David Bowie—Hunky Dory

David Bowie—Hunky Dory

Hunky Dory—Usually regarded as David Bowie's first bona fide classic LP, Hunky Dory bears the overlooked quality of being a summation of the first segment of his career. David Bowie (1967) was a classicist excursion in early British Invasion and baroque pop, with a touch of the strangeness that would always be present in his work—the Beatles with a more archaic touch, essentially—David Bowie (1969), the second album to bear that title, often referred to as Space Oddity or Man of Words/Man of Music, mixed in progressive elements in the same manner as Syd Barrett's Pink Floyd, and The Man Who Sold the World (1970) furthered layered his sound with hard rock elements and obscure, dark, often maniacal lyrics. Hunky Dory is a step back from the last iteration, possibly a sign that producer Tony Visconti was responsible for the compression in sound—Visconti does not return in that role nor as Bowie's bassist as he had been on the previous two albums—but it does continue Bowie's move into more personal territory as well as observations on the latest in space fare.

"Changes," iconic for its stuttering chorus among all else, is also one of Bowie's best chord progressions, with some credit to Yes piano player Rick Wakeman. However, Bowie quickly tops himself in this respect with with "Oh! You Pretty Things," which esoterically honors outsiders. The pair of songs is interesting in the sense that both seem to embrace campy arrangements that are slyly undercut with hints of real meaning and true vision in melody that separate it from the novelty music that no doubt influenced them. The amusing but slight vignette "Eight Line Poem" was probably a real observance from Bowie. "Life on Mars?" has transcended its origins as a "My Way" parody to become one of Bowie's most rightly beloved space songs, mostly due to Mick Ronson's string arrangements. The idyllic "Kooks," written for Bowie's recently born son Duncan, is one of Bowie's most unmysterious songs ever; if it sounds vaguely like "Sugar Mountain," the Neil Young connection was deliberate. The abasing "Quicksand," which switches from mono to stereo near the end of the first passage, references the occult, Heinrich Himmler, Greta Garbo, and Winston Churchill in its apocalyptic vision, concluding, "Don't believe in yourself, don't deceive with belief/Knowledge comes with death's release."

"Fill Your Heart," the Biff Rose/Paul Williams composition, the first in a long series of once-per-album covers, fits right along with "Kooks," but it is interesting to note that the outtake "Bombers" was initially supposed to lead off the second side, which arguably better fits with the themes throughout the rest of the album. "Andy Warhol," a funny tribute to Bowie's friend with a killer acoustic arpeggio, was initially written to be performed by Dana Gillespie, just as "Oh! You Pretty Things" had been for Peter Noone (combined with the fact that Bowie had intended to write his own version of "Comme d'habitude" for Frank Sinatra, one must wonder if Bowie fantasized being a professional songwriter). The languid "Song for Bob Dylan," which came during Dylan's lean period in '71-'73 that saw very little progress from the artist, uses Dylan's own words against him ("Hey, hey, Woody Guthrie, I wrote you a song") in criticizing him for abdicating his lofty position in popular music. "Queen Bitch," the only indication that Bowie would get heavier in the years to come, ennobles Lou Reed. "The Bewlay Brothers" is a characteristic Bowie closer: complete nonsense (Bewlay being a brand of tobacco pipe) that nonetheless conveys his message effectively in texture.

By trimming the excesses from all aspects of his music (with help from new producer Ken Scott), David Bowie was able to make his most effective record to date with Hunky Dory. With the basic elements of his songs—that is to say, his singing and principal melodies—mixed in front, the world got to see just how inspired a songwriter he was, and it resulted in the first of many masterstrokes.

More David Bowie reviews by The Old Noise:

David Bowie (1967)
David Bowie (1969)
The Man Who Sold the World (1970)
Hunky Dory (1971)
The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars (1972)
Aladdin Sane (1973)
Pin Ups (1973)
Diamond Dogs (1974)
Young Americans (1975)
Station to Station (1976)
Low (1977)
"Heroes" (1977)
Lodger (1979)
Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps) (1980)
Let's Dance (1983)
Tonight (1984)
Never Let Me Down (1987)
Black Tie White Noise (1993)
The Buddha of Suburbia (1993)
Outside (1995)
Earthling (1997)
'Hours...' (1999)
Heathen (2002)
Reality (2003)
The Next Day (2013)
Blackstar (2016)

XTC—The Big Express

XTC—The Big Express

The Big Express—One might venture a guess that although Andy Partridge did not miss touring, he possibly missed the big sound of XTC's older records. Mummer (1983) was an insular studio jaunt, a far cry from the drum-heavy sounds of their previous three records, Drums and Wires (1979), Black Sea (1980), and English Settlement (1982). The Big Express, which is followed in sequence by the lighthearted 25 O'Clock (1985, under the pseudonym Dukes of Stratosphear), almost seems out of place today, not just because of its production but its theory of cohesion. In a 2008 interview (Andy discusses "The Everyday Story of Smalltown," Todd Bernhardt, chalkhills.org), Partridge recalled, "I think that at the time of The Big Express, part of me wanted to do an out-and-out concept album about Swindon—my take on the town, my life in the town, and the town's life itself," Swindon being where the principal members of XTC all grew up, including bygone drummer Terry Chambers.

With that in mind, it is worth noting that The Big Express is also the most Andy Partridge-dominated record in XTC's catalog, with only two of its 11 songs composed by bassist Colin Moulding, and somewhat slight ones at that. "Washaway," an additional song of his, was left off; for posterity's sake: Partridge has indicated more than once that the band voted for what went on the records by committee, and Moulding once said about his earlier composition "Ball and Chain," "It wasn't much of a song. I think I'd gone off the boil ... The least favourite of my contributions. I don't think I got it back until Skylarking." However, there is merit to his opener "Wake Up," whose lyrics of the unbearable grind of the rat race hit close to home. It progresses to a climax in which everything but the guitar cuts out and Moulding describes a recurring dream where bystanders watch apathetically as a man dies in the gutter: a simple diversion for the people who he urges to wake up and become more than just drones.

Partridge's punchy sea shanty "All You Pretty Girls" contains one of his best verses: "I think about your pale arms waving/When I see the caps upon the green/And the rocking roller-coaster ocean/Think about you every night when I'm fathoms asleep/And in my dreams/We are rocking in a similar motion." "Shake You Donkey Up" seems to admonish a wife-beater who got his just dessert. "Seagulls Screaming Kiss Her, Kiss Her" is the album's hidden gem, painting perfectly with its visual cues the hesitant awkwardness of romance. It was also amusingly chosen by a Japanese band to be their name, as if they waited to choose the most awkward title possible as inspiration. Forlorn apocalypse ballad "This World Over" imagines the worst outcome of the Cold War, wondering if humans will claim retroactively that "we did it in His name."

The chugging "The Everyday Story of Smalltown," the most explicit of the aforementioned odes to Swindon, is most memorable to outsiders for the power of its key change and fanciful onslaught of kazoos. "I Bought Myself a Liarbird," Partridge's second bird-themed song of the album and who knows how many overall, is about XTC's then-manager. "Reign of Blows" is a somewhat boring take on his once-per-album anti-violence, anti-hate, or anti-racism message. "You're the Wish You Are I Had" is a bouncy love-at-first-sight song (of the real kind and not the lust that Moulding described in "Love at First Sight") that might have been more effective if its words were not so convoluted. Moulding's mediocre "I Remember the Sun" effectively bronzes his childhood, which makes it seem to unwittingly contribute to Partridge's concept. The neurotic "Train Running Low on Soul Coal" sums up Partridge's helplessness and guilt over the band's new direction (because what early XTC album would sit well without one of his paranoid rave-ups?).

The Big Express can be difficult to listen to, mainly because the engineering was subpar. The heavy arrangements were not handled properly, muffling the messages of songs like "Reign of Blows" under a noticeable loss of dynamic range. However, where it hits, it hits hard, and "All You Pretty Girls" and "Seagulls Screaming Kiss Her, Kiss Her" rank as classics to go with a handful of others that solid or at least interesting. The same can be said of plenty other XTC albums held in higher esteem by the general audience.

More XTC reviews by The Old Noise:

White Music (1978)
Go 2 (1978)
Drums and Wires (1979)
Black Sea (1980)
English Settlement (1982)
Mummer (1983)
The Big Express (1984)
25 O'Clock (1985)
Skylarking (1986)
Psonic Psunspot (1987)
Oranges & Lemons (1989)
Nonsuch (1992)
Apple Venus Volume 1 (1999)
Wasp Star (Apple Venus Volume 2) (2000)

Split Enz—Mental Notes

Split Enz—Mental Notes

Mental Notes—Not the first theater aficionados to take up rock instruments, Split Enz was something like New Zealand's answer to Roxy Music. Eventually, they evolved into Crowded House and became household names in other parts of the world, but that was more than ten years after the inception of Split Enz, then called Split Ends. They acted for three years as an occasional-singles band, recording three: "For You" backed with the eponymous "Split Ends," "Sweet Talkin' Spoon Song"/"129," and "No Bother to Me"/"Home Sweet Home." These songs, released collectively with other early works as The Beginning of the Enz (1979), were even farther removed from the worldwide appeal of Crowded House. "For You" was a woodwind-laden, acoustic tune with off-kilter charm: folk in the vein of Vaudeville, but with a Kiwi touch. The rest of the songs were equally idyllic, most likely due to their insular upbringing in rural New Zealand, and colored by the influence of apparent band leader Phil Judd.

To call Split Enz the Beatles of New Zealand is in many ways not an understatement, as the band was both directly influenced by the recently broken-up Beatles and also would pave the way for New Zealand pop groups in the same way the Beatles did on their side of the world. As Judd's group, however, their music was a different animal. The cover of Mental Notes (painted by Judd) was a strange piece of work—seven band members with unnatural skin colors and ridiculous expressions and some various other individuals, the back cover extending this image into an absurd scene with a frankly terrifying photorealistic baby—that definitely fit the music therein. The art was also not merely affectation, as Split Enz' performances were ensconced in this aesthetic that was rooted in philosophy and literature. The record begins with the isolationist "Walking Down a Road," on which said aesthetic is apparent—a quality of introspection no doubt influenced by the troubled mind of Phil Judd, a then-undiagnosed sufferer of bipolar disorder (although Tim Finn sings it and shares writing credits). The mad "Under the Wheel" is surrounded in darkness; Judd sings of persecution and abjection, offering the conclusion, "death, glorious death/Is just another appointment to keep." The bright "Amy (Darling)" was meant for Judd's daughter, though it also seems to have some dualism or what-have-you (hopefully), as Finn also sings that "She's a serpentine, she's a naughty girl/Making the most of the rich man's world." Side one closer "So Long for Now" has an air of self-rationalization to its wavering words.

Side two, bookended by characteristically theatrical extended pieces, begins with the nightmarish "Stranger than Fiction," which spins a yarn that reads like the fantastical stories the name recalls. Requiem for the resigned "Time for a Change" contains one of Judd's best verses: "But like a parrot in a flaming tree/I know, it's pretty hard to see/I'm beginning to wonder if it's time for a change." The plodding, harmonic "Maybe," the album's only single, is unsurprisingly the most straightforward lovey pop song, though not to displeasing effect. The quaint and gratifying "Titus" tributes Gormenghast, which served as inspiration for much of the album's mood-feeling. The living crosscurrent "Spellbound" wistfully notes the phenomenon of personal stasis in an ever-changing world. Lighthearted vignette "Mental Notes" makes use of the run-out groove of the vinyl record to produce a repeating phrase ("Make a mental note") a la "A Day in the Life."

Split Enz as a collective was split on their opinion of their work on Mental Notes. All but two of the songs on the follow-up, aptly titled Second Thoughts (1976) were reworkings of songs from Mental Notes, the sessions from same, or earlier recordings. Time has proven that this was unnecessary, as Mental Notes continues to be a singularly compelling recording. Though they continued to make great, evolving pop music for years, Split Enz never quite duplicated the keen sense of purpose or consistent ingenuity of their debut.

XTC—English Settlement

XTC—English Settlement

English Settlement—Led by majority songwriter Andy Partridge's onslaught of dissonance, XTC did not so much get more abrasive with time as they did expand their sound through an abrasive stratosphere. Generally, this was done with the aid of synthesizers; Partridge was often able to take advantage of particular noises to establish motif. They were still by and large a guitar band, however, so for their fifth album, English Settlement, they tried something simpler: acoustic guitar. It was still a rock album, of course; the acoustic songs were hardly lilting or sensitive in tone, and other instruments characterize the album, such as Dave Gregory's nylon-string classical guitar and Partridge's experimenting with the anklung, alto saxophone, and on the side-three closer, the frog. Partridge later admitted freely that this direction was an attempt to move XTC into more of a studio life, which did eventually happen; the band performed only a handful of concerts following the release of the album before Partridge broke down on stage at the beginning of a set, rarely to perform again.

"We’d been doing it pretty much non-stop for nearly a decade and I was sick of it all: the crap food, the hours stuck on a bus with the same faces and the general soul-destroying tediousness of it. I got it into my head that if I wrote an album with a sound less geared towards touring then maybe there would be less pressure to tour." —Andy Partridge, A Watershed Moment: XTC's Andy Partridge On English Settlement, The Quietus, February 6th, 2002

English Settlement was the only double album of XTC's early career—later on, after Psionic Sunspot (1987), they always had such a dearth of material to record after long spells of nothing in between that they could have filled two LPs every time out—which interestingly led Virgin to pare it down to a single LP for markets outside the United Kingdom. XTC was never a big seller outside the U.K. until Skylarking (1986), so perhaps the label figured they would be even more daunting at the price of a double. It begins on all versions, uncharacteristically, with two Colin Moulding songs; the appropriately circuitous "Runaways" is some kind of comment on the consequences of domestic squabbling, while "Ball and Chain" is a protest song he wrote after Margaret Thatcher took over as Prime Minister and historical buildings in Swindon, Wiltshire, England (the band's hometown) were being demolished. The former is an interesting swirl of half-melodies, and the latter is "Getting Better" as a football chant, which has not aged well on that merit nor its topical obsolescence. Partridge's "Senses Working Overtime" is a celebration of the senses, for whatever that's worth; in an interview with Todd Bernhardt (Andy discusses Senses Working Overtime, December 11th, 2006, chalkhills.org), Partridge stated, "because I blundered into this sort of medieval thing by accident for the verse, I thought, 'I'll roll with it, I'll write kind of medieval words to it, and we'll go for the rhythm as a sort of medieval single little tight drum.'" The winding "Jason and the Argonauts" was written for the myth or the movie, and though pleasing could be accused of going on too long.

"No Thugs in Our House," one of Partridge's best here, is something like his answer to "Making Plans for Nigel," about a scoundrel of a young man whose parents are oblivious to his wrongdoing. The fast-motion-tiptoeing waltz "Yacht Dance" derides the upper class, while "All of a Sudden (It's Too Late)" reflects on the evanescence of life's fixtures rather than simply entropy. "Melt the Guns" is a rant on the United States and its stance on firearms, which is incisive but musically repetitive. "Leisure" notes the decline of human work ethic. "It's Nearly Africa" is a middling jazz-inflected experiment that misses most notably with its lack of relevance to anything; "Knuckle Down" is anti-racist.

Moulding's foreboding "Fly on the Wall" evokes Big Brother, with a coy bridge of "the bit that's in the middle doesn't count." "Down in the Cockpit" has some of Partridge's most devastatingly funny lyrics and is one of his most musical here; the title explains from where woman controls man, saying that they had "the brain to act like the weaker sex." The sprightly "English Roundabout" is Moulding's metaphor for the rat race, and the curious closer "Snowman" is perhaps Partridge's most explicit elegy to his eventually failed marriage—an eccentric cousin to Joy Division's "Love Will Tear Us Apart."

The overall quality of English Settlement is good, but it lacks a true standout. It has plenty of quality songs and a handful of middling ones, especially on the second and third sides, which played all at once is exhausting; there is no climax. Perhaps it's not meant to be played all at once, and in small doses, songs like "No Thugs in Our House" and "Down in the Cockpit" can be considered great workouts. But its scope, represented perfectly by the Uffington White Horse on the cover, was definitely a product of the self-indulgence allowed by their domestic success. It is also retroactively apparent that Andy Partridge's best days as a songwriter or composer were still ahead of him. Nonetheless, it is an intelligent, adventurous collection that's worth the time invested.

More XTC reviews by The Old Noise:

White Music (1978)
Go 2 (1978)
Drums and Wires (1979)
Black Sea (1980)
English Settlement (1982)
Mummer (1983)
The Big Express (1984)
25 O'Clock (1985)
Skylarking (1986)
Psonic Psunspot (1987)
Oranges & Lemons (1989)
Nonsuch (1992)
Apple Venus Volume 1 (1999)
Wasp Star (Apple Venus Volume 2) (2000)

Scott Walker—'Til the Band Comes In

Scott Walker—'Til the Band Comes In

'Til the Band Comes In—"What happened?" thought the Scott Walker faithful upon the release of his fifth album in December of 1970. The story of Scott Walker in the '70s was unfortunately not an uncommon one; plenty of artists before and since have been given ultimatums by their record companies: sell or die, and even the biggest stars can have short leashes. It took Walker only one failed product, the critically lauded Scott 4 (1969), for Philips to reel him in, and the still-young if well-traveled singer-composer apparently lacked the gumption to stand up to them. What followed was nearly a decade with no original material from Scott Walker, which was one of the biggest losses for pop music in history.

His swan song, as it could be called, was 'Til the Band Comes In. It's an album that has been unfairly lumped in with his infamous '70s tetralogy (The Moviegoer [1972], Any Day Now [1973], Stretch [1973], and We Had It All [1974]), and it is deserved to a small degree. It is, without a doubt, a step down from Scott 4 in every way. It is often prosaic, hardly introspective, and rarely intricate musically, with far less nuance. On the other hand, it captured Walker in a different light, with it having an air of being off-the-cuff like nothing else he recorded among his originals. The brevity of the material often makes it seem as though it was written as a minor observance, or a snapshot of life during wartime.

The "Prologue" sets the tone: a tenement building with a leaky faucet and screaming children, set across a backdrop of soggy strings from Walker's usual arranger, Wally Stott (Angela Morley). It segues into the 10/8 shuffle of "Little Things (That Keep Us Together)," which beat "What's Going On" to the punch by about a month, or was presented as a revved-up "A Day in the Life," if you will. Walker sings that how "A moving car/Stole a movie star" and "Jumbo jets can die/Killing 81" are the "Little things that keep us together," keeping us busy "while the war's going on." The slick "Joe" is the tale of a living, bygone relic who has run out of friends as he waits for death, while the singer muses that Joe has recognized the futility of resisting the course of the world in his old age. "Thanks for Chicago Mr. James" is a tryst between a "kept cowboy," according to Ady Semel's back cover notes, and his city-slicker lover.

"Long about Now," about an unfaithful lover, is sung by Esther Ofarim, Israeli singer of moderate international fame; her performance is nothing terribly special, but it does provide some variety in Walker's format and adds a needed female voice. On "Time Operator," the singer pines for same, and hasn't paid the water or electricity bills, but makes sure to "[make] the bill for the telephone." The song adds to the album's themes of loneliness, evoking a sympathetic reaction as on "Joe," though perhaps with a bit of embarrassment thrown in. "Jean the Machine" pokes fun at Communist paranoia, saying that Jean the burlesque stripper used the "boys in the band ... as part of her dirty Commie plan," according to the landlady. The appropriately curt "Cowbells Shakin'" casts invective at a former lover. Carnivalesque title cut "'Til the Band Comes In" either references the coming of an army, the nearness of death, or both intrinsically tied together. "The War Is Over (Sleepers)" ends the suite as if it is not just the war ending, but a story of people, suggesting that the conflict and its observers are inherently inseparable, at least thematically.

The rest of the record—covers of "Stormy" by Classics IV, "The Hills of Yesterday" from the box-office flop The Molly Maguires with Sean Connery, the First Edition's domestic hit "Reuben James," "What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life?" from The Happy Ending, and Jimmie Rodgers' "It's Over"—became a large part of the reason why 'Til the Band Comes In came under fire. While they are a bit pointless, it is curious that these five innocuous covers are treated as so insidious when the beloved Scott (1967) and Scott 2 (1968) were littered with covers. The Jacques Brel covers were of course characteristic, as Brel was Walker's main artistic influence, but they were also curiously faithful and, at best, slightly inferior. Others, such as Mann/Weil's soppy, foppish "Angelica," which was also a contemporary tune, are no more or less offensive than the movie music here. Peter Knight handled the covers on 'Til the Band Comes In, and his arrangements are no less interesting than they were on the excellent Scott 4.

Even Walker's fourth album, Scott Walker Sings Songs from his T.V. Series, gets occasional accolades just for the performance factor, which helps present a key point: people liked Walker's covers when they were prepared to hear them, and not tacked on to the tail end of a record of originals. On the first three albums, the covers gave context to the originals, whereas on 'Til the Band Comes In, their placement gives the impression that they were afterthoughts. Perhaps they were, but his versions of "Stormy" and especially "It's Over" are great, and while the middle three are not anything to write home about, they are a small part of the whole.

'Til the Band Comes In is not Scott Walker's best album. It's probably not even in his top three, but based on the talent factor alone, it is a quality work. The production is less adventurous, and the arrangements are more spartan. Perhaps Wally Stott, who told David Toop that Walker "used to sit on the floor with a guitar and strum a few chords and expect me to go away and do Sibelius" (Scott Walker, Pitchfork, November 30, 2012) had grown tired of the collaboration and did not feel compelled to go all-out—indeed, the album was the last time the two would work together. The concept is interesting, and Walker's lyrics are at least thought-provoking, especially the keen "Little Things (That Keep Us Together)" and the heraldic "'Til the Band Comes In," and the humor and variety that pervades the rest of the suite is invigorating.

More Scott Walker reviews by The Old Noise:

Scott (1967)
Scott 2 (1968)
Scott 3 (1969)
Scott Walker Sings Songs from his T.V. Series (1969)
Scott 4 (1969)
'Til the Band Comes In (1970)
The Moviegoer (1972)
Any Day Now (1973)
Stretch (1973)
We Had It All (1974)
Climate of Hunter (1984)
Tilt (1995)
The Drift (2006)
Bish Bosch (2012)
Soused (2014)

Electric Light Orchestra—Out of the Blue

Electric Light Orchestra—Out of the Blue

Out of the Blue—Divisive though it may be, Out of the Blue was the defining Electric Light Orchestra record set. It wasn't their breakout LP—that was the gold-selling Eldorado (1974)—but it is the greatest testament to Jeff Lynne's talents. ELO are one of those bands where it's hard to say what their best-known song is, but one of them is certainly the revved-up, bipolar blues "Turn to Stone," which always impresses with its call-and-response lyrics. "It's Over" is one of their great album cuts, featuring striking minor-key dips during its chorus. The sweetly obsessive march "Sweet Talkin' Woman" is their peak here—3:50 of symphonic pop bliss (check that chanting in the back of the third verse) and agent of Lynne's underrated humor ("Home run") as well as a great drumming change-up at the end of the song. "Across the Border" accurately portrays the feeling of constant movement.

The dissonant "Night in the City" could have been inspired by Lynne's impending divorce, while "Starlight" sounds like it was written for a child, though Lynne's daughters wouldn't be born for a few years; notwithstanding, it features a notably excellent outro refrain. "Jungle" is the album's cheesiest moment, though as always that's part of the charm, and "joyful harmony" is right. The vocoder interlude "Believe Me Now" sets up the melodramatic closer of the original first LP, "Steppin' Out."

Side three is comprised entirely of the "Concerto for a Rainy Day." which are words that can be heard synthesized at the beginning of "Standin' in the Rain" just after the opening melody. Lynne flexes his prog muscles for the first time in a long while before leading into the movie-music epic "Big Wheels," which is at least more bearable than "Xanadu." The self-empowering "Summer and Lightning" is brighter and more palatable; the celebrated and celebratory "Mr. Blue Sky" is one of Lynne's best melodies. He sneaks in the line, "Hey you with the pretty face/Welcome to the human race," belying a different topic, and closes the song on the comically sentimental note, "But soon comes Mr. Night/Creepin' over, now his/Hand is on your shoulder/Never mind; I'll remember you this way."

"Sweet Is the Night," partially sung by bassist Kelly Groucutt, is one of those songs that probably could have been a hit with a few tweaks; the melodies are great, but they're overloaded with sound effects, the tempo is a little too sluggish, and the lyrics are among Jeff Lynne's most poetic. "The Whale" is a pleasant but mystifyingly out-of-place instrumental. "Birmingham Blues" tributes Lynne's hometown, but with the knowing end verse, "I'll go and stay a while and all the folks I meet /They'll say, 'You won't stay long, you got them travelling feet'/You'll soon be long gone/'Cause boy, you got the rest of the world blues." The love-it-or-feel-ambivalent-about-it "Wild West Hero," if it fails, fails because of its strangely unsympathetic subject matter, which is exactly what it purports to be: "I wish I was a Wild West hero."

It's easy to see why Out of the Blue is not as beloved as its sales might indicate. It sags here and there outside of side one, and the "Concerto for a Rainy Day" wasn't good enough to merit such ostentation. On the other hand, there are nice little moments scattered throughout the record that jump out on each new listen, even on the lesser songs. If not their best, the album may at least be their most fun.

The Cure—The Head on the Door

The Cure—The Head on the Door

The Head on the Door—The strange disappointment of The Top (1984) was a necessary venture for the Cure. Three Imaginary Boys (1979), Seventeen Seconds (1980), Faith (1981), and Pornography (1982) were all fairly solid and artful or at least charming, though every one was imperfect, and they were all somewhat internally repetitive; the latter three especially were somewhat unvaried. Murkiness was the name of the game, but the songwriting of Robert Smith, Lol Tolhurst, and Simon Gallup wasn't uniformly great, and so it often detracted from the atmosphere. They threw out the book for The Top, and while it produced something far from a masterpiece, the direction they were headed was promising. The optimism of songs like "The Caterpillar" and the non-album singles "Let's Go to Bed" and "The Love Cats" were refreshing after the drugged-up, despairing mess of Pornography.

Between The Top and The Head on the Door, the Cure were joined by guitarist Porl Thompson (who played on Three Imaginary Boys and The Top but never was credited as a full member) and drummer Boris Williams (which freed Tolhurst from the spot to play keyboards full-time). The extra personnel brought new dimensions to an aspect of the band most would not expect: songwriting, which contrary to popular belief was never handled solely by Robert Smith.

The bright, polyrhythmic "In Between Days" was their best song to date, and the first song since Three Imaginary Boys where the Cure actually sounded like a band—also note the recurrence of Smith's "feeling old," to be compared with "I Want to Be Old." The unsettling dream "Kyoto Song" hooks the Cure's trademark grotesquerie with keyboards like they never did before, helping them make the transition from post-punk to new wave. "The Blood" was one of the first songs to diversify their sound, adding flamenco guitar to the mix; "the blood of Christ" refers to an exotic wine. "Six Different Ways" is a cutesy keyboard-led piece with elements reused from Siouxsie and the Banshees' "Swimming Horses" during the brief period in which Robert Smith was a member of that band. It was one of the first truly saccharine moments for the band that were generally disowned by the fans of gloomier goth music, but it showed that when they wanted to, they could command major-key melody with ease.

"Push" is excellent, quintessential post-punk. "The Baby Screams" forecasts "Lullaby." Radio favorite "Close to Me" is a trademark Cure song where the listener doesn't know if it's a love song or a nightmare. One must wonder if Smith or someone was referencing the basic nature of the dissolving-relationship song "A Night Like This" with the line, "The most gorgeously stupid thing I ever cut in the world," although "Screw" is definitely the album's throwaway. "Sinking" more closely resembles the following three albums, unwittingly foreshadowing the water tones that were all over that period.

Although The Head on the Door has neither their best song nor a plurality of their best, it is the Cure's most consistent, tightest album. It was less drudging than their early period and less overwhelmingly indulgent than the albums that followed, even though their best individual moments were yet to come.

XTC—Mummer

XTC—Mummer

Mummer—The second phase of XTC's career—arguably their defining one—came about due to something almost unheard of in the world of popular music: stage fright. They had been playing for around ten years before Andy Partridge suddenly broke down on stage in 1982, the tipping point being withdrawal from Valium that had been helping him deal with the stress of life in a touring band (Partridge says via Twitter that memory loss and limb seizures were worse aspects of his withdrawal). These facts are well-ingrained into the band's legend, and the incident helped to usher in a new era with a different approach.

English Settlement (1982), though eclectic, was still very much the work of a rock band, with Terry Chambers' drums still mixed in front and generally spare arrangements. Mummer would be the last album to feature him, and only on the first two songs at that; a founding member of the band, Chambers found himself in a tough spot with many of the band's new compositions not being conducive to his straightforward style of drumming. Peter Phipps from Gary Glitter's band played on the other eight songs, as he would on the following album, The Big Express (1984). Ironically, the sounds that open the album on "Beating of Hearts" are Chambers' drums, with Partridge's message summed up by the line, "For a heart without love is a song with no words/And a tune to which no one is listening." Bassist Colin Moulding's scathing "Wonderland" juxtaposes its sugar-sweet melody and synthesized beats with a criticism of someone who is "caught in [their] superficial, non-existent, fairy story/Wonderland." Partridge opined in the notes to Coat of Many Cupboards, "I think this is one of Colin's more beautiful melodies, and so complete, that my only suggestion to help it on its way, was the addition of tropical bird sounds for the finished article."

The idyllic "Love on a Farmboy's Wages," which by some accounts was the straw that broke the camel's back for Chambers due to its stranger rhythm (Partridge tweeted the real reason was "an emotional ultimatum by his new wife"), may be one of Partridge's veiled references to life as a professional musician ("People think that I'm no good/Painting pictures, carving wood ... But the only job I do well is here on the farm ... And it's breaking my back"). The catchy and hilarious "Great Fire" ("I'm animal and panicking") continues Partridge's ongoing fascination with avian creatures as he imitates a bird's cries with the saxophone. Moulding balances out Partridge's clumsy-love with "Deliver Us from the Elements," which is something like a green or naturalist anthem and fits well with Moulding's general political aesthetic or is perhaps reminiscent of, say, The Kinks Are the Village Green Preservation Society.

Partridge's ghoulish "Human Alchemy" is one of his great forgotten songs, which ostensibly looks back on the slavery imposed on native Africans by whites, but might also be a coy reference to record companies' exploitation of black hitmakers ("To turn their skins of black into the skins of brightest gold," or that is to say, a gold record). The simpler "Ladybird" sounds like a song about a fleeting romance that could never be, though it predates Partridge's infamous, up-and-down relationship with Erica Wexler (later the subject of "Seagulls Screaming Kiss Her, Kiss Her" from The Big Express and "Another Satellite" from Skylarking [1986]). The lamentful yet pejorative "In Loving Memory of a Name" is one of Moulding's smartest songs, striking at the banality of surrendering propriety to the military ("Covered in moss/You may have died for your country/Forgotten not lost/You're laid to rest where you're wanted"), ultimately being reduced to "a name," and the indoctrination associated with Christian society ("The sermons attended when you were young/Still echo round these churchyard walls"). "Me and the Wind" is Partridge's token end-of-toxic-relationship song; in the notes for Fuzzy Warbles Volume 5, he noted that "Lots of you seem to think that this song is about Terry Chambers leaving XTC. I can see your logic. Words like ‘snare,' ‘stool,' ‘imprisoned in your drumbeat’ ... Now you've got me doubting my own intentions." "Funk Pop a Roll" is an arch harangue of the record business, which he says is "a hammer to keep/You pegs in your holes" and "Big money selling you stuff that you really do not need," while admitting to the grave notion that he's "already been poisoned by this industry."

A common criticism of Mummer is that its songs are obscure, which is true—it's easy to miss the irony of songs like "Wonderland" and "Funk Pop a Roll" on a casual listen—but that's also the point. A mummer is a person in disguise who puts on a play with dualistic themes; the band can be seen wearing the traditional shredded-paper costumes in the album's inner sleeve. Mummer is a rich album from start to finish, with the exception of some overcooked Partridge moments on side B, but that's par for the course, and never before it did XTC so concisely and beautifully achieve their vision.

Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds—Tender Prey

Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds—Tender Prey

Tender Prey—The late 1980s were a busy time for Nick Cave. He and the Bad Seeds appeared in Der Himmel über Berlin as themselves, playing "The Carny" from their latest album, Your Funeral... My Trial (1986), he co-wrote the script and music of and starred in Ghosts... of the Civil Dead, and published both a book of collected works (King Ink, named for the Birthday Party song) and a novel (And the Ass Saw the Angel). The stress from all of it plus steady recording and touring took its toll on Cave and the band. Interviews from that time period paint Cave as paranoid, drug-addled, and nasty, and while some of it was certainly editorialization, Cave's long affair with heroin has been documented. Thus, Tender Prey came out messy, but ironically, it produced some of the band's most iconic songs.

Cave played a prison inmate in Ghosts... of the Civil Dead, and so being in that mindset wrote a number of prison songs for Tender Prey, though the subject was not entirely new for the band, whose prior album The Firstborn Is Dead (1985) was influenced by outlaw country. One of these songs is Cave's signature song, "The Mercy Seat," which is presented here in its original extended format, played at nearly every Bad Seeds concert since its creation. It's almost impossible to distinguish the instruments from one another at first—the ongoing march of Thomas Wydler's drums is surrounded by the weeping strings and Blixa Bargeld's barely audible slide guitar, occasionally flooded by Mick Harvey's and new member Roland Wolf's murderous guitar leads—to say nothing of Cave's lyrics, which make at least one offhanded reference to And the Ass Saw the Angel (or perhaps vice-versa) and depict a Christ-like figure who is set to die in the electric chair. The creepily sultry "Up Jumped the Devil" is quintessential Cave ("My blood was blacker than the chambers of a dead nun's heart") that takes its name either from Robert Johnson's "Preachin' Blues (Up Jumped the Devil)" or the lyrics to "The Devil Went down to Georgia" (likely the former, considering Tender Prey's heavy blues context).

Bad Seeds standard "Deanna" is a reworking of "Oh Happy Day," which is better exemplified by the acoustic version that was later appended as a bonus 7" to The Good Son (1990). Its unclear story combines crass sex with crass murder; in live shows, Cave sings with more venom: "She was my fuckin' friend/She was my fuckin' partner," making it sound scornful rather than jaunty. "Watching Alice" is something of a murky failure, whose languid arrangement is even less interesting than the banal lyrics. The toiling "Mercy" is one of the better forgotten Bad Seeds songs, as is "City of Refuge," based on Blind Willie Johnson's "(I'm Gonna Run to) the City of Refuge" (itself based on the traditional "You Better Run"). "Slowly Goes the Night" is a quiet highlight, sending up schlock balladry Bad Seeds-style while retaining a certain charm in spite of itself. The clopping "Sunday's Slave" and onrush of "Sugar Sugar Sugar" are two of the album's more understated moments, although the former is stronger than that suggests. The waning drunkenness of "New Morning" bids farewell to the hellish themes of the album and foreshadows the direction of The Good Son.

The first phase of Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds' career (pre-The Boatman's Call [1997]) is often referred to as Cave's Old Testament period; never was that more fitting than with Tender Prey (Birthday Party albums aside). Although it's a messy record, and many of the songs were not performed or arranged optimally, as a sort of blueprint, it's rather solid. Some of the group's (and the Birthday Party's) earlier work was unfavorably circumspect, and the relative straightforwardness of Tender Prey was refreshing. It's not the best LP of that aforementioned period, but it's close, and it was the most rock and roll the band ever got during the Blixa Bargeld era.

More Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds reviews by The Old Noise:

From Her to Eternity (1984)
The Firstborn Is Dead (1985)
Kicking Against the Pricks (1986)
Your Funeral... My Trial (1986)
Tender Prey (1988)
The Good Son (1990)
Henry's Dream (1992)
Live Seeds (1993)
Let Love In (1994)
Murder Ballads (1996)
The Boatman's Call (1997)
No More Shall We Part (2001)
Nocturama (2003)
Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus (2004)
Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!! (2008)
Push the Sky Away (2013)

R.E.M.—Chronic Town

R.E.M.—Chronic Town

Chronic Town—Oft-forgotten in the wake of Murmur (1983), R.E.M.'s American classic, is their actual debut record, Chronic Town. Technically, their first recorded and distributed item was "Radio Free Europe"/"Sitting Still" (one of only eight recordings released on independent label Hib-Tone), featuring a frenzied version of the former; both songs would later appear on Murmur, rerecorded. Before the single, even, R.E.M. was turning heads in their native Athens, Georgia. A concert review by William Barnes dated May 7th, 1980 for The Red & Black, University of Georgia's student newspaper, stated that in the band's third-ever concert, the set list included Johnny Kidd & the Pirates' "Shakin' All Over," "Secret Agent Man" (theme from Danger Man), and Paul Revere & the Raiders or the Monkees' "I'm Not Your Steppin' Stone," while their "original material was even more amazing ... They switched tracks from funky R&B to pulsating reggae with an ease and speed that belied their short history."

R.E.M.'s members, both individually and collectively, have been known to have wide-ranging influences. Their B-sides (collected later for Dead Letter Office [1987], the CD release of which includes Chronic Town) showed eclectic stylistic origins: the Velvet Underground, Aerosmith, Roger Miller, and fellow Athens natives Pylon. Rather than put this sort of originals-plus-covers mix to their EP, however, they submitted five idiosyncratic pieces that did not sound quite like anything that came before it. At the same time, it all has an archetypal familiarity that's hard to pin down. "Wolves, Lower," which was also the band's first music video, is typical of this. Lead singer Michael Stipe inverts and plays with idioms ("put wolves out the door" rather than "wolf at the door") in an interpretive manner that would become his hallmark for the rest of the band's career. "Gardening at Night," the EP's only major-key song, as explained by drummer Bill Berry (liner notes of And I Feel Fine... The Best of the I.R.S Years 1982–1987) was written for this reason: "We were driving at night after a show ... One of my three passengers aimed a directive at me. Rather than inform me of his desire to evacuate his bladder, he instead suggested that I pull over so that he might engage in the task of roadside 'night gardening.'"

"Carnival of Sorts (Box Cars)," a strange, vestigial yarn, repeats the line, "don't get caught," from "Wolves, Lower," which establishes a theme of secrecy, combined with fragments of rural imagery. That song also originates the names of the album and its sides ("Chronic Town" and "Poster Torn"); the "Poster Torn" side begins with "1,000,000," conjuring near-Lovecraft visions of ancientness and esoteric threats ("Secluded in a marker stone/Not only deadlier, but smarter too ... All along the tomb, secret in the ruin ... I could live a million years"). "Stumble" reads like a journal pastiche, evoking small-town sensibilities and the confusion of youth.

Although it was not quite at the level of the records to follow, Chronic Town showcased four musicians with an uncanny sense of what it takes to make music as a band. Its songs are marginally too slight to be considered classics, but it was leagues ahead of what most bands of the time were doing, even established ones. Its force of personality and inspiration make it a fresh listen even years after the band's retirement.

Big Star—Radio City

Big Star—Radio City

Radio City—When people speak of Big Star's legacy, they generally have #1 Record (1972) in mind. They like Radio City, of course, but Radio City didn't have "The Ballad of El Goodo," "Thirteen," or "In the Street." The biggest difference between the two is Radio City's lack of Chris Bell, who was the band's founder, ironically, and the main reason for #1 Record's overall sound. Despite this, Radio City surpassed it; Bell's harmonies and arrangements glossed Alex Chilton's jaggedness with a bright, optimistic sheen, but the shared credits on the songs of #1 Record obscured an important detail: "The Ballad of El Goodo," "Thirteen," and "In the Street" were all written by Chilton.

After #1 Record's absolute failure commercially, tensions ran high, and Bell left the group, which effectively disbanded it. Drummer Jody Stephens recalled (Perfect Sound, December 1996) that some time after, "We got back together at the request ... rock writers ... It was a low pressure sort of thing because we were all doing it for the fun of it. We weren't promoting anything. So we got to get back together and play for the critics who were basically our only audience. We had a great time so the band got back together and immediately started working on Radio City." Bassist Andy Hummel explained (Perfect Sound, July 2001), "We started Radio City when we were still a foursome. We had four songs, a couple that we all three [Chilton, Hummel, Stephens] co-wrote at Alex's house one night ... We were looking for new, different things to do so we decided to record in mono ... It was the tightest, hottest music we'd ever done. Unfortunately those tapes were subsequently lost or stolen so we had to rerecord the ones we used later as a threesome. And of course we didn't use much of Chris's stuff because he subsequently left the group."

Soon after, Bell left the band for good, leaving Chilton in complete control of the group. The result was an indurated affair: guitars were the new spokesmen for the band, the characteristic irresolution of Chilton's lyrics serving only to give focus to the music as they had done before, but now without the pretense of optimism. The chord changes of "O My Soul" are protracted, allowing for Chilton's miniature yet rife hard-blues solos to take the forefront. On "Life Is White," he slows to a crawl, letting the screeching harmonica give chroma to the broken sentiments of the words. Andy Hummel's "Way Out West," unlike "The India Song" from the previous LP, fits seamlessly, with Hummel's melodic bass lines riding coolly beneath it all. "What's Going Ahn," a masterpiece, features multiple guitar tracks from Chilton—some acoustic and some electric—that somehow form a coherent whole and perfectly harmonize his vocal. The cautionary dirge "You Get What You Deserve" is hauntingly beautiful, while the heavy "Mod Lang" tributes white R&B.

"Back of a Car" is one of the few remaining stylistic ties to #1 Record: an imagined dialogue set to a harbinger's tune. The bipolar "Daisy Glaze" details the paranoia stemming from cheating, devolving from "I'm drivin' alone/Sad about you," to  "Who is this whore? ... You're gonna die/Yes, you're gonna die." The Todd Rundgren-cum-Mick Taylor "She's a Mover" details "Marsha the name" who "look like a dove" and "smile like crocodile." "September Gurls," a heavenly, elastic pop masterwork, works off an irresistibly sunny chord progression to deliver an immortal Chilton lyric: "I loved you, well, never mind." "Morpha Too," featuring Chilton solo with piano and a single overdubbed vocal of himself, is wonderful and hazy; it is not clear what or who "morpha" is. "I'm in Love with a Girl" amazes with its simplicity that at the same time sounds like nothing that came before.

Though Big Star's final 1974 recordings were compiled for 3rd (1978) and Chilton and Stephens reunited with members of the Posies for In Space (2005), Radio City was effectively the final Big Star album. The paltry amount of original material has given Big Star a certain mystique, which is something that often unfairly elevates the legacy of a work. In the case of Radio City, it is no hyperbole. The songs are singular, the sound is tight, and Chilton is on a whole other planet with his guitar playing.

Big Star—#1 Record

Big Star—#1 Record

#1 Record—Big Star was a band that was simultaneously behind and ahead of the times. Modeled largely after bands from the British Invasion, they arrived a year after the breakup of the Beatles and well after the Rolling Stones had abandoned any pretense of being a pop band. Big Star came to be formed when Alex Chilton, formerly of the Box Tops, joined Chris Bell's band Icewater. Chilton could be seen as analogous to John Lennon, bringing a dissonant edge to the music of the more McCartney-esque Bell. As with many good songwriting partnerships, however, each brought something to the other's music that improved it.

#1 Record captures on tape something rare as it pertains to human experience: the moment just before the point of collapse. Big Star, despite rave reviews, was destined to crash and burn. The debut album was released on John Fry's Ardent label, based in Memphis, Tennessee (the hometown of every band member aside from bass player Andy Hummel) and was to be distributed by Stax, but Stax hit a wall trying to sell it. The reason why is unclear—perhaps emerging soul, funk, and hard rock trends rendered #1 Record outmoded, and drummer Jody Stephens quipped, "it's not a good idea to release a new act in the Christmas season" (interview with Perfect Sound, December 1996)—but its commercial failure led to the effective demise of the band not long afterward.

It's easy to say now that #1 Record is a great album, which mixed pop sensibilities with the kind of angst uncommon to that which it embodies. "Feel" mixes brittle, anxious guitar with horns to create a sound that was unique for the time. What really captures the listener, though, is Chris Bell's profoundly affected vocal; Bell, who would be killed in a single-car accident in 1978, had a truly singular voice. He would only record a handful of other songs in his time, most of which were compiled for I Am the Cosmos. He sings, "Feel like I'm dyin'/Never gonna live again," over a tumultuous relationship. Chilton answers with the existential "The Ballad of El Goodo," treated to harmonic backing by Bell, and the simplistic "In the Street." Sung by Bell, the ode to youth would become the theme song to That '70s Show, and could be seen as a spiritual precursor to the Smashing Pumpkins' "1979."

"I don't know if the general population even knows that Big Star had anything to do with it. As a matter of fact, it's funny, [Wilco and I] played "In the Street" together ... my wife was in the audience and she said, when we started playing "In the Street," somebody sitting in back of her said, 'Why are they playing That '70s Show song?'" —Jody Stephens for Songfacts, "What Made Big Star Shine" (June 17, 2013)

"Thirteen" looks back on childhood romance, referencing the Rolling Stones' 1966 single "Paint It Black"; the song suggests a relationship between two people of different ages, which has been the subject of discussion; its arrangement is slight as to suggest innocence, and includes the line, "Would you be an outlaw for my love," but otherwise does not harbor ill intent, and seems to imply a somewhat minor age gap. Bell's cathartic "Don't Lie to Me" is augmented by Chilton's blues licks, and Hummel's middling "The India Song" sounds like it belongs on a lesser Nick Drake album. "When My Baby's Beside Me" rollicks with great pleasure, unwittingly showing up all of Chilton's predecessors in both performance and craft. "My Life Is Right" is one of the few Bell compositions that remained relatively free from Chilton's crookedness, but this also renders it unremarkable. "Give Me Another Chance" at first appears unremarkable until the fourth or fifth listen, when the unique instrumental backing and Bell's vocal overdubs catch the ear. "Try Again" pleases with its country-inflected solo, giving the album's flow the effect of sunset; ironically, this leads to the resplendent "Watch the Sunrise" and its bright strumming, the ringing chords and arpeggios no doubt the precursor to many an indie rock song. The esoterically titled closer "ST 100/6" is an attractive, minor song that serves a role similar to the Beatles' "Her Majesty" from Abbey Road.

#1 Record is often lumped in with Big Star's second record, Radio City (mainly because they have generally been reissued together), but it's important to keep the two separate in discussion, as they are wildly different. In the case of the former, its naivety is the only thing that detracts from its legend; some of its songs are sad in how vulnerably they depict the young group, and conceptually some of them are thin, mainly on the second side. Of course, it makes sense that the album would be frontloaded: Big Star expected to live up to the name, and the foundation began to crumble immediately the following year. But the flaws are minor, and #1 Record deserved what its titled attempted to prophesy.