Volume 19 Tracks 11-15 - Boo Radleys, Magnapop, Tiny Monroe, Salad, Sharkboy

11. The Boo Radleys - Barney (... & Me) (Creation)

Opening with a chord pattern vaguely reminiscent of Gary Glitter's "Another Rock and Roll Christmas", The Boos go on to paint a gloriously accurate yet simple wintertime scene ("The lake is almost frozen/ the grass is silver hair") before descending into doubt and moody, introspective tones. To this day, I can't really get through winter without playing this track at least a couple of times.

It's by no means as simple as it first appears, though. The single morphs almost effortlessly from one sound to the next, from disjointed, fluttering psychedelia, to attempted Beach Boys styled close harmonies (singing "Faye Dunaway" for some reason) to the epic, dramatic outro. These should rightfully feel like tattered fragments of ideas which have no place together across the same single, but they all glue together remarkably well - there are ambitious Paul McCartney tracks out there which sound more stilted and less natural than this.

"Barney (... & Me)" was also the first sign, on 45 at least, that The Boo Radleys were developing a sharp pop sensibility amidst the denseness of their ideas. Large elements of this single are propulsive and heartlifting in the way the best pop can be, and serve a different purpose to a lot of the other contents of "Giant Steps". It's an idle comparison which was inevitably bandied around a lot at the time, but this is Pop as Brian Wilson imagined it to be circa "Pet Sounds" and "Smile". Sometimes complex, occasionally a bit dizzying, but nonetheless remaining true to the thrills a three-and-a-half minute tune could afford. I'm not claiming that "Barney (... & Me)" is as good as Wilson's productions in his prime, before readers queue down the street with baseball bats to wreck my modest home, but it showed the group were capable of exploring those possibilities in more depth if they chose.



12. Magnapop - Slowly Slowly (Play It Again Sam)

It must have been twenty years now since I last bothered to listen to this track, and having had another spin of it for research purposes, there's no particular reason why I should have left it so long. Filled with tick-tocking guitar rhythms which quickly move into rough, distorted chord patterns, and weary, cautious female vocals, this really could have been released at any time between 1989 to the present day. If Magnapop formed tomorrow and "dropped" this video on to YouTube - as the kids might say - there's little doubt that the blogosphere (as the kids also might apparently say) would lap it up. It's a slice of timeless, faintly alienated US college rock whose stylings haven't gone away, and whose more unexpected and eccentric guitar stylings make it stand out.

Trouble was, Magnapop didn't release "Slowly Slowly" on Soundcloud in 2017, and while their US reception was quite positive, in the UK things were changing fast. As a result, this registered briefly with evening radio listeners before being rapidly forgotten about by everyone, including me. In North America, however, they were keenly appreciated by Bob Mould of Sugar, and given a support slot on an REM tour, and remain a going concern to this day. REM and The Eels have both covered the group's songs, and their cult status is now completely assured.



13. Tiny Monroe - VHF 855V (Laurel)

It's perfectly possible to draw some parallels between Magnapop and Tiny Monroe. Both singles contain sharp and angular guitar work, but where Magnapop's sound exerts a weary Stateside nineties cynicism, Tiny Monroe sound caffeinated and sparky. Norma Jean Wilow, the lead singer, exudes attitude throughout, and the whole thing swaggers with an almost glam rock pout on its chops (the song's title was apparently named after Norma's car reg plate number, which might be a call back to the same idea in Roxy Music's "Remake Remodel").

Trouble is, while it may stride confidently over the horizon giving you an Elvis sneer as it goes, "VHF 855V" is a treble-heavy and somewhat slight slice of new wave inspired pop. You can certainly hear the early stirrings of Britpop here, but sadly it's the least interesting elements. There's nothing artful or likably pretentious about it, nothing well observed, or even sublimely catchy. It arrives in a hail of scratchy guitars then exits having made little lasting impression beyond the fact that the group wholeheartedly believed in their own efforts. The confidence shines through, but it's not enough to hold the rest of the song together.

This kind of energy and spark would become apparent in numerous British bands from 1994-6, and while at its best it was responsible for some astonishing music, at its most mediocre it felt like a failed confidence trick. In 1994, that was forgivable. By late 1996, it became a source of deep, burning irritation, like being hassled by pushy young door-to-door sales representatives in retro Adidas tops a hundred times a week.



14. Salad - Diminished Clothes (Waldorf)

None of this applies to Salad, though, who have recently reformed and are enjoying a spate of positive press and cult fan worship all over again. Somewhat cynically disregarded by critics in their nineties pomp and largely sidelined by daytime radio, it's impossible to begrudge them their present lap of the Britpop revival circuit. A reassessment of their work has been long overdue.

Salad at their best sounded as if they had spent half their lives absorbing and assimilating all manner of influences from across the musical spectrum, utilising grunge's quiet/loud dynamics, prog's unpredictable gear shifts and changes, glam rock's fake fur coats and sparkly glamour, as well as the best bits of all the ideas ambitious frontwomen or solo artists had had from 1970 onwards... as stated in my previous entry on the group, only the fact they were fronted by a very successful model and MTV jock prevented most critics from appreciating their best moments. Why bother to listen carefully to an apparent vanity project when there's a new Tindersticks LP to quietly assess?

An additional problem was possibly the fact that their earliest releases didn't quite sound fully formed. "Diminished Clothes" is probably the best of the bunch, and was still a regular feature at live gigs until very late in the band's day. Filled with tribal drum rhythms and Marijne Van Der Vlugt's excellent pleading, bluesy vocals, it's minimal, hypnotic and faintly creepy in the way PJ Harvey's work of the same period could often be - not a high water mark for the group, but certainly a sign that they were moving far beyond their slightly raw and unfocussed roots.

Sadly, Salad would jump to the Island Records owned boutique indie label Island Red in due course, and for whatever reason "Indie Top 20" would not see fit to include them again. A shame, as some of their best moments such as "Drink The Elixir", "Motorbike To Heaven" and "Cardboy King" would get considerably more gushing write-ups from me, just as they did first time round. Damn it. All I can really ask is that you dip in and explore them properly for yourselves, if you haven't already.



15. Sharkboy - Razor (Nude)

Sharkboy were a short-lived proposition signed to Nude Records (home of Suede and, um, not much else) and fronted by the striking and charismatic Avy. Their frequently understated, smoky, subtle and melancholic sounding singles sounded out of place up against the ferocity of grunge and the razzle-dazzle of Britpop, and as such fell into an awkward no-man's land. While disappointingly few people bought their records, or indeed bother to listen to them on YouTube to this day, they were certainly wildly appreciated by some. Their debut LP "Matinee" was issued to an almost rabidly enthusiastic Melody Maker review, but this failed to translate into an awful lot of copies being taken up to the counter at Our Price.

While elements of Sharkboy's sound could easily be placed alongside the likes of Mazzy Star or Tindersticks for ease of reference, there was actually a faintly gothic, stagey edge to the group's sound I never quite took to at the time. Avy's earliest vocals do occasionally sound like an attention-seeking drama student doing her best world-weary Morticia Addams impression. Listening back over their best moments now, however, I'm warming to them considerably more than I did back then, particularly "The Valentine Tapes" which showed the group growing in warmth, ambition and scope, with Avy managing to find a way pull the listener into their world rather than putting up walls. "Razor", on the other hand, is cold, minimal and hard to find a way into.

As a postscript, it's possibly worth mentioning that I was sent to review a support slot gig of theirs at the time, and they failed to show up. Myself and a friend tracked down the tour manager to find out what was up, and we were snappily informed "Look, I know you're the last person I should say this to, but how the hell should I know where they are? They're MISSING, that's all I know! They've been nothing but unreliable the whole tour. I mean, if you ask me, they could have a bright future ahead of them, their vocalist is a fantastic frontwoman, but if they're not going to get their shit together..." and this rant continued in rather dull detail for some time, consisting of a long itinerary of complaints from a man trying to get on with his job but being foiled at every turn. The band never materialised that night. The review copy was never filed. Then, not long afterwards, they were no more.

Volume 18 Side 4 - Swervedriver, Salad, Cranes, Family Cat, Chumbawamba, Credit To The Nation

1. Swervedriver - Duel (Creation)

While a lot of the initial buzz surrounding Swervedriver was starting to die down by this point, they managed to retain a lot of affection on the live circuit, and were even managing to gain cult status in the USA - an unusual feat for a lot of British bands at this point.

"Duel" sticks to their usual format of stoned, chugging rock and roll riffola until suddenly, a rampslide into a bright, breezy, sunny pasture emerges in the form of the chorus, which manages to combine the rock raunchiness of Hendrix with the jingle jangle morning of The Byrds. It's an interesting and strangely beautiful single, but not one that was ever likely to result in the band progressing any further. It was the last single of theirs to chart within the UK Top 75, and from this point forward they would slowly slide from view.

Their American audience held them in good stead, though, and ensured that their final LP "99th Dream" was released on New York's Zero Hour Records after Creation Records lost interest. 

They recently reformed in 2015.

2. Salad - Kent (Waldorf)

Few bands got as frosty reception when they emerged as Salad. If there was one over-riding golden rule of the early nineties indie circuit, it was that rich kids and celebrities fronting groups should not be tolerated. Performing alternative rock was, after all, a serious business with artistic integrity and an outsider status at its forefront, not anything glamorous. Heaven forfend. 

Marijne Van Der Vlugt of Salad, then, was an MTV Video Jock and a model, who had experienced some considerable success at the latter job and remained very visible as the former. Well heeled and incredibly striking looking, she seemed as if she more rightfully belonged in Vogue magazine as opposed to having her music played on evening Radio One. Salad really seemed like a successful person's dalliance or hobby at first, not something with any long-term viability. 

It didn't help that their early singles were not actually particularly great. Those aren't my words, either, they're the words of their press officer who phoned me at home in an attempt to drag me out to review one of their mid-nineties gigs. "Honestly, they're amazing now," I was reassured. "I know they used to be shit, but they've really developed". (And reader, I went to see them live and they were indeed fantastic, but I've never had such a strange phone call from a press person since).

"Kent", issued on their own Waldorf label, is a scratchy, basic sounding little single which shows the band had nailed their sound effectively by this point - Marijne's bluesy, teasing, taunting vocals are in place, as is the angular riffage - but it sounds like an early demo from a band who haven't quite got around to writing any significant songs yet. The rhythm section in particular seems a bit clubfooted here, and there's an awkwardness to the group which would dissipate quite rapidly. For now, though, this is merely an OK moment. 

3. Cranes - Everywhere (Dedicated)

Dedicated and Beechwood both managed to mess up here, listing the Cranes track "Jewel" on the tracklisting of the LP, while including "Everywhere" instead. So far as I'm aware, this mistake wasn't remedied on any future pressings, so I'm treating "Everywhere" as the official selection.

Whereas most Cranes tracks have an unsettling and uncomfortable air, "Everywhere" is altogether happier in its skin, though these things are all relative. Hanging its lot on a simple acoustic chord progression and Alison Shaw's hushed but strangely child-like vocals, it's otherworldly without utilising the kind of doomy, thundering chords the group often enjoyed. This track therefore dodges the sound that might have had small children running out of Our Price screaming in fear, but doesn't really sound any more "ordinary" for it - it still sounds quite unlike anything else being issued at this point. 

4. Family Cat - Airplane Gardens (Dedicated)

Meanwhile, Crane's labelmates The Family Cat continued to plough their own particular cultish furrow, though with "Airplane Gardens" they may actually have produced one of their finest moments. Starting with a two-note keyboard riff then gradually progressing into a monstrous, epic chorus, it sounds exactly like the group they wanted to become. Gone are the rough edges, but also gone are the kind of trucker's key changes and banner-waving Rock School excesses of "Steamroller". 

Instead, there's a Julian Cope-esque air to this one, a righteous fury (though about what it's hard to say) and a slightly mystical feel. When I first bought this compilation, I surprised myself by continually playing this, long after I'd tired of many of the other tracks.

It also marked a slight turning point in The Family Cat's attitude, as they became slightly more savage and openly political in the press. One of their future singles "Goldenbook" had a B-side entitled "Bring Me The Head Of Michael Portillo", and they took adverts out in the music press consisting of nothing but the title of that track and a telephone number people could ring. If you phoned the line, you heard a voice softly telling you "He's so arrogant, get rid of him", followed by the coo-ed vocal line "You won't lose much sleep tonight". 

The Family Cat were finally moving on from being an archetypal spit and sawdust indie group and visiting some dark and interesting places. In time, it would almost bring them success - their final two singles only narrowly missed the UK Top 40 - but in BMG's opinion, that was probably too little, too late, and they ceased activities in 1994. 

5. Chumbawamba & Credit To The Nation - Enough Is Enough (One Little Indian)

At the time, this was the political anthem in studentville and indieland. 1993 was a bleak year for British politics, with a weak Conservative Government, the BNP gaining popularity and racist attacks regularly occurring around East London and other areas. (Well, at least we don't have the BNP on the rise at the moment, I suppose... small mercies).

Chumbawamba had at this point spent a long period as political agitators, releasing records with titles as telling as "Smash Clause 28" and "Pictures Of Starving Children Sell Records". They were never subtle, but many of their records had an undercurrent of commerciality - the concept of becoming Crass and making a din to back up the ferocity of their political leanings often didn't seem as appealing to them as journeying back to the folksong traditions of coherent narratives and memorable choruses. Their live shows were also often utterly lacking in subtlety, with costume changes, cheap backdrops and call and response interplay with the audience making the affairs seem a bit like a left-leaning student drama society pantomime. However, they got their radical messages across to a surprisingly large audience. 

Over in the other corner for this single sat Credit To The Nation, ostensibly Matty Hanson aka MC Fusion working under a group name. His debut single "Call It What You Want" had sampled Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit" and caused thousands of plaid shirt wearing teens up and down the country to go racing towards the dancefloor, only to groan and sit back down again when they realised it was "That bloody Hip Hop record" (I never tired of laughing at this). Credit To The Nation burst on to music scene with cries of "unity!" and asked for greater tolerance between black and white people - steadily, though, their political message became sharper and more targeted, and Hanson eventually lost favour with the NME when he (quite reasonably) suggested in a rival publication that their selection criteria for interviews and articles in the magazine could be considered racist. (It's pretty clear that, even to this day, the NME don't really seem to have anything we could refer to as a "diversity agenda". There again, they barely seem to have much of a music-orientated agenda at the moment).

"Enough Is Enough" should have been an enormous meeting of minds, and was obviously regarded as being so at the time. It was the number one track in John Peel's 1993 Festive Fifty, and was played endlessly in alternative or indie clubs - but there's something a bit tepid sounding about it these days. The "Give the fascist man a gunshot" lines feel weak and crowbarred in, and the central chorus is arguably one of the weakest slogans Chumbawamba ever came up with ("Open your eyes, time to wake up/ Enough is enough is enough is enough" doesn't really say anything at all. We all know what it means and what it's referring to, of course, but it's not exactly something you'd feel inspired to daub on a protest banner).

There's a sense that we sorely needed a political anthem in 1993. Britain felt somewhat grey, broke and locked in stasis, and the only people getting any joy out of it seemed to be the knuckle draggers thriving on the ill-feeling. Very few people stepped forward to make the necessary noise, however, and I can't help but feel that we clutched "Enough Is Enough" to our bosoms because it was the best candidate on offer. For all its popularity at the time, though, it's surely an unusual example of a  Festive Fifty number one hardly anybody plays anymore. 

I prefer "Liar Liar" by Captain Ska meself - though that's not especially great either.