LEWIS TAYLOR Going back to Sinatra's Where Are You? for a second: the centerpiece of that troubled record was his (partly self-written) knife-edge interpretation of "I'm A Fool To Want You" addressed very clearly to Ava Gardner. The reason? It is a relationship that will be troubled forever; he will always be one point of a triangle, or even one-twelfth of a dodecahedron; but he cannot give up the drug; the excitement, the LOVE is immovable. Only in the final verse, with Gordon Jenkins' orchestra completely silent and the studio echo turned off - with his voice alone - do we hear of love on this record. "Take me back..." he has to wrestle it out of his soul..."...I love you." He sings the word "love" as though he is piercing his own throat with a sliver of the splintered mirror glass into which he has just been staring. And if Lewis Taylor's eponymously-titled debut album of 1996 (another good record from 1996! Whatever was I thinking of?) is about anything, it's about that kind of relationship contained within, or overpowering, one's life. Throughout the record he loves and worships the Other, knows that he is doomed by doing so and yet wants it more than anything. The Stranger he is trying to repel is in fact the interior of the maternal cord which he cannot let go. The ghost of Marvin Gaye is prevalent throughout the whole album - but it's a magnification of the dejected Marvin Gaye, wandering the seafront at Ostend, trying to remember his own purpose while remembering not to run back to it (when he eventually did, it of course killed him). Like Earthling, about whom I talked not long ago, this record is an indicator of the road some of us would have liked "Britpop" to travel down, or at least help to open up the customs gates. Appropriate that track one, the single "Lucky," should begin with a familiar static sample - the intro to "Magnetic Field" from Joe Meek's I Hear A New World (as with Monk in jazz, the colossal influence of Meek on subsequent pop is even today only slowly being realised). The song is a triptych of unresolved feelings, beginning with an undulating guitar/bass line and a chord sequence almost sore in its poignancy, and then Taylor's vocal; demonstrably never as free as Gaye's, but superb within its own limits. It rises to a mid-song crescendo (throughout the record, Taylor understands the architecture and cumulative impact of multi-vocal tracking much better than the Ashcrofts of this world) and then a major key emerges like a bleak sun rising over Ms Dynamite's unfinished Docklands. He celebrates his lamenting with his determinedly rock guitar (Taylor pretty well sang and played everything on this record himself). The mood continues in the next song, "Bittersweet," where an unsettling melodic motif is set against a fuzzed bass and a pointillistic rhythm which foreshadows Dif Jux. He is with the Other but unsure about how he feels about how she REALLY feels ("You laugh at me after we make love!"). But again the darkness breaks, and the whole performance rises to a blissful mid-section of realisation, with multiple voices exploding like blossoming geraniums over "Great Gates of Kiev" organ; Earth Wind & Fire's "Fantasy" becoming a reality. And once he has overcome this barrier, it is easy for Taylor to ascend that one simple step higher into a rejoicing, exclamatory hymn of unconditional love - "you're so salty!" The next song "Whoever" is musically fairly straightforward - but note the little punctUMations which demarcate it with their doubts; the solitary dying guitar echo, the sudden epileptic dubbing of a bass note, the backwards chorus sounding as though he's drawing back his own breath, the Fairlight vox-sample descent towards the end. In this song he is aware that the Other has many of her own Others, but knows that she loves none of them, possibly including himself ("Whoever you're in love with..."). Again this does not persuade him to abandon her. The next track, called, with Scott Walkeresque minimalism, "Track," starts off with Taylor's voices drowning in its own whirlpool of uncertainty over a guitar chorale which could easily be Mike Oldfield. The song then cuts back to a slow soul procedural which eventually rises to a "Kashmir"-type climax and then recedes. The next song, called, with Paul Morleyeque pointedness, "Song," has him close to the mike, but his doubt is eventually swept away by gorgeous '80s synthesisers. Or is it? Side two is largely a steadier, more closely inspected, kind of soul searching. Whereas Taylor elsewhere maximises his resources, his feelings, for the first few tracks on side two he becomes more interested in the microtones of rhythm, of vocal yelps, much in the same way as D'Angelo does on his forensic dissemination of a second album, Voodoo. And Taylor does it very well. On "Betterlove" which is heralded by an autumnal Sing Something Simple chorale quickly superseded by more eddying guitars, Taylor wins over the Other (or thinks that he does) with relish and real eagerness, but never overplaying his hand. Both this and the next track "How" stimulate like Prince used to be able to do (e.g. "Adore"). In the track "Right," which starts with some Aphex Twin bleeps and distant guitar foghorns, but quickly moves back into the eye of his unquiet storm, Taylor utilises the traditional "since the Garden of Eden, man and a woman, make sure she knows you love her" theme. Punctum is provided by his final paraphrasing of Tony Etoria's '77 Brit soul paradigm "I Can Prove It" which results in the admonition "are you good enough to go waltzing into her life"? Doubt is defeated in the astonishing ninth track on this album "Damn" (as in "damn I love you/I never really wanted to"). Supported by some sublime Philly harmonies (listen to the unabashed chordal poignancy when the backing singers reach the word "down") Taylor confesses that it is pointless for him to doubt when love is present. He HAS to surrender to the Other, no matter what it costs him, even if it's his mind ("I don't know right from wrong/I don't know where my mind has gone"). And the motif is repeated over and over while organ and guitar gradually boil to a climax behind the voices, finally explodinig in a miraculous freeform storm, with Cecil Taylor piano clusters, backward tapes, guitar feedback, Sun Ra organ all symbolising the atoms of Taylor's mind derailing, splitting and reassembling in a far more beautiful shape, the chorus continuing all the while. "I Am The Walrus" redirected by Willem de Kooning. Before it all is about to boil over it cuts off you don't need to know the rest but a Ligeti/Berio semi-atonal choir comes in for the epilogue "Spirit" in which Taylor outlines his reasons for surrendering to the Other...because, ultimately, he needs someone to take him under her care, needs to know that someone is there, needs to know if her God is really real. "Help me" he asks the listener politely at the end. Forget the Verve; these were our real urban hymns. posted by Marcello Carlin Permalink . . .
SUGABABES – DON’T LET ALBUM TITLES GET YOU! It’s an unpromising title for the second Sugababes album, Angels with Dirty Faces. The same title, coincidentally, which was used by Tricky for his underperforming third album from 1998. The labyrinth forms when you consider that the first Sugababes album was largely overseen by Cameron McVey, husband of Neneh Cherry, all of whom have at some stage been associated with Massive Attack. No sign of the Booga Bear on AWDF, and only one brief glimpse of one Massive Attack associate. And when you further ponder that Tricky’s AWDF was a rather brave yet unheralded attempt to form a new music – using his paranoia to try to fuse post-Cypress Hill hip hop noir with the rhythmic dualities of Ornette Coleman’s Prime Time – you would realise not to let cliched album titles defer you from attending to them. And, out of a seeming career ruination – dropped by their previous label, one member going AWOL to be replaced by an AWOL ex-member of Atomic Kitten – the Sugababes have by some miracle pulled off the second great British girl-pop album of 2002 (the first being Mis-Teeq’s Lickin’ On Both Sides – specifically the “Special Edition” with the 2-step single remixes). And, as with all of the extraordinary post-hip hop/swingbeat pop music of the last decade, it manages to be simultaneously avant garde (sonically) and still manage to be danced to and sung with on buses and in shops all over South London (or wherever). There are no theorems in this music; any innovation happens naturally, without having to be signposted, implanted or fought over, because it has evolved naturally from the pop which preceded it. Certainly this album will be a sober reminder to Andy McCluskey just how Atomic Kitten could have turned out, had he had just that tiny little bit more nerve. The first four tracks on AWDF are as strong an opening to a pop album as I can recall since The Lexicon Of Love 20 years ago (the last time pop in general was this good). It of course begins with “Freak Like Me,” the album mix of which sounds slightly tougher than the single. I must rescind previous comments made elsewhere regarding this track’s perceived inferiority to the Girls On Top bootleg "original.” The dynamics demanded of mainstream entryism are different from those of informal bootleg clubs, and here producer Richard X meets them fully. Utilising and subtly resculpting Numan’s original backing track, this record could not have happened in 1979 – and yet Joe Meek would have felt entirely at home with the aesthetics of desire and the electronic whizzbangs; this is the sort of thing he would have ended up producing had he lived. The static which threatens to overwhelm the singers and the song at the fadeout is really of the same kin as that which gloriously drowns Cabaret Voltaire’s “Nag Nag Nag.” Whereas Destiny’s Child seem to be about girl(s) wanting to impose themselves (herself) on the world, the Sugababes are lyrically more concerned about just getting on in the world – so there is a lifeline there with which listeners can identify, as opposed to idolising a cold monolith (although pop music would be unworkable without enough examples of the latter). So where DC are determinedly unlovable, the Sugababes really do want to be loved – albeit on their own terms; the uselessness and general scrubness of the male is ceaselessly returned to on this record, though balanced by simple expressions of love and companionship, or the desire for them. The second track “Blue” definitely falls into the former category; attacking a male ambulance chaser, the refrain very negatively goes “The colour that suits you is blue” (of course there might be a hidden political subtext here – cf. Fine Young Cannibals’ song “Blue,” though interestingly Siobhan, the Sugababe who jumped ship, was a Tory supporter). Musically it demonstrates that Timbaland’s lessons continue to be learned. The co-producer here is Howard Jones – surely not THE Howard Jones? If so, it’s the best thing he’s been involved with since the title track of Human’s Lib. Hear how the clenched beats suddenly break into a cantering acoustic guitar riff in the chorus which is strangely close to Electronic’s “Tighten Up” – an exhilarating adrenal rush. Overall, though, the track echoes, both musically and lyrically, Neneh Cherry’s “Buddy X” from a decade ago (and thanks to the Belgian lass for reminding me of how good an album Homebrew was!), though with two crucial differences – the vocal vulnerability of the Sugababes is the exact reverse of the nice-but-don’t-fuck-with-me utter assurance of Neneh; and, conversely, the bitterness in the lyric goes further (“don’t fuck with me! – you’re lame, you’re broke!!”), its spleen fully directed at the freeloading man, though one suspects that the singer’s hatred and fear will eventually turn towards herself. “Round Round,” their deserved second number one, with a rhythm/string sample angular intro which again calls Cabaret Voltaire to mind, before going straight into what they used to call a classic pop hook, superficially lively yet sung very solemnly against a nagging compressed grunge guitar line and purposeful percussion (Bananarama meets the Velvets) which becomes sinister by the ease in which “love” is being rejected in this song – “I don’t need no man/Get my kicks for free.” There is no exultation at liberation here; it’s a chant being used as self-defence against inflicted pain. Note how it slows down to the classic 6/8 soul ballad form in the middle eight, as the vocal meaningfully pronounces the question “Does it hurt when you see how I’ve done without you?” There is no smirk in her voice when she sings this, implying that she needs to know herself how she’s done without you. The very title is of course the seed of doubt – “round and round and round and round…” – one routine replaced by another. As with all great pop, this works on innumerable levels. The fourth track is the big ballad “Stronger.” Co-composer is Marius de Vries (the aforementioned Massive Attack associate) and the trademark static but deep string section is very much in evidence, speaking the inarticulable yearning of the song. Right from the musical and lyrical parallel in its first line to the first line of Madonna’s “Like A Virgin,” this song talks about surmounting pain and entering a new phase in one’s life. The lyrics are not very original but the way in which the music expresses them is – the augmented minor-to-major chord change in the chorus underlines that she has not yet made it through the rain, as confirmed by the lines “I’m not the type of girl that will let them see me cry/It’s not my style/I get by/See I’m gonna do this for me.” Again, see how the beats suddenly magnify in the middle eight and start to swirl around the speakers, paralleling the confusion in the singer’s soul. It is not belittling to say that the rest of the album doesn’t quite live up to this stunning opening quartet, as it’s still (mostly) very fine. “Supernatural” is a fantasma of decisive, stern vocals, orgasm-inducing synth bass and subtle “French Kiss”-style rhythm. The title track doesn’t let the record down, either; the “angels with dirty faces” is wisely qualified by “in the morning” and the refrain “you don’t know where we go.” We’d still like to know, though. “Virgin Sexy” moves the record towards more conventional R&B territory, but the semitone descent of the second half of the chorus is thrilling, even if the lyric “’Cos I’m virgin, virgin sexy/If you want me, jus’ text me” isn’t. Even the dreaded Sting-sampling let’s-get-a-hit-in-America appearance of the track “Shape” (i.e. sampling “Shape Of My Heart” fairly heavily, to karaoke level really) works for me. It is the necessary balance to the sampling of “Are “Friends” Electric” in “Freak Like Me,” the contemplation after the thrill. “I live my life in chains…In this man’s land I can understand/Why I’m taking command” nicely subverts Sumner’s insufferable solipsism. The uncertainty is not tempered by arrogance. And I like the tune anyway if not the man har har. Similarly, “Just Don’t Need This” is the ballad which bookends “Stronger.” This is noticeably darker but not, I think, as impressive. Lines in the line of “The way I’m feeling now is mental/The problem first starts in your dental” would frankly shame even Bernard Sumner at his Prozac-less worst! Invoking Bob Marley is usually the signpost for the rest of the album tailing off, and sadly there’s no exception here. “No Man No Cry” is rather pedestrian, depending upon a hoary old reliable R&B melodic/rhythmic line (I can’t place the origin, but J-Lo has also been using it recently – hear it and you’ll see what I mean). “Switch” competently adopts Timbaland’s methods but doesn’t do much else. “More Than A Million Miles” revisits and reverses the career-or-love theme of Luther Vandross’ “Stop To Love” but one has to say NO to the ‘babes’ attempts at rapping. In this sense at least, Mis-Teeq they ain’t. (Speaking of Mis-Teeq, which I shamefully haven’t on CoM very much to date, Alesha Dixon is truly a one-woman punctum – listen to the way she suddenly erupts 2:16 into “B With Me (Bump & Flex Radio Edit)” and fast-thrusts the entire song into another galaxy!) The album gently winds down with an “acoustic jam” version of “Breathe Easy” which in its original (and better) form appears on the “Freak Like Me” single – in which manifestation, with the crowd sounds and crucial rhythm, it’s like Paul Weller doing “Whole Again.” But hell, I could never get through “4 Ever 2 Gether” on Lexicon of Love either. People really oughtn’t to complain. For what Morley called “shiny yellow new pop,” this now has to be the best time since 1982. From LCD Soundsystem to Scooter, from Rob Dougan to Tweet, it’s finally looking as though the options are opening up again. And the Sugababes are up there with the best of them. This record will inspire in you open-mouthed astonishment and real love. You need this record. posted by Marcello Carlin Permalink . . .
