Weezer (Blue Album) (1994) - Weezer

When it comes to Weezer, a band whose work I've consistently kept up with throughout the years, and whose work I have a pretty comprehensive knowledge of, I think the best place to start is the beginning.

I didn't exactly grow up with Weezer - I was only 3 when their debut self-titled album (I'll refer to it as the Blue Album, or just Blue, as is permissible given that they are currently up to 6 eponymous works) was released, and I didn't really start listening to them until college, at which point I torrented their discography up to that date and really got into them. Since then, I've stayed pretty tuned in to what they're up to, and each new release plots a new co-ordinate on an ever-elongating graph documenting how good Weezer currently are. But in the eyes of so many, 'how good Weezer are' seems to correlate directly to their first record, and the real measurement actually becomes 'how closely a Weezer release resembles the sound of the Blue Album'.

When a band sets such a golden standard with their debut, it is very difficult not to compare everything with this solid initial idea of who they are. Anything too different feels like a deviation rather than an evolution, and it's to the credit of Rivers Cuomo that he rarely lets this stigmatic public viewpoint dictate direction of the band's output. I think I've trained myself over the years to not look at their new music in such an expectant, comparative way. That said, there have certainly been times when I'm midway through something simultaneously wacky and drab on an album like Pacific Daydream and I find myself longing for the good old Weezer of 1994. But what is it that gives Blue this iconic status that has endured for over 30 years and still remains the primary accolade of an act who have never stopped writing new material?

This era of Weezer was a simpler, less pretentious time, and the Blue Album (and, incidentally, follow-up Pinkerton) are the creations of a younger band, with different ideologies and priorities. Where with age, time and experience, a musician might strive for technical perfection, a younger musician whose ambition is no less potent will value different qualities. With a song like Say It Ain't So, rawness of emotion is the point, the take that makes the album probably used because the vocals sound authentically emotive and the verse contrasts especially well against the chorus. The Weezer of today don't make this kind of track - asides from the fact they don't need to, because it already exists in Say It Ain't So, raw emotion is just not high up on their agenda any more. I actually regard it a good thing that the band doesn't sound like they did in 1994 - that would be disastrously stagnant, and I would be concerned for Rivers Cuomo if he was as volatile and emotional at 55 as he was at 24.

So, in my opinion, it is the voice of a younger band who are taking the first possible chance to say the things they want to say that separates Weezer's early works apart from the rest. I think many find this easier to connect with, many can identify with their oddness and the honesty they are intent on conveying, and I think the delivery, unkempt but not messy, provides an accessible vessel in which to house these attributes.

1. Buddy Holly
2. Say It Ain't So
3. Undone - The Sweater Song
4. Only In Dreams
5. My Name Is Jonas
6. Surf Wax America
7. Holiday
8. The World Has Turned And Left Me Here
9. No One Else
10. In The Garage

Total Points: 32/50
Average Score: 6.4

Rawness and finesse are not mutually exclusive qualities; as demonstrated with nimble finger picking and gradually built layers throughout, the Blue Album is every bit as meticulous as Weezer's more polished later albums, but in its own, homemade-sounding way. My Name Is Jonas, for example, sounds completely underproduced, more like a live performance than a studio recording, but the expertise of structure and dynamics resonates so much that they outweigh the roughness and make for an incredibly strong start.

Drifting, ambling layers and timid, unadorned verses help to give Undone - The Sweater Song and Only In Dreams such compelling progressions, both resolving in pure heavy guitar fire and a true unleashing of tension. The spoken word excerpts in the former (especially the apathetic and barely audible first person responses) feel despairingly mundane but in a way that informs the content of the song so aptly. Meanwhile, Buddy Holly works because of how solid and concrete it is; nothing bends, everything is rigidly with the beat and played at a constant volume of loud. That said, the bridges manage to add an unexpected softness with their chord resolutions and comforting, tender turn for the lyrics, and the song climaxes perfectly when everything cuts out for a single bar of the guitar solo before the final chorus.

No One Else's misogynist lyrics make Rivers look like an asshole, and while this isn't exactly compelling content for me, it's actually the dip in articulation and complexity that most impacts my rating. Positioned directly after My Name Is Jonas, it sounds underbaked and a bit slapdash. The indisputable worst track, however, is In The Garage - though it definitely portrays a valid slice of Cuomo's teenage reality, the standard nerd content of the verses plus the flimsily sing-song chorus (not to mention the lazy and juvenile way he pronounces 'garage' as a single syllable) sound genuinely pathetic together. In The Garage also has the added detractor of a harmonica intro that sounds like a rusty gate swinging off its hinges, which nobody wants to hear.

I didn't mean this to be a defence piece for current Weezer, but I can't help but feel a bit inclined to jump in whenever they release new material and the first thing out of anyone's mouth is "it's not like the Blue Album". But hopefully I've still conveyed why this happens, why people (myself included, check the score) love the Blue Album and why it has such an unattainable je ne sais quoi in the eyes of so many Weezer fans. Part of me is scared about writing about future ventures of theirs that I enjoy and figuring out how to do it justice - but part of me is also looking forward to it!

Sheezus (2014) - Lily Allen

Sometimes I get so bogged down with nostalgia and trying to weave together some kind of grandiose review to end all reviews that it all starts to feel a bit stale. The albums I want to discuss are usually steeped in meaning for me, or have had verdicts on them marinating and maturing for several years (or even decades). I'm also aware that I'll generally have more to say about something I like, and that there's little point in reviewing an album I don't much like, given the whole point of this blog is to compare my favourite albums. This is a deadly combination that leads to insane writers block and, if dwelled upon too much, a sour taste for the music itself. So I thought I'd keep things fresh and review an album I've never listened to until two days ago.

I was a MySpace teenager (like you can't tell from the customise transparent banner I made for this blog) so I'd first heard of Lily Allen when she was on the brink of her breakthrough. Initially defined by a bold personal style (cocktail dress and trainers) and a quirky, vintage, ska-infused sound, Lily Allen was one of the biggest success stories of the indie music zeitgeist of the 00s. It soon became clear though that she wasn't the sort to sit primly in the niche she'd carved out for herself with her debut Alright, Still, and by the time Sheezus came around, Lily Allen had thoroughly reestablished her signature by her attitude, not her aesthetic.

Sheezus is essentially an electropop album - emphasis on the pop, with the electro seeping through in a largely subliminal way. You don't really notice how deeply you've been swimming in the electronic beats until URL Badman's dubstep chorus kicks in and tells you it's time for air. Typically the only electro not to manifest with overbearingly incessant energy is the kind of ambient, über-chill trip-hop of Massive Attack and the like. Sheezus, however, uses beats in a subtle, supportive way that maintains a calmness that isn't intrinsically atmospheric, instead finessing the music round the edges and helping to add flair to otherwise simple melodies. Together with Allen's clean, blasé style of vocalisation and quippy, unexpected rhymes, the result is a surprisingly sophisticated modern feminist manifesto of a nearly 30-year-old Lily Allen speaking her mind once more.

1. Hard Out Here
2. Insincerly Yours
3. Air Balloon
4. Close Your Eyes
5. As Long As I Got You
6. Somewhere Only We Know
7. Our Time
8. URL Badman
9. Sheezus
10. Silver Spoon
11. L8 CMMR
12. Take My Place
13. Life For Me
    (Exempt from total score: Interlude)

Total Points: 38/65
Average Score: 5.85

Lily Allen is never short of statements to make, but the real headliners are the ones that pack the most punch outside of just their lyrical content. This makes Hard Out Here the clear standout, a bold pop banger with social commentary that still feels current and relevant, Allen's sweet, crooning vocals licensing her to be extra cutting in her critique. Insincerely Yours is similarly audacious, but laid back and funky, less of an outright anthem but just as memorable. This is where the electronic timbres work best, elevating a pretty standard tune to match the excellent lyrics by beautifully balancing layers of intricate effects and precision beats. Close Your Eyes functions as an updated take on the 90s r'n'b slow jam, like TLC's Red Light Special, but white, British and post-childbirth - a little more self-deprecating and dysfunctional, but every bit as transparent and lustful, and polished with the same pristine sleekness that exemplifies the best of the album's tracks.

There are two main ways that the album wanes for me; one is in the clumpier overproduction suffered in songs like L8 CMMR and Sheezus - these songs rely a little too heavily on discombobulating effects and an almost satirical use of autotune and synth sounds that come across like intentionally sarcastic musical tropes. If they were positioned later in the tracklist, they'd take me right out of the listening experience. Speaking of which, the anomalously jolly and acoustic As Long As I Got You absolutely does this, smack bang in the middle of the album. The song itself is innocuous but its presence detracts from the album's otherwise synergistic mood.

The other way the album wanes is through an inherent sleepiness that dusts the slower, less vibrant songs, an issue that I also observed in 2009's It's Not Me, It's You. Allen's voice does not fluctuate in tone track to track, always set to a deadpan, lightly sassy medium-low. So when a lower energy song comes along, she's not working overtime to sell it, instead depending on the construction and content to do the work. Take My Place and Life For Me, though palpably heartfelt and personal to Allen, lack the necessary interest to keep them from being unfortunately boring, electronic embellishments unable to help out when the material is so languid to begin with. You can't aim for beauty in simplicity when Hard Out Here is right there on the same record.

Though not everything on the album is to my taste, I appreciate when an artist can really let me into their world and see things from their eyes, and that is what Lily Allen does best. She does it so directly it almost feels cheap - in fact, it does feel cheap in the songs with a less bombastic sound. But in the rest, master directional decisions and clarity of vision elevate Allen's opinions and observations into a true art, something that is as catchy and poppy as it is succinct and important. I don't think diving into music I've never heard before will always work for me - I think there was an element of luck this time round. I'm not always going to be able to just pick up an album and expect to have things to say about it. But I feel refreshed for having done it this time, so I'd say the experiment was a success.

Sign 'O' The Times (1987) - Prince

Strap in folks, this one is a long one. I have a lot to say.

I generally think of Sign 'O' The Times as one of my favourite albums. Pre-rating system, I would have pinned this as top 10, probably even top 5 material. But casting a critical eye over it and comparing it to a multitude of other records shines a light on the flaws that I've previously chosen to ignore. For better or for worse, I can't honestly say I enjoy this album as much as I thought I did. But that's not to say it's a bad album - it is undoubtedly Prince's magnum opus and will probably remain my highest rated of his works. But first, a little backstory on why I consider Prince one of my favourite artists of all time. I promise it is relevant - in fact, it is very much intertwined with my review of this album.

My introduction to Prince was through Sign 'O' The Times. Not the album I'm reviewing though - the concert film of the same name, featuring many of the album's songs performed, for want of a better word, live. Weaving a poorly-conceived and even-worse-acted narrative into the setlist, performed on a smoky, late-night city slum set, Prince somehow accomplished the impossible, using these corny and extremely dating elements to only amplify the quality of the music, to a point where the amateurish skit segues barely register as a drop in the ocean. And what music it was! It was my first exposure to music that defied the boundaries of genre, simultaneously moody and funky, distortion guitar and slap bass intertwined, that managed to fuse such contrasting elements as nihilistic philosophy and sleazy erotica. Why was there a scantily clad hyperactive drummer performing a 2 minute percussion solo like some sexy female Animal from the Muppets? Why was the saxophonist wearing a hooded cloak and clutching his tenor sax like he was the grim reaper brandishing a scythe? Why was there a giant heart-shaped platform that tilted gradually backwards from a vertical until it formed a horizontal trashy love-hotel bed? Turns out, ecstasy. But also, it was a vision, one that left me immersed and invested and in awe of what music could be. It was an awakening.

The fact of the matter is, if I was reviewing the songs as I heard them 'live', there would be a sea of blue ahead in my rankings, and you'd be looking at, indisputably, my favourite album of all time. But the 1987 double album Sign 'O' The Times is a different beast entirely, effectively an amalgamation of several years' worth of songs, all originally intended for a plethora of unrelated shelved projects, and thrown into an odd kind of compilation. One that has a theme, but lacks the clarity of a smaller concept album, or the full scope of of a grander and more extensive compendium.

The real disappointment, the thing that makes this album come across like seeing the real Wizard of Oz after the curtain of the concert film is pulled back, is the quality, or lack-thereof, of the songs themselves. They sound like demos. There's no better way to put it. They sound tinny, feeble, stark, bland and incomplete. It brings to mind a vision of Prince spending hours isolated in a tiny studio, like a self-imposed asylum, frantically trying to play every instrument in turn over the robotic monotony of the Linn drum machine (my true nemesis for this record), scrambling so hard to contain every idea that he ends up missing the vision he started with. Timbre, richness and balance remain largely unconsidered, to the point where it sounds like Prince forgot he could re-record something instead of force it into a box in which it doesn't belong. These tracks are mere shells of what they would later become, when granted the treatment of a live band, the input of other performers and the consideration to become something more than a slapdash effort at turning a creative mess into an actual release.

It is crazy to me that Prince could look over the eventual double album and think 'yes, this is ready for release'. It may have been the drugs, but I have a theory that he heard his production efforts entirely differently in the 80s, his ears filtering them before the information reached his brain, and making him think he'd produced something akin in sound to what his live concerts yielded, but on his own in a studio. Imagine an artist painting a landscape, and getting so close to the canvas and caught up in details that he forgets to stand back and neglects to see none of the colours match and there's no sky painted in. SOTT is that painting, but in music. And again, just a theory, but I reckon he was so untouchable to those around him, touted as such a genius, that no-one dared tell him that his music production was anything less than immaculate.

Whatever the reason, ranking these songs is hard. Harder than usual, when you're torn between judging what might have been, based on what they would become in a different setting, and what they are in situ. Do I purely evaluate the core skeleton of the song, the lyrics and tune and chords that remain unchanged? Or do I zoom in on the anaemic sound quality and overarching limpness that let the record down? Doing this would undoubtedly allow some fundamentally weaker tracks to rise up the ranks, just because they have a marginally more soulful delivery, compared to real gems that are coated in the grime of poor manifestation. Ultimately, I have had to take it all in, and go with my viscera - not my head or my heart, but what my gut tells me is right.

1. U Got The Look
2. If I Was Your Girlfriend
3. I Could Never Take The Place Of Your Man
4. Strange Relationship
5. The Ballad Of Dorothy Parker
6. Sign O The Times
7. Housequake
8. Forever In My Life
9. Slow Love
10. It's Gonna Be A Beautiful Night
11. Play In The Sunshine
12. Starfish And Coffee
13. The Cross
14. Hot Thing
15. Adore
16. It

Total Points: 50/80
Average Score: 6.25

Straight off the bat, its clear that what my gut tells me is that I Could Never Take The Place Of Your Man, the absolute standout from the concert film, though vastly diminished by basically being no better in quality that its original 1979 demo, ultimately maintains its prestige in my eyes, just by being a really good song. However, almost everything else remains a weak, pale husk of the sumptuous, decadent events they become in the film. Slow Love in particular is so transformed with Prince's hyper-sexualised performance and dizzying arrangement - especially Eric Leeds' dazzling sax cascades (saxcades?) - that it's only when you listen to the comparably banal studio recording that you realise how vanilla it is - structurally, lyrically and sonically, it is a rather empty affair.

Only two tracks are unmarred by a superior 'live' performance (yes, I'm aware I'm skirting around the legitimacy of the concert recordings, but I have far more pressing points to make first) - one of which breaks form and is actually the studio recording, with it's actual promotional music video slotted into the middle of the film. U Got The Look is the only track that retains the amplitude present in Purple Rain era of production (the last full Prince album of truly decent sound quality until the 90s) and its bombastic, plosive beats are much more evocative of what Sheila E did on tour than what the Linn drum machine usually recited. This vivacity sticks out like a sore thumb, thriving in a sea of songs that are, by comparison, on production life support. The other high-scorer, If I Was Ur Girlfriend, has the privilege of being distinct from its concert counterpart but not necessarily worse - what comes across as sterile production on other album tracks here serves as a beneficial degree of restraint. There's even a moment, at the climax at the song, where the drum machine is all that's playing, like it's been left on and Prince has just caught himself in the midst of delivering his 'psychosexual monologue' - and a truly apt feeling of unsettling introspection and isolation prevails.

Regrettably, most other tracks are simply tainted by the knowledge that they are so far from their full potential. Housequake, for example, is about as funky a jam as Prince can crank out. The studio version is serviceable (thanks to being one of the few tracks to feature collaborative musicians!) but it doesn't make me want to get up and dance and be alive. It leaves me feeling just fine sat here. Same for the title track - it's all the right notes in the right order, but does it have the soul to make me want to bang along with the 'drum' tattoo at the end? Absolutely not.

A couple of higher scorers are songs that don't have the same core issue the rest do, from not being featured in the setlist for the film. Strange Relationship has a thumping, driven beat and croaky, deep bassline that encroaches on the kind of oomph U Got The Look achieves, combining with a tidy, balanced verse melody for a real sense of resolution. And The Ballad Of Dorothy Parker, while still feeling quite bare, invokes a fittingly understated ambience and is, at least, a decently interesting story to listen to.

At the other end of the spectrum, Adore is utterly boring. Saccharine in all the wrong places, lazy in the lines that need the most attention, obtuse organ cheesing up the place, muted trumpet stabs turning it into a pompous jazz parody, and loose, howling vocals having little-to-no regard for the actual song being performed. The only thing that saves this slog of a closer from dead last place and even, miraculously, from a red rating, is the abomination that is the song It. Orchestra hits are an acquired taste at the best of times, but never have they been used so offensively - dare I say even recklessly, over the most repetitive and bitch-basic synth pattern that a preschooler could master and, you've guessed it, our old friend Linn. Prince sometimes prefers to screech out his vocals as opposed to sing them, and he picked the absolute worst track to use this technique to create discordant 'harmonies' over. This song is unlistenable. It's even a low point in the film, the lyrics inexplicably attached to the end of a lovely acoustic rendition of Forever In My Life and tripling the length of the song with no real pay-off - but at least they're sung and not screamed.

I have been so critical of this album that I doubt I've adequately conveyed my adoration and respect for it and what the songs represent to me. I certainly haven't accomplished this for my admiration of Prince himself. He just had the misfortune of unveiling himself to me for the first time in the most unfairly unattainable instance of perfection that anything else would be a downgrade by comparison. The bar was set way to high with the SOTT film and my brain made it a precedent that just couldn't be bettered. I do love this album, I promise. But it's so hard not to listen to each track and picture a better version, standing and waving to me just a short, out-of-earshot distance away. It is a travesty that the film never had an official audio release - imagine a remaster of that? I would eat that up. The closest things we have are the live recordings from Utrecht featured on the Super Deluxe SOTT remaster - bootlegs inform me that the band was pretty much on form for every live show, and this is no exception - but there are always, of course, minor differences. Thus is the nature of live music.

Which brings me to the elephant in the room (and a bit of an ironic full circle moment): it is glaringly suspicious that the 'live' recordings in the film are all magically played without Prince ever plugging in his guitar. To his merit, the perfectionist in him spoke out and told him to rerecord the video, knowing he could give more and do better. This allowed him to unplug and go for drama and showmanship, ham everything up and make the visuals match the fantasticality of the incredible music. So it's basically all lipsynced to the original audio. Again, thanks to bootlegs and the Utrecht recordings, I know he's playing the guitar in the original recordings - I do not question his bonafide virtuosity. But what I do question is why he had the compulsion to pursue a greater spectacle here, but not for the root studio album. Was it pressure from his label, with whom he had an infamously rocky relationship? Was it the ego of a renowned prodigy incapable of seeing the forest for the trees? Or was it simply the ecstasy?

A New Morning (2002) - Suede

At the time of release, A New Morning was exactly that for Suede. The final product of a string of revelations, including a freshly sober frontman and an unforeseen need to replace the very guitarist who'd stepped in to fill Bernard Butler's shoes after Dog Man Star, the album would ultimately turn out to be a shift too far for Suede, and mark the end of their original run (bar a cursorily thrown together greatest hits the following year). In the liner notes of the 2011 expanded reissue, Brett Anderson reflects about the band wanting to "destroy their own myth" in creating the album, and by the 2018 documentary The Insatiable Ones has disowned A New Morning entirely, claiming it shouldn't have been made. There is a tangible bittersweetness between the album's beauty in simplicity and its unmistakable departure from direction. This wasn't what the public expected or, as it turned out, much wanted, from the band they thought they knew. But for me, there's a lot more to it than being a mere 'blot on the landscape', and I think it's important to examine A New Morning with the same fresh perspective with which it was created.

The conscious departure from the sticky, noise-congested sound that had gradually evolved throughout their previous four albums rings out from the very first song. Positivity exemplifies A New Morning's joie de vivre, a quality that Suede had left previously unexplored - the clear, chiming acoustic guitar a bright, eyes-open contrast to the twisted, electric distortion of Head Music. It tells the listener from the start that this will be an entirely new experience, and to the album's credit, the subsequent tracks follow suit, allowing sunlight to filter into the cracks that yesterday's Suede would have preferred clogged with grime. Gone are the city-immersed, jaded lyrics we've come to know, with Anderson now using natural phenomena has his primary muse; be it mentions of birds and fresh air or an ode to the magic of a rain shower, the essence of nature seeps its way into nearly every track and imbues them with life.

In a way, this refreshed perspective makes A New Morning the most 'alive' Suede release to date. No longer swathed in the influence of drugs and gritty urban surroundings, and unmarred by the dark, retrospective shadow of later, reformed Suede, this album is, to quote Untitled (a song that truly epitomises how I regard this album), a "wild flower grown through the concrete". With this vitality comes a focus on clarity, on seeing things plainly for what they are, and tracks like Lost In TV and Beautiful Loser are deadpan, disillusioned meditations on the heroin-chic, celebrity-obsessed lifestyle that Suede had previously represented and, to an extent, glamorised. The combination of these overt themes with uncomplicated lyrics of humble beauty and starkly transparent production gives A New Morning its own, unique strength. Though it may not be immediately apparent next to the rest of Suede's heavy-set electric-guitar-led projects, it has the power to stand alone as an overlooked marvel, achieving the very thing it celebrates in its content.

My rankings are as follows:

1. Lost In TV
2. Positivity
3. Untitled
4. Obsessions
5. Streetlife
6. When The Rain Falls
7. Beautiful Loser
8. ...Morning
9. One Hit To The Body
10. Astrogirl
11. Lonely Girls

Total Points: 33/55
Average Score: 6.0

Though there are no 'blue'-rated tracks, the strongest are the ones I feel most effectively portray A New Morning's ease and clarity, and that really celebrate the charm in the mundane. Lost In TV, Positivity and Untitled are almost inseparable in quality because of how well they each exemplify the album's straightforward radiance. In all three, the vocals are the most direct and delicate, the lyrics pure and raw, and the production clear and emotive. None may have the 'bite' of an outstanding Suede hit, but this album, almost by design, shines better as a whole experience than by splitting apart its individual segments. This is why there are also no 'red'-rated tracks - it is a self-supporting ecosystem, where the stronger elements share their strength with the weaker ones, rather than lassoing the spotlight and allowing their inferiors to wither.

At its weakest, songs like Lonely Girls and One Hit To The Body feel limp and lacklustre - they're the ones I'll sometimes forget how they go until I press play on them, and they perhaps contribute the least to the album's worldbuilding, thematically inconsistent as well as a bit pedestrian in sound. I find the string arrangement in Lonely Girls particularly uninspired - though appropriately spritely at its core, it feels like a pale imitation of the much sweeter, rawer strings featured in Dog Man Star's hidden gem The Power, and the effect is superficial in an album full of honestly. Meanwhile, Astrogirl and When The Rain Falls both suffer a similar problem of being 'almost' there - they have such promising starts, the quirky and articulate introductions and verses possessing a rare magic that gives way to underwhelming choruses. Though both anticlimactic in this sense, When The Rain Falls is somewhat saved by its overall atmospheric resonance - even with a bit of a feeble chord resolution (if it can be called that), it still conveys its message sublimely and leaves a lasting impression. Even the spoken word outro evades the fate of second-hand embarrassment on the listener's part, which in itself is a true accolade!

At this point, it feels like a trademark of mine to ponder over the ifs and maybes of B-Sides and bonus tracks, but given Anderson's inclusion of his own revised tracklists in the booklets of Suede's expanded album remasters, I feel it is especially appropriate to mention how substitutions like Simon and Instant Sunshine could have raised the overall standard of A New Morning. Replacing the few duds with slightly more solid efforts, and perhaps a little shuffling around for pacing (though I generally enjoy the gentle rising and falling, especially waking up to ...Morning after the late-night revelation of Untitled) could have given the record a little more oomph - though I disagree with Anderson's take that Cheap is criminally ignored, coming across as far less of a bold proclamation than it blatantly aims for. 

However, even with these kind of tweaks, I don't think it would have changed A New Morning's fate. It was, and still is, the day to Suede's overwhelmingly prevalent night, and though these kind of alterations could easily have elevated the already fair critical acclaim a notch higher, I doubt they would have done much to sway listeners over to a new sound. I remember being bored to death the first time I listened to it, my expectations built up by their back catalogue, and the album coming across with all the personality of an early 2000's Ikea brochure in comparison. I felt like the band I liked so much for their virility and audacity had been neutered. But with each subsequent listen, I've acclimatised to A New Morning's universe, and I've realised this initial reaction (which, unfortunately, was all the majority of listeners at the time were willing to grant it) was based entirely on contrast. Its quality, emotional deliverance, and even song-writing are largely representative of the Suede I knew; I just had rediscover this in the light of a new day.

Sunshower (1977) - Taeko Onuki

It feels crazy to think it today, but Sunshower by Taeko Onuki was not a commercial success upon its initial release in 1977. Disliked by her record company and underperforming in sales compared to her 1976 debut, Sunshower sounds like it was the black sheep of Onuki's discography until the western world was introduced to City Pop in the late 2010s. The very definition of a sleeper hit, it gradually gained more traction with the genre's exposure to a new audience. Now, several rereleases later, it is considered a landmark City Pop record, a true melding of some of Japan's greatest musical minds and a must-have in any enthusiast's library.

Instantly recognisable to many as 'the one with the girl in front of the washing machine' on the cover (even though it's actually just a round window), Sunshower is one of the most 'alive' records I can think of. There's a real sense of 'everythingness' to it, and despite being a 'crossover' work of both eastern and western influence, this immersion in the thick of life and ability to break it apart and observe its fragments feels like a succinctly Japanese sensibility. To me, it's akin to the work of photographer Rinko Kawauchi, whose beautifully captured snapshots of often unremarkable moments speak of minute details and the rush of life all at once, and purvey both a corporeal matter-of-factness and a kind of ethereal magic within them. That is how listening to Sunshower makes me feel. I've talked previously about the time-travelling capabilities of City Pop, but with no other record can I mentally place myself so palpably within an album's specific universe.

1. Summer Connection
2. Tokai
3. Dare No Tame Ni
4. Karappo No Iso
   
5. Furiko No Yagi
6. Nani Mo Iranai
7. Silent Screamer
8. Law Of Nature
9. Kusuri O Takasan
10. Sargasso Sea

Total Points: 32/50
Average Score: 6.4

The album kicks off with Summer Connection, the opening bars of which are a cockerel's crow to wake the listener up to an idyllic song full of breezy momentum and cheery string flourishes. Onuki's nonchalant and unadorned vocal style is at its most carefree and innocent when accompanied by the track's perky yet chilled out instrumentation. After this tremendous opener, a tonal shift occurs, and we start to see how Sunshower is a tour of emotions and moods that echoes the various facets of not only a hazy summer's day, but of Onuki's curiously diverse range. Delicate moments such as Dare No Tame Ni and Karappo No Isu act as serene, private contemplations in the cool of the shade, the latter of which drifts and drops into the ears with almost accidental-sounding phrasing akin to Fleetwood Mac's Albatross. In another moment, Tokai brings us back into the sunlight and the buzz of a city, of people bustling and numerous intertwining happenings, further exemplified in the busy but untangled layers of instrumentation, from waspy synths to bouncy bass guitar.

Above all, Onuki's voice resonates with simplicity above the music, whether it be the babbling crowd of a full orchestral arrangement or a stripped back jazz band set-up. Even with the legendary Ryuchi Sakamoto's input thoroughly detectable throughout the album's DNA, the record comes across as distinctly personal to Onuki, and without a shred of an English lyric present for me to understand. Onuki has an ability to project her sole presence with her voice, in a remarkably isolated way, even while a host of Japan's most renowned and talented musicians relish in their combined virtuosity beside her. Their instruments become the drifting thoughts behind Onuki's vocalised observations, the songs her own private and intimately shared meditations, regardless of the harmonious collaborative effort involved in their making.

In terms of expression and adjustment of mood, the tracks I've not rated so highly manage everything my best scorers do. On a structural level, I find Law of Nature and Kurusi O Takasan less interesting, a bit stagnant with their arrangement. While their flutes and rattling rhythm sections do wonders for conveying a kind of inquisitive scrutiny of, respectively, a societal desire for naturalness or over-prescription of medication, they're simply not as pleasing as Karappo No Isu's moody sunset saxophone or the brilliant burgeoning drums during Furiko No Yagi's climax. Onuki's vocals are no less perceptibly melancholy or resolute in Sargasso Sea than in any other track; it is just a harder listen. Bare in rhythm and experimental in timbre and arrangement, you can't 'kick back' to this one like you can with the rest of the album - it exists to make you feel, but in stark and still way, removed from syncopation, electric piano flares or bold, brass section stabs.

Before concluding, I feel it would be negligent not to mention a couple of songs that would be further highlights if not for their status as bonus content on various rereleases of the album: the light and sanguine Heya, an aestival b-side to the single release of Summer Connection, and Kōryō, a fragile and despairing duet with Masataka Matsutoya created for his 1977 debut album 夜の旅人 = Endless Flight. These songs act as additional isolated moments in our summer daydream, effortlessly complementing the album's overall ambience in a way that makes me lament that they are not integral to its original lineup.

Sunshower feels like City Pop at its most raw, far removed from the flashiness of mid-80's, bang-in-the-middle of the economic bubble City Pop that is often at the forefront of the genre. It is every bit as polished, but clearly part of an earlier generation, much more organic and undiscerning in approach - still very much a meshing of eastern and western elements, but expressed in way that feels so void of thought, simply and purely as if straight from the soul to the ear. Like Kawauchi's photography, it speaks of life in an all-encompassing fashion because it is so direct and unfussy, unglazed with contrived staging or special lighting. I love letting this album wash over me, barely perceiving it in a conscious way, simply absorbing its ebbs and flows and allowing my mind to wander without rein. It has grown on me more and more because with each listen I bathe in its atmosphere and gain more from simply relaxing into it than I do from intentionally picking apart it's nuances. As much as I felt it necessary to review, that's not what Sunshower is for; listen to it with your body and your soul, not your mind, and you'll be able soak up all of its glorious light just as I have done.

Down 4 Whateva... (1993) - Nuttin' Nyce

Nuttin' Nyce's Down 4 Whateva... is a manifesto of unabashed women's sexual freedom, the likes of which had seldom been seen before, and would not become the norm until pretty much the 2020's. When reviewing the work of one of the 1990s' most forgotten contributions to the r&b girl group model, it's difficult not to get bogged down with context. I spent a few hours painstakingly calibrating my comparisons to peers TLC, the rise and fall of New Jack Swing and the history of sexuality in r&b from a female perspective, but it feels so trite to read back, not to mention completely lacking in citational backbone. So I think I'm going to scrap it all in favour of taking Nuttin' Nyce's first and only record at face value.

This short-lived Sacramento trio look like a pretty standard girl-group setup for the time - and if you let the lyrical content of their songs wash over you and simply listen to the music, they sound it too. Caught just as the New Jack Swing trend started to fade in favour of a more silken, sultry sound, Down 4 Whateva... is a snapshot of succinctly 90's r&b. In some ways it sounds a bit dated to listen to now, but the freshness of being on the cusp of a new era is something that never really loses its sparkle. Regardless of where each song sits on the spectrum, you can guarantee it'll be full of spice and personality, a factor that instantly sets Nuttin' Nyce aside from their cookie-cutter archetypical girl group.

It's impossible to not address the elephant in the room - that Nuttin' Nyce are nuttin' but a bunch of nymphomaniacs. Nearly every song on the album is about sex. And not in a subtle, suggestive way; in a straight-up, hormone-driven, bitch-in-heat way, ranging from the recurring mantras of being 'down for whateva' and a pursuit of 'no love, just sex and a good time', all the way to the ad-libbed spoken middle 8 of Vanity 6 cover Nasty Girl, which demands "seven inches or more, better yet, make it eight". Even the tenderest of moments, slow jams like Show Me and Don't Make Me Wanna Do U, revolve around the subject, albeit in a somewhat less brazen way. A minor criticism could be that the almost desperate need to incorporate sex explicitly into every song is a little cringe-inducing. But then I remember WAP and I'm forced to reconsider this assessment.

The proof, as they would misquote from the popular and often misquoted idiom referenced in the album's closing track, is in the puddin'...

1. What Can I Say To You (To Justify My Love) (feat. Hi-Five)
2. Froggy Style
3. U Ain't Gotta Lie To Kick It
4. Down 4 Whateva
5. En Tu Deep (Sticky Situation)
6. Nasty Girl
7. Show Me
8. Don't Make Me Wanna Do U
9. Proof Is In The Puddin'
10. Gotta Get Mine
11. In My Nature
12. Wanderin' Eyes
    (Exempt from total score: Interludes 1-6: Jackin' For Men, Liquor Run, The Bomb Stop, Munchies At Roscoe's, Goin' To The Mustang & Boom Boom's Surprise)

Total Points: 37/60
Average Score: 6.17

Funnily enough, my top-rated track, an old-skool duet with labelmates Hi-Five, is the only one based around more familiar r&b themes of the time of protesting against unfaithfulness and valorising genuine affection over promiscuity. This is merely a coincidence, as my high placement is owed to the lush layering of harmonies, Eboni Foster's streamlined vocal runs and a penchant for that early 90's street sound. To justify this statement, right behind it is one of the most audacious songs on the album, Froggy Style - every bit as old-skool with its heavy sampling and record scratches, but this time an ode to a favourite sexual position. As mentioned earlier, Vanity 6's 1982 hit Nasty Girl is updated for the new decade with fresh instrumentation, reinterpreting the 'off-limits' coquettish sexual gloss set up by Prince's penmanship with a streetwise beat that exudes confidence and attainability without sacrificing any of the song's key content. Other highlights include the chilled-out Soul II Soul-sampling title track, and the kicking synth baseline of U Ain't Gotta Lie To Kick It, a song so effortlessly funky that it's almost as easy and accessible as the girls themselves claim to be.

The album begins to sag a bit towards the end, with Wanderin' Eyes breaching on the generic, containing some especially cliched lyrics, and closer Proof Is In the Puddin' feeling kind of stodgy (no pun intended), being a little too long, a little too slow, and a little too cumbersome in timbre choices. The lead single, In My Nature, is hands down the weakest of the individual releases, the sing-song chorus uncharacteristic of Nuttin' Nyce's slicker image*, despite fitting with its lyrical content. I'd be remiss not to mention the interludes at this point which, even though I fundamentally try to disregard such insubstantial tracks, do add an extra layer of narrative and humour, and tie everything together in a goofy and ridiculous conclusion. I don't think they detract per say, but they're certainly not crucial to enjoying the album and extracting the veritable juices Nuttin' Nyce have to offer. Even at its weakest, Down 4 Whateva... manages to deliver a solid sound that never feels dry or devoid of substance.

*I can't find written evidence anywhere, but I'm pretty certain this song was recorded with the original line-up, before Liz Burnett was replaced by Eboni Foster.  Unfortunately, all vocal credits on the album and the single release for this song are simply attributed to Nuttin' Nyce as a whole, with Teese Wallace being the only member acknowledged in the writing. With Onnie Ponder taking the lead for the song, the music video, which exists online only in poor quality anyway, barely focuses on the other two singers, so it's hard to get a decent look at them - but I'm pretty sure that Eboni Foster is not one of them. And the single cover art sure doesn't look like her either. Not that any of this really matters, but it might explain why In My Nature seems a little different to the rest, if it literally had a different lineup singing it. Like what happened with Atomic Kitten. Oh well!

It's hard to say how truly 'influential' this album really was on the r&b scene of today - of course, black female sexuality in the vein they were expressing it is a lot more prevalent, but Nuttin' Nyce seem to have slipped entirely through the cracks. There is so little evidence of their presence on the internet that I can't help but wonder if it's all just a big coincidence. Their ballads may well be among the earliest blueprints for the kind Destiny's Child started making as a 4-piece, and their pride and ownership of their sexuality may well feel trailblazing in a male-dominated, woman-objectifying era of music, but ultimately, I think Down 4 Whateva... must just be drop in the ocean. But one that, in my opinion, truly deserved and still deserves more of a spotlight than it's ever really had.

1977 (1996) - Ash

This is probably a bad habit, but I can't help but listen out for telltale signs of debuts being debuts. I'll press play and compare what I'm hearing to what I know, or what I'm aware the artist makes in the future; the path that lays ahead for them. In the case of Ash, one of the few acts I've seen live (I'm fully ready for the backlash when I say that I'm just not into live music), their first effort is largely a far cry from the kind of music that managed to drive me to actually buying tickets to their show many years later. In other words, in the years to come since making 1977, they would create incredible music. And this just isn't it. Let's get into why.

1977 has that kind of fuzzy, grey quality to it that brings to mind the Weezer classic Pinkerton - intentionally rough around the edges, unpolished and haphazardly human. All mistakes on purpose, it's simply a case of letting the feedback feedback and the noise noise. It's an aesthetic as much as it is a point being made, and it runs throughout. Finesse was not on the agenda, and I'm ok with this. My standout track, Goldfinger, shows how a masterfully constructed song can survive, or even thrive, with such muddy manifestation. It has just enough texture, with it's suspenseful sus 4s and time signature changes (come on music theory!) that it can carry itself regardless of potentially detrimental production choices. But honestly, the distinct way the instruments accompany the verses, the ritardando (I swear I never payed attention in music theory lessons!), and the idea of 'listening to the rain down in the basement' all just work for their sound during this era. Unfortunately, 1977 is not an album full of Goldfinger-quality writing and construction.

1. Goldfinger
2. Lost In You
3. Kung Fu
4. Angel Interceptor
5. Girl From Mars
6. Darkside Lightside
7. I'd Give You Anything
8. Oh Yeah
9. Lose Control
10. Gone The Dream
11. Let It Flow
12. Innocent Smile

Total Points: 29/60
Average Score: 4.83

Let's contrast Goldfinger with my lowest scorer, Innocent Smile. We're wading through the thickest of bogs with the audio here, distortion drowning everything including the vocals. Where Goldfinger has highs and lows, cliffhanging connections, stops and starts and effervescent drum fills to punctuate and open the song out from the fog, Innocent Smile... doesn't. What it does have is a gaussian blur of an ending that I honestly don't know how Ash was able to remember it well enough to rehearse and record it. As heard in one of the album's brighter moments, Kung Fu, band lead Tim Wheeler's signature verse style of syncopated monotone delivery in the chord's root note is also implemented, but without the quirkiness and the substance of the former. Bluntly put, this song is boring, and I feel that half the album (the oranges and reds, naturally) can best be described with that same blunt word.

Goldfinger acts as a glimmer of greatness and absolute mastery from a band that just hasn't quite got it yet. They're showing themselves capable, but can't do it on cue. Let's look at the augmented(? Music theory competence fading rapidly from view now) chord in Let It Flow's hook. We're at the second "It's calling out to me" and it feels like it's going to go somewhere interesting and resolve beautifully, in a salacious swerve reminiscent of Suede's early work. Instead, it cops out into the blandest following chord imaginable. It makes the music feel made sans dexterity and sans true effort, like they didn't know what they were doing and didn't strive to learn. And given that they were a young band, I think this may have been somewhat true. The resulting music is unmemorable and uninviting to replay. And, to bring things back to my initial observation, when combined with the muddiest of muddy production, it comes across as amateurish; sloppy and uninspired.

The string arrangements in Gone The Dream and Oh Yeah do serve as a demonstration of craftsmanship and ambition being invested into the songs. I don't personally think the effort was worth the payoff though, the songs themselves among the less interesting, and the addition of orchestral elements feeling an odd choice in such a noise-festooned album. One final criticism regarding Ash's junior status is how Wheeler implements his vocals. The soaring momentum in closing track Darkside Lightside suffers from a lack of dynamism is his voice. Once again, he shows himself capable of amping it up where needed and matching his delivery to the attitude of the music elsewhere on the album, but the penny doesn't seem to always drop, and his aloof 'run-through' of the words in this song flattens the impact it almost had.

Ash's talents shine best when they're really concentrating on resolving those chords satisfyingly and fighting the wash of genericness that threatens the entire album. Kung Fu's fantastical nostalgia-filled lyrics compliment the jungly central drum break and the neatness of the overall composition, making for a much-needed injection of personality into the proceedings. Lost In You, while the tiniest bit plodding, manages to follow through the tricks set up by the chords in the same vein as Goldfinger. Confidently performed and coherently rendered, this track has the competence and the understated elegance of a more established and self-actualised Ash that would present itself in future ballads in years to come.

This review may be less than favourable, but I don't really mean it as some kind of scathing attack on a first album - I'm not that much of a dickhead! Partially, I listened to the album and just had plenty to say - it stirred a lot of thoughts and opinions within me, and came as a neatly packaged solution to the writer's block I tend to suffer from. Otherwise, I think this review provides a good set-up for when I come back to Ash and review another one of their albums. I'll be able to recall what I wrote here and note the similarities and the differences, and I'm hoping it'll only serve to make the review that much stronger. It may have a low score from me, but Ash had to start somewhere. Though few and far between, 1977 has moments of greatness that signify even brighter sparks in the future, and I'm really looking forward to eventually getting round to them.

Aquarium (1997) - Aqua

A few reviews ago, I wrote that while I may come across like an insufferable hipster, my wider taste in music would debunk such a title, and that future reviews would aim to prove this point. Well, that time has come. I'm fully prepared to be stripped of any perceived trendiness, my taste to be questioned and my reputation tarnished, and you should be too. Because I, without the slightest hint of irony or guilt, actually rather like the music of Aqua, and I'm about to tell you why.

In 1997, Barbie Girl hit the airwaves and filtered through to the limited outlets accessible to 6-year-old me, which just goes to show how much of a mega-hit it was. Outside of the local bands, orchestral music and occasional 70's stuff that my parents listened to, I'd heard of Barbie Girl, two or three Spice Girls singles and was aware there was a band called Boyzone - until I started pursuing music on my own, this was really all I knew. And when you're a fledgling music enthusiast, knowing that you want to fly free of the acoustic nest your parents curated but not really knowing what the world has to offer, you gravitate to what little you recognise. I vividly remember being in a charity shop (Scope, if you wanted to know) in maybe 2001 and seeing the cassette tape of Aquarium up on a rack of pre-owned tapes for, I want to say, £1.50. I asked the volunteer to reach it down for me, even though I was taller than her (I knew she had a kick stool but she didn't use it). I was drawn to the bright colours, the band's eerie glow, and Lene's tall hair and bushy eyelashes, and the cartoony logo with the eye motif was very my kind of thing. I checked the back, recognised Barbie Girl and suppose I must have thought to myself, "I understand what this is". And that is the story of how I came to purchase my first album.

Similarly to how I feel regarding OPM's Menace To Sobriety, I don't believe my appraisal of the music is softened by nostalgia. If anything, I have a better appreciation now for the musicality of the more blatant schtick songs, which I definitely shunned quite early into my development, well aware that there was nothing 'cool' about listening to Barbie Girl in the 21st century. Ultimately, it's the quality that keeps me coming back, and you're about to see just how highly I regard it.

1. Good Morning Sunshine
2. Be A Man
3. Calling You
4. Doctor Jones
5. Roses Are Red
6. Lollipop (Candyman)
7. Happy Boys & Girls
8. Turn Back Time
9. Barbie Girl
10. My Oh My
11. Heat Of The Night

Total Points: 37/55
Average Score: 6.73

You might have noticed that this album has received my highest score yet. Given how my system works, it's very high indeed (I'd say anything above 6 is high, I certainly don't see anything breaking the 8 mark), and there's a part of me that feels a bit incredulous about this, even though I scored it myself and stand by my verdict, just because of the general consensus that Aqua are something of a gimmick band. Which isn't an unfounded myth - songs with subjects including a plastic doll, a fictional archeologist, and a medieval kingdom don't exactly make for a cultured listening experience. Combine with these singles goofy, slapstick music videos that exaggerate the band's wackiness and sense of humour, and it's easy to brush them off as a juvenile act that caters to only the most low-brow of audiences, probably containing more children than adults. But there's a lot more to the band, and this overarching tawdriness is, in fact, just the most pronounced of many concurrent facets they possess.

Before we look any closer, let's reinterpret their zaniness by declaring them self-aware, tongue-in-cheek entertainers who want to create positive music designed to be danced to and to put a smile on listener's faces. I don't think this is far fetched at all, and if this is the goal of their music (and its corresponding promotional videos), mission accomplished. Now, let's focus on some of the brilliant qualities Aqua have that often go overlooked. Firstly, Aquarium is one of the most flawlessly produced albums I've ever heard - not one note, whether sung, played or programmed, is misplaced or nonchalantly fumbled, and even though it's fair to call this an album of electronic music, it never feels overly mechanical or computerised. The record has a consistent, distinct flavour, remaining bright and slick but still incorporating a variety of timbres and moods - ranging from the familiar eurodance tropes of Roses Are Red to contemplative, wistful ballads like Turn Back Time, and even one (admittedly ill-judged) latin-influenced song. While future endeavours feel a little more detached from song to song, this record remains fluid (excuse the pun) and succinctly part of it's own bubble (excuse that pun too please). No track is laboured or excessively long; they are expertly judged by in-band production duo Søren Rasted and Claus Norreen to maintain the fit and feel of their vivid, caricature image during this era.

Aqua's greatest asset is, or should I say are, their lead vocalists, and the sheer contrast between them. Barbie Girl epitomises the extremes of this schism, with Lene's high-pitched, somersaulting voice feminised further still under the guise of Barbie, while René's gruff, baritone Ken provides a macho counterpoint full of swagger and attack that serves as the perfect yin to her yang. This polarity makes their vocals perfect for character acting, and we see it time and time again in the likes of My Oh My, Doctor Jones and Lollipop (Candyman), to name a few examples. René's contributions often err on the edge of rap, and fully take this form in the Middle 8 of my personal favourite track, Good Morning Sunshine. Strangely enough, it's the least cheesy he sounds on the entire album, helped in no small part by the ballad's lush, accessible but poetic imagery and velvet-rich yet relaxed tone - something I'm sure a lot of people would never have expected to be said about an Aqua song! For Lene, Aquarium acts as something of a showcase, giving her chance to really exercise her vocal elasticity. In addition to her trademark brazen soprano, she takes on a softer, more delicate approach in Be A Man, plays up her sugary intonation in Lollipop (Candyman), and shows she can be an absolute powerhouse when she belts out an almighty sustained note during the climax of Calling You.

Along with Good Morning Sunshine, Be A Man is a beautifully performed and vulnerable model of a 90's pop ballad, with the addition of glistening electric piano and expertly dispersed backing harmonies to add a cosy yet sparkling aura to the sound. One notable omission from the original album is Didn't I, a bonus track featured on many re-releases of Aquarium, and bumped up to part of the core tracklist on the 25th anniversary edition vinyl. Had this qualified, it would have been a third 5-pointer for me, notching the album up to an even higher overall score (an astounding 7.0). This song, an up-tempo dance track in their familiar euro flavour, is actually closer in subject matter to Aqua's more serious, slower songs, and takes full advantage of Lene's sweeping vocal ability. Their kitsch phenomenon Barbie Girl, corny and overplayed though it is, still deserves credit for how well assembled it is, as well as it's playful lyrics and sheer audacity. The only real flop is Heat Of The Night; it doesn't matter how big a pinch of salt you take the band with, this will always be cringe-inducing - as packed as it is with every imaginable Spanish stereotype, it feels more exploitative than inspired, and would definitely be inconceivable today.

I haven't set out to convince anyone to fall in love with this album - whereas with City Pop, I'm something of an advocate, when it comes to music like this, I just kind of accept that it's not for everyone, especially in 2022. You don't personally care for europop from the 1990's? That's fine. It's an acquired taste, I'll live. I suppose what I've really done here is written a defence for a band that has always been brushed off as a stunt, a group play-acting at being musicians, and have tried to quash this popular opinion as I feel it is unreflective of their true nature. To me, they're experts in their field, virtuosos of their art and dynamos of their time, and I know that tracks from this particular album will always snake their way onto my playlists, then, now and in years to come.

Sexy Robot (1983) - Hitomi 'Penny' Tohyama

Considering that one of my main goals with this blog was to find a way of integrating City Pop with my favourite western music, I think it's high time I looked at another record from that particular region and era. Sexy Robot by Hitomi 'Penny' Tohyama (who from now on, as her debut album implores, I'll just call 'Penny') is quite a different take on the broad and blurry-bordered umbrella term of City Pop when compared with the previously reviewed For You by Tatsuro Yamashita, but it is no less quintessential to the genre. It simply showcases another side of it - the roots and influences come from similar places, and ultimately both albums boil down to being outstanding products of the 1980's Japanese economic bubble. While busy exporting brands to the western world that we now consider household names, something of a cultural exchange was occurring without us ignorant westerners even noticing, with Japanese musicians borrowing from soul, disco, funk and pop, and infusing with it their own sensibilities and the latest technologies. The results were, as you may expect, both extremely varied and oftentimes very transparently referential. 

When you listen to certain (excuse the colloquialism, but I need to be frank) bangers from Sexy Robot, it's hard not to let a part of your mind guiltily think of the music as derivative. If you've ever lurked such dark and hostile corners of the internet as City Pop themed reddit pages, you'll have seen posts about how artists like Toshiki Kadomatsu have 'ripped off' forgotten 12" bass riffs from the 70's. You'll click on the link and listen, and think to yourself with immense reluctance, having thought your Japanese discovery was a work of original genius, "yeah, ok, that is almost identical actually". The most glaring parallel when it comes to Penny's music is Wanna Kiss, whose thudding bassline is the fraternal twin of Queen's Another One Bites The Dust. I didn't notice until I saw one of these obsequious posts pointing it out, the commenter almost salacious in trying to discredit Penny's song, and now the comparison has forever (admittedly, mildly) tainted Wanna Kiss in my mind as a known imitation, no matter how much I adore it and how much effort I can see has been put into making it unique and wonderful in its own right.

But here's the thing: who fucking cares? In addition to such melodramatic exposé-type posts on these often insufferable forums, largely kept aground by Gen Z-ers hiding behind excessive emojis and memes, you'll also find posts of 'new' music, praising acts like The Weekend for 'sampling' Tomoko Aran's Midnight Pretenders (sampling is an understatement, it's basically taking the track unaltered and singing over it) and 'bringing it to a new audience', as if the majority unfamiliar with Tomoko Aran's original track would even consider that he didn't come up with it himself. And you can guarantee they'll be the same people who prefer the 'slow and reverb' version of an Anri song, or gush about bootleggers like Macross 82-99's bare-minimum remixes of 80's tracks being passed off as their own work, without due credit to their original sources. In my opinion, these are far worse crimes than a bit of light musical imitation - these are bonafide regurgitations! I'd much rather listen to something independently generated from Japan that sounds a lot like (for example) Kiss by Prince than something that literally steals and recycles and bastardises a heartfelt article of musicianship and turns it into a mangled effigy of something that was once pure. I have no problem with sampling, but when the line is crossed and these lazy 'mixes' are passed off as new creations by new artists, it boils my blood. Especially when the whole movement is carried by zoomer trolls with moral compasses so warped by modern concepts like accountability and cancel-culture that they can't see any kind of evil or injustice that isn't bathed in a light of woke-ness.

Ok, rant over. Let's rank this shit!

1. Wanna Kiss
2. Let's Talk In Bed
3. We Are In The Dark
4. Tuxedo Connection
5. Be Mine
6. Sexy Robot
7. Cathy
8. Behind You
9. Try To Say
10. Slow Love

Total Points: 29/50
Average Score: 5.8

Before the advent of the compact disc, it wasn't uncommon for albums to be divided in theme by their sides of play. Overt examples are Kate Bush's Hounds Of Love or, to stay on theme, Mariya Takeuchi's Miss M. While not explicitly annotated as such, what would be 'side A' of Sexy Robot on vinyl or cassette is definitely the more upbeat, danceable half of a clear division, while the second half of the album is slower in pace and much more soulful. While both halves are smoothly but boldly rendered and certainly not disparate, the division itself between the two moods feels a little jarring. Also, the first part is just so much catchier and alive! Of course the slower, moodier side is going to waver somewhat after listening to the strutting, fun, outspoken flamboyance displayed across the first five tracks - there's no escaping this. And it's not a criticism as such, more just an observation, and something of a justification for why my ranking echoes the two halves of the record so closely, with just the middle-most two tracks saving the order from dividing the songs down the middle in the same two parts as the actual tracklist.

Putting any derivation aside, Wanna Kiss is still my top-rated track, and it's a blunt, booming spectacle of sophisticated, refined disco, brought up-to-date for the 80s, with a synth bass laying down the foundations for more experimental ancillary electronic fills. These sounds, by today's standards, are almost retro-futuristic, the wonky, artificial timbres verging on cute or humorous. But just before they reach the level of comical, they evoke the bygone era - that familiar safetynet of nostalgia for something you were never part of that City Pop manages to oh-so-often conjure - and you're transported to a time and a place where these quirks aren't quirks at all, but part of the biome of the music. Along with Wanna Kiss, the confident yet coquettish, partially rapped Let's Talk In Bed carries a kind of restrained sparseness in its musical arrangement, foreshadowing the conventions of modern-day r&b. Reinforcing their western inspiration, songs such as this one and Tuxedo Connection use English lyrics to punctuate the cosmopolitan soundscape with references to alcohol and sexual attraction, selling the record as a soundtrack to a hedonistic and aspirational lifestyle, exemplary of the aforementioned economic bubble long before it was due to burst.

Penny's voice matches the music well - there's something a little ham-fisted about the way she sings, exuberant and verging on brassy, but a gentler or more restrained singer would risk being overshadowed by all of the cutting-edge synths and such. By competing with the instrumentation a little, her voice's boldness wins out and actually reinforces the prevalent themes of confidence and frivolity, and her decisive, expressive phrasing makes sure the spotlight remains on her vocals. That said, she's never uncompromising to the point of being detrimental; when a mellower vocal is needed, such as for the silken and understated We Are In The Dark or one of the more heartfelt tracks in the second half, she is able to rein it in and channel her power into emotion. Penny's voice, to me, feels more typical of a musical theatre or cabaret singer than someone making pop records. But her personality and its placement within the bubble-era zeitgeist is what makes it work, and the result is an unorthodox but striking sound that really distinguishes her from her 1980's peers.

With all the fandango around electronics and drum machine, the music can, at stages, feel a little clumpy and overly automated. The title track suffers from this in particular; despite its distinctive hook and zealous vocal performance, the four bars of solo drum machine at the 2:13 mark do it zero favours, tipping the balance from state-of-the-art sophistication to sounding like it was homemade on a primitive home computer and saved onto a floppy disc. Luckily, the virtuoso guitar and key contributions throughout, from the likes of multiple other City Pop dignitaries such as Makoto Matsushita and Hiroyuki Nanba, bring the music back down to earth and, alongside Penny's singing, insert some much-needed corporeality into what could easily have been quite a robotic affair. Of all the album's offerings, I found Slow Love to be the weakest - assumedly some kind of relaxed, modern take on Motown, but bumbling and quite diluted, and not suited to Penny's ability to bring the levels of drama achieved in the comparably epic closer Be Mine, or any of the funky jams from the first half.

 

It can sometimes be difficult to know where to start with certain artists, especially when it comes to City Pop, with Penny herself having made too many albums to count on both hands, and a lot of her repertoire similar in flavour. Sexy Robot feels perhaps the most exemplary of her vivacious, flirty, courageous side, and is definitely the harder hitting sibling of her other 1983 release Next Door, which touches on these strengths but pulls several of its punches and feels a little 'naff' at times. This overarching cheapness is something that does unfortunately find its way into other examples of Penny's work, but is largely avoided when she opts for a more acoustic accompaniment (see Just Call Me Penny and Five Pennys). However, with these albums, her unique brand of charismatic, girly confidence is lacking, and the themes of luxury and pleasure-seeking take a backseat. Only with Sexy Robot are all of Penny's biggest strengths able to be experienced without compromise, making it the perfect entry level album to help decide what in her discography to explore next.

I know I spent a little longer on this review than others (not least because I got sidetracked by my resentment of modern appropriation of my favourite musical genre) but hopefully it has been informative and beguiling and not just fanatic rambling. I think it's pretty obvious from the length and depth I went into, as well as the sheer quantity of hyperlinks to discogs pages, that this is something of an area of passion for me. If it inspires anyone to listen to some City Pop, for the first time or the umpteenth, or even just piques your interest or sets off a spark somewhere in your brain, then I am happy.

Cake (1990) - Trashcan Sinatras

Obscurity Knocks by Trashcan Sinatras (or The Trash Can Sinatras, as they were called when the song released back in 1990) is a rare kind of song that seems to do so many things at once. It's a coming-of-age story full of retrospective and uncertainty, with cleverly composed lyrics that somehow bridge the gap between wisdom and naivety, and a springy guitar-jangle momentum that perfectly counterbalances the drifting, mildly wistful vocals. It has a timelessness that is at once the very snapshot of turning 21, the wonder of the journey there and the worldliness of experiencing the years since. It is a song that took me by surprise, that I knew would stay with me, and that I knew, deep down, was probably a one-off.

1. Obscurity Knocks
2. Maybe I Should Drive
3. Even The Odd
4. Thrupenny Tears
5. The Best Man's Fall
6. Circling The Circumference
7. You Made Me Feel
8. Only Tongue Can Tell
9. Funny
10. January's Little Joke

Total Points: 27/50
Average Score: 5.4

Trashcans' debut album, Cake, is an inoffensive venture, with an absolute standout gem in the aforementioned lead single, and not a lot else of note. The 9 other tracks struggle to keep up with the pace the opener sets - no matter how witty the wording or lovingly crafted, they're just comparably lacklustre. You'll notice how close my rankings are to the actual play order - this is because the album gradually looses steam the further it progresses. By the time you get to the meandering yawn of a closer, January's Little Joke (the overall sound quality of which can only really be described as an approximation of recording at best), you feel like you've taken an uphill struggle and have just petered out before edging over the top of the hill. Don't get me wrong, even the mildest tracks, Thrupenny Tears and Funny, are beautifully arranged and enriched with the album's signature lyrical wordplay, and would make poignant reprieves from the rest of the record if it were as amped-up and alive as Obscurity Knocks. However, nothing comes close to touching the opening anthem, and instead we're presented with an album full of, to put it bluntly, boring tracks being intermitted with even less lively ones.

The more I think about it, the more I conclude that Obscurity Knocks simply isn't representative of the band Trashcan Sinatras were wanting to be. On one hand, this makes it a strange choice for a lead single, but on the other, it is easily the most sparkling and attention-grabbing track they had in their arsenal, and it would have been silly to hide away a full technicolour masterpiece in favour of their other greyscale works. The album is rife with never-fully-resolved potential; for example, the almost yodelled chorus of Even The Odd rings out fantastically over a happy acoustic jangle, but the song simply lacks the oomph that Trashcans have shown to us right at the start of the record they are capable of. Perhaps if this track and the other more upbeat songs like Maybe I Should Drive and Only Tongue Can Tell had been granted a similar treatment to Obscurity Knocks, they may have bolstered up the overall atmosphere of the record from retirement home to office party. But then again, isolated and without the context of the other songs and their vastly different degrees of amplitude, they're not so bad. They just don't quite compare. The band's craftsmanship is meticulous when it comes to their songs, but I think the bigger picture is their downfall.

This album is one I want to like more than I do. I want to appreciate the nuances and the fingerpicking. I want to get under it's skin and feel at one with it like I do with the song that led me here. But honestly, it just doesn't hit the spot. I have every respect for what they're going for, but it simply doesn't resonate. When it comes to my overall verdict on Cake, I think the Trashcans themselves say it best, with one of the most memorable lyrics from their standout single:

"Oh I like your poetry, but I hate your poems."

Ok, it doesn't quite summarise my feelings, but it gives the jist. That's what this album does, it gives the jist of a good listen, but can't quite form a fully developed article.