The Sundays – Blind

 

The Sundays – Blind

By

Jesse E. Mullen

 

You’ve led a moderately successful dreampop band for a few years now. You’ve gotten in the charts with a pair of successful singles and released a debut album to high critical praise. But what happens when you try to follow that album with another one? Do you create something more successful, or do you flounder?

So was the story of The Sundays in 1992. The Bristol, UK quartet cast themselves as cult favorites with the singles “Can’t Be Sure” and “Here’s Where The Story Ends.” Their debut album – 1990’s Reading, Writing and Arithmetic – established them as a group with a knack for shimmering melodies, murky basslines, and soaring vocals.

But the band had laid dormant for a few years since the release of the record. And though they had performed a few new tracks on the supporting tour in 1990, rumors began to swirl that the band had split. However, this is not all that uncommon for a young band.

Sophomore albums are a difficult task for many bands and musicians. Artists will often spend several years shaping and developing a debut record until it is perfect. But then when it comes time to record a second one – often after a long tour – inspiration dries up.

The Sundays eventually began work on a second album in 1992. As on the debut, songwriting and production duties were handled by singer Harriet Wheeler and guitarist David Gavurin. Gavurin and Wheeler – who formed the group at Bristol University – had a special connection beyond the music. They were – and still are – a married couple.

Wheeler’s immense talents as a vocalist were immediately recognizable on the band’s debut single “Can’t Be Sure” released in 1989. Her lyrics about desire causing people to lose sight of the bigger picture (“it makes the world go blind”) are given poignance by her delivery, reaching for high notes and hitting every single one.

Gavurin’s shimmering guitar playing – which combined Johnny Marr’s jangle with Robert Smith’s murkiness – was also given a great showing. Being the only guitar player in the group, Gavurin had to function somewhere between a lead and rhythm guitarist. Forming chords and playing lead melodies is no easy task. But Gavurin nailed it every time.

The lyrics also play an interesting role in The Sundays equation. Rather than using lyrics to form a coherent narrative, as Gavurin and Wheeler said on MTV’s 120 Minutes in 1990, the words were “a collection of images” and “impressionistic.”

However, not all of their lyrics stuck to this rule. Songs such as “Hideous Towns” and “I Kicked A Boy” took the impressionistic lyrical approach and wrapped them around a narrative.  “Hideous Towns” features funny one-liners about being bored in one’s hometown (“hideous towns make me throw up”).

On the other hand, “I Kicked A Boy” deals with refusing accountability in a relationship (“think about the time I kicked a boy till he cried […] I could’ve been wrong, but I don’t think I was”). Impressionistic or not, Wheeler and Gavurin’s lyrics display a common theme of avoiding discomfort.

The contrast between these lyrics, Gavurin’s bright major key melodies, and Wheeler’s sincere delivery made The Sundays the greatest masters of sardonic indiepop since The Smiths. As a creative partnership, they frequently drew comparisons to Morrissey and Marr. That’s not to say that the rhythm section wasn’t equally as important, however.

Paul Brindley’s murky, gothic basslines gave The Sundays a Cure-like ambience. Patrick "Patch" Hannan’s tight, metronomic drumming recalled Stanley Demeski’s work with The Feelies (and later Luna). With tight chemistry and a strong songwriting team, things looked to be up for The Sundays.

So, when The Sundays finally released their new album Blind in October 1992, expectations had to be high. But could the band live up to them? Would they continue their upward trajectory? Or would they cave like so many other English bands of yore?

The album opens with “I Feel.” A gentle acoustic guitar and Wheeler’s most soothing vocals to date introduce the track. It is a vast improvement over “Skin & Bones” the previous album’s opener. While there was nothing wrong with that track, it was the least melodically enchanting song on the album.

“I Feel,” however takes the experimental nature of “Skin & Bones” and marries it to a strong rising and falling melody. When Wheeler comes in at the start of the verses, she is singing in almost a whisper. But when the chorus hits, she is singing with full fire.

She also uses much more vibrato than she had on any previous track. The track seems to be made up of a series of edits, with brief pauses between sections. In this sense, it brings to mind what Fleetwood Mac did on their standout song “The Chain,” which was recorded in a similar manner.

Gavurin mostly sticks to acoustic guitar on the track. However, it does sound as though he overdubbed some electric guitar onto the choruses when the rhythm section enters. A very fine start, while remaining consistent with the band’s previous work.

The second track “Goodbye” is almost a sequel to “I Won” from the debut, both musically and lyrically – with a few more years of wisdom. Rather than expressing regret over her part in an argument, Wheeler acknowledges the end of a relationship. She goes as far as to “vow that it’s goodbye” making the relationship sound more like an addiction than a romance.

The rhythm section of Brindley and Hannan lock into a tight groove, allowing Gavurin space for one of his best murky and repetitive guitar leads. Towards the end of the track, the riff changes and Wheeler sings in a higher key, quite literally ending the song on a high note.

Elsewhere, “More” uses rain as a metaphor for sex while also addressing a relationship itself. Wheeler asks, “tell me boys are you out there?” whilst saying she’s “wet and wet through” despite wanting more. It’s a fascinating topic – a relationship that has become toxic, like an addiction – but the protagonist of the song can’t leave.

Musically, the track starts out in a murky, dreamy haze. Brindley’s reverberated bass and Hannan’s syncopated drumming come in with Wheeler’s angelic voice. But when the chorus hits, Gavurin plays a more aggressive, post-punky riff high on the neck of his guitar, which contrasts nicely with the sweetness in Wheeler’s voice.

Meanwhile, “God Made Me” is a completely different animal. The track begins with the washed out sounds of Gavurin’s guitar and Brindley’s melodic bassline. The duo become locked in perfect harmony as Hannan’s drums come in. It is over a minute until Wheeler’s voice enters, and the listener is in heaven.

Wheeler sings about “looking for an insult” and “waiting […] with a bottle in my hand.” It’s clear that she’s hiding behind a mask, but it isn’t clear yet what that mask is. It does however become clearer towards the end of the song.

In the last chorus, Wheeler sings the title, before singing “that’s what they told me before/who knows what they’re saying today?” She also sings “imagine my eyes when I first saw we can do what we want.”

This could be a doubt over the existence of God but combing these lines with earlier lyrics tell a different tale. It would appear that Wheeler is criticizing those who hide behind the mask of organized religion to justify their flaws.

Taking the song out of a religious context, it would appear to be a metaphor for hypocrisy at large. Lyrics which call work a “labor of love” compare a relationship to punching a clock. Marrying such a barbed sentiment to one of the groups most angelic melodies feels like a career peak.

Wheeler’s vocal is also one of her most skilled to date. Her use of vibrato on the lyrics “but how was I supposed to know that?” leading into the chorus give the song an added emotional resonance. This contrasts nicely with Wheeler’s reticent delivery in the verses.  

The US version of the album closes with the band’s cover of “Wild Horses” by The Rolling Stones. Originally a mournful country ballad, The Sundays succeed in turning it into a mournful dreampop ballad. While the original is a stone-cold classic, The Sundays still manage to make it sound like their own.

Gavurin plays acoustic guitar during the verses, and overdubs some heavily delayed lead guitar onto the choruses. Wheeler sings powerful high notes on lines where Jagger originally used the bottom of his register. Her vocal stylings put emphasis on the lyrics “make me feel bitter/Or treat you unkind” and give the chorus an angelic coo.

While the album wasn’t the critical success that The Sundays would have hoped for – it got somewhat mixed reviews upon release – time has been kind to Blind. At the time, critics negatively compared it to the debut album, stating it wasn’t enough of a progression from the former.

Although it may be true that very little is different this time around, it doesn’t detract from the listening experience. In fact, it might be an even stronger release, given Wheeler’s expanded vocal technique and the maturation in the songwriting. The Sundays may not have set the world on fire at the time, but in retrospect Blind feels like a career peak.

DGC/1992

 

 

 

 

 

Dean and Britta – Back Numbers

 

Dean and Britta – Back Numbers

By

Jesse E. Mullen

 

You’ve co-led an acclaimed group for a few years now. You’ve begun a romantic relationship. And you’ve used that relationship as inspiration for your sultry, smoky songs. Where do you go from here?

If you’re Dean Wareham and Britta Phillips, you start another group. As a musical partnership, the duo were most famous for their work in NYC-based indiepop band Luna. When Phillips joined the group, it was immediately clear that she and Wareham had a chemistry that was spellbinding.

Songs such as “Mermaid Eyes” and “Rememories” featured Phillips’ gorgeous voice prominently. But Wareham still sang all lead vocals. So, in order to create a more collaborative project, the duo started the offshoot Dean and Britta.

Their 2003 debut album L'Avventura showed a penchant for dreamy songwriting and exquisite covers, but it was a little too lightweight overall. Enter Sonic Boom. The Spacemen 3 co-leader was brought in to remix a few tracks off of L'Avventura for a special EP.

That release, 2003’s Sonic Souvenirs showed what the duo could do with a tougher, spacier backing. Boom added reverb effects to the vocals, the guitars, and his own signature style of digital-delayed analog synthesizers and keyboards.

So, when they brought Sonic Boom into the fold for an entire album, expectations must have been high. 2007’s Back Numbers was to feature Boom’s penchant for playing and arranging. But could it live up to the hype?

Opener “Singer Sing” is pure bliss, with Phillips’ voice and a rhythm machine introducing the track in modest fashion. Once Wareham’s warm voice joins in the chorus however, we’re in dream pop heaven. Phillips’ underrated bass playing also features prominently, adding a warm melodic tone that’s not always found on the instrument.

"Words You Used To Say" harks back to Luna's last days of Romantica and Rendezvous. Phillips’ warm bassline, Boom’s jittery analog synthesizers, and Wareham’s signature guitar playing introduce the track in laidback fashion.

Phillips and Wareham trade call-and-response lines over the hip, urbane soundscape. In the chorus, Wareham urges his lover to “bring it home” to him. What “it” is, one can only guess. It can be assumed, however that it is of a sexual nature.

Elsewhere, the duo’s cover of Lee Hazelwood’s “You Turned My Head Around” is equally enchanting. With Phillips on lead vocals, the track makes full use of her range and power. She is tender and cooing in the verses, but when the chorus hits, she isn’t afraid to belt it out.

Phillips was the singing voice of the cartoon character Jem from Jem and The Holograms, which had forced her to use her voice in all sorts of theatrical ways. However, the bulk of her recorded material is much more restrained. It is fun for the listener to hear Phillips expand her range, and channel some of that old energy for one of her records, albeit briefly.

For his part, Wareham turns in a haunted performance on a cover of Donovan’s “Teen Angel.” Still evoking the late-night sultry feel of Romantica, Wareham is mostly alone on the track, save for some acoustic guitar and vibraphone accompaniment.

On “White Horses,” Phillips delivers another spellbinding performance. The arrangement, combined with Phillips’ singing and the production style make the track reminiscent of one of Phil Spector’s 1960s productions.

Ironically, “The Sun Is Still Sunny” is more evocative of the music by Spiritualized than the work of Sonic Boom. (Spiritualized is led by Boom’s ex bandmate Spacemen 3 Jason Pierce.) In fact, Spiritualized would later use a very similar melody set to a waltz on the 2018 track “A Perfect Miracle.”

A swelling string arrangement, and gorgeous harmony between Phillips and Wareham bring the chorus to a higher level. On an album full of highlights, the track still manages to standout as a cut above the rest. Very impressive, considering the quality of the material.

The album closes with the gorgeous “Our Love Will Still Be There.” Originally by the 1960s garage rock group The Troggs, Wareham and Phillips take the track dreamy minimalist territory. With electric piano, washes of gentle synthesizers, and unison vocals, it is an absolute joy to the ears. When Wareham and Phillips sing the title phrase in harmony, we believe them.

While side projects are usually fun as curios, they rarely do anything essential. There are, however, a few exceptions to that rule. With Back Numbers, Dean and Britta successfully capture the hazy warmth of a relationship given new life.

Zoë Records/2007

 

 

 

 

Slowdive – Souvlaki

 

Slowdive – Souvlaki

By

Jesse E. Mullen

 

You’ve known each other since childhood. You’ve been a couple for several years. You also happen to lead one of the most stylistically innovative bands of your generation. And then you end your romantic relationship. How do you go on?

It’s the classic rock and roll story for couples in music groups. From Fleetwood Mac to Linda and Richard Thompson, to Ike and Tina Turner, all of these couples dealt with breakups within their groups. On the independent circuit, Slowdive were no different.

The Thames Valley shoegaze quintet formed in 1989, and quickly developed a sound all their own. Drawing on influences as diverse as The Jesus and Mary Chain, My Bloody Valentine, Syd Barrett, and the Twin Peaks soundtrack, Slowdive were quickly snatched up by Creation Records.

Their debut EP, the 1990 release Slowdive, became an instant cult hit. One magazine review said that the music was so dreamy, ethereal, and light that it “made the Cocteau Twins sound like Mudhoney.” (This was apparently meant as a compliment, by the way.)

The band – lead guitarist/songwriter Neil Halstead, lead singer/rhythm guitarist Rachel Goswell, second lead guitarist Christian Savill, and Nick Chaplin – would soon add a new member. Simon Scott joined as semi-permanent drummer and the band released more music to even more acclaim.

However, as quickly as the British press can build up a band, they can also tear them down. Sadly, Slowdive would learn this the hard way. The band’s debut album, 1991’s Just For A Day was universally panned by critics, despite not sounding much different than the music they universally praised just a few months earlier.

Meanwhile, other problems began brewing within the group. Halstead and Goswell had been dating for several years at this point. The two met as young children but deepened their bond over music in high school. Halstead was a big Dinosaur Jr fan, while Goswell gravitated towards gothic rock. In fact, it was Goswell’s idea to name the group Slowdive – after a Siouxsie and the Banshees song.

But by 1992, Goswell and Halstead split up. Halstead dealt the only way he knew how – he wrote a ton of songs in isolation. By the time he was finished, he had stockpiled 40 songs, which Slowdive then attempted to record. However, Creation boss Alan McGee was not at all pleased with the material recorded – infamously declaring “they’re all shite!”

Slowdive were forced to re-do most of the album, but they also took a little bit of guidance from an outside source. Brian Eno – a universal favorite within the group – was brought in as something between a mentor and a collaborator for the group.

In one instance, Eno took a clock off of the studio wall and stuck it on the mixing desk, instructing Halstead to play guitar and create textures until Eno told him to stop. Halstead said the experience had a profound effect on both his creativity and his confidence. Momentarily freed from the label pressures to deliver a hit record, Halstead could instead focus on creating something groundbreaking.

The resulting album Souvlaki was released in May of 1993. However, it wouldn’t be released in the US until May 1994. But the question remains how did all of this music sound? And could Slowdive channel the heartbreak at the core of the group into a masterwork?

“Alison” starts the album off in grandiose fashion. Shimmering waves of guitars – both acoustic and electric – and Scott’s frenetic drumming introduce the track before Halstead’s voice enters. The lyrics speak of the titular girl, who is no longer in the life of the narrator. Is she deceased? Or is she a metaphor for Halstead’s breakup with Goswell?

The track is a rousing success, not only because of the mystery surrounding it, but also because of the music. The entire group play in harmony, but the guitar textures of Halstead and Savill deserve special praise. Furthermore, Goswell’s voice adds a haunted melancholy quality to the chorus, particularly when she and Halstead sing “I guess she’s always somewhere” in harmony.

“40 Days” uses a biblical metaphor for Halstead’s loneliness in the wake of the breakup. The lyrics allude to him fasting, but not on food, water or anything sinful. Rather, it is love that he is depriving himself of. The cascading wall-of-guitar-sound on this track is so dense, that it resembles an orchestra.

“When The Sun Hits” is possibly the most anthemic track on the album. The track starts out quietly, before bursting into the chorus – using the ultra-popular “loud/soft/loud” dynamic of 90s alternative rock. The lyrics, however, just may have been a little too clever for mainstream radio.

Halstead uses sunburn as a metaphor for a relationship which dies out – thus crashing and burning. The song, however, seems to take place before the end. Halstead mentions “waiting” for “when the sun hits,” and watching his lover “burn so fast it scares me.” He sees things going wrong but is powerless to stop them.

Goswell’s own turns at the microphone are no less enchanting. “Machine Gun” is as angelic as she’s ever sounded. The song also uses the same simulated orchestra effect of “40 Days” in an equally impressive manner.

The album’s centerpiece, “Souvlaki Space Station” is also the most tinkered with. It was mixed in a “dub style” more commonly employed by electronic musicians. The track features more digital delay on the guitars than I’ve ever heard on any other song.

Goswell wrote the lyrics, and it is still a mystery to Halstead as to what exactly she is singing. Due to the waves of reverb, chorus and delay on her voice – and the fact that Goswell has never mentioned what is sung – we can only speculate. However, it is generally accepted among fans – and Halstead – that Goswell used the track to tell her side of the story.

Chaplin’s bass is also a standout. Usually, the least prominent member of the group, his contributions here are stellar Seefeel-influenced dub. As the track fades into ether, a loud, descending screech features prominently in the mix. Radiohead would use a very similar effect on their 1997 hit “Karma Police,” and it’s generally accepted that they got the idea from Slowdive.

The albums two acoustic numbers – “Here She Comes” and “Dagger” – also point to what lay ahead for both Slowdive and Mojave 3. On “Here She Comes,” Halstead uses just his voice and guitar to evoke the solitude of an early October day. The emotion in his voice betrays the simplicity of the lyrics. When Halstead shifts from “it’s so lonely in this place” to “it’s so cold now/I swear it will be warm,” the effect is truly chilling.

Album closer “Dagger” has a slightly more complicated history. One of Halstead’s most personal songs, Slowdive attempted a version in the initial Souvlaki sessions, complete with a beautiful string synthesizer part, and Scott’s most powerful drumming to date.

However, this was also one of the tracks that McGee had rejected as “shite,” and the song was re-recorded with a double-tracked Halstead alone on acoustic guitar and light piano accompaniment. While this version works better in the context of the album, the electric full band arrangement is stronger overall.

The American release adds four bonus tracks to the tail end of the album. The cover of “Some Velvet Morning” transitions from a dub-influenced, bass-heavy tune in the verses, to a swirling psychedelic waltz in the choruses. Halstead plays Lee Hazelwood in the verses to Goswell’s Nancy Sinatra in the chorus. A wonderful track which eclipses even in the original in creativity.

“Good Day Sunshine” and “Missing You” are EDM-influenced tracks which hint at the even more experimental sounds of Pygmalion. And “Country Rain” might as well be the first Mojave 3 song. Featuring pedal steel guitar, liberal use of reverb, and Goswell’s enchanting voice, it feels like a prequal to “Love Songs On The Radio.” Now that’s a way to close an album!

In the end, Slowdive were able to overcome all obstacles to deliver the classic album Halstead envisioned. In the years since its initial release, Souvlaki has rightly gained its status as a stylistically innovative, unparalleled masterpiece. Not so shite after all.

UK: Creation/1993

US: SBK/1994