Permanent Waves #8
Get some AM/FM action in the United States!
Welcome, or welcome back, to PERMANENT WAVES, a chronological journey through the power pop (and beyond!) of the year 1980.
This week was so slow I outright forgot to include my usual preview of next week’s marquee names, sheesh! Only six albums on the docket, but you know what they say— it’s not the length of the article, it’s how you use it. Let’s mindset.
Gyllene Tider - Gyllene Tider
These Swedes’ band name translates to “Golden Times”, and if there’s a fatal flaw in their debut album, it’s a fitting overreliance on nostalgia. It’s no coincidence that the only lyrics here an English-speaking listener will understand amidst all the umlauts is a handful of yesteryear’s name-drops: Buddy Holly, Fred Astaire, “Rock Around the Clock”. Their unfailingly listenable take on glam-tinged pop plays it just a notch too safe, apart from some fun basslines (fun with a lowercase f, I might add). Fontman Per Gessle doesn’t quite have the raw power or charisma to elevate the proceedings much beyond “particularly good bar band”, and drummer Micke Andersson could do with studying his Attractions records a little more closely, he’s not wound quite tightly enough to totally pull off new wave. Keepers: “Himmel No. 7”, the best bassline of the bunch, and “Fån Telefon”, which gives “Hanging on the Telephone” the glam makeover you never knew it needed. Damn the rest with faint praise and move along.
VERDICT: FINE
The Fools - Sold Out
I’m glad I gave this one a third pass, cuz that’s when it properly clicked for me. This Boston band often falls prey to the same stylistic safeness as the likes of the Greg Kihn Band (or Gyllene Tider, for that matter), but the title of their debut album ain’t just a catchprase: they actually have the guts to take a direct crack at writing about betraying the righteous rockist cause of their youths for cold, hard cash. It’s a helluva song, too: money has got the best of me about sums them up perfectly. They can’t fully embrace it, though, which is what makes their willful arrested development on the rest of the album so compelling. It’s no pinnacle of artistic achievement; in the absence of genius, a little self-awareness always comes in very handy. Mindset of the week: if growing up means I must be / anything that I don’t wanna be / I’ll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up, not me!
VERDICT: NICE
Uriah Heep - Conquest
Here’s an olive branch to the Wishbone Ash fans, since almost all of them probably love this band, too: I did some real-deal due diligence on Uriah Heep, spun four whole albums from their storied 70s run and a smattering of fan-favorite individual songs, and I had a pretty okay time with most of it— not a patch on Sabbath, or even Deep Purple (I also finally checked out In Rock, since I was already in the mood for somethin’ ‘eavy), but solid, groovy stuff for sure, 1977’s Firefly in particular. However, the turn of the decade finds the Heep somewhat in disarray, fresh off the departure of longtime drummer Lee Kerslake and operatic vocalist John Lawton. On Conquest, their respective replacements Chris Slade and John Sloman attempt to steer the band towards a more radio-friendly AOR sound, to drab and anonymous results. It’s not catchy at all, and worse, it’s barely even heavier than the rest of the pop rock I heard this week. You had a good run, fellas— looks like it’s time to get comfy on the nostalgia circuit.
VERDICT: SKIP
Willie Nile - Willie Nile
Here’s another guy who could probably teach Greg Kihn a thing or two about writing good rootsy power pop. Willie Nile’s debut offers a more singer-songwriter-ish angle on the gruff, concise rock his studio collaborators have trademarked with Patti Smith and Television. Personally, I don’t find his voice a particularly good vehicle for his songwriting, nor am I altogether impressed by the songwriting itself— he’s very much shooting for Dylanesque, but I hear at least as much Billy Joel, and that isn’t a compliment. He certainly has his moments, though: Opener “Vagabond Moon” positively begs to be covered again and again by hopeless romantics of all generations, and I’d put “They’ll Build A Statue of You” on par with anything off Blonde on Blonde. Supposedly, he’s better live— many such cases!
VERDICT: FINE
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark - Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark
I’m not too taken with this week’s token synth album outside the single, the solar-powered bop “Electricity”. I do like that they’re more overtly pop-minded than, say, John Foxx, and they’re handy enough with a hook, but if I may mix a bit of metaphor, that hook is also a double-edged sword: too many of these songs sound like rough drafts. Their minimalism works against them, and their drum machines are rhythmically weaksauce. If I may break a bit of kayfabe, I can really see another year or two of technological and/or career advancements doing wonders for them. Until then, I’ll stick to Quiet Life, please and thank you— These fellows’ garde is still a little too avant for my taste.
VERDICT: FINE
Wreckless Eric - Big Smash!
Oh man, have you heard about this one? This one right here is a double album, but dig this: The second disc is a best-of compilation reshuffling a bunch of singles and deep cuts from Mister Eric Wreckless’s first two 1978 albums. So basically, you’re getting two albums, for the price of… well, two albums, but it’s two great albums that subtly complement each other, both full of piss and vinegar and memorable pop that will delight you and yours again and again! The final weigh-in is twenty-five songs, and I can count the duds on one hand (still haven’t reeeally warmed to “Whole Wide World”). The best stuff shows that Eric’s learned all the right lessons from his Stiff Records labelmates: “Break My Mind” boogies and moans with a more credible country twang than any Nick Lowe song I’ve heard, and his jangly, heartachey take on Cliff Richard’s “Broken Doll” ought to have Elvis Costello green with envy. He’s also a worse singer than either of them, but that’s alright: This is an album for the freaks.
VERDICT: ZAMN