Tag: 80s

Pet Shop Boys, Actually with Talk in Code at the Tree House

Having to unfortunately miss Devizes’ blues extravaganza on Friday, I crossed the borderline on Saturday to get my prescribed dosage of Talk in Code…with a Pet Shop Boys tribute thrown in for good measure…..

Two classic tracks into their set at Frome’s little sister venue to the Cheese & Grain, The Tree House, Pet Shop Boys, Actually from Shropshire hailed their support act as better than them. Self-deprecating isn’t unheard of, rare for music acts, but the bottom line is, I’ve heard far worse tributes than The Pet Shop Boys, Actually, actually. 

For Talk in Code, though, it was an accolade fully deserved, as they did what they do as fantastic as ever, and thrilled more than their fanbase at the modest venue. The other attendees, there for classic pop they cherish, found Talk in Code fitted like a glove, despite their songs being original, because they have a timeless universal appeal, and their unique synth-pop spin on indie provides it with a defining eighties feel.

It’s an ideal opportunity to reopen the perpetual debate I have with myself over the worth of tribute acts, even cover bands too, against those producing original music. Like any tribute act, the value of their performance hinges predominantly on the individual and their association with the act they’re attributing. Whether a tribute act is good is far more subjective than an original act; based upon personal reflection. “It’s comfort music,” Talk in Code guitarist Snedds expressed to me outside the venue; agreed, personally I’m impartial to The Pet Shop Boys, therefore passably comforted.

They broke through in the middle of electronica. I brought and loved my 7” of West End Girls in 85, others did too as it hit number one, and the duo walked away with awards. Though the Pet Shop Boys created their own take on electronica, much like Madness did with Two-Tone, were hugely successful with it, and again like Madness, they continued the template way past the trend fizzling the competition out. Such a practice causes division, you attain a fan following, whereas mild observers tend to consider if the uniformed style gets repetitive, especially over decades. I’m of that mindset, hence my impartiality.

So here at this rather snazzy tree house, carpeted and significantly more congenial, hospitable than the big cheese, but smaller and rather more conventional than Frome’s hipster and counterculture reputation, being situated within a housing estate fashioned sports bar, The Vine Tree, a fair crowd of Pet Shop Boys diehards gathered amidst regulars and “Talkers” for a cracking night in a nice, welcoming and universal pub.

Often to miss the support act is unfortunate, for this gig it would’ve been sacrilege. Talk in Code were on fire as ever, blasting out their cheerful tunes, frontman Chris wiggling moves in his Adidas uniform and rightfully boasting of their success at The Wiltshire Music Awards, outside our county! It’s a lively show I will never tire of, and if I have to witness tribute acts too, if by some miracle I make eighty, will someone please wheel me over to a tribute act show to Talk in Code?!

As for The Pet Shop Boys, Actually, prior I considered if The Pet Shop Boys is quite a simple act to make a tribute from, compared to other eighties acts; call up a proficient keyboardist, buy him a BOY cap, don a tuxedo and white scarf and play musical statues! Although they tended to lightheartedly play their accomplishment down, they made a brilliant job out of it. As those pop classics came through adept and nimble, I paused to consider if my opinion of the Pet Shop Boys isn’t a smidgen harsh; through the splendour of this tribute I saw them in a refined light, and that is a true sign of a proficient tribute act, and their worth. 

Interestingly, they adopted a female singer too, to soften the vocals to match Neil Tennant’s camp tones, and to play the incredibly tricky part of Dusty Springfield for What Have I Done to Deserve This? Likely the trickiest part of the show. To my approval, Pet Shop Boys, Actually covered a Beloved track too, a kind of raver’s answer to The Pet Shop Boys, and they thumped out the newer, technologically progressed tunes after a workout of eighties classics, and returned to the hits for an outstanding finale; someone get me one of those jackets that looks like I got stuck in a carwash!

If you go to see a tribute act with expectations of precisely recreating the magnitude of the original act, you’re an idiot and will be let down in most cases! If you go to see a tribute act open-mindedly, with your priority on having fun, nine times out of ten you will, especially if you hold a passion for the act being attributed. Use your noddle, don’t see Pet Shop Boys Actually if you’re hoping for a tribute to Slipknot, but do if you like The Pet Shop Boys, and you’ll find they’re really rather good!

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Static Moves Crawling Back With Debut Single

In a way it’s more intriguing when a cover band sends an original song than one already producing originals. For if original bands can sometimes be critical of the desire of pub venues to value cover bands over them, yeah, your average cover band is heeding the call for their bread and butter, but are often equally passionate about music, and turn to recording some of their own wares. And when they do it’s natural to pay homage to the particular style they play in, as guaranteed, that’s their calling and influence…..

Certainly true of Marlborough-based Static Moves, who released a debut single today, full of the retrospective energy they’re celebrated for at live shows. They turned a cold February night at the Three Crowns in Devizes into a volcano, as they regularly warm crowds at a plethora of local venues with a repertoire of welcomed new wave to Britpop covers.

The concern is that the raw energy doesn’t transfer to the recording, but you have no worries here; it’s the dog’s bollocks. Crawl Back, as they’ve called it, belts out an accomplished potential anthem of precisely what they’re loved for on the circuit. A matured and modern indie-rock spliced “Turning Japanese” by the Vapors, with a carefree attitude of the Merton Parkas. It’s got the new wave mod-punk crossover of the early eighties splashed across it like two-tone trousers and Fred Perry T-shirts never went out of fashion. And it didn’t, because you can hear its influence crying out for attention in contemporary indie-rock bands, ergo, the appeal of Crawl Back reaches beyond nostalgic middle-aged to youths today.

With a theme of the tail between your legs sympathy vote, forgiveness is key when you still fancy the wrongdoer, forget the three minute hero, this weighs in at four and a half, and it waits for no man to catch up with it. In a way the length of this whopper is more indicative of modern punk bands, but you cannot help but imagine you’re at a musky gig in 1981, it costs two quid to get in, you’ve only got one and half a packet of fruit Polos to trade with the glue-sniffers hanging outside drinking tins of Tennents!

Static Moves promises more of their, indeed, moreish raw energy captured, and if there’s more in the pipeline, an EP would be welcomed, an album worth would be knockout, because they could, and should, slip this into their covers set and no one would be any the wiser it wasn’t an album track from Modern English or a nineties influenced crew like The Coral or Supergrass; it’s on that level of excellence too, and that’s why they’re all over our local circuit like Dr Martens were in 1981.

Wendy James Tour Coming to Frome’s Cheese & Grain

Photo credit: David Leigh Dodd

Pioneers of the indie-rock sound which would lead us into the nineties, Transvision Vamp lead singer Wendy James has announced a UK tour in October in support of her recently released tenth solo album The Shape of History, which includes Frome’s Cheese & Grain…..

Wendy will be accompanied on tour by a full band, featuring Transvision Vamp’s bass player Dave Parsons, Jim Sclavunos from Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds on drums and Alex Ward (Thurston Moore Group) on guitar. They will be playing songs from across all of her albums, from TVV Pop, to New Wave Punk to Lo-Fi Racine No.1, through to the big productions of Queen High Straight and The Shape Of History, picking off favourite songs from each. 

For full tour dates see here, but closest to us is Tuesday 14th October at the Cheese and Grain, and The Fleece, Bristol on Tuesday 28th October.

Wendy James

While The Shape of History doesn’t begin with a sound akin to Transvision Vamp, there’s underlying echoes of it as the album builds. Layers of electronica envelope the familiar vocals, so while it’s not what you were expecting, the effect is as The Independent described, “like a patchwork of memories – victories, heartaches, the feeling of racing down a California highway, no destination in mind.” And Classic Rock expressed that 

“The Wendy James of 2024 is an older, wiser and far more intriguing prospect. The Shape of History, never dull, and certainly never predictable.” 

 “My songwriting has always been a wide mix of sounds, which naturally reflect the different music and references I have and love,” Wendy explained, “The Shape Of History was recorded on Scrubs Lane, West London with Alex Ward, Harry Bohay and James Sclavunos. I then went off to NYC and Brooklyn to record the pianos and organs with Dave ‘The Moose’ Sherman. Overdubbing continued with Al Lawson at the engineering helm in his Shepherd’s Bush studio and then I went back to Berkeley, CA to mix with Jesse Nichols before mastering with Fred Kevorkian in Brooklyn NY. I have spent so much time with this music, I know it note-for-note and love it and am so happy for you to make it your own now”.

 “The Shape Of History has a lot about love in it, a lot about appreciation of oneself, one’s life and importantly, of others. It is life’s arc of starting out, blooming into something and in some ways maturing. I don’t think my music has got older, I know I’ve not gone mellow! My attitude can be more ferocious and fearless than ever, but there is an acquired wisdom, which naturally comes after having been alive for a few decades! ‘The Shape Of History’ is a love letter and a Thank you note to life so far. The culmination of my tenth album is the result of co-musicians and engineers who I’ve worked with previously and with whom I share a language. We know each other, we choose to work together. We enjoy each other’s talents and personalities. There is a happiness, a belonging, when we meet up, and an open and determined desire to achieve what we know we have to.”

“From meeting Nick Christian Sayer and forming Transvision Vamp, the two of us walking into EMI Records, and demanding to see the head of Artists and Repertoire, Dave Ambrose. Getting signed and making our hits of the late 80’s and 90’s. From collaborating with Elvis Costello and mixing that album at Sunset Sound in Hollywood where The Stones mixed ‘Exile On Main St’, then moving to NYC to start writing and recording as a solo artist, all the gigs I’ve played and the friends I’ve made around the world, the astounding, incredible, wonderful people whose lives I’ve crossed paths with… I am so grateful for it all.”

Buy Shape of History HERE

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Devizes Issues Wants You!

Dubiously biased and ruled with an iron fist, the mighty admin of the once popular Devizes Facebook group, Devizes Issues, is using the iconic Great…

Who Broke into Joyrobber’s Car?!

Poor Joyrobber, got his car broken into, on his birthday too, but avenged them in song! Requiem for my Car Window is this mysterious character’s…

Lady Nade; Sober!

Dry January, anyone? Well, Lady Nade just plunged into an outdoor 4°C eucalyptus sauna for a social media reel. But whilst I’d require a stiff…

Favourite Waste of Time: Chatting with Owen Paul Ahead a Devizes 80s Gig

July 1986, Madonna was asking her papa not to preach, Chris De Burgh was fantasising about a lady in red, and they were the only two things preventing a feelgood summer cover called My Favourite Waste of Time reaching the top of the charts. It was recorded by Owen Paul, who arrives in Devizes for a “tribute to the eighties” gig at the Corn Exchange on Friday 21st March. I caught up with him ahead of this, and we chatted merrily about the hit, his origins and influences, mullets and all things eighties, oh and what to expect from the show….

After clearing up uncertainty over his two forenames, Owen is his, Paul derived from a younger brother’s name, we moved onto the way I envisioned this meeting. I imagined we’d be dancing on some tropical beach in white sleeveless t-shirts and sporting mullets, as was the video to his pop smash.

“Yeah,” he laughed, explaining about a gig last Saturday in Exeter with Radio 1 DJ Pat Sharp, “it was the battle of the guy that used to be the world champion of the mullet people!”

A tropical theme was so eighties too, I said, from Wham to Blacklace, we all wanted to go on holiday, we all wanted to be on that beach in the My Favourite Waste of Time video. “You’re absolutely right,” Owen responded, pointing out the gig last weekend was in a theatre called Tropicana. “It was one of the strangest shows I’ve ever done. Club Tropicana, just for the event, right?  The show started at 2pm and run ‘till 8pm. I said to my manager, ‘we’re gonna play in the afternoon?’ She was like, ‘yeah. You do the thing in the afternoon, people come dressed in eighties clothes and they forget their lives for five minutes.’ Apparently, it’s a thing; adults like to go to a show between 2 and 6pm, so they can get back to watch Casualty!”

I assured Owen I must be the exception to that rule, but Owen was still giggling, “or Strictly!”

But were the contents of the show like what we can expect to see in Devizes on the 21st, I had to ask. For the record, while tagged with the idiom “one-hit-wonder,” Owen is a prolific recording artist who is still releasing new original material; will he be playing these? “Even though I still do songs, when it’s an eighties show like in Devizes, it’ll be full on eighties-tastic, girl singers, dancers, and we’ll sing Bowie, U2, Deacon Blue, Crowded House and more.”

Time to drop my million-dollar question which had been floating around my excuse for a brain since knowing I was to chat with Owen. That the term one-hit-wonder, which Owen was bequeathed at the time, must be quite disparaging for an artist with a wealth of other works. I asked him how he felt about it at the time, and how he feels about the label now.

Not to blow my own trumpet, he replied, “if I think of all the interviews I’ve done in recent times, that is the best question I’ve ever had! No one has ever asked that of me because they’re always scared. And you’ve asked, so that’s fine. I’ve got to tell you the truthful answer, right? And I mean this with all my heart. I know a million acts who’ve never had a hit. And I have. That ahead gave me the doorway to be here forty years later, playing festivals all over the world. So I don’t think it’s disparaging at all. I think it’s a complete opposite. I think I’ve had a hit, when I know people more talented than me,” Owen exampled a mildly successful Scottish band called The Blue Nile, “they had ‘Tinseltown in the Rain,’ the closest thing to them having a hit, (reached No. 87 on the singles chart in 1984) They’re an incredible act, but I had a smash that went global. They never had. So I don’t think of it as disparaging at all.”

In this I think Owen misunderstood my question, that it wasn’t the having a one-hit-wonder which I thought might be disparaging, rather being labelled a one-hit-wonder which could be, but hey, it was a calculated and flattering response anyway!

Being I’m walking Owen down memory lane, I wanted to take him further back, being aside My Favourite Waste of Time being an acoustic guitar-led feelgood anthem delineating eighties pop, Wikipedia claims it was the Sex Pistols which first inspired him.

“The basic story is this, and this is completely true,” Owen elucidated, “we had a basement, which makes us sound posh, but it was a council flat. My brother and his mates from school used to come back to our house, and they used to rehearse and make an absolute racket of a noise! And this is like 1975-76ish. I was too young; I wasn’t allowed to go downstairs. I used to sit upstairs and listen to what they were doing, and they would play singles of whatever was going on, and they played the Damned, The Clash, The Strangers, and then played the Sex Pistol’s Anarchy in the UK, and I’m upstairs going, what, the, hell, is, that?!”

“And I’m going off the back of the seventies when it was prog rock and all the stuff where you had to be a virtuoso and play for ten hours. And it really changed me, and the guys who’s downstairs in our basement, turns out to be Simple Minds; you wanna write that down?!!”

Noted in awe, Owen, thank you. His brother Brian was the Simple Minds drummer, and guitarist Charlie Burchill, he informed me, “would come upstairs to my room, ’cause I was not allowed down there, and I had a guitar. My dad was publican, and when people couldn’t pay their bill, you make them get on and perform.” Owen told how Charlie showed him an E chord, an A chord and a D chord, “and he said that’s all you need, and I said ‘thanks!’”

We talked of the 3-chord simplicity of eighties pop, Owen extended this by getting technical on learning structures from the likes of The Velevt Underground. “And then,” he explained, “off the back of that, I started to make my own noise.”

On his first band, Venigmas, Owen explained how at just sixteen they left Glasgow for London, and he told his mum, “I don’t think we’ll be back.” Owen spoke of the changing scene, the new romantics, but was adamant he was a “rock guy.”

“Because everyone thinks you’re an overnight sensation. I was eight years or more in the industry before I got signed to Sony. They signed me as a rock act, and then I stupidly made a pop record! And that became my real problem. Because I saw myself as a Bowie guy, I thought you could do anything. I thought you could do funk, you could do rock, soul, and pop; that’s what I thought. How naive was I?!”

Owen recorded two songs for Sony, the one we all know was nominated for a Brit award. He spoke fondly of recording it and how they immediately knew it was a hit, then suggested “but at the same time, in my heart I went oh-no. I’m in trouble here.”

I speculated aloud, asking him if it was because the music industry will typecast him as pop, and he replied, “you’re absolutely right; that’s what happened. So the record comes out, it’s a worldwide smash. It got me on Smash Hit’s cover, on Saturday morning, telly; I’m shiny, bubble-gum pop guy. That’s where I am, right? Now, the record label wants ten more tracks which sounds like that…. but I’m a rock guy!! You can see the problem?!”

If all sounds weighty, I must point out Owen finished this sentence with a giggle, recalling his moment in the spotlight playfully. But we compared it to his freedom now to write, and his new song Fly With Me, which I observed reminded me of Cat Stevens or George Harrison. Again, he found my question about it, “interesting. I don’t get it asked much. I think ultimately, I’m a Celt, Scottish and folk music is everything to us. I’ve always been like that, every song I hear in my head, when I’m doing new tracks sounds like a folk song. But when you’re in the eighties and you’ve got a record deal, they don’t want that, you turn that into a pop song.”

Owen continued to explain how, with his guitarist Howard, decided to produce a folk album after an acoustic gig, but clarified, “folk is the fifth of it all.” This seemed like a convenient time to move away from the roots and back to idea he was coming to Devizes to do an eighties show, and people will lap that up. “I love that about eighties shows,” he revealed, “I didn’t do them for a long time, nearly twenty years. I pretended that I wasn’t Owen Paul or sang that song. And then, I did a thing on telly called Watchdog, Rouge Traders. They were investigating this company with security cameras and asked me to walk in at the end and sing (and he did sing it for me!) you’re mine…!”

“I thought, hang on a minute. Is this because I didn’t pay my tax bill?!  Are they actually chasing me?! I double checked, and it turned out that it was the BBC, and it was fantastic and really funny! The next day, my phone was exploding. My website was exploding with pictures going ‘oh my God, Owen Paul isn’t dead,’ can you do this show?!”

Owen recalled with joy, how it felt to now do retro festivals where, “the most amazing thing occurred to me. After me not wanting to be Owen Paul, that guy, that song. I get to the beginning of the song, and obviously it’s not like there’s an intro, it just goes bang, you know? And then suddenly, I’ve got 20,000 people singing that back at me.”

Regardless of how you might feel about the commercialisation of it, I try to imagine that and offer to Owen that it is truly is the testament to his work. “Yeah,” he responded so positively, “I think I grew up as well. You know, I’ve been doing this for a while now and I’ve realised if you’re the wrong side of forty-five, so you’re an eighties kid and you’ve got two kids, a mortgage, bills and you’ve got all your rubbish; you want five minutes away from it all.”

Which is, in turn, the best advert for the upcoming show! We continued for some considerable time, I was enthralled he spoke about Howard Jones on first name terms, being asked to do a number of celebrity shows, like Strictly. We talked about dance music, Britpop, and the changes these brought, and even from the effect of streaming services on the industry, to the youth of today identifying with the songs of the eighties. It was becoming clear one of us needed to break the chat through fear of day becoming night, and maybe back again.

It was a wonderful conversation which knew no natural end, because though I was honoured and slightly in awe of Owen Paul, we chatted like old school friends at a reunion. If the nineties saw me shun the commercialisation of the pop of my youth, Owen caused me to rethink it again, and it was a pleasure.

Owen Paul brings his eighties show to the Corn Exchange on Friday 21st March. Tickets are aptly £19.80, because it’s promised you’ll be transported back to the 1980s! Have I got time to grow a mullet?

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Rooks; New Single From M3G

Chippenham folk singer-songwriter, M3G (because she likes a backward “E”) has a new single out tomorrow, Friday 19th December. Put your jingly bell cheesy tunes…

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Something Of Nothing; New Single From Talk in Code

Swindon indie popsters Talk in Code return tomorrow (1st March) with a new single, Something Of Nothing …..hold tight to your Deely-Boppers, things are about to get eighties around here….

Every time Talk in Code releases a single I find myself pondering deeper into what makes good pop, and if the word pop is a suitable term to use to describe a song at all. Wikipedia defines ‘pop’ as a “genre of popular music,” a rather incontrovertible statement, being it defines ‘genre’ as “a conventional category that identifies pieces of music as belonging to a shared tradition or set of conventions.” Find me ‘shared conventions’ between Elvis’s Heartbreak Hotel and Doja Cat’s Agora Hills, other than both were commercially produced? If they weren’t ‘pop’ they would hardly fall into the same category. They’re styles apart, separated by time and influences, ergo ‘popular,’ at the time, and that’s an epoch, not a genre.

I’d argue pop is only a genre when thinking outside its own sphere, ie; classical, jazz, folk. Ergo, everything else is pop, making pop a blanket term. Not all pop songs are popular, even if the intention was; singles flop, or, era depending, they become timeworn. Ah, but we were discussing ‘good pop’ and for that there’s two distinct categories.

Category one is throwaway, only encapsulating briefly, fitting with a current trend. Think of those songs you bought back when, but you’re now horrified you liked them, compared with those songs you consider classics, and will still drag you down to the dancefloor today. I bet you thought of more classics than the once trendy ones, because the latter you block from your mind, until some radio DJ spins it and you think, did I really like that shite?! Therefore, good pop breaks the very rule of pop, it’s not trending, rather it’s timeless. Ask yourself why tribute acts are big business, or a current act feels the need to sample an eighties electronica riff, it’s nostalgia.

Talk in Code often cite The Killers and The 1975 as influences, and certainly their root lies in another ambiguous genre, indie. Indie to me implies nineties dance-indie or Britpop, but whenever I hear a new TIC single I’m contemplating eighties electronica pop, more with every release.

Something Of Nothing is no exception, it accentuates the euphoria of an eighties dancefloor filler, and wouldn’t sound out of place on a chart hits compilation of 1986. By the opening bars I thought Ah-Ha were making a comeback, I thought Roxette might sing. The fact that when I addressed this eighties influence with the band they were agreeable, despite citing nineties influences themselves; it’s what you want to hear, meaning one thing, that their sound is timelessly classic, ergo, good pop.

If it was so, that this tune was on a mid eighties hits album, I’m assured it would be a smash and Bruno Brookes would be introducing them on Top of the Pops. Equally with a nineties one. Talk in Code cherrypicks from era-spanning memorable and timeless pop songs, garnishing them with contemporary freshness.   

Subject is equally perennial for any good pop, they blurb this one as, “taking things at face value, over analysing and the scene of one person wanting more than the other from a relationship.” Woody Guthire wrote this lyric, “and it’s hard and it’s hard, ain’t it hard, To love one that never did love you?” in 1941, again, recurring themes are so because they’re eternally popular subject matter, ergo good pop!

The song will be available via Regent Street Records on all streaming platforms from tomorrow, 1st March. Recorded with Sam Winfield at Studio 91, Newbury. Talk in Code take their dynamic show on the road,  7th July – Minety Festival, 20th July – Southgate Inn, Devizes, 27th July – Fulltone Festival, Devizes, 2nd August – The Three Horseshoes, Bradford On Avon, 3rd August – The Castle Inn, Swindon and 26th August – Box Rocks, Box. The act which can neatly slip into these diverse events, can equally thrill an audience at say, FullTone, or the Three Horseshoes, proves my waffling point, I think!

Pre-save it HERE!

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For Now, Anyway; Gus White’s Debut Album

Featured Image: Barbora Mrazkova My apologies, for Marlborough’s singer-songwriter Gus White’s debut album For Now, Anyway has been sitting on the backburner, and it’s more…

One Of Us; New Single From Lady Nade

Featured Image by Giulia Spadafora Ooo, a handclap uncomplicated chorus is the hook in Lady Lade’s latest offering of soulful pop. It’s timelessly cool and…

Large Unlicensed Music Event Alert!

On the first day of advent, a time of peace and joy to the world et al, Devizes Police report on a “large unlicenced music…

Deadlight Dance: Innocent Beginnings

Marlborough’s darkwave-goth duo, Deadlight Dance push their boundaries to new limits with their second single, Innocent Beginnings this week, and it’s a corker of goth perilous poignancy…..

Echoes of Human League synth prowess rain from this sombre tune, with foreboding warning vocals of Joy Division, yet the theme is environmental, something though historically consistent in pop, generally, surprisingly overlooked by the alternative subgenre of post-punk gothic of the eighties. You’d have thought with the stereotypical gloomy disposition of the genre, climate change was a missed opportunity for electronica, and/or post-punk goth subject matter; though maybe you know different, I’m no expert.

While it has been done, eighties misconceptions of the subject often obscure the severity of the topic, and place them subtly irreverent by today’s standards. Best I can conjure from memory is The Pixies’ track Monkey Gone to Heaven, of which the context of pollution and the depleting ozone layer is missed amidst the screeching vocals of Black Francis, A Forest by the Cure, which always felt more Little Red Riding Hood than eco-warrior, Talking Heads’ (Nothing but) The Flowers which is all too satirical art-pop, experimentally awash with soukous, for some bizarre reason, and even to endure ten minutes of Giorio Moroder’s less-inspiring disco synth moment in Cerrone’s Supernature only to discover elements of environmental concerns conclude with humankind obliterated by some kind of “creature from below!” 

It makes this single of an interesting composition, sounding so retrospective; precision with environmental subject matter came much later than this track imitates, therefore musical trends had changed by the time it’s more astutely covered. Ethereal nineties and noughties alternative rock certainly made full use of the topic, from Mors Syphilitica to All About Eve, but Innocent Beginnings, as is Deadlight’s design, it seems, is to recreate the sound of alternative eighties, leaving you pondering if Joy Division were at their peak now, climate change would have been the theme of Atmosphere, and might have come out sounding akin to this. Not forgoing, environmental groups would clasp hold of it, rather than just the creators of Stranger Things!  

Though, having said all of the gloomy irreversible theme of Innocent Beginnings which basically suggests it’s all too late to do something about it now, the video is contradictorily recorded in the setting of the pretty village of Aldbourne; hardly the dystopian landscape of a post-apocalyptic earth wrecked by our own hand! And in turn, makes me come over all Greta Thunberg and contemplate at least if we try, we can say we tried; put that in your pipe and smoke it, Nick Fletcher and Tim Emery of Deadlight Dance! Damn good track though, guys, and produced by Nick Beere at Mooncalf Studios, we look forward to hearing more from these guys.

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Winter Festival/Christmas/Whatever!

This is why I love you, my readers, see?! At the beginning of the week I put out an article highlighting DOCA’s Winter Festival, and…

Devizes Winter Festival This Friday and More!

Who’s ready for walking in the winter wonderland?! Devizes sets to magically transform into a winter wonderland this Friday when The Winter Festival and Lantern…

Snow White Delight: Panto at The Wharf

Treated to a sneaky dress rehearsal of this year’s pantomime at Devizes’ one and only Wharf Theatre last night, if forced to sum it up…

The Bakesys, Thursday Night on my Television

The Bakesys have a new album out this week, to get your flux capacitor firing on all cylinders……

Though Perry Como got the ball rolling for a possible “10 songs which stick in your head” nonsense article today, I’ve been pleasantly reminded of eighties German outfit, Trio. A kind of poor man’s Europop Ian Dury, their only UK hit ‘Da Da Da’ definitely fits the bill.

But in turn it reminded me I’ve an album review to prioritise, a track on which reeks of Trio, and not the popular chocolate biscuit of the era. With its upfront ZX Spectrum game backbeat ‘Six O’clock Already‘ is like techno never happened; you can virtually see Jet Set Willy entering the banyan tree.

If you need Google to comprehend that reference, Newbury’s The Bakesys’ ‘Thursday Night on my Television,‘  might skyrocket over your head. Inspired by late eighties third wave ska bands, The Bakesys formed in 1990, and frontman Kevin Flowerdew is now editor of the superlative ska-zine ‘Do The Dog.’
I fondly reviewed their last outpouring, Sentences I’d Like To Hear The End Of, in which a variety of sixties news headlines are given a fourth gen ska makeover to poignant and danceable effect. This latest album is a different ballpark.

Through retrospective compilation, Thursday Night on my Television, relies entirely on that post-punk pop era, where no subgenre in the clutter of youth cultures could avoid the onslaught of electronica. It was a do-or-die age of experimentation, free of the trend of sampling. And unlike the previous Bakesys’ album, there are no samples, just rich of culture references harking of the kind of sounds dripping from that era, and deliberately clunky.


Fun Boy Three’s Our Lips are Sealed gets a counter-reaction, Molly Ringwald gets a mention, in a song akin to Kirsty McColl’s guy down the chip shop, and the best ballad themes around the subject of Bunking Off School, Jumping on Buses, leaving no doubts The Bakesys are either Dr Who, or lived this time, and are reminiscing on both reality-driven romance and fantasising, of John Hughes characters.

With shards of Two-Tone, new wave and post-punk, no pre-electronica subgenre is left behind, as it merges into this experimental period, this album will have you recollecting all from The Damned and The Beat, to Blancmange and Sparks, if you don’t remember ‘Beat the Clock,’ your memory will be jogged by this retrospective outpouring, and in the words of Kenny Everett, “all in the best possible taste!”

For it might take a couple of listens to be fully immersed, for what was avantgarde might now be cliché, The Bakesys home in with such a degree you’re drawn into reliving rather than attributing, like your Harrington jacket, Doc Martins and Fred Perry polo shirt have been hanging in your wardrobe all this time, waiting for you to stop staring at that fading Kim Wilde poster on your wall, and nip to the arcade to play some Space Invaders until a fight breaks out….. which kinda makes it alright.

But, it took me by surprise, expecting ska, when even the most ska-ish track, Money all the Time, has the electronic plod of Depeche Mode. It’s a synth-pop marvel, with a notion to matured retrospection, rather than delinquent melancholy, and it works on a level above the archetypal 80s tribute, to the point I’ll be avoiding white dog shit on the street, and I can smell that bubble gum you used to get in trading cards!

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Chatting With Burn The Midnight Oil

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The Lost Trades Float on New Single

I’ve got some gorgeous vocal harmonies currently floating into my ears, as The Lost Trades release their first single since the replacement of Tamsin…

Daydream Runaways, with Butterflies

Daydream Runaways have released their first single for a while, and it’s got superpowers!

Being a little over four years old, Devizine has grown up with a number of young bands and acts on the local circuit and it’s always nice to hear back from them. I overuse the word “matured” to describe the progression they’ve made since we first met, but it’s not a word I’d use today, as part Swindon-based part Devizes-based indie-pop fourpiece Daydream Runaways, release their first single since their amalgamation EP Dreamlands in November 2020.

Benjamin Heathcote, Nathaniel Heathcote, Cameron Bianchi and Bradley Kinsey promote the new single, Butterflies with images of them head locked into golden age American comics. I spammed the social media post with a selfie of me reading an antique Dandy, one nearly as antique as me!

It’s not the first time the band have used imagery conveying what some might deem nerdy or adolescent pop culture references, from childlike depictions of fairgrounds, cuddly toy mascots etc, and though, in some ways the retrospective nods to the eighties power-pop of a John Hughes soundtrack and youthful themes of unrequited love and romantic obsession might return us to our coming-of-age era, there’s nothing technically in this new song to suggest they’ve matured necessarily, because that air of ripened quality and proficiency in their sound has been there since day-dot.

Akin to Robert Johnson, did they sell their souls to the devil at a crossroads to be, like, automatically this good?! Doubt it, it takes time and dedication, two elements really on show here.

So, I put them on a pedestal and they knock it right over, Butterflies is an absolutely awesome song, I expected nothing less. I’ve called them one of the most underrated bands around these waters, I stick by that. Again, it’s this delicate balance between sounding fresh and replicating a fond era, fused with a sturdy appetite and palpable passion which creates these eternally sublime indie-pop belters, the like I praise Talk in Code, The Dirty Smooth and the Longcoats with too. Ah, it’s like the eighties never ended, just got better, cos, as with their others, perhaps even more so with Butterflies, you could fit these on an eighty’s movie soundtrack, or Now compilation and they’d blend perfectly with the likes of Simple Minds, U2, Echo & the Bunnymen, et al.

I hope you catch my drift, Butterflies certainly is skilfully progressive, the band seem tighter than ever before, the timeless subject of unrequited obsession has been used to full efficiency, and it just works on all levels, but Daydream Runaways always had that in them, ergo it’s not worthy of the term matured. Beguiling via hook-laden layers, building and crashing drums and guitars, it drives with optimistic emotion and screams authority till the point it’s impossible to deem this anything other than anthemic.

It’s also embracingly DIY, sticking with their indie roots, they release Butterflies completely independently. Recording, mixing and mastering was the task of drummer Bradley Kinsey, and the artwork designed by frequent collaborator and friend ‘Ezra Mae Art’.

The band suggest the lonely heart theme, has a twist; the lyrics are written from “the perspective of the titular superhero, Butterfly Boy.” Wanting to write a song fit for a comic book hero, they created their own rather than “going the route of existing meta-humans from the likes of comic giants Marvel & DC.” Maybe I need to align my spidey-senses, or just give it a few more listens to see the connection, but that’s easy to do with a track so invitingly good.

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The Wurzels To Play At FullTone 2026!

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On The Road With Talk in Code!

You know that millennial movie, Almost Famous, set mid-seventies, where Rolling Stone Magazine mistake a nerdy teenager for a music journalist and send him on the road with an outrageous prog-rock band? It was nothing like that. Neither did it resemble 200 Motels, where a man dressed as a vacuum cleaner convinces you Ringo Starr is actually Frank Zappa in some freaky acid flashback. But I did have an awesome adventure yesterday, on the road with local premier indie-pop favs, Talk in Code.…..

There were no campervans with CND slogans painted on the side-door, no sign of Goldie Hawn’s daughter unfortunately, and though my bubbles of anachronistic pre-imaginings burst, it allowed me to chart the regular labour of a touring band, rather than my usual practise of slouching up halfway through a performance with lame excuse. For if I’m going to write on the subject, I need to comprehend the inner workings, and the thoughts of a band going to a gig; even though I’m far from teenage music journalist with an advance from Rolling Stone!

So, by dinnertime I’m lone with guitarist Alastair Sneddon at the steering wheel, hereafter referred to as “Snedds,” with an amp case knocking in the rear of his car, and distracted by my inane waffling, weaving between musical subjects, badly following his sat-nav to Portsmouth.

Likely the eldest of this four-piece band, Snedds is a family man with a wealth of musical experience. He fondly recalls playing in cover bands, jazz and blues groups and our chat swifts across his past, musical influence brushing off on his children, current past gigs and local venues, to the importance, or insignificance of pop culture, the mainstream music industry and current trends of listening to music from streaming platforms to amplification to listening through phone speakers; we could’ve chatted all night on his passionate chosen subject, least it perceived to reduce the travel time.  

Before I knew it, we were awkwardly parked on a busy street in Southsea. Awash with cheesy club type pubs, restaurants, kebab houses and chippies, lies an equally misplaced theatre to our right, and a more traditional looking city tavern, The Lord John Russell, which will be our venue for the evening. Like a true roadie I felt a sense of haughtiness as I assisted lugging equipment through the already bustling pub; make way, yes, I’m with the band, ladies control yourselves!

But nothing felt ostentatious for the band as they amassed their kit in a corner, greeted each other and the promoter; here’s a tight working team despite the geographic distance between them. Talk in Code are part from Swindon, Reading and Devizes, but here they are with an excited air of anticipation brewing. There’s a trio of bands on tonight, Talk in Code are second on, while the first are already sound checking, locally based to Portsmouth, Southerlies are a seven-piece covers band, fusing Americana with punchy hooks into contemporary pop; they proficiently delivered their set with good male-female vocal harmonies, and being local I observe they attracted a fanbase.

Quite eclectic then, to switch to Talk in Code’s more electronica indie-pop, which as I discussed in the car with Snedds, perpetually seemed to fuse conventional nineties indie sound to a more inimitable eighties synth-pop style with every new tune. Yet tricker still was the notion the Talkers insist to play only their originals, which would be unknown to this rather heterogenous crowd. Besides, frontman Chris gets his fill of covers with the Britpop Boys.

Seems Friday live music nights are relatively new-fangled for the Lord John Russell, with a promoter keen to create the venture, the pub also adhered to cater for the pull on it’s street with screens showing sport and archetypical club music between acts. As much as market town pubs like Devizes’ Southgate work here, with a penchant for original live music and solely that, it wouldn’t work in this busy city location judging by the footfall. But a splendid, convivial and dynamic pub it was with a wide demographic.

One thing I was keen to gage from Talk in Code, the priorities and feelings towards playing a gig outside their usual stomping ground as opposed to returning to a venue like Swindon’s Victoria where a fanbase would be welcoming. They stressed the importance of both, and being their recent connection to Regent Street Records, there’s a keenness in the band to grab wider-appeal in anticipation of the forthcoming album. The release of which has been pushed back to accommodate this collaboration.

Still, all the band are united in praising recent local gigs, particularly Trowbridge Town Hall where they supported The Worried Men, and were keen to pick out the importance of the many locally-based festivals they’re booked at, from Minety to Live at Lydiard and IWild in Gloucestershire. And with appearances at places like Oxford’s HMV, things are really looking up for them post-lockdown.

And it’s easy to see why when they bounced on stage last night at the Lord John Russell, after their virtually nail-biting eagerness while the Southerlies launched into their final song, Chris already polishing his guitar and Snedds confessing the waiting game is a pet hate. A technical issue with leads to the backing tracks solved, the band applauded the previous and proficiently executed their thing, introducing themselves and delivering their songs with panache.

For me it was a blessing, being I’m aware of much of their discography, to finally get to witness them do it live, and had to stop to ponder their stage presence is as exhilarating as their recorded work. Yet, my view of the performance differed from the crowd as the band were likely new to them. Still, they got the place jumping, sprightlier, and louder than the previous band. They confessed a spirit of fair competition was unavoidable in them, yet affirmed their ethos to never do their set and bunk, in respect for other bands; Talk in Code come off as outgoing throughout and it was an honour to be welcomed into their web.

Also present, I spent time chatting connections, her background as music journalist and her fanzine making past, with manager Lyndsey. From Milton Keynes she avidly followed the group in their early years, falling in love with their sound it seemed only natural to mutually agree for her to manage. And part-time freelance photographer Helen, whose PolarPix Facebook page is dominated with Talk in Code shots. I put it to her she seems to have another band photographed then a Talk in Code one, then another Talk in Code one, then another random band. She acknowledged most of the other bands were on the same bill as TIC! A true “Talker,” as is their fanbase appellation.

Percival Elliott

A pleasant change from trudging the local circuit, as the finale was a euphoric rock band named Percival Elliott, who, with barefoot frontman on keys, executed a sublime set, the like you’d want Coldplay to achieve. In many ways here was a band apt for our own fond venues such as aforementioned Southgate and Trowbridge Town Hall. Without boast, coming highly recommended by yours truly occasionally has some clout, though there was part of me who, if in control of this triple-bill, would’ve put Talk in Code as the final band, being more upbeat popish.

We give no more review of The Lord John Russell for the sake of it being outside our boundaries, but if you’re Pompy bound this would be an ideal pub to consider, offering a variety of free live music dates on Fridays. Now I’m home, unpacked my Peppa Pig bucket and spade, but while I unfortunately didn’t see the seaside, or Kate Hudson, I was in good company with a band which goes from strength-to-strength.  

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DOCA’s Young Urban Digitals

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Jol Rose’s Ragged Stories

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Deadlight Dance New Single: Gloss

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Things to Do During Halloween Half Term

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Swindon’s New Tribute to the Blockheads; Dury Duty

On the eve of a new tribute act fronted by Swindon’s Mark Colton, he tells me “Dury seems to be a forgotten genius and the blockheads are an amazing band still. We just want to remind people of what a great showman he was, and what great songs there are……”

I find myself pondering on Dury’s virtuosity, influence and why it’s popularly considered underrated. True, the meandering and wishy-washy narrative of Matt Whitecross’ 2010 biopic, Sex & Drugs & Rock n Roll, didn’t do much justice, but his funeral, a decade prior to the film, saw a handful of celebrities, keen on honouring the mysterious persona of Ian Dury. From Mo Mowlam and Robbie Williams to Madness, the latter of whom occupied a similar place in the nation’s heart as Ian Dury and the Blockheads did a few short years prior.

A posthumous national treasure, in death he achieved what his dark and edgy character prevented him from accomplishing, a Times obituary praised the singer’s “Swiftian satirical streak” and acknowledged his “lasting place in the corpus of the English popular song.” If The Blockheads’ pseudo-fusion of jazz into punk didn’t wash with the atypical punk movement, it certainly scored them some hits, and anyway, when did punk itself ever adhere to “fit in?”

Ian Dury

To take onboard recent trends in British unpremeditated, often jokey street rap, the kind The Streets, Lily Allen and Kate Nash rinsed, Dury popularised that poetic verse, to consider post-punk’s more jazzy moments, The Blockheads reigned supreme, but perhaps the synthesis doesn’t pigeonhole them for a majority to realise the strength of their influence on pop.  

Swindon’s newly formed six-piece Dury Duty is dedicated to the songs and performance of legendary band leader and raconteur Ian Dury, rather than recent Blockheads reformation. This combo of experienced musicians strives to recreate the sound and feel of a genuine Ian Dury concert, drawing from material found within his solo output, his work with The Kilburns, The Blockheads as well as other side projects.

“I have decided to follow my heart and do the projects I have always wanted to do,” Mark explained, “including this one. The initial set features the sort of set around the time Do it Yourself would have been released, lots of songs from New Boots.”

Mark Colton

Colton leads in Thin Lizzy tribute, The Lizzy Legacy, temporarily fronted ska covers band The Skandals, continues in the punk cover band Rotten Aces, and has been gigging solo for a while with a repertoire of two-tone and punk covers. He basically has his fingers in so many pies, it’s tricky to keep up! I asked him if the concentration was solely on Dury Duty now, or if the other original and tribute acts are still in motion.  

“The solo stuff will continue,” he informed, “I have a few projects still on the go. My original material band CREDO is recording our 5th album, Rotten Aces are gigging again from April, after getting a new guitarist. I have a Marillion Tribute too, called Marquee Square Heroes, and the Lizzy Legacy are still active, but less so due to others commitments and of course, Dury Duty. Each band is a different challenge, but they all keep me on my toes!”

Along with the expected big hitters, such as ‘Sex and Drugs and Rock and Roll’, ‘Reasons To be Cheerful (Pt.3)’, ‘Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick’, and ‘What A Waste’ forming the backbone of any set, Dury Duty promise “lesser known but equally entertaining nuggets to whet the appetite of any long-time Ian Dury aficionado.”

Mark is joined by Jono Judge – Saxophones, Percussion and Vocals, Michael York – Piano, Keyboards, Guitar and Vocals, Brian Barnes – Guitars and Vocals, Rob McGregor – Drums and Vocals and Ken Wynne – Bass Guitar and Vocals. A self-confessed “talented band of brothers” keen on not only entertaining those familiar with the extensive cannon of this great performer and wordsmith, but to bring new fans to the man. “Ian Dury is sorely missed and his sharp, witty and often cutting observations on the mundane and absurd through his lyrics and poetic verse are carried forward by this.”

Opening gig is at Swindon’s premier venue, Old Town’s Victoria on Friday June 3rd, but are the band ready to roll, should a nearer booking come their way, I asked Mark. “I suspect we would do something if it came up for Dury Duty, but that’s what we are working towards at the moment. We will be looking to get out and get this working, the songs are a pleasure to play.” Got to wish them all the best with the project, being it innovative and crucial for a tribute act find a sustainably eminent niche which doesn’t fall into cliché, and for the reasons of Ian Dury’s elapsed stimulus makes this project exciting local music news.

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Devizes’ Cellar Bar to Reopen

Ding dong! Glad to hear new owners of The Bear Hotel plan to reopen it’s glorious landmark Cellar Bar on Saturday March 5th, and to celebrate the fact DJ Andy Saunders will be on his wheels of steel, spinning retrospective seventies and eighties tunage.

It’s a free disco-tastic night from half seven till midnight, so zip up your boots and just keep rockin” but not too much pushing pineapples or shaking trees, please, Mr DJ.

Thirty Years a Raver, Part 2: We Called it Acieeed!

read the first part here

A branch of a classy supermarket chain seems an unlikely place to start a story of one’s first rave experience. It was a shop which, on a later occasion, my mate and I decided to walk ten miles back to, to thank them for such a lovely pizza. Overlooking the fact, it was the extra topping of liberty caps we added ourselves which sparked the idea, and, in turn caused us to only make it a hundred yards out of the village before we collapsed in a hysterical heap. Just as well, given I worked there at the time.

Oh, for the time, I’m slipping down my rose-tinted specs again, but, while I’m grateful to those reading this who lived it, I’d rather those too young would too, who they need to understand the era leading up to it, to know why we did what we did……

A protest at end of term school disco, 1988. Teachers, thought they were “hip” enough to do the “in” thing, hiring a standard DJ to deliver the latest pop sounds. One year away from leaving the institution we saw ourselves as mature. Obviously not, but sufficient to warrant a plain and simple fact; the pop chart was not aimed at us.

A decade old now and electronica has become timeworn and abused by the Hit Factory and Stock Aitken Waterman. The formula was simple, derived from sixties bubble-gum pop, and aimed an even younger audience. An assembly line of drum machine synthpop churned out uninspiring samey trash, a monotonous drone promoting pop stardom to Australian soap opera actors, failing have-been musicians convinced by a fat cheque and dreadful teenage dreamboats. They punished the last part of the decade; they commercialised the once experimental epoch. It should have been a crime.

We all sat in protest on the dancefloor, booing, as the DJ spun, I Owe You Nothing by latest teen-pop sensation Bros, two brothers from Camberley with Pet Shop Boys manager Tom Watkins, stupid belt buckles and leather vests donning crucifixes, which seeing as what they did for pop, was actually quite apt. The only person left dancing was a good friend of mine, who took the ingenuity to bring a Sony Walkman, and he skanked out of time, through the protesters in his own little world, lip-syncing the words to Buffalo Solider.

For me, even my love of hip hop worn thin. While it still had a nostalgic place in my heart, as it spread out from the Bronx it seemed to be whitewashed, typecast far from the original ethos. Yes, Grandmaster Melle Mel rapped conscious lyrics on The Message, but that was the exception to the rule. Now, seemed every rapper had a chip on their shoulder, something to criticise, a plastic attitude and some serious bling. It was either this, or sell yourself like a cheap tart; take MC Miker G & DJ Sven rapping over Madonna’s Holiday as red for why hip hop lost its way.

 A far cry from the untroubled origins of hip-hop, where the idea was to throw your cares away for the duration and party. A notion closer to the new impending wave of electronic music, fresh from the underground.

In any case, at 14 I’d moved to Marlborough, where breakdance seemingly hadn’t the same impact as it had on my Essex town. Prior to starting school there, my mother suggested my brother and I attend a concert on the common, as promoted on GWR Radio, surprisingly. It may’ve been a tactic to encourage us to blend into our new home. What actually happened freaked me out. If I considered I’d descended time, back to the seventies, before this day, I certainly did now. I believe the band playing to have been popular local rock band, Read’m and Weep.

Looking back now, they were excellent, but through my trendy suburban Essex eyes I was shocked at the sight of scruffy rock kids perched on car bonnets, uniformed in black, smoking, drinking from bottles before me. I felt like the character Sam Emerson, the younger brother in the movie The Lost Boys, when they go to the beach fair. If one of these “weirdos” glimmered fangs at me, I was legging it.

In fairness, being bored with the direction of hip-hop, and annoyed with commercial pop, I had a sweeping overview of rock, as soft metal took the charts by storm. And as I emersed fuller into the cultural differences of my environment. I began to find it was the only musical avenue worthy of attention, and had to backtrack my knowledge to the classics. But as I was taking in Led Zeppelin, Hendrix and The Doors, in order to make friends at school, they became accepting of a new wave of electronic music called “house,” as it was, it had a commercial side, but looming was the psychedelic underground roots, sub-labelled “acid house.” We kind of met in the middle.

I find it amusing child-friendly raves have become a popular attraction recently. Organisers such Raver Tots and Big Fish, Little Fish attained a gap in the market with new parents who thought the stork has ended their raving days.

Ingeniously they create a pay-rave/soft play centre crossover, largely based on the hardcore era of the mid-nineties, as that’s the generation with easily persuaded toddlers. Way to go to push your diehard habits onto your saucepan and lids, but indulge now, as it doesn’t last! If you asked my daughter ten years ago what her favourite music is, she’d reply “reggae,” an obvious spoon-fed response. Now she’s engulfed by current pop, and you have to let them find their own path, their own thing. Pushy parenting backfires.

But that’s not the reason it amuses me, neither is the fact since the dawn of rave participants never take themselves too seriously. Yes, it’s “cheesy” by their own definition. Yes, there’s a childlike euphoria involved with raving too. Sucking of lollies, cuddling complete strangers, and dancing like a lunatic to a breakbeat sample of the Sesame Street theme. But it’s a notion the flipside, the “indie” kids could never fathom, in all their depressing reality-driven gloom; rave was never to be taken too seriously. It was quintessentially an escapism.

No, the reason it amuses me is thus, at the time rave was not the place to take a toddler and few did, save for perhaps the travelling folk who, for them, the sites were their home. Rave was illegal, primarily, until big businesses saw the opportunity to make a fast buck. Rave was daring, criminal and that’s what, unashamedly, made it exciting. In fact, the spread of the trend grew from a scare story, a tabloid attempt to frighten parents into believing every teenager, including theirs, was off their rockers in a dangerous derelict warehouse somewhere around the London orbital. Truth is, my friends and I hadn’t a clue about it, until now.

In fact, in 1988, just before some doughnut invited a lucky journalist to an acid house party, the scene was tiny, a secret association only a select few Ibiza diehards knew about. The desire to recreate their hedonistic holiday in the Balearics in London gained little attention, until one day the newspapers splashed it across their front pages. Needless to say, it backfired, now every teenager in the country wanted in on the deal. Including me.

As ever, the Sun was the main culprit, Gary Bushell pasting a light-hearted angle, often satirical and tongue-in-cheek but definitely in favour of the exploding trend, in order to sell their “acid house t-shirt.” Soon as sales dropped, they turned nasty on the surge they had a hand in prompting. It’s almost as if they deliberately blossomed a teenage rebellious phenomenon in order to flip it over and create hysteria, to sell papers; who knew they could be so callous?!

But it was too late. D-Mob sounded it out; We Call It Acieeed. Prior tunes to hit the charts never wrote it directly on the wall. It was always just about “house” music, pumping up the volume, or jackin’ your body. One could differentiate, draw a definite line between run-of-the-mill “house,” hence being commercial, or the evil, drug suggested “acid house.” At least to our adolescent mind. Truth is, it was all the same.

Yet meanwhile we were still convinced electronic music was sold out to commercialisation, therefore we’d rewound back to the space rock of psychedelic sixties and seventies. Unlike my peers though, I retained small penchant for the original hip hop, and swept house with the same brush. It was short lived, but I liked house for all the silly samples of Bomb the Bass’ Beat Dis. It was as if electro had turned full circle, and divided from the cliche of fierce rap styled US hip hop, particularly now the west coast had as much clout as the east.

It’s also worth noting, although we took its source as American, British acts like Coldcut were now producing house. As the media hysteria became old news and mellowed, by 1990, the average joe blogs could be forgiven for assuming it had all been a flash in the pan. Little did even we know the trend was growing, and since graduating from pupil to student, felt we had moral responsibility to check it out for ourselves.

Perhaps not just our age, but also rural Wiltshire was hardly cutting edge when it came to trends. So, two years on and the words on our lips were “acid house,” despite the term had metamorphosed into “rave.”

With local Tory backhanding secret social clubs’ slaps on the back, our school opened its doors and poured children into the only supermarket in town, where the branch manager welcomed weekend staff, he could offer £2.20 an hour to. I succumbed for want of my own pocket money. Surprisingly, it was there where my adventure into rave begun.

Yet it was there, working my Saturday job, allowing us the newfound financial freedom to maturely decide where best to invest our earning, which happened to be getting wasted. A friend, a year or so senior, dropped the killer bombshell, to which I hide my excitement and pretended to know all about. “You going to the acid house party tonight, up the common?” he inquired.

Well, my feet didn’t touch the floor before arriving at the opposite side of the warehouse below the store, where my buddy priced up tins of soup. Shocking to think barcodes were still some way off, and one would have to be like Clint Eastwood with a pricing gun. But nevertheless, he stopped as I told him the news, and his face lit up with excitement, and a slight evil grin.

1991 beckons next week, as I relive my rave honeymoon, be there!

Read Part 3

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Pretty in Pink Longcoats!

Bath’s young indie-pop favourites, Longcoats has a forthcoming belter of a single, with a generous slice of retrospection; you may admire them again today.

As one who usually supports the underdog, I favoured the originally intended ending of the John Hughes cult, Pretty in Pink. Although it’s all in the past, Duckie deserved his promqueen for the overtime he put in. I mean, don’t get me wrong, boyishly I wouldn’t have chucked Kirsty Swanson out of bed, but by the final cut, the Duckster failed at the goal he set. And I liked him, rooted for him against the dweeby snob Blane. Though it was never about the guys fighting, Molly got what she wanted, I suppose, and Duckie learned not to cross the friends barrier; c’est la vie.

But I’m not here to rap eighties coming-of-age romcoms, less you’ll never hear the end of it. Windows down driving music we are here for. Out this Friday (16th April) I’m backing this will be an instant indie-pop anthem, with the same name as that movie.

Frontman Ollie Sharp confesses, “John Huges is a big inspo for us, always loved Breakfast Club and Pretty in Pink.”

Bath’s Longcoats rocking the summertime vibe with a beguiling riff, and feel good factor. Pretty in Pink has to be the best we’ve heard of this promising indie three-piece, to date.

Akin to recent tunes we’ve reviewed from the likes of Talk in Code, Daydream Runaways and Atari Pilot, here’s a fresh indie track, retaining the contemporary yet with that sublime nod to eighties pop-rock, which, as precisely as the title suggests, wouldn’t look out of place on a John Hughes soundtrack any more than the Psychedelic Furs’ title theme.

It’s an upbeat wah-wah scorcher, fading to emotively driven verses, powerful as anything you might hear on such a film score, with a popping an earing in and punching the sky ending.

Since last October’s awesome EP, named conveniently after the month, things have progressed in a direction I’m liking for the Longcoats, being a Thatcher’s child and all!

This is a grand job, find it on Spotify on Friday. Pre-sale link here.

Cult Figures; Deritend, Yes Mate!

It’s not just me, is it? Eighteen seconds into the Cult’s She Sells Sanctuary, you know, when it breaks, and you’re like, that’s it, right there. It matters not what youth culture you were into, at the time, or even now, it doesn’t give a hoot about your favoured genres, haircut, colour of anorak, age, gender or race, it just does it, and you, you’re like, as I said, that’s it, right there.

Something similar happens with this Cult Figures album Deritend, out last week; heck, if they haven’t even got a comparable name. Perhaps not so nostalgia-filled, as these are all originals, though the sound harks back to an era or yore, when cookies were in a biscuit barrel rather than your web browser, Tories were governed a demoness made from iron rather than a clown made of teddy bear stuffing, and a wet wipe was when your mum spat into a handkerchief and wiped it over your Space-Dust covered chops.

Mind, as happens when I’m sent files not numbered, it lists them alphabetically rather than in the running order, so the opening track is actually the penultimate Camping in the Rain, but it makes the perfect intro into the world of these London-based masters of retrospection. From its off, it’s, well, off, leaving me to reminisce about those classic post-punk new wave bands of the eighties. At times though, as it’s a mesh of this and reflective of the scooterist mod culture of same period, I’m thinking of the likes of the Jam and Merton Parkas too. Contemplate the musical differences are subtle, though worlds apart at the time, and this sits comfortably somewhere in-between.

To add to their perfection of authenticity, one must note this is the second album from Cult Figures, and is comprised of tracks written in their earlier incarnation between 1977 and 1980, just recorded more recently.

The real opening tune, Chicken Bones, has the same impact, something beguiling and anthemic, setting the way it’s going to go down. Donut Life, which follows, sounds like carefree pop, the Chords, for a comparison. In fact, as it progresses the guitar riffs of next tune, Lights Out, is sounding more pre-gothic, Joy Division, yet with a catchy whistle more akin to The Piranhas. Things get really poignant with Exile, almost dub Visage meets the Clash, and Omen extenuates the seriousness of a running theme.  

“Deritend draws a line under the past,” they explain, “all eleven tracks composed and recorded since our 2016 comeback, simultaneously reflecting a maturity gained in 40 years of life experience, whilst still embracing the accessible three Ps of the early days; punk, pop and psychedelia.” The album’s title owes to a historic industrial area outside Birmingham’s centre, “a few miles from where Gary and I grew up.”

The mysterious iconic name was a bus route terminus and has a strong emotional connection to the band, “evoking the nervous excitement of those long rides into town on our way to Barbarellas. But it conveys so much more: Deritend is an album that reflects on the past, speculates on the future, but for the most part is fairly and squarely a comment on the lives we are living now.” They convey this well, for through its retrospection, subject matter, growing up with the dilapidation of a working-class industrial chip, could equally apply to then, or now.

A timeless piece of art within a captivating musical style which embraces the traditions of generation X, just curled up at an edge like an old poster on the congregated iron fence of a closed factory. I mean Silver Blades and White Noise crave you dive back into punk; there’s a definite Clash feel to the latter. As girl’s names for titles generally do, Julie-Anne is archetypical upbeat but themed of desire, and the sound of it is particularly challenging to pin down, there’s Weller there, but a drum roll you’d expect Annabella Lwin to surface from (of Bow Wow Wow if you need to, Google it, youngster!)

Most bizarre and experimental is the brilliantly executed talky sound of Concrete and Glass. Cast your mind back to 86, if poss, remember Jim’s tune, yeah? Driving Away From Home by It’s Immaterial, and you’re not far from the mark.

The aforementioned Camping in the Rain which could’ve been the opening track, is next, and it’s the epithet of all we’ve mentioned. This combination is not juxtaposed cumbersomely like a tribute act, rather the genuine article lost in time, and it, well, in a nutshell, absolutely rocks. The finale, Privilege is plentiful to summarise; Clash-styled punk rock, themed on the expectations of irritated propertyless youth, akin to Jimmy Cliff’s You Can Get It If You Really Want.

But, unless all you want is a zig-a-zig-ah and to spice up your life with commercialised bubble-gum pop, nothing here is oven-ready for criticism, just relish yourself in a bygone era, and rock.

The Lost Trades Live Stream their new album on Friday; tickets here

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DOCA’s Early Lantern Workshops

Is it too early for the C word?! Of course not, Grinch! With DOCA’S Winter Festival confirmed for Friday 28th November this year, there will…

I See Orange….And Doll Guts!

There was a time not so long ago when I See Orange was the most exciting new band in Swindon. Their latest offering released at…

Talk in Code Down The Gate!

What, again?! Another article about Talk in Code?! Haven’t they had enough Devizine-styled publicity?! Are their heads swelling?!  Didn’t that crazy toothless editor catch them…

Eighties Mod Revival Lost Gem: The Direct Hits

If I waffle positively here, and yes, I do waffle, about retrospection and a trend in sounds trying to be authentically from a time of yore, this one doesn’t need to try. The Broadway Recording Sessions thrusts you rearward into the eighty’s mod revival scene, whether you want to go there or not.

Battersea trio, The Direct Hits may only be remembered by the connoisseur of mod, having one-shot at charting in ’82, when TV presenter Dan Treacy released their song, Modesty Blaise on his Whamm! imprint. The music press hailed this as not just another Jam, crash-bang-wallop mod revivalist tune, and their explosive live shows avowed them pioneers of a “Battersea Beat.”

Whamm were financially struggling to fund an album, so the band pooled their limited resources and booked the cheapest studio time they could find, Tooting’s Broadway Sounds. By the afternoon they had knocked out nine songs, the other three on this album were recorded a fortnight later. It would be two years later when they re-recorded some of these songs for their debut album “Blow Up.”

Now remastered, these lost recordings have surfaced finally, and, with warts and all, show the uncooked spirit of a hopeful mod garage band. I’ve had this playing for a few weeks since it’s late February release, and it heralds the hallmarks of a post-punk return to the basics, which sixties groups like The Kinks and The Small Faces mastered. To expect this yardstick is pushing it, but through all its rawness there’s some beguilingly adroit songs to make you wonder why they wasn’t as their namesake suggests, direct hits!

Perhaps it was that bit too retrospective for the progressive eighties. Because, elements capture neo-psychedelia, rather than soulful eighties mod assigned via The Spencer Davis Group and into bands like The Merton Parkas. That era where the beatnik style was teetering on influencing the pop sound, but Merseybeat was still riding the high ground. There’s a delicate balance here, avoiding things getting too cliché Mamas & Papas, these upbeat three-minute-heroes never fails to kick ass.

Consistently high-spirted and energetic garage sound, yet psychedelically enhanced; think if Syd Barrett’s days spent at Pink Floyd would’ve been spent with The Who instead, and you get the idea. There’s even a bike song, just like on Relics. Lyrically there’s unassuming stories with clear narratives and characters to challenge the Beatles.

A polished rerecording of a track from the album.

Overall, though, you’ve got twelve mind-blowing rarities which perfectly capture a raw moment of youthful optimism for an inspiring band, in an era where everyone felt encouraged to pick up an instrument and give it bash; and they’re good, really good. In a funny kind of way, I see similarities to the now; the forgone passing of DJ culture in a rave new world and tasteless manufactured pop, to an imminent inclination of online DIY indie, I see hopefuls taking to a guitar and giving it a go. Perhaps then, there’s no time like the present for this to resurface.

Buy The Broadway Recording Sessions Here

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A Busy Week For Lunch Box Buddy!

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Wither; Debut Single From Butane Skies

Whilst dispersing highly flammable hydrocarbon gases into the atmosphere is not advisory,  Butane Skies is a name increasingly exploding on local circuits. The young and…

Talk in Code’s Secret

New single from Swindon’s indie-pop darlings, and, as foreseen, it’s blinking marvellous, Gloria.

“Eighties,” I yell, but my daughter corrects me. It’s a tune from Miley Circus, apparently. Story checks out, searched YouTube for it. Now I’m distracted from reviewing Talk in Code’s new single, Secret, by her suggestive gyrations in a black studded swimsuit and equally studded elbow-length gloves. Only from a health and safety perspective, you understand. Metallic studs are unsuitable for swimwear, gloves would fill with water; I should warn her PR.

When behind the wheel of Dad’s taxi, my daughter plays DJ; curse that built-in Bluetooth function. Least I can pretend I’m hip with the kids by distinguishing my George Ezras from my Sam Fenders. “Ah,” but I clarify, “I didn’t mean that, I meant it sounds like something from the eighties.” She agrees, tells me they’re all inspired from the eighties. “Like, Blondie,” I add, she’d have to Google that, but she watched The Breakfast Club and Uncle Buck, she is aware of the style of sound demarcated by eighties electronica pop.

Refrained from telling her about these guys though, some things are best left in the past.

If a retrospective inclination influenced by the decade of Danny Kendal v Mr Bronson, Rubik’s cubes and skinhead Weetabix characters is good for you, ok, look no further than upcoming local bands like Talk in Code and Daydream Runaways. I’ve often grouped these two on this very notion, and I’m delighted to note via my comparison, the Daydreamers are supporting the Talkers at Level III in Swindon on November 20th, my only annoyance is that it’s a Friday and I can’t make it.

To differentiate, Daydream Runaways take a rock edge, the like of Simple Minds, but Talk in Code seem to strive for the electronica angle of bands like Yazoo and The Human League. They do it far better than well though, and if I branded it, “sophisticated pop with modern sparkle,” their last single, Taste the Sun, back in July, embodied this more than anything previous. So, here we are again with another belter which adds to this uniform style, though the climate may not be so clement, Secret sparkles too.

It snaps straight in, this aforementioned feel-good 80s electronica guitar pop sound, and it’s so beguiling and catchy it’s certain to appeal wide, agelessly. If I was attending a local festival and Talkers took the stage, I’d imagine my daughter and I would dance together, and right now with her tastes directed to my odium, calculatingly sweary modern pop R&B, this would be a miracle! I do not twerk.

Secret is right out of a John Hughes movie then, a stuck record comparison I say to near-on every release by them and Daydream Runaways too, but this undeviating style is consistently cultivating and improving. Lyrically it’s characterised by the same simple but effective theme of optimistic romance, and a bright, catchy chorus, as every classic pop song should.  

The band cite pop classics such as King of Wishful Thinking, How Will I Know and Alexander O’Neal’s Criticise as evaluations. I can only but agree, but add, those can be cringingly timeworn, whereas, this is not Dr Beat, no need for an ambulance sound effect, and the Talker guys don’t got no hairspray, this is renewed and exhilarating for a modern generation.

You can pre-save TALK IN CODE’s brand new 80’s infused indie pop belter, on the platform of your choice and listen in full, but it’s not released until November 16th. Yeah, I know right, I’m so lucky to have these things in advance, but with Secret I can guarantee by the time it comes your way, I’ll still be up dancing to it, perhaps my daughter too. Care to join me on the dancefloor? But oi, watch the handbag, Miley, and don’t yank my diddy-boppers, I’m no that kind of guy; saving myself for Gloria Estefan.

Worst Pop Crimes of the Mid-Eighties!

Relished in your own nostalgia or, if you’re too young to have lived it, curiously influenced by a bygone era, no one can deny the eighties was a decade of musical progression in a similar manner to the sixties. From the beginnings of the decade, pop showcased a legacy of youth cultures, from glam to rockabilly, from punk to two tone, from the refurbished mod to ironic ethos of the skinhead, and from frilly-sleeved new romantics to jogging-bottomed breakers. The pioneering genres of electronica and electro saw hip hop become the new rock n roll, but it would take some time to find a niche in the UK. Naturally, by the end of the decade, a new driving force via electronics would saturate the underground, as acid house exploded, and we stomped into the following decade with whistles and white gloves.

While it developed, there was a period, a kind of no-man’s-land of youth culture, a void in creativity in which the hit factories strategically bounded out of the trenches and perpetrated a full-scale attack. Make no mistake, pop crime is wrought in every decade, manufactured atrocities occurred throughout every era since pop begun, but never on this scale. It was mass genocide with diddy-boppers.

“It was mass genocide with diddy-boppers.”

Maliciously, the target was aimed younger than ever before, the demographic was 10 to 14-year olds. The commanders were specialists in the field, making Simon Cowell seem like Beethoven by comparison. Three in control of the fiercest battalion, one Mike Stock, the other Matt Aitken and last, but by no means least, Pete Waterman. Fortunately, I had just surpassed their target audience, and thanks to Zeppelin, Hendrix, and others, our generation rewound to previous eras for protection against the shelling, eagerly awaiting rave. But prior, when I was the right age, I fell hook, line and sinker; most pre-teens do.

This is why it’s important to note, Stock Aitken Waterman may’ve redefined pop crime to an all-time low, but not until near the ending of the decade did the crimewave truly flourish. Plus, they did not offend alone, many tried before, no matter how petty the crime, they committed them. SAW’s first singles, Divine’s “You Think You’re a Man,” and Hazell Dean’s “Whatever I Do,” only charted at numbers 16 and 4, respectively, in 84, their first number one, “You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)” by Dead or Alive the following March, but all were petty compared with the carnage of their perpetual recidivism during the decade’s second half, dubbed an “assembly line.”

“Petty compared with the carnage of their perpetual recidivism during the decade’s second half, dubbed an “assembly line.”

I tried not to choose the obvious then, the classically nauseating novelty songs which slayed for humorous effect. From the only way we Tweeted in the 80s for example, the Birdie Song, to ethnic stereotyping for kicks; shaddap your own face, Joe Dolce. Or randomly pushing pineapples, shaking trees, and wishing you could fly right up to the sky. Never forget, there’s no one quite like Grandma.

Neither have I selected the memorable later evils of Stock Aitken Waterman et all, where the naive befell to their despicable set formula, from Bananarama to Cliff Richard, and a showcase of new recruits, many from Ozzy soaps. No, I favoured to concentrate on the period just prior, when I was susceptible to pop crime, an accessory to murder; for actually buying these 7″ monsters, and, at the time, loving them. We tend to block the worst parts of our memories and focus only on the highlights, so to buy a “best of 80s” 16-CD boxset for a fiver from a supermarket is deflecting the whole truth. These are the commonly cited worst songs of the period, Europe’s Final Countdown, Rick Astley, and so on. But to list the renowned offenders would be to simply copy and paste SAW’s discography; the truth being, we had some other serious pop crime in the mid-eighties, which went largely unpunished.

“To list the renowned offenders would be to simply copy and paste SAW’s discography.”

See, credit where credit is due, Vanilla Ice deserves some recognition for not only publicly apologising for his wrongdoing but elucidating the reason for pop crime. “They waved a massive cheque in my face,” he later explained, “What would you have done?” We could do with the staff of the TV show New Tricks to reopen these case files and investigate. The only problem I foresee with that is Dennis Waterman, who was partially guilty himself.

Here then I present evidence to the court, in hope pleading guilty by circumstance may lessen my sentence. Forgive me Marley, for I have sinned. Yes, the pop crimes which I naively involved myself with, the ones I played over and over, and live to regret my foolish immaturity. I warn you now, this was no simple to task to access the archives of my memory, it was dangerous to both mind and ear, musically akin to regenerating Frankenstein’s monster. But do not fear, fear will only lead to the dark-side, and you might just permanently injure yourself mentally by the horror of these video nasties, or even, open the closet to some skeletons you had long forgotten about. Tobacco needs a government health warning, if these tunes resurfaced, it would be advisable to do likewise. You have a lot to answer for, YouTube.

 

1: Five Star: System Addict

I confess, I loved Romford’s would-be-Jacksons siblings, period. My uncle lived in Romford and driving to visit, I’d keep a keen eye out in hope to catch a glance of them, until the Daily Mirror reported they moved to a plastic palace in Berkshire.

Buster Pearson, their Jamaican-born father and manager had an impressive résumé, working with soul and reggae legends Otis Redding, Jimmy Cliff, Wilson Pickett, and Desmond Dekker. From “All Fall Down” their debut single, unconcerned if I fancied Doris or Denise, I loved everything about them, until their flopped hard-edged dance comeback in 1988.

I loved their style, their soulful harmonies, and choreographed moves; ask me my favourite album in 85, it would’ve been Luxury of Life. I was 12, my only defence. I had some years before comprehending the crime of manufactured pop; today I can only cringe. This video for 1986’s System Addict says it all, a warning, I think, about the over usage of computers. Maybe they should’ve been warning about the over usage of shoulder pads.

2: Jermaine Stewart: We Don’t Have to Take our Clothes off

The junior disco at Pontins, Camber Sands in 1986, I didn’t know what to do next, but I knew I’d reached first base with a husky-voiced brunette with zips on her sleeves. Then this song came on, which I liked, but would be the stinger in any chance of ever taking the relationship further. Maybe for the best, the song was commenting on the AIDs pandemic and probably lessened the funky Jackson-a-like Jermaine Stewart’s chances of copping a shag too. I imagine the girl saying, “but you said, in the song….” as she holds up some cherry wine suggesting they danced all night instead. And an infuriated Jermaine replying, “I know what I sung, baby, but that’s not my words, just a song, come on….”

Sadly, and perhaps ironically, though, Jermaine died of aids-related liver cancer in 1997. Still, a foul pop crime, though only a single, first time offence.

3: Falco: Rock me Amadeus

Someone, somewhere thought it would be a good idea to rap in Flemish, and, fortunately for Falco, it was. He is the best-selling Austrian singer of all time. But here’s a massive selling pop crime single which time doesn’t do justice to.

At the time, 1985, I couldn’t get enough of this avant-garde trash, and the plush video of powdered-faced Germanic bourgeoisie busting out of their corsets. More so when I mistook a line, thinking he used both the F and C swear words, which was actually, “Frauen liebten seinen Punk,” “women loved his punk.” But the follow-up “Vienna Calling,” didn’t do it for me, and two things I learned from Rock me Amadeus, if anything, Mozart didn’t rap and the wonder of the one-hit-wonder.

4: Sam Fox: Touch Me

Interesting video portraying Samantha Fox as an established rock chick when the truth was, I always thought, she was famous only for getting her tits out in the Sun newspaper. Hers were, undoubtedly, the first pair of knockers I’d ever seen, and for that I’m truly grateful. But reinventing herself as rock star was a step too far.

Though, it was her mum who sent photos of her in her under-crackers to the tabloids, while the same year, a sixteen-year-old Samantha struggled with a pop career. In ‘83 “Rockin’ With My Radio” was her first single, produced by Ray Fenwick formerly of the Spencer Davis Group. Makes you wonder; mum distracts daughter from the depravities of the music industry my encouraging her to get her tits out for the newspapers. A lesson learned, never trust your mum if you want to be a pop star.

Me, I don’t care, I never wished to wallow in my brother’s obsession with Sam Fox, not because I was a prude, just more of a Linda Lusardi kind of kid, and, secondly, this title track from Jive Records’ 1986 album “Touch Me,” is horrifically criminal, and, nice tits or no, that is all.

5: Trans X: Living on Video

As with poor ol’ Sam Fox, Trans X is listed here due to assumption. Research again proves me wrong. As I figured, here was a mid-eighties single which desperately harked back to the synth-pop sound of the early eighties, rather than took the progressive stance with music technology other similar bands were. In actual fact, the 1985 version I had of it, which I thoroughly loved at the time, was a remix, the original dating back to 1982, bang on time for its style.

Trans-X were from Montreal, their only defence, passing the buck to the DJ for his remix is akin to getting your mum to take your speeding points. Even for 82 it sounds unpleasantly tacky. Mud sticks, it’s barbarism by today’s standards, in a manner Blue Monday doesn’t; I rest my case.

6: Nick Berry: Every Loser Wins

Wicksy, you wet blanket. If promoting your slushy song through your soap opera character isn’t cringeworthy enough, the character dedicated it to mismatched couple, Michelle and Lofty, and labelled it “their song,” only for Michelle to jilt Lofty at their wedding; such is EastEnders. For Berry though, this mawkish crime against pop swashed in enough sentimental sludge for it to hit number one in the charts for three weeks, the second biggest selling single of 86, and helped him ditch his contract with the soap.

Yeah, I bought this one, sucked in under false Disney-esque pretences that every loser does win. In reality of course, they don’t, else they’d be called winners instead by the terms of the word’s definition; idiot. Please, let’s never speak of it again.

7: Huey Lewis & The News: Stuck with You

There is no honour among thieves with pop crime. Huey Lewis cried “Ray Parker Jnr started it, sir!” When he did blatantly nick from Huey’s track “I Want a New Drug” for the Ghostbusters theme, and they settled out of court, but Lewis blabbed, so Parker hit back, a violation of the agreement to not discuss the settlement publicly. They both should’ve been slimed.

It was the reason why Huey Lewis got involved with rival movie Back to the Future, the reason I got into the group. It sure was a captivating moment, Marty McFly avoiding 1955’s bullies on a self-made skateboard with Huey Lewis and the News blasting The Power of Love in your face.

Yet, I cannot think of a better example of a band who got progressively worse as they went on. Someone must have known, and did nothing to stop them. Fore, they called their 1986 album, it destroyed any shards of creditability, foreskin more appropriately, and one which should’ve been circumcised because of the build-up of cheese. I only choose this pathetic pastiche of doo-wop barbershop over Hip to be Square, as that was at least upbeat, that is all

8: Maria Vidal: Body Rock

Graffiti artists might fancy the idea of telekinetic spray cans as featured in the video for Maria Vidal’s Body Rock, but while I supported the commercialisation of hip hop, at the time, this was step too far.

Agreed, left up to the comparatively documentary film, Wild Style in 1983, we may never have heard of hip hop in eighties Britain. Though Beat Street, the following year, was commercial, it had clearer narrative and higher production values. Beat Street was boss, but movies on the subject flowed thick and fast, and increasingly wrecked the reputation of the genre. Breakin’ kicked it off, and its sequel followed within the year, Body Rock took it to a whole other level.

Here is a song which advises one to move out of the way rather than stand up for yourself; hardly “street.” But what is more, it’s a template for the crimes of the hit factory, this and eurotrash, which is why we mention the next pop crime.

9: Spagna: Call Me

Ivana Spagna took it upon herself to assume she was famous enough to mononymous her name, and through her work with Italo disco duo, Fun Fun in her native Italy it might have been true. We didn’t know of her until this monster of a pop crime, Call Me.

Euro-pop would never regain the success of Nena’s 99 Red Balloons upon the UK charts without manufacturing a revolting formula. It’s catchy but empty of content, verses do not matter, just repeat the chorus, spray enough hairspray to bore a hole in the o-zone above you and jump into a stranger with headphone’s Suzuki and you’ll be fine. The criminal aspect so widely attractive to Pete Waterman went unpunished and, still at large, she continues to offend.

10: Peter Cetera: Glory of Love

Nothing wrong with fighting for honour and being the hero, they’ve been dreaming of, but, put a bit of umph in it for crying out loud. Peter Cetera was from acclaimed seventies band Chicago, it was sentimental slush but with grace. Take his song “If You Leave Me Now”, a song he wrote for their tenth album and gained Chicago its first Grammy Award. Begging the question then, what went so terribly wrong in the mid-eighties?

It seems the pop crime pandemic was at large and no one was safe; the soft rock power ballad proves it. This mullet-driven monstrosity is so nasty, so corrupt if you hear it through to the end, you’ll puke, Karate Kid or not. Wax on, wax off, sweep the leg, yes, this didn’t do anything for the sequel expect cause the audience stomach upsets. Yet, as with all these songs, at the time, I thought it was great, I thought it was a romance advise line, and ultimately resulted in years of hurt and anguish; no one was ever this romantic in 1985, not even Chris de fucking Burgh!

yardsalettranstxtrockgazeatout1superheroholdclub

 

A Cracked Machine at the Gates of Keras

Don my headphones, chillax with a cider, and prepare my eardrums for a new album from our local purveyors of space-rock goodness; Cracked Machine is a wild ride….

There are few occasions when mellowed music truly suspends me in the moment, when it just exists in the air like oxygen and totally incarcerates and engulfs my psyche. Jah Shaka and ambient house rascals the Orb both achieved this a couple of dusks at Glastonbury, but the same with likewise happenings, I confess I was intoxicated on matter maturity caused me to long leave in my past!

The issue for any reborn psychedelic-head is pondering the notion, will it ever be the same again, will music and art tease my perception to quite the same degree. The sorry answer is no, unless your intransigent mate slips something in your drink. Yet it’s not all despair, with a sound as rich and absorbing as Cracked Machine, it’s doable without drugtaking shenanigans.

They proved this at the most fantastic day in Devizes last year, which was that bit more fantastic, when what was intended to be a bolt-on feature became the highlight of DOCA’s Street Festival. Funded and arranged by Pete and Jacki of Vinyl Realm, the second stage highlighted everything positive about local music; a historic occasion we’ll be harking on for some time yet. I nipped away briefly after Daydream Runaways stole the early part of the day. But where the lively indie-pop newcomers had roused the audience, I returned to witness a hypnotised crowd and a mesmerising ambience distilling the blistering summer air. Smalltalk was numbed, as if the area was suspended in time. A doubletake to confirm we were still perpendicular, sitting in deckchairs or slouching against a wall on the corner of Long Street and St Johns and not slipped through a time vortex to a Hawkwind set at a 1970 free-party love-in. I was beyond mesmerised, but not surprised.

For this is how it was with their impressive 2017 debut album, I, Cosmonaut, the soundscapes just drifted through me, as I causally drafted the review, reminding me of a smoky haze of yore, giggling in a mate’s bedroom, listening to Hawkwind’s Masters of Universe. Youth of my era though, were subjected to electronic transformation in music, which would soon engulf us. Rave culture cut our space-rock honeymoon short, though, Spaceman 3 were a precursor to the ambient house movement of the Orb, Aphex Twin and KLF, others changed their style, like Frome’s Ozric Tentacles merging into Eat Static, and a perpetually changing line-up for Hawkwind appeased the older rock diehards.

I love I, Cosmonaut, it manages to subtly borrow from electronica and trance, only enough to make it contemporary, but keep it from being classed as anything else other than space-rock. I felt their second album, The Call of the Void avoided this slice of Tangerine Dream, and submerged itself totally in the hard rock edge; bloody headbangers! Therefore, it’s a refreshing notion to note newly released Gates of Keras bonds the two albums and sits between them perfectly.

Again, there’s little to scrutinise as it rarely changes, it meanders, trundles me to a world beyond wordplay, as these completely instrumental tracks roll into one another, gorgeously. A Deep Purple styled heavy bass guitar may kick it off, yet the opening track Cold Iron Light takes me to the flipside of Floyd’s Meddle, with seven and half minutes of crashing drums and rolling guitar riffs. Temple of Zaum continues on theme, Ozrics-inspired funkier bassline, and we’re off on the drifting journey, splicing subtle influences. The Woods Demon, for example, stands out for particularly smooth almost Latino guitar riff, making it my personal fave. Yet Move 37 is heavier, upbeat, like the second album. Low Winter Sun is sublime blues-inspired, imagine Led Zeppelin created Satisfaction rather than the Stones, if you will.

Recorded back in November, this is eight lengthy soundscapes of pure bliss, and will guarantee you a safe trip. A signature album for a lonely lockdown of dark, yet emersed in a time of Tolkien-esque vibes and mandelbrot set fractal posters. If this was released in the mid-seventies-to early-eighties every spotty teenager would be inking their army surplus school bag with a biro-version of Cracked Machine’s logo. As it is, age taking its toll and all, I have no idea if this still happens, but doubt it. None of that matters, here is a matured era of the genre, only with a glimpse of how it once was. Nicely done.

Courage (Leave it Behind) New Single from Talk in Code

As predicted, the void where live music reviews used to sit will be filled with an abundance of releases from our local music circuit. I’ve a backlog building at Devizine Tower; here’s the first this week, from Swindon’s indie-pop four-piece Talk in Code, and much as we’ve enjoyed watching streams of Chris in his car, yeah, this is more like it, cool.

Some pensive prose swathed in the upbeat eighties-fashioned synth-pop we know Talk in Code have mastered. Courage (Leave it Behind) offers a “wake-up call,” as the press release defines, yet does so with all the hallmarks of another catchy anthem. This lockdown-themed leitmotif hails what you’re probably questioning yourself, “it’s that feeling of realising something is not right and has to be changed. But, knowing what needs to happen and taking action are two very different things…”

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The world will undoubtedly be the different after this pandemic, the unity binding us could potentially tear us apart; did Joy Division predict this?! If not, there’s a ghost, least an inspiration from those early eighties new romantics fused into this contemporary tune, and again, just like the previous singles, while Talk in Code songs sound as if they’d slot into the background of a John Hughes coming-of-age movie, listen again, they also ring modernism in both production and subject.

From its inaugural piano, through its beguiling beat to this cliff-hanging finale which leaves the question open to interpretation, this is an uplifting song; I expected no less though. “Finding the strength to make a change and every bit relevant to these challenging times,” as the blurb continues, is surely up to us, pop doesn’t preach as it once did, rather stages the dilemma for you to solve, and that, in a way makes it that bit up-to-date, rather than a retrospective eighties tribute.

For that reason, Talk in Code are pushing boundaries rather than dwelling, and the reason which found them on BBC Introducing In The West, on The OFI Monday Show, The Premium Blend Radio Show, Swindon 105.5 and Frome FM. It is the reason why the Ocelot, Dave Franklyn of Dancing About Architecture, The Big Takeover, and oh yeah, us, are singing their praises.

Providing optimism as a theme to this single is a biting reality, and Talk In Code still hope to play some of the fifteen festivals that were booked into this year, including M for, Daxtonbury, Concert at the Kings and Newbury Beer Festival along with a showcase for Fierce Panda/Club Fandango, to be rescheduled for later in 2020; hygienically rinsed fingers crossed, and toes.

COURAGE (Leave It Behind) will be released tomorrow, 30th April, on digital download at www.talkincode.co.uk and on iTunes, Spotify, Amazon Music and all digital platforms.

© 2017-2020 Devizine (Darren Worrow)
Please seek permission from the Devizine site and any individual author, artist or photographer before using any content on this website. Unauthorised usage of any images or text is forbidden.
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Cosmic Rays are Hard to Destroy

Introducing Shrewsbury’s five-piece rock band, Cosmic Rays. With a new album proving they’re Hard to Destroy….

As my daughter shoves her phone to my ear with her home-made eighties’ music quiz playlist, memories she will never know of blissfully return. “If I could be like Doc Emmett Brown and whizz you back to my era,” I think aloud, but maybe not such a good idea, she’d never survive; no Wi-Fi. What is apparent with the classic pop from my time she has picked is that it spans genres unconditionally, because she hasn’t lived it to confine her to one viewpoint, to guide through that era, where the categorical conflict for top of the pops changed overnight; what side did you fight for?

Pigeonholing divided the early-to-mid-eighties into alienated youth cultures, unique from one another and only alike for being experimental and innovative. While there may be nothing particularly ground-breaking about Shrewsbury’s five-piece rock band Cosmic Rays, what they do have is a dexterous ability to weave these genres back together in an original and affable way. I have their March released album Hard to Destroy to snoop upon, and I like it; pass my black hair dye and metallic leather high boots.

Initial reaction was thus, partially gothic with nu-metal wailing guitar and archetypical dejected romance as a running theme, and while it’s not my cuppa, it’s produced lo-fi and agreeably subtle. So elusive indeed you don’t pre-empt the changes, though may yearn for it. Post-punk and new romantic are lobbed into the melting pot by the second tune, tickling my personal taste buds better.

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With the sensation of jaggedly Velvet Underground, in parts, its retrospective nods soon confine to aforementioned eighties genres. I’m now left contemplating everything from The Cult to Depeche Mode, and The Dammed to Blancmange. For which they are, just nods, as the all-encompassing sound is something original and exclusive, in so much as the combination of influences fuse so unexpectedly well. Perhaps no more adroitly composed than a central track called Lost Paradise, as while it mirrors synth-pop electronica, it also explodes midway with a wailing guitar solo akin to Slash’s contribution to Jackson’s Beat It.

The Bandcamp blurb explains new guitarist Rob McFall is a major factor to this album being a whole new direction, though while I ponder what the old direction was being I’m new to the band, I have to tip my hat to the guitar sections, but like I say, it’s the placement of them too, unpredictably located. That, I think, makes it more exciting than a band simply replicating a particular sound from a bygone era.

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Just when I’m expecting it to rest there, a tune called Me & Jimmy bursts out upbeat joyful vibes. Unquestionably the most pop-tastic track on the album, it smiles House Martins or even the Fine Young Cannibals at me. Though the last two tunes finish by reminding you this is indie, Seeing Green with a winding goth ease and Walk on Water, where a sombre electronica beat rises again. If you’ve heard such a fusion tried before, you’ll be forgiven for thinking this could be encumbered and muddled, yet I feel you need to listen, for the juxtaposition works on all levels, making Cosmic Rays interesting and defiantly one to watch. By the way, my daughter’s eighties pop quiz, I nail it every time!

Hard to Destroy by Cosmic Rays is available to sample and buy from BandCamp here.

© 2017-2020 Devizine (Darren Worrow)
Please seek permission from the Devizine site and any individual author, artist or photographer before using any content on this website. Unauthorised usage of any images or text is forbidden.
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Two Family Friendly Festivals in Swindon

If family-friendly festivals these days are two-to-a-penny, and you pop with the kids, like you are a kid, one thing is certain, and cool, you don’t gotta trek miles to catch one. Swindon has two upcoming I’d like to mention, if I may?

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Firstly, a massive congratulations to Talk in Code, Swindon’s own indie-pop outfit rising to fame through excellence and dedication, we will be hearing a lot more from them methinks. They open the main stage at M is for Festival in Lydiard Park on 27th July. Alongside a plethora of contemporary pop acts such as Years and Years, Ella Eyre, HRVY, Becky Hill, Phats & Small, Jahmene Douglas and another BBC Music Introducing in the West upcoming band, She Makes War. Oh, not forgetting Top Loader will be dancing in the moonlight.

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Tickets start at thirty quid, under fives go free, which isn’t half bad for such a grand line up, in such a nice setting too.

But if you’re all like Phats and who now, or years and years too far back, you could rustle up some hairspray and don your old leg warmers for Red Sky Promotions may just have the family festival for you, like as early as next week; I don’t think I’ll find my diddy-boppers in time, they’re in the loft somewhere.

Eighties fans, who isn’t? Bookmark 29th June, and grab a ticket for The Back to the Eighties Festival at the Old Town Bowl, in Old Town Gardens.

Throughout the day until 6pm all kids can have festive fun with everything from hair braiding, 80’s neon face paints and glitter designs, hair sparkles and hair chalk colouring, temporary transfer and glitter tattoos to neon nails and more, free of charge. Relax, you’ll even get to create your own T-shirt memento of the day.

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There will be stalls, food, drink and a host of other activities to accompany the musical time machine that the festival promises to be.

The day offers a range of 80’s music delivered in unique ways; opening with Sonore String Quartet rendering classic songs into lush classical sounds, 80:Three deliver two sets of pop gems, Emily-Jane Sheppard will bring her solo singer-guitarist set of classic covers and the headline act is the awesome Ghetto Blasters, a lively brass ensemble popping and rocking their way through the decade. DJ’s will be spinning all the tunes you love from the era; big chart favourites to half-forgotten gems will play between the main acts.

Your ZX Spectrum may not load this page, but tickets are here; £25 for adults, £15 for the nippers, and a price range for groups of four or more. Wham!

 

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