Lush - Lovelife

 

Lush - Lovelife

By

Jesse E. Mullen

An American distribution deal can make or break a British band. If an album is licensed to a sympathetic American label, it can be a success. There is mutual respect, and the label doesn’t set the band up for failure.

On the flipside, a bad deal can run a talented group into the ground. Or exhaust them to the point where tragedy strikes. Such was the case with Lush. A songwriting partnership between singer/rhythm guitarist Miki Berenyi and lead guitarist Emma Anderson, the British quartet were initially a part of the shoegazing scene of the 80s and 90s.

However, they made a gradual shift towards Britpop, culminating in 1994’s Split and 1996’s Lovelife. Sadly, their American label Reprise didn’t understand how to promote them. A grueling, highly misguided tour opening for The Gin Blossoms in the latter half of 1996 proved too much, and Lush were on the verge of breaking up.

Tragically, they wouldn’t all make it through the year. Drummer Chris Ackland committed suicide on October 17^th, 1996. He was 30.

But the year didn’t start off this bad for Lush. It was actually quite good at first. “Single Girl” and “Ladykillers,” received a strong reception. And the album Lovelife made the top 10 in the UK album charts. Statistics are one thing, but how an album stacks up as a whole is another. So how does it hold up?

The album gets off to a rocking start with “Ladykillers.” Berenyi is in punk pop fashion, describing humorous accounts of egotistical men. She winds up dating one for a summer, before dumping the narcissist for good. It’s a strong start, but Emma Anderson was not one to be upstaged.

Things improve further with the jangly “500 (Shake Baby Shake.” Using a Fiat 500 as a metaphor for a man of her interest, Anderson turns in her sunniest composition of the album. Musically, the song resembles the lighter moments on Wish by The Cure. The bright, arpeggiated guitar tones recall “Friday I’m In Love.”

“Last Night” is something new entirely. Anderson is experimenting with club beats and trippy tremolo guitars. It wouldn’t sound out of place on Radiohead’s The Bends. Lyrically the track is in supernatural territory. Anderson writes of a magical recipe for a serum to keep its user young forever.

The track seems to be a sly commentary on celebrity culture and how humans are obsessed with looking younger than we really are.

Anderson is back in dreamy Lush territory on “Tralala.” The lyrics describe those who only want to kick us when we’re down. Musically, it’s a stripped back ballad. She uses shimmering chord changes and subtle leads to great effect.

For her part, Berenyi contributes a gorgeously poignant vocal. Much like her work on previous Lush ballads such as “When I Die,” her slight rasp adds texture and resonance to Anderson’s words.

Berenyi tried something totally different on “Ciao!” She invited Jarvis Cocker of Pulp to sing the male role in a character-based breakup duet. It’s not entirely successful, as both Berenyi and Cocker’s characters come across as particularly insufferable. But maybe that was the point.

The album ends on another poignant note with the Anderson-penned “Olympia.” The lyrics describe admiring another girl to the point of wanting to be her. In our current world of celebrity culture, it’s possibly even more meaningful now than it was in 1996.

Musically, it’s another sweet ballad with gentle acoustic guitars and mellotron. Anderson and Berenyi sing in harmony before the band enters. A horn and string section joins in the final third, bringing the track to another level. The final line “And now, time to switch off” is even more poignant, knowing what we now know.

Some bands go out with a whimper, not a bang. Not Lush. Although they were unfair victims of a changing musical landscape, and a fickle British music press, they proved they could make a great album under terrible – and soon to be tragic – circumstances.

4AD/1996

 

Miracle Legion – Me and Mr. Ray

Miracle Legion – Me and Mr. Ray

By

Jesse E. Mullen

 

New Haven, CT is a funny town. You can find yourself walking down any block and be in a perfectly safe neighborhood. But venture too far in any direction at the wrong time of day and you could find yourself in a dangerous situation.

Yale University – one of the wealthiest universities in the country – is juxtaposed with crippling poverty that would make the student population blush. It ain’t for the faint of heart. It is this contrast which greatly informs the local arts scene. In the middle of this – during the ‘80s and ‘90s – was Miracle Legion.

Formed in 1983 as a partnership between singer/songwriter Mark Mulcahy and guitarist Raymond “Mr. Ray” Neal, Miracle Legion were pegged to be college rock legends. Their jangly sound and obscured vocals led to them being called “the next R.E.M.”

While that didn’t pan out, they still created a major cult following on the local circuit. Their debut EP The Backyard attracted critical acclaim in the US and the UK – even if the sales didn’t reflect it. However, the press did get the attention of legendary UK label Rough Trade Records.

As home to The Smiths, The Fall, and The Raincoats, Rough Trade could surely break Miracle Legion to the next level. They released Miracle Legion’s next record, 1987’s Surprise Surprise Surprise to more acclaim, but little fanfare.

Between the next EP and their 1989 full-length, the rhythm section quit. Consequently, the album would be recorded as a duo of Mulcahy and Mr. Ray – and aptly titled Me and Mr. Ray. The jangly electric guitars were traded in for hushed acoustics and harmonica.

Mulcahy and Mr. Ray seemed to take what could have been a disastrous situation and turned it into an excuse to revamp their sound. They were risking throwing away what people knew and loved about them for new territory. But as they didn’t set the world on fire commercially previously, they weren’t risking too much.

“Ladies From Town” starts the album off on a jaunty note, with uptempo drums acoustic strums, and folksy harmonica. Lyrically the track seems to take place in a pub or night club setting with Mulcahy asking for the company of a woman he meets.

On the Miracle Legion reunion tour, Mulcahy would pass the microphone out to women in the audience to sing the chorus. It was always an interesting moment, as no one knew how it would turn out.

“If She Could Cry” is another example of Mulcahy and Mr. Ray branching out. It fuses a country and western twang with the kind of modernized rockabilly American Music Club were doing at the time. Lyrically, Mulcahy is admonishing a man for mistreating a woman in a relationship.

The contrast of the dark lyrics with the jovial music is an effective touch. It gives the track a duality rarely present in popular music. Perhaps this complexity of emotions is what kept Miracle Legion out of the charts. It is entirely possible they were too clever for their own good.

Perhaps the most poignant track on the album is “You’re The One Lee.” A simple acoustic guitar and a heavily delayed electric introduce the song in dreamy fashion. Mulcahy enters expressing his love.

Mulcahy bares his soul. He waits all night for his lover to return, sitting with her parents on their porch watching cars go by. He compares their relationship to Apollo and Venus. But not all is perfect in the relationship. She has doubts about the narrator’s commitment.

Musically, the track is both sweet and melancholy. Mr. Ray knew to keep Mulcahy’s words naked, and his backing is simple but effective. He uses his guitar playing to create ambiance and a mood rather than taking center stage. As much as soloing is the mark of a good guitarist, restraint in the proper context is the mark of a great one.

Success can’t always be measured in sales or charting positions. Sometimes success is being cult heroes and inspiring other artists. For Miracle Legion, this is their version of success. While they never made it as big as R.E.M. – or even like-minded artists such as The dB’s – they carved out their own niche in a changing landscape.

Mulcahy and Mr. Ray made a brave decision to change sounds on their second full length. Rather than treading water with a new rhythm section, they made an album deliberately out of step with the sounds of the times. It is for this reason that Me and Mr. Ray stands the test of time.

Rough Trade/1989

 

Sleeper - The It Girl

 

Sleeper - The It Girl

By

Jesse E. Mullen

Authors and musicians who write lyrics are very similar. They both express themselves through characters. They both use first and third person narratives to convey a greater point. And they often use language which is both figurative and literal as a form of double entendre.

Being a writer in both fields, Louise Wener understands this very well. The Sleeper frontwoman has published two novels, as well as a memoir. But it’s her adventures in Britpop which get the most attention.

Sleeper formed as a student band in 1988. A collaboration between Wener and guitarist Jon Stewart – no relation to the US TV show host – they grew to being a chart-topping success by the mid-90s. Their debut, 1995’s Smart was a smash hit both critically and commercially.

But the question remained – could Sleeper go onto even greater success? And could they avoid the sophomore slump that befell many a band of their generation? It didn’t take long to find out.

In 1996, Sleeper released their second album The It Girl. The album peaked at number five in the UK album charts – just as Smart had – and eventually went platinum whereas Smart went gold. However, these are simply numerical measures of success. How did the album stack up as a whole?

Wener’s writing retains the sharp wit of Smart, but with more fleshed-out arrangements. She manages to be both poignant and funny at the same time. Empathetic but disdainful. It’s a polarity that can result in self-parody in lesser artists. But she walks the line perfectly.

“Sale of the Century” starts off with a slightly reggae-influenced rhythm resembling The Clash’s London Calling album. But when Wener reaches the chorus, it is pure-Sleeper mode. Anthemic without being bombastic, Wener uses thriftiness as a metaphor for a mediocre relationship.

On “Statuesque,” Wener is both envious of and pitying towards a woman who is more glamorous than she is. It’s a sly commentary on how we have complex feelings towards those who upstage us – we see the people that they attract, yet we also see them struggle to stand on their own two feet.

Musically, the track is a brilliantly executed homage to the new wave of the previous decade. The stacked vocals in the chorus resemble the harmonies of 60’s pop rock.

Perhaps the greatest indication of Wener’s future as an author is the dreamy “What Do I Do Now?” Wener deals with the breakdown of communication in a relationship. But unlike most songs of this nature, she uses dialog – both internal and spoken – by both man and woman to explain the situation.

The song is again in a new wave style, with soft verses and an anthemic chorus. When the chorus hits, Wener switches from a third person perspective to a first-person perspective. She assumes the role of the woman as she watches her relationship crumble around her.

Sometimes it is easy to separate a writer from his or her previous career. This is not the case with Louise Wener. Her experiences in Sleeper informed her writing style in her novels. And her experiences writing her novels informed her work on Sleeper’s 2019 reunion album. But Wener is an artist in motion on The It Girl.

Indolent Records/1996