As a card-carrying West End Wendy, my blog would seem incomplete without casting a gimlet eye across some of the best (and worst) theatrical activity across the London theatre scene currently.
Must See: Lord of The Rings, Theatre Royal Drury Lane
Tuesday, 30 October 2007
Monday, 29 October 2007
Pet Shop Boys - review
With their lifeless 2002 album Release and their subsequent soundtrack to the 1925 film Battleship Potemkin, you could be given for thinking that the Pet Shop Boys were glad to be grey and preparing to be pensioned off into the nearest nursing home for ironic pop stars. Thankfully their ninth studio is a great argument against the “Pet Shop Bores” label that was hovering over them. Fundamental is a perfect title. Teaming up again with Trevor Horn, one of their former producers, provides a return to the fundamental Pet Shop Boys sound – deadpan lyrics that are talk-sung over a dramatic background of synths and orchestras. In fact, many of the songs are reminiscent of their hugely successful 1988 Introspective album.
However the title doesn’t only refer to this back-to-basics approach. It boldly states the subject of the Pet Shop Boys’ agenda on this album; namely political and social Fundamentalism. Like previous PSB songs with a message (‘Opportunities (Lets Make Lots of Money’), ‘Kings Cross’, ‘Rent’), this album is a caustic look at contemporary society.
The first single from the album, 'I'm With Stupid', establishes an overt polemical agenda. The Pet Shop Boys muse over Tony Blair’s inexplicable relationship with Dubya, mockingly presented as a misguided love affair. Blair voices, “I thought like everybody did / You Were Just a Moron,” before wondering, “Have you made a fool of me / Are you not Mr Right?” The PSB gift is that they take this witty political commentary and set it, as they once put it, “to a disco beat”.
Similarly American Imperialism is targeted in ‘Luna Park’. US militarism is satirised as an amusement park, visualised with a disturbing foreboding. “Electric storms”, “the shooting range”, “hear the screams” all contribute to a nightmarish picture. There is a sophistication in Tennant and Lowe’s writing that elevates it way beyond clumsy attempts like George Michael’s ‘Wag The Dog’.
Pleasingly it is not just the United States government that is the subject of the barbs.
‘Integral’ is a furious attack on New Labour’s legislation for ID cards in the UK. Set against an oppressive dance track backing, there is a relentless beat that is as impossible to resist as the controversial proposals. As Neil chimes off a litany of justifications, the dehumanisation behind ID cards is realised not only in lyrics but also in musical form.
Asylum seekers are not generally the stuff of pop songs and only the PSB would have the courage to tackle such difficult subject matter. ‘Indefinite Leave To Remain’ is delivered in the voice of an asylum seeker as a love song to the UK, but expressed in the official speak of the Department of Immigration. It is a beautiful ballad, not unlike much of their work in the Closer To Heaven musical.
Not content with the micro-politics of the US and UK, the duo amazingly tackle the fall of communism and the effects of global capitalism without sounding ridiculous. ‘20th Century’ observes “Everyone came / To destroy what was rotten / But they killed off what was good as well” and delivers the polemic “Sometimes the solution is worse than the problem”. That is the most apropos comment on the Iraq war in a song this year. To deliver such a thought, without weighing down the music in a wave of pretentiousness or depression, is intelligent music-making at its finest.
Surveying a society-wide landscape of uncertainty and fear, ‘Psychological’ has a very minimal and creepy electro-sound to mirror the unidentifiable paranoia listed in the song. “Is it a cry for help / Or a call to arms”, “Something in the attic / And it smells so bad”, “Who’s that knocking / On the cellar door” all conjure up a world of ill-defined and yet palpable sense of contemporary threat.
The pared back instrumentation is in stark contrast to the familiar Trevor Horn everything-including-the-kitchen-sink production on ‘The Sodom and Gomorrah Show’. Hedonism is dissected, reality television is parodied as Horn builds the backing up to an apocalyptic scale the likes of which we haven’t heard since Frankie’s ‘Two Tribes’.
The personal impact of these contemporary pressures, the impulse to shut out the pain and madness of society for a while in a soothing personal numbness, is explored in ‘Numb’, an unlikely alliance between the ironic British duo and the Queen of the Californian power ballad, Diane Warren. From a huge, sweeping orchestrated introduction, this remarkably beautiful song adds warmth and humanity to Tennant’s disembodied vocals while the Pet Shop Boys strip Warren’s music of the bombast, revealing the emotional honesty at its core. A future classic in the PSB without a doubt.
Curiously, for an album that it is bold in its political agenda, it is surprising that the record company should choose a pointedly uncontroversial track, ‘Minimal’, as their next single. It’s a great dance track about art and the beauty of less. It perhaps could be taken to represent a yearning for a simpler way of life. The grand irony is that this paean to minimalism is conducted over some of the busiest production on the album.
Not unlike Madonna, the Pet Shop Boys have the rare ability to present thought-provoking ideas in the most immediate format of popular music without diluting either.
Fundamental would be described as a bricks-and-mortar Pet Shop Boys album, were they not so busy throwing the bricks at the political Establishment. After 20 years in the business, the Pet Shop Boys have delivered an album of style and seriousness, of maturity and relevance. Never mind Fundamental; this is the Definitive album from the Pet Shop Boys.
Originally published 5th June 2006
Although I thorough enjoyed reviewing for Rainbow Network/Gaydarnation, my work on Moyet sites increasingly took up more of my time so this was my last formal review.
Looking at critics recently, especially those who have clearly paid no attention to the work they were given to comment on, I'm glad that even where I could find little of worth in an album that I still respected the artistic endeavours to the extent that I was specific in my negative feedback and always tried to correctly spell the name of the turn.
Looking at critics recently, especially those who have clearly paid no attention to the work they were given to comment on, I'm glad that even where I could find little of worth in an album that I still respected the artistic endeavours to the extent that I was specific in my negative feedback and always tried to correctly spell the name of the turn.
Smaller - review
After a successful 6 week regional tour which apparently sold out every performance, Smaller has finally arrived in London with its larger than life stars, Dawn French and Alison Moyet. Increasingly rare for the commercial West End, awash with revivals, movie re-workings and musical warhorses, Smaller is a piece of new writing by debut playwright Carmel Morgan, whose credits have been scripting television dramas such as Coronation Street and Shameless.
The play centres on the fractured Clulow family. Bernice (French) and Cath (Moyet) are very different sisters. Bernice is the daughter who stayed behind to look after their widowed, disabled mother – a task which has become a duty and a millstone over the past twenty years. Cath, in contrast, had a talent for singing so flew the nest with dreams of stardom but has ended up humiliated, performing karaoke hits to drunken hen parties on the “Costa Chlamydia”.
Maureen (June Watson), their mother, may have become physically disabled but her mind is still very active. Confined to her Oxford bungalow, reliant on her daughter to lift and lay her between bed, chair and toilet, she craves stimulation and interaction.
Compulsively watching through the net curtains for the latest instalment of suburbia beyond her window, Maureen’s day is timed according to the start and finish of TV programmes like Murder She Wrote and Quincy. She absorbs every minutiae of her daughters’ lives from Bernice’s tales of “biscuit wars” in the school staffroom to Cath’s postcards about binning the latest “twat with a plat”.
Maureen’s conversations flow like Joycean monologues - streams of consciousness that spray the dramatis personae of her life like tickertape. Morgan skilfully depicts the relentlessness of Maureen and Bernice’s situation like Becket’s two tramps in Godot. They have long gone beyond the point of listening to each other and are waiting for a resolution to be provided. The idea of Mother going into a home is mooted but is dismissed and Morgan deftly shows how the behaviour of carer and the cared soon become habitualised.
Although there are brilliant one-liners and many laugh-out-loud moments, these are interwoven with realistic and upsetting scenes of home care. The epiphanic question posed by Bernice, “Shall I push your piles back in now?” captures the delicate balancing act which combines dark humour with the pathos of what’s happening.
As the frustration and the claustrophobia slowly rise in long extended scenes between French and Watson, the only respite is provided by snapshot scenes of Moyet abroad.
Unusual but effective, Cath reveals her character through songs (impressive and moving original material penned by Moyet herself and songwriting partner Pete Glenister) which are interpolated throughout the play. Maureen refers to her daughter as “a breath of fresh air” and this is how Cath’s appearances are received by the audiences.
All three parts are written to play to the performers’ strength, but they also challenge them to leave their comfort zones. June Watson has swathes of dialogue, as befits a seasoned stage performer, but she has to make Maureen Clulow neither a monster nor a victim. Alison Moyet has tremendous stage presence as a singer but in her first serious dramatic role, she is required to hold her own and deliver authentic soul-searching as Cath. Dawn French has many moments of comedic aplomb but in an exacting role, she has to alienate the audience’s sympathy with Bernice’s querulousness. It would be hard to find a stronger trio on a West End stage.
Whilst covering a small slice of life, Carmel Morgan’s script poses some big questions. Who is trapped – the housebound mother, the home-tied carer or the daughter who followed failed dreams? What is the nature of mothering? Maureen is proud of both her daughters (“You are both Golden Bollocks”) yet is insensitive in the even-handed dispensing of her love; Bernice mothers Maureen but the inescapability of her duty she has imposed on herself has turned familiarity to contempt; as Cath casts a maternal eye over her sister, worrying how she will face the future after her Mum’s death, how much is this out of guilt from years of absence?
The unflinching subject matter will not please everyone. It tackles some of society’s darkest fears which many would rather occur behind the curtains of suburbia, out of sight and mind. There are no simple answers offered.
In Smaller, there are no heroes or villains - only human beings struggling through the daily life choices we all must make. That Kathy Burke’s detailed, entertaining and compassionate production makes us face those themes is a small triumph for the West End.
Originally published 11th April 2006
erasure - Review
It may not come as a huge surprise, but it is hard to believe that Erasure have a game plan. After huge success in the mid to late eighties with hit albums like The Circus and The Innocents, it all began to head south for Vince Clarke and Andy Bell as they released albums with ever-diminishing returns.
From their self-titled album through Cowboy to the execrable Loveboat, the synth duo veered further from commercial kudos without the commensurate critical plaudits.
Clawing their way back has not been an easy process. A covers album, Other People's Songs, barely scraped an adequate response from most; a reformatted greatest hits album was released without noticeable impact; then their comeback album, the exquisite Nightbird, showed a convincing return to electro-pop genius form.
Instead of capitalising on its triumph with a follow-up along the same lines, vocalist Andy Bell released an agonisingly cringe worthy solo album which sank without trace and stalled the band’s new momentum.
So, it’s a curious time for Erasure to plunder the minor reaches of their back catalogue for their first ‘unplugged’ album, Union Street.
The very notion of Erasure doing an acoustic album seems wilfully perverse. The synth-pop masters without their keyboards and electro-wizardry seems as suited as Laurel without Hardy, as cream without strawberries, as Heat magazine without another pointless Chantelle story. And yet Union Street, named after the New York recording studio, is certainly not without its charms.
There are several beautiful lilting ballads to choose from. ‘Tenderest Moments’ is quite lovely. With Vince on nylon string guitar it is hard to discern the songs electro-roots. Similarly, the album opener ‘Boy’ is gorgeous tale of love and loss with shimmery, glistening production.
Freed from the coldness and precious of synths, much of their material gains new warmth and colour. ‘Stay With Me’ was always one of the best songs from the album Erasure, but here the reworked version uses woodwinds and a vocal chorus to give the track a haunting, almost organic quality.
A top track is ‘Alien’ which uses mandolins and woodwinds as an acoustic simulation of what a busy synth arrangement would have been. These instruments lend an intimacy to the songs, which the electronic settings have always kept in check.
The back to basics approach, stripping away all technical burrs and beeps, reveals a strength in the pair’s songwriting. ‘Spiralling’, the only song from The Circus, becomes very pared down, with only guitar and vocals to carry it. Instead, it becomes a revelation of melodic style and artful song construction, with Andy allowed scope to explore the personal with his warm and soulful approach.
Experimenting with instruments they would never have used before, Erasure dip their toe into rather unlikely musical pools. Using a dobra - the slide guitar closely associated with bluegrass music - tracks like ‘Piano Song’ are slowed down and now pack a plaintive, emotional punch. Who would have thought that Erasure would be tackling the stuff of Tennessee blues!
Without the complexities of electro-arrangements much of the focus of this album falls upon Andy’s vocals, with varying results. ‘How Many Times?’ is pitched uncomfortably below Bell’s vocal range whereas on the epic ‘Rock Me Gently’ he dazzles, building up an impassioned performance.
If there is one failing of Union Street it’s that they don’t dare enough. The choice of ballads and mid-tempo numbers results in a cohesive, but repetitive track listing.
‘Home’ sounds like many of the other songs with few distinguishing features and languishes on the wrong side of bland. It seems a missed opportunity not to have selected some more up tempo numbers or familiar tracks to be radically reworked. In fact, it seems hard to find Vince’s handiwork much in evidence throughout the album.
Union Street is a pleasing addition to Erasure’s canon: it is a must-have for their fans and should be enjoyed by a wider audience.
Erasure are the kings of dramatic flair but Union Street finds them in contemplative mode - perhaps it needs a live performance for it fully to take flight? However, it is a pleasing addition to their canon and is a must-have for fans and should easily be enjoyed by a wider audience.Originally published 10th April 2006
Weirdly, I ended up liking this album more than many self-professed erasure fans...who would have seen that coming?
Japan - review
Looking back to groups from the Eighties can strike differing responses. Bands like Yazoo and Adam and the Ants are fondly remembered. The wilder excesses of Flock of Seagulls or Kajagoogoo will bring a wry, fond smile when recalled. Others such as Talk Talk or Kraftwerk are seen as influential with the benefit of hindsight. Duran Duran and Depeche Mode continue to evolve and make successful music to this day.
However, the release of the greatest hits collection The Very Best of Japan begs the question: where does the band fit into this scheme?
Back in the early eighties, Japan were regarded as being a touch above the usual commercial fare of the New Romantic movement. David Sylvian and Mick Karn’s band were seen as eschewing chart success in favour of experimentation. As a result, they garnered a small core of devoted, art-school types as a following, rather than truly permeating the wider public consciousness.
But time has not reinforced that status and Japan to a large extent have slipped away into apathy and amnesia. Perhaps this Best of’ collection is intended by Virgin to be a timely reminder. Sadly, it is like to have the opposite effect.
The fact that the album is topped and tailed with the same song, ‘Ghosts’ in album and single formats, gives an indication of the paucity of material the compilers had to work with. Although the song has the band’s trademark ambience of unsettling mystery and an oriental disharmony - and was one of their only two songs that broke into the Top Ten - there seems no need to reiterate such similar renditions.
There are essentially three Japans, all of which are represented on this album.
The first is the experimental Japan where the band played about with time signatures, swathed the tracks in unpredictable and unusual percussion sounds and counterpointed any melodies with atonal soundscapes. ‘The Art of Parties’ is a fine example of this mode, pitching itself somewhere between the mania of Thomas Dolby and the nightmarish surrealism of Talking Heads. Commercially bombing at the time, the material sounds dated and pointless in 2006.
A five-and-half-minute instrumental live track, ‘Methods of Dance (Live)’, stretches both the running time and your patience.
The second brand was the commercial Japan, which had more of an eye on the music market and delivered a more comfortable, classifiable product. The opening of ‘Quiet Life’ could easily be mistaken for early Duran Duran, as does ‘Life in Tokyo’. The synthesiser sequences differ little from track to track with ‘European Son’ ranking as particularly derivative and aimless.
The final subgroup finds Japan in smooth, bland mode. Whilst not a ballad, ‘All Tomorrow’s Parties’ has a conventional verse structure and relies more on David Sylvian’s vocals to carry the track. There is a pleasant, if undemanding melody but your reaction to the track will be tempered by how you view Sylvian as a singer.
He was revered as vocal stylist at the time, but looking back it is hard to see what the fuss was all about. He marries the affected loucheness of Bryan Ferry with the nasal whine of a Simon Le Bon. As a result, most Japan tracks are delivered by the vocal equivalent of sink unblocking cream. There’s no denying the smoothness, but there’s often an inexplicable gurgling noise - that you can’t make head nor tail of - disappearing down the drain.
The two most outstanding tracks are the ones that abandon the ‘Japan sound’. Although not a patch on the Smoky Robinson’s Motown original, ‘I Second That Emotion’ is a highly listenable slice of MOR that’ll have you singing along. It has a lightness that relieves the esoteric posturings that leaden the general proceedings.
‘Nightporter’ is a terrific acoustic ballad played mainly on piano with minimal string accompaniment. It has that haunting, hypnotic quality of much of Kate Bush’s earlier material.
This album’s claim to be “The Very Best of Japan” does no favours to the band’s reputation. It would have been kinder to let the collective memory of Japan fade and for us to admire Sylvian and Karn’s solo work afterwards.
As it is, all but the most avid, completist fans will be wishing Sayonara to Japan before the album finishes.
Originally published 28th March 2006
Sparks - review
Innovative. Inspirational. Unique. Seminal. Oddball. These are all words which have been used to describe US band Sparks. It has been 32 years since they hit the charts with their now-classic single ‘This Town Ain’t Big Enough For The Both of Us’, which introduced their unconventional and inventive musical (and visual) style. With the release of Hello Young Lovers, their twentieth album, this is still very much in evidence - as indeed is Ron’s Hitleresque moustache!
Brothers Ron and Russell Mael, as writers, arrangers and producers of this album, have remained the creative dynamic of the band throughout an ever changing line-up. They have conjured a musical pic ‘n’ mix that fuses the style and scale of a rock opera to the vibrancy of live performance.
The sheer verbal density and grandiose structure of the opening and closing tracks - ‘Dick Around’ and ‘As I Sit To Play The Organ At The Notre Dame Cathedral’ - take the scale of Queen’s ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ but flavour them with the neuroticism of a Brian de Palma thriller soundtrack.
If we wanted pop opera this frenetic, we would put G4 on crack. There is an innate and unrelenting theatricality in the work of Sparks which makes this not always the easiest album to sit down and enjoy.
The future single ‘Perfume’ (released 13 February) is more modernistic in feel. A piano loop over a synthy baseline as Russell lists a long succession of girl’s names and the perfume they wear. It is the kind of obsessive repetition that can work its way quickly into your own mental iPod, but could just as easily come to represent a dripping tap in the middle of a sleepless night.
There is no doubting their drive to innovate and mix diverse musical swatches. ‘(Baby Baby) Can I Invade Your Country’ clashes a disco harpsichord with a synth-brass section and an almost African rhythmic vocal chorus. Its Malcolm McLaren meets Paul Simon, and that’s before we reach the Hair ‘Age of Aquarius’ diversion.
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Ultimately, what are you to make of it all? It’s baffling for baffling sake. Even the promised humour of that track’s title is dissipated by the lack of musical focus.
On a number such as ‘There’s No Such Thing As Aliens’, there is much declamatory vocals in a mock-opera style. Whereas a more commercially-orientated producer such as Jim Steinman would take this kind of material and build a developing song structure for the likes of Meatloaf or Bonnie Tyler, Sparks lose us in a repetitive loop.
The talk-singing robs the songs of natural warmth that a singer would usually provide; the lack of climax or resolution in the songs for the listener lends only distance from the material. This is a very esoteric experience.
There is one track that stands out as an unalloyed joy: ‘Here Kitty’. From the comedy ‘Meowing’, to the winsome beckoning a tiger down from a high wire with the words ‘Here Kitty’, Sparks deliver a kitchtastic winner. It is the song you will put on repeat; unlike the rest of the album that you will feel has been on repeat before you hear to the end of the track.
Overall, Sparks have put together an album which has moments of panache that The Darkness could only dream of. After the previous nineteen albums, they still are vigorously ploughing their own experimental furrow. However, for the uninitiated there is little to cling onto and Hello Young Lovers will yield them few new fans. Only as the new soundtrack to their live performance is where this work will spark to life.
Originally published on 7th February 2006
a-Ha - review
First came the mighty Take That (well, four of them); next we have rumours of the Spice Girls - the comeback trail is looking mighty busy these days so it’s not that surprising to discover that Norway’s finest and most gorgeous, a-ha, are back.
After a three and half year break since their last studio album, Lifelines, they return with an album which will banish any pre-conceived ideas that Morten, Magne and Paul might solely be trading of old glories.
Analogue is very much a modern pop album with epic intentions, which draws on their past work but imaginatively breaks new ground.
The album gets off to a roaring start with future single ‘Celice’, which is taken from the soundtrack for the eagerly awaited movie version of bestseller, The Da Vinci Code. This song sets the pace and style for the album, bursting with a well-crafted pop sensibility, yet suggesting darker undertones. Leagues ahead of their most famous film soundtrack contribution, the limp theme to the Bond flick The Living Daylights, ‘Celice’ has an elegant froideur that raises the band well above their bubblegum roots.
It’s interesting to think that a-ha have been quoted as being a major influence to some of today’s top selling pop artists, such as Coldplay and Keane. In Analogue, a-ha have created an album in which they return the favour by drawing on influences from these very bands.
Piano ballads, such the epic ‘Birthright’, the melancholic ‘The Summers of Our Youth’ and the band’s own favourite ‘Cosy Prison’, can easily be imagined sung with the same passion and high vocal range by Chris Martin as Morten’s familiar chorister’s falsetto.
The autobiographical and ambitious ‘Halfway Through The Tour’ is reminiscent of an energetic Keane song with a breathless Honky Tonk piano creating the percussive drive to the track; however it ends contrastingly with a surprise coda, which could be taken directly from the murky, disconcerting milieu of an Angelo Badalamenti soundtrack.
The sheer range of influences behind this album proves that Analogue is no one trick pony. ‘Over the Treetops’ is a retro hippy trip with nature-inspired lyrics, acoustic guitars, strings and the all-important tambourine – it’s a flower power anthem for those too young to know Scott McKenzie’s ‘San Francisco (Be Sure To Wear Flowers in Your Hair)’!
The 60’s vibe resonates in ‘Keeper of The Flame’ not least through the McCartney-style vocalisations and continues in the opening of the laid-back ‘White Dwarf’, which boasts a guitar riff that would do Hank Marvin proud.
However, instead of creating a potentially distracting album of extreme contrasts, the end result is a mature, musically confident diverse work whilst still being a recognisable a-ha album.
‘Holy Ground’ appears as a pared back, understated take on their 1988 smash, ‘Stay on These Roads’ and whilst nothing has the immediacy of a ‘Take On Me’, similarly nothing is as disposable as their early hits.
Far from aping the sound of other contemporary artists in order to create a relevant contemporary piece, maybe it’s a-ha’s ability to evolve and experiment that makes Analogue such a modern success. This would also explain why a-ha are still going strong a staggering 25 years after their animated counterparts jumped out of the mirror in that landmark video.
Morten and the boys can still cause hearts to throb, but this time around they’ll be seducing your ears too.
Originally published 26 January 2006
This one still gets regular plays from me...if anything I think my review underestimated how good the album is
Savage Garden - review
Picture the scene: you’re having a quiet drink when you look across the bar and spot an ex of yours from way back when. You haven’t thought of them in ages. You look again and they look good. Better than good - they look hot! You begin to wonder why it ended with them in the first place.
You go over to them and reacquaint yourself. Initial impressions are good, so you take them home - then it all comes flooding back: you remember the horror! The whininess, the emotional gushiness, and the sappiness so inoffensive that it drives you out of your head. Is it too late to give them their bus fare home?
Well, the band Savage Garden is the musical equivalent of that ex. Before the release of this greatest hits collection, it is unlikely you’ve given them much thought in quite some time. You may have fond thoughts of classic tracks like ‘Truly Madly Deeply’ seducing you, but be warned this album is so relentlessly wet, it should come with a free towel.
Daniel Jones and Darren Hayes first joined forces in Brisbane, Australia in 1993 but only managed two albums before splitting in 2001. As a result, it’s hard to select material for a ‘Best Of’ album. The resulting choice is not much different from what a ‘Worst Of Savage Garden’ would be.
They can certainly write a gentle, melodic ballad with the kind of simplicity that buskers everywhere will be grateful for – for example ‘Hold Me’ and ‘Santa Monica’ conform to the bland acoustic blueprint.
The best of the songs, ‘Truly Madly Deeply’, ‘Affirmation’ and ‘I Knew I Loved You’, are the kind of songs that are wheeled out these days by X-Factor wannabes in order to show their softer side. In fact these songs are so fluffy, a shot of Viagra still would not produce any hardness.
In the last of these three songs, Darren simpers like a Forever Friends Valentine card: “I knew I loved you before I met you / I think I dreamed you into life”
Those of a nervous disposition (or musical sophistication) should avoid at all costs the tracks where they try and up the tempo: ‘I Want You’ is a woeful 80s-style Macarena whereas ‘Break Me Shake Me’s’ attempt to kick some ass is to muscular rock what Natasha Kaplinski is to warm sincerity. It is as surreal as those episodes of Terry and June where they’d dress up as punks: you just sit there, baffled, thinking, ‘What possessed them?’
The greatest asset that Savage Garden had was Darren Hayes and his unique voice. Whilst not a conventionally great singer, he possesses a rare, unusual, unpredictable vocal tone. His sound contains odd little fillips and caverns. It intrigues and beguiles the listener. He can, and does, imbue the lamest, most predictable songs with an energy and an off-kilter slant.The best was yet to come when Savage Garden ended and Darren moved to edgier, rawer material as a solo star. Go and buy his last solo album The Tension and The Spark and leave behind all that was truly, madly, drippy.
Originally published 28 November 2005
Eurythmics - review
How frustrating must it be for the Eurythmics; a comeback single, a greatest hits compilation, an 8-album reissue with sparkling digital remastering and a career-tracing box set are all imminent when out pops Kate Bush, ending her 12-year hiatus and steals all your thunder with her album, Aerial.
And it would be a real shame if due respect were not paid to the canon of synth duo, Annie Lennox and Dave Stewart, the Eurythmics.
Boxed is an amazing collectors’ piece containing eight of their studio albums, from 1981 to the present – though, interestingly, the soundtrack album to the film 1984 is noticeable by its absence. Each album has been digitally remastered, bonus tracks have been gleaned from 12” singles or live performances, and some unusual, unreleased cover songs are thrown in to make these ‘must-have’ releases.
In chronological order, these albums are an impressive legacy of the Eurythmics’ achievements. But do these eight albums stand the test of time?Album: In The Garden
Year of Release: 1981
Description: Although Dave and Annie managed to extricate themselves
from their former record label, Logo, to make this album, they carried with them the sound that was very much closer to their previous band, The Tourists, rather than what was to become their instantly recognisable Eurythmics sound. Best Track: ‘Belinda’ – This track may begin sounding like The Tourists having a stab at Laura Brannigan’s ‘Gloria’, but the heavy-layered yet dispassionate vocal harmonies are a taste of what was to come.
Worst Track: ‘Sing Sing’ – If God had intended ‘Cars’ to be played on a tinkly-bomp synthesiser, he would have given Gary Numan a Casio keyboard. The fact that the song is sung in French and features a cat being spayed in the instrumental break must mean this song is either a work of genius or deeply lacking. The smart betting is on the latter.
Extras: A collection of B-sides from the period with the dark, nightmarish ‘Le Sinistre’ faring best.
Album: Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)
Year of Release: 1983 
Best Track: ‘Sweet Dreams’ and ‘Love Is A Stranger’ are timeless electro-classics that inspired generations to the dancefloor, but a personal favourite is the haunting ‘Jennifer’. Tidal waves wash over sinister synths as Annie laments the missing heroine who it transpires has met an aquatic end “underneath the water”. A terrifying gothic masterpiece of a song to rival Daphne Du Maurier’s Rebecca.
Worst Track: There are no bad tracks!
Extras: Some more experimental or instrumental tracks taken from B-sides fail to impress – but a superb deluxe remix of ‘Sweet Dreams’ and a busy reworking of ‘Love Is A Stranger’ hit the mark. A cover of Lou Reed’s ‘Satellite of Love’ fits the tone of the album perfectly.
Album: Touch
Year of Release: 1983
Best Track: The sweeping ‘Here Comes The Rain Again’ carries a mixture of synth, strings and Annie’s plaintive vocals to make this epic song far more human and vulnerable than we had seen from the pair up to this point.
Worst Track: Not a bad track on the album itself, though the extras contain enough turkey to interest Bernard Matthews.
Extras: 2 Unlistenable B-sides sounding like R2-D2 having a breakdown, an instrumental version and an over-extended long version of two of the album tracks merely take up space before two moving live performances. An intimate acoustic rendition of ‘Who’s That Girl?’ and a stadium-wowing take of ‘Here Comes The Rain Again’ are thrilling. The cover song is David Bowie’s ‘Fame’ but it is a missed opportunity with the track resembling Grace Jones’ ‘Pull Up To The Bumper’ rather than the scorching original from “Young Americans”.
Album: Be Yourself Tonight
Year of Release: 1985 
Future directions are glimpsed: the first shimmering, wistful opening bars of ‘Conditioned Soul’ foreshadows Annie’s future solo material from more than a decade later. There are some gems to be gleaned including a much-overlooked ‘Adrian’, a swoonsome ballad with Elvis Costello on guest vocals.
If this album has a fault, it is that all sense of danger and edge has gone. Be Yourself Tonight treads a fine line between confident, polished mastery and complacent, depersonalised blandness.
Best Track: ‘It’s Alright (Baby’s Coming Back)’ is the epitome of effortless, late night chic.
Worst Track: Let me introduce you to a fine Scottish word: “rammy”. It means an uproar, a free-for-all, a cacophony, an unpleasant din. To truly appreciate the word, have a listen to ‘Here Comes That Sinking Feeling’ – this track perfectly captures the semantics of “rammy”.
Extras: Are a real mixed bag. For example, did you know that Annie worked with Erasure in 1966 as the Luxembourg entry to the Eurovision? Well, ‘Tous Les Garcons et Les Filles’ is here as proof! It is a camp and wonderful oddity. Two cracking 12” versions of ‘Sisters’ and ‘Would I Lie…’ are definite bonuses, however the cover of The Doors’ ‘Hello I Love You’ is lame and soulless fare.
Album: Revenge
Year of Release: 1986
Best Track: ‘The Miracle of Love’ has a tender, simplicity and a huge aching heart that transcends the appalling schlock that is most of “Revenge”. If this doesn’t conjure wintery beauty and tug at your heart, you may be clinically dead.
Worst Track: So many choices! Whenever a British band panders to a (middle) American sensibility, the result is often a frightening embarrassment like this album, packed with stinkers. It’s hard to decide which is worse: the faux jauntiness of ‘Let’s Go!’ (note the derisible use of an exclamation mark trying to instil any excitement), the thudding tunelessness of ‘Take Your Pain Away’ or the twee ready-to-rawk mess of ‘In This Town’. These are all tracks to make this ‘skip’ button indispensable.
Extras: The extended version of ‘When Tomorrow Comes’ is suitably eager and toe tapping, hard to dislike. The longer take on ‘Thorn in my side’, by contrast, is easy to hate. Taking an age to get anywhere, it succeeds in stripping away the big, brassy elements, leaving the frankly dippy lyrics ruthlessly exposed. ‘Revenge 2’ (taken from the film Rooftops) is possibly the pair’s most shameful recording on disc but remains gratefully obscure, hidden as it is in a movie no-one ever has or ever will see. Only those with an ironclad stomach, should sample their cover of ‘My Guy’, a song which has spawned a new genre, “electro-vomit”.
Album: Savage
Year of Release: 1988
The icy chill is back with some of the most psychotic vocals from La Lennox. The brilliant, uncompromising neurotic-drama of ‘I Love To Listen To Beethoven’ is a stunning opener. The ambience of the verses of ‘I’ve Got A Lover (Back in Japan)’ contrast with the rockier choruses and Annie’s dispassionate spoken voiceover. ‘You have placed a chill in my heart’ explicitly underlines the change of direction and the rejection of the mid-Atlantic morass they had got bogged down in.
Best Track: ‘Savage’ – devastating title track in which Annie goes for the marrow in terms of emotional frigidity. Unlovable and yet brave and compelling.
Worst Track: ‘Wide Eyed Girl’ – sounds like Elvis singing the theme from The Bill
Extras: 3 perfunctory 12” versions of the hits set a low standard for the extras on this album. The live version of ‘I Need You’ features the always-a-bad-sign vocals of Dave Stewart. It lowers your expectations but not far enough to cope with the cover of The Beatles’ ‘Come Together’.
Album: We Too Are One
Year of Release: 1989
The rocky ‘We Too Are One’ recalls Be Yourself Tonight's' glory moment; ‘(My My) Baby’s Gonna Cry’ sounds like a Tourists track and the icy cynicism of ‘Don’t Ask Me Why’ retraces the feel of Touch. ‘Sylvia’ is almost a reworking of ‘Jennifer’ from the Sweet Dreams album.
Best Track: Given the spectrum of choice, this is a hard one but the ambiguous finality of ‘When The Day Goes Down’ not only draws if not a full stop, then certainly a semi-colon on the Eurythmics’ astounding canon of work, but also foreshadows Annie’s direction of the sublime Diva album.
Worst Track: ‘Revival’: If ever a song singularly failed to live up to it’s title, the Eurythmics’ ‘Revival’ would give Duran Duran’s ‘Wild Boys’ a run for it’s money.
Extras: The choir version of ‘Angel’ provides a moment of class amidst the forgettable B-sides and the clunky dance remixes. Out of the covers included in Boxed, The Smiths’ ‘Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me’ is one of the few that Annie imprints her stamp with a committed, impassioned performance.
Album: Peace
Year of Release: 1999
On the surface, it may be a deeply cynical and bitter album, but it is actually the most heartfelt and personal album. How touching is it when the final lines of ’17 Again’ reprise the chorus of ‘Sweet dreams’.
What is odd about the digital remastering of this album is that the reworking has gone way beyond merely cleaning it up. Many tracks are re-arranged and have new instrumentation. ‘Beautiful Child’ develops its acoustic qualities and the string sections. ‘I’ve Tried Everything’ has a full backing now where as the original on Peace was very sparse, and reveals itself to be a classic Eurythmics track. Another beautiful song ‘My True Love’ gets the revamping treatment and shines as a sublime, strings-lush ballad of unfulfilled love.
Best Track: ‘Anything But Strong’ is the kind of song which would lend itself to so many styles – surely the definition of a standard.
Worst Track: ‘I Want It All’ – A noisy, punky, tuneless mess that neither fits on this album or if there were any justice on any other album.
Extras: 3 acoustic tracks are marred somewhat by Annie over singing the emotional parts way too emphatically thus sucking the poignancy out of them.
Originally published 15th November 2005
Madonna - review
Madonna has very sticky fingers. This is not to say that Madge is re-releasing her notorious Sex book. No, what is does mean is that her new album, Confessions on a Dance Floor, is an act of larceny on a grand scale. Diverse artists and musicians, both past and present, are audaciously purloined into the service of Mrs Ritchie’s disco opus.
Confessions is an uncompromising pop dance extravaganza. There are no ballads. There are no noticeable ‘messages’ being parlayed here. This is a non-stop, ‘twelve tracks fused into one DJ set’, entertainment-fest. It is solidly aimed not at the heart nor the head, but rather at getting those feet on the dance floor.
Featuring the second ever, official sample from an ABBA record, 'Hung Up' takes the riff from the Swedish hitmeisters ‘Gimme Gimme Gimme’ as the core of Madonna’s most immediate single release since Music in 2000. Hardly surprising then that it shot to Number one in the singles chart. Stuart Price has crafted production on this album that is sparklier than your average glitter ball. Price, under his Jacques Lu Cont alias, produced some of Gwen Stafani’s recent work and ‘Hung Up’ follows the same electro-vibe as ‘What You Waiting For’, right down to the exact same ticking clock!
‘Get Together’ is a softer dance track, very much in the style of her Bedtime Stories album but set to a house beat. “Can we get together / I really, I really wanna be with you” pleas Madge revealing her vulnerable side. Synthy strings sweep us breathlessly into ‘I’m Sorry’, a guaranteed future hit.
Opening the track by saying “sorry” in so many different languages might indicate a penitent Madonna and provide the confessions of the album title; that is until the Pet Shop Boy-style backing vocals undercut the apologies with the repeated riposte, “I’ve heard it all before”. ‘I’m Sorry’ has the melodic simplicity and immediacy of a Stock Aitken and Waterman tune but is swathed in the string-rich arrangement of the 1998 hit ‘Frozen’.
Given that she’s usually so far ahead of the zeitgeist, Madonna albums often take some listening before you get your head round them. Unusually, Confessions is very instant, not least because we know so many of the elements used.
‘Future Lovers’ employs the ubiquitous Giorgio Moroder ‘I Feel Love’ loop and lends the song an immediate familiarity. Using her best ‘My Name is Dita’ voice, we are back in her Erotica territory but with all the sauce on hold.
Harder edged dance comes with ‘I Love New York’, an anthem dedicated to her ‘hometown’ and the breeding ground of her disco roots. Despite some panto-dissing of other urban centres such as Paris, Los Angeles and her adopted home London, she manages to distract from these snubs by some of the clunkiest, most obvious rhyming outside a Paul McCartney song. Whilst “June and spoon” may not feature, Madge rhymes “New York” with “dork”, “mad” with “glad” and “sad” and most tragically of all, “F. off” with “golf” (she even stoops to trying not to pronounce the letter L”).
Despite her vow to keep away from the politics that weighed down her last album, ‘I Love New York’ still manages to squeeze in a tiny swipe at George Bush: don’t panic, if you keep dancing, you’ll hardly notice it.
For a perfectionist like Madonna, it seems surprising that production slickness continues to be undermined by lyrical clumsiness. ‘Let It Will Be’ is riddled with confusing syntax, but that cannot mar a seductive beat, or the compelling ‘Die Another Day’ orchestrations fused with a touch of ‘Candy Perfume Girl’ from her Ray of Light album.
A series of vocoder tweaks on the vocals will not disguise ‘Forbidden Love’ as the album’s weakest track. Despite heavy influences from Daft Punk and producer Price’s own Les Rythmes Digitales, and even some old school smatterings of drum sequence from Human League’s seminal Dare album, the track doesn’t match the pace or intensity of Confessions other tracks.
The breathy talk-singing of ‘Justify My Love’ makes a reappearance on the self-belief hymn ‘Jump’, whereas Stardust’s ‘The Music Sounds Better With You’ is raided for ‘How High’ as Madonna muses on the price of fame. Laughably, there is even a tinge of self-pity as the Material Girl complains, “It’s funny how everybody mentions my name / They’re never very nice.”
Somehow it’s hard to believe that Madonna cries herself to sleep over those nasty critics. She should leave the self-pity to Robbie – he’s far more practiced at it.
On safer ground, Madonna throws a bit of faux-controversy into the mix with ‘Isaac’. Using what they argue is the name of a holy mystic for profit has drawn criticism from some Kabbalist rabbis, but it’s one hell of a good tune. If you’ve ever heard the disco mix bonus tracks on the Yentl album, you’ll have a good idea of this track.
Actually, if you’ve even heard disco-Yentl, you’ll love this one. Beginning with an elderly male voice chanting, ‘Isaac’ builds into a frenzied, percussion-laced, Eastern vibed classic. Distinctive and dramatic (it has not one but two crescendo-riding false ends), it is the standout, memorable track on Confessions.
The repetitive but addictive ‘Push Me’ pays tribute to Mr Madonna, Guy Ritchie, and his inspirational influence on her life. Shame there’s no verse to praise his shirtless appeal!
She saves the biggest and most sincere tribute ‘til last: ‘Like It or Not’ is a wonderfully shameless anthem in praise of herself. “This is who I am / You can like it or not / You can love me or leave me / Cause I’m never gonna stop”. We wouldn’t have it any other way.
In many ways, Confessions on a Dance Floor is Madonna’s omelette album. After making a meal of her last release, the issue-laden American Life, Madge has whipped up a tasty alternative. Taking what’s available from her own musical larder, she has spiced up her own leftovers with some quality ingredients from others for the perfect, light, fluffy, agreeable snack which will instantly gratify those hungry to hit the dance floor.
In a month where the Material Girl’s album release follows hotly on the trail of the Ethereal Girl, Kate Bush's worldly opus, Aerial, let us confess we are grateful that Madonna is not singing about washing machines just yet!Originally published 14 November 2005
Ricky Martin - review
Mention Ricky Martin in a mental association test and the word “cheesy” would have a very a very strong chance of following. For years we’ve been treated to various permutations of Latin-American pop from the swivel-hipped, Latino equivalent of Darius Danesh. Having lived ‘La Vida Loca’, we had reached a point where we no longer cared if Ricky were shaking his bon-bons or not. If you were expecting more of the same from his new album, Life, you’ll be pleasantly surprised as Ricky has delivered arguably the best album of his career. Evolving from his niche, this album flirts with Middle Eastern sounds, hip-hop as well as pure pop. Apparently this type of fusion is common in the music genre the kids are calling ‘reggaeton’, a style of Spanish language dance music emerging from Puerto Rica in the late nineties.
Dramatic synth strings and mysterious percussion sounds create an atmospheric start to the album’s opener, ‘Till I Get To You’. There is a hint of Eastern mysticism provided by instruments such as the sitar and the oud – though given Ricky’s sexy new hard look on the cover, one wonders if he is trying too hard to be a boy in the oud.
In his best Bono voice, he confusingly vows to “swim the mountains” and to “climb the seas” – he’s going to “change in a new direction / Make a move with a new intention”. Bon-bon shaking is off the menu then.
‘I Won’t Desert You’ is a lively piece of funk with Ricky duetting at a mystery lady as the insistent synth backing keeps the whole shebang contemporary.
The single, ‘I Don’t Care’, is a sophisticated dance track that seems to have borrowed major sections from Kylie’s ‘Confide In Me’ without anyone noticing. The super slickness comes from stunning production that would do Pussy Cat Dolls proud. There might be Latin rhythms here but they are deftly merged with an urban dance sensibility.
‘Stop Time Tonight’ calms things down: a soft rock ballad from the Diane Warren school of heartfelt angst song writing that would rival the best of Bon Jovi or Aerosmith in full movie-moment mode. What is good about this track is that it reminds you that Mr Martin can really sing; he has a beautifully warm timbre to his voice.
He’s back to the dancefloor with a hard club-edged dance track called ‘I Am’, the kind of song that Britney Spears would be doing if she were Spanish. Similarly, ‘Drop It On Me’, is percussion-led and pilfers Ricky’s Puerto Rican roots to add flavour to the pop / rap style. Daddy Yankee, another reggaeton rapper, and Black Eyed Peas production credits ensure urban credibility.
‘This Is Good’ is a multi-layered, hands in the air celebration brimming with positivity, set against a salsa rhythm, but with a foot in both the r’n’b and hip hop camps.
Topping off the main section of the album, Ricky delivers a swoonsom ballad, ‘Save The Dance’ which shows Enrique’s worldwide smash ‘Hero’ hasn’t gone unnoticed by the Martin camp. Here is a sophisticated but ultra-smooth song that will fire a shot across the bows of the upstarts who have laid claim to Ricky’s crown.
A couple of bonus tracks, a Spanish-language reworking of ‘I Don’t Care’ and ‘It’s Alright’, top the album off in fine style and prove there is still plenty of life yet for Ricky Martin.Originally published 31st October 2005
The album didn't sell very well so barely two months later, we had the completely unrelated event of Ricky frolicking on the beach with his friend...half-brother...chum....
The album didn't sell very well so barely two months later, we had the completely unrelated event of Ricky frolicking on the beach with his friend...half-brother...chum....
Robbie Williams - review
Is Robbie Williams' new album, his eighth solo effort, entitled Intensive Care because of all the attention that has been lavished on it? Or does it reflect the critical condition of his career? Medical attention is certainly merited as this album is positively schizophrenic.
The first single from the album, the off-centre ‘Tripping’, is a perfect sampler for the album as is it is both experimental and yet predictably familiar Robbie territory. It borrows heavily from more established artists, yet it has several trademark cheeky-chappie Robbie raps; it tries to fuse the eclectic and diverse, yet attempts to reassure you that nothing’s changed. Ultimately, the whole she-bang is rather unconvincing and confusing.
Having worked so successfully with songwriting maestro Guy Chambers for so many years, the pressure is on for his new partnership with Stephen Duffy to come up with the goods.
The album walks a fine line between developing Robbie as an artist, but doesn’t relinquish the elements that made him a success in the first place. The tension between old and new runs through Intensive Care like the writing in a stick of corporate rock.
The opening track, ‘Ghosts’, is a sweeping, elegant ballad brimming with classic Duffy melodic romanticism. The prominence of the swooning string section is indicative of a more mature, less poppy direction as all the gimmicky diversions are gone - there are no ‘Jesus in a Camper Van’s’ here! - and musically speaking it is an impressive beginning to this new era.
Lyrically however we are on very familiar ground. Robbie still focuses on his usual subjects: himself, his superstar status, his ‘problems’, his self-doubt and his insincerity.
Musing on his hedonistic drives in ‘Make Me Pure’, Robbie sings of an evangelic impulse to clean up his act (backed by a gospel choir no less, for full faux-religiosity) before the twist of the get-out clause “…but not yet”.
The narcissistic self-absorption reaches a peak with ‘The Trouble With Me’, which strangely doesn’t touch on his unhealthy naval-gazing.
Whilst ‘Spread Your Wings’ has a winning, memorable chorus, it does have Robbie giving a strange Ray Davies / Lola style talk sing through reminiscences over a teenage sweetheart. There is gentleness in this song that also appears on the later track, ‘Please Don’t Die’. The need for someone “to love me and hold me” challenges Robbie into tender, more fragile vocals. Despite borrowing the baseline from the verses of Abba’s ‘Knowing Me Knowing You’ and the 70s disco strings, neither of these tracks will lend themselves easily to Williams’ bombastic stadium strutting.
Where the Williams / Duffy partnership has tried to cater for the showman side of Robbie’s crowd-pleasing entertainment, it comes across as derivative.
‘A Place To Crash’ is a strutting pub anthem wanting to be Elton’s ‘Saturday Night’s All Right For Fighting’ or a Rolling Stones rocker, whereas ‘Random Acts of Kindness’ merely parodies Williams’ own back catalogue with a dull guitar plodder. For all his swagger and bravado live, Robbie will never make these songs work as well as ‘Let Me Entertain You’ or even ‘Rock DJ’.
The biggest tease of the album is the misleadingly-titled, ‘Your Gay Friend’. Not a coming-out song, but one in which Robbie masquerades as a gay man (can you imagine!) in order to remain safely close to an ex who is now married. It might be faintly offensive if the tune weren’t so lame.
The greatest success is where Robbie’s ability to sell a big ballad is fused with the beauty and sensitivity of Duffy’s songwriting melodies. ‘Advertising Space’ may not be the only Elvis-related song currently on the block, but thanks to a great chorus and well-nuanced singing, this will be a new favourite in the Robbie canon of songs.
‘King of Bloke and Bird’, the album’s final track, may be another confessional song, but the wistful and sorrow filled arrangement and the instrumental outro lasting, over two minutes, takes this into a whole different class.
Intensive Care is a corporate compromise that teams up Robbie with a critically lauded but commercially unsuccessful writing partner. They go in several experimental directions without ever leaving the comfort zone of the past success.
Despite assembling a collection of fine songs, the album struggles between satisfying the stadium audiences and producing an album people might actually want to listen to at home.
It’s a worthy effort, but the patient certainly isn’t out of critical condition yet.
Originally published 24 October 2005
Well, at least I spotted the most commercial song which became the next single - 'Advertising Space' - and also I seemed to have got it right in that the public didn't exactly hug this one to their bosom.
Sunday, 28 October 2007
Gina G - review
Some recording artists occupy a particular moment in time, indelibly fixed in the minds of the public. For Gina G, the summer of 1996 will be forever her moment, when she had a worldwide smash with ‘Ooh Aah…Just A Little Bit’. She had been the first overseas artist to represent the UK in the Eurovision Song contest and, despite coming seventh, the record became an unstoppable party anthem, defining that summer. The platinum-selling monster hit cast a long shadow but, almost ten years on, what can we expect of Gina?
When a new album release is accompanied with a plea to record reviewers to be kind, you wonder what shape the album is going to be in. Fortunately, it turns out there is no such need for concern with Gina G’s new album, Get Up and Dance. It does exactly what it says on the can and possibly (ooh aah) just a little bit more.
We expect a frothy, gay-friendly, upbeat Eurovision-esque, dancefloor-orientated collection and that’s exactly what Gina has put together.
‘Heaven’ is the confident album opener: a masterfully crafted dance anthem mixing some pounding electro beats with an ambient melody. Not unlike Erasure’s Abba covers but with a more industrial feel, this is a little harder edged than we’d expect of Gina.
‘Shock to The System’ is closer to the fluffier pop we know from the Aussie singer, with a Girls Aloud style chorus and a hint of Eastern flourishes here and there.
One criticism of Gina’s records is that previously they have occupied an incredibly narrow genre: disposable, feel good and slightly unsophisticated party fodder. The album Fresh traversed a very small territory of disco, but thankfully this new album has a more eclectic mix of dance genres.
‘Where Would You Be Now’ confounds the limitations of the past as Gina serves up a fine slice of a Latino flavoured r’n’b track that easily could have graced Jennifer Lopez’s Play album.
Bringing the tempo down a little whilst raising the temperature, from the hot and steamy introduction of ‘Tease’, Gina slivers about in a seductive little number that’s bound to inspire an orgy of bump and grind on the dancefloor.
Textbook Ms G is provided with the traditional hi-energy ‘Into The Night’, clearly drawing its lineage from ‘…Just A Bit’ without ever quite matching the infectiousness of the glorious original.
If you imagine Madonna’s old hit “Where’s The Party” and cross it with the sadly-defunct popsters Steps, you’ll get the general vibe of ‘Stuck On You’ – one of the less inspired efforts on the album, feeling contrived and manufactured, rather than naturally effervescent.
‘Walking In The Rain’ is the first of two contrasting ballads. It is effortlessly smooth with a light r’n’b feel not dissimilar to some of the tracks from the Spice Girls’ final album, Forever, but with the unexpected appearance of a short and inconsequential male rapper.
Gina’s personal favourite song is ‘Girl In Trouble’, akin to Britney’s ‘Everytime’, she delivers sweet vocals over a tender backing of piano and acoustic guitar.
Although pleasantly done, having both ballads back-to-back runs the risk of Gina being sued under the trades description act for calling the album Get Up and Dance. Thankfully the beat is rediscovered with the funkfest ‘Little Black Book’. Sounding like a recovered gem from the Five Star back catalogue, Gina gives a respectful nod to Janet Jackson with the backing vocals chanting about who is making “that nasty noise”.
One of the most convincing tracks comes with ‘Kinky’, a breathless tease of a song with a nursery rhyme chant for a chorus. It sounds as if Gina has lifted a leaf out of the La Halliwell school of pop, albeit with a wilder beat than the other Ginger singer goes for.
The fantastic retro, 70s feel wakka-wakka guitars of ‘Get Up’ and the hint of Gina’s Australian accent coming through conjure up reminiscences of Kylie’s great Stock Aitken Waterman moments. This becomes even more pronounced in the final new track ‘Flashback’ which is an affectionate reworking of Minogue’s ‘Step Back In Time’ anthem.
Originally published 10th October 2005
Andy Bell - review
Andy Bell's first solo album is a puzzlement. Any time the singer of a band decides to make a solo album, inevitably questions are raised: ‘Is it a split?’ Often band members will produce solo projects to allow them greater room to express themselves than could be achieved within the group, but Andy’s Electric Blue album is very much in the same territory that erasure occupy.
Weirdly it is also released on Sanctuary records and not Erasure’s home label, Mute – when there was no conflict of interest the boys from Depeche Mode strutted their solo stuff on the same label.
You would think that Andy might take the opportunity to explore beyond the confines of eletropop, but it seems he is content to create his own slightly darker version of his band’s output, complete with the trademark Bell vocal dramatics.
After a misleading atmospheric one-minute introduction, the album establishes itself firmly on the dancefloor. ‘Caught In A Spin’ is a catchy number that will instantly conjure up Donna Summer’s ‘Hot Stuff’. Flamenco-style Spanish guitars, electro beeping and a thudding beat give the album a busy, full-on start.
The first single, ‘Crazy’, only scraped the lower regions of the charts despite an infectious dance chorus. Part of the problem is the tempo of many of the tracks: neither fast enough to induce breathless dance energy nor slow enough to allow more sensitive ballading; the mid tempo pacing lends a downbeat feel to much of the programming. What should sizzle often plods.
One of the better tracks teams Andy up with former-Propaganda mainstay Claudia Brucken. Echoing the Pet Shop Boys'‘Love Comes Quickly’ in its opening bars, ‘Love Oneself’ is a mid-tempo hi-energy winner, which sprinkles the gentleness of Andy and Claudia’s vocals over a relentless Giorgio Moroder-style synth bass line. The combination works well and is easily the album’s most promising commercial track.
The other duet, on paper, is a much higher profile event pairing camp singer Andy Bell with the fagtastic Jakes Shears of the Scissor Sisters. The resulting track, ‘I Thought It Was You’, is a bit of a let down. It has a cruisy club sound, but the repetition and lack of direction leave it feeling inconsequential – it is little more than music to grope to.
Industrial, dirty synths continue the sleazy vibe in the title track, ‘Electric Blue’, which thankfully does not refer to the soft porn movie series of yesteryear! The aim is for a dark, claustrophobic, electro feel, with heavy mentions of “dominatrix baby” and “rubber tubes”. Where Soft Cell were the unrivalled practitioners of dance music with its cock hanging out, Andy’s uninspired, empty lyrics leave him looking rather flaccid. “Pain in my heart / Pain in my feet” suggests he’d be better advised having a bit of a sit down.
‘Shaking My Soul’ abandons the darkness of the dancefloor in favour of a soulful stomper. The welcome break from electro to allow a brass section to deliver an upbeat Motown vibe and pump some life into the proceedings, comes not a moment too soon.
That ‘Runaway’ and ‘I’ll Never Fall In Love Again’ both sound like forgotten Erasure album tracks is hardly a surprise: Andy has written this album with Manhattan Clique, the London-based remix outfit who have recently worked with Moby, Goldfrapp and the rather familiar Erasure. Both tracks have that choral ambience that features on so many of Erasure’s winning records, but what’s missing is Vince Clarke’s genius for the most addictive hooklines and beguilingly simple chord progressions.
Whenever Andy Bell is interviewed he seems a lovely, gentle soul which appears at odds with the cold, removed harshness of the persona projected in Electric Blue.
An eleventh-hour ballad, ‘Fantasy’, is far more attuned to the real Mr Bell. A soft and fragile multi-layered love song with an airy, r’n’b-lite feel adds some much needed heart and emotion to his debut solo work. It is a standout track and definitely a direction Andy should pursue. Similarly the final track, ‘The Rest of Our Lives’ has an endearing emotional vulnerability and a beautifully-tempered vocal performance.
There is one lyric in Electric Blue which stands out in the memory: “We only have one life / This is not a rehearsal”. Mr Bell should take heed: get off the dancefloor while you can and start singing from your blue heart.Originally published 3 October 2005
Never really played this one again after reviewing it...
Never really played this one again after reviewing it...
Rowetta - review
It cannot have been an accident that Rowetta has kept a low profile since losing the X-Factor contest to the strangely unlikeable Steve Brookstein. Rather wisely she has kept her powder dry for a year and has timed her re-emergence to coincide with this year’s contest, by which time Brookstein has been, flopped, gone and been dropped by his record company. Rowetta is probably best remembered as the woman with the huge personality and even bigger voice. If you were expecting an album of big, belting ballads then you won’t be disappointed. The former Happy Monday's backing singer unquestionably has a big, powerful, soulful voice and producer Ian Levine has built this album around her vocal performance.
Pitching herself somewhere between the throatiness of Cher and the sheer volume of Patti Labelle, Rowetta belts her way through thirteen cover songs and three original tracks. The track listing is redolent of the weekly song selection of the talent show that brought her here: a bit of this, a bit of that, never straying too far from the diva / belter box. This album could not be more middle-of-the-road if it had white lines painted on it.
The album begins worryingly with the cheesiest Sammy Davis Jr. number, ‘Hello Detroit’, its big band setting suggesting dreams of headlining the Sands in Las Vegas. There is a pull of bygone eras that runs through this debut album: from the Motown choruses of ‘Thunder and Lightning’ to the ultra lounge showboating of Etta James’ ‘Just A Little Bit’ (which Rowetta interprets almost as a female Tom Jones), there is a feeling that if only Rowetta had been born earlier, her career choices would have been more obvious.
At times, the repertoire is far too obvious. ‘The Look of Love’ may be a classic song, but Rowetta’s very standard interpretation takes the album dangerously close to classy karaoke. The sensitivity and yearning of legendary chanteuse Dusty Springfield is painfully absent. Similarly, could there have been a more predictable choice for the big voiced singer than ‘Somewhere’ from West Side Story? All meaning and thought behind the song is sacrificed in favour of sheer volume. The result is horrible to listen to with Rowetta’s voice resembling a freshly sharpened hacksaw. There is a fine and interesting vocal tone in there, but it only shines when she connects to real feeling.
This is not to say that Rowetta has no singing talent. The beautiful ‘It Should Have Been Me’ is soulful, focussed and compact. Just as you cannot drive a car in fifth gear all day, the vocal performance works best when it is nuanced, rather than relentlessly forcing it out.
The right balance of restraint and careful, controlled unleashing of the power is struck in ‘If Ever I would Leave You’ from the musical Camelot. Here her voice soars as perfectly à la Streisand.
Perhaps the standout track of the album comes from a rather surprising source. ‘Stop Crying Your Heart Out’, by Oasis, is delivered effortlessly as a modern classic – it is unexpected and Rowetta redefines the emotion of the song on her own terms. It would make an excellent choice for a single.
Aside from her strong voice, Rowetta’s vivacious, wild and energetic personality fixed the singer in our collective memory. Her producers try to reflect this by harnessing Rowetta to a series of foot-to-the-floor 70s disco numbers. Whilst ‘And I’m Telling You I’m Not Going’ maybe a tad over insistent, ‘The Greatest Performance of My Life’ is disco diva heaven: camp, tasteless, insanely over the top and would give Gloria Gaynor a run for her money.
If there were any doubt at whom Rowetta is aiming this album, she stakes her gay credentials by finishing the album with ‘Over The Rainbow’. It poses the dilemma for Rowetta and her future. She can interpret old, familiar songs well, but by opting for such immortalised standards, she will never make them her own.
The album Rowetta is an acceptable starting point but she needs the courage to make a leap away from her safe X-Factor zone.
Originally published 27th September 2005
Alison Moyet - review
“Singer. Famous in the Eighties. Not been within spitting distance of the singles chart in almost twenty years. Records live performance DVD. Avoids all her hits in the set list.” Does this sound appealing? Before you pass on it, Alison Moyet’s One Blue Voice DVD is an utterly eloquent response to those who think flogging the retro bandwagon and living off past glories is the only way to go.
One Blue Voice is a studio recording of the highlights of Moyet’s recent sell-out UK tour. Drawing mainly upon her last two albums, the critically-acclaimed Hometime and her elegant standards album Voice, Moyet presents an astonishing and passionate collection of romantic and dramatic material.
Performed in front of an enthusiastic audience, One Blue Voice resembles an extended Later With Jools Holland special. Dressed in her trademark black, with her hair gently tousled, Alison looks fantastic and certainly more comfortable in her own skin than her 80s reincarnation we remember.
From the stately opening song ‘Satellite’, her voice is rich, expressive and enticing. Backed by an attractive string quartet, two guitarists, piano and percussion, there is an immediate intimacy that draws you into Moyet’s dark milieu of destructive love, frustrated desires and impassioned longings.
Taking standards such as ‘Windmills of Your Mind’ could be seen as the easy option for less self-challenging artists – but there is nothing safe about Moyet. She imbues the interpretation with her own icy intensity. Often acclaimed for her ability to belt out big ballads, Alison is mightily impressive by the poignancy she gleans by the restraint in her version of the potentially-slushy ‘What Are You Doing The Rest Of Your Life?’
This breathtaking ability to interpret and communicate other writers’ work is convincing asserted with Brel’s ‘La Chanson des Vieux Amants’: despite singing in French, we live every Gallic sigh and feel the Autumnal sadness of the singer.
This is not a live show full of glitzy costume changes, showbiz patter or naff choreography – it is a charged recital from a singer on the top of her game performing a serious collection of classic songs in a seriously affecting way. If Alison’s heartfelt delivery of her self-penned ‘If You Don’t Come Back To Me’ does not suggest she is the finest singer of her generation, then her wistful, jazzy take on ‘Cry Me A River’ will.
Indulging her penchant for Elvis Costello as a writer of modern classics twice, it is the second of his songs featured here, ‘God Give Me Strength’, that demonstrates everything that Moyet is about: she appropriates the song as if it were specially written for her, occupying the emotions of the song so fully, a tear will be wiped away from many a viewer’s eye. It is a jaw dropping “That is what singing is about” moment.
A powerful, soulful cover of Melanie’s’ Momma Momma’, a funked-up ‘Ski’ from her Hometime album and the incandescent drama of the torch song ‘This House’ all continue the vivid, emotional richness of One Blue Voice. Anyone watching Alison’s live performance here, the arena where she belongs, will agree with the sentiments of the final song: ‘You Don’t Have To Go’.
Alison Moyet came to the public’s attention in the early eighties and is still here. Of the contemporaries who have stayed the course, Alison relied on the beauty of her one blue voice while Annie Lennox had the ambiguity of image to sustain her and Kate Bush cornered the ethereal end of the market.
There is no other voice like it and her One Blue Voice DVD is the perfect showcase for an astonishing talent.
Originally published 26th September 2005
No bias then...it is a fantastic showcase to that voice. Highly recommended (obviously)
Melanie Brown - review
As if she hadn’t given us reason enough to dislike her by scuppering the campfest that would have been the Spice Girls reunion at Live 8, now Melanie Brown foists her second (and surely final) solo album on us. Make no mistake; if LA State of Mind had been recorded by a new artist, and not by a former Spice Girl, it would never have seen the light of day.
The impetus behind this record seems to be Mel’s desire to convince us how happy she is in her transatlantic home - which I’m sure no one would begrudge her - but she could have just sent a postcard.
‘Today’, the indifferently-received single, opens the album in a somewhat old-fashioned manner. Mel aims to sound upbeat and optimistic but the results are as convincingly jolly as the weathergirl on GMTV. She bandies about words like “wonderful”, “great” and “beautiful” but none of it transfers to the listener. We don’t feel this “feeling I’m feeling”.
The country twang at the start of ‘Stay In Bed Days’ suggests a different tact, but the faux-excited “whoop” that shortly follows cuts that dead. Pitching itself somewhere between a Nashville version of The Gogos and Wilson Phillips, this is the sort of song that should only to be played in a car on a sunny day during a long drive. The fact that Mel repeats the phrase “Stay In Bed” an impressive forty-five times gives a strong indication that the number doesn’t exactly develop. When she includes some tuneless kiddies shouting various “yes” and “no” responses towards the end of the track, you wonder if she’s consciously trying to irritate.
‘Beautiful Girl’ might sound like Wings’ rendition of the Crossroads theme but works as a pleasing, sentimental tribute to her daughter. For this song really to impact, you need a stunning performance but Mel’s vocals are anonymously competent.
There should be a law against Brits attempting Salsa tracks. The infectious party rhythms inevitably end flatfooted when tried by those hailing from these parts – Kirsty MacColl was one of the few who could carry it off as she loved and surrounded herself in South American music. The clumsy production of ‘Music of the Night’ sounds less like Bebel Gilberto or Gloria Estefan, but more like a low-budget version of Geri’s ‘Mi Chico Latino’ – My Cheapo Latino, as it were.
Whilst the Spice Girls were not exactly renowned for powerhouse vocals, Mel B always gave the impression of being a fairly adept, if unremarkable, singer. So can anyone can explain why her vocals on ‘If I had my life again’ are flatter than Palm Springs? Is there a producer in the house?
Before this is dismissed as a one-off, she makes an equally bad fist of ‘In Too Deep’, the kind of song that pop singers like Natalie Imbruglia would take in their stride.
When things can surely get no worse, Mel bungee-jumps her way down to ‘Sweet Pleasure’, not only the worst song on the album, but the worst song this year.
To a plodding, Nineties synthfunk backing, Mel talk-sings her way through her own equivalent of ‘Justify My Love’. Sadly her broad Yorkshire accent arouses nothing but derision and conveys all the sexual allure of Ann Widdecombe in a bikini writhing in mince. Not even fresh mince. “I’m captured by you whisper / into a minefield of love” she declares bafflingly.
If Madonna couldn’t quite pull off ‘Erotica’, what possessed Ms Brown to revisit this territory. Possibly the same reason she “borrows” so heavily from Sheryl Crow’s ‘All I Want To Do’ on the title track - because Melanie has no musical identity of her own.
That she has any career left in the music industry rests entirely on trading on past glories. ‘Say Say Say’, though centred around an acoustic guitar accompaniment, is essentially a disguised Spice ballad. When she tries something different, like the eighties’ electro funk of ‘Bad Bad Girl’, the results are unlistenable.
The leaden weight of the saccharine final track, ‘Hold On’, guarantees this dud will sink without trace. Accompanied only by piano, this could be Melanie auditioning for a Broadway musical. Shame that they didn’t have someone shout “Next!” at the end of the track to finish the whole unconvincing affair on a note of honesty.
Originally published 4 July 2005
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