New Order - Waiting For The Sirens' Call

New Order - Waiting For The Sirens' Call

By

Jesse E. Mullen 

New Order spent £700,000, three years, and used nine producers making Waiting For The Sirens' Call. I'd say it was time - and money - well spent. 

The finished product has a clean, crisp, and - surprisingly - unified sound, despite its scattershot origins. Released in the spring of 2005, listeners were treated to a refinement of the kind of indiepop New Order do best. 

Stylistically, the album alternates between the three-guitar attack of "Who's Joe," "Working Overtime," and "Morning Night And Day," while also returning to New Order's gothier roots ("Dracula's Castle," "Turn.")

Lead single "Krafty" splits the difference, owing a great debt to - and taking its name  from - their heroes Kraftwerk. The blippy synthesizers and robotic rhythms would make them proud. 

The title track is possibly an even more majestic anthem, with a bold, capital B-I-G chorus. Inspired by Bernard Sumner's love of sailing, the track also deals with romantic strife and infidelity. 

Peter Hook's 4 and 6-string bass playing shines as a melodic highlight, as does Sumner's jangly rhythm guitar playing.

Upon release, reviewers seemed to have expected more from the group. I'm not sure how the album could have been better. 

Maybe they wanted a leftfield turn the way that Technique adapted acid house beats, or the surprise element of New Order's energetic comeback album, 2001's Get Ready. 

But neither would have been appropriate for the group in 2005 - the Haçienda was closed, and New Order were a fully functional band again. The stakes had been raised unfairly. 

While there are other highs to New Order's discography, Waiting For The Sirens' Call shows refined maturity for these grisled veterans that only years of woodshedding can bring. We've still never seen anyone quite like them before - to quote an earlier hit - and we probably never will.

Warner Bros./2005

The Fall – Shift-Work

 

The Fall – Shift-Work

By

Jesse E. Mullen

You’ve made post-punk records for the past 12 years. You’ve taken the repetition of krautrock and made it a signature feature of your music. British DJs love you while the mainstream press ignore you. How do you survive a changing musical landscape?

So was the situation that Mark E. Smith found himself in during the early 1990s. His seminal post-punk act The Fall had skirted on the outer edges of fame, only to be shutout from the big payoff. When The Fall left pseudo-independent label Beggars Banquet for the greener pastures of major labels Fontana and Phonogram, it seemed like the perfect opportunity for growth.

And by large, it was. Their major label debut, 1990’s Extricate charted higher than any album they had previously released. Single “Telephone Thing” was a minor hit in the UK. From an outside perspective, things finally seemed to be going well for the group. But inside, things were far from perfect.

Smith was disillusioned with the direction that independent music was heading in at the time, particularly the independent music being made in his home city of Manchester. The majority of the music scene was enamored with a style at first dubbed the “second summer of love” in 1988 and later Acid House and Madchester. The majority excluding Smith, that is.

Acid House was a crude form of electronic techno music. It was characterized by the “squelching” bass sound of a Roland 808 drum machine. Much like the punks a decade before, Acid House favored style and rawness over expensive production. It seemed like the kind of thing Smith would enjoy.

However, by the early 90s the scene was becoming tired. Rock groups were fusing the sounds of Acid House with the indie guitar sounds of Creation’s Doing It For The Kids compilation to mixed results. There were genuinely excellent releases from bands like The Charlatans and The Wonder Stuff, but there were also middling releases by bands like The Soup Dragons.

Worse still, the scene was being overrun by gangsters. The once bustling Hacienda – run by New Order’s Peter Hook – was becoming a hub for violence and hard drugs. A stylistic change was around the corner with shoegazing and Britpop, but even this would take a few more years to catch on.

Perhaps this is what inspired Smith to get away for a few years. For the first and only time in his life, he would live somewhere else than Prestwich, Greater Manchester. He Bought a house in Edinburgh, Scotland and continued to build his new label, Cog Sinister.

The original plan for Cog Sinister was to be a label for artists who had fallen victim to the same sketchy business practices that Smith had. However, when this turned into a losing proposition financially, Cog Sinister simply became a vanity label for The Fall’s early 90s releases. But one other noteworthy thing came out of the experience.

Smith married his personal assistant at the label Saffron Prior in 1991. They became romantically involved in 1988, around the time that Cog Sinister got going. However, Smith was still married to Fall guitarist Brix Smith at the time, which caused a contentious situation within the group.

Brix was out by the middle of 1989, and the group transitioned away from their new wave inspired sound of the 80s. In its place was at first a rockabilly influence sound. But gradually, the band would incorporate elements of the Madchester sound Smith so openly disliked.

Whether it was pastiche or parody, the change was beneficial commercially. The loops and samples of “Telephone Thing” helped to bring the band more commercial success than they had had in their native Britain. But when The Fall made an entire album like this with 1991’s Shift-Work, how did it stack up? And was Smith secretly growing to like the music?

Things get off to an interesting start with the rhythmic, militant-styled chant of “So What About It?” Musically, it is a devilish inversion of the Madchester sound, using dance beats and sequenced keyboard loops. Smith seems to be mocking his boredom with the music scene with the title, but it is a successful opener nonetheless.

“Idiot Joy Showland” delves further into Smith’s disdain for the scene in his hometown. The music is again a convincing approximation of Madchester, so much so that it almost sounds like Smith is coming around on the style of music. The lyrics and title, however, paint a different picture.

Smith sings of “idiot groups with no shape or form” that are “out of their heads on a quid of blow.” As previously mentioned drugs and organized crime had pretty much taken over the scene and it was beginning to affect the quality of the music.

Ironically, Smith himself was not opposed to drug use or writing about it in earlier songs. Early single “Totally Wired” was a love letter to uppers. And in Hacienda owner Peter Hook’s memoir Unknown Pleasures: Inside Joy Division, Hook recalls a time when Smith would sprinkle speed into his own beer.

So, we can surmise that it wasn’t so much the drugs on the scene that turned Smith off. Rather, it was the overall sound and vibe of the music. Smith wanted his musicians to be tight and in control of the sound they produced, regardless of their technical limitations.

By 1991, the Madchester scene often favored sloppier interplay between the drummers and bassists of the various groups. So, it is understandable that Smith would be put off by the music. Smith also sings about the “working class [being] shafted” with maybe just a hint of jealousy.

In Smith’s eyes, these “lesser” bands are coming out of nowhere, making easy money and populating the airwaves while he slugs it out in the lower reaches of the semi-mainstream. Musically the song is just as interesting. Longtime guitarist Craig Scanlon plays an extremely catchy riff, while newcomer keyboardist Dave Bush adds spooky noises on top.

The rhythm section is just as strong. Drummer Simon Wolstencroft – often called “the human drum machine” by Fall fans – adds funky techno beats with a choppy rhythm. Steve Hanley’s bass grumbles along melodically, playing off of Scanlon’s leads. It’s a strong song with a fun groove.

Nowhere else is Smith as warm towards his local scene than on “The Mixer.” A first-person ode to a fictional DJ from Jamaica, the two share a magical moment at a sweaty club. It’s the kind of song where one could forget Smith’s visceral takes on Madchester only a few tracks earlier.

It is also a song where the little sonic details add to the overall experience. A handclap sample is followed by Smith’s assertion of “clap! clap!” There are also creepy spoken word/chanting found sounds by an unnamed vocalist. When paired with the visuals of a mouth speaking in the music video, it is almost disturbingly reminiscent of The Twilight Zone.

Smith didn’t always let his sensitive side show. But whenever he did, the results were always spectacular. “Bill Is Dead” on the previous years’ Extricate showed Smith at his most lyrically naked and introspective. “Edinburgh Man” continues this tradition with an ode to the city Smith had recently departed to return to Manchester.

The lyrics describe Smith in the spring and summer time, longing for Edinburgh, Scotland. He had made the city his home for a few years but returned to his native Prestwich. It’s a bit of a sad, longing song. But it also feels strangely hopeful.

Musically, it’s a jangly number with a sweet hummable lead by Craig Scanlon which echoes Smith’s vocal melody. In the chorus, an unnamed female backing vocal and blippy computer effects by Dave Bush join the lush two chord guitar melody.

Reviewers of the time hailed it as a peak of Smith’s songwriting, and it’s hard to argue with that sentiment. It is pure perfection even down to the mixing. The various instruments form a dreamy wash evocative of the summer season Smith sings of.

Rarely if even again would he let his emotions show to this extent – with one exception, as we will get to later. He remained insular until his death in January 2018. But “Edinburgh Man” showed that he could let people into his world on his terms. And maybe that’s enough.

For “The Book of Lies,” Smith decided to switch things up a bit. Rather than taking lead vocals fully, he invited fiddle player Kenny Brady to share vocals with him. Overall, it was a good decision. The music to the track is psychedelic and ecstasy infused. One has to wonder if Smith partook, just to see what all the fuss was all about.

Brady’s vocal matches the chaos. He wavers in and out of tune, not unlike the “glide guitar” effect favored by Kevin Shields of My Bloody Valentine. However, rarely – if ever – had the same principle been applied to vocals. When Smith joins with his own spoken word bit, the effect is cool and seamless.

Perhaps the greatest song is “Rose.” Built around a tremolo picked bassline by Steve Hanley, record scratches, and flute-y keyboards, the song bears a strange resemblance to “A Letter To Elise” by The Cure. Lyrically, Smith is singing a woman in Hampstead, wishing her well in her relationship.

There were rumors that the lyrics were directed at Smith’s ex-wife and former bandmate Brix, which would explain a lot. The track is poignant in a way that Smith rarely was in the past but was becoming more frequent since 1990’s Extricate – his first album without her since 1982.

However, the track is also poignant for another reason. It is the last song to feature guitarist Martin Bramah and keyboardist Marcia Schofield as members of The Fall. Bramah was a member on their 1979 debut Live at the Witch Trials, but soon quit while touring the album.

Bramah rejoined in 1989, and immediately proved his musical significance. He provided intricate single notes to contrast Craig Scanlon’s manic rockabilly style. Schofield provided a melodic foil for Smith’s signature bark. Her keyboards gave songs such as “Bill Is Dead” a sweetness they would otherwise lack. Losing Bramah and Schofield was the end of an era for The Fall.

Mark E. Smith was not a musician or writer in the traditional sense. Rather, he was almost a collage artist using words like pieces of magazine images. His methodology involved taking pieces from books, adverts, and pop culture turning them into abstract poems. He was an observer, and he did not always like what he saw in the world.

In the end, The Fall became so good at parodying the Madchester sound that they made a legitimately good album in the style. One has to wonder – did Mark E. Smith actually hate the trends of the time? Or did Shift-Work change his judgement towards the sounds? Only Smith knew for sure.

Fontana/1991

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tom Verlaine – Words From The Front

 

Tom Verlaine – Words From The Front

By

Jesse E. Mullen

You were the leader of a seminal post-punk band. You played at CBGB’s in New York, sitting in with Patti Smith’s band. And then a familiar rock ‘n’ roll cliché takes over – the band breaks up and you are suddenly flying solo.

So was the story of Tom Verlaine in 1978. He had formed the band Television in 1973 along with second guitarist Richard Lloyd, quickly developing a telepathic guitar chemistry. Their dueling leads would inspire many guitarists in the future, including Dean Wareham and Sean Eden of Luna.

Television went onto record two records, 1977’s masterwork Marquee Moon, and the underrated Adventure in 1978. (A record deserving of its own article at a later date.) But by the end of the year, the band was no more. According to insiders, they had simply run out of steam and did not want to repeat themselves.

So, Verlaine and Lloyd launched solo careers. 1979 saw the solo debuts of both men, Lloyd with the album Alchemy and Verlaine with the eponymous Tom Verlaine. Lloyd’s album was more of a traditional rock affair with new wave touches, while Verlaine wrapped the spastic guitar textures of Television around poppier song structures.

The track “Kingdom Come” would attract attention the next year when David Bowie covered it on 1980’s Scary Monsters. Verlaine further embraced the art pop sound on 1981’s Dreamtime, particularly on “Penetration.” Skittering drums and a grooving bassline – played by Verlaine – fight against wiry guitars.

Verlaine seemed to be at an artistic peak. So, when he quickly followed up with another album – 1982’s Words From The Front – fans had to wonder whether he would continue to grow or if we had already seen the best of Tom Verlaine. So how does it stack up against his rich history?

Things get off to a shaky start with the robotic, monotonous new wave/glam hybrid “Present Arrived.” Verlaine repeats the title several times in his signature yelp-y voice. Only this time it comes across more tedious than energized. It’s saving grace is the way the musicians lock into the repetition.

Verlaine’s guitars are strong, and Joe Vasta’s bass forms a hypnotic groove with Thomas Price’s drums. Another positive factor is that it is the weakest track on the album. Verlaine continues to explore and experiment, but things only get better from here.

“Present Arrived” leads into the stark, gently reverberated wonder of “Postcard From Waterloo.” It is the first of two songs to use war and soldiers on the frontline as a metaphor for Verlaine’s experiences with romance. The lyrics describe a soldier departing for battle, leaving his girlfriend behind. She attempts to break the tension by saying he will “like the view.”

It is just as poignant musically as it is lyrically. From a production standpoint, the track uses a live-in-the-studio sound, with very minimal overdubs – a piano accenting the verses, backing vocals by Lene Lovich in the chorus. Verlaine favors a twin-guitar attack – one with an untreated, single-coil pickup sound and another with a thicker digital delayed sound.

Speaking of guitars, this was the first album where Verlaine collaborated with Jimmy Ripp. Ripp would go onto become in an important figure in Verlaine’s career – as well as the music scene in general – up to the present. He would play guitar on one of Mick Jagger’s solo albums (1993’s Wandering Spirit) and later join Television outright after the departure of Richard Lloyd in 2007.

The title track is the darker side of the “war songs” coin. “Words From The Front” is written in the style of a letter home from a shellshocked soldier. Verlaine’s lyrics read like the screenplay to a movie. A member of the narrator’s unit has recently died from his battle wounds – the surgeon operating on him was numbing his own psychic pain with alcohol.

Musically, the song is a slow dirge with Verlaine’s squealing solos filling in gaps left in the words. The entire production is so evocative of the horrors of war that it is hard to believe it wasn’t written to be on a film soundtrack.

But album closer “Days On The Mountain” is something else entirely. A nine-minute epic, it starts out with spooky Moog synthesizers and a steady rhythm track behind it before Verlaine’s voice enters. Verlaine’s single-coiled guitar starts playing elaborate figures before it swells into a chorus of harmonics. The expressive playing is accompanied by Verlaine repeating the phrase “dancing again.”

About halfway through, a bass figure enters and the track changes, becoming much more synthesizer based. Verlaine’s lyrics are ever cryptic, calling back to the “days on the mountain [he] remember(s) so well.” The sound is almost evocative of krautrock bands such as Can and Tangerine Dream. A strange classic.

When Words From The Front was first released, reviews were mixed. UK imprint Melody Maker painted Verlaine as an artist past his prime. But history has been much kinder to the album. It may take a track or two to get going, but once it does, the album equals anything Verlaine has done before or since.

Warner Bros/1982