Or, White Label Wednesday, Before They Were Stars Edition

Underworld would like you believe that they were immaculately conceived in 1994 as the spooky techno band that “debuted” with dubnobasswithmyheadman, with no past or, if pressed, a Jason Bourne case of amnesia about their former life. Ah, but we know better, don’t we? Underworld indeed has a past; they were just hoping that they could pull a Ministry and leave it all behind. The incredible thing is, it worked; almost no one remembers Underworld’s days as a synth-pop band.

But we do.

Underworld formed from the ashes of the band Freur, which scored a minor hit with the Kraftwerk-esque “Doot Doot.” When they disbanded, Freur members Karl Hyde and Rick Smith recruited three more dudes and went whole hog for the brass ring, impressing Seymour Stein enough to hire Rupert Hine – he worked with Howard Jones, man, we’re gonna be huge! – to produce 1988’s Underneath the Radar, the band’s first album for Sire. The album, well, seemed really cool at the time. Hell, even the music supervisors of “Miami Vice” liked them enough to drop the title track into a big bar fight scene. The song cracked Australia’s top ten. In the States, however, it scratched and clawed its way to #74.

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“I dooooooon’t wanna be old, and sleep alone / An empty house is not a home.”

The back half of that line is pure cliché, but that is the beauty of a good melody; you can sing any old dumb, tired expression and get away with it, as long as you say it the right way.

Indeed, it was downright ballsy of Keane – this might be the first time anyone has ever used ‘Keane’ and ‘ballsy’ in the same sentence, so let’s pause for a second and savor the moment – to open their 2006 album Under the Iron Sea with “Atlantic.” Yes, their 2004 debut Hopes and Fears played many of the same cards that Iron Sea does in terms of overwrought sentimentality, but there isn’t a single song on Hopes and Fears as naked or as vulnerable – not to mention downright odd – as “Atlantic,” and to open your sophomore album with a song like this is to risk career suicide. Of course, it only made me like them more.

Hopes and Fears was about bending but not breaking, the places only we know, and how your ex has no time for you now; it sure as hell wasn’t about the fear of dying alone. They showed glimpses of a darker side on the album’s last two songs, “Untitled I” (“You’re not the one I hoped for / I’ll see you on the other side”) and the brilliant “Bedshaped” (“Don’t laugh at me, don’t look away / You’ll follow me back with the sun in your eyes / And on your own”), but “Atlantic” takes an inter-dimensional leap from those songs. “I hope all my days will be lit by your face,” singer Tom Chaplin confesses, but Chaplin’s delivery of those words betrays the sentiment. This isn’t a love song; it’s the prayer of a groveling man. “I doooooon’t wanna be old, and feel afraid…”

And just then, just past the 2:30 mark, the clouds break, and the song sees its first major chord. The storm is over, and while the singer hasn’t escaped his dilemma, he at least begins to think in more positive terms: “I need a place that’s hidden in the deep / Where lonely angels sing you to your sleep / Though all the world is broken.” And, as one final gesture to show that Keane was trying to expand their sound as much as a keys/vox/drums band can, Chaplin’s last note is a half-step underneath the key. “The day is beginning,” he says, and you’re just waiting for him to climb up to the base note in the chord — but he never does. It’s a small thing, but I eat that stuff up.

Embedding is disabled, but there is a video for “Atlantic” (including an extended version of the song, to boot) that is just as dark as the first half of the song. Get ur mope on.

Keane – Atlantic

Everyone seemed to have so much fun jumping into the wayback machine with Nicolette Larson – and really, who wouldn’t want to jump into a wayback machine with Nicolette Larson? – that I thought I’d write up another song from the same era, though from a completely different universe than the one that birthed “Lotta Love.” I bring you, Sir Cliff Richard.

Cliff Richard was the Kylie Minogue of his time – and a lot of other people’s times – in that he racked up hit after hit after hit in his native UK (born in India to British parents, technically), while scratching and clawing his way into the American Top 40 a mere nine times. Nine times, compared to…wait for it…one hundred and twenty-five Top 40 hits on the UK charts (number spelled out for dramatic effect), including a staggering 70 Top 10 hits. Wow. Just…wow. That’s insane. And it will never happen again.

By the time “We Don’t Talk Anymore” reared its mellow disco head in late 1979, Richard had already cracked the UK Top 40 sixty-seven times. To establish a point of reference, the Beatles have notched 52 Top 40 hits in the States to date. No wonder he was knighted in 1995. The man is a national treasure, and not even a 1985 remake of his 1959 hit “Living Doll,” performed with the cast of BBC cult show “The Young Ones” (resident douchebag Rick, “spelled with a silent ‘P’,” was a big fan of the Cliff), would change that. If he were an X-Man, he’d be Juggernaut. Unstoppable, that Harry Rodger Webb.

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Man your battlestations, it’s time for another quiz. No clue for this week’s puzzle, as you guys are far too good at this already.

Below are magnified fragments of 25 album covers. Most of them are well-known albums, but there are a few obscure covers (or lesser-known albums from well-known artists) mixed in to keep you honest. You must guess both the artist and album cover. In order to keep things simple, live albums, soundtracks and singles compilations will not be used, and with all apologies to our European and Japanese friends, we are going with the covers that appeared in the US record stores…back when we had record stores. Sigh.

The rules are the same as Name That Tune. Each player can make three guesses between updates (“Update” is defined as “The time when I post a comment listing all of the covers that have been guessed correctly”), so everyone will have a chance to contribute. And, just to spice things up, we have a puzzle cover this week, yay! One guess per player of the puzzle between updates, please. Is it on? Oh, it’s on.

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Yep, another Duran Duran post from Popdose’s resident DD fanboy (or Durannie, as we were once called). Between this, my White Label post on “Hold Back the Rain,” and John Hughes’ post on “My Own Way,” Popdose has officially covered one third of the band’s 1982 album Rio. I’m sure Lord Jefito never envisioned that when he assembled this alleged All-Star lineup of bloggers.

Now, I loved “Save a Prayer” as much as the next teenage girl, but when it came to Duran ballads, my heart lay with “The Chauffeur.” As pretty as “Prayer” is, the lyric never really meant anything to me (yes, I know that Simon’s lyrics didn’t really mean much to anyone). I was too young to call one-night stands paradise, and there was no reason for anyone to say or save a prayer for me.

Maybe the problem was that I just hadn’t heard the right arrangement of it yet.

In 1992, Steve Anderson, the Brothers in Rhythm member who made an earlier appearance in my White Label column on the Human League’s “Love Action,” assembled the most beautiful, absolutely fucking brilliant mix of a track I have heard before or since. Dubbed the “Thunder in Our Hearts” mix –- he samples Kate Bush in the intro, but not, strangely enough, “Running Up That Hill,” the song that features those words –- Anderson strips out the drum and bass tracks, replacing them with tasteful, electronic versions of each. Most of Nick Rhodes’ keyboard tracks are scrapped too, in favor of strings and piano. But it’s not just the new additions that make this mix so good; it’s Anderson’s arrangements and breakdowns that make the re-instrumentation so effective.

There really isn’t anything else to say. If you didn’t care for the original song, this might change your tune. If you are a fan of the song, prepare to be mindblown.

Duran Duran - Save a Prayer (DMC Thunder in Our Hearts Mix)

I’ve never been a big fan of Neil Young — I’ll just say it, it’s that pinched voice of his — but I will admit to liking several of his songs once they were covered by other artists whose voices I found slightly less irritating. I love the Pixies’ take on “I’ve Been Waiting for You,” and I even find Duran Duran’s version of “The Needle and the Damage Done” preferable to the original. Let me guess: you just said something snarky about Duran’s 1995 covers album, Thank You. You’re right, it sucks. Perhaps that’s why they left this off the album; it was too good to make the cut. (It appeared on one of the CD singles of their cover of Lou Reed’s “Perfect Day.” Lou allegedly loved Duran’s version of his song, for what it’s worth.)

However, Nicolette Larson’s version of “Lotta Love,” 30-some years after she recorded it, has forever changed the way I feel about Neil Young and his approach to songwriting.

The Web has not been very forthcoming when it comes to confirming this, but I recently stumbled upon an awesome quote associated to Neil Young about how songs should be treated like houses that anyone can live in. If only the songwriter can relate to a song, then how can anyone else enjoy the experience of listening to it? Songs are for everyone, and the more universal the theme, the more relatable, and homey, it is. Larson, the Jim Keltner of session singers in the ‘70s and runner-up in the Crystal Gayle Hair-Off, allegedly found “Lotta Love” on a cassette while riding in Young’s car. He said, “You want it?” He apparently didn’t have much use for it, but Larson thought it would be perfect for her 1978 debut solo album, the succinctly titled Nicolette. She was right; the song climbed to #8 on the Top 40 and #1 on the AC chart. “Lotta Love,” as sung by Larson, is one of the coziest houses you’ll ever set foot in.

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Okay, last week was just too easy. Time to spice things up a bit.

Below are magnified fragments of 25 album covers. Most of them are well-known albums, but there are a few obscure covers (or lesser-known albums from well-known artists) mixed in to keep you honest. You must guess both the artist and album cover. In order to keep things simple, live albums, soundtracks and singles compilations will not be used, and with all apologies to our European and Japanese friends, we are going with the covers that appeared in the US record stores…back when we had record stores. Sigh.

The rules are the same as Name That Tune. Each player can make three guesses between updates (“Update” is defined as “The time when I post a comment listing all of the covers that have been guessed correctly”), so everyone will have a chance to contribute. And we have a puzzle cover this week, yay! One guess per player of the puzzle between updates, please. Ready, Freddys and Bettys? Time to rock steady.

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UPDATE: Expanded pictures now posted for the remaining covers!
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“Awwwww, yeah! I see a real woman, I need to grab her, she busts out yodelin’…”

There is just no better way to open a song than that.

In 1988, after hitting #1 with the Gary Glitter/”Dr. Who” mash-up “Doctorin’ the Tardis,” Bill Drummond and Jimmy Cauty – you might remember him from such WLW posts as “Justified Ancients of Mu-Mu, ‘It’s Grim Up North’” – wrote a book called The Manual. The book’s subtitle explains its purpose: “How to Have a Number One the Easy Way.” It don’t take money, it don’t take fame, and it sure as hell don’t take musical skill, Drummond and Cauty explain, and they use their “song” “Tardis” as the case study. If you have a job, forget it; you won’t be dedicated enough to see it through. Are you a musician? Quit playing your instrument. “Even better, sell the junk,” they say.

Meanwhile, somewhere in Austria, three remixers read The Manual, and it hits them: ABBA + Indeep’s “Last Night a DJ Saved My Life” = gold, baby! Edelweiss was born, and five million records were about to be sold. Drummond and Cauty may have had their tongues firmly planted in cheek when they wrote this, but they weren’t joking; The Manual worked, and Edelweiss were the first of many bands to prove it. Even the Pipettes and Klaxons were allegedly inspired by The Manual. Who knew?

Less a song than a collection of bits from other songs – the assembly of the track owes more to “Pump Up the Volume” and Bomb the Bass’ “Beat ‘Dis” than “Tardis” – Edelweiss swiped the first half of the chorus to ABBA’s “SOS” and changed the words to “So if you really love me, you should bring me Edelweiss,” referring to the pretty flower that grows in the alpine region. If a man wanted to impress a woman, he would get her one of those flowers, even though it meant quite possibly falling to his death in the process. Those Austrians, they’re a hardcore bunch. (more…)

Imagine my surprise when I visited my then-girlfriend – anyone who read my Valentine’s Day piece knows her well – over Christmas break in 1992, and in her car was the soundtrack for Cool World. Her taste in music…well, let’s put it this way: she needed lots and lots of guidance. Before we met, her CD collection consisted of Milli Vanilli and Debbie Gibson. After we broke up, she dedicated her musical life to country. Basically, she was a chameleon with music, adapting to her surroundings. But while she was with me, she liked what I liked, or to a point, anyway. Still, if the idea of her buying a soundtrack that featured Ministry, the Cult, a pre-Play Moby and My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult was amusing to me then, it’s downright hilarious now. But buy it she did…and steal it I did. I assure you, she doesn’t miss it.

My original interest in the soundtrack was due to the title track from David Bowie – reunited with Nile Rodgers, and it feels so good – the instrumental track from the Thompson Twins, and “Disappointed,” the third collaboration between Electronic and Pet Shop Boy Neil Tennant. Then I heard “Papua New Guinea,” and tossed the other three songs aside. There was something in the octave-jumping keyboard riff combined with the ethereal vocal (more on that later), minimalist bass line and staccato synth line, that simply mesmerized me. The song was an Indian guy playing a punji, and I was the cobra. That’s a fitting analogy, considering that my then-girlfriend and I got along in the same way a cobra gets along with a mongoose.

Of course, I think there was another reason why I found the song so appealing: it sounded like sex. Hot, steamy, wildly passionate sex. I’ve never seen the movie that shares the soundtrack’s name– though the Wiki page dedicated to it is loaded with juicy stories – but I always assumed that this song appeared in a sex scene. Which could have been all kinds of kinky, given that Kim Basinger played a “doodle” (read: all your impure thoughts about Jessica Rabbit come screaming to life), but I’m sure that whatever I came up with in my head is far more erotic than anything that wound up on the screen. (more…)

Hope you’re not wearing anything too fancy, because we’re about to get dirty.

Bill Drummond and Jimmy Caulty have about as many aliases as Alain Jourgenson. As the Timelords, they cribbed Gary Glitter and the “Doctor Who” theme song. As the KLF, they created gonzo but fluffy techno house tracks, even bringing Tammy Wynette along for the ride on one of them. And while there is a clear connection between “Tardis” and tracks like “Last Train to Trancentral” (which the Blue Man Group made their unofficial anthem), there is absolutely no way that anyone could have predicted what they’d do a mere six months after the massive success of their 1991 album The White Room. The cute, bouncy house songs like “3 A.M. Eternal”? Dead, gone. In their place: the meanest, grimiest rave track to ever crack the Top 10.

“Bolton, Barnsley, Nelson, Colne, Burnley, Bradford, Buxton, Crewe…”

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