Tagged by most fans as their favorite Gene Loves Jezebel album, with its fabulous sonics, punchy rhythms, soaring guitars, and bright and brash pop melodies, this is also the record responsible for sundering the band. In one fell swoop, producer Peter Walsh turned GLJ from a band whose brilliance lay in their ability to blend rock and goth into something truly unique, into a pop/rock monster. The group itself never sounded better. The rhythm section is exceptionally tight and powers the songs like a metronome. James Stevenson's guitar literally shines, glimmers, glitters, and swoops through the grooves. It's no surprise then that the album contained a slew of songs that quickly became college/dance classics. The infectious "The Motion of Love"; the sweeping lushness of "Gorgeous," guaranteed to hook the listener at first listen; the pulsating, yearning paranoia of "Suspicion"; and the driving "Twenty Killer Hurts," which turned up in a Miami Vice episode, were classic GLJ's songs given an American sheen. What were missing were the gothic shadows, darkwave jangle, and Celtic undertones that once enmeshed the band's sound. The Jezzies themselves hated The House of Dolls, not the songs themselves, but the slick production Walsh covered them in. Co-vocalist Michael Aston hated it most of all, and was frustrated by the group's growing pop affiliation. He quit the band in the middle of recording, and appears on only two tracks, "Message" and "Up There," the album's broodier tracks. Although he later returned, this was to be his last recording with the band. Of course, the album turned out to be GLJ's most successful, abetted by the production, and aided by Stevenson's full-on arena-esque guitar. It's hard to believe this was the same band that gave the world Promise and Immigrant, and in a way it wasn't.
Exceptionally mature for a sophomore effort, The Flat Earth has held up considerably well since its 1984 release. This staying power belongs to a fantastic ensemble of supporting players as much as to Thomas Dolby's songwriting and crisp production. "Dissidents" steps in cautiously and conjures images of blacklisted authors and ugly snow, gray from oppression. Here and elsewhere, Matthew Seligman's bass is a welcome addition -- throughout the album his work is lavish, growling, popping through octaves, funk-a-fied and twinkling with harmonics. The title track, "The Flat Earth," is a wondrous R&B daydream of piano and Motown stabs of rhythm guitar. "Screen Kiss" has a similarly ethereal quality, and the lyrics are lush with imagery, if occasionally cryptic. "White City"'s drug reference and chugging groove are as murky as they are energizing, so new wavers might find themselves frowning a bit on the dancefloor. Then there is "Mulu the Rain Forest," a globally minded curiosity of foreboding and disorienting samples that certainly feels a long way off from The Golden Age of Wireless. Dolby gets points for shrugging off any obligation to formula, but this voodoo spell has an adverse effect on the rest of the album. What follows is certainly a graceful recovery -- his rendition of 1967's "I Scare Myself" is a balmy jazz club cocktail -- faithfully nostalgic, right down to a bittersweet trombone solo from Peter Thomas. "Hyperactive" is, and always was, one part bizarre to two parts infectious. Guest vocalist Adele Bertei fuels the fire of what was already destined to be a memorable diversion, beyond the reach of Top 40. Thomas Dolby's work on The Flat Earth harks back to a time when songs mattered more than videos, even as MTV was discovering its strength. Last time the songwriter blinded us with science; this time it's musicianship. [The remastered version of Flat Earth comes with bonus remixed and live tracks, as well as Dolby's singles from the soundtracks of Howard the Duck and Gothic.]
Matthew Sweet's third album is a remarkable artistic breakthrough. Grounded in the guitar pop of the Beatles, Big Star, Byrds, R.E.M., and Neil Young, Girlfriend melds all of Sweet's influences into one majestic, wrenching sound that encompasses both the gentle country-rock of "Winona" and the winding guitars of the title track and "Divine Intervention." Sweet's music might have recognizable roots, but Girlfriend never sounds derivative; thanks to his exceptional songwriting, the album is a fresh, original interpretation of a classic sound.
Following up on the surprise success of the "Love on Your Side" single, the reconstituted Thompson Twins quickly regrouped to create an album to capitalize on their new, more direct sound. Quick Step & Side Kick is the Thompson Twins' most fully realized work, with a trio of dance-rock classics -- "Love Lies Bleeding," "Love on Your Side," and the big U.S. chart hit "Lies" -- that all hew close to the synth-bass-and-Latin-percussion groove of "In the Name of Love." Interestingly, however, the trio also branches out to explore a variety of sonic moods, most of them considerably darker than their cartoonish new look -- lead singer Tom Bailey now sported a waist-length red ponytail, and percussionist Alannah Currie had a mohawk and no eyebrows -- would suggest. The highlights of these were the simply gorgeous, ghostly ballad "If You Were Here" and yet another elegy for the late Judy Garland, the bitter "Judy Do." Although the follow-up Into the Gap was an even bigger chart success, Quick Step & Side Kick is the better, more consistent album. The somewhat delayed U.S. release of Quick Step & Side Kick shortened the nonsensical title to Side Kicks and scrambled the running order to some ill effect, pulling all of the dance-oriented material on side one and all of the more atmospheric, experimental songs on side two. This version of the album was eventually supplanted by a CD release that retained the title and superior sequencing of the original U.K. issue. [Edsel's 2008 Deluxe Edition included 17 bonus tracks (mostly remixes) across two CDs.]
The Smithereens' excellent sophomore effort picks up where their debut, Especially for You, left off, with Pat DiNizio delivering another impressive batch of superbly constructed pop gems; tracks like "Only a Memory," "House We Used to Live In," and "Drown in My Own Tears" are immediately ingratiating -- instantly familiar, yet performed with more than enough energy and flair to sound new and exciting. Equally compelling are Green Thoughts' curveballs, like the countryish "Something New," the lovely ballad "Especially for You," and the dark, atmospheric "Deep Black," all of which deliver intriguing variations on the Smithereens' basic power pop formula. Another winner.
For the first time since Dawnrazor, the Nephilim worked with someone other than Bill Buchanan as producer; whatever Andy Jackson's particular qualifications, happily he knew not to ruin a good thing. The end result was the band's best all-around album, consisting of four lengthy pieces that showcase their now near-peerless abilities to create involved, textured, driving, and loud pieces of rock. It was still goth as all heck, but like the best bands in any genre, the Nephilim transcended such artificial limitations to create their own sound. McCoy still comes up with an occasionally curious lyric, to put it mildly, but such is the power of his performance as well as the band's that, at least for the time it's playing, Elizium really does sound like it's about to call up darkling spirits from the nether planes. The opening song is divided into four parts but mainly known by its second, "For Her Light," which was edited into a single. It moves from initial crashes of noise, feedback, and keyboards to catchier brooding and riff action, a calmer midsection with appropriate samples of Alistair Crowley, and a last slamming run to the song's conclusion. "Submission" stands on its own, switching between minimal bass with guitar stabs and massive crescendos. "Sumerland (What Dreams May Come)" takes the apocalyptic element of the Nephilim to its furthest extent; its relentless pulse supports some of the most powerful guitar out there while McCoy achieves a similar high point with his commanding voice. "Wail of Sumer" concludes Elizium on a striking two-part note, gently floating rather than exploding over its length, while McCoy's lost, regretful voice drifts along with it as a soft, yet still unnerving conclusion. Combine that with another fantastic job on art design, and Elizium, once you accept the Nephilim's basic conceits, simply stuns.
More debut albums should be so amusingly perverse with its titles -- and there's the original vinyl sleeve, which consisted of sandpaper precisely so it would damage everything next to it in one's collection. Released in the glow of post-punk fervor in late-'70s Manchester, one would think Return would consist of loud, aggressive sheet-metal feedback, but that's not the way Vini Reilly works. With heavy involvement from producer Martin Hannett, who created all the synth pieces on the record as well as producing it, Reilly on Return made a quietly stunning debut, as influential down the road as his labelmates in Joy Division's effort with Unknown Pleasures. Eschewing formal "rock" composition and delivery -- the album was entirely instrumental, favoring delicacy and understated invention instead of singalong brashness -- Reilly made his mark as the most unique, distinct guitarist from Britain since Bert Jansch. Embracing electric guitar's possibilities rather than acoustic's, Reilly fused a variety of traditions effortlessly -- that one song was called "Jazz" could be called a giveaway, but the free-flowing shimmers and moods always revolve around central melodies. "Conduct," with its just apparent enough key hook surrounded by interwoven, competing lines, is a standout, turning halfway through into a downright anthemic full-band rise while never being overbearing. Hannett's production gave his compositions a just-mysterious-enough sheen, with Reilly's touches on everything from surfy reverb to soft chiming turned at once alien and still warm. Consider the relentless rhythm box pulse on "Requiem for a Father," upfront but not overbearing as Reilly's filigrees and softly spiraling arpeggios unfold in the mix -- but equally appealing is "Sketch for Winter," Reilly's guitar and nothing more, a softly haunting piece living up to its name. [The 2014 reissue on Factory Benelux differs slightly from the 1996 version. It also contains two songs from a 1980 12" single ("Lips That Would Kiss" and "Madeleine") and two songs from the Martin Hannett-written Test Card flexi, but also adds a bonus that may only appeal to the true fanatics. Tracks 14 through 19 represent the runnnig order of the second side of the album as released in the record's rare second pressing. It does add the song "Untitled" however, so it isn't a complete academic exercise.]
It's a safe bet to expect the unexpected in regards to any Lambchop effort, but the cryptically titled (and beautifully packaged) What Another Man Spills is the band's most consistently surprising and deliriously eclectic outing to date, with new twists around every corner. While it's their loveliest record since How I Quit Smoking, that album's countrypolitan gauze is largely a thing of the past, replaced here by a dreamy, jazz-like patina which proves a remarkably versatile backdrop not only for Kurt Wagner's originals but for a vast range of covers, from Dump's "It's Not Alright" to Curtis Mayfield's "Give Me Your Love (Love Song)." The latter is easily the most jaw-dropping track on What Another Man Spills, with the group easily slipping into the song's soulful groove without a hint of irony, not even in Wagner's amazingly Prince-like falsetto; a later cover of the Frederick Knight smash "I've Been Lonely for So Long," while less surprising, is no less engaging, further solidifying Lambchop's growing debt to the Stax/Volt sound. Where the album's jumble of styles and offbeat covers might seem self-indulgent coming from any other band, Lambchop somehow makes it all work with their wit, style, and intelligence intact
