The Clash—Give 'em Enough Rope

The Clash—Give 'em Enough Rope

Give 'em Enough Rope—Punk rock as a denominator generally holds the implication that the artist will follow their own path, but in the first wave of punk, there were some persistent conventions. Many punk debuts were loud: Ramones, Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols, and Young Loud and Snotty to name a few, and The Clash (1977) was certainly no exception. Oftentimes—and the same is true of any artist—these bands were at a loss how to follow them up, especially since the approach on the debuts were characteristically fairly simple. The Ramones churned out a near-replica, the Sex Pistols burned out before they could record a follow-up, and Dead Boys produced what was seen as a lukewarm sequel courtesy of production problems. The Clash ended up with results somewhere in the middle.

While blistering punk was a viable commodity in the United Kingdom, even the most popular U.S. punk bands couldn't crack the charts in their own homeland. CBS' desire to reach a wider audience somehow resulted in the hiring of Blue Öyster Cult and Dictators producer Sandy Pearlman. This move has been criticized, perhaps not as harshly as other artist/producer mismatches through the annals of time, but the end result, Give 'em Enough Rope, was not actually that different principally from The Clash. No more convincing experience can be had than firing up "Safe European Home" at the wrong volume and getting an earful of feedback. An ill-fated trip to Jamaica inspired group leaders Joe Strummer and Mick Jones to write the song, the two of who, along with their bandmates, worked with Lee "Scratch" Perry on some of their singles, covered "Police & Thieves" on their debut, and would later record plenty more reggae- and dub-influenced songs. It is also notable for Strummer's refrain of "Rudie can't fail," a line which would be fashioned into an entire song on their third album, London Calling (1979).

"English Civil War," derived from the traditional "When Johnny Comes Marching Home," is an interesting inclusion. It is interpreted here as Jones/Strummer's response to British racism, offering the sly dig, "Your face was blue in the light of the screen." "Tommy Gun" speaks out against war by, if nothing else, drowning out the gunfire with drums and guitars. The sweeter "Julie's Been Working for the Drug Squad" (originally billed as "Julie's in the Drug Squad") is probably one of the reasons the album was met with some criticism, but it is in fact one of its highlights; the song refers to the 1977 raids of places of LSD manufacture ("Operation Julie") and possibly hints at a certain futility of its objective ("And then there came the night of the greatest ever raid/They arrested every drug that had ever been made"). "Last Gang in Town" is the longest song on the album and probably also the weakest, its music uninspiring and its words somewhat aimless.

"Guns on the Roof" resembles "Clash City Rockers" and "Capital Radio," which themselves resembled the Who's "I Can't Explain" (though it should be noted that the Who's riff was nothing particularly intricate). The song's title refers to an incident in which bassist Paul Simonon and drummer Topper Headon were arrested by counter-terrorism forces for shooting at pigeons. The demented "Drug-Stabbing Time" is an underrated jaunt that could also reference the incident ("Paying off the big fine;" Simonon and Headon were each fined £30). "Stay Free," a great, heartfelt song about friendship, was written by Jones for his childhood friend and Clash roadie Robin Crocker, who had just finished spending time in prison for robbing banks. "Cheapskates" attacks those who scorned the Clash for trying to live their lives like normal people following their successes, while "All the Young Punks (New Boots and Contracts)" (titled "That's No Way to Spend Your Youth" on the original U.S. issue) explores the same ground, but directed at those who tried to follow in their footsteps.

Give 'em Enough Rope doesn't have the same impact as The Clash (either the U.K. original or the U.S. release) or the sprawling genius of London Calling, but aside from a couple flat songs and borrowed tunes, it just as stimulating as (and sometimes smarter than) those records. It's not desert island Clash, but it is essential.

Talking Heads—More Songs about Buildings and Food

Talking Heads—More Songs about Buildings and Food

More Songs about Buildings and Food—Perhaps it was foredestined that the follow-up to a debut like Talking Heads: 77 would become the band's forgotten boy. That's not to say people don't love More Songs about Buildings and Food, because they do, but its songs are generally eclipsed by those from any other Talking Heads album. If the self-deprecating title didn't do it, it may have just been because it was, in fact, exactly what it purported to be: a close examination reveals four of More Songs' eleven entries to date from the same time as 77 or even earlier, and the new songs don't stray far from that formula.

The key difference with the Heads' second record is production. Their first was handled to some degree by a pair of Bon Jovi associates (Lance Quinn and Jon's brother Tony), but More Songs began a more significant relationship with glam-turned-ambient musician Brian Eno. Already a generative artist and sideman, Eno had only a handful of production credits by 1978, though the distinction is sometimes trifling in his case; the main difference here is that where Eno's presence made an intrinsic impact on albums like David Bowie's Low, "Heroes" and Lodger, here he also leaves a particular glow on the whole of it: if 77 was fluorescent, More Songs is soft-white.

There is a sweetness to More Songs that was haphazardly approached on 77 in a limited capacity. Ironically, the title more aptly references the single "Love → Building on Fire" and perhaps "Sugar on My Tongue," neither of which appeared on the original release of 77, and in that case, More Songs is something like a backlog of songs too pretty to stand with ugly ducklings like "Psycho Killer." "Thank You for Sending Me an Angel" is a shimmering acclamation of some lyrical idea only half-realized—vocalist David Byrne's lyrics incite more double takes than than ever, ducking in and out of coherent ideas that sometimes form stories. "With Our Love" sounds as cryptic as Byrne's words; in addition to the quirky dissonance that pervaded the entirety of Talking Heads: 77, the band now has a more genuine minor-key dynamic to their songs. On this song, they provide a haunting chorus to stress uncertainty in a new way; on the other hand, "The Good Thing" is a feel-good, hyper-literal song that exhibits the underrated humor of Talking Heads, which succeeds by a sort of careful improvisation.

"Warning Sign" is an anti-lovesong for the ages, and probably the recording where Eno's influence can be most felt. Instead of guitars, the manipulated sounds of each instrument—Byrne's voice included—take the forefront, swirling into a sonic landscape that resembled the direction the Heads would take in coming years. "The Girls Want to Be with the Girls" is an update on the underrated "Tentative Decisions." "Found a Job," one of the major highlights, is frankly hilarious with Byrne's oddly-delivered dialogue over near-ska instrumentation. "Artists Only" is the band's stab at spy-movie music. "I'm Not in Love" is another old one and a typically subversive alienation rant; it's easy to see why "Stay Hungry" was also left off Talking Heads: 77, being more of a straightforward workout than a dense, winding Byrne platform. "Take Me to the River," the Al Green song and only single, is covered here fairly faithfully, though it now sounds like an aquatic baseball park jam. Despite this, the biggest surprise is perhaps "The Big Country," which borders on sentimentality—strange for a band that almost exclusively puts on a front of neuroticism.

It is questionable whether or not More Songs about Buildings and Food could be called the Talking Heads' best album, but on the simple notion of accessibility, it is less abrasive than Talking Heads: 77, more focused than Fear of Music, less intransigently cerebral than Remain in Light, and more purposeful than Speaking in Tongues or anything that followed. It is an excellent entry point to the band, and like its brethren, rewards repeated listening.

Nick Lowe—Jesus of Cool

Nick Lowe—Jesus of Cool

Jesus of Cool—Pub rock was dying, and so would Rockpile. Co-leader Dave Edmunds would continue in the traditionalist rock and roll strain for a number of years, while principal songwriter Nick Lowe would make more adjustments to his approach. But in Rockpile's '70s heyday, the band's output would already exemplify these differences. Edmunds' albums featured some Edmunds/Lowe or Billy Bremner compositions but mostly consisted of rock and roll or country covers; Lowe's were almost all originals or written by contemporary musicians. Jesus of Cool, known in its U.S. incarnation as Pure Pop for Now People, lives up to its tongue-in-cheek title, delivering a litany of sarcastic but utterly joyful could-be, would-be hits.

Radar Records, a subsidiary of Warner, was founded in 1978; Nick Lowe had its first single, "(I Love the Sound of) Breaking Glass"/"They Called It Rock." He and his manager had jumped ship from Stiff, where Lowe had recorded that label's first single, "So It Goes"/"Heart of the City," and EP, Bowi. If it sounds like the confusion among labels and legal stipulations are petty, Lowe probably agreed. "Music for Money" explicitly attacks the commercialism in rock music of the time, as well as the excessive drug use and promiscuous sex in the scene. At first glance Lowe and his song appear to herald straight edge culture, but the tone suggests more of a simple observation. "(I Love the Sound of) Breaking Glass" is a delightful pop tune that is perhaps another nod to Low, after Bowi had already referenced David Bowie the previous year—though the booklets to The Doings (1999) and the 2008 reissue of Jesus of Cool stipulate respectively that Bowi title may have been the label's doing and that Lowe's "Breaking Glass" is "an ode to a trashed dressing room."

"Little Hitler" is a nuanced criticism that could be directed at any number of people or groups, but beyond that is quintessential Rockpile. Dave Edmunds delivers excellent backing vocals and country-inflected acoustic guitar underscored by Lowe's melodic bass lines. Friend, label mate, and frequent collaborator Elvis Costello would record "Two Little Hitlers" on the Lowe-produced Armed Forces later the same year. "Shake and Pop" is another criticism of the money-making aspects of the music scene, not technically included on the U.S. release but it does appear in the cleaner form of "They Called It Rock," which is done more in Edmunds' style than Lowe's. "Shake and Pop" ends up being the more effective of the two because the ragged instrumentation better paints the picture of Lowe's vision of music hell. "Tonight" is one of Lowe's trademark impish serenades and goes hand-in-hand with non-album single "American Squirm," which can be considered the bridge between Jesus of Cool and Labour of Lust (1979). That single would also feature Elvis Costello and (most of) the Attractions as his backing band; the B-side was Costello's "What's So Funny 'Bout (Peace, Love and Understanding", written by Lowe and originally recorded by Lowe's first band, Brinsley Schwarz.

"So It Goes" is the killer app here, a four-chord attack performed with such fire by Lowe and Rockpile that it's strange to think "Reelin' in the Years" by Steely Dan was its likely basis. Lyrically it is one of his most cerebral, based in the themes of Slaughterhouse-Five, while performance-wise he shows just how good he can be on the electric bass. "No Reason" is its low-key cousin, probably the plainest song on the album but still welcome for its organ-twinged groove. The influence of Jim Ford can be heard when compared to the following "36 Inches High." Lowe partially makes Ford's country original his own, presenting it as more of a peculiar, distorted march, which does seem to fit the subject matter. "Marie Provost" is the partially true story of silent film actress Marie Prevost and her death. It suffices to say that only Nick Lowe could turn a lurid, sorrowful account into an uplifting three-minute jewel.

Lowe seems to sum up his feelings on "Nutted by Reality," a good companion to "So It Goes" that reads like a quaint allegory. A live version of "Heart of the City" ends the original LP, which is probably not superior to its studio version but is by no means offensive. The U.S. release instead featured the latter, as well as "Rollers Show," seen variously as either a partial tribute to or a shot at the Bay City Rollers. It was a sequel of sorts to "Bay City Rollers, We Love You," Lowe's attempt to distance himself from his then-label.¹ Ironically, it became popular in Japan where the Rollers were held in high regard; "Rollers Show" was probably included on Pure Pop for Now People with similar hopes of it being a paradoxical hit.

"The Japanese kids who were all Rollers fans, they had no idea I was taking a rather sort of jaundiced view of their heroes, you know." —Nick Lowe, 2007 interview

A hit but not a hit, Jesus of Cool spent thirty years without a reissue outside the U.K. along with much of Nick Lowe's catalog. It was the crossroads between time-honored rock and roll, U.K. punk, and new wave, with Lowe being the central figure in much of what spawned these movements. But more importantly, the music is just plain terrific, and if there's a message to be heard here, it's a plain one—beyond the posturing and excess, the contracts and legal issues, the music itself is the important thing.

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