45 REVELATIONS

45 REVELATIONS

Ken Barnes

It occurs to me that the general attitude toward self-plagiarization needs an overhaul. In pop music, as in most art forms, an artist who’s achieved success with a sound will often follow up with similar records—and that’s viewed, by critics especially but also by fans, as an aesthetic sin. (Selectively, that is—the Police or Bruce Springsteen can cover the same territory repeatedly and remain relatively immune from reproof, but Chic or Rick James or almost any black act, or mainstream rockers like Boston or REO Speedwagon, will get reamed.)

The demand for diversity must have arisen in the anything-goes mid-to-late ’60s, when the Beatles and Stones led the way in unbridled experimentation and it was every artist’s duty to do something different with each new release. It’s a noble ideal but,not necessarily a healthy oneplenty of people floundered overreaching themselves, and conversely Little Richard and Chuck Berry’s records sounded the same, likewise the early Byrds, Sam & Dave, and the Supremes, without irreparable harm to their historical placings. It’s ludicrous to condemn an artist who pulls off the rare trick of unearthing a sound that sells records for mining the same vein again.

Nor are such follow-ups automatically inferior. Take the case of the group who brought on this diatribe, the SOS Band. Their first single, 198Q’s “Take Your Time (Do It Right),” was a refreshing melodic breakthrough in the black/dance field. “Do It Now,” their leadoff single from album#2, milked precisely the same style.. .and was probably a touch better. Last year they hit on a new groove with the stately, sensual “Just Be Good To Me,” one of 1983’s five best records. Now they’re back with “Just The Way You Like It”—same sound,i equally hypnotic, a perfectly gorgeous record that should not suffer by comparison to its predecessor just because it sounds similar.

What is different this time is the abject submission demanded of singer Mary David by writer/producers Terry Lewis and James Harris Ill’s lyrics. The ex-Time members, from a Minneapolis scene that’s no stranger to sexism (cf. Purple Rain, the movie), have concocted a definitive male fantasy of feminine submissiveness. Where last year’s hit (which they also wrote) left Davis enough pride to assert, “I don’t care about your other girls/Just be good to me,” this one says, “You keep your other girls/Until you settle down/Whenever you get bored/I will give it to you/Just the way you like it.” That is to say, I don’t care about your other girls, I’ll be your love slave. Vive la deference.

POETRY IN COMMOTION

Still thinking about records that sound like other records, it seems to me that at this stage of the rock of ages, any record that doesn’t remind you of something else is very likely unlistenable. That’s certainly not the case with my favorite new artists of the moment, Scotland’s Lloyd Cole & The Commotions. Their debut single, “Perfect Skin,” sounds something like a young Lou Reed singing a lost Blonde On Blonde outtake to a track by some L.A. folk-rocker like the Leaves or P.F. Sloan. But it eludes and transcends these approximations, which is to say among other things that it’s a lot better than anything Reed or Dylan (or the Leaves or P.F.,Sloan) have done in a long time, with perfect guitars and clusters of lyrical images tumbling ovter each other—a band of immense promise.

“Perfect Skin” heads a bountiful crop of British pop this month. Bronski Beat’s “Smalltown Boy” was a top five hit there. The group’s openly gay stance rendered them notorious, but the record’s delicate Eurodisco pulse, wistful tune, and plaintive falsetto render them exceptional. Frankie Goes To Hollywood is another gay group, but on “Two Tribes” global politics is their concern, and it’s a strong (if didactic) dance record.

Biff Bang Pow prove that all the good neopsychedelic stuff doesn’t come from L.A.—their second single, “There Must Be A Better Life”/“The Chocolate Elephant Man” (really) is first-rate folk-rock for the ’80s. Interestingly, the Colour Field, ex-Special Terry Hall’s successor to the Fun Boy Three, veer into the psychedelic realm on “Pushing Up The Daisies” by tacking an anti-showbiz rant to the bones of an old Kim Fowley acid panegyric called “The Trip.”

Meanwhile, Anthony Meynell & Squire, excellent new age mod Who throwbacks in the past, now salute the early ’70s pop-rock era with a reverent cover of Big Star’s “September Gurls” and a similar original, “Debbie Jones.” And the Kissing Bandits worship at the shrine of the Flamin’ Groovies’ “Shake Some Action” but are actually more promising on their original flip, “Jealousy,” which sounds a little like the otherworldy Nightcrawlers ’60s classic “Little Black Egg.” The Church (Australian but lumped here for stylistic convenience) continue to refine their languid folk-rock approach on the flip sides of their recent 12-inch, “Someone Special” and “Autumn Soon.”

TRAD TO TRACEY(S)

Every so often I indulge a longstanding taste for rocked-up traditional folk. On albums, the leading torchbearer of the style pioneered by Fairport Convention and Steeleye Span is Clanned (who sing so beautifully you forget it’s mostly in Gaelic). On singles, the best stuff lately emanates from the unlikely source of Mike “Tubular Bells” Oldfield, thanks to his wondrous sometimes lead singer Maggie Reilly. They team up for a beauty in “To France,” traditional feel, ethereal tune, and a sharp guitar break for contrast.

My cultish cause celebre Kit Hain turns her husky tones to a sensual, menacing ballad called “Slow Moves,” and continues to be a shamefully overlooked talent. Everything But The Girl have been part of a lame cocktail jazz movement that swept England for the statutory two weeks until the next fad came along, but “Easy As Sin” is a brooding acoustic delight superbly sung by Tracey Thorn. Meanwhile, Trade (Young, no relation), who’s been singing the shallowest popsoul imaginable lately, does justice to the twists and turns of a subtle Elvis Costello ballad called “(I Love You) When You Sleep”; it works better than many of Elvis’s recent ballad performances. And wrapping up a trio of Traceys, Tracey Ullman revives an obscure Skeeter Davis song called “Sunglasses,” and producer and Spector buff Peter Collins buffs a rusted relic with a shining wax finish.

Not much room for American stuff, but heading the list has to be Color Me Gone’s “Lose Control,” combining as it does two of my favorite styles, folk-rock guitar and appealing female vocals. One of the best of ’84 so far. Bruce Cockburn’s “Lovers In A Dangerous Time” is a revelation, mainstream rock at its best, hooking me with a vengeance. Portland’s Miracle Workers churn out some solid modern garage rock on “Hung Up,” especially notable for its moody sustained guitar break (good 13th Floor Elevators cover—“You Don’t Know”—too).

Deniece Williams has a bright follow-up to “Let’s Hear It For The Boy” in “Next Love,” highlighted by a memorable chorus. The Mark Liggett/Chris Barbosa team follows its Shannon triumphs with two good new ones, Jimi Tunnell (a womanj’s “U-Turn,” which pulls out all the production stops without tarnishing the pretty melody; and Jay Novelle (a man)’s “If This Ain’t Love,” archetypal melodic hiphop (getting to my favorite new style). Jermaine Jackson may forever be the second best singer in his family, but he’s starting to make good records, of which “Dynamite” is definitely one, a Culture Club kind of vocal fitted over a mutated minor-key Supremes riff. And finally, I’d be remiss if 1 didn’t mention Cyndi Lauper’s “She Bop,” an. interesting exercise in heavy metal synthabilly and the biggest hit I can recall on the subject of autoeroticism (and I don’t mean making out in cars).

(Address for Miracle Workers: Moxie Records, 761 W. “N” St., Springfield, OR 97477)