said at the time. “William was a bit like a psychiatrist through all of this. Everyone encouraged the emotional blood-letting.”

If 13’s penultimate song, No Distance Left To Run, distilled those emotions into the most fragile-sounding Blur song to date, the album’s more uncompromising moments came out of hours’ worth of lengthy jams worked up in a drab warehouse in West London (the specific room they’d hired, Unit 13, gave the record its name) and the group’s adopted safe haven of Reykjavík, in Iceland. With Orbit then editing the recordings into something more closely resembling structured songs, the band were, Coxon realised, hearing their music “as someone else would hear it”. The experience was “a revelation”.

Under the strain of such emotional intensity and the demands of trying to keep their music unified amid an increasing number of new influences, experimental recording techniques and disparate individual interests all jostling for space on one record, Blur’s interpersonal relationships began to suffer. But while all involved have agreed that 13 was a challenge to complete, a decade together as a band had honed their musicianship to near-perfection. When they all plugged in, they managed a unity rare in even the most road-hardened of groups. Alex James recalled Orbit’s later admission that “the way we were able instantly to conjure an arrangement without talking about it had completely knocked him out. It had taken us a long time to be able to do that.”

One of a clutch of songs to look to faraway horizons, Battle sounds like a missive from an interplanetary craft, circling around a looped drum beat, mumbled lyrics and Coxon seemingly running a one-man insurgency with an array of combative guitar noises. Floating up from the melee, Albarn repeats the title word in falsetto, giving way to the suggestion – or perhaps decision, or capitulation – “Battle someone, ooh.” Elsewhere, Caramel takes Battle’s space-rock into zero gravity and Trimm Trabb lays these excursions on top of a mournful melody in which Albarn, though namechecking a pair of “flash boys” vintage Adidas trainers in the title, concludes, with bereft lethargy, “I’ve got no style/I’ll take my time/All those losers on the piss again/I doze, doze away/That’s just the way it is”.

In 2019, Stereogum commemorated twenty years of Blur’s 13. If it was a frazzled album in some ways that was signalling an end, it is also an apex. One of the great albums from the end of the Britpop era. The band and lead, Damon Albarn, broken down but set free:

“Of course, there was a plot to 13 — or, rather, a great deal of narrative surrounding it, which two decades on still makes it a crucial entry in Blur’s timeline and in the life of their frontman Damon Albarn. The album, famously, stemmed primarily from the end of Albarn’s relationship with Elastica frontwoman Justine Frischmann. For much of the decade, they’d been a Britpop celeb couple, and the final disintegration of their relationship left Albarn wounded and searching. What came out of him and Blur next was a strange mixture, an album that’s often downtrodden and defeated emotionally but liberated creatively.

Blur had rendered melancholy beautifully before, especially on career highlights like Parklife’s “This Is A Low” and The Great Escape’s “The Universal.” But those had been installments in greater tapestries, Albarn’s kaleidoscopic character studies of British life at the end of a century. He had never written from an explicitly personal place before, and 13 entirely changed this. Reeling from the loss of his relationship with Frischmann, he channeled longing and confusion and pain into songs that themselves were often breaking apart, or into songs that stand as some of the band’s most beautiful and heartrending compositions. The band’s visual language changed accordingly, too, as they fully abandoned the Technicolor Pop Art vibes of their previous albums for an oil painting done by guitarist Graham Coxon, a painting that communicated the dirty and inward-looking sounds of the album as much as it communicated its blend of physical and emotional hurt.

The whole thing, of course, opens with “Tender.” A totemic introduction, “Tender” remains not quite like anything else in Blur’s diverse catalog — a towering Britpop anthem aided by gospel, a lachrymose exorcism that can sound like the lowest point in your life at the same time as it can sound like a true salve. “Tender is the night” are the first lyrics Albarn sings on the album, sharing words with the title of a F. Scott Fitzgerald novel, tapping into the desperate romanticism of another artist with an infamously fractious and public relationship. The song’s power is in how Albarn begins alone, remembering a partner who’s no longer there and singing paeans to love, and how the instrumentation continues to grow around him so that he is far from alone by its finale. Without any grand sweeping changes, the song gently climbs upwards, the chorus of voices by the end playing out like the healing Albarn pleads for in the lyrics.

If only the journey was that simple. “Tender” is one of the only moments on 13 that approaches true release. From there, 13 fires off in a lot of directions, almost all of them leading towards bleakness. There’s the caustic “Bugman,” the numbed routine of “Coffee & TV” grasping for the promise of “We can start over again,” the throbbing haze of “1992,” the spare loneliness of “No Distance Left To Run,” effectively the album’s closing statement. Perhaps the most striking tracks are “Battle” and “Caramel.” Both of them are haunting, spaced-out sagas, perfect representations of Blur’s experimental ambitions for 13 and the meditative headspace of the album thematically.

Those latter examples came from another of 13’s defining stories, that of heroin use. Hinted at throughout the years, and more explicitly discussed by Albarn earlier this decade, this was an era in which a lot of people in the scene were falling deeper into heroin use. Though Blur had offered narcotic odes before — like the self-titled’s opener “Beetlebum” — 13 is heroin music almost across the board.

Albarn’s been careful when approaching the subject. The creative exploration, the unlocking of a whole new vein of his songwriting at this juncture, he’ll credit that to heroin. But it’s also a wildly destructive force, one that lends 13 a depressive zone-out sound that once more aligned it with all the great comedown albums in Britpop’s final stretch. Like Be Here Now, Ladies And Gentlemen, and This Is Hardcore all did in their own ways, 13 combined a kind of unsexy hedonism with drained emotional landscapes. In the end it proved to be one of the band’s more difficult listens, but also perhaps their most rewarding, enduring, and evocative.

13 was, in many ways, the apex of Blur. The band had already restlessly sought out new sounds and ideas in the five albums they’d released in the preceding eight years. And the Britpop albums remain pivotal to the story of ’90s England and its music scene. Many fans might still identify one of those as their favorites, and Blur’s best songs are fairly evenly distributed throughout.

The nature of 13 demands a stronger connection. British listeners may have related to the scenery of the “Life” trilogy, but 13 is the sort of album that ingrains itself in a person’s life, that is there in our own darkest moments. Many of its songs, from “Tender” to “Trimm Trabb” to “No Distance Left To Run,” remain amongst Blur’s most beloved. And all of these existed on an album that should have sounded scattered and damaged and yet came together into such a moving whole that it seemed, definitively, to solidify the notion of Blur as true artists”.

I am going to end with a couple of reviews. A number one album in the U.K., 13 was definitely commercially successful. Produced alongside William Orbit, Blur created something meaningful. This is what Pitchfork said in 2012 when reviewing Blur 21 (a compilation of seven Blur studio albums):

"Graham used to say that he wanted to make an album that nobody would want to listen to," says drummer Dave Rowntree in the box's liner notes, "But you can't do that in a band with Damon." 13, their second masterpiece, finds Albarn and Coxon's opposing sensibilities bleeding into each other like a muddy watercolor. Both were hurting. Coxon was depressed and still at odds with the rest of the band, and Albarn's long relationship with Elastica's Justine Frischmann had just ended. A coping method he'd picked up from blues and DIY alike, Coxon knew how to translate personal pathos into Blur's music. Both the Blur songs on which he sings lead, "You're So Great" and 13's "Coffee and TV", are candidly about his drinking, and on 13, he guided Albarn toward confessional songwriting, too. Albarn had always used character songs to express emotion, but his songs on 13 strip away the protective covering of wit. "I hope you're with someone who makes you feel safe in your sleep," he croaks on the gorgeous closing lament "No Distance Left to Run", while the wounded pop-spiritual "Tender" is an obvious career highlight. William Orbit's brilliant, painstaking production pushes Albarn's ever-present pop sensibility to the brink of dissolve. The Third/Sister Lovers comparison feels more apt here: 13 is a record in a sustained state of elegant unravel, full of the unexpectedly beautiful sounds that pop songs (and people) make while they're falling apart”.

I am going to round up in a second. In 2019, XS Noize revisiting a classic album twenty years later. It is one I would urge people to listen back to as it approaches its twenty-fifth anniversary. An underrated and strong effort from Blur. An album that still reveals layers to this day:

“Wondering what direction the next Blur album was going to take was something that brought up many possibilities. Would they decide the experimenting was out of their system and return to writing catchy pop anthems again? After 'Song 2's success would this be their lo-fi grunge punk album? It was confirmed that the record would be produced by William Orbit, a dance musician who had previously worked with Madonna on her 'Ray Of Light' album. Would this be Blur's dance album? Far from being littered with club anthems and trance beats, '13' would turn out to be a brave, dense, ambitious, weird, noisy and emotionally fragile piece of work that sounds even more incredible 20 years on than it did back then. Before its release, the music press was alive with speculation about what the album, and when I first read about the album's first single, the band described it as a country-gospel song. When I first heard 'Tender' I realised that while it was indeed that, it was also a whole lot more.

I bought the single on its day on release from a record shop in Bath called Rival Records, and a few weeks later excitedly purchased '13' on the day it hit the shops. I recall hearing a few of the tracks previewed on Radio One in the week leading up to the album's release, but hearing the album in full was an utter revelation. I also instantly found it to be even more of a challenging listen than its predecessor, but after a while, every single moment of '13' grew on me in a most rewarding way. With its gospel choir and inventive percussion (made up from planks of wood being banged against the studio floor), it's hard to imagine anything more uplifting than the joyously soulful 'Tender'. But this glorious opener was something of a red herring when it came to what the rest of the LP would sound like.

On the complete opposite end of the spectrum is the blistering 'Bugman' with its brutal guitar fuzz and pneumatic drill noise that descends into utter chaos before a stinging bassline and raucous riffage take things to a new level. 'Coffee And TV' was noticeably more pop than anything else but even the album's most accessible moment had an off-kilter quality and a slightly weird feel to it, topped off with Graham Coxon's squealing, shredding guitar towards the end. Back then it sounded almost throwaway. Now, it's an essential part of '13' that adds some much-needed light relief and a great deal of charm. It's ironic that Coxon should pen the album's most melodic and accessible track since his fondness for blistering guitar noise was key in the transformation of Blur's sound on '13' and the self-titled album released two years earlier. 'Coffee and TV' was written while Graham was struggling with his alcoholism, which had increased throughout the hedonistic 90s, with the guitarist reflecting on how he would unwind by watching television over a cup of coffee to take his mind off the booze.

'Swamp Song' is a sludgy monster, covered in heavy, muddy riffage, and indulging in the sort of reckless, chaotic fun that went on at the "party pad" that Damon Albarn and his Gorillaz co-creator Jamie Hewlett shared during the late 90s. It's The Fall doing Bowie doing Elvis, and it's a total blast. It'll also destroy your brain when played at top volume. Much was said of the personal nature of the lyrics throughout the record, and revelatory they are indeed. Damon had been in a relationship with Elastica vocalist Justine Frischmann throughout the Britpop years, and the couple's break-up in late 1997 hit him hard. "That relationship just absolutely crashed. I mean, it really was a spectacularly sad end" he remembered. "It was the first time in my life that I'd been knocked for six emotionally. I'd been very lucky up to that point and had no real reason to explore that, so that's why it's happened now."

What wasn't so public at the time was Albarn's use of heroin. Suede and Elastica's problems with the drug were well-documented, yet people only found out years later that Damon was a regular heroin user from 1996 up until some point in the 2000s. In hindsight, the clues are all there: 'Bugman' refers to "the nodding dogs", with "chasing the bug" being slang for smoking the drug in tin foil. 'Caramel' is said to hint at the colour of heroin, the "I dose away" lyric in Trimm Trabb could be about a different kind of "hit" than the ones Blur were previously known for, and theories that the Damon-Justine break-up was down to heroin use are fuelled by 'Trailerpark's refrain "I lost my girl to the Rolling Stones". Those who did notice the drug references at the time assumed that they were all pointing to Frischmann when it's very likely that Albarn was opening up about his own state of mind.

Discovered as a demo on a cassette seven years after it was recorded, the solemn, unsettling '1992' is a musical relative of 'Sing' from their debut album 'Leisure', which seems to lyrically address themes of infidelity, while the dark, sombre music aches with shattered emotions and torn hearts as anguished guitars scratch and tear away at the surface. Meanwhile, blazing rave-up 'B.L.U.R.E.M.I' goes truly berserk with its punk riffs, deranged helium voices and some wild, bizarrely-placed melodica. Following one of the short instrumental segues that are found on a few occasions throughout '13', the album's magnificent centrepiece 'Battle' arrives. 7 minutes 42 seconds of extraordinary music that showcases the four members of Blur reaching a technical peak. It's the sound of beauty and decay, pulling off the feat of being both noisy and relaxing at the same time, pairing blissful ambience with more of the incredible sounds that emerge from Coxon's distorted guitar, as fluid keys ring out to create an otherworldly atmosphere. It's a fine example of the layered sound William Orbit brings to the record, and if you play it through a good pair of headphones, you'll experience something that words cannot describe.

Many of the songs were pieced together from jam sessions, and the four members of the band were rarely in the studio together at the same time. The tension in the group was running high during the recording sessions, with Orbit recalling "There was a battle between Damon's more experimental direction, and Graham's punk one and Graham prevailed. If that tension had been growing on previous LPs, it came to a head here." Meanwhile, drummer Dave Rowntree later revealed "Things were starting to fall apart between the four of us. It was quite a sad process making it. People were not turning up to the sessions, or turning up drunk, being abusive and storming off." Coxon admitted later "I was really out there around 13, which made for some pretty great noise but I was probably a bit of a crap to be around."

The mesmerising 'Mellow Song' switches from bare voice and acoustic guitar to a slow, humpy rhythm topped off with an addictive bassline and more of that melodica, an instrument that Albarn makes superb use of on '13'. The middle part turns into a magnificent psychedelic circus but plays well with the moody acoustic grunge verses. 'Trailerpark' instantly conjures up images of dirty ghetto streets with its tone of squalor. It was originally premiered a year previously at the band's 1998 headline set at Glastonbury. The half-rapped delivery is again highly reminiscent of The Fall's Mark E. Smith, especially so in its live incarnation, while his deepest and most solemn tone is saved for the chorus. Style-wise its a clear precursor to the hip-hop flavours of Albarn's hugely successful Gorillaz.

However, the vocalist's most emotional performance is reserved for the desolate ambience of 'Caramel'. It almost feels like you shouldn't be hearing something so personal, but clearly, this song couldn't have existed any other way. Ambient textures flow into one another dramatically as the overwhelming heartbreak is exhibited so openly and sincerely. 'Trimm Trabb' is made up of another rhythm formed from odd percussion sounds and a rather grungy acoustic riff, before exploding like a nail bomb at the end as Coxon unleashes a torrent of devastating guitar. The candid, spacious 'No Distance Left To Run' again finds Damon at his most fragile and soulful, complimented by an effectively minimal arrangement. '13' concludes with the lovely oddity 'Optigan 1, a short Joe Meek-esque instrumental with a nod to some of the fairground and end-of-pier vibes that featured on a few 'Parklife' tracks, but this time far more grainy, sounding like some long lost 78 record from the past.

When '13' was released I had been a Blur fan for five years and was always pleased to see them taking new directions, but this album did take a while to sound like the seminal piece of work that it represents today. 20 years later '13' is a record that resonates even more now than it did back then, and stands as perhaps the most essential Blur album. It cemented Blur's legacy and reputation as one of Britain's all-time greatest musical exports. The LP scored Blur their fourth consecutive Number 1 album in the UK and was nominated for the Mercury Prize. Years later, it's regarded as one of the group's finest works”.

On 15th March, Blur’s 13 turns twenty-five. Even though the band were dislocated and falling apart, we all know that they came back together. We can look at 13 now with less anxiety. At the time, it was quite tough for fans of the band; perhaps not realising that they were having real struggles behind the scenes. Even so, 13 stands as one of the best albums from the band. Beautiful, honest and hugely varied, its odder deep cuts stand alongside classic singles such as Tender. In ending the century, Blur put out an incredible artistic statement. The mighty and magnificent 13 is…

A tremendous album.

FEATURE: Mr. Self Destruct: Nine Inch Nails’ The Downward Spiral at Thirty

FEATURE:

 

 

Mr. Self Destruct

Nine Inch Nails’ The Downward Spiral at Thirty

_________

I will come to…

IN THIS PHOTO: Nine Inch Nails captured in 1994/PHOTO CREDIT: Albert Watson

a review for Nine Inch Nails’ second studio album, The Downward Spiral. Released on the same day as Soundgarden’s Superunknown - 8th March, 1994 -, this album was perhaps even less conventional and uncommercial. In the sense that it does not instantly sound radio-friendly and bound for the charts. A concept cycle about a man who goes to a downward spiral to the point of suicide, one might wonder why it his album remains so popular and ensuring. If some critics in 1994 found the music too abrasive and off-putting, The Downward Spiral has received retrospective correction and much more praise. Due to the delayed release of the album – because of the time it took to record -, maybe there was a sense of disappointment after hype and wait. Even so, The Downward Spiral reached number two in the U.S. It has sold over four million copies. If small faction did see this as career suicide for Nine Inch Nails, there are more than that who view The Downward Spiral as a compelling classic. The Nine Inch Nails lead, Trent Reznor, had moved to 10050 Cielo Drive in Benedict Canyon, Los Angeles - the site of the murder of actress Sharon Tate by members of the Manson Family in 1969 - to record. It was transformed into a studio for the band’s 1992 Broken EP and The Downward Spiral. Maybe helping the sound and tone of the album, it is a very strange and dark settings to record anything! Maybe indicative of the mindset of Reznor at the time, it is a hard listen for anyone not familiar with Nine Inch Nails. Reznor has said how The Downward Spiral was an extension of his own personal struggles, as he was dealing social anxiety disorder and depression and he had started his abuse of narcotics. A perfectionist in the studio, he was dealing with alcohol binges and writer's block.

I want to come to some features about The Downward Spiral. Last year, Kerrang! talked about the cultural impact of Nine Inch Nails’ 1994 masterpiece. Within the darkness and despair is something that has endured and survived. A brilliance and work that so many people have taken to heart. Perhaps the most revealing and raw album from the U.S. band:

“I really like The Downward Spiral,” the band’s fearsome, then 29-year-old Trent Reznor said upon completion of a second album that’s become a byword for singular, uncompromising excellence. “There aren’t any obvious radio and MTV songs.”

At that point Trent was right, of course. The Downward Spiral seemed entirely alien and far from chart fodder. One of its singles was a relentless, throbbing, structurally unusual assault called March Of The Pigs. Closer featured the lyric, ‘I want to fuck you like an animal,’ against a hissing disco beat. Elsewhere, on Heresy, Trent spits, ‘God is dead and no-one cares.’ Even the album’s most accessible track, the piano-driven closer Hurt, was about self-harm and heroin addiction. In fact, that such a stark, nakedly vulnerable offering could, by contrast, appear so welcoming, is testament to the sense of pervading despair.

Despite The Downward Spiral seeming so unpalatable – the sound, as Trent put it in 1998, of “shedding skin, taking a layer off and analysing it” – the album became an unprecedented success. Upon its release, it reached Number Two in the Billboard 200.

“All I hope is that there are a few people who’ll think, ‘Wow, I’m not the only person who thought those things,’” Trent said upon its release. The album has since sold a remarkable 3.7 million copies in the U.S. alone.

“I made a small-scale, personal, potentially ugly record that reflected how I felt,” was Trent’s understated appraisal. Showcasing a complicated relationship with his responsibilities as an artist that continues to this day, he added, “Some of those ugly things are things you wouldn’t want to tell your mom, your friends or even your lover. But it’s no public fucking service either. It’s just what I felt.”…

Two rock classics were also looming large over his creative thoughts: David Bowie’s 1977 album Low, and Pink Floyd’s 1979 release The Wall. Both featured artists making drastic left turns during fraught periods in their lives. In Bowie’s case, it was his struggle with cocaine, coupled with a sense of dislocation after moving from Los Angeles to Berlin. Pink Floyd, meanwhile, had grown disillusioned with the scale of their shows during 1977’s In The Flesh tour, not to mention the way their audience interacted with them. This culminated in an incident during a show at Montreal Olympic Stadium, when bassist and songwriter Roger Waters spat in the face of one rowdy fan. The Wall was Roger’s exploration of his own horror and the self-imposed isolation it inspired.

PHOTO CREDIT: Paul Harries

The Downward Spiral clearly pulled on threads from both albums. From Low, as illustrated by a largely instrumental second half created with ambient supremo Brian Eno, was the use of synthesisers to build soundscapes that conveyed an atmosphere of disquiet (NIN would, of course, end up supporting David Bowie on his Outside Tour in 1995). From The Wall, The Downward Spiral took the idea of having an overarching concept in which to articulate a sense of frustration and alienation. Trent Reznor, like Roger Waters, had felt the deep undercurrent of negativity that can envelope a rock star on a big stage. And, as Roger Waters had done on The Wall, Trent built an album around a wounded central figure to help him navigate it.

At that point in his life, Trent’s wounds had numerous sources. His relationship with bandmate Richard Patrick had become so fractious that Richard would quit in the midst of recording The Downward Spiral, and form new band Filter soon afterwards. As one source of anxiety disappeared, however, another took its place, as Trent’s relationship with drugs intensified during the 18-month recording.

Despite his struggles, NIN had no trouble recruiting formidable talent to bring this bleak vision to life, with the legendary Flood (aka Mark Ellis) co-producing, and contributions from the likes of Jane’s Addiction drummer Stephen Perkins and King Crimson guitarist Adrian Belew. The latter, who would play on three more NIN albums, is on particularly searing form during opener Mr. Self-Destruct. Trent has since described him as “the most awesome musician in the world”.

The after effects of The Downward Spiral, however, were destructive.

“I wound up distorted, someone I didn’t know,” Trent would say of the aftermath to K! in 1999. The Downward Spiral had an effect on the wider world, as well. Upon its release, the Republican Party took issue with the lyrics from the track Big Man With A Gun, suggesting that they attacked American conservatives. Trent later clarified that the song satirised gangsta rap. The greater storm came in 1999, however, when it was revealed Dylan Klebold, one of the perpetrators of the Columbine High School massacre, had made diary references to The Downward Spiral in the years before he and classmate Eric Harris murdered 13 people”.

There are a few more pieces I want to source before I finish off. The Quietus looked at The Downward Spiral in 2014. Twenty years after its release, Nine Inch Nails’ second album sounded even more like the future then. Perhaps just as relevant today, it is a big reason why The Downward Spiral has this endurance and popularity:

“What is easily forgotten here is that Reznor was really pushing the boundaries, he was creating new sounds that would not fit into recognized emotional associations and he was doing this before the days when any floppy-haired goth could punch it out on their iPad. It does seem almost a shame that these effects are so easily reproduced these days, leading to legions of diluted and passionless NIN imitators.

Beneath all the noise, however, are some excellently crafted pop tunes. 'Piggy' and album single 'March Of The Pigs' are, for different reasons, both proof of Reznor's gift for a tasty hook. He showed this off on Pretty Hate Machine as well, but here he seems to have taken the pop sensibilities from influences like Depeche Mode and turned them into something darker and dirtier and, most of all, wrenched right out of the 80s. An incredible thing about listening to this album in context is how well it holds up in comparison to its contemporaries. Also celebrating a twentieth anniversary currently is Soundgarden's Superunknown, which happened to be the only record that kept Downward Spiral off the top of the U.S. charts when they were both released twenty years ago. Possibly owing to the clarity of Reznor's production, it's mind-blowing that these are from the same decade, let alone the same month – Superunknown sounds so 'retro' in comparison. It's no wonder that David Bowie took a shine to young Trent and his groundbreaking, obnoxious noise.

The recording process itself was also notable because at the time Reznor was renting 10050 Cielo Drive in Los Angeles, where the most famous of the Manson Family murders took place. Though it was over twenty years since Sharon Tate and her house guests were so brutally slaughtered, it was still quite a big talking point when Reznor took up residence and built Le Pig studio inside it. He later admitted that naming the studio after the word once scrawled in blood on the front door was in particularly bad taste, but would also take said door as a souvenir with him after leaving the property.

It's hard to say why he would do such a thing without much consideration over why taking up residence there was a controversial move. I do believe that Reznor was genuine in saying that it wasn't for press, but rather out of simple curiosity about 'American folklore'. Pretty Hate Machine had seen the band getting big in a "strange way" according to Reznor. And always much more the anti-star than any others at the time, he was all about satisfying himself over anyone else. In fact, Reznor went about creating angrier and angrier music with noise of escalating, clanging terror and bitter dirge. He seemed bent on creating something totally non-commercial and even went so far as taking the catchiest song on the record, 'Closer', and turning it into something nigh on impossible to get on the radio. He also accompanied it with a disturbing video showing bondage, nudity, a monkey tied to a cross and various bloody and disembodied animal parts. But to his own detriment/fortune, Reznor couldn't hide his own melodic skills and 'Closer' became his biggest hit up to that point (not to mention the heaps of praise that the video has received over the years). With this in mind, it's actually quite comical to watch him lament in interviews about 'not doing enough' to keep from getting so big.

But if I were Reznor I wouldn't regret a thing – except maybe the whole Tate house fiasco – as The Downward Spiral remains a dynamic and layered work that offers more at every listen. Though it takes time for some to fully appreciate it, its varied textures and moods make it both a staple and subverter of industrial music. The melodies are actually very accessible, once accessed; you just have to wade through and learn to appreciate the noise, distractions and overall dirt around them. Just because something jars your senses, be that thundering dissonance or the smell of 70,000 kids not giving a shit, it doesn't mean there's no poignancy and meaning behind it”.

I am going to end soon. I am interested in the LoudWire retrospective from 2023. Noticing how different The Downward Spiral is from Nine Inch Nails’ 1989 debut, Pretty Hate Machine, it was a long creative process making the album happen:

“By March 8, 1994, Reznor and his Nine Inch Nails cohorts finally released The Downward Spiral. The album debuted at No. 2 on the Billboard 200 chart, bested only by Soundgarden's Superunkown in its opening week. But it didn't have a hot song right out of the gate.

The thrashy industrial rocker "March of the Pigs" was released a week ahead of the album's street date, but only managed to climb to No. 59 on the charts. It wasn't a natural song for radio play, but was definitely embraced by fans of the band in the live setting who loved the high energy BPMs that bridged the song's piano breakdowns. Adding to the song's legacy was the single-camera video for the track, which simply had the band rambunctiously performing on a white soundstage, with no mic stand in site safe. While the track set things in motion for the album, no one could have predicted what would come next.

In May of 1994, Nine Inch Nails released a funky single called "Closer" that needed major edits in order to be aired both on MTV and radio. But there was no denying the infectious nature of the song. With the memorable NSFW line, "I want to f--k you like an animal," Nine Inch Nails had a hit on their hands. "The song started with that line. Everything else kind of got pieced around that," said Reznor. "I was trying to get a vibe something like the song 'Nightclubbing' from Iggy Pop's album The Idiot. I don't know what it sounded like when it came out. But now it sounds like a real obvious, cheesy, almost disco, song--but in a cool way."

And while the song needed edits to cover the curse words, the video needed much more work before it could air. The singer told Spin, "I thought, f--k it, instead of the Super 8 video directors we've used in the past, underground people, let's go with Mr. F--king Gloss, Mark Romanek, who just did that Michael Jackson piece of s--t. But he could do a beautiful shot, Stanley Kubrick-like in its attention to detail. So we decided to spend some money and go to ridiculous lengths to recreate some works of artists that we liked, from Joel-Peter Witkin to Man Ray, Brothers Quay, this hodgepodge of stuff. The video was great. It was cool as f--k looking. Right away, MTV said, 'Can't have that, can't have that.' Now okay, there was naked p--sy. We knew that was going to get cut. And then we got complaints that people still found the video disturbing. 'Well why?' 'Well, we don't know why, but it seems satanic and evil.' And then I thought, 'Great, we did it.'" "Closer would fall just shy of breaking the Top 40 on Billboard's Hot 100, but did climb to No. 11 at Alternative Radio”.

I will end with Rolling Stone’s review from 1994. In a year of such diversity and brilliance, Nine Inch Nails’ The Downward Spiral definitely sat alongside the best. During a year where Britpop was starting to really take shape in the U.K., U.S. albums like The Downward Spiral and Soundgarden’s Superunknown offered something opposite. A much darker and inward-looking sound to the more jubilant and bombastic British alternative:

“NINE INCH NAILS achieve a new kind of loud on The Downward Spiral: accessible hard-rock moves overlaid with a scrim of electronic racket, white noise, screams, the kind of blown-speaker rattle that seems to use the limitations of crappy stereo equipment the way that Hendrix riffed on the distortion that howled from overdriven Marshall stacks. It’s a new frontier in rock & roll: music that pins playback levels far into the red. You have only two options with this album: Play it too softly, or play it too loud.

When you slap on “Mr. Self-Destruct,” for example, the first song on the CD, the soft passages are soft chiefly in the sense of not being loud, as if there were a really great party down the street that you were wimping out on, pumped guitars and cranking boom-thwack drum machines and whatnot. But almost as soon as you rush to your pre-amp and squeeze in more juice, the loud comes back in, but so unimaginably loud this time that you think your speaker coils might melt, and old man Reilly in the next apartment has already started to bang his broomstick on the wall.

Then you turn it down and start the cycle again. Sure, bands like Nirvana play the soft-loud game, too, but Nine Inch Nails auteur Trent Reznor takes it to sadistic extremes, especially since the song — without the power riffing and the howl, the distortion and the infinite layering — would essentially be as melodic as a late Beatles tune.

What Robert Plant was to the post-blues screech and Kurt Cobain is to Northwest grunge, Reznor is to tortured death-disco howl — existential pain expressed as rock & roll. His 1990 anthem, “Head Like a Hole,” from Pretty Hate Machine, came this close to becoming what “Smells Like Teen Spirit” became — the theme song of smart misfits everywhere. Then Nine Inch Nails stole the show from Jane’s Addiction on the first Lollapalooza tour — and sold more T-shirts, too. And when the steel-edged dance-punk hybrid known as industrial finally became popular, a lot of people were betting that Nine Inch Nails and Ministry, the two most important bands associated with the genre, had the potential to redefine rock in their own image.

Ministry, of course, did kind of redefine rock, with an awe-inspiring speedmetal/disco blend that delighted Beavis and Butthead even as it failed to win many converts from fans of less extreme music. Nine Inch Nails came out with Broken at the end of ’92, an intriguingly unlistenable meditation on how much Reznor hated his old record company. While the EP didn’t really break new ground, it did get that second-album thing out of the way.

“March of the Pigs,” the first single from Spiral, alternates purest torment — the anguish of swine before the slaughter — with a piano hook saccharine enough to sell pre-sweetened cereal to toddlers. “Piggy” is an affectionately whispered, almost-tender lost-love song that carries the emotional weight of a George Jones ballad. There’s a lot of pig imagery in the song, perhaps inspired by the nihilist legend carved into slain actress Sharon Tate’s pregnant belly, but the LP is less nihilistic than you might expect.

Recorded not incidentally in the Beverly Hills living room where Tate was murdered (the living room, also not incidentally, of Reznor’s home), The Downward Spiral explores Reznor’s No. 1 subject — control — in a thousand different guises. Paranoia, predation and acceptance, sex power and religious power and gun power, the power of the suffering over the guilty and the consumer over the consumed are all blasted out with the kind of overwhelming presence Baudelaire might have had if he’d had access to a battery of Macintoshes, a MIDI hookup and a Strat.

Reznor’s voice seduces and insinuates where it previously expressed itself only in animal screams; it slithers into your ears and curls up somewhere near the medulla oblongata. He sometimes even expresses an emotion that isn’t anger, which throws the full-on assault of his catch phrases — “Don’t you tell me how I feel”; “Your God is dead, and no one cares” — into brilliant relief.

The Downward Spiral is music the blade runner might throw down to: low-tech futurism that rocks”.

Turning thirty on 8th March, I do hope there is new inspection of Nine Inch Nails’ The Downward Spiral. Viewed as one of the most important albums of the 1990s and some of Trent Reznor’s best work, it is an album that everybody needs to hear – even if it is quite challenging and dark. Out on the same day as the quite bleak and anxious Superunknown, it was an interesting day for releases. Regardless, that day – 8th March, 1994 – gave us two classics from two remarkable bands. The tremendous The Downward Spiral is definitely…

WORTHY of respect and applause.

FEATURE: Won't You Come, and Wash Away the Rain? Soundgarden’s Superunknown at Thirty

FEATURE:

 

 

Won't You Come, and Wash Away the Rain?

Soundgarden’s Superunknown at Thirty

_________

IT will be an emotional day…

PHOTO CREDIT: Paul Harries

when 8th March arrives. It is a time to celebrate thirty years since the release of Soundgarden’s Superunknown. No doubt one of the best albums of the 1990s, it is also sad that the band’s lead, Chris Cornell, is no longer with us (he died by suicide in 2017). His voice and lyrics are so crucial to the success and brilliance of the album. So poetic and intelligent as a songwriter, his awesome vocal power and range makes each of the fifteen tracks so compelling. Even though the album is seventy minutes and is quite sprawling, there seems to be no waste or bloat on Soundgarden’s fourth studio album. In fact, the international version of the album have sixteen tracks – ending on She Likes Surprises rather than Like Suicide. Less than a month before Grunge godfather Kurt Cobain died (5th April, 1994), we got an album that seemed to predict something terrible. Black Hole Sun, the best-known track from Superunknown, has that feeling of needing something to wash away pain and darkness. Produced with Michael Beinhorn, Soundgarden released a timeless album. One that seemed to capture a mood perfectly in 1994. In perhaps music’s greatest-ever year, Superunknown stands alongside the greatest albums from the year. I will end with some reviews of Superunknown. Prior to that, there are features about the album that are worth bringing in. Whilst many have seen the 1994 album as harrowing, alienating and tortured, there is so much richness and range on the album. Rather than seeing it as an insight into Chris Cornell’s psyche at the time, I feel it is a testament to the remarkable talent of this man. Words that can resonate with many people but also offer hope and depth. It is hard to explain. I feel many paint Superunknown as bleak. That is not how I see it.

In 2022, Kerrang! discussed how Superunknown was a breakthrough for Soundgarden. A legacy that has lasted all of this time, there is no doubt that this album – released on 8th March, 1994 – is a masterpiece. Even stronger than the remarkable Badmotorfinger of 1991:

“Soundgarden were the first of the big grunge acts to sprout and yet the last to bloom. At least commercially. Long before Nirvana and Pearl Jam struck gold with Nevermind and Ten respectively, Soundgarden had impressed with their staggering musical intelligence – fusing punk, metal and rock with an array of bewildering time signatures and dynamics. And that was to say nothing of Chris’ voice: both sky-scraping and inimitable.

By 1991 they were drowning in critical acclaim following classic third album Badmotorfinger, but they weren’t smashing charts. Moreover, when Soundgarden toured that album supporting Guns N’ Roses, they soon found the rock world to be a divided nation. When Kerrang! interviewed them in Australia on their headline tour ahead of Superunknown’s release, they were ecstatic simply to be playing to their own fans.

“We went to Europe with Guns N’ Roses playing in front of 60,000 people who didn’t give a shit about us,” Chris reflected.

At the time of recording Superunknown in 1993, Soundgarden were a band searching for individuation: not just to distinguish themselves from every other band, but also from what they had done previously. First, they changed the way they worked.

“Someone would bring in a demo of a song they wrote, and as opposed to really concentrating on why we liked it and what it was about the original idea, we’d just sort of Soundgarden-ise it,” Chris told K! about their old method. “That can make an album sound a little more sterile.”

Their new material would be different and their musical remit would have to expand to accommodate it. Twenty tracks in total were made at Seattle’s legendary Bad Animals studio with producer Michael Beinhorn, before whittling that number down to 15.

Chris Cornell delivered big moments aplenty, including the classic singles The Day I Tried To Live and Fell On Black Days, plus frenetic opener Let Me Drown. But one of his songs would, of course, go on to eclipse the rest, at least in terms of mainstream attention. Even in the present day, the disenchanted psychedelia of Black Hole Sun remains extraordinary. Chris told Rolling Stone he saw it as a “surreal, esoteric word painting”.

Indeed, the whole album painted with an unrestricted palette. Keyboards, alternative tunings, viola, cello, spoons and, in the case of My Wave, even a nod to surf-rock were all introduced. It is, in the words of guitarist Kim Thayil speaking for a Spotify commentary on the 20th anniversary reissue, a “perfect headphones album”.

Each member made big contributions. Some of the most arresting riffs belong neither to Chris nor Kim but rather drummer Matt Cameron, who not only conceived of the central riff for Mailman but also played mellotron on it. Fresh Tendrils was another Matt composition (made even more atypical by including clavinet), and so was the rising guitar of Limo Wreck. “Our drummer came up with that,” gushed Kim.

Two of the album’s most unique songs came courtesy of bassist Ben Shepherd. The disembodied, twisting strains of Head Down was his creation, as was the Indian music-influenced Half. Chris even refused to sing on the latter, insisting that it would lose its character without Ben’s voice.

Kim Thayil not only served up the surging, punky Kickstand, as you would expect, he augmented songs brilliantly, adding compelling layers and riffs. Most stunning of all was his standout solo on Like Suicide.

Soundgarden didn’t shy away from the molten noise that had defined them, either. On 4th Of July – inspired by Chris’ LSD trip on an Indian reservation – they arguably delivered their heaviest moment.

When all of the above was put together in the studio, Soundgarden had recorded an album that fit their own adventurous brief and was set to confound expectations. “There has been much rumour about Superunknown… the dreaded word ‘commercial’ has been bandied about,” reported K! ahead of its release. “It’s far from commercial, but it’s not Badmotorfinger 2.”

As its legacy would attest, this was something else entirely.

Soundgarden soon unravelled after their mainstream breakthrough. They would release one more (excellent) album, 1996’s Down On The Upside, before imploding. Though it took 16 years before they would release 2012’s King Animal, even in that protracted absence, Superunknown remained omnipresent in rock’s collective conscience.

Much of it was dark, articulating themes of loss, depression and isolation with unflinching grace and a searing poetic edge. Reflecting with Rolling Stone in 2012, Chris – who had always been so allergic to nostalgia – reappraised their masterpiece.

“There’s an eeriness in there, a kind of unresolvable sadness or indescribable longing that I’ve never really tried to isolate and define and fully understand,” he said. “But it’s always there. It’s like a haunted thing.”

In light of the tragedy of his passing in 2017, it is perhaps now more haunting than ever. The loss of Chris Cornell – and, indeed, of Soundgarden – is one rock fans will mourn greatly. But such grief should also be tempered by the undiminished power of their music. ‘Alive in the Superunknown,’ Chris bellowed on the title-track’s chorus. So he was then. So he shall remain”.

Before coming to a couple of reviews, there is an interesting feature from Consequence of Sound. Marking the twentieth anniversary of Superunknown in 2014, their colleagues Matt Melis and Henry Hauser discussed the album’s place in both the band’s history and the legacy of the Grunge movement. There are some interesting exchanges and observations. I never thought about the track sequencing and, if you had to, would you cut a song from this classic?! There is no doubt everyone has their own favourite tracks from Superunknown:

“MM: What’s your favorite cut off the record?

HH: That would be “Head Down”. The track kicks off with Cornell’s soft whisper lulling us into a numb calm. Complex time signature shifts come into play once again, really showcasing Cameron’s impeccable timing. The drummer takes a 20-second victory lap as the track fades, almost like a curtain call after a Herculean effort. Fully deserved.

Is there a track you would drop?

MM: It’s bordering on sacrilege, but I never understood the hysteria over “Black Hole Sun”, even though that song blew Soundgarden up. And do you remember the video? Christ, that gave me nightmares. All those Enzyte commercial smiles and morphing, impish faces. But it plays so long and always struck me as a bizarre take on an old-timey song like “You Are My Sunshine”. It’s the only track I routinely skip over. I’m guessing you and the 19 million YouTubers who’ve watched it don’t agree.

HH: I agree in part and dissent in part. I find the melodic guitar and cold, distant harmonies to be really compelling. But for all this catchy, cosmic, psychedelic pop, it’s a self-obsessed song and goes on for way too long. Plus, it’s been playing in select coffee shops for two decades straight. Tons of overplayed songs become parodies of themselves; it’s unavoidable.

MM: Or become part of Weird Al polka medleys.

So, Soundgarden announced that they’ll be playing Superunknown in its entirety next week down in Austin as part of the iTunes Festival. Is this something to get excited about attending or streaming?

HH: I think Superunknown deserves the spotlight, but I hope this doesn’t mean they’re going to exclude material from the first three albums. That would be unfortunate.

MM: Would you want a second set that delved into the rest of their discography?

HH: Yeah, I’d be hoping for a second set. And I’d also advise them to shuffle up the order.

MM: Abandon the original sequence?

HH: I would. I think it works well in an album context, but a lot of the most visceral cuts are towards the front of the LP. In terms of playing a live set, if they stick to the original order they’re going to get through all the singles relatively early. That doesn’t make for a grand climax, which is what they ought to be going for.

What do you think?

MM: It’s like a movie you love. You know every scene, beat, and twist, and there’s an emotional and psychological payoff when you can anticipate what’s coming and it still delivers when it arrives. So, I do think there’s something to seeing the journey through from opener to closer, never being surprised but also never being bored by knowing what’s coming. So, the original sequence would be my preference”

I would urge anyone who does not own Superunknown to go and buy it. In 2014, to mark its twentieth anniversary, there were reissues. Depending on your budget, there was a two or five-disc set. Soundgarden’s magnum opus was reviewed by Pitchfork in 2014. They were hugely positive about this incredible and epic album:

“Usually, it’s a bad sign when the wild-child frontman of your favorite group cuts his hair and starts wearing shirts. But the clean-cut Cornell that emerged with Superunknown was emblematic of the album’s mission to deliver maximal effect with minimal histrionics. With its despairing worldview, gold-plated production, and CD-stuffing 71-minute running time, Superunknown is a quintessential ’90s artifact. But thanks to its still-formidable high-wire balance of hooks and heft, the album nonetheless represents, some 20 years later, the platonic ideal of what a mainstream hard rock record should be. And even if that’s an ideal to which few contemporary bands aspire (aside from, say, Queens of the Stone Age), Superunknown remains a useful model for any left-of-center artist hoping to achieve accessibility without sacrificing identity.

For Soundgarden, the push toward pop was the result of incremental evolutions rather than a spectacular leap. Where Badmotorfinger introduced flashes of psychedelia and paisley-patterned melody amid Kim Thayil’s pulverizing riffage, on Superunknown, these elements become featured attractions. The once-oblique John Lennon references gave way to unabashed homage—centerpiece power ballad “Black Hole Sun” is pretty much “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds” turned upside down and dropped in a heap of soot and coal. That song counts as Superunknown’s most wanton act of subversion—setting its apocalyptic imagery to a tune so pretty, even Paul Anka can dig it—but if that element of surprise has been diluted by two decades of perpetual rock-radio rotation, the album boasts a wealth of less celebrated deep cuts (the queasy psych-folk of “Head Down,” the dread-ridden doom of “4th of July”) that retain a palpable sense of unease.

Even the album’s eternal fist-pump anthems—“The Day I Tried to Live”, “Fell on Black Days”, “My Wave”—are infected with misanthropy and malaise, making Superunknown the rare arena-rock album that makes just as much sense in blacked-out bedroom. (And yet, despite the junkie intimations of its title, “Spoonman” is really just about a man who plays with spoons.) That said, if you don’t hate the world now quite as much as did when you were 18, you may find yourself skipping over the leaden likes of “Mailman” and “Limo Wreck,” while developing a newfound appreciation for how bassist Ben Shepherd’s India-inspired oddity, “Half”, injects a welcome dose of absurdity into the mix.

By fortuitous coincidence, Superunknown hit stores the same day as Nine Inch Nails’ The Downward Spiral, an album boasting a similarly expansive scope and thematic framework, albeit approached from a drastically different set of influences (’80s new wave, goth, and electro as opposed to ’60s classic rock). The connection between the two albums is strong enough that the two bands toured together in 1994 and—despite some shit-talkin’ in the interim—are reuniting once again this summer for a joint-20th-anniversary jaunt. For casual Soundgarden fans who still own the record, a concert ticket may ultimately be a more efficient way of celebrating Superunknown’s birthday than by shelling out for this reissue (available in two-and five-CD box set iterations), whose bonus material mostly amounts to demos and rehearsal tapes that cast this epic album in a more normalizing light. However, you do develop a greater appreciation for the final product when you hear the ideas that got scrapped along the away or relegated to B-sides, like the dirgey embryonic arrangement of “Fell on Black Days” (a.k.a. “Black Days III”), the free-form ambient stew of “Jerry Garcia’s Finger”, and a club-friendly industrial funk mix of “Spoonman” by Steve Fisk that sounds like a test run for his beat-driven project Pigeonhed.

You also get a glimpse of the band’s future course with a beautifully spare acoustic treatment of “Like Suicide” that points the way to 1996’s more temperate Down on the Upside, the album that effectively triggered Soundgarden’s subsequent 13-year break-up. But then the go-for-broke, peak-conquering triumphalism of Superunknown was itself a harbinger that the writing was on the wall for this band at the time. When Cornell sings, “Alive in the superunknown” on the album’s acid-swirled title track, it’s both a valorous testament to Soundgarden’s last-gang-in-town fortitude and a telling prophecy of the uncertainty to come, with grunge’s early ’90s stranglehold on alt-rock radio soon to be loosened by the emergence of pop-punk, Britpop, electronica, and nu-metal. But amid a musical landscape now splintered into infinite subgenres, Superunknown remains the very definition of no-qualifiers-required rock—a tombstone for a once-dominant aesthetic, perhaps, but also a solid, immovable mass that endures no matter how dramatically its surroundings have changed”.

I am going to round up with a review from AllMusic. If some find Superunknown too dark or heavy a listen, there are those that can appreciate the range and depth of the album. The smarts, the anxiety, the measured moments, the anthems and surprise moments. Taking Metal and Grunge to new places, there is no doubt that Superunknown inspired so many other artists. It was a huge statement. Seen as one of the best albums ever, Chris Cornell, Kim Thayil, Ben Shepherd and Matt Cameron delivered a masterpiece on 8th March, 1994:

“Soundgarden's finest hour, Superunknown is a sprawling, 70-minute magnum opus that pushes beyond any previous boundaries. Soundgarden had always loved replicating Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath riffs, but Superunknown's debt is more to mid-period Zep's layered arrangements and sweeping epics. Their earlier punk influences are rarely detectable, replaced by surprisingly effective appropriations of pop and psychedelia. Badmotorfinger boasted more than its fair share of indelible riffs, but here the main hooks reside mostly in Chris Cornell's vocals; accordingly, he's mixed right up front, floating over the band instead of cutting through it. The rest of the production is just as crisp, with the band achieving a huge, robust sound that makes even the heaviest songs sound deceptively bright.

But the most important reason Superunknown is such a rich listen is twofold: the band's embrace of psychedelia, and their rapidly progressing mastery of songcraft. Soundgarden had always been a little mind-bending, but the full-on experiments with psychedelia give them a much wider sonic palette, paving the way for less metallic sounds and instruments, more detailed arrangements, and a bridge into pop (which made the eerie ballad "Black Hole Sun" an inescapable hit). That blossoming melodic skill is apparent on most of the record, not just the poppier songs and Cornell-penned hits; though a couple of drummer Matt Cameron's contributions are pretty undistinguished, they're easy to overlook, given the overall consistency. The focused songwriting allows the band to stretch material out for grander effect, without sinking into the pointlessly drawn-out muck that cluttered their early records. The dissonance and odd time signatures are still in force, though not as jarring or immediately obvious, which means that the album reveals more subtleties with each listen. It's obvious that Superunknown was consciously styled as a masterwork, and it fulfills every ambition”.

Even though there has been an anniversary reissue, I hope that many revisit Superunknown ahead of its thirtieth anniversary. So many classics from 1994 have anniversaries coming up. Without doubt one of the finest albums of that incredible year, I remember when it came out. Watching the video for Black Hole Sun for the first time when I was ten. Listening to the album years later – maybe in the late-1990s – and being blown away by it. Even though Chris Cornell is no longer with us, we remember him through albums like this. Such a compelling and amazing songwriter and singer. Someone who can never be replaced or forgotten. We will definitely remember the phenomenal Superunknown…

FOR decades to come.

FEATURE: Heart Is a Drum: Beck’s Morning Phase at Ten

FEATURE:

Heart Is a Drum

Beck’s Morning Phase at Ten

_________

ON 21st February…

we mark ten years of Beck’s Morning Phase. One of his most underrated albums, Morning Phase acts as a companion piece to 2002’s Sea Change. Almost every credited musician who was involved with Sea Change returned to record for Morning Phase (with the sole exception being Sea Change producer Nigel Godrich). I am going to end with some reviews for Morning Phase. Six years after Modern Guilt, Beck changed sonic tact. Modern Guilt is a fantastic album, though it is very different compared to Morning Phase. Producing alongside Dangermouse, it is a short album. One filled with paranoia and some drum loops and chunky guitars. It has a Hip-Hop feel in some respects. An album that has this special type of energy and anxiety. Morning Phase was a flip. Much more mellow and contemplative, it is a classic example of Beck being able to shift tone and sound between albums and creating something cohesive and natural. A top-five album here and in the U.S. – and other nations -, Morning Phase won the GRAMMY for Album of the Year. It also won for Best Rock Album and Best Engineered Album, Non-Classical. Acclaimed and hugely successful, I wanted to look back a decade at this incredible work. Prior to getting to some reviews for Morning Phase, there are a few interviews I want to bring in. The Guardian spoke with Beck in 2014 about one of the most important and stunning albums of his career:

“Beck's new album, Morning Phase, is his 12th studio album but only his first in six years. Inspired variously by 70s LA rock and Nashville country, it's a reunion with the band with which he made 2002's Sea Change. It's a slow, almost ethereal affair, a far remove from his more rambunctious records like Odelay or Midnite Vultures. It's also, in places at least, a melancholic album, one whose centrepiece – the eerie, reverberating Wave – climaxes in a howled one-word refrain of "Isolation".

If you were to try to pinpoint a reason for this dark mood, there's one obvious candidate. Before Christmas, Beck revealed to an Argentinian newspaper that he had in recent years suffered "severe damage" to his spine and that throughout his "long, long recovery" he had been unable to play music. He gave no more details than that and doesn't address the subject directly with me either. It seems fairly certain that for someone whose life has been built around musical performance, such an injury would leave a deep mark. But when it comes to Morning Phase, there is a sense that Beck is channelling more than just that experience; a broader, more universal disappointment.

"I was thinking about it the other day," he says, "this idea of… how everyone has a different experience in life. Some just blow through things and keep on an even keel, others have these ups and downs, but almost everybody goes through a point that could lead to a bitterness or a cynicism. It's not what you set out for, hopefully things go well… but there's a point where some people don't believe in anything. I had run-ins with older musicians when I was starting out who were very bitter. At the time my attitude was like, 'Wow, I get to put out a record, this is the greatest thing ever!' But then, as time goes on, you realise what they're talking about. Some brutal shit. Some people don't make it, some artists get destroyed by it, you can really do your head in.

"There's a reason why I made these songs and this record. It felt very personal and direct and uninhibited. At the same time I'd hate to say it sums up some kind of mood or something because I'm now working on another record that's the opposite of this. I was trying to express things in a way that… like a lot of songwriters… in a way that might speak to or resonate with somebody else. Can you make [things] good again even when it's all been ruined and you need to start over? Can you find that again? I think that's what I was trying to reach for on this record."

Reaching seems an appropriate word, in the sense that things still stay outside the listener's grasp. As an artist, Beck has always veered towards ambiguity – not just in blending musical genres but in his lyrics, which rarely offer up direct meaning (and sometimes offer the direct opposite). A typical pattern can be observed in Blue Moon, a song on Morning Phase where the opening line sets out a theme – "I'm so tired of being alone" – but refuses to elaborate on it, in favour of veering into enigmatic imagery: "See that turncoat on his knees/ Vagabond that no one sees".

"It makes it more interesting if there's a little bit of the elliptical happening," Beck says of that particular habit. "Hopefully some of it translates. Perhaps it won't literally translate from the lyrics but somehow from the feel of the music. Even in the music, it's iffy you know, but it's a good attempt."

Morning Phase came together over a lengthy period and in uncertain fashion. Wave was the first song to be recorded – at Capitol Studios in 2009. Three other songs were salvaged from an abandoned project that had taken place in a flash in Nashville in 2010. His reunion with the five-piece Sea Change band came just last year but was similarly brief, totalling just two days. ("Getting all those individuals in the same room is like the aligning of nine planets," Beck says.)

Those final sessions form the core of the record and were characterised by a particular technique. "Everything is exceedingly slow," says Beck. "Almost impossible-to-play slow, you know? When a lot of the songs were being tracked we were always 'Slower, let's get slower'. Because the slower it gets, the harder it is to play. They get harder to sing. But suddenly these songs that could be just simple singer-songwriter songs, everything elongates and they become something else. It just has a spell to it, this suspended feeling, and I wanted a lot of the sounds to feel familiar, but also to have something a little bit haunting and strange about them. I don't know why I just thought it might make it a little more interesting." 

During his convalescence Beck had been developing his skills as a producer, working on projects with Charlotte Gainsbourg and Stephen Malkmus (a little randomly, he also chipped in on the Scott Pilgrim Vs The World soundtrack). He did all the production on Morning Phase himself, but unlike the lightning bursts of recording, it was something he laboured over for months. "I was replacing things, rewriting," he says of the process. "I have some records like that, where you write the thing about 30 times until you get something that you feel is OK; it isn't just trite or something you've heard before. This record was supposed to come out in October so I was working all spring, no sleep. Working 10 weeks, seven days a week, no breaks, working till three in the morning every day just trying to get the record done by July so it could come out in October. We got the record done and then it ended up coming out later. I wish I had known, I would have slept more."

The result is an album that strikes a tender balance between angst and hope, between something beautiful and something just a little discomfiting. Another outcome, though, is that Beck appears to have rediscovered his enthusiasm for making and listening to music. This at a time when the crushing together of genres that he pioneered has become increasingly the norm.

"That's gratifying for me," he says, "because I feel like I had a lot of bottles thrown at me over the years for attempting to do that." He talks up the work of Diplo and Kanye, but also Dirty Projectors and Ariel Pink ("LA art-pop-punk performance weirdo music that is, to me, just something that I grew up around")”.

I am not sure whether there are any plans for the tenth anniversary of Morning Phase. I have not heard of any reissues or anything special taking place. It is a shame, as Morning Phase is a tremendous album that warrants celebration and fuss. One that I would urge people to check out. I am going to bring in some sections of a Billboard interview. One of the most standout sections of the interview is where Beck says he doesn’t trust his instincts anymore:

“Morning Phase” started with a shared revelation of sorts, onstage, in May 2012. Beck and “Sea Change”‘s four-man backing band – bassist Justin Meldal-Johnsen, guitarist Smokey Hormel, keyboard player Roger Joseph Manning Jr. and drummer Joey Waronker – had reunited to play a last-minute gig at the relatively intimate El Rey Theatre in Los Angeles. It was a warm-up for a few bigger shows to follow, and it was a hot ticket: Beck hadn’t played his hometown since shortly after his 2008 album, “Modern Guilt.” And, though that stellar supporting band had been with him for a few albums in a row when they made “Sea Change,” they hadn’t all played together since. “In the interim, a lot of life has happened,” says Beck. “It had a huge impact on all of us, to revisit those songs. I think we were all feeling them in a different, maybe deeper way.”

Meldal-Johnsen later says: “It was pretty intense. I knew it would be like that. Something about the music we created together being the only thing that’s permanent during that duration of time is a heavy concept, but it was also joyous and rambunctious at the same time.”

“Morning Phase,” Beck’s 12th studio album, evolved naturally from there, picking up where “Sea Change” left off: the aftermath of the aftermath, the morning phase. Although he’d already started piecing together another new album with a series of high-profile collaborators, including Pharrell Williams – possibly due out later this year, “time willing” – Beck set those tracks aside to focus on “Morning Phase,” recorded at studios in Nashville, London, Los Angeles and New York over the course of several months in 2013. “I had some old songs, and I found the ones that fit together the best, and then I worked on building it, stripping it back, rewriting it and just kept going until I felt like it was getting better and better.”

Meldal-Johnsen says Beck and the band never explicitly discussed what type of sound they were going for, but it was inevitable: “It’s the same room with the same guys, with the same microphones and a lot of the same equipment and the same engineer. We don’t even talk when we start these songs; we just listen and respond. These are the tones and sounds and approaches that come forth from that recipe and these five guys. I think Beck responds to music in that trusting way, where he lets things unfold without judgment.” As Beck puts it: “Something just happens when you’re making a record, where certain things start to come out. It’s just something in the air. I might have been shooting for Royal Trux, and it came out Lynyrd Skynyrd, but it’s working, so…” He trails off.

I suggest that he obviously has confidence in his own instincts, but Beck quickly demurs, “My instinct has definitely gone awry; I could give you many examples.” He laughs and tells me about how, several years ago, he turned down repeated requests to write the theme song for a new cable TV series. “It’s about ad executives in the ’60s? They’re going to make a show about that? Really? Um, I don’t think so,” he remembers saying. “Yeah, just like the best show ever made!”

“I wish I had more confidence,” he adds. “I think that’s probably my Achilles’ heel. If I had more, I probably would have felt emboldened to make more interesting music earlier on, or really go for it in an artistic or songwriting sense. I’ve seen that kind of confidence serve other people really well. I really admire it. Like, I hope my kids have some of that kind of confidence that enables you to take risks”.

I will come to some reviews soon. Before that, The Quietus’ interview is worth highlighting. It is interesting how Beck’s colour and sonic palette changed between albums. After an album like 2008’s Modern Guilt, few were expecting an album like Morning Phase in 2014:

“At what point did it became apparent that this was a companion piece to Sea Change?

BH: I really wasn't telling myself that. It was more about doing a kind of record with songs based on acoustic guitar, piano... quieter, slower, as opposed to Modern Guilt, which was a collaboration with Danger Mouse, and the previous album [The Information] which had all these breakbeats that we'd created - we cut all the tracks live, and then remixed the whole thing, y'know? Those are completely different projects, there's a different orientation to those records. I feel like because there are different kinds of records that I make, that Morning Phase ends up being a bookend by default, because there's another five albums in between that are in a similar vein [to each other]. If I were allowed to make more records, I think, creatively, I would have more records like Morning Phase.

You lost a potential follow-up to Sea Change, didn't you?

BH: Yeah. I had a bunch of songs that I'd written over a two-year period after the Sea Change songs, which I felt were gonna be the next record in that vein. Then when I was on tour, the tapes were in a suitcase that was left behind at a venue. When we went to look for them, they had been taken. I think that partially had something to do with not making another record in the vein of Sea Change, because that was really heartbreaking to me. I was really proud of those songs, and I felt like they were building on the shoulders of Sea Change. I thought the songs were a lot better. It was a real step up. Unfortunately I hadn't memorised most of those songs. I'd recorded them on tapes as a reference, and I had them on tour with me so that I could work on them. But they were gone. It was sort of a shock that you could have a whole body of work and then the next day, completely gone. So I think for several years I was just a little bit frustrated and didn't want to have anything to do with writing a song on an acoustic guitar. [laughs] I ended up making another record with the Dust Brothers [Guero] because we had a lot of unfinished material. Then I did another record with Nigel [The Information] where we did the opposite of Sea Change. He wanted to do a kind of beat-driven hip hop record.

Godrich has since started the electronically-orientated Ultraista (with frequent Beck collaborator Joey Waronker) but The Information must have been quite a departure for him at the time?

BH: I think that was a real laboratory, and a bit of school, those sessions. Because I had been working with songs that had beats and that sort of production for years, but doing it with him, y'know, we were starting from scratch. There were no samples or programming, it was just all live. So I think for him, it was like beat school. It was kind of an experiment. It felt like we were sixteen year olds let loose, it had that kind of energy to it. A lot of discovery. It's a little rough around the edges, which was how we approached it, wanting to make it not so polished. Something you would make when you're just still trying to figure it all out. Because as time goes on, you learn how to do certain things properly, and I think with the nature of the songs we were trying to do, the production needed to be a little bit raw for it have that kind of energy.

In contrast to The Information, Morning Phase is an exceedingly lush and 'produced' album. Do you think this quality, along with the recurrent images of sun and sea, derives from a uniquely Californian outlook?

BH: I'm so bad at that. I'm not sure what a Californian outlook is. Because I grew up in California, but in East LA. I never saw the sea. All we saw was smog and urban blight! The palm trees had rats the size of cats, the public transportation - it could take two to three hours to get from one side of the town to the other. I only partially relate to that view of California. But y'know, I spent a number of years living in the country and in the mountains, in the elements, so I think some of that came through in the songs on this record. Maybe some of the other material that I've worked on over the last five years, but particularly this record.

Do you miss the time when fewer people were paying attention? When you wouldn't get instant feedback via the internet?

BH: I think most musicians in the last ten or fifteen years have been making a massive adjustment to that. This kind of seemingly consensus opinion that you get through the internet, through blogs, and comments and feedback from social media, all these things present musicians, filmmakers, any creative person with this kind of instant feedback that is intense, a little bit intimidating. Sometimes I think it can warp your sense of what you're doing. And I think that it has warped people's perspectives. It's messed with mine a bit and with other musicians I know. I've talked with friends of mine, they've had this discussion with a lot of other musicians, there have been these sort of growing pains to becoming accustomed to that kind of feedback. And possibly a period of time where there's been some self-consciousness. For myself, I feel like I've come out of [that] for the most part, because I'm used to it, but I would say that it was a little bit… it has taken some adjustment, and maybe I think differently about things I'm doing, question things in a way that I never would have in the 90s, when I was starting out”.

I am going to wrap things up with a couple of positive reviews. NME were among those to provide their spin on an amazing album. From an artist many might assume to be nothing but craziness and oddity, there is something deeper, more grounded and personal working through Morning Phase. I have been revisiting the album a bit ahead of the tenth anniversary. It still elicits emotions and response after every visit:

“At some point in the six years that have elapsed since the release of Beck’s 2008 album ‘Modern Guilt’, the inveterate musical shape-shifter has finally relaxed into a stereotype. The Los Angeles native has long flirted with the idea of the hippyish singer-songwriter, the long-haired troubadour penning harmony-laden folk-rock tunes from his house in Laurel Canyon. On this, his 12th album, he finally succumbs wholly to that soaring, swooning late ’60s and early ’70s sound, as typified by The Byrds, The Mamas & The Papas and Neil Young. But Beck being Beck, he adds an idiosyncratic twist in the shape of a majestic bleakness that hangs over the album’s portentous 13 tracks like a funeral veil. That’s not to say there aren’t optimistic moments, but if you feel like locking yourself in a dark room and sobbing at any point during your listening experience, well, no-one would blame you.

Touted as his ‘acoustic’ album, ‘Morning Phase’ is rather more symphonic than such a reductive description would have you believe. After the sweet orchestral swell of the 39-second opener ‘Cycle’, we drift into the lush ‘Morning’. With simple strumming laid over delicate drums that roll like Pacific waves, it’s a breezy, slow-paced nod to the oceanic swells of Beach Boy Dennis Wilson’s all too brief solo career. Here the sadness comes as subtle shoreside melancholy, with Beck plaintively cooing, “This morning/I let down all my defences”.

With his emotions on the line, in comes the softly psychedelic ‘Heart Is A Drum’, its shimmering instrumentation and heartworn harmonies straight from the lungs of Crosby, Stills & Nash. Twanging California guitars and a Gram Parsons lilt briefly lift the mood for ‘Say Goodbye’ and ‘Country Down’. Lead single ‘Blue Moon’ could be one of the most captivating things Beck has ever composed – a woozy bluegrass lament, spiralling around desperate calls of “Don’t leave me on my own”. The glumness is almost transcendental by the time we reach the orchestral misery of ‘Wave’, his echo-chamber vocals now intoning the word “isolation” over and over.

This isn’t LA in the blazing sunshine, as seen from a classic car cruising through Beverly Hills. This is the seedier fringes of the city just around twilight; Bukowski-like tales that feel warm with the afterglow of a party, but with a hangover on the way. It couples a moody sort of glamour with a concrete feeling of loneliness, and it makes for some of the most affecting comedown folk you’re likely to hear all year”.

I will end with Rolling Stone and their review of the majestic and stirring Morning Phase. Even though Beck has not really released an album like this since, I do feel we will get a Morning Phase/Sea Change-like album soon enough:

“ON HIS REMARKABLE 2002 album, Sea Change, Beck ditched his signature irony, break beats and jump cuts to vibe on the country-tinged singer-songwriter tradition of his L.A. hometown. Since then, the album’s stature has only grown – even as Beck left his fringed-suede jacket tucked away in a closet. He has finally put it back on for Morning Phase, which features many of the same players and themes as Sea Change. The result is a set that feels like an instant folk-rock classic.

The paired openers here, “Cycle” and “Morning,” set the tone. The first is a daybreak-conjuring string overture, conducted by Beck’s father, David Campbell, which introduces the LP’s musical themes. The second is a great early-hours song in the tradition of the Velvet Underground‘s kindred album opener “Sunday Morning.” Around bright acoustic guitar and chiming percussion, ripples of reverb and synthesizers blur Beck’s layered vocals and Stanley Clarke’s acoustic bass into a gorgeous watercolor-hangover haze. It echoes a lot of what Beck’s been up to lately – the lean formalism of his sheet-music Song Reader, the psychedelia of 2008’s Modern Guilt, the crate-digging of his online Record Club covers project, and the orchestral experiments of Rework, his Philip Glass collaboration.

At its core, Morning Phase is a record about what to do when the world seems totally fucked. Irony doesn’t cut it anymore; truth, beauty and resolve are the best weapons. “Looked up this morning/Saw the roses full of thorns/Mountains are falling,” Beck croons with falsetto swoops on “Morning,” then asks, “Can we start it all over again?” He could be referring to a crashed relationship, or a trashed ecosystem. On “Heart Is a Drum,” which radiates the cocooned warmth of Nick Drake‘s Bryter Layter, he asks, “Why does it hurt this way?/To come so far to find they’ve closed the gates.” Coming in the wake of a back injury so severe Beck couldn’t pick up a guitar for a number of years, Morning Phase‘s struggle toward the light feels as personal as it does universal.

Beck remains a master of pastiche, and trainspotters can have a field day mapping reference points: “Blue Moon” shares a name with the Rodgers-Hart and Alex Chilton songs, but more closely resembles Bob Seger’s “Mainstreet” getting abstracted by Brian Eno in a Laurel Canyon time share. The strings from “Cycle” resurface in “Wave,” a lovely voice-and-orchestra meditation that could almost be a Björk cover. On “Country Down,” reminiscent of Harvest-era Neil Young, he sings about a man in a lifeboat while Greg Leisz’s pedal steel draws chem trails across the sky.

The album ends with another aching morning song, “Waking Light.” But the line that persists comes a few tracks earlier, on “Don’t Let It Go.” “In the crossfire, there’s a story,” Beck offers, “how it ends, we do not know.” With lyrical nods to Bob Dylan‘s “I’ll Keep It With Mine” and the crossfi rehurricane birth in the Stones‘ “Jumpin’ Jack Flash,” the song is in effect about how musical storytelling helps us push through terrible times. Morning Phase aspires to no less”.

On 21st February, Beck’s Morning Phase turns ten. One of the best albums of his career, everyone needs to hear it. I know that there will be celebration on the day. Hopefully, songs from the album will be played on some radio stations. After a decade, Morning Phase still holds such power and emotion. Go and take some time out and listen to this…

WORK of brilliance.

FEATURE: A Live Phenomenon: Kate Bush’s The Tour of Life at Forty-Five: Marking the Anniversary

FEATURE:

 

 

A Live Phenomenon

IN THIS PHOTO: Cowgirl with Pistol: Kate Bush captured during the warm-up gig of The Tour of Life at the Poole Arts Centre on 2nd April, 1979/PHOTO CREDIT: Brian Aris

Kate Bush’s The Tour of Life at Forty-Five: Marking the Anniversary

_________

THERE is a lot to unpick…

PHOTO CREDIT: Max Browne

when it comes to Kate Bush’s 1979 The Tour of Life. I am going to finish off by marking the fact that we need something to mark the forty-fifth anniversary. Whether that is a podcast, documentary or issue of a live album, the fact is that The Tour of Life was hugely important. The warm-up date happened in Poole on 2nd April, 1979. It is a really important moment in Kate Bush’s career. Where she embarked upon her only tour. Many might not know that Bush’s stage sound engineer Gordon Paterson developed the wireless headset microphone using a wire clothes hanger. Kate Bush was the first artist to use that. Also, in terms of this huge live spectacle selling out and extra dates being added. There are artists who experience this now. If you think about some of the huge live sets and concepts from female artists of today, you can trace many back to Kate Bush and The Tour of Life. I don’t think there has really been a substantial release from the tour in terms of recordings. EMI Records released the On Stage E.P. on 31st August, 1979. It featured Them Heavy People, Don't Push Your Foot on the Heartbrake, James and the Cold Gun and L'Amour Looks Something Like You as recorded at the Hammersmith Odeon on 13th May, 1979. An hour-long video of aspects of the concert was released as a home video, Live at Hammersmith Odeon, in 1981. The video featured twelve performances. In 1994, the video got a re-issue as a box-set, including a C.D. of the broadcast plus the video. Neither the E.P. or video make reference to The Tour of Life – a name used after the tour’s completion. Maybe better known as The Lionheart Tour or The Kate Bush Tour, I think there should be a cleaned up video of one of the sets. I think fans have tried to make HD videos of various sets, though there has been no official release. Many would love to get an album of The Tour of Life. As we are approaching the forty-fifth anniversary, I am thinking about that moment. When Kate Bush stepped onto the stage at Poole Arts Centre on 2nd April, 1979.

In terms of her band, we had Preston Heyman (drums), Paddy Bush (mandolin. various instruments and vocal harmonies), Del Palmer (bass), Brian Bath (electric guitar,-acoustic mandolin and vocal harmonies), Kevin McAlea (piano, keyboards, saxophone, 12-string guitar), Ben Barson (synthesizer and acoustic guitar), Al Murphy (electric guitar and whistles) and backing vocalists Liz Pearson and Glenys Groves. The Tour of Life did begin with tragedy. After that warm-up date in Poole, lighting director Bill Duffield fell through an open panel high on the lighting gallery when performing an ‘idiot check’ – looking around the venue to make sure there were no left belongings or anything that needed taking away. He would die of his injuries a week later. Mostly consisting of songs from 1978’s The Kick Inside and Lionheart (the two albums she released to that point), there was also some material from 1980’s Never for Ever – these amazing songs getting a premiere. Divided into three acts plus an encore of Oh England My Lionheart and Wuthering Heights, it was this epic set that saw Bush move from the U.K. into Europe – the first date there was 24th April at Konserthuset, Stockholm -, before coming back to London on 12th May. Aside from reduced sets on 24th, 26th, 28th and 29th April because Bush was suffering from a throat infection, she undertook these twenty-eight dates. In 2010, Graeme Thomson (who wrote the brilliant Under the Ivy: The Life & Music of Kate Bush) wrote a feature for The Guardian about The Tour of Life. The question remained as to why Bush decided not to tour again after 1979. Her 2014 residency saw her based in London:

“An independently creative woman in what was still a very male world, Bush battled against a widely held prejudice that she was little more than a novelty puppet whose strings were being pulled by some unseen svengali. As such, the tour came to be seen as a testing ground for her talent. It sold out well in advance and the BBC's early-evening magazine show Nationwide sent a film crew to cover the build-up to the opening show on 3 April at the Liverpool Empire.

Brian Southall, then head of artist development at EMI, was also there to "fly the flag" for the company. He recalls Bush being "terribly, terribly nervous, but the show was just extraordinary. We didn't quite know what we were letting ourselves in for, this extraordinary presentation of her music."

Few other artists had taken the pop concert into quite such daring territory; its only serious precedent was David Bowie's 1974 Diamond Dogs tour. There were 13 people on stage, 17 costume changes and 24 songs – primarily from her first two albums, The Kick Inside and Lionheart – scattered over three distinctly theatrical acts. Her brother John declaimed poetry, Simon Drake performed illusions and magic tricks, and at the centre was a barefoot Bush, still only 20 years old.

For Them Heavy People she was a trench-coated, trilby-hatted gangster. On the heartbreaking Oh England, My Lionheart, she became a dying second world war fighter pilot, a flying jacket for a shroud and a Biggles helmet for a burial crown. Every song offered something new: she moved from Lolita, winking outrageously from behind the piano, to a top-hatted magician's apprentice ; from a soul siren singing of her "pussy queen" to a leather-clad refugee from West Side Story. The erotically charged denouement of James and the Cold Gun depicted her as a murderous gunslinger, spraying gunfire – actually ribbons of red satin – over the stage. There was no room for improvisation. The band was drilled to within an inch of its life and Bush never spoke to the audience, refusing to come out of character. "She was faultless," says set designer David Jackson. "I don't remember her ever fluffing a line or hitting a bum note on the piano."

As the tour rolled out around the UK the reviews were euphoric: Melody Maker called the Birmingham show "the most magnificent spectacle ever encountered in the world of rock", and most critics broadly concurred. Only NME remained sceptical, dismissing Bush as "condescending" and, with the kind of proud and rather wonderful perversity that once defined the British rock press, praising only the magician.

However, the mood of the tour had been struck a terrible blow early on, after a low-key warm-up concert on 2 April at Poole Arts Centre in Dorset. While scouring the darkened venue to ensure nothing had been forgotten, the lighting engineer Bill Duffield fell 20 feet through a cavity to his death. He was just 21. Bush was shattered, and contemplated cancelling the tour. "It was terrible for her," says Brian Bath. "Kate knew everyone by name, right down to the cleaner, she was so like that, she'd speak to everyone. It's something you wouldn't forget, but we just carried through it."

Owing to demand, the tour ended with three additional London concerts at Hammersmith Odeon, following 10 shows in mainland Europe. The first night became a fundraising benefit for Duffield's family and featured Peter Gabriel and Steve Harley, for whom Duffield had also worked. They joined Bush on several songs, ending with a spirited, if rather ramshackle rendition of the Beatles' Let It Be. The second night was filmed for the Live at Hammersmith Odeon video release, which most involved agree never quite captured the essence of the Tour of Life, and the way in which it rejected the orthodoxy of the typical rock concert while simultaneously suggesting a template for its future.

Looking back, the most striking aspect is how ahead of its time the Tour of Life seemed. With its projections, its pioneering use of the head-mic, its multimedia leanings and its creation of a narrative beyond the immediate context of the songs, it was a significant step forward in the evolution of live performance. On Hammer Horror, Bush even performed to playback, an unheard-of conceit at the time but nowadays almost the norm for any show with significant visual stimuli.

PHOTO CREDIT: Max Browne

Bush seemed born to play live, but the third night at Hammersmith Odeon now appears to have been a final curtain call. Despite the very occasional cameo – her last live appearance was in 2002 with David Gilmour at the Royal Festival Hall, singing the part of the "Evil Doctor" on a version of Pink Floyd's Comfortably Numb – she hasn't toured or played a headline concert since. She came closest in the early 1990s, announcing at a fan convention her intention to play gigs in 1991; Bush is a longtime fan of The Muppet Show, and there were rumours she had contacted Jim Henson's company to discuss working with her on a new stage show.

However, the plans came to naught. Instead, her innate gift for performing was channelled into lavish videos and one patchy short film, The Line, the Cross and the Curve.

The draining experience of conceiving, organising, rehearsing, performing and overseeing the Tour of Life may have outweighed any desire Bush had to repeat the experience. "I think it was just too hard," said the late Bob Mercer, the man who signed her to EMI in 1976. "I think she liked it but the equation didn't work. These are not conversations I recall ever having with her, but I went to a lot of the shows in Britain and in Europe and I could see at the end of the show that she was completely wiped out."

The mechanics of touring certainly didn't appeal. Bush's dislike of flying has been an active ingredient in her decision not to perform on a global stage, and having endured a promotional whirlwind throughout 1978 and 1979 she found that the lifestyle – airports, hotels, press calls, itineraries, entourages and precious little solitude – sabotaged the way she wanted to live her life and conduct her career.

Others suggest that Duffield's death weighed heavily; or that the tour, which was largely self-financed, was too expensive; or that, having shown her hand so impressively, she felt no need to do it again. "People said I couldn't gig, and I proved them wrong," she said. And as Brian Southall points out, "It did pose the problem: follow that”.

It is a shame that Bush did not tour again after 1979. Even though she disliked flying, I think maybe Del Palmer was less keen on flying. Bush found travelling tiring and was aware she was out of the studio and not creating new music. In 2020, Louder told the story of The Tour of Life. It is worth reading as they discuss the preparation involved in putting it together. It is clear that this was like no other live experience:

“But that was where any similarity with a standard rock show began and ended. On an ever-shifting stage of which only a central ramp was the sole constant physical factor, Bush was a human conductor’s baton leading the entire show. As the scenery shifted through the opening Moving, Room For The Life and Them Heavy People, so did the costumes – and the atmosphere.

“I saw our show as not just people on stage playing the music, but as a complete experience,” she later explained. “A lot of people would say ‘Pooah!’ but for me that’s what it was. Like a play.”

Indeed it was – or perhaps several plays in one. On Egypt, she emerged dressed as a seductive Cleopatra. On Strange Phenomena, she was a magician in top hat and tails, dancing with a pair of spacemen. Former single Hammer Horror replicated the video, with a black-clad Bush dancing with a sinister, black-masked figure behind her, while Oh England My Lionheart cast her as a World War II pilot.

Like every actor, she was surrounded by a cast of strong supporting characters. As well as dancers Stewart Avon Arnold and Gary Hurst, several songs featured magician Simon Drake, who performed his signature ‘floating cane’ trick during L’Amour Looks Something Like You. And then there was her brother, John Carder Bush, who recited his own poetry before The Kick Inside, Symphony In Blue (fused with elements of experimental composer Erik Satie’s Gymnopédie 1) and the inevitable encore, Wuthering Heights.

But at the heart of it all was Bush, whirling and waving, reaching for the sky one moment, swooping to the floor the next. Occasionally she looked like she was concentrating on what was coming next. More often, she looked lost in the moment.

“When I perform, that’s just something that happens in me,” she later said. “It just takes over, you know. It’s like suddenly feeling that you’ve leapt into another structure, almost like another person, and you just do it.”

Brian Southall was in the audience at the Liverpool Empire. Despite the fact he worked for EMI, he had no idea what to expect. “You just sat in the audience and went, ‘Wow’. It was extraordinary. Bands didn’t take a dancer onstage, they didn’t take a magician onstage, even Queen at their most lavish or Floyd at their most extravangant. They might have used tricks and props in videos, but not other people onstage.

“That was the most interesting thing about it – her handing it over to other people, who became the focus of attention. That’s something that never bothered Kate – that ‘I will be onstage all the time and you will only see me.’ It was like a concept album, except it was a concept show.”

Two and a quarter hours later, this ‘concept show’ was done and the real world intruded once again. If there was any sense of celebration afterwards, then the main attraction was keeping it to herself. “I remember sitting in the bar after the show at Liverpool and Kate wasn’t there. She was with Del,” says Southall. “She wasn’t an extrovert offstage. There were two people. There was that person you saw onstage, in that extraordinary performance, and then offstage there was this fairly shy, reserved person.”

“I need five months to prepare a show and build up my strength for it, and in those five months I can’t be writing new songs and I can’t be promoting the album,” she once said, the closest approximation to a reason she has ever offered. “The problem is time… and money.”

Not that there wasn’t a call for it, especially overseas. America was one of the few countries where she didn’t sell records, and the idea was floated that she play a show at New York’s prestigious Radio City Music Hall so that her US label, Capitol, could bring all the important media and retail contacts to the show to see what the fuss was about. “She’s not a great flier,” says Southall. “And she wouldn’t do it.”

Even more tantalising was an offer to support Fleetwood Mac in the US in late ’79. A high-profile slot opening for one of the most successful bands in the world would was an open goal for most artists. But Bush wasn’t most artists.

“Like most support acts, she was going to get half an hour, no dancers and no magicians, so just going up there with four musicians and banging out a couple of hits,” says Brian Southall. “And she wasn’t prepared to do that”.

PHOTO CREDIT: Max Browne

I am going to wrap up in a minute. Before that, this feature from Dreams of Orgonon looked inside The Tour of Life. The reaction and reception that afforded it was ecstatic. Proof that Kate Bush was a superstar. After two albums where she felt like a cog or not someone in control, this tour was an opportunity for her to add her stamp and create something that was meaningful and true to her:

“Every night of the show got stark raving reviews from the British press. Mike Davies of Melody Maker admitted going to see Bush “more as a pilgrim than a critic,” John Coldstream of the Daily Telegraph praised her “balance between the vivid and the simple,” and former Bush naysayer Sandy Robertson of Sounds announced she had “seen the light.” There were a couple reviews from more negative quarters, mostly notably by Charles Shaar Murray in NME, who opined that “her songwriting hints that it means more than it says and in fact it means less” and “her shrill self-satisfied whine is unmistakable.” One could smugly grin at Murray for panning a critically praised and influential tour in 1979, but why do that when he invented every sexist whinge about Lauren Mayberry more than three decades early? It’s a break from the orthodoxy of Bush’s tour reviews, and thus in keeping with Bush’s ethos.

An oft-commented on aspect of Bush’s shows in reviews was its synthesis of theater and rock. This is a glib and useless description are there were many “extravaganzas” in rock music at the time, but even among them the Tour of Life broke rank. Bush had more planned for her debut concerts than simply playing her new album — she was producing a stage show, a colorful spectacle with extensive costuming, mime routines, dancers, act breaks, poetry, and elaborate set design. “I think the most important thing about choosing the songs is that the whole show will be sustained,” said Bush later. “…the songs must adapt well visually: a show is visual as well as audial, so there must hopefully be a good blend of the two.” As per usual, Bush’s way of proving herself was unorthodox. While there were other especially theatrical rock acts performing at the time (glam was the world’s loudest costume drama, and prog acts like Genesis and Pink Floyd thrived on massive setpieces, and disco and ABBA were more theatrical than they were credited for), they were mostly playing their songs live with different arrangements and more props. Bush was staging a long play, with dance acts, characters, and spoken word segments. The concerts were made by small flourishes: “The Kick Inside” got a spoken prelude by John Carder Bush with a foreboding call-and-response (Kate hauntingly shouts “two in one coffin!”), “Saxophone Song” has a saxophonist projected onto the stage, and mime Simon Drake appears decked out in white make-up as Charlie Daniels’ devil channeled through Iggy Pop. A classic component of the shows is, bizarrely, from the “Room for the Life” performances, in which Bush is rolled around in a velvet cylindrical egg (get it? It’s a uterus). She eventually departs the egg and frolics with her band during the song’s outro, giving way to Bush’s greatest performance ever as she enthusiastically calls “a-woom-pa-woom-pa-woom-pa-woom-pa-woom-pa!”, elevating the worst song on her debut album to a highlight of her career.

It was a wild time for Bush. “It’s like I’m seeing God, man!” she said enthusiastically. When she’s onstage in a black-and-gold bodysuit and blasting her bandmates with a golden, it’s easy to believe she made that comment while looking in a mirror. It takes a shot of the divine (or perhaps a deal with it?) to stage a tour of this magnitude and success while dealing with such severe drama behind the scenes? It’s no wonder Bush stayed in the studio after this, recording closer to home all the time until she set up a studio in her backyard. Even when she finally returned to the stage thirty-five years later, she made sure her venue was in nearby London. 1979 was a different time. A Labour government was feasible, and Kate Bush was regularly on TV. She plays things close to the chest now, never retiring from music but often looking infuriatingly close to it. In a way, she retired in 1979. Kate Bush the media sensation was a spectacle of the Seventies. She cordoned herself off afterwards, becoming Kate Bush the Artist. Next week we’ll look at Never for Ever, the first post-tour Kate Bush album where she unleashes a flood of ideas into the world. What does one do after the Tour of Life? In Bush’s words: “everything”.

I do wonder whether there is going to be some retrospection and celebration ahead of the forty-fifth anniversary of The Tour of Life. Ahead of 2nd April and that first date, it would be amazing to see a video release or one of the sets coming to a streaming service or physical formats. A chance to hear something truly spectacular! There was nothing like this incredible live concept. Kate Bush’s studio songs given new life and scope. Even though people have discussed The Tour of Life and given it love through the years, there is opportunity to go further. As bootlegs of the show had poor audio, something that is cleaned-up and clear should come out. There are some okay-quality videos of the sets and various performances. Nothing really that is as sharp as it could be. Such an important moment in Kate Bush’s career, we do need to celebrate The Tour of Life. Such a remarkable, dizzying and spectacular thing, The Tour of Life still hold so much power…

AFTER forty-five. years

FEATURE: Bring Me Your Loves: The Magnificent St. Vincent at Ten

FEATURE:

 

 

Bring Me Your Loves

The Magnificent St. Vincent at Ten

_________

AN album that you…

PHOTO CREDIT: Winnie Au

should buy if you have not done so already, St. Vincent came out on 24th February, 2014. A wonderful eponymous album from the alias of Annie Clark, I am going to come to some interviews and reviews around a truly staggering album. One that I love very much. Featuring standout tracks such as Digital Witness and Birth in Reverse, it is one of the best albums of the 2010s. Her fourth studio album, I think that St. Vincent might be one of her best and most important. Released on 24th February, 2014 in the United Kingdom and a day later in the United States, it was produced by the legendary John Congleton. Highly critically acclaimed on its release, St. Vincent won a 2015 Grammy Award for Best Alternative Music Album - making St. Vincent only the second female solo artist to win the award since its inception in 1991 (when it was awarded to Sinéad O'Connor). I am going to start off with an interview from The Guardian. They spotlighted an artist who admitted that she is always on the intersection of accessible and lunatic. We got an insight into her remarkable 2014 eponymous album:

“She named herself St Vincent after a line in a Nick Cave song that referred to the famous Manhattan hospital, St Vincent's, where Dylan Thomas died in 1953. (At one point in our conversation, she segues into a highly entertaining anecdote about how, a couple of years ago, terrified of what she assumed was a rat running from room to room in her apartment, she picked up a volume of Thomas's poetry and threw it at the creature, killing it on impact, "even though I don't like any cruelty being done to living things".)

Clark's fourth album goes right through the emotional wringer: one song, Psychopath, is about a date she once had with someone who is now a friend; other titles include Regret, Severed Crossed Fingers, Bring Me Your Loves and Every Tear Disappears. In person, though, she is less agonised than ethereal and sprite-like (last week, the online teen magazine Rookie posted a charming video of her showing off her mean soccer skills). "I have a sneaking suspicion that everybody has dark thoughts, but maybe doesn't say them," she says.

As she polishes off a plate of eggs and spinach, Clark, who lives in the East Village, says that she has just arrived home from Christmas with her family in Texas. "In New York, I have to repress the urge to call men 'sir' and women 'ma'am'." (She smiles, then shivers. "I don't want to be 'ma'am' to anyone.")

At school, Clark admits people may have found her "a little odd", but that she was not "a figure of derision. I was always trying to get my sister to do fun, mischievous adventures, like to tip over the porta-potties (portable lavatories) at school or steal candy". She liked drawing and at five made her first guitar from cardboard and rubber bands. She made up songs and listened to classic rock and Led Zeppelin. Music "obsessed" her.

"When I was nine, Nirvana's Nevermind came out and that was a sea change across the world," Clark recalls, sipping her cafe au lait. "One day everyone was in polo shirts, the next in flannel. Suddenly my heroes were not C+C Music Factory, it was Kurt Cobain." She wonders, given how fragmented music distribution is now, and the proliferation of so much, so fast by the internet, whether something as culture-shifting as Nirvana could have the same profound and prolonged impact today.

Clark always wanted to be a solo artist. "My uncle told me when I was a teenager that if you want to be a person with confidence just pretend you are a person with confidence and eventually you will have confidence, so I did that. There's a fair amount of self-delusion involved. I never envisioned a Plan B. I'm almost immune to the idea of failure; it never occurred to me." She remains wary of working with others, though made an exception to collaborate last year with David Byrne on the much-praised album Love This Giant and subsequent tour.

This article includes content provided by Spotify. We ask for your permission before anything is loaded, as they may be using cookies and other technologies. To view this content, click 'Allow and continue'.

With so many complex layers of instrumentation in her songs, is she a perfectionist? "There's a difference between perfection and being detail-oriented. Perfection is everything on time, in tune, not a hair out of place. That's vanilla. Detail-oriented is different: some songs are puzzles sonically. The producer and I slightly recontextualise sounds. We manipulate guitar sounds to sound like [other] instruments.

"I try to live at the intersection of accessible and lunatic. As far out as David Byrne and I go, we counterbalance that with a memorable melody or something for people to latch on to. I try not to put songs into ill-fitting clothes." And does her labyrinthine style owe anything to a love of classical music? "Stravinsky is my all-time favourite, his shit bangs," she assents heartily. "Like heavy metal and hip-hop, it grooves really hard."

She insists that however fraught her songs sound they are in fact "quite literal." Rattlesnake, on the new album, is about a walk she took by herself on a friend's ranch in west Texas. "It was a beautiful day and no one was around, so I thought, 'I'm going to take all my clothes off to fully experience this'. I was having this communion with nature when I saw this rattlesnake. I took off running and when I got home had a shot of tequila."

Another song, Huey Newton, named after the co-founder of the Black Panther party, relates what happened after she took a sedative to relieve jetlag while on tour in Helsinki. "If you take one and go to sleep, you sleep for 12 hours. If you take one and don't fall asleep, you're high. It's bananas. You're in that high state between sleepfulness and wakefulness. I had this hallucination that Huey Newton was in the room with me. We didn't talk about the Black Panther party. We just kind of communicated. We understood each other. I was as high as a kite."

She says she has been listening to Beyoncé's latest album. "What I love about it is that she's the biggest star in the pop world, where there is a lot of focus on youth, especially for the hot new female-whatever. And here is Beyoncé singing about basically loving her husband, having a baby and being a fabulous woman. She didn't come pouting with a lollipop and pigtails and be something she's not. I think that's very helpful for people to see."

Clark thinks "being a feminist by action speaks louder than arguing about semantics. Being a strong woman in the world is a feminist act. It's impossible to be a woman and not see misogyny, but I don't walk through life feeling like a victim. I've been very lucky. The strongest thing a woman can do is be successful, powerful and excel at whatever they choose to excel at."

While her songs are drenched in the trials of love and relationships, Clark is single. "I live an absolutely unconventional life where I travel 10 months a year, so it's not always the easiest to hold a relationship together. I didn't ever imagine my wedding day. Someday I'd like to have kids, but I don't have that burning desire to."

Abruptly, eggs and spinach polished off, she removes the beanie to reveal a surprising large, tangled mass of grey hair, totally different to her usual brunette style. She says was inspired by old footage of David Bowie "who had tried to dye his hair blond but it had gone orange and was awesome", and also by a blonde contestant on the last series of TV show The Bachelor, in which a group of women compete for a man's romantic attention. One of the women had one arm "and was understandably horrified to learn that as part of their date she had to jump off the side of the building". It's comforting to know that Clark, cool as she is, can be caught in the headlights of trashy reality TV just like the rest of us”.

Prior to getting to some reviews of the astonishing St. Vincent, I want to include a Brooklyn interview from July 2014. Two years after her collaborative album with David Byrne, Love This Giant, and three years after her solo album, Strange Mercy, St. Vincent was a big step forward. Her most confident and compelling work to date:

“Clark began writing the songs that would comprise St. Vincent almost immediately after the tour for Love This Giant—her 2012 collaboration with David Byrne—ended. “I got a good night’s sleep and laid around on the couch, and then the next day I was writing again,” she says. “I didn’t have a big plan. I started just taking things out of my little idea-chest and without any judgment going, ‘Oh, what’s this? What’s this? Can these go together?’ and just writing pretty furiously.”

Clark doesn’t separate well from the work—it sustains her; it’s a source of nourishment—and she tells me that she spent her first few weeks back trying to ease into a more banal existence by “partying—just going crazy to feel anything.” The transition was challenging. “I was going a little crazy because I didn’t have the adrenaline and release of a show every night,” she says. “I’ve spent my whole adult life on the road, and in my mind I thought that someday I’d want to take a big break. But what I realized is that’s not who I am at all. I love working. I love being creative. I think I’ve just made peace with the idea that there’s not some other way I ought to be living.”

If Clark is an inscrutable presence, her songs, at least, offer a little more insight. “I think you can’t write about things you don’t know, or don’t [at least] know on some kind of intuitive, emotional level,” she says. For St. Vincent, Clark says she mined her most formative relationships for fodder— “I was looking around, looking at my friends and my family and myself, and being like, ‘What are we doing?’”—but her presence in these songs is still tough, self-assured, and nearly anonymous. If anything, Clark’s reluctance to perform a certain kind of intimacy—to sound vulnerable, to equate emotion with weakness—is a subtle condemnation of our expectations of her.

PHOTO CREDIT: Winnie Au

Still, there are glimpses of a very raw place. “I Prefer Your Love,” a stark, loping ballad in which Clark insists “All the good in me is because of you,” was written shortly after her mother recovered from some unnamed but grave illness. Even now, listening to Clark talk about it, I can hear the tiniest shift in her voice, a crack—then a hardening, a recomposition. “She’s doing great now, but she almost died, which was the scariest thing ever,” she says.

Clark was born in Tulsa but raised in Dallas—her parents split when she was young and her mom remarried; with all the attending step- and half-siblings, she grew up as one of nine children—and she still spends some of her downtime in Texas. “My mom is a really sweet person to bring out [on tour] because she thinks everything is great. I’ll come into a hotel room or a city and be like, ‘Ugh, I’ve been here seven times and it’s cool, but I’m gonna take a nap.’ And she’ll go and find the smallest thing that she just thinks is so interesting and fascinating,” she says. “You know, I’ll never forget being on the Byrne tour and bringing her along to Louisville. We were walking downtown, which is fine and cute, and she saw this green painted wall, and she was like, ‘That is the most beautiful color.’ And I was just like, ‘Oh my god, I wish I had your brain.’ I never would have noticed that in a million years.”

Her mother’s illness is present on St. Vincent, if never explicitly addressed. “I started writing this record right after the coast was clear, so in that way I was really checked in with myself and my senses of empathy and compassion,” Clark says. “I don’t mean it arrogantly, but the music part is very easy for me. I could write music all day, but having a song where it feels like a ghost is walking through the room…” She pauses. “I sang it in one take and just cried a lot and then it was done. I wasn’t in such dire straits, by any means, making this record. But I wanted to make sure everything had heart. Making music’s easy. I could come up with some crazy arrangement for you in five minutes, but that doesn’t make a song. A song is something else.”

PHOTO CREDIT: Winnie Au

We talk for a while about aspirational jams, all the songs and genres (gangsta rap, arena rock, commercial country) that are rarely relatable in a literal way but become anthems nonetheless. By the time we get to Foreigner’s “Hot Blooded”— “Is that a pedophile song?” Clark asks—we’re both snickering. “I’ve never felt like that,” she says. “I’ve never felt that whole rocky strut. I can’t even meet you halfway. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Or even the stuff that’s like, ‘We’ll be together forever!’ I’m like, ‘Really? You won’t! That’s not how life works. I hate to break it to you and I wish you all the best, but—you know what I mean?’”

Clark, for her part, isn’t one to indulge romantic fantasies, and she’s adopted a similarly hard line about her career. “If you’re lucky enough to find yourself in this position, you better play till your hands bleed and just give it all you have,” she says. Ultimately, work is the only thing she’s willing to submit to, and she’s made her peace with that. “It’s so liberating to be in a place where you don’t really give a fuck,” she says. “Where you can look back and say, ok, my instincts got me to here, so why in the world would I second-guess my instincts now?”.

I am going to start off with a short review from Rolling Stone.. They were full of praise for the songwriting brilliance of Annie Clark and the potency of St. Vincent. No doubt one of the very best albums of 2014, I would advise anyone who has not heard it to go and listen to it now. St. Vincent is one of the greatest artists of her generation:

“Annie Clark (a.k.a. St. Vincent) isn’t just a great songwriter. She’s a great song dissector, breaking down pop’s essential rhythmic, melodic and emotional components, retooling every impulse. No wonder her fourth album has a lushly distracted jam where she and a boy smash up and snort a hunk of the Berlin Wall (“Prince Johnny”) – finding new uses for old structures is kind of her thing.

St. Vincent is her tightest, tensest, best set of songs to date, with wry, twisty beats pushing her lovably ornery melodies toward grueling revelations. On the spring-grooved “Rattlesnake,” a clothes-free walk turns dangerous; the poetic, personal “Huey Newton,” named after the assassinated Black Panther, starts out shyly and explodes into mordant sludge rock; “Psychopath” is where her Kate Bush side and her David Byrne side (see their 2012 collaboration, Love This Giant) come together for a white-knuckled road anthem. Two live drummers – Homer Steinweiss of Brooklyn funk troupe the Dap-Kings and Midlake’s McKenzie Smith – help give the music a propulsive snap that plays perfectly off Clark’s chunky guitar noise. This album is haunted by isolation, dark hungers, regret and even death. But the playful way these songs contort makes pain feel like a party”.

Prior to coming to a feature from The Guardian – who named St. Vincent as the best album of 2014 -, I will bring in an extensive review from Pitchfork. It is amazing though not surprising reading all the positive words about St. Vincent. I am surprised that there has not been a tenth anniversary reissue of a hugely important and impressive work. It is one that everyone needs to hear:

“Annie Clark's bold and almost jarringly confident fourth record, St. Vincent, does not sound like it was recorded here on Earth. Its songs sprout with their own strange, squiggly lifeforms and are governed by unfamiliar laws of gravity. Check out the first one, "Rattlesnake", a song that's bare, Kraftwerky, and full of imagery that is somehow both Edenic and post-apocalyptic. Clark glances around: "Am I the only one in the only world?" She spots the title creature, gasps, and then comes this song's idea of a chorus, like melodic gagging, or distress expressed in an 8-bit video game: "AH-AH-AH-AH-AH-AH AHH AHH/ AH-AH-AH-AH-AH-AH AHH AHH." You often get the sense in a St. Vincent song that Clark has touched down on a desolate, previously unexplored planet without an air supply and is showing off the fact that—for the moment at least—she can still breathe.

Given the fangs she bares on St. Vincent, it seems like Clark could take that snake, easily. Over the course of four albums, many early-career guest spots, and a 2012 collaboration with David Byrne, Clark has been focusing her vision and sharpening her music's edges; were it not for Google image search, it would be easy to convince yourself that you merely dreamed those days when she wore butterfly wings with Sufjan Stevens and blithely flowing robes with the Polyphonic Spree. With each release, Clark sounds less like anybody but herself, and more forcefully embraces a darkness that was quietly stirring in even her earliest songs. "You don't mean that, say you're sorry," she chimed in a creepy, Bride of Chucky voice on her still-magnificent debut single, "Now, Now". But the smirking overlord that stares out from the cover of St. Vincent does not apologize, not for any of the unpleasantries she utters through gritted teeth, nor the much nastier things she blurts out her fingers.

St. Vincent continues Clark's run as one of the past decade's most distinct and innovative guitarists, though she's never one to showboat. Her harmonic-filled style bears the influence of jazz (she picked up a lot of her signature tricks from her uncle, the jazz guitarist Tuck Andress) and prog rock, two genres known to embrace sprawl. But Clark's freak-outs are tidy, modular and architecturally compact—like King Crimson rewritten by Le Corbusier. Even at its most spazzy, there's always something efficient about St. Vincent. The stark, spring-wound single "Birth in Reverse" doesn't waste a second on superfluous sounds, and the same goes for the corrosive crunch of "Regret", which sounds like a classic rock song pared down to its most essential elements. All the negative space in that last one makes Clark's riffs hit that much harder, especially when—in one of the most thrilling moments on the album—a solo strikes down out of nowhere like a cartoon lightning bolt.

Critics of St. Vincent call her pretentious. Fair enough—these are the sorts of songs that dare take themselves seriously and tack on easy suffixes like "in America" when they want to let you know they are Making a Statement. But there's an under-appreciated playfulness about Clark's music that balances this out. I can't think of much contemporary guitar-based music that has this much fun with texture—the rubbery whiplash percussion on "Prince Johnny", the stretched-taffy vocals on "Bring Me Your Loves", the gleefully synthetic-on-purpose sheen of "Digital Witness". At best, St. Vincent has a mischievous curiosity about texture (and explosions) that feels almost childlike. Recently my 8 year-old cousin asked me, with a wicked twinkle in his eye, if I'd ever microwaved a banana. I'm terrified to try, but I'm sure whatever happens—splattering, abrupt, radioactive—sounds exactly like an Annie Clark guitar solo.

"What's the point in even sleeping/ If I can't show, if you can't see me?" Clark asks on the single "Digital Witness", a rather on-the-nose critique of our hyper-transparent, Instagram-your-every-meal culture. It's tempting to label St. Vincent Clark's anti-internet album, but that wouldn't be quite right—it knows too well what a life mediated through screens feels and sounds like to be sending it up entirely. (In fact, digital life may have influenced her concise, anti-jam style: "I have some restless ears, and I now have a fractured attention span because I'm like living in the modern world," she said in a recent interview. "So I'm like, how do I make this sound interesting to myself?") "Huey Newton" is maybe one of the best songs ever written about falling down a late-night, vaguely depressive internet k-hole ("Pleasure dot loathing dot Huey dot Newton/ Oh, it was a lonely, lonely winter"); seemingly stream-of-conscious references to Black Panthers, Byzantine architecture, and the Heaven's Gate cult flicker by like puzzlingly connected Wikipedia pages. The common threads emerge if you look closely. From the self-coronated Prince Johnny to the "near-future cult leader" Clark has fashioned herself on the album cover, there's a fascination with power, faith, and mind-control running through these songs—learning how to sell yourself your own lines well enough to sell them back to other people, too.

"I was reading Miles Davis' biography," Clark says of her Beyoncé-like decision to self-title a record this late in her career, "and he says that the hardest thing for a musician to do is sound like yourself." In that sense, it's a perfect title. St. Vincent is the Platonic ideal of a St. Vincent record, executing with perfect poise everything we already know she can do. But this also is why it falls just short of being her best. That honor still goes to Strange Mercy, which had a capacity to surprise and defy expectations in a way that this record does not. Strange Mercy was easier to connect to emotionally ("If I ever meet the dirty police man who roughed you up," she cooed on the title track, a line that was as jarring for its tenderness as it was for its violence) and gave Clark a little more room to stretch her legs in the grooves. The pixelated shredding on "Huey Newton" and "Regret" are great, but nothing here feels as unhinged as the borealis chaos of at the end of "Northern Lights" or the razor-sharp coda of "Surgeon". The Bowie-esque metamorphosis suggested by the cover image doesn’t mean she’s reinvented her sound. Of course it's not the worst problem for an artist to have, but Clark's become so good at being St. Vincent that, on future releases, she risks boxing herself in. You hope the next album finds her coloring outside the lines she's so meticulously drawn for herself.

Still, it’s hard to ask too much more from an album that boasts melodies as lovely as  "Prince Johnny" and "Severed Crossed Fingers". That last one is the best closing song on a St. Vincent album yet—a self-deprecating, slow-motion parade of a ballad that sounds like if Lorrie Moore had written the non-existent lyrics to “Here Come the Warm Jets”. (This song and “Birth in Reverse” both take their wry titles from Moore’s great short story collection Birds of America.) It’s a moment of vulnerability and bleak hope rounding out Clark’s hardest, tightest, and most confident record to date—a vaguely ominous promise of better days ahead. "We’ll be heroes on every bar stool," she vows, sounding so sure of herself that you’re liable to follow her to whatever planet she’s headed”.

At the end of 2014, The Guardian crowned St. Vincent as the best album of the year. With many of her fans wondering if there will be a follow-up to 2021’s Daddy’s Home, I would urge people to check out, perhaps, her finest work. An eponymous album that has no weak moments. St. Vincent is worthy of every impassioned review that it has received:

“There’s a sense in which Annie Clark’s career to date feels like a process of refinement, gradually paring down the clutter of fascinating ideas found on her early albums until she arrived at the music on St Vincent: self-titled, she claimed, after reading a quote from Miles Davis in which he said the hardest thing to sound like was yourself.

There’s a certain swagger about that explanation. Actually, there was a certain swagger about everything Annie Clark did in 2014: the album’s cover, on which she stared impassively while seated on what looked like a throne; the interviews in which, a discombobulated Guardian correspondent noted, she engaged in “flirtation as a kind of deliberate power-play”; her Twitter-trending choreographed appearance on Saturday Night Live; the clip on teen website Rookie where she demonstrated her “sweet soccer moves” while wearing a ridiculous pair of shoes. It would have been a bit annoying if she hadn’t had a point, but her confidence didn’t seem misplaced: on St Vincent, Annie Clark sounded suspiciously like an artist reaching the top of her game, capable of doing it all. She could write beautiful, crystalline melodies – the woozy swoon of I Prefer Your Love, Prince Johnny’s astonishing octave-leaping chorus, the warped power ballad Severed Crossed Fingers – then arrange them in a way that made them sound more astonishing still.

From Digital Witness’s claustrophobic electronic funk of to the stutter and buzz of Bring Me Your Loves, the sound of St Vincent owed nothing to rock cliches, and didn’t bother with the comfort blanket of familiarity: it never sounded like Clarke was trying to sound like someone else, which is a rare thing in rock music these days. She could play guitar in a way that made you gawp, shoehorning tricksy prog-rock runs, the angular influence of out-there jazz and splurges of noise into Rattlesnake and Birth in Reverse, but there was no showboating about her solos: not a moment of St Vincent felt self-indulgent or superfluous.

Similarly, it was smart enough to wear its intelligence lightly: however many intriguing sonic ideas it bore, however meticulous it all sounded, however many references to Seurat or Hagia Sophia the lyrics dropped, however many allusions to the short stories of Lorrie Moore the titles carried, St Vincent never sounded like a dry scientific experiment or a smartarse intellectual exercise. Clarke’s lyrics pack a genuine emotional punch. She’s brilliant on human beings’ increasingly complex and fraught relationship with social media (“pleasure dot loathing” as she puts it on Huey Newton), and capable of making a song as oblique as Prince Johnny – during which you’re never really sure if the protagonist is a man or a woman, a lover or an errant friend – remarkably moving.

If you saw Annie Clark perform the latter song live this year, or watched her performance of it on Letterman, you’ll have seen her end the performance with a bizarre, heavily stylised piece of choreography. She plays the kind of guitar solo that you suspect Robert Fripp would approve of, then stagily crumples to the floor, before very slowly rolling down a flight of stairs and ending up in an inverted crucifix position. It’s simultaneously ridiculous and hypnotising: it seems to have come from a completely different, more intriguing world to most rock music in 2014. You could say the same thing about the album the track’s taken from”.

On 24th February, we will mark ten years of an utterly wonderful album. St. Vincent reached twelve in the U.S. and twenty-one in the U.K. It has lost none of its brilliance and genius after a decade. Speaking to Uncut in 2015, St. Vincent discussed her eponymous album:

“This is a more primary colour record than I've done in the past. It's generally a bit brighter. It was less emotionally fraught than when I was writing Strange Mercy. There's an exuberance in Love This Giant, and maybe some of that carried on into this record. It's entertainment. It's fun… I did a lot of sketching for St Vincent in GarageBand before going into the studio. The process of actually recording it was less about discovery and putting the Frankenstein's monster together, and a bit more about execution. There were a lot of things that had already been decided long before I walked into the studio. It was a different experience than Strange Mercy or Actor. Recording took about six months all in, around May 2013. John and I usually work every day and take maybe one day off every ten or twelve days”.

On its tenth anniversary, I know there will be a lot of fresh attention on St. Vincent’s eponymous album. A masterful work from one of music’s true originals, I am glad I have had opportunity to revisit such a wonderful album. There are truly no other albums quite like…

THE phenomenal St. Vincent.

FEATURE: Spotlight: Yasmin Hass

FEATURE:

 

 

Spotlight

Yasmin Hass

_________

THIS is a truly wonderful artist….

that everyone needs to hear! Yasmin Hass is someone I only recently discovered, though she is somebody I am now very much invested in. Born in Melbourne, Yasmin Hass-Sinclair was raised in London by her German mother and Jamaican father. The stunning Yasmin Hass is influenced by powerful, beautiful and eclectic sounds she was experiencing growing up. From Luther Vandross and Angie Stone to Eva Cassidy and Leonard Cohen, you can feel shades and elements of them in her musical blood and DNA. With a unique sound, Hass also has real affection in the important artists that she was exposed to when she was younger. With her debut E.P., Worst of Me, recently out, there are a lot of new eyes and ears on this phenomenal artist. I am going to get to some interviews with this very special artist. I want to head back to August. That is when oyuna interviewed an artist that, once heard, can never be forgotten:

“You have a rich cultural background. Do you draw upon this in your songwriting, and, if so, how?

It‘s definitely influenced my music taste and songwriting. For me it’s important I draw on the eclectic genres I listened to growing up, weaving them into one another, to hopefully create my own sound. As culturally, the music from both sides of my background are quite different, but I think they compliment each other in the best ways.

What are your "desert island discs" (pick 3, and tell us how they've influenced your life / music / style and why!)

Resolution - by Matt Corby: I listened to it with two of my best friends pretty much on repeat for 2 hours, when we were on holiday. After that, anytime I needed to escape on my own and not be able to physically, I’d play that song on repeat for a while.

Something’s Coming - West Side Story: Stephen Sondheim is my favourite lyricist. This song represents that thrilling feeling, when you know something is about to change in your life for the better, or you’re on the brink of something creatively/personally that you know has exciting potential.

Tonight - West Side Story: It has to be from West Side Story twice for me. This is one of my favourite love songs of all time!

What inspired your hit song, “Goodbye”, which has over 1MM streams?

I wrote Goodbye at a time when I knew I needed to end a relationship, as it was no longer serving either of us in the way that it should’ve been, or had been in the beginning. So eventually I had to face the confrontation I’d been avoiding and set a boundary, by putting myself first, whilst knowing I was nervous of the change it would bring.

We know you take a hand in your own creative direction, eg. your album covers and photoshoots. As a model, you've been on many, and as a singer you can now have more of a voice in your own direction. Tell us about what inspires you visually, during this process?

It can be anything from overhearing a conversation on the tube one morning, from a painting in a gallery, a character in a book, or a lightbulb moment as I’m drifting off to sleep. Film and theatre I also find helpful to spark something visually inspiring. And then of course, Pinterest. Slightly addicted to pinning things I find!

How is your "on stage" style different from your everyday style? Or is it not?

To be honest I haven’t quite figured out my style on stage yet. I go with how I’m feeling on the day, but so far it’s been very relaxed and similar to my day to day wear. But I definitely want to experiment some more, as I love fashion.

What artists have personally influenced you recently? List some of your favourites, and why?

Paolo Nutini’s a big inspiration of mine. I absolutely love everything about his music. And Leif Vollebekk’s another one. His melody’s and piano playing I could listen to for hours.

Yasmin wrapped in a SEREN Throw in pumpkin.

When do you feel most authentically yourself?

Definitely when I’m making music. It forces me to think about my truths and what I have/want to say”.

I am going to get to a couple of recent feature/interviews around Yasmin Hass. DIY spoke with Yasmin Hass back in November. Speaking with an artist who recently signed to the Cool Online label, they were intrigued by as-yet-unreleased E.P., Worst of Me. It was fascinating discovering more about Hass’ early music memories and some of her influences:

“Yasmin Hass isn’t a complete newbie to the industry, having put out a run of singles between 2021 and 2022. Feeling frustrated by her then-management’s push to pigeonhole her into a stereotypical R&B box, she took some time off releasing before returning in stunning fashion with instant earworm ‘Cleo’. Drawing on childhood influences as diverse as Nina Simone, Nick Cave, and musical theatre (not to mention her family connections to gospel and Bob Marley), she’s primed to enter a new era with the arrival of her forthcoming debut EP ‘Worst Of Me’ - a project which encompasses indie pop, soulful lyricism and electronic flourishes to examine the insecurities and uncertainties of your early twenties. We caught up with Yasmin ahead of its release to find out more…

What's your earliest musical memory?

Listening to my Mum practicing singing at the piano, then my sister and I always joining in. We’d request a Disney song every time, without fail.

What's the first song you developed an obsession for, and why?

‘Colours of the Wind’ from Pocahontas. I loved everything about the lyrics and melody. When I was younger I wouldn’t have thought about the message it portrays, but it is such an important one.

You'll be putting out your debut EP 'Worst Of Me' via the soon-to-be-announced label Cool Online. Can you tell us a bit more about the recording process?

Ah, I’ve had such a fun time recording this EP! I wrote both ‘Cleo’ and ‘Alexander’ with Ed Thomas (Jorja Smith, Stormzy), Ross MacDonald (The 1975) and Ed Allen. ‘Cleo’ was our first session together and it’s inspired by one of my best friends, who I grew up with. I debriefed them on what was going on in my life, which involved me feeling quite stuck in London at the time and Cleo’s decision to move to Lisbon after a break up. Then we got down to writing it! Oh, and a pizza break was crucial before I started recording the vocals.

Alexander’ was a similar process and I remember thinking about early on in a relationship, when you start to trust one another enough to begin unveiling parts of yourself you’re scared of showing. Then I actually wrote ‘Maybe’ with Jonah Summerfield (Dylan Fraser, Holly Humberstone) before lockdown. I’d come out of a relationship and was so unsure on what I wanted, as my ex had come crawling back a few months later (a classic), so I decided to write the second half of the song from his perspective. And when Ross produced it, it took on this new energy that I just loved.

You've got familial connections to Australia, London, Jamaica, and Germany. How do you think these different cultures and identities inform your work?

Being born into these cultures and backgrounds means I’m lucky enough to have been influenced by so many different musical styles growing up. I think this is why I found it challenging at first, in my musical journey, figuring out what kind of music I wanted to create in terms of genre, as I’m influenced by so many. But I’ve realised I can use it to my advantage, as one's artist project doesn’t have to be as black and white as sometimes I feel the industry wants it to be. As long as I’m proud of what I’ve written, that’s enough. I can have a level of playfulness and fluidity in my music, which I think only adds to the allure.

Are there any other artists breaking through at the moment that you take inspiration from?

Olivia Dean! I love her voice and music so much. During lockdown she saved my sister and me - we’d have her music on repeat. I also love that she’s constantly smiling on her social media, it’s so refreshing”.

I am going to end with a feature from CLASH. They saluted Yasmin Hass as a next wave artist who is going to have a long future. With Worst of Me out in the world, it is a very exciting time for the Australian-born artist. If you have not heard her music yet then do make sure that you check her out:

“If there’s an element of theatre in new EP ‘Worst Of Me’, she argues, then that’s all the better. She’s continually absorbing new influences, continually learning, and sharpening her skills. “I feel so lucky to live in London, to be around so many different cultures, people, food, art. The more I explore, the more I immerse myself, the more it rubs off, in the best way. Lots of my lyrics I’ve written on the tube, or walking to the studio, I seem to love writing on the move. My surroundings and this city definitely inspire me and act as a catalyst to my ideas.”

Sitting down with not one but two powerhouse producers, the sessions behind the EP hinged on pure enjoyment. Taking it in her stride, Ross MacDonald and Ed Thomas augmented her vision, but never interfered. “We’d write, chat for ages and mess around with different ideas. They made me feel incredibly comfortable and it’s always such a joy to bounce ideas back and forth. I love how collaborative our sessions are and there’s always so much to learn from the both of them.

With her new EP out now, most artists could be excused from putting themselves through the creative process for a while. Not so with Yasmin Hass, however – more work is in the pipeline, including live shows and a follow-up EP. “There’s a second EP on its way,” she gushes, “with the first single out in March. I’ve written so much music over the years, which is finally coming out. I’m so excited to share it! It’s been such a humbling experience to see my music being streamed and I’m grateful to all of my listeners, thank you for the support. Hopefully I’ll see you all at my first headline show in June! Can’t wait”.

Go and spend some time with the brilliant music of Yasmin Hass. I am sure there will be an album coming out in the next year or two. If you are new to her music, then it is a perfect time to dive into the Worst of Me E.P. I hope that there are tour dates later in the year, as I would love to catch her in London. There is no doubt that Yasmin Hass is one to watch. A phenomenal talent that is going to very far, make sure that her music…

IS in your ears.

_________

Follow Yasmin Hass

Instagram:

https://www.instagram.com/yasminhasss/reels/

Twitter:

https://twitter.com/yasminhasss

Spotify:

https://open.spotify.com/artist/1ngeTsUw6Wo2W4TTgTSCcC?si=TvRjrO-qTCOZJYWazyo9Xg

YouTube:

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCvAZICeK_lsbfDLxhfYvC1w

Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/yasminhasss/

FEATURE: When I'm Home, Everything Seems to Be Right: The Beatles’ A Hard Day’s Night at Sixty, and a Desire for a New Documentary or Biopic

FEATURE:

 

 

When I'm Home, Everything Seems to Be Right

IN THIS PHOTO: The Beatles (left to right: Paul McCartney, George Harrison, Ringo Starr and John Lennon) in a scene from 1964’s A Hard Day’s Night (directed by Richard Lester)/PHOTO CREDIT: United Artists/Getty Images

The Beatles’ A Hard Day’s Night at Sixty, and a Desire for a New Documentary or Biopic

_________

THERE has recently been….

IN THIS PHOTO: The Beatles posed in a portrait on a black backdrop in January 1964/PHOTO CREDIT: John Dominis/The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

a lot of talk about and remembrance of The Beatles arriving in America for the first time and them playing for the first time on The Ed Sullivan Show. That first appearance happened on 9th February, 1964. Sixty years of a T.V. performance that changed popular culture and made history. Maybe gaining more popularity in the U.S. sooner – in the sense Beatlemania seemed to have started with the band’s first visit to the country – than here in the U.K., when they arrived back from the U.S. in February 1964, Beatlemania firmly was waiting for them at the airport. They could not escape the screams and fame. Their lives would never be the same again. From then, George Harrison, John Lennon, Ringo Starr and Paul McCartney could not perform live or go anywhere without there being this huge roar and attention. Maybe not all bad, I wanted to think and cast back to 1964. It is a year when they released the film and album, A Hard Day’s Night. I am know there will be celebrations around the sixtieth anniversary. The album came out on 26th June, 1964 in the U.S. (10th July in the U.K.); the film on 6th July. Of course, one would hope they’ll be screenings of the film in cinemas. As this studio album has not been reissued and given the Giles Martin treatment – where we get demos and outtakes -, I hope that this will be the next project. I wonder whether anyone has written a book about The Beatles’ 1964. Paul McCartney’s photobook gives first-hand insight into the whirlwind year. It really was a storm! Like nothing we have ever seen and will never see again, The Beatles were world-famous and the most sought-after band in the world less than a year after their amazing debut album, Please Please Me, was released. I often feel like the title track from A Hard Day’s Night was John Lennon and Paul McCartney reacting to their lives. The fact they have been working like dogs and wanted to sleep like logs – yet the schedule and fame will never allow that! The opening credits and that famous scene from the film is as close to their real life as imaginable.

The band running through the streets of London and being chased by hordes of fans. Having to hide and disguise themselves so they are not caught and, potentially, piled-on by thousands of screaming girls and women! I am going to come onto thoughts about the sixtieth anniversary of The Beatles arriving in America, conquering the globe, releasing a successful album and film of the same name – and plenty more besides! Has there been a recent documentary about this time and new interviews with Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr? It is amazing to think that this band that put out their first album in 1963, by the following year, had risen to levels not seen before. This astonishing success. In 2014, USA Today talked about the relevance and freshness of The Beatles’ first feature film, A Hard Day’s Night, fifty years later:

“Hard Day's Night is that rare film that brilliantly captures a specific phenomenon and is also timeless.

John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr were much more than mods, rockers or mockers. Audiences first met the film-star Beatles in A Hard Day's Night in 1964 as they mischievously navigated the insanity of screaming fans, neurotic producers and voracious press. From the first frame, who didn't yearn to be immersed in their madcap world eight days a week?

"You don't just want to watch it; you want to be in it," says director Steven Soderbergh, who co-wrote Getting Away With It with Hard Day's Night director Richard Lester. "You want to be one of them. You want to climb inside of it and be surrounded by that kind of energy."

From all accounts, the filmed ebullience of the four lads from Liverpool captured their real-life charisma.

"That specific kind of exuberance is very difficult, if not impossible, to fake," Soderbergh says. He ought to know: He says his 1998 fast-paced Out of Sight was inspired by it.

The film's blend of indelibly engaging Beatles music, wacky shenanigans and anarchic humor made it thoroughly infectious.

Nothing like the films of Elvis Presley, Cliff Richard or other music stars before The Beatles, A Hard Day's Night was so witty, stylish and joyously unrestrained that it influenced a spate of later comedies and created a template for contemporary music videos. Its style of rapid pacing, zig-zag cutting and playful one-liners remains inventive today.

"It's still fresh because it was done with so much energy," says Giles Martin, who produced Paul McCartney's 2013 album New and collaborated with his father, longtime Beatles producer George Martin, on the soundscape of Love, the Cirque du Soleil show that incorporates Beatles music. "They were parodying themselves in a tongue-in-cheek way. They had a huge ability to be irreverent and flippant, but with meaning."

Lester conveyed the magic and mystery of a rare phenomenon when he re-created what it was like to be one of the Fab Four at that seminal moment.

"It was sort of happenstance, the planets lining up with the perfect filmmaker to capture it," Soderbergh says. "That's really what's happening: He's capturing something as opposed to staging it."

As the black-and-white film celebrates its 50th anniversary with Criterion Collection's release of the Blu-Ray and DVD versions, and opens for a special summer engagement starting Friday at more than 100 theaters nationwide, it's an optimum time to examine the massive cinematic contribution of The Beatles and the filmmakers involved in A Hard Day's Night.

The quartet began working on the film just a month after their legendary appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show in February 1964. The movie opened on July 6, 1964.

Lester let The Beatles' youthful irreverence shine through and raucously communicated the whirlwind of being the world's biggest musical stars.

Not only was it massively entertaining and brilliantly directed, the movie hugely expanded The Beatles' fan base in the United States and spread across the universe in a big way.

"At the time the film was contracted, The Beatles had not yet broken America," says biographer Mark Lewisohn, who wrote Tune In: The Beatles: All these Years. "It was made with the hope that it might help their popularity in America, but it was made pretty much on their strength in Britain. ... It was made to amuse but was also made as a vehicle for a pop group.

"Those kinds of films hadn't always been comedies. They'd been light with maybe funny moments, or attempts to be funny. It was a complete send-up of all the pop musicals before. The jukebox musical was the genre they were mining. And they just completely revolutionized it."

Lester intrinsically understood what an extraordinary phenomenon he was depicting.

"The Beatles knew Lester and he knew them," Soderbergh says. "They roped in (screenwriter) Alun Owen, who had an incredible ear for the kind of one-liners they were pretty good at coming up with on their own. Lester has such a great visual sense of humor and was able to put visual jokes on top of the verbal jokes."

Lester has said there was never any discussion about an alternative way of approaching the film.

"They were almost entirely asked to do what they normally did: to go to a club, to go to a rehearsal room," Lester, 82, said in a previously published interview included in a booklet that accompanies the anniversary collection DVD. He was not available to be interviewed for this story.

Lester cleverly incorporated improvisation. The memorable scene in which the four moptops attend a news conference and give hilariously goofy responses to journalists was unscripted, developed as they filmed.

"They couldn't shoot on the street anymore," Soderbergh says. "They were creating so much chaos because crowds were showing up. So Lester said, 'Get me a room and get me a bunch of journalists and they started writing up these questions.' "

Viewers gets a mounting sense of four musician pals held captive — or at least hemmed in — by their escalating fame. When they run onto an empty field (and sing Can't Buy Me Love), their sense of release is palpable.

Deftly conveying the surrealistic adventure of the Liverpool lads (without ever mentioning the name The Beatles in the film), Lester juxtaposed their impudence with the taciturn weirdness of veteran British actor Wilfrid Brambell, who played Paul's oh-so-clean grandfather. Lester has said he capitalized on the four pals' "private idiom" along with a faux sense of cinema verité, heightened in black and white. Flourishes of the Marx Brothers, Buster Keaton, Jacques Tati and Britain's The Goon Show infuse the film.

The blend of fast-paced visual antics and witty wordplay in A Hard Day's Night left a legacy evident in the Monty Python movies and mockumentaries like This is Spinal Tap, and it still resonates in comedies today.

As Soderbergh puts it: "Even for all its frantic feeling, it's still a beautifully crafted movie. Prior to that, films with music in them tended to be more staged and much more formal in their cinematic approach. This thing looks like it was shot tomorrow”.

IN THIS PHOTO: The Beatles during filming of A Hard Day’s Night in London, 1964. The Beatles’ film was primarily shot on a moving train/PHOTO CREDIT: David Hurn/Magnum Photos

I think, as 1964 was such an important year for The Beatles, whether there will be sixtieth anniversary reissues and celebration. Their iconic appearances on The Ed Sullivan Show would perfectly be marked by documentary including that footage. Maybe a special album or release around those performances. A Hard Day’s Night - the film and the album - are sixty soon. I know there were events around the fiftieth anniversary. As it has been a decade, many will be discovering that album and film for the first time. What about the studio album?! Are we going to get a reissue with some demos and extras?! Maybe a film release with behind the scenes, interviews or people discussing the impact of the film and The Beatles’ impact. I guess many would say a biopic is sacrilege. Committing that year and period of The Beatles’ career to film with actors playing them. I do think that, if there were no plans for a documentary or special, having a film looking inside such a hectic and history-making period would be amazing. Not having actors sing the songs themselves, you could use actual recordings but have the actors do the speaking parts. I don’t know. I do think that really getting a view into their world and what they experienced sixty years ago would prove hugely popular. There is a lot to mark and focus on. Go and check out all the videos you can on YouTube. You can watch A Hard Day’s Night here, buy the album of the same name here. I think it is also worth watching videos like this that give an impression of how nuts things were in 1964. The reaction they got from every note and move! I do hope, at least, sixty years after the release of A Hard Day’s Night film and album, that they are given…

SPECIAL treatment.

FEATURE: Innovation, Colour and Form: Forty-Five Years of Sony’s Walkman and Forty Years of the Discman – and Why We Need Modern Updates

FEATURE:

 

 

Innovation, Colour and Form

PHOTO CREDIT: mymind

Forty-Five Years of Sony’s Walkman and Forty Years of the Discman – and Why We Need Modern Updates

_________

THIS year is quite a big one…

ILLUSTRATION CREDIT: Ricard Jorge

when it comes to anniversaries of important music technology. I want to talk about Sony and them launching the Walkman and Discman. The Discman was launched in November 1984. We will mark forty years of its release later in the year. Even though some deride its lack of stability and the fact CDs would skip, it was a revolutionary and important breakthrough. The Walkman arrived on 1st July, 1979. It turns forty-five in the summer. It should be celebrated and compel makers to come up with a modern version. I know there are modern equivalents of the Discman, though there are few modern-day portable cassette players. Even the modern technology that is on the market lacks the personality, coolness and colour of Sony’s products. The photo I have included at the top was taken from Twitter. Someone discussing how cool Sony’s technology is in terms of the design and look. Before thinking about why we need a modern-day equivalent, I want to bring in some articles about the iconic Sony Walkman. The Design Museum give us some history about a device that, in 1979, allowed people access to music on the go:

“An Accidental Success

The Walkman was first created because Sony co-founder Masaru Ibuka wanted to be able to listen to music on long flights. The first model of Sony Walkman, the TPS-L2, was released in 1979, and it proved to be a huge hit.

Small and Sturdy

The original Walkman was created from aluminium, and the later models were made from plastic. Amazingly, the Walkman wasn't much bigger than the cassette tape itself! And it wasn't just the player that was tiny. Before the Walkman, there hadn't been any need for headphones that you could wear whilst you were walking; they were all designed to be worn whilst stationary. Headphones made before the Walkman were very heavy, but Sony managed to produce a lightweight set that weighed just 45 grams.

A bit too nifty?

The inventor of the Walkman thought people would want to listen to music together, so he put two headphone jacks on the player (remember that the headphones went over your head instead of the earphones most of us use today, where you can share one pair between two people). The Walkman TPS-L2 also had a HOT LINE button, which when pressed, muted the music on the Walkman and turned on an inbuilt microphone. This meant you could talk to someone without having to take your headphones off. Both of these features were later removed from the Walkman because people didn't use them. This is important as it shows a change in what was considered the norm. Previously, walking around with headphones would have been seen as rude and antisocial, but it soon became accepted behaviour.

Paving the Way to Bigger and Better

The Sony Walkman cassette player revolutionised the way that we listen to music. It enabled people to create soundtracks to their lives in ways that hadn't been possible before. The fact that you could use your Walkman anywhere changed that; music had never been so personal.

It was the first in a long line of portable audio players, and without it, we might not have the same objects such as iPods and MP3 players that we do today”.

I do think that there is a lack of consideration for portable devices today. At a time when physical formats like CDs and cassettes are coming back and demanded, there is not this sense of supply and urgency from manufacturers. In 2024, in a year when we mark at least two big Sony anniversaries, why is there not more of an effort to create something iconic for the modern consumer?! A range of portable devices for cassettes and CDs that would not price people out. As they are not revolutionary and new anymore, you can afford to charge between £50-£100 for a modern Walkman or Discman. The New Yorker discussed the significance of the Sony Walkman in a feature from 2020. Over forty years after it came out, I don’t think we have seen anything as groundbreaking in terms of music-playing devices:

“The Walkman instantly entrenched itself in daily life as a convenient personal music-delivery device; within a few years of its global launch, it emerged as a status symbol and fashion statement in and of itself. “We just got back from Paris and everybody’s wearing them,” Andy Warhol enthused to the Post. Boutiques like Bloomingdale’s had months-long waiting lists of eager customers. Paul Simon ostentatiously wore his onstage at the 1981 Grammys; by Christmas, they were de-rigueur celebrity gifts, with leading lights like Donna Summer dispensing them by the dozens. There had been popular electronic gadgets before, such as the pocket-sized transistor radios of the fifties, sixties, and seventies. But the Walkman was in another league. Until this point, earphones had been associated with hearing impairment, geeky technicians manning sonar stations, or basement-dwelling hi-fi fanatics. Somehow, a Japanese company had made the high-tech headgear cool.

Steve Jobs, then the young C.E.O. of a fledgling Silicon Valley startup called Apple Computer, had personally received a Walkman from Morita on a business trip to Japan, where Jobs went in search of disk-drive suppliers in the early nineteen-eighties. When Jobs returned home, he didn’t even bother listening to a cassette on the Walkman; instead, he opened and dissected the machinery piece by piece, reading tiny gears, drive belts, and capstans like tea leaves, to divine how he might, someday, make something so epically world-changing himself. “Steve’s point of reference was Sony at the time,” his successor at Apple, John Sculley, recalled. “He really wanted to be Sony. He didn’t want to be IBM. He didn’t want to be Microsoft. He wanted to be Sony.”

Jobs would get his wish with the début of the iPod, in 2001. It wasn’t the first digital-music player—a South Korean firm had introduced one back in 1998. (That Sony failed to exploit the niche, in spite of having created listening-on-the-go and even owning its own record label, was a testament to how Morita’s unexpected retirement after a stroke, in 1993, hobbled the corporation.) But Apple’s was the most stylish to date, bereft of the complicated and button-festooned interfaces of its competitors, finished in sleek pearlescent plastic and with a satisfying heft that hinted at powerful technologies churning inside. Apple also introduced a tantalizing new method of serving up music: the shuffle, which let listeners remix entire musical libraries into never-ending audio backdrops for their lives. Once again, city streets were the proving ground for this evolution of portable listening technology. “I was on Madison [Ave],” Jobs told Newsweek, in 2004, “and it was, like, on every block, there was someone with white headphones, and I thought, ‘Oh, my God, it’s starting to happen.’ ”

That happening never really stopped, even after the advent, in 2007, of the iPhone—a direct descendant of the iPod and Walkman—made stand-alone portable music players obsolete. The iPhone added the intraocular drip of always accessible Internet, a new way of escaping the cacophonies that surround us. But the headphones were here to stay. iPod sales have dwindled to the point that Apple stopped reporting them in 2014, but, that very same year, the company purchased the headphones company Beats by Dre for more than three billion dollars. At the time, this marked the single biggest acquisition in Apple’s history—proof of Sony’s prescience in discovering and stoking an incandescent hunger for auditory escapes in our daily lives. The Walkman wasn’t the end of meeting people, but it paved the way for surviving an unthinkable era in which we would find ourselves unable to meet at all”.

PHOTO CREDIT: Retrospekt

Most modern-day music-playing devices from Sony are functional and sleek rather than interesting. They rely more on digital music rather than the physical. As the physical market is growing, the selection of players we have out there are probably not enough. Very few are particularly interesting. By introducing a range of contemporary Walkman and Discmans in a range of colours and designs, it would definitely appeal to people now. Not just a younger demographic. For people like me who had a Discman and a Walkman when I was a child, it would be great to own something to play CDs and cassettes on. It is clear that Sony particularly had an eye for appealing designs. Even if some of the devices were not durable and had their faults, they were definitely innovative and convenient. I recall having a Walkman for a very long time. My Discman had its moments, yet I owned it for years and got a  great deal of value from it. This year marks forty-five years of the Walkman. It is also forty years since the Discman was released. Even if the oriignal versions were a little bland, through the years, Sony evolved in a sense. More eye-catching and attractive, they did not skimp on functionality and durability. Always with one eye on the look and the other with endurance. When we are seeing CD and cassette sales rise, why are we not seeing new models come out?! I guess some would say there is not enough demand. I would argue against this. If the price was reasonable and we could keep CD and cassette prices reasonable, it would mean a lot more people bought them and devices on which to play them. I hope that one day soon we see a company realise that the Discman and Walkman should not be…

ILLUSTRATION CREDIT: Society6

CONFINED to the past.

FEATURE: When I Was a Child, Running in the Night…. Kate Bush’s Hounds of Love at Thirty-Eight

FEATURE:

 

 

When I Was a Child, Running in the Night….

ILLUSTRATION CREDIT: Louise Patricia Crane

Kate Bush’s Hounds of Love at Thirty-Eight

_________

IT does seem strange…

that any song from Hounds of Love would get a mixed reaction. That is the case with the title track. Released on 17th February, 1986, I wanted to look ahead to the thirty-eighth anniversary of one of Kate Bush’s most celebrated and best tracks. Kate Bush’s fifth studio album was released in September 1985. The sublime title track saw Kate Bush step behind the camera to direct her first video. She had assisted and co-directed other videos, yet this was her first sole direct. I am going to go a bit deeper into one of the most iconic songs in Kate Bush’s catalogue. Thanks to the Kate Bush Encyclopedia for bringing in interview archive of Bush discussing Hounds of Love. A song that is still widely played and loved to this day:

“[‘Hounds Of Love’] is really about someone who is afraid of being caught by the hounds that are chasing him. I wonder if everyone is perhaps ruled by fear, and afraid of getting into relationships on some level or another. They can involve pain, confusion and responsibilities, and I think a lot of people are particularly scared of responsibility. Maybe the being involved isn’t as horrific as your imagination can build it up to being – perhaps these baying hounds are really friendly.

KATE BUSH CLUB NEWSLETTER, 1985

The ideas for ‘Hounds Of Love’, the title track, are very much to do with love itself and people being afraid of it, the idea of wanting to run away from love, not to let love catch them, and trap them, in case th hounds might want to tear them to pieces and it’s very much using the imagery of love as something coming to get you and you’ve got to run away from it or you won’t survive.

CONVERSATION DISC SERIES, ABCD012, 1985

When I was writing the song I sorta started coming across this line about hounds and I thought ‘Hounds Of Love’ and the whole idea of being chasing by this love that actually gonna… when it get you it just going to rip you to pieces, (Raises voice) you know, and have your guts all over the floor! So this very sort of… being hunted by love, I liked the imagery, I thought it was really good.

RICHARD SKINNER, ‘CLASSIC ALBUMS INTERVIEW: HOUNDS OF LOVE’. BBC RADIO 1 (UK), 26 JANUARY 1992”.

There is not much written about the title track from Hounds of Love. Reaching number eighteen in the U.K. chart, I am always surprised that the song did not get higher. I am going to give my thoughts on it, in addition to considering its importance and influence. With B-sides, The Handsome Cabin Boy, Jig of Life, Burning Bridge and My Lagan Love (depending on the country the song was released in), it is wonderful that we are still listening to and celebrating such a hugely powerful song. I always associate Hounds of Love with its ambition and incredible production. On the second side of the album is the magnificent suite, The Ninth Wave. The first side is where the more conventional songs are. Four out of five songs from that first side were released as singles (Mother Stands for Comfort was not). Hounds of Love is often ranked as one of Kate Bush’s best songs. The Guardian ranked Hounds of Love fifth in the best Kate Bush songs in 2018. Back in November, MOJO ranked Kate Bush’s fifty best songs. Hounds of Love came out first:

“Kate runs headlong from love and right into its clutches.

No matter how refined the circumstances of its creation – built at leisure in Bush’s new 48-track studio – or how newfangled its production – still tangible in the hi-tech stabs and pads of Fairlight, and the crispness of Jonathan Williams’ cello – Hounds Of Love is red in tooth and claw, its breathless, atavistic fear of capture mixed with almost supernatural rapture. Love is thundering through the psychosexual woods, hunting down somebody terrified of what it means to surrender to another person. The song opens with a quote from British horror film Night Of The Demon but that’s the only moment it feels like theatre. From then on, Hounds Of Love maintains a dizzying emotional velocity, the relentless double drumming of Charlie Morgan and Stuart Elliott stamping down on the accelerator. Bush’s voice might dip and soften, but those drums are merciless, while the strident backing vocals, like a hunting horn call, goad her on if introspection threatens to slow her down. It never lets up, every line heightening the pitch, closing the distance between song and listener. It ends with a suddenness that makes it seem like she’s hit the ground and you’ve hit it with her, breathlessly waiting for an answer to the question: “Do you know what I really need?” The uncertainty, however, is not reflected in the confidence – the perfect, dazzling completeness – of the song’s execution. On Hounds Of Love, Kate Bush is going at full pelt, chasing the horizon, running her vision to ground. Not really the hunted, but the hunter all along”.

There is some debate around the release date of Hounds of Love. Some say that it is 24th February, 1986, though the vinyl 12” single was released on 17th February, 1986. It is amazing to consider what was happening around the time of the single’s release. On 17th February, 1986, Bush was extremely busy! This website documents how busy things were for Kate Bush on 17th February, 1986 and the month that followed. The fact that she was recording with Peter Gabriel on the same day. I have always felt a film version of The Ninth Wave should be released. We can see that it was planned and discussed, though Bush abandoned that as I feel album promotion would have been too pressing and time-consuming:

“February 17, 1986

The third single, Hounds of Love, is released in seven- and twelve-inch formats.

Kate records a duet with Peter Gabriel for his fifth solo album. The track is called Don't Give Up.

Kate abandons the plan to make a film version of The Ninth Wave side of the new album.

March 6, 1986

Kate appears on Top of the Pops to perform Hounds of Love.

March 19, 1986

For the making of the video for The Big Sky Kate assembles over one hundred fans on the sound stage of Elstree Studios.

Kate records a live performance of Under the Ivy at Abbey Road Studios for the 100th edition of the Tyne Tees TV programme The Tube”.

Although it is played quite a lot on the radio, I still think there is not enough attention given to Hounds of Love and its themes. As it is Valentine’s Day today (14th February), there is something both appropriate and ironic focusing on a song released a few days after Valentine’s Day in 1986. There is a lot of passion and desire in the song, yet it is a young Kate Bush fearful of love chasing her down and attacking her. Bush opening up and being very open. Confessing to cowardice. Such a mature and intriguing song from a genius songwriter, this beautiful moment from Hounds of Love still makes such an impact thirty-eight after its release. After successful singles in the form of Running Up That Hill (A Deal with God) and Cloudbusting, the fact that a supreme song like Hounds of Love barely got into the top-twenty in the U.K. seems very frustrating. Why people thought there were any better songs out, let alone nearly twenty! Despite the fact I have written about Hounds of Love a lot and explored this track thoroughly, I wanted to spend more time with it. I think it is one of the most powerful and beautiful songs she ever released. As a first-time director, the video is really accomplished and memorable. Stirring, cinematic and with a wonderful colour palette and composition, I am sad I have never seen Kate Bush play this song live. Those lucky enough to see her live in Hammersmith in 2014 would have done. Turning thirty-eight on 17th February, go and listen to Hounds of Love’s mesmeric title track. Seen by many as her greatest achievement, I think there are…

FEW can have any argument about that.