Track of the Week: John Cooper Clarke: Beasley Street (1980)

These days, it seems that John Cooper Clarke was very much ahead of the curve. Tiring of dead-end jobs, he started writing and performing poetry in Manchester clubs in the mid 70s. As the preliminary tremors of punk rock began to make themselves felt, he found his lurid tales of everyday working class life and his fast, speed-fuelled delivery put him aesthetically in line with the emerging movement, and he became the original punk poet. Signing to a major label and teaming up with Manchester's resident genius producer/eccentric lunatic Martin Hannett, he started his recording career. Hannett got together a line up of post punk star guest musicians, including guitarists Pete Shelley from the Buzzcocks and Vini Reilly from the Durutti Column, and drummer Karl Burns from the Fall to form a backing group and play music written by Hannett to accompany Clarke's poems. The end result predated and inspired the Arctic Monkeys, for one, who have taken Clarke's subject matter and heavily accented, more-spoken-or-ranted-then-sung delivery but have failed to match his charm or striking lyricism.
'Beasley Street', from his classic 'Snap, Crackle & Bop' album, is perhaps John Cooper Clarke's most impressive piece, an epic tale of the life of poverty and squalor led on the titular street, infused with his trademark black humour yet oddly moving. In scope and impact, it is similar to Bob Dylan's 'Desolation Row'. For the residents, trying to survive in a harsh dog eat dog environment outside the law, 'Sleep is a luxury they don't need - A sneak preview of death.' Poverty is so rife that 'The rats have all got rickets / They spit through broken teeth'. The oppressive and sickly atmosphere is accentuated by the image of 'A light bulb bursts like a blister / The only form of heat'. The whole song is chock full of such memorable and vivid lines, including a scathing attack on a hipster parading about in 'Yellow socks and a pink cravat - nothing la-di-dah'. But my favourite couplet is

'People turn to poison quick as lager turns to piss
Sweathearts are physically sick every time they kiss'

Here Clarke is lamenting an environment in which it's impossible for love or happiness to thrive due to the extreme conditions that these people live in. In sentiment it's similar to the Arctic Monkeys' 'A Certain Romance', in which they lament the lack of just that, but where Alex Turner (chief Monkey) sees them as pig-headedly set in their ways ('We'll tell em if you like.. They'll never listen cause their minds are made up'), Clarke sees them as a product of their social environment, betrayed by their government ('Keith Joseph [Thatcherite Tory minister] smiles and a baby dies / In a box on Beasley Street') and left to fend for themselves. Ultimately, John Cooper Clarke empathises with their position, whilst Alex Turner appears not to care about anyone outside his circle of friends, who he views as somehow different, nor to care about the politics behind the situation.
Hannett's music backs Clarke's Salford-tinged delivery all the way, rising from a subdued beginning to a thundering climax whilst avoiding punk rock cliche, and all the guest musicians turn in excellent performances, but there is no doubt that John Cooper Clarke is the star of the show here, and quite rightly so. It is only recently that John Cooper Clarke has started to be given the recognition he deserves as both an engaging performer and a creative force to be reckoned with. Witty and literate yet grounded in reality, confrontational yet good humoured, would that there were more like him.

Introduction

Ok, that's all the archive material from my other site posted. Basically, I'm writing about the music I love, and what I think makes it special. Comments and suggestions welcome.

Track of the Week: Yeah Yeah Yeahs: Turn Into (2006)

Yeah, apologies for not writing this nine months before the album was released. For a band that rose to fame largely on account of the lead singer's dresses and being the Strokes' favourites, Yeah Yeah Yeahs have made some suprisingly engaging, if hardly original, music. And, crucially, unlike their peers, each new YYYs release has been acompanied by a broadening of their sound. Whilst almost every other current New York band (Liars excepted, but that's another story) opted to follow their first album with an inferior copy, YYYs development from the rough-hewn, if hardly straight-ahead, garage pop of their first ep to a band capable of producing the sublime 'Maps' on their debut album 'Fever To Tell' suggested that the follow up would bring a further evolution of their sound. Although they certainly made us wait for it, 'Show Your Bones' lives up to all expectations - it is more musically diverse than 'Fever' but loses none of the debut's passion or intensity, and even manages to sound strikingly individual for a 2006 indie album. The highlight of the album and arguably their career so far is the closer, 'Turn Into'.The song starts off with gentle acoustic guitar and, of course, Karen O's instantly recognisable vocals. Karen O is perhaps the single most charismatic frontperson in modern indie rock, and her delivery - pitched somewhere between Siouxsie Sioux and Anabella Lwin - manages to buoy her somewhat vague lyrics. Here she displays genuine vulnerability and regret, managing to put emotion into clumsy lines such as 'Leave it where it can't remind us / Turn this all around behind us'. She is matched every inch of the way by guitarist Nic Zinner and drummer Brian Chase, as the song rises from its accoustic beginnings to determined, driving rock. The band really impress in the middle section, with the entry of delicate piano followed by a searing yet melodic guitar solo. As the solo burns out, we are left again with just vocals and acoustic guitar, which are interupted midline, creating a feeling of spontaneity despite the big-budget production. Although they are just as retro as their contemporaries, I feel that YYYs have somehow managed to transcend both the garage rock and post punk revivals, and I'm not entirely sure why. It is probably due largely to their charisma, and their ability to invest their songs with a burning passion and intensity in place of, say, the Strokes' fashionably cool, dead-eyed ennui which ultimately saps their music of any real emotional impact. However, to put it down entirely to that is to deny the band's musical strengths - although at times they'd greatly benefit from a bassist to anchor down their sound, Nick Zinner's channeling of the blues and No Wave is never less then compelling, even on their weaker songs, and Brian Chase's propulsive drumming somehow manages to keep the whole thing together. Topped off with Karen O's distinctive yelp, although their sound certainly has precedent, they manage to sound like no one else on the modern indie scene. Which these days is an achievement in itself.

Track of the Week: Todd Rundgren: Zen Archer (1973)

Imagine you're Todd Rundgren: it's 1973. Your album from last year, 'Something/Anything?', was hailed by the critics as a brilliant example of pop songcraft in a range of styles and one of a few genuinely consistent double albums, an opinion that will not change with time, and it's attendant singles have sold well and pushed the album up the charts. How do you follow it? The answer you came up with probably wasn't 'make a sporadically brilliant but largely indulgent album of wonky art rock detailing an acid trip that will usher in years of prog rock obscurity from which my chart momentum will never recover,' but that's just what Todd did. Irritating and unsettling as much of 'A Wizard/A True Star' is, it does contain moments of warped pop genius, 'Zen Archer' being perhaps the most striking. 'Zen Archer' is miles away from the soul-influenced pop Rundgren is renowned for, starting off with a minor key organ vamp (Todd plays almost all the instruments on the record) accompanied by martial drums and spooky synthesisers. The lyrics tell the tale of the derranged eponymous archer, who 'finds relief inside a hatchet' by destroying beautiful people and things. The air of sinister camp with vague political overtones (the UN gets namechecked) is not disimilar to Diamond Dogs-era Bowie. The dials get turned up once we get to the bridge, with increasingly overdubbed vocals and synths and lyrics about 'rivers of blood.' The strong melody holds the song together seamlessly despite an erratic change of time signature for the piano-bolstered chorus. By the time we reach the cosmic saxophone solo at the coda, the vocals have morphed into an unearthly choir floating over a bed of spacey synths. The song gets the balance between trippy, sinister weirdess and melody just right, avoiding the somewhat directionless experiments that make up some of the rest of the album (see Dogfight Giggles - the sound of dogs having sex for 65 seconds!). Todd Rundgren's subsequent career would veer between moments of infuriatingly daft indulgence and melodic brilliance, often within the same song, but every now and then, his bizzare flights of whimsy combine with his finely-honed pop craftsmanship to create a truly unique piece of pop perfection.

Track of the Week: Bauhaus: Mask (1981)

I've always thought that Bauhaus have been given short shrift: whilst some of their peers suhc as Siouxsie and the Banshees and Nick Cave have been rescued from the muck heap of goth rock and (rightly) hailed as both innovators and rock greats, Bauhaus have been largely ignored, left to rot in the cultural dustbin marked 'Fields of the Nephilim'/'Sisters of Mercy'/'The Cult' etc. This is grossly unfair, as, at their best, Bauhaus combined dark and richly theatrical music with a vital, morbid sense of humour derived from B-movies and the Cramps, in much the same way as the Banshees or Nick Cave - just listen to the shaggy dog story of 'Of Lillies and Remains' for proof! Given their carefully cultivated image, its appropriate that their best album and one of their best tracks should be entitled 'Mask'. The song starts of with guitarist Daniel Ash playing a two note drone. The drums play a slow pulse like a heart beat, whilst David J's bass, hollow and sombre, tolls like a funeral bell. A host of strange noises, backward tape effects, and what sounds like a chainsaw hover in the mix. The overall effect is not unlike stumbling upon a horde of goblins preparing for war in their underground lair - so far, so over-the-top gothic. But Bauhaus can never resist going at least 12 steps too far - which is largely the point. Vocalist Peter Murphy starts moaning like a zombie, which really has to be heard to be believed. It's hard not to imagine the singer rising out of the ground at this moment, all white face paint, sharp cheek bones and black hairspray. As his multi-tracked vocals declaim lines like 'From the growth underneath the closed mouth... Rack-trapped cubist vowels' like a chorus of undead Bowies, you can almost picture the smiles on the band's faces - the whole thing is so overwrought, so utterly over the top, but, like Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody, it's entirely intentional and all part of the fun. Then, as we reach the coda, eveything changes. Major chords appear. Peter Murphy starts chanting 'The shadow is CAAAAAST' in a way that is almost anthemic, and higher in the mix then before. And then, to cap it off, everything is drowned out by a delicate, twinkling acoustic guitar part, not unlike moonlight breaking through dark clouds. Magic is not too strong a word.At their best, Bauhaus managed the rare feat of being entertaining and funny whilst at the same time combining innovation with a genuinely sinister edge. They created interesting music AND they sold records, which of course means they have little in common with the artistically-bankrupt black-clad metal-heads who make what passes for Goth music now. In fact, members of the post-punk revival searching for a way to expand their sound and audience on their next album but still create interesting and edgy music could do worse then rediscover Bauhaus.

Track of the Week: Swell Maps: Read About Seymour (1978)

Brothers Nikki Sudden (guitar, vocals) and Epic Soundtracks (drums) formed Swell Maps with a couple of school friends in about 1973. Despite not knowing a thing about playing their instruments, they regularly recorded jam sessions on beat-up tape decks, going as far as to design covers for imaginary albums afterwards. And they would likely have stayed an imaginary band, were it not for the release of Spiral Scratch by the Buzzcocks and the early Desperate Bicycle singles. These records were self-recorded and self-released, and proud of it. Realising that anyone could book studio time, not just big bands on major labels, the Maps pooled their pocket money and recorded and pressed their first single, 'Read About Seymour', at their local studio.'Read About Seymour' is defiantly chaotic and amateurish - the punk rhetoric about not being able to play your instruments was often not strictly true, but here, from the flurried drum entry to the messy guitar lines, it sounds like the Maps rehearsed the song all of one time before going into the studio. Despite the scrappy playing and Sudden's hopelessly off-key vocals, the band's pop instinct is clear - the nagging guitar line and shouty vocals are incredibly catchy. The song just about holds together for the first minute, before collapsing into a joyous mess of noise for a further thirty seconds, then its over.The Swell Maps integrated noise and playful experimentation into pop-punk, thus paving the way for Sonic Youth, Big Black and a host of other indie/altenative bands who have acknowledged their debt. They also proved that all you need to make a great record is the imagination and the will. The Swell Maps disbanded in 1980 after two equally eccentric yet wonderful albums and a series of non-album singles. Believing that bands were spoiled when they got to the stage where they relied on making music and touring for their income, the Maps decided to break up before this happened. Nikki and Epic both had equally chaotic solo careers before their untimely deaths. However, to this day their music remains both wildly entertaining and a source of inspiration for anyone who wants to make music on their own terms. Here's a chord, here's another one, here's another one. Now form a band.

Track of the Week: Felt: Dismantled King Is Off The Throne (1984)

Felt should have been huge. They weren't. This was probably largely the fault of lead singer/resident lunatic Lawrence AKA Lawrence Hayward, who once drove to one of his own gigs entirely in first gear. Despite being a complete eccentric and utterly unprofesional, the man was a lyrical and musical genius. When the song starts with a delicate, chiming guitar motif and the couplet 'I was feeling desparate, unable to decide / Between a life of misery and awful suicide', you know the band's on to something good. Lawrence continues to paint a picture of darkness and despair over Maurice Deebank's shimmering guitar, somewhere between Durutti Column and Orange Juice. The end result: perfect pop, melancholy yet ultimately uplifting. No one bought it, and as the song came out the likes of The Smiths were cornering the indie market. Whatever, although Lawrence never achieved his childhood dream of pop stardom, Felt achieved pure musical brilliance - which has to be worth something.