Permanent Waves #21
I want the world to know, I got to let it show!
Welcome, or welcome back, to Permanent Waves, a weekly-ish expedition into the power pop (and beyond!) of the year 1980.
Rebounding a bit from a week of few highlights last time, another light docket: Six albums, no ZAMNs, no bullshit. Let’s mindset.
France Gall - Paris, France
This French gal named France Gall has a new album recorded in Paris, France called Paris, France! As you may have deduced, this is sung entirely in French, a language I took three years of in high school and retained just enough to recognize a small handful of individual words in this tracklist (“chanteuse” is “singer”! “Parler” is “Talk”!) but not nearly enough to actually understand it just listening along. It’s eminently listenable nonetheless though, lushly arranged and abundantly tuneful edgeless pop in much the same vein as Gall’s fellow Eurovision winners ABBA. Maybe I’m letting it off easy for its novelty factor, but hey, French is one of the most aurally pleasant languages around in my humble opinion— Who am I to discount love songs sung in the language of love?
VERDICT: NICE
KISS - Unmasked
The KISS guarantee was always that a couple songs per album would be catchy and harmless enough that you gave up on feeling guilty for enjoying them— I won’t die on a hill for ‘em, but I’m never unhappy to hear crunchy, dumb-fun pop like “Detroit Rock City” or their ‘79 disco cashout “I Was Made For Lovin’ You”. Sadly, the latter pissed away a good deal of their teen-dude fanbase’s goodwill, and this one probably won’t undo much of the damage. The worst thing I can say about Unmasked is that it’s just a garden-variety boring power pop album like a hundred thousand others; even their sexism is toothless. Biggest red flag going in: the wiseacre on the cover cartoon snarking that they “still stink”. Could there possibly be another band less suited to arch self-awareness?
VERDICT: SKIP
Diana Ross - Diana
My familiarity with beloved megaselling pop dynamo Diana Ross could be generously described as “patchy”. I know she was the frontwoman of The Supremes, but the only Supremes album I’ve heard is I Hear A Symphony (which I like a lot!), and I know she’s been very successful as a solo act, but the only single of hers I could name before this year is her cover of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” (which isn’t as good as the Marvin Gaye/Tammi Terrell original!). Happy day, though, 1980 brings about a second Diana single I can remember off the dome: “I’m Coming Out”, a wonderful, ebullient bit of lite funk inspired by producer Nile Rogers meeting drag queens dressed as Ross. Unfortunately, the rest of Diana doesn’t do too too much for me; it’s hard to believe it’s the result of a whole kerfuffle where Ross thought the album needed to sound less disco-y, because I haven’t heard an artist so stuck in the Saturday Night Fever since Sylvester all the way back in week 2. She has the pipes for it, and Rogers is in rare form on guitar, but there’s nothing here that hits as hard as the highlights on Warm Leatherette, and it’s repetitive enough to be a little bit annoying as background music.
VERDICT: FINE
Roxy Music - Flesh and Blood
I was going to sheepishly apologize for not really loving Roxy Music’s acclaimed and influential early work with which Brian Eno got his start, but y’know what? I don’t owe Roxy Music jackshit just because they’re artsy and ambitious and have things to say about the sinister emptiness of modern consumer culture! I certainly don’t blame any of their fans for finding Flesh and Blood dumbed-down or even sold-out compared to more pointedly political fare like “In Every Dream Home A Heartache”, but power pop mindset demands a soaring, sentimental chorus, and “Oh Yeah!” delivers in spades— for what it’s worth, I find the same germ of unshakeable lonely cynicism in both songs, the latter just has that added spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down. The rest of Flesh and Blood could fairly be called overproduced, but they’ve always worn artifice well, and the instrumental flourish is far from gone (check that funky little bassline on “Same Old Scene”!) Mindset of the week: There’s a band playing on the radio / and it’s drowning the sound of my tears
VERDICT: NICE
The English Beat - I Just Can’t Stop It
Not bad! Not really my cuppa either, though, and certainly not as much of a blast as Bad Manners was only a few short weeks back. It would be rude (and not in the positive ska-lingo sense!) to not draw a firm distinction between a fundamentally crossover group like The Police, who have never claimed any serious allegiance to Jamaican music despite being obviously influenced by it, and a band like The (English) Beat, who faithfully recreate the skankin’ rhythms and soulful island vibes of The Congos and The Wailers. HOWEVER, the punkish zip with which they imbue those rhythms and vibes is unmistakably similar, in particular that signature shimmery new wave guitar sound. I guess my point is that when that rare mood strikes me, I’m either gonna want the original article (i.e. The Heart of the Congos) or something that’s pure goofs and laffs (i.e. Ska ‘n’ B), and as talented as these fellas surely are, they just don’t quite scratch either itch.
VERDICT: FINE
Yachts - Without Radar
Liverpool’s own Yachts have plenty going for them on paper, but in the game of power pop looking good on paper is a red flag more often than it’s a meal ticket. Their pedigree (opening for Elvis Costello and eventually leaving Stiff Records alongside him, Nick Lowe and label co-founder Jake Riviera) speaks to their strong fundamentals, namely a lighthearted comedic sensibility and a nimble keyboardist in frontman Henry Priestman. I gotta steal Christgau’s assessment of their 1978 debut for this one, though: “their biggest joke is a mock-snooty, mock-operatic rock crooning style that I’m not eager to hear again”. It’ll pass the time inoffensively if you’re an absolute new wave completionist and don’t mind a slightly cheap, weedy keyboard sound front and center. Lucky for them, that’s me to a tee.
VERDICT: FINE