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
