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Sulk
by The Associates (WEA/ 1982)I heard 'Party Fears Two' on the radio recently for the first time in ages: it was a blast from the past which to my ears still sounded as startlingly brilliant as it did way back when it was first released in early 1982. In fact, revelling in the moment, I was about to comment smugly to my colleagues in the office that, 'they don't make 'em like that anymore', when I thought better of it, realising that to do so would make me sound like those reactionary old codgers I'd always despised: you know, those sanctimonious types who always sought to undermine your enthusiasm for the pop music of the day, by insisting that nothing would ever sound as good as The Beatles (of course, growing up close to Liverpool, I encountered many such folk who sincerely believed this — putting me off the fab four forever — I don't own any Beatles albums). Also, I realised that some wag would inevitably counter, 'thank bloody Christ for that!', which would have knocked me clean out of my momentary rapture and left me scrabbling around for the kind of wise-guy retort that would prove immediately elusive, but which no doubt would have come to me some hours later — invariably when I was in bed or on the toilet.
But without wishing to sound too much like the type of person I've just been condemning, it has to be said that the early-Eighties were a good time for British pop music, with the prevailing climate of musical non conformity and idiosyncratic innovation conducive enough to allow a song as wilfully eccentric as Party Fears Two to climb as high as number nine in the charts. I have to admit that I was caught by surprise by the Associates seemingly overnight transformation from obscure John Peel show favourites to preening pop stars, but I really shouldn't have been. Especially as at the time, all manner of post punk bands from New Order to Simple Minds were beginning to score major hits.
Like 'Wuthering Heights' by Kate Bush and 'This Town Ain't Big Enough for the Both of Us' by Sparks before it, Party Fears Two was one of those records which by rights should have been far too outre for mass consumption, but which somehow succeeded in capturing the imagination of the great British public. But it was no mere fluke, as the band succeeded in repeating the trick with their follow-up, the gloriously histrionic 'Club Country' — a song which after all these years still has the power to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention (which may have something to do with the sheer exhilarating drama of the track; particularly the way singer Billy MacKenzie seemingly teases with us momentarily with the line 'Alive and Kicking' before truly cutting loose and soaring through the chorus operatic style accompanied by that screaming synth — a truly extraordinary vocal performance). Oh, and Club Country never fails to make me go all misty-eyed at the remembrance of youthful nights of frantic jerky dancing at local night clubs such as Jokers and Angels.
However, despite these two wonderful singles contributing significantly to the soundtrack of yet another frustratingly sexless summer (I was to find love later that year), it was only fairly recently that I came to own any Associates records. In fact - bought from a charity shop in Stoke Newington - Sulk was actually the very last addition to my collection of vinyl, prior to setting out on this foolhardy project. I had heard the album many years before, though, having borrowed it from a friend when I was at college. I remember being a little underwhelmed by it then, but I was intrigued to hear it again in light of the late Billy MacKenzie's current posthumous status of tragic genius (MacKenzie committed suicide in 1997 after a long period of depression).
Well, I'd certainly have to hear a little more of the Associates' work as well as MacKenzie's own solo releases, before being able to offer any kind meaningful opinion on his artistic standing. What I can say though, is that with its heavily treated drums and obtuse white funk rhythms this album sounds hopelessly dated. Having said that, the more I play it; the more it grows on me. Musically camp and lyrically oblique, it's a decidedly odd affair all round which comes to a majestic climax midway through side two with extended versions of the two aforementioned singles running one after the other, before tailing off into 'Nothinginsomethingparticular', an inconsequential little instrumental which sounds more than vaguely reminiscent of 'Come Dancing' by The Kinks as interpreted by an end of the pier organist. But there are other highlights in the form of the playful pop of 'Skipping'; as well as 'Gloomy Sunday', a beautifully mournful and eerily prophetic ode to suicide, which in terms of vocal delivery owes a strong debt to Station to Station era Bowie. And the cover's rather tasty too, in an conspicuously ostentatious Eighties kind of way.