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.