Generation Terrorists (1992) - Manic Street Preachers

I usually try to write my reviews in a way that 'comes full circle' or reinforces my main observations/talking points, so that they feel as complete as I can make them. During the course of writing this one though, I realised that each of those points were merely a station on a rather linear route - all needed, all wanted, but without an all-encompassing message I'm trying to convey. And the culmination is ultimately an ode to perhaps the greatest song of the 1990s, rather than a reflection of the whole album. So - spoiler alert - this one is going to end with a weird science-project-esque points summary as a kind of round-up, but no actual general conclusion. No problem there, but maybe not what you'd usually expect from me in terms of structure. In terms of polarising opinions and florid language, however, I shouldn't expect to disappoint.

Whereas in the past, I've praised double albums/records with a high volume of content for managing to not to feel bloated, I cannot offer the same assessment for Generation Terrorists, the debut effort of the Manic Street Preachers. This album stinks of an overwrought need to cram songs into what was essentially a musical and political manifesto for the band, in a record where a song omission is effectively a censorship of stance. With a high media profile and long wait in the run-up to its much anticipated release, the band was set up for disappointment from the start. Thematically, the album is generally favoured, and the totality with which the Manics saturate its sound and lyrics with their message is undeniable. But the general consensus is that, despite the commendation, there's just too bloody much of it. And I'm inclined to agree.

1. Motorcycle Emptiness
2. Little Baby Nothing
3. Slash 'n' Burn
4. Nat West-Barclays-Midlands-Lloyds
5. You Love Us
6. Condemned To Rock 'n' Roll
   
7. Tennessee
8. Another Invented Disease
9. Crucifix Kiss
10. So Dead
11. Methadone Pretty
12. Spectators Of Suicide
13. Love's Sweet Exile
14. Stay Beautiful
15. Born To End
16. Damn Dog
17. Repeat (UK)
18. Repeat (Stars & Stripes)

Total Points: 49/90
Average Score: 5.44

A gargantuan eighteen individual songs, almost filling the entire 80 minute capacity of a compact disc, is an ambitious feat for your album debut, and something that hindsight would probably correct if it could. With retrospect comes a refined vision and a more discerning approach, and this was acknowledged by then rhythm guitarist and lyricist Richey Edwards, claiming it would be 'a lot better without the crap'. Daunting to tackle as a listener, the album largely matches expectation upon seeing the tracklist, as a dense and distended ordeal to trudge through. The fact that there are two versions of the same song (incidentally my least favourite song on the record) featured as part of official (non-bonus) album infrastructure indicates just how unnecessarily overpopulated the record is. That said, quality hardly comes into it - in fact, I found many of the tracks nearly impossible to distinguish in this respect (note the vast sea of middling yellow in my rankings). The real problem with Generation Terrorists is that, in sound at least, it's largely the same, more of the same, and then just a little bit more of the same. 

And then, there's Motorcycle Emptiness.

I've written previously about a standout single leaving the rest of the record in the dust, in reference to Cake by Trashcan Sinatras. To say this here would be a slight discredit to the overall quality achieved across Generation Terrorists, and the moderate strength of other reasonably memorable tracks like Slash'n'Burn and Condemned To Rock 'n' Roll. However, I cannot stress enough how fucking good this song is. In a sea of squiggly glam rock refrains and semi-screamed hair metal vocals set over cowbells and run-of-the-mill punk palm-muting, this is an absolute outlier. It doesn't compare - never mind the ballpark, it's a whole other game. It sounds nothing like anything else on the record, to the point where I'm thinking "is this even the same band?". Motorcycle Emptiness is a song that only should have surfaced with 2 or 3 albums under their belt, with the maturity and perspective that usually only comes with time and experimentation. Not on a debut, and not on a debut full to the brim with another very consistent flavour of music.

The instant the twisting, soaring notes of the guitar melody kick in, you're in a different world. The sparser drums and syncopated guitar strumming are so much more relaxed and effortless that it feels almost like autopilot; let the song do the work and the performance will take care of itself. No-one is trying too hard or in a hurry here - with the change of pace, you're given permission to close your eyes and absorb and enjoy as the 6 minutes of perfection drift into your ears. It feels like a dream - time transcends, and you're almost floating as the wondrous momentum propels itself, feeling at once wistful and voracious. Lyrically is the only way it ties into the rest of Generation Terrorists, with aptly critical themes of nihilism within capitalism; musically, however, it is untouchable. There's nothing wrong with the rest, style-wise. It's fine. It feels very within a mould, which is ironic for what is essentially a punk record. This is just a different kettle of fish, and it's for sure the kettle I want my fish from.

I can't really justify making time for most of the album. Little Baby Nothing deserves its flowers, and their cover of the M*A*S*H theme that features later as a bonus track is harrowingly heartfelt if repetitive, but Damn Dog, for example, can get in the bin. I'm not going to waste my time re-listening to or discussing the lowest tracks - why would I, when I could be listening to Motorcycle Emptiness instead? Sorry for being so dismissive, but that's just the power that Motorcycle Emptiness has over me. It is, and I don't use this word lightly, epic.

So, in summary:

• Generation Terrorists is too long and bloated, but not necessarily bad.
• The material is competently played but largely indistinctive.
• Motorcycle Emptiness exists on a higher plain.

Come their next album (which I won't detail here, it may deserve its own dedicated post in the future), many of the 'issues' are fixed - the vision is much more focused and the execution far more easily digestible. But there'll never be another Motorcycle Emptiness which, quite frankly, marks the zenith of my interest in the Manics. Early demos reveal how it's an odd, ramshackle collage of other, far more punky cuts, and I find it utterly fascinating that such a young band were able to mould it into a masterpiece that sits so far apart from the rest of their repertoire. My overall score is not particularly favourable, but let it be known that it's far more a product of quantity over quality, and that the most quality article of all exists there within.

Short Stories (Remastered for 2022) - Yeah Jazz

In previous reviews, I've gone into a fair amount of detail about where my various tastes stem from. Nostalgia is a huge factor when it comes to informing my musical profile, but it's also a driver that makes me want to continue writing about music. I've explored numerous different eye-opening (or, rather, ear-opening) points throughout my life in the form of musical anecdotes, but I think it's time to go back to where it truly all began. Which is, technically, in 1991, the year of my birth.

In 1991, Yeah Jazz (a relatively obscure band from Uttoxeter, Staffordshire) released Short Stories on cassette. After a few singles and an album in the 80s, this was their first release with new drummer Fred Hopwood, and the addition of a keyboardist, Dave Blant. To those in the know (not a single person reading this), everything is falling into place as to why I'm so intrinsically connected to this album in particular. But for those who don't know, maybe when I tell you that I am the nephew of Fred Hopwood and that Dave Blant taught me music from years 5-8 at Oldfields Middle School in Uttoxeter, where I grew up, you'll understand why these rudimentary facts about a little known indie band are actually relevant to me.

Some of my earliest memories of music are the songs from this album, playing on tape through the car stereo as we drive to a holiday rental in Wales, or blasting out of my dad's sound system on New Years Eve, or even a few nights before, heard live but not really consciously knowing it, as my uncle played with Yeah Jazz and his other various musical outfits at a local village club in celebration of his late December birthday. As my tastes evolved, I started to brush them off as 'just a local band', shunning their lack of clout and embarrassed by my ties to them, but over time I've reconnected. At uni, where I studied photography, they were a big influence for my final project (in which I created work about the tension I feel regarding my hometown), and I was able to draw upon the lyrics with a newfound insight and appreciation. Now, at the age of 34, I can see eye-to-eye with their vision and I feel like this music is in my blood.

A scan of the sleeve for the original 1991 cassette release of Short Stories

So if my intent is to review my first exposure to music, why am I working with the 2022 rerelease and not the original? Well, multiple reasons - strap in! (Or, alternatively, skip to the rankings if you don't give a shit.)

As well as these two 'editions' of Short Stories, there have also been 3 further releases (Songs from Biscuit Town, Distant Trains and a further Short Stories, the latter released by a German label under the alias 'Big Red Kite'), with almost every song appearing at least twice between the 5 total records, but in some cases 4 separate times. Perhaps the purest way to do this would be to review separately the Big Red Kite version and Songs from Biscuit Town, which feature only a single song in common (which, ironically, shows up nowhere else!) - but it was important to me to include all the songs that I have the most nostalgia for in one go. Separate reviews would mean segregating two absolute standouts on Biscuit Town from the rest of the pack on Big Red Kite. This would feel very wrong because I know them together from the original tape (see above). Now, speaking of tapes...

Distant Trains is an interesting one because it never had a release other than on cassette, and it's almost like a revised/abridged version of the 1991 Short Stories tape. The liners, much like the original Short Stories, were printed on assorted coloured cardboard in black toner (the roads in the above scan have been inked in with coloured marker afterward - music doesn't get more artisanal than that!). Eight of the ten tracks on Distant Trains are taken directly from the original 1991 Short Stories, but with two notable additions; Don't Let Me Leave and the title track. These are songs I'm reluctant to bar from my review; because of how much shared content there exists between the two tapes, I think of them as virtually the same album. Ultimately though, I struggle to want to review either of the two original cassettes, because they are the least accessible. Nostalgia or not, I can't currently listen to them in this format.

So this brings me to the 2022 Short Stories remaster. The highest quality audio, most accessible (it's on their band camp, along with Songs From Biscuit Town) and the most comprehensive tracklist. Almost every song is represented from the original two cassettes I knew as a child. Two exceptions are Speak To Me and Times Change (now only on the new edition of Songs From Biscuit Town) - these I can admittedly sacrifice as I'd basically forgotten about them, thanks to relying on CD rips and the original CD tracklist for Songs From Biscuit Town not featuring either (sidenote: this is so convoluted, it's probably not worth the three paragraphs' worth explanation). The final omission is Lorraine and Duane, which is a bit of a blow due to its uniqueness and exceptionally balanced structure, but not worth losing out on Distant Trains and Don't Let Me Leave for. Lorraine and Duane also features (consistently!) on Songs From Biscuit Town. The final consideration I had to make is that the rerelease inexplicably uses shorter edits of two songs (April and Hey Tray) - but I'm happy to take these as their original length counterparts.

My choice of edition effectively makes this something of a compilation review - but at this point, the lines are so blurred that a) it doesn't matter and b) I'm past caring.

1. Billy Comes Of Age
2. Orchids Bloom
3. Thinking About You (aka Don't Stop)
4. Hey Tray
5. Distant Trains
6. Don't Let Me Leave
7. April (We've Changed)
8. Rainbows
9. Speak Softly To Me
10. Brown Eyes
11. The Great Escape
12. Red Hot Polka (aka Lost At Sea)
13. Angel
14. Michael Forgive Me
15. Cathy Smiles (aka A Summer's Day)

Total Points: 51/75
Average Score: 6.8

I'm not normally that responsive to lyrics, but I believe that Kevin Hand is unparalleled when it comes to storytelling - there's a reason it's called Short Stories. He has an ability with his ballads to go beyond simple narration; though the action and detail are definitely there, he's able to conjure such tangible atmosphere and utterly transport you to his headspace and his location, that his songwriting becomes straight-up poetry. And all with such unbelievable brevity. How does such a complete scene exist in my head when so few words are uttered? While it's true that I identify with much of his writing through living my own version of many of his experiences, there's also a lot I don't directly relate to. But through his colloquial yet carefully crafted lines, I really feel like I'm peering through his eyes and understanding his thoughts. Take the second verse of Hey Tray for example:

"Saturday, stuck in the launderette

Not noticing the notices she smoked another cigarette

And that photograph of you by the purple garage door

That coat you found - you'd strut around - do you wear it anymore?

And you know what? It's a funny thing 

The older I get, the less I feel I'm living"

This is actually pretty jam-packed for a Yeah Jazz verse, but it's extremely immersive. Hand frequently manages something I always aspired to do within my photography, which is to make a moment out of nothing. And it's scattered all over this collection of songs. Everything from describing "eyes as blue as blue skies" in Distant Trains, the "smoke from the chimney reaching for the sun" in Billy Comes Of Age, to the goosebumps I get listening to Thinking About You, where "we hit the road at 90 and the sun rose all around me". These lines, alone, have an understated beauty to them; I'm there, I can see it. But drop them into the full context of the music and you hit gold. You truly feel it.

Now, I don't think Yeah Jazz are especially talented instrumentalists, and this is evident in their solos. With the exception of my uncle's drumming, which is exemplary (I'm not being nepotistic I swear!), any facade of virtuosity is undermined by clumsy and unambitious ad libs. Blant's accordion solos are often clearly fumbled, lacking the dexterity and confidence needed to make a competent polka riff, and the constant prattling around the root note of the chord in guitar and keys solos alike feels amateurish and uninspired. But as an ensemble band, to create a mood and absolutely support each lyric with the ideal accompanying sound? It's this synergy that tells you they are a live band before they are recording artists. This is where they excel and actually surpass their individual skill levels.

So with this in mind, let's go back to that lyric from Thinking About You. "We hit the road at 90" is sung to what I would describe as a runaway drum rhythm, the brightest, slightly sharply-tuned piano chiming in the background, and a guttural, Johnny Cash-esque guitar playing the exact three notes to make the whole sky appear to swirl around you as you hurtle down the motorway and the sun hits from what feels like every direction at once. The song is tinted with the warmest of orange hues, and you're almost physically shielding your eyes as golden rays seep in through every window. This is the very definition of atmospheric.

My absolute favourite song is Billy Comes Of Age. This is a damn-near perfect song. Again, extremely simple in overall structure, but the story is told in so many more ways than just the already poignant, empathetic and naively articulate lyrics. The song builds from a lone, low piano, pausing for breath at intermittent junctures, tom tom rolls that remind me of Joy Division's Atmosphere, and a doubling of pace that feels perfectly timed to propel the story and step into Billy's shoes. The music builds with the story, and eventually reaches an apex of absolute liberation. There's a two-second pause, and then it kicks back in, ever so slightly (1bpm perhaps) faster, and you can feel the excitement and freedom filling your body. It is sublime.

My single critique of Billy Comes Of Age (which, in all other regards, is a quintessential coming-of-age song on par with Trashcan Sinatras' Obscurity Knocks, which is of similar vintage) is Kevin Hand's vocal style. Initially, when Yeah Jazz started up in the early 80s, they had a very blanket, undefined sound that blended them in with a million other white male British indie setups doing essentially the same thing. As he established more of an identity in his writing, he did the same with his voice. On the plus, he was able to curate a very distinctive style that exaggerates his midlands intonation and brings an undeniable degree of authenticity to his performance. On the downside, however, he bleats. He literally bleats like a sheep. He ruins the most beautiful lines by trailing off his notes in a stammered, downward glissando, which sounds so affected and performative that it can take you right out of the ambience they've worked so hard to establish. In a song as strong as Billy Comes Of Age, this vocal idiosyncrasy does the least damage - but as soon as you notice it once, you hear it crop up all over the album, and it's like pulling the one thread that could threaten to unravel the entire outfit.

But even with these shortcomings, the songs, generally speaking, work. Order has never really mattered to me - perhaps this is more due to how many configurations I've known them in over the years, or perhaps this is more due to their nature, each one very much being a 'short story' that the album title implies. Orchids Bloom is the most solid individual track, very well balanced and performed, with a brilliant chorus that works as much as a pop record as it does a mainstay in their unique soundscape. April encroaches on this as well, but with a bit more of a swerve into the polka/bluegrass lean much of the music has. The Great Escape and Brown Eyes epitomise this facet of their music, and while this influence can be polarising, I don't think it sounds weird among their less genre-specific work. Don't Let Me Leave contains an ample dose of this influence, and is one of the songs I most identify with as someone who once left that same hometown in search of freedom and a life beyond its confines.

I have the least amount of nostalgia for the newer additions, Michael Forgive Me and Angel, neither of which existed on the cassettes I knew as a child. The former, in particular, I don't especially enjoy thanks to the rolling and slightly limp repetitive guitar strumming and rhyming pattern that verges on twee. The one track I've thrown off the cliff though is Cathy Smiles, which was a favourite of mine as a kid. I used to love its lively, catchy accordion refrain, but now I view it as corny with positivity, and definitely the weakest of bunch lyrically. My dad always liked to pick apart the line "the grass grew around she smiled as she sat down on it" but for me, nothing is more of a cringe than life being "just a bus ride away".

I knew I had a lot of feelings about this album but I didn't know until this review just how much I had to verbalise. I've been extra-critical in parts, but I think these assessments have ultimately been outweighed by the undeniable appreciation for the many, multiple aspects I love. Rather than summarising at this point to the extent I usually would, I'm going to do the unheard of and just straight up plug the band. They found a degree of commercial success in the 80s but this album and everything since have clearly been made to satisfy the creative buzz and for the love of performing, and if there is a reader viewing this who actually goes out of their way to give them a listen and find out for themselves what I'm on about, that will be worth a hundred times more than any review I could give.

So here's their bandcamp, go listen and purchase some music. And don't worry, it's not and has never been actual jazz.

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 songs from 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!

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 bassline 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.

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.

Homogenic (1997) - Björk

When it comes to albums, my fascination goes a little bit deeper than the kind of instinctual musical predilection present in us all. Instilled in me since uni is the specialness of bringing together a collection of singulars in an act of curation, to tell a story, to get the right balance and through line, to create an entity that is more than just a list of works reeled off in an unspecified and inconsequential order. This is why, whenever I make a playlist, I've been known to spend weeks or even months engineering the perfect flow through selection and order, because it makes all the difference when played from start to finish.

This is something I treasure within albums. Nothing makes me happier in music than when it's clear that an album was fully conceptualised, and in fruition is restrained, fluid and of one singular flavour. The latter in particular - instrumentation, mood and style that fits together that feels as one - is, for me, the crux of an exemplary album, This might sound something of a moot point to the average rock fan or classical enthusiast, where the consistent set of equipment and sole production team being used to create the music dictates a kind of uniform from the offset. But in electronic albums (and more widely, pop), this is not a given. It's a choice. And one that Björk took to heart on the creation of her third* studio album.

*fourth if you count her 1977 eponymous Iceland-exclusive childhood record, which I do not

Homogenic was thusly named due to Björk's desire to create an album with 'a simple sound' and 'only one flavour'. Her prior albums, Debut and Post, are far more eclectic, presenting like musical tapas, with Björk picking and choosing, going back and forth between a scattering of unique influences, from state-of-the-art electronica to traditional acoustic instrumentation. These efforts were examples of a musician who was having fun in finding herself as a solo artist, and relishing in the areas that gave her joy. Homogenic though, instantly feels more grown-up, more stable and more special, and I believe this is entirely down to the strictness with which the concept of uniform flavour was adhered to. Everything, from the 'volcanic', piston-like beats to the soaring string arrangements, comes together in unity, presenting a strong but dynamic (remarkably never monotonous or boring) cast that allows the individual tracks to shine within a perfectly bespoke framework. Even the artistic direction emphasises this unity, the steely exterior casing opening up to reveal rich, cyber-organic innards, presenting the whole package as a protective bubble, housing a kind of self-sustaining ecosystem of music.

While I admire this overarching trait, it is equally important to consider the individual tracks - after all, this is the foundation upon which my system is based. I'll keep this in the sidebar for future reference but, as this is the first implementation of it, I'll place it here too:

Blue (5pts) - God tier
Green (4pts) - Excellent and memorable
Amber (3pts) - Perfectly serviceable
Orange (2pts) - Inoffensive filler
Red (1pt) - Unlistenable, best skipped
Uncoloured (0pts) - Exempt/Ineligible for rating (e.g. interludes & hidden tracks)

Now for the tough part. Be kind, internet:

1. Jóga
2. Alarm Call
3. Hunter
4. 5 Years
5. Bachelorette
6. Unravel
7. Immature
8. All Neon Like
9. All Is Full Of Love
10. Pluto

Total Points: 30/50
Average Score: 6.0

For an album that, just a few seconds ago, I praised to high heaven for representing something of a gold standard for me, 6 might look a rather low mark out of a possible maximum of 10. Firstly, I need to make the point that in order for an album to boast a perfect score, every single track needs to be 'God tier', and this is pretty much an impossibility. In fact, I have a feeling that more than a single blue track on any given album is going to be noteworthy. Think of them as my version of Michelin stars. So, in effect, two blue tracks is quite something for me. Jóga is an obvious choice for this accolade - powerful lyrics and timbres amalgamate, majestically evoking the landscapes of Björk's native Iceland. Alarm Call, however, isn't one of her more iconic tracks - not nearly as iconic as the extremely low rated All Is Full Of Love - which brings me onto my next point...

In any project that is, to such incredible effect, a fully-realised and 'one flavour' article, there are going to be difficult choices about what makes the final cut. In a case like this, omissions are as important as inclusions, and when faced with multiple versions of songs, choosing one over another can be a crucial decision. The penultimate track, Pluto, is a hard listen, with its dark, industrial beats and filtered vocals, and while it still manages to feel like part of the ecosystem, it is extremely stark and abrasive when you've listened to 8 comparatively congenial tracks before it. All Is Full Of Love follows, and producer Howie B's version was probably selected to emphasise the feeling of a 'fresh start' after Pluto's themes of destruction. Lacking the signature beat style present elsewhere, this version instead is full of unbearably shrill torrents of what sounds like a flock of electronic birds flying overhead, and a bassline that is most accurately likened to the sound you experience when your ears are too full of wax and you can hear your pulse in them. Björk's sublime, raw and mighty vocals are the sole saving grace, and the only reason I've not rated it dead last.

The fact that there exists a far superior, more magical, more palatable version, which would have absolutely integrated with the album's soundscape, makes the chosen mix something of a tragedy in my eyes. However, herein exists a classic case of swings and roundabouts - my other album highlight, the bouncing and bombastic Alarm Call, could not be described as such in its incarnation as a single. Inexplicably sped up, amped down and bounce well and truly stunted, the single version's production does nothing to reinforce the lyrics which express a desire to 'go to a mountain top, with a radio and good batteries, and play a joyous tune'. I feel a bullet was dodged that this mix was not included in the album, and it is a true shame that the version I love so much was shunned in favour of such a flaccid replacement for individual release and could not be known to a wider audience.

In typical Björk style, Homogenic boasts an incredible breadth of emotional and musical range - the introspective contemplation and ambient piano phrases of Immature at one end, the ambitious scale and grandiosity of Bachelorette and Jóga at the other. The latter are collaborations with Icelandic poet Sjón, who Björk worked with to come up with 'epic' lyrics, and whose poetic virtuosity has been periodically employed in her songwriting over the years. It is a testament to the album's atmospheric continuity that such diverse songs can resonate in conjunction without conflict. As well as the strong-handed creative direction, it is Björk's confidence and conviction that really enables this synergy between the tracks.

Homogenic is a shining, critically acclaimed album, which is never too far away from your average music zine's GOAT lists, and is a timeless and enduring staple of many a music collection. Hopefully I have conveyed my agreement with this consensus, despite my gripes with some of the later tracks. To many, it is Björk's magnum opus, and I certainly can't argue that the record adeptly encapsulates the qualities she is best celebrated for - her childlike charm is as prevalent as her emotional awareness, the interpretation of her messages is meticulous and her voice is at its most expressive. For a first review, I must admit that it's rather a superfluous one, because you don't need a review to understand that this album is a masterpiece. I knew that the first time I listened. But perhaps, through my garbled and scantily-informed analysis, you'll give it a spin and see it in a way you might not have thought of before.