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Dirk Wears White Sox
by Adam and the Ants
(Do It/ 1979)
This is an LP that I've actually bought twice at different stages of
my life. And though I now regard Dirk Wears White Sox as something
of an art-punk classic, when I first bought the album as a fifteen-year-old,
I just didn't get it. For a start, it was largely devoid of the buzzsaw
guitar riffery that was my staple musical diet at the time, served up
by the likes of The Skids, Rich Kids and Buzzcocks. And also disappointingly
absent were the power-pop hooks hooks of the single "Zerox"
– a record I had rushed out and bought shortly after hearing it
on the John Peel show. Instead, musically it was all a little sparse;
the production a little thin sounding; and lyrically it was a little,
well... weird. I mean, who the fuck was Marinetti anyway? And what was
a Futurist manifesto when it was at home?
Having since read reviews of the album from the time of its release, it
seems that the music press was as bemused by the album as I was. And though
the Ants had their champions amongst the schoolboy punker-posse I used
to hang out with, the general consensus was that Dirk Wears White
Sox was a bit of a dud. Consequently, I didn't hold onto my copy
for very long – probably swapping it with a mate for something a
little more muscular, like Black and White by The Stranglers.
Then, seven years later I bought it again. It was the morning of the 1987
FA cup final (Coventry 3 Tottenham 2), and I picked it up at a jumble
sale for about 50p. And this time, I took to it like a duck to water.
In fact, everything I wasn't too sure about the first time, I grew to
cherish second time around: the spareness of the production, its musical
minimalism and its lyrical perversity – the latter laden with references
to Catholicism, sex and sadomasochism which would have flown right over
my head as a callow youth.
Having said that, to this day, I'm still not entirely sure what the song
"Never Trust a Man (With Egg On His Face)" is all about. But
what I do know is that, with its choppy, scratchy guitars and syncopated
— almost danceable — rhythms, Dirk Wears White Sox
sounds remarkably contemporary in a musical universe inhabited by such
young art punk pretenders as Franz Ferdinand, Hot Hot Heat and the Kaiser
Chiefs. Which in turn might explain why it remains a regular visitor to
my record deck.
Copyright: Poke-in-the-Eye Publishing 2005
