Daily Mael – 1986

This is pretty sparky, though not necessarily funky. I love the main riff and the various squelches and bloops shoehorned in around Russell’s drawl, as he delivers some corny observations, eg. ‘she smelled like a smalltown church but she looked like a queen.’ It hammers its way into your head, then ends on a simulated cowboy harmonica wail.

A song searching for a hook, only to stumble on a diluted pun and forgettable melody. Altough it’s a bit of a grower, it needs considerable oomph, not to mention chutzpah. Or something. Anything. ‘Where are those martial arts manoeuvres?’

Stripped down to the bare persussive bones, this stands out on the Music That You Can Dance To album because of its uniqueness. Ron’s deadpan spoken word is a refreshing change. Smart Fats Domino twist on the line ‘I found my thrill in Beverly Hills.’ I like the sparsity of the chorus too.

Dark cinematic vibe until that horrendous slappy bass bit comes in. Trundles on with little invention, although rhyming ‘coupe’ with ‘blasé’ is a nice touch. The abrupt change after explosive percussive gunshots is startling and the whole ‘rhythm train’ section is pretty fab, but then that bloody bass comes back. ‘Oh no it’s not enough.’

Jogs along on an even keel with no surprises despite its spooky setting. Little substance in the lyrics apart from the unexpected ‘All those Big Mac wrappers dancing down the street dance better than I do.’

Lovely sparse bass, keyboard and finger clicks and various other sounds I can’t quite pin down, combining to make an epic spoken word and gloriously dramatic song which really does change all the way through. The explosion of sound after the ‘vaudeville is gone’ line is stunning. A tour de force.

Stevie Wonder meets Frankie Goes To Hollywood with that old hi-NRG beat. Homogonised, castrated funk. Sounds like it could explode at any moment but seems strangely unable to do so. Even the guitar solo at the end seems muted. Frustrating.

A song so threadbare and emotionless, it’s as vapid as the Citizen Kane whisper it’s based on. Rounded up with a tired philosphical movie analogy over a wailing siren. ‘Don’t call it tragic. That gives it meaning.’ Well, quite.

Waiting for the killer punch that never comes. The background screams at one point are probably the one thing to recommend this, but otherwise it’s just fussy and not engaging at all. ‘Stark naked modern music’ it may be, but it’s soulless. And, oh that bad rap.













1967 – 1969