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Showing posts with label cathal coughlan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cathal coughlan. Show all posts

15 January 2011

Microdisney - Love Your Enemies (aka "We Hate You South African Bastards")

Microdisney - Love Your Enemies

Label: Rough Trade
Year of Release: 1984

"This record contains music recorded in the years 1982 and 1983.  The reason why much of it has not been heard before is that, in those far-off days, few had heard Microdisney, and many of those who had thought us worthless.  My, how times change!  Well, at least they've changed enough to permit release of this record, now that it seems plain that we are unlikely to sound like this again.
The earliest recording here is "Fiction Land".  In a draughty converted gym in south Dublin one bleak February afternoon in 1982, Sean and I recorded this song with the aid of engineer Dave Freeley, the first helpful person we had encountered in a recording studio.  Since the failure of our previous Microdisney (which had yet to be formally ended) we had been occupying ourselves with simple things - Sean with his quality control job at the locomotive factory, and me with research in the west of Ireland for a projected book entitled "Sex Among The Subnormally Intelligent".  Gloom prevailed.
However, the results of this session proved encouraging enough for us to visit that gym on several other occasions that year, in between bouts of songwriting in the village of Cork, where we both lived.  As we continued to work with Dave Freeley and Terry Cromer, "Love Your Enemies" (April 1982), "Helicopter of the Holy Ghost" and "Hello Rascals" (both July) saw increasingly effective use of the limited resources available to us.  The opportunity to release the last two recordings on a single was afforded to us by our friend Gareth, who had been releasing his Kabuki Records in London shortly before.  
So September 1982 saw us visiting London, distributing free copies of the new record to the influential people who were to provide us with a source of laughter and misgivings for some time to come.
Back in Cork, we set about scrounging the money to make another record.  We organised a 'mixed media event' in a bourgeois theatre near the meat market, where the cultured house staff decided that neither drunken horticulturalists, vomit, little men with bleeding forearms, nor, indeed, death-threats to the manager appealed to their sense of 'artistic freedom'.  Their loss.  And our profit.
Armed with a little money, we set out for Dublin with a violinist and an additional female voice, in November.  Since the gym had now closed down, we were forced to go, with Terry as our guide, to a tiny studio normally reserved for the making of radio adverts.  In the course of this tense Sunday, when recording was often halted by the rumble of the roller-disco downstairs, we brought forth "Pink Skinned Man", a tribute to the middle class torture to which many people we knew had abandoned themselves totally.
In spite of our satisfaction with the work, it was to take two remixes (the successful one being effected at Divine Wood Missionaries' seminary studio late that winter) to make it ready for release on Kabuki in April 1983.  The time between recording and release saw us withdraw further from the world, writing dozens of songs that were never to be recorded in a small dirty room in Cork, and emerging to play them in public occasionally, to the alternating apathy and amusement of the miniscule "listening public" of Ireland.
The most recent recordings here are "Michael Murphy", "Pretoria Quickstep" and "Patrick Moore Says You Can't Sleep Here".  These were recorded late in June 1983, only days before we fled forever this country which was turning us into cretins.  As usual, the location was odd - an eight-track living room, on the edge of a forest in the hills of west County Cork.  So was the purpose - provision of a soundtrack for a commercial drugs education video which was to be made by the media artist Michael Murphy.  But the video was never made, due to the dubious motives and "morality" of the Irish state services, and the music was not used.  By then, we were in another country, receiving excruciating lessons on the value of self-esteem.
So here it is - music of such potency that it could make Zola Budd, the Springbok Speedball and "British Citizen", dash back to her Daddy's kraal in Bloemfontein (hope she's in time for the lynching luncheon). Such light, I tell you, cannot be hid under a disconnected phone forever!
Some of you (the Freemason pederasts, for instance) may be a trifle confused or even annoyed by the packaging and name of this record.  For all your dumb coyness, I don't think you need to be told.  Just don't go anywhere, don't call anyone.  Bastard."
Cathal Coughlan
("Love Your Enemies" was originally issued under the name "We Hate You South African Bastards")

Well... I'm not usually one for reproducing sleevenotes verbatim on this blog in lieu of actual analysis of the records, but in this particular case, Cathal Coughlan paints a much more vivid and honest picture of the process behind these tracks than 700 words of my own are likely to do.

If you get the impression that the recording process behind many of these sounds as if it might have impacted on the quality of the tracks, you may not be far wrong.  Unlike their later material for Rough Trade, a lot of this work sounds uncertain and rushed, slightly muddy and mixed on the hoof (their later independent material would also be recorded under trying conditions, but the key difference is that it isn't possible to actually hear their struggles on those records).  Coughlan and O'Hagan's songwriting also has yet to develop its full potential, and whilst there are unquestionably some strong tracks on here - "Pink Skinned Man", for instance, is a maudlin single which sounds closest to what Microdisney eventually became - it's an uneven journey.  In particular, the soundtrack offerings are atmospheric and may have worked well in conjunction with the final drugs education film, but as standalone pieces they seem a little insufficient.

Or, in short - this isn't the place to start if you're interested in finding out more about Microdisney, and you'd be better off beginning with a download of "The Peel Sessions", "The Clock Comes Down The Stairs" or "39 Minutes".  If you're an existing fan, however, or even have managed to become a fan through this blog, it plugs some gaps and highlights an interesting point in their development.  The retitled reissue on Revola in 1996 (from which this version stems) also comes with the bonus of the studio versions of "Loftholdingswood", "Teddy Dogs" and "464" which originally appeared on the brilliant "In The World" EP, and all three of those tracks are reason enough to download the album.

(Sorry - this album is commercially available again on iTunes, Amazon and other sites besides, so I've disabled the download link). 

Tracklisting:
1. Helicopter of the Holy Ghost
2. Michael Murphy
3. Love Your Enemies
4. Fiction Land
5. Pink Skinned Man
6. Patrick Moore Says You Can't Sleep Here
7. Hello Rascals
8. Pretoria Quickstep
9. Loftholdingswood
10. Teddy Dogs
11. 464


5 June 2010

Fatima Mansions - Bertie's Brochures

Fatima Mansions - Bertie's Brochures

Label: Radioactive
Year of Release: 1991

We covered The Fatima Mansions' debut album "Against Nature" here, and the breathtaking follow-up "Viva Dead Ponies" was recently remastered and reissued by Cherry Red. The third album "Bertie's Brochures" is less talked about, and that's probably due to the fact that it's not really a proper album as such, but a mini-album (or extended EP) of ideas which, as Cathal Coughlan put it in the sleevenotes, "overran the borders of any coherent year planner". Like "Against Nature", "Bertie's Brochures" is another rattle bag of ideas without any central theme or purpose, but more than any other FM album, this frequently echoes the subtlety of Microdisney releases.

Unlike Microdisney, however, there are no elements of west-coast rock hiding beneath Cathal's contemptuous lyrical tirades - this continues the strain of absurdist piano fronted pop set by "Against Nature". Not that this makes the content of any of it similar to a Mrs Mills party album, but there's certainly a fluid accessibility going on with most of the tracks which could not be claimed for their other albums.

The title track alone (sampled below) remains one of the band's finest achievements. Apparently influenced by a run-in Coughlan had with the law at some point in distant history, it's a piece of storytelling which leaves question marks hanging over the precise details, as well as having one of the finest choruses since Microdisney ceased to be. Sean O'Hagan may well have achieved wonders with The High Llamas, but there's clear evidence here that it wasn't just him providing the melodic suss to go with the salvo, the critical cliche which has been rolled out ever since.

Most of the other tracks, too, show a keenness to emphasise the lyrical coherency of the work, pulling back on the sonic artillery to allow the ideas room to push through. "Behind The Moon" is a depressive, post-split ballad, mentioning a "green bed of bottles", and the telling line "She says 'go', meaning 'stay'/ meaning 'you have to pay'". "Smiling" manages to be both chilling and intelligent, touching upon terrorism with the lines "We see the biggest killers of all/ say they are appalled/ they say 'our rage is extreme'/ but you know what they mean/ upstairs they're smiling/ still scared and still smiling".

So as not to disappoint the hardcore faithful totally, however, the cover here of "Shiny Happy People" is both hilarious and ridiculous, choosing a thudding primal electronic beat to murder REM's most famous pop song, and a chorus of daleks and a rap about a government filled with "closet queens who make it a crime to be gay" just to up the ante further. The song appeared to come about after Michael Stipe stormed out of a Fatima Mansions gig complaining he hated "art rock bands" (which would be rather like Don Henley storming out of a Microdisney gig announcing that he despised West Coast inspired rock, but who are we mere mortals to judge?).

Elsewhere, the Scott Walker song "Long About Now" sounds stronger than it ever did on the "Til The Band Comes In" album, and only the cover of Richard Thompson's "Great Valerio" seems in any way uninspired or dreary.

This probably isn't the best place to start if you're unfamiliar with FM, but it does have some truly brilliant moments, and I'd recommend downloading the album and sampling it anyway, treating the more throwaway moments not as filler, but amusing or entertaining vignettes. At its best, this outshines most supposedly intelligent pop being produced at present, and actually outshone the best of its day as well.

Tracklisting:

1. Behind The Moon
2. Bertie's Brochures
3. Shiny Happy People
4. V.N. (apology)
5. Mario Vargas Yoni
6. Smiling
7. Long About Now
8. The Great Valerio



19 October 2008

Bubonique - 20 Golden Showers

Bubonique 20 Golden Showers

Label: Kitchenware
Year of Release: 1993


Way back in the early nineties when he was something more of a media darling and star than he is today (and could seemingly be found propping up the bar of every London gig you went to) the comedian Sean Hughes decided he wanted to make a record. This was at a time when Vic Reeves had recently hit the top spot with "Dizzy", and given the fact that Hughes regularly pranced around in front of the camera dancing to Morrissey and The Smiths on his series "Sean's Show", there was some speculation about what form his project might take. Would he cover the Mozmeister, perhaps, or do his own slightly doomy song in tribute to the great man?

In an interview in 1992 with the NME, it was revealed that he was recording with Cathal Coughlan of Microdisney and The Fatima Mansions, and speculation mounted. The fact that Sean revealed that he had mostly been improvising in the studio and could only remember singing "Play that funky music, Irish guy" should have thrown cold water over the entire thing, but there was still a lot of goodwill for the project. Coughlan was highly respected in the music press at this time for being a satirical maverick, and Hughes was also seen as being something of an emerging comedy genius, so the odds of a quality product seemed fairly high.

In the end, what we got was this. A fuzzy, lo-fi, scattershot, sprawling mess of an album which picked up good reviews, and was certainly startling and shocking enough to warrant a couple of listens, but was forgotten about quite quickly by everybody who came into contact with it. Porn and snuff movie samples jostle for space with Dave Lee Travis radio broadcasts (where he waffles about talented people working in bunkers away from the glare of the modern world), bizarre parodies of REM, Ice T and Guns and Roses, and frankly inexplicable jokes about necrophilia and fisting. The humour within seems considerably more Coughlan than Hughes, although reduced to crude basics rather than the "Swiftean satire" every music critic usually associated with him.

To make the album that bit more inaccessible, it was mastered as one long track so if you wanted to skip forward to particular parts of it, you had no choice but to hold down the "forward" button on your stereo, and on top of that the volume mastering was different at various points. During particularly quiet moments, a stinging blast of distortion sometimes kicks in so that any listener using headphones is forced to rip them off quickly. Please do consider yourselves warned about this aspect.

For anyone interested in the careers of either Cathal Coughlan or Sean Hughes, this CD has to be heard, but the balance between humour and self-indulgence is perhaps a bit amiss. The parodies, for example, are excellent, the GnR referencing "I Think You're Cool" hitting the nail firmly on the head, and the vicious REM mocking "East Sheep Station" doubtless being fuelled by Stipe's own misgivings about Coughlan's work (he once walked out of a Fatima Mansions gig snarling "I hate art rock bands", which was a rather unexpected criticism given some of REM's output). Beyond those, the obsession with bleak samples and strange in-jokes (who was Shak Parouk, for example?) have meant that this album doesn't really figure strongly on either artist's CV these days. You get the impression that it was something they had enormous fun producing, but didn't see as being an important piece of work.

They did, however, follow it up with another effort a couple of year's later. "Trance Arse Volume Three" parodied Blur in a track called "Oi Copper!", and was apparently otherwise more of the same. If anyone has a copy, I'd like to hear it. In the meantime, enjoy the link, all of you... but not the easily offended.

http://www.megaupload.com/?d=0653GOB8

Track Listing:
ACT I
1. Summer (The Fist Time)
2. I Think You're Cool
3. Play That Funky Music Irish Guy
4. Cop Lover
5. Codsucker Blues
6. My Baby Gave Me Rabies
7. Elvis '93 (You Can Fuck Elvis)

ACT II
8. Theme From "Chicken Arse"
9. Iron Child
10. Yoda Lady
11. Anytime, AnyPlace, It's Okay to Bubo With Shak Parouk
12. 2 J.G.
13. East Sheep Station
14. Love Me Deadly, Kiss Me Headley
15. DLT 666 No Idea (Insincere)
16. The Bubonique America's Top Ten
17. Frank is Frank (Hurry Up and Die, Buddy)
18. Jellypop Perky Jean
19. Dildo Neighbour
20. Ang On Ronno
21. Love Camp Seven
22. Nation of Bubonique
23. Closedown