S*M*A*S*H - Barrabas (Piloted)

Label: Sub Pop
Year of Release: 1994

S*M*A*S*H must surely rank as being one of the most forgotten NME hype bands of all time. Not for them the mocking references reserved for Menswear, or the curious nods given to Godspeed You Black Emporer - they're almost never mentioned at all these days, despite reforming to make another album in 2007.

How different it all was. From the stories, reviews and celebrity plaudits that were given at the time of the band's first singles, you'd have thought that they were the next brave band of American conquerors, the great hope of British music generally. Tales were told of grown men crying in their presence (no, really), frenzied gigs, and an angry, intelligent left wing political agenda (it's difficult to imagine now, but that kind of thing was considered really bloody important to the music press before Britpop came along). Whilst a lot of these stories were bog-standard hyperbole, I did witness S*M*A*S*H live a couple of times and can verify that they were an astonishingly powerful band when on form. At one gig, Joe Strummer stood near the front jumping up and down enthusiastically, which must have seemed like the baton being passed on from one act to another at the time, as well as seeming like a dream come true for the band.

Sadly, it was not to be for them - they wouldn't be on this blog otherwise, would they? This was their last single to generate any press interest, though, their one America-only release put out to try and crack that "all important" market (ambitious as they'd barely cracked their home market at the time). For my money, it's also one of their finest pieces of work, expanding upon their punkish beginnings and creating something which sounded more modern and brittle. There's a marvellous false ending, some brilliant lyrical sloganeering, and lots of unexpected musical twists and turns. The B-side is a cover version of the Afghan Whigs "Turn on the Water", possibly included to seem friendly to the US market.

S*M*A*S*H's initial career was cruelly brief, and they only managed one album ("Self Abused") before disappearing. Nonetheless, when I lived in University Halls of Residence at the time, it could be heard blaring out of various rooms, not least from the room of my immediate neighbour who worshipped them - so there was some truth to the NME's claims that they had an army of devoted young fans. The only lie in that sentence was the use of the word "devoted" - they were as fickle as anyone else, and couldn't wait to drop them as soon as Britpop arrived.

>> YouTube Update <<

Just a quick flick through the YouTube videos for some of the artists I've mentioned over the last month...

First up, here's the rather basic promotional video for David McWilliams' "Days of Pearly Spencer", undoubtedly one of the best flop singles of the sixties. It was re-issued three times, but only Marc Almond could actually take it into the top ten...



I was also thrilled to learn yesterday that some kind soul has put more Earl Brutus videos up on the service, and here's "The SAS And The Glam That Goes With It":



Other videos for "Navyhead" (shot in Portsmouth of all places, although blink and you'll probably miss it) and "Life's Too Long" can be found here and here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Fb96TzPpso & http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K7YA-frg2tw Thanks to Simon from Sweeping the Nation for pointing all those out.

And finally, Microdisney with "Birthday Girl" on the Tube, being introduced by Ivor Cutler ("Heh, look at that, 'We Hate You South African Bastards', isn't that perfect!"):

Second Hand Record Dip Part 12 - David McWilliams - This Side of Heaven

Who: David McWilliams
What: This Side of Heaven
Where: Reckless Records, Soho (RIP)
Label: Major Minor
Year of Release: 1968
Cost: One pound

The "reduced" box in the dusty corner of the musty old second hand record store is seldom an embarrassment of riches, it must be said. If the Second Hand Dips on this blog have focussed most frequently on novelty records, TV spin off singles and the flop follow ups of one hit wonders, it's purely because that's what you tend to find when you stick your mitts in the bargain tray. Once every so often, though, I can sing "Hallelujah" and dig up a real gem... and that's what happened a few years back with this David McWilliams single.

An absolute steal at one pound (it can and should retail for at least seven times that), it goes to prove that sometimes collectors don't know what's good for them. McWilliams will always be best known for his magnificent "Days of Pearly Spencer" single, a Brel-esque piece of pop about homelessness. It was played endlessly on the radio at its time of release, but actually (contrary to popular belief) wasn't a hit - it would have to wait until Marc Almond covered it in the nineties before it could be taken into the top ten, and by that time McWilliams received no royalties due to complex legalities surrounding his work - legalities which always seem to favour record companies rather than artists, for some strange reason.

If "Pearly Spencer" was without question his key song, he definitely has plenty of other material worth dipping into, and this is but one example. Both sides of this single are worth your time, the A side "This Side of Heaven" being an orchestrated piece of sixties pop which was probably a bit too subtle to register with the public. The B side "Mr Satisfied" is a rumbling piano driven piece of mean moodiness which always pleases my ears.

Perhaps too well-known to be a friend of the lovers of obscure curios, and too unknown to really be a famous name amongst the general public, David McWilliams' career has been ignored too much in the mainland UK for my liking, even if he is something of a hero in Northern Ireland. Whilst other rejected singer-songwriters of the era like Bill Fay and Vashti Bunyan have since been dug up for critical reappraisal, he hasn't had retrospectives on quite the same scale, even in the wake of his death in 2002. Unlike Fay or Bunyan, though, his work isn't particularly gentle and pastoral. Both sides of this disc show that it could fair zing along in a rush of ideas, his speedy baritone delivery of the lyrics at times recalling the somewhat cool energy of many beat poets. It's zestier and poppier than the work of most serious singer-songwriters, which means that - despite the frequently downbeat lyrical content - he was probably never going to be a poster boy for that particular set. For what it's worth, though, I rate "Pearly Spencer" as being up there with any 45 Scott Walker put out in the same period (despite Walker's superior vocal talents) and happen to think he wipes the floor with Fay.

As an aside, I would also like to say that Major Minor had the best label and sleeve design of the era too. Their records scream out at you from the racks (or dusty boxes, in this particular instance). Somebody should revive the imprint for a bit, just because I find it genuinely thrilling to look at, sad old soul that I am.

http://sharebee.com/df3e9c40

More Beatles Cover Versions

Band: The Spectrum
Single: Ob La Di Ob La Da
Label: RCA
Year of Release: 1968

As I'm sure I've said before, an entire MP3 blog could probably be created dedicated solely to Beatles cover versions - in fact, one probably exists already, but the subject doesn't fascinate me enough to go looking for it.

You see, for every inspired Beatles cover version there are at least 6,000 which ignored the sage wisdom behind the cliche "If it ain't broke, don't fix it" (or, as a forthright ex-colleague of mine used to say: "If it ain't your concern, don't f__k about with it"). To cover a Beatles song effectively, you've really got to do something surprising with it, something which either shows the world what weird really means (The Residents) or something which highlights raunchy or aggressive elements of the track some of us might have missed (Otis Redding's version of "Daytripper").

Sadly, the vast majority of sixties cover versions of Beatles tracks were somewhat pedestrian cash-ins. A favoured trick amongst record companies of the time was to issue Beatles album tracks as singles. You would simply put a band in the studio you'd been waiting awhile to break, give them a relatively new Beatles tune, and get them to bang it out quickly in the hope that it would be a hit, and their careers would be launched.

If you were really being a silly arse about it, of course, you released your favoured band's single in competition with another band covering exactly the same song, meaning somebody had to lose (or both did) in a rather unusual battle of the bands contest. In this case, The Spectrum's studio clock-watching yawnfest of a cover of The Beatles already quite uninspired "Ob La Di Ob La Da" went head-to-head with The Marmalade's slightly less dreary version. The public must have been thrilled to have had three Ob La Di Ob La Das in the same place at the same time*. The Marmalade went to number one and subsequently lasted a few more years despite hippies screaming "sell out!" in their faces, whereas The Spectrum's effort flopped, and they didn't trouble us for much longer.

"Why should we care?" I hear you ask, and as always I have no reasonable reply, except to say that the B-side "Music Soothes The Savage Breast" is an unusual piece of orchestral popsike, and should be given a chance - unlike The Spectrum generally who, it has to be said, leave me somewhat cold with their other singles, although there are plenty of folk online happy to defend them. Takes all sorts. But before you go...



Band: The Orange Bicycle
Single: Carry That Weight - You Never Give Me Your Money
Label: Parlophone
Year of Release: 1969

...here's The Orange Bicycle with their particular stinker. Essentially an amalgamation of session musos created by Morgan Studios, The Bicycle nonetheless had a number one hit in France and did create some seriously interesting pieces of light psychedelia during the late sixties. It's only recently been deleted, but if you can manage to pick up a copy of the Morgan compilation "Psychedelic Pstones III: House of Many Windows", then do so. Besides featuring three Orange Bicycle tracks, most of the other acts on the CD usually involve the same musicians, either in production, engineering, session or songwriting roles. Far from being cheap plastic Carnaby Street styled novelties, the vast majority of tracks on there are interesting and unusual pieces of period work.

Of course, this doesn't feature, and no wonder. Again released at almost exactly the same time as a rival version** (in this case Trash's "Carry That Weight - Golden Slumbers", which I've actually never heard - if anyone has an MP3 of it, please let me know) The Orange Bicycle take one of the better tracks off "Abbey Road" and make it sound like a tired rehearsal in a metal dustbin. The flip is a curious guitar solo strewn effort entitled "Want to B-side".

Download them all in one bundle below:

http://sharebee.com/4d26f2a4

(*And that's if we ignore the "Ob La Di Ob La Da Story" by Jimmy Scott, who coined the phrase in the first place. It's a completely different tune, but certainly milks the topic. It's almost surprising an "Ob La Di Ob La Da" concept album wasn't issued).

(**In fairness, I suppose I should add that putting rival versions of songs head-to-head on the charts seemed to be quite standard music industry practice until the mid seventies, even if it does seem quite mind boggling now).

Salad - Motorbike to Heaven

Label: Island Red
Year of Release: 1995

So let's get one thing straight from the start - to begin with, nobody liked Salad much. The music press were suspicious of them, the public didn't really snap up their records in any great quantity, and when I got a call from their promotional company asking if I'd like to interview them in 1995, I was told "Look, I know they used to be a bit shit, but they've really got good in the last year or so". Never have I ever heard less of a sales pitch for an act in my life.

To understand quite how they found themselves in this unfortunate position, you only really have to look at the previous careers of lead singer Marijne Van Der Vlugt, who had a history of being a successful model and an MTV presenter. In an interview from 1994, she states:

"I wanted to become a model, and I became a model. It was my determination that got me there rather than my looks. Sure, I'm tall, and I had the right figure, but I had to work to get that. More importantly, I wanted to do it and I wanted to be bloody good at it. I had the attitude, I was really bloody cocky. I worked in Paris for a year and, in a few months in Tokyo, I earned £20,000."

"Then I wanted to be on TV and I became an MTV presenter, just literally walked into the job. I was taking in a Merry Babes video and someone just asked me to audition there and then. So I made my decision, went for it and, I got the job."

Now, if the above doesn't make you want to vomit, you're a better person than I. The ridiculously charmed Marijne had seemingly walked into two very glamorous jobs through determination alone (which, contrary to her claims, wouldn't be enough for most of us however determined we were) and had now begun a career in a band with a string of distinctly average singles ("Kent", "Diminished Clothes", "On A Leash"). As much as it's tempting to whip the music press under most circumstances, at the start of Salad's career I have to confess I wasn't sold either. It all smacked of an It girl deciding she'd like to front a scratchy indie band.

Then something weird happened. "Drink The Elixir" came out, and was actually pretty damn good. This was then followed up by "Motorbike to Heaven" (above) which was actually, in my opinion, brilliant. Far from being just another model who had decided to have a career as a singer, Marijne's voice is actually fantastic on this track, changing from gentle purring to full-on rawk snarls. It's expressive, and suits the melodramatic, sixties cinematic feel of the track extraordarily well. Then the album "Drink Me" came out, and whilst it wasn't start-to-finish genius, it was nonetheless far stronger than similar works put out that year by other female fronted Britpop bands the press lumped them in with.

Nonetheless, the music press still weren't having any of it, and went for their jugulars on a weekly basis. It's a sign of how much things have changed. If a youth TV presenter went on to front a band who signed to a major label now, I have little doubt the NME would put them straight on to the front page without even asking any questions. For as much as I found myself getting frustrated by their continual lazy dismissals of Salad's work in the nineties, I do much prefer their cynicism of that time to their marketing-lead attitude of the present.

So then, I am forced to conclude that had Salad been around during this decade, they probably would have had more success - but that doesn't necessarily make the industry fairer or more interesting now than it was then. And contrary to what Marijne says, it's not all about confidence. You're usually a successful model because you're in some way beautiful as well as determined, which she most certainly was (and probably still is). In a fair world, your music would also sell by the shedload according to your talent, irrespective of your personal history, but sadly the music industry isn't necessarily as straightforward as that. Still, "Drink Me" managed to scrape the top twenty of the album charts, which isn't a bad score compared to many of the bands featured on this blog, even if it did deserve a hell of a lot more.