Nik Kershaw The Riddle

Nik Kershaw The Riddle

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The 1980’s remain a seminal period in the development of music. Sonic styles and trends came, and, much like the barbarian tribes that ran amok in the Dark Ages, abruptly ended, or were supplanted by something else entirely. The rise of the synth as the instrument of choice, and the cultural resonance and obsession with commercialized pop music led to an entirely new era in the worldwide music industry. Some musicians grew to become icons, destined to be hailed for decades to come, while others simply achieved one or a few (the lucky ones, that is) charting hits, then sputtered out, never to rise again.This is the world in which Nicholas David Kershaw, better known as Nik Kershaw, was born and bred. It’s easy to look at just the musical achievements of the time, and candid shots from classic 80’s films and conclude (falsely) that entry costs and earnings were, respectively, low and plentiful. On the contrary, the 80’s were one of the most dangerous times for career musicians, as sonic trends were so mercurial, and subject to change. This didn’t stop Kershaw, however, and the little lad from Ipswich landed a charting hit with Wouldn’t It Be Good in 1984, which he followed up with his debut album, Human Racing.Then, in late 1984, Nik Kershaw released what would become one of his (if not THE) most beloved albums, The Riddle. The album itself has a good weight to it, ranging in at 10 tracks, however, it seems to lack a center of gravity. The opener, Don Quixote, is an 80’s pop fanfare of the highest order, combining basic synth rhythms with artificial orchestra hits, and a Latin-esque counter melody. It hits intensely, and is highly infectious.The title track is also impressive as well: the flute-like synth melodies and general marching percussion rhythm work wonders, and The Riddle feels not only catchy, but also takes on it’s own inertia,The reissue includes several of Kershaw’s live performances, and a few extra tracks, of both original material, and reworkings of tracks from The Riddle

Howard Jones Human's Lib

Howard Jones Human's Lib

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Human's Lib is an unintentionally revealing title for Howard Jones' debut album. What first seems like a play on words reveals itself as something of an empowering manifesto, a shift that mirrors his music. Upon first glance, Human's Lib appears to be state-of-the-art synth pop circa 1984: a record where every element outside of the human voices appears to be electronic. While that may well be true, Jones isn't a futurist the way such peers as Depeche Mode or Eurythmics are. At his core, Jones is a reconstituted free spirit, preaching the power of positive thinking and advocating universal love. His dedication to synthesizers does camouflage Jones' innate hippie, which gives the album an appealing dichotomy: underneath his electronics and stylish haircut, he's singing about subjects better suited to acoustic guitars and tie-dyed T-shirts. Still, Human's Lib benefits from Jones' complete immersion in synths, giving the album a glimmering sheen that remains emblematic of the dawn of MTV. In particular, "New Song" is quintessential post-New Wave synth pop, all percolating blips and analog washes held together by a massive melodic hook. Throughout Human's Lib, Jones usually relies on texture, a move that makes the album an ingratiating artifact, but there are moments where his songcraft surfaces. Usually those are on singles, such as "Pearl in the Shell," which flattens a Tamla/Motown beat for the music video era. But it's the searching "What Is Love?" -- the album's biggest hit everywhere outside of the U.S. -- that points the way toward Jones future: it's a big, soaring ballad that hints at the adult contemporary he'd later embrace.

The Creatures A Bestiary Of...The Creatures

The Creatures A Bestiary Of...The Creatures

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The early Creatures material had fallen out of print in most locations for quite a while before Bestiary made its long overdue appearance. Only Feast had made a regular appearance in certain record stores thanks to Japanese pressings; Bestiary topped that by including the contents of the Wild Things and Right Now EPs as well as "Hot Springs in the Snow," the B-side from "Miss the Girl." The result collects everything originally put out in the first phase of the Creatures' existence, making for a convenient and very well remastered collection. No previously unreleased tracks or unexpected bonuses are included, but that's quibbling in comparison to finally having all the cuts available again. Full lyrics are included, as well as recording details, a brief series of informative liner notes, and even release dates and U.K. chart positions. Another bonus is the inclusion of all the original sleeve art for the various releases, including the notorious wet T-shirt in the shower shots for Wild Things (an alternate image from that session is the cover for the collection as a whole). The lovely cover for Feast, featuring Sioux wearing a striking native Hawaiian costume, appears in such a way that one can refold the booklet to make it the front cover, a nice option.

Siouxsie And The Banshees Peepshow

Siouxsie And The Banshees Peepshow

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The switch to Yet Another Banshees Guitarist in Specimen vet Jon Klein might have been seen as a cue for a time of tentative rebuilding -- the more so because another new member, cellist Martin McCarrick, was recruited at the same time. Anything but -- heralded by the spectacular "Peek-A-Boo," interpolating what sounded like the Charleston into hip-hop rhythms with a brilliant, choppy arrangement, Peepshow proved the band's best album in years. Once again showcasing the band's ace in the hole -- the ability to always provide an accomplished variety of sound and approach while still recognizably maintaining a uniquely Banshees style -- Peepshow is the sound of a band reenergized. Siouxsie's thrilling call and response with herself on "Peek-A-Boo" really can't be beat, but her star turns throughout the album all deserve notice, especially with the bravura one-two conclusion of the stately "The Last Beat of My Heart" and the dramatic, lives-up-to-the-title "Rhapsody." McCarrick's cello work is excellently integrated into the music, adding a purring extra bite on songs like the pummeling "The Killing Jar," while both Steven Severin and Budgie acquit themselves well as always. If their moments of total flash are subsumed for the overall arrangements, it's to the benefit of the songs, overseen with another fine production job from semi-regular Banshees studio cohort Mike Hedges. The band's knack for a combination of title, lyric, and atmosphere remains strong -- "Carousel" sounds indeed like a slightly demented version of such a thing, while "Rawhead and Bloodybones," appropriately for two English bogeyman characters, is quiet, creepy, and very much sneaking-up-on-you-in-the-night. "Scarecrow" is a secret highlight, ominous guitar and bass tones and swirling arrangements supporting a great Siouxsie turn, while the hints of flamenco on "Turn to Stone" perhaps inadvertently suggest where the Creatures would end up with their next album two years later.

The Folk Implosion Dare To Be Surprised

The Folk Implosion Dare To Be Surprised

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The surprise success of "Natural One" affected the Folk Implosion in a surprising way. Instead of running from success and shunning melody, Lou Barlow and John Davis decided to embrace pop on their own terms. That means the Folk Implosion remains an indie rock band, recording on cheap equipment, and layering brittle guitars for the basic tracks, but the guys write impossibly catchy hooks, such as the amazing single "Pole Position." At its best, Dare to Be Surprised is spare, tuneful, and infectious, and at its worst, it's merely underwritten. Nevertheless, Barlow has rarely been as succinct and consistent as he is here, and Davis' songs are uniformly strong as well, making Dare to Be Surprised one of the finest items in their respective catalogs.

Sebadoh Bakesale

Sebadoh Bakesale 

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Sebadoh started out as the hobby of two guys hanging out in a dorm room with a four-track cassette machine and some weed, but by 1994, Lou Barlow's side project had matured into a real rock band, and on Bakesale they sounded more like one than ever before. With Eric Gaffney gone, the spotlight was firmly on Barlow and his songs, and he stepped out with some of his best work to date; the navel-gazing confessions of "Not a Friend" and "Dreams" were more articulate and deeply felt than his previous efforts, and there's an edgy grace in his melodies, while he brings some scrappy but committed rock & roll guitar bashing to "License to Confuse" and "Magnet's Coil." Bassist Jason Loewenstein's tunes aren't as strong overall as Barlow's, but they're effective in context and their minor-key twists and turns complement his bandmate's work very well. And though Sebadoh had clearly learned a lot from their years of lo-fi woodshedding, on Bakesale they were working in genuine recording studios with functioning equipment, and instead of having to struggle to hear the songs through layers of aural murk, here Sebadoh burst forth from the speakers loud and clear. And this version of the band stood up well to scrutiny; Barlow, Loewenstein, and drummer Bob Fay may not have been the tightest band on earth, but they had the energy and the commitment to make these songs work, and the simple, direct, and emotionally naked sound of Bakesale served them well, and the album ranks with the most powerful and accessible music they would ever release. Bakesale confirmed that in both theory and execution, Sebadoh had matured into a great indie rock band, and if their obsession with doomed love and fractured self-worth still seemed adolescent, they had at very least grown from eighth graders to high school seniors, and that's a pretty big leap if you're willing to look back on it. [In 2011, Sub Pop reissued Bakesale in a special deluxe edition that paired a remastered edition of the album with a disc of rare singles and unreleased demos. There's an amusing irony that one of Sebadoh's most straightforward and tuneful albums is accompanied by an hour's worth of the sort of indulgent four-track murk Sebadoh seemed to be actively moving past, though as such things go, there's plenty of adventurous lo-fi sound collage to be found, as well as some prime examples of Barlow staring down his neuroses. The package also includes a booklet with essays from Barlow and Loewenstein, cover mock-ups for the original LP and singles, and the not-so-startling revelation of just who that baby on the cover really is.]

Swervedriver Mezcal Head

Swervedriver Mezcal Head

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After the spotty but promising Raise, England's Swervedriver put it all together in a big way. Right from the opening "For Seeking Heat," one can tell this is one of the hottest albums of 1993 -- certainly it's the hottest-produced album. The album explodes with the first onslaught of guitars and keeps up the crackling, monstrous, gargantuan feel thereafter. Add to that some pretty massive melodies they've never before displayed (a heretofore hidden pop sense), complete with pond-deep vocals and harmonies, especially the splendid harmonies that enliven the all-powerful "Blowin' Cool" chorus, the LP standout track along with "Duel." Best of all, they've discarded what little bothersome metallic tendencies Raise had, yet Mezcal Head pulses with even more chops. Additionally, the wah-wah here is used more judiciously, making it more of a flavor element. In the end, though, it's these tremendous songs -- a dozen unique, never-repeating compositions, so big and bold they latch on with the first play and kick your ass without seeming like they tried hard to do it -- that are the benefit of increased confidence, direction, and the bulging, steam-edge production. Behind the mixing desk, this is by far the best work yet by Alan Moulder (Ride, Boo Radleys); this is the warmest, biggest, most dynamite-loud yet clean sound he (and Swervedriver, together) has ever achieved. The band's new lineup (new rhythm section) is tighter and more flexible, with nicer bottom end and stylistic touches, while also being precise -- the otherwise unnecessary jam at the end of "Last Train to Satansville" is redeemed somewhat by the bass and drums' disciplined two-note pounding. As an added bonus, 1992's breakthrough single, "Never Lose That Feeling" (a harbinger of Mezcal Head's greatness), is added to the U.S. release. The only minor flaws are that some of the songs seem to go on a little too long, and some of the really good songs on the second half of the LP aren't quite as breathtaking as the first half, but that's getting greedy; most bands would kill for this side two. In any case, this is one whale of a record.

Lush Lovelife

Lush Lovelife

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Lovelife represents a major shift in style for Lush. Nearly abandoning the trancy melodies and droning guitars that were its trademark, the band has crafted an album full of sharp hooks and melodies, one that owes a great deal to the Britpop mania of 1995. From the circular melody of the opening "Ladykillers," it's clear that Lush had been influenced by the direct, jagged pop of Elastica, but the band also has reached back into '60s pop. All of the ballads on Lovelife are rooted in the hazy dream pop of the early '90s, but they are given stylish, mod arrangements complete with muted brass. Even more startling is the Nancy Sinatra/Lee Hazlewood pastiche of "Ciao!," an irresistible duet between Miki Berenyi and Pulp's Jarvis Cocker. Lovelife simply would have been an embarrassing attempt to seem fashionable if the band hadn't succeeded in updating its sound. However, Lush has been able to recreate itself as a pop band and the result is its most direct -- and arguably most rewarding -- album.