Monday, 13 December 2010

"The Hollies" (1965) (Revised Edition 2015; First published as part of News, Views and Music 83 in 2010)




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The Hollies “The Hollies” (1965)

Very Last Day/You Must Believe Me/Put Yourself In My Place/Down The Line/That’s My Desire/Too Many People//Lawdy Miss Clawdy/When I Come Home To You/Fortune Teller/So Lonely/I’ve Been Wrong (Before)/Mickey’s Monkey

I don’t often agree with Apprentice magnate Alan Sugar (as his name suggests, a cross between insincere and grumpy gardener Alan Titchmarsh and the Honey Monster from the Sugar Puff adverts) at the best of times, but he got it completely wrong on the latest series when he declared in the first sentence  that he didn’t want a ‘steady Eddie’ or a ‘cautious Carol’ working in his company. Of all the strengths you need in business, consistency comes out somewhere near the top along with intelligence and people skills (not that the Apprentice candidates have much of any of these this year) and while off doing something else I’d far rather trust my company with someone like, say, Paul Simon known for their cautious and diplomatic skills and consistently racking up albums on their discography than a Keith Moon who’d no doubt have the office in stitches and would certainly think outside the box, but would make the trashed rooms and the Rolls Royce in the office water-cooler somewhat hard to live with. Consistency is a severely under-rated strength everywhere these days, including music. The Beatles had it in spades, in their heyday groups like CSNY and The Who had it too and other groups like The Rolling Stones – erm, well, let’s not go into the Stones’ extreme roller-coaster career of ups and downs here.  But for my money the band that most consistently gave value for money and a series of terrific songs one after another, year after year, for 47 years now and 23 albums are The Hollies, the group that racked up more top 20 singles than any other band during the 1960s (The Beatles included) and yet still had their biggest sellers in the 1970s.

I’ve been doing a few compilation CDs for our IT consultant Mike over the past few weeks (known to us Skills Exchangers as ‘The Face Of Bo’), passing on titbits from my collection usually without him knowing who the groups in question are and along with Simon and Garfunkel the one band he consistently chooses are The Hollies. So last week I decided to put a Hollies compilation together for him and – well – how on earth do you cut such a fine body of work down to just a few tracks at CD-length? It’s blooming impossible! By rights I should have made a 10-CD compilation for him but that seemed a bit over the top even for me (instead the compilation ended up as 2 CDs in the end after a lot of head-scratching but I still keep thinking about the great songs I left off it...Ah the curse of the collector) Anyway, what I’m trying to say is this – people only know The Hollies singles and don’t realise what a fantastic body of work exists in their album back catalogue. Barring a few cover albums and a rather dodgy pair of modern albums I can honestly choose any LP from The Hollies’ archives and tell you all to go and buy it, so my apologies if this review ends up sounding like every other Hollies review on this site. But, as I said earlier, consistency is an under-appreciated strength in music and I’m far more likely to stick on an early or late-period Hollies LP than an early or late Who or Stones LP (as opposed to both bans at their peak).

Usually 1965 is when things tend to go wrong for AAA bands, when theendless cycle of touring-recording-touring and the pressure of becoming rich millionaires after years of obscurity was felt most (and if you want to know what that looks like in pictures, just have a squizz at this album’s back cover where The Hollies seem to be at the end of a particularly long day at Abbey Road – the picture’s even printed in black and white as if to disguise their tired eyes and surly expressions which you can see much clearer in packaging for the ‘Long Road Home’ box set, although sadly they’ve cut bassist Eric Haydock out of the picture). Even the best of bands tend to lose their consistency at this point – The Beatles and ‘Beatles For Sale’ and The Rolling Stones’ ‘Out Of Our Heads’ being cases in point; not bad albums exactly but rather tired and jaded-sounding long-players by each band’s 1963-64 standards without the energy or ‘bounce’ of old. This is especially true given the uneven-ness of music at the time, which split into several different genres by the mid-60s. 'The Hollies' too is a prime example of that sound, perhaps even more so because from the very beginning this is a band that has been all about energy, optimism and 'bounce'. What's odd though is that The Hollies, more successfully than most, manage to navigate the brave new landscape of 1965 without losing the essence that makes them The Hollies: many Beatles wondered if the fab four would ever sound the same again when 'For Sale' starting adding country songs about depression and loss while The Stones just played what they always did, but worse. By contrast The Hollies sound exactly like they've always done on the surface - even if buried below it is a healthy dose of worry and a bunch of characters who actually have quite a rotten time of things (again not unlike 'For Sale'). 
With Merseybeat dying on its feet (both Gerry and the Pacemakers and The Searchers were busy making their last released recordings at the time this set was being recorded), The Hollies needed to do something to keep up with the Paul Joneses (or at least the Lennons and McCartneys). They could have done all sorts of things at this point: followed The Beatles down the country road, turned to Vaudeville like The Kinks or gone for pure blues like The Animals. Instead they chose the 'new' hit genre of the year that was the closest to their own sound: folk-rock. The Hollies may have been going for a lot longer than Graham Nash's future partner David Crosby's band The Byrds, but like many other teens and twenty-somethings they were already smitten and - for the moment - well suited to a genre that said something deep whilst staying commercial: instead The Hollies loved the sound and the idea of putting the harmonies of their beloved inspirers The Everly Brothers to a rock beat. Folk-rock will only last in The Hollies' discography for another album at least (the even more Byrdsy with Simon and Garfunkel overtones 'Would You Believe?') and yet in many ways its the sound that makes the most sense for the band: the genre always put the emphasis on the vocals and Clarke Hicks and Nash's harmonies were always amongst the best, while The Hollies' original songs had already shown a tendency to be deeper than the average Merseybeat fare. On this album their writing is leaps ahead, taking up the folk-protest banner on songs like 'Too Many People', while their choice of cover songs is widened compared to before thanks to covers of Peter, Paul and Mary's warning of doom 'The Very Last Day' and - even more astonishingly - Frankie Laine's 'That's My Desire'. Interestingly, unlike most bands who went the same route there are no Bob Dylan cover songs just yet (they don't want to be seen to be leaning on The Byrds' legacy that heavily) and this is also a remarkably English folk-rock album, from a time when only American folk-rockers were seen as 'cool'.

However The Hollies are still in conversion mode on this album and there are still many a flashback to their 'old' sound for pretty much the last time (bar a couple of increasingly dated sounding stragglers on 'Would You Believe?') in terms of both original material and cover songs. In many ways that's a shame because, tour-ready and full of confidence after scoring their first number one with 'I'm Alive' earlier in the year, many of these final rockers are amongst the band's best, played with the energy of old for pretty much the last time and with none of the jaded it'll-do feeling of 'For Sale' and 'Out Of Our Heads'. The Hollies are clearly running out of the old standards they used to play live by this point and instead of reaching back to Chuck Berry hits or indeed anything 1950s go instead for more obscure cover songs,: their cover of Allen Toussaint's 'Fortune Teller' knocks spots off the better known Stones and Who cover versions with the comedy of the song ignored in favour of pure hard-hitting rock; Roy Orbison's funky 'Down The Line' which swaps brooding melodrama for a feisty whallop; Curtis Mayfield's rockiest soul song 'You Must Believe In Me' which sounds surprisingly good handled by a 'white' band in such an un-Curtis like way; even the pure novelty of The Miracles' 'Mickey's Monkey' isn't as teeth-curling as it might have been, a slow-burning groove turned head over heels into a maelstrom of confusion and fun as only Merseybeaters can provide. Only Lloyd Price's 'Lawdy Miss Clawdy' (best known from a lazy Elvis cover) would have been known to the average Mancunian rock fan in the street in 1965 and frankly that's the one track here too 'of the past' to quite work. Not that the band are looking over their shoulders merely at the cover tunes - a lot of their originals come in various flavours of Merseybeat too: the 'A Hard Day's Night Side Two' style rocker 'When I Come Home To You' and the poppier 'I've Been Wrong'. Interestingly, though, the other originals sound like hybrids of these two sounds, with the head of a folk-rock orc track on the body of a Merseybeat mule if you will, with the sheer panic of songs like 'Put Yourself In My Place' 'Too Many People'  and the breath-takingly gorgeous 'So Lonely' all somewhere right in the middle of the two (the band rocks like never before, but the mood is sad and despondent).

Usually on this site we use the Beatles as a reference (this album’s timeline cousin is the similarly hybrid folk-pop-rock of ‘Help!’ by the way, largely fun but with an air of melancholy), but in this case the closest record to ‘The Hollies’ in the AAA canon is The Searchers’ final LP ‘Take Me For What I’m Worth’ which followed it into the shops by a matter of weeks. Both albums were recorded in an era when musical styles were changing more or less by the week and many many popular bands of 1963 and 64 fell by the way side because they were just a little bit too slow to adopt their sound (Gerry and The Pacemakers is a case in point – the height of sophistication and cool by 1964, their career is all but over by 1965). The Hollies should have been harder hit than most – their early style is all about enthusiasm, energy and bounce, even more so than their rivals and yet somehow, amazingly, they managed to re-condition their sound for a new audience and a new genre. The Hollies haven’t quite jumped into the waters headfirst yet, as they will on their next two wonderfully individual albums ‘Would You Believe?’ and ‘For Certain, Because’, but they are learning at an incredible speed. Aside from a handful of throwbacks to the old sound, the difference and distance between this record and album no two ‘In The Hollies Style’, is impressive. I can’t picture any other band kicking off their third album with the folk rock protest of ‘Very Last Day’ barely months after making a name for themselves as a pop-rock group and if there are two records out there that sum up the different moods of 1964 (fun, energy and hope) verses 1965 (sadness, worry and austerity) I've yet to hear them. It’s like hearing The Beatles go straight to ‘Help’ after doing ‘A Hard Day’s Night’ without the segue of ‘For Sale' in between. Most impressive of all, however, is how consistent this album in particular is, with Merseybeat powerhouses that rock, ballads that reflect moodily on the future and lyrics that for the first time are the equal of the melodies. All of which are so utterly different from each other - and yet all of which sound as if they somehow belong on this LP, which can somehow get away with the incongruity of warning us to save out immortal souls when Armageddon arrives on track one and can laugh at the antics of a monkey just eleven tracks later. The 1960s moved at speed - something modern fans just can't understand when the same songs hang around in the charts for months and the next year features copycats of the breakthrough hit by all sorts of unsuitable acts anyway; in the 1960s things were changing by the week. Few bands display this change in sound better and The Hollies will never again make quite the leap they do here between LPs (though that said there's quite a gulf between albums five and six 'For Certain Because...' and 'Evolution'!)

The Hollies writing team of Allan Clarke (who famously wrote the middle eights according to interviews of the 1960s), Graham Nash (who wrote the verses) and Tony Hicks (who wrote the choruses) picked up a pace on ‘Hollies Style’, but it’s on this third album that their songs are not only the equals but head and shoulders above most of the songs they cover. Even ignoring the folk-rock background, however, this is the start of a major shift in songwriting: the start of The Hollies as a moody rather than a hopeful band. This album is also the start of a Hollies trait in the 1960s for writing ‘moody’ songs. Their songs might sound dementedly happy from now on, but there's an inner sadness from this album on that even The Beatles hadn't quite tapped into this early. ‘Put Yourself In My Place’ is an angry song about being misunderstood (a feeling that reaches its zenith with 1966’s spot-on ‘What’s Wrong With The Way I Live?’), ‘Too Many People’ is an angry song about the very un-1960s theme of over-population and death (where did that come from?), ‘I’ve Been Wrong’ is an angry song about a girl mistreating the narrator, ‘When I Come Home To You’ is yet another angry about a girl’s ‘lies’ and even the shimmering perfection of ‘So Lonely’ is about regretting anger now that the narrator is on his own. For all the shiny-suits, bright-smiles and great-teeth image The Hollies had in the 1960s (mainly courtesy of their singles and album covers), their albums are far more cutting, direct and snarling and this one is more than most.

One other thing that modern fans just won't understand is how quickly this album and others like it were recorded. Believe it or not this album was made in the largest amount of sessions yet: a deeply generous five afternoons, all slotted in at Abbey Road in between whatever The Beatles were up to and numerous touring and media responsibilities. June 30th 1965 alone saw the band record two album tracks, the 'Little Bitty Pretty One' outtake and top three hit 'Look Through Any Window' - not bad for a few hours' work! As we've seen already, 1965 is the year when most bands fall off the treadmill: the endless touring, the relentless pressure, the changing record market and the fact that the songs are now being rushed through in snatched hours in hotel rooms almost inevitably led to cross words between band members and a loss in quality as bands get frustrated. Even the fab four went through this syndrome on 'Beatles For Sale'. The Hollies aren't immune, losing bassist Eric Haydock one more album into their run in mysterious circumstances (Illness? Tiredness? Too many arguments? Unreliability when they needed it most?) and Graham Nash too is just four more albums away from leaving for America and pastures new. That's all in the future though: this is the point in time when The Hollies were at their tightest, rattling off one-take wonders and getting the nuances of some quite complex material right straight off and for a little while there none of their compatriots from 1963 could keep pace with them, what with even The Beatles briefly dropping the ball, The Searchers fading away and The Stones only right now at this very moment in time starting the growth spurt that will see them come from nowhere to match any other band of the era. Things are already changing faster than even The Hollies can keep up with but for now, as one of the hardest working English bands across 1965 keen to play in as many countries as possible (even the ones The Beatles rarely reached - though in America the even more rushed Beach Boys might have a point to make about all this!), this seems like The Hollies' year as The Mancunians shuffle through the pack to somewhere nearer the front. Hold on tight from here though - its' going to be one hell of a ride from here to hero and zero and back again, pretty much to the present day.


In other words, what we have here is a band still travelling to their destination, one they won't reach until either 1967, 1970 or 1974/75 depending on what Hollies style you consider the most 'natural' and progressive one and an album that's ever so nearly but isn't quite there yet. However it's an enjoyable stop along the road, pretty neatly halfway between the past and the future and featuring several of their best moments without any real howlers (although this album's many outtakes would have made it arguably even better, with originals such as 'She Gives Me Everything I Want' 'I Can't Get Nowhere With You' and 'You In My Arms' plus a storming cover of Bobby Day's 'Little Bitty Pretty One' all preferable to the limp cover of 'Clawdy' and best of all the EP only 'I'm Alive' soundalike 'Honey and Wine'). The band are a tight unit throughout, so confident in their own style by now that they have the ability to try other genres like folk, soul and Motown without the results sounding like anything except The Hollies. And in 'So Lonely' the band have written a real breakthrough song, a sort of 'I'm Alive' in reverse with the same soulful big heart but a tale that's sad rather than uplifting -a daring change on the band's usual sounds (and presumably the reason why it was a B-side not an A-side, after similar struggles with the 'down' mood of 'We're Through'). The band may go on to make better albums than this, but the fact that The Hollies have such a strong back catalogue (especially in the 1960s) that classics like this one can be overlooked and shuffled to the middle of the pack shows what a gloriously consistent band they were. Sorry Alan Sugar, consistency gets my vote as a collector any day - you're fired! 

The opening track ‘The Very Last Day’ might not be a Hollies original, but it sounds like it should be given the similarity of their own songs on the album – and so drastic is their new arrangement of this Peter, Paul and Mary original that it sounds like an entirely new song. We’ve mentioned on this site before the push-and-pull theme of religion on Hollies songs; more or less uniquely among the AAA bands The Hollies progress from whole-hearted belief as on this track and 1969’s message to Jesus’ persecutors ‘Why Didn’t You Believe?’ to the where-the-hell-are-you? anger of ‘You Know The Score’ and Allan Clarke’s solo religious dismissal ‘People Of That Kind’. Religion isn’t even mentioned on most other AAA albums, give or take a Neil Young rant at Catholics, George Harrison’s early 70s messages to his creator and Paul Simon’s sudden bout of songs about God in 2005, so hearing two such extreme reactions suggests that this song meant to The Hollies than just being a funky song. Certainly there’s a conviction in the whole band’s performance which is impressive, from Allan Clarke’s first fully double-tracked vocal to Tony Hicks’ fiery guitar solo, Bobby Elliott’s impression of doomsday on the drums and the always-overlooked bubbly bass of Eric Haydock. Only Graham Nash sounds slightly out of place here, as if he’s already looking to the future with CSN rather than re-casting himself in the folk rock circuit.

The Hollies harmonies are here at their peak or near enough to their peak, adding a depth and horror to this track that might otherwise have sounded like Harrison-ish prickly speeches. Whilst the original of this song is austere and bare, a sort of pious Cromwell vision of religion with no adornments or enjoyment whatsoever, the Hollies sound like the restoration, full of crackling colour, flourishing touches and something happening in every available space in the arrangement. Even though the singers in this version, too, are warning us to end our ways, the doomsday heard in this song sounds enticing, exciting even. Whether the new arrangement is fitting to the song or not is up to you, but there’s no denying that the band are already sizing up the new folk-rock sound of 1965 and converting it to the rock and roll they’ve spent five years learning how to play. Tony Hicks’ brief solo, especially, is a really ‘new’ sound by early 1965 standards – it’s not the riffing of Chuck Berry or the rhythmic seismic shifts of Bo Diddley but a whole new sound, frail and pressurised by the song’s words, spinning off into a completely new key and desperately trying to escape the growing bombast of the song, as if pleading for mankind to get a second chance. Far from sounding uncomfortable with their new sound or a subject matter alien to much of their audience, The Hollies sound admirably at home on this track.

‘You Must Believe In Me’ is a bit of light relief by contrast and a slight step back to the old Hollies sound. But even this Curtis Mayfield soul song has been tailored to fit the folk-rock boom with Merseybeat edges The Hollies are making their own, swathed in glorious three-part harmonies and snatches of Allan Clarke’s breathlessly exciting harmonica parts. Bobby Elliott drives the song ever forward with some exotic rolls up and down his kit as the narrator urges his narrator over and over again to believe in him, getting more and more desperate as the song progresses. Although the lyrics to this track are fairly pedestrian by Hollies covers standards, there’s no doubting the  belief in the performance, with Clarke especially showing off just why his voice may be the best of any lead singer of the 1960s. Nash’s harmony parts, either singing in contrast to Clarke’s or joining him in full throttle, are exciting too, a neat touch on a song that takes no prisoners in the performance. When even a throwaway song like this is invested with so much time and care, it’s probably fair to say that The Hollies were the only band to escape the 1965 ‘blues’ of the album-tour-album cycle that broke so many lesser bands.

‘Put Yourself In My Place’ is a similar sort of song, with the narrator again adamant that the girl should believe he is acting with the best of intentions, but this time it’s a Hollies original. Whilst it’s probably the weakest original on the album, even this song has it’s positive touches, from the seductive rat-a-tat rhythm to the band’s excellent harmonies and Tony Hicks’ intriguing guitar part, one which somehow manages to double both the heavy rhythm of the drums and bass and the more tuneful vocals at the same time. Whilst lyrically this song runs out of things to say early on (there’s just two verses and one endlessly repeated chorus to this song), the instrumental middle eight is magnificent, with Hicks’ solo rising out of nowhere to a peak of righteous indignation before Haydock’s playing riffs over and over in the highest registers of his bass guitar, an unknown guesting pianist (possibly our old AAA friend Nicky Hopkins) with a sound deeply unusual for The Hollies in this period and Clarke comes in over the top with a terrific harmonica part. One of the most exciting passages of any Hollies song, it sounds to me as if the band have been listening closely to the similar section in The Beatles’ ‘No Reply’ (released at Christmas 1964) and it’s a bit of an anti-climax when the song kicks back in again, even with a memorable full ending that rolls to a climax with a typical Elliott type drum-fill.

‘Down The Line’ sounds like a sudden reversion to 1964 (though curiously it was recorded near to the end of the sessions in September 1965), not least because it’s by one of 1964’s best-selling artists Roy Orbison. Again, though, The Hollies adapt this popular rock song (also murdered by Elvis, recorded is too kind a word for it!) and make it completely their own, with Nash’s whoops in the background (so common to the first two Hollies LPs but less common from here on in) and a battle royal going on between a tight and unmoving performance from both Nash’s rhythm guitar and Elliott’s drums and an all-over-the-place one from Hicks’ guitar and Haydock’s bass. The message of the song is hidden well but it is there – as much as the narrator lyrically wants to move on from an unsuccessful relationship, his heart won’t let him and this new arrangement nicely sums up the narrator’s dilemma. The only thing that doesn’t suit the song so well is Clarkey’s faux American Elvis drawl on the song’s verses although he too is in fine voice by the time the song gets going. Not one of the best Hollies covers, perhaps, but it does its job as album filler nicely and is far more in keeping with the writer’s original intentions than any of their Dylan or Buddy Holly covers.

‘That’s My Desire’ is the weakest link on the album, a rather dreary ballad which should suit The Hollies well with its emphasis on harmonies but ends up sounding like a relic from a different era (1962 to be exact, just to underline how quickly time moved on in the 1960s). Clarke tries his best with the song, but the slow and chugging tune seems to put the emphasis on all the wrong places, leaving his voice cracking in places (highly unusual for The Hollies and far more common to Kinks and Who LPs of the same year). Nash’s harmony part is similarly struggling and often out of tune, whilst poor Tony Hicks sounds like he’s having to make his own part as he goes along (I’ve heard one and two part versions of this song down the years, but never three-part like it’s done here, so perhaps that’s the problem). Having said all that, even on an off-day The Hollies always offer something other groups can’t handle and the guitar and bass parts are again spot on for this song of teenage yearning.

‘Too Many People’ is, by contrast, a fascinating song and one that’s so out of keeping with both The Hollies’ originals and, well, any other song around in 1965 that it’s hard to accept how this song really fits into the band’s canon. In a nutshell, this song has a narrator leafing through a history book, realising how futile most of the deaths of forgotten souls in wars, famine and plagues were and how he’s only just realised the same thing could happen to him and he, too, could end up unloved and useless. While it’s true that death and history were a big part of the folk movement the Hollies are trying to add into their own sound, no other song of 1965 has a chorus like ‘There ain’t no fooling death so you just got to sit and wait’. Considering the band’s reputation, right or wrongly, for being a pop ‘singles’ band, this is a very impressive track, not to mention the fact that this deeply adult song was written by a band with an average age of 23! Intriguingly this original ‘Ransford’ song also has the doomy line ‘that’s how they planned it – you can’t do nowt about it’, suggesting either some great conspiracy or the ideas of pre-determinisation, which was the complete polar opposite of the mid-60s belief that the youth could change the world and do it in their own lifetime. Whilst most of this song’s tune is a fairly normal one by Hollies standards, built for a descending guitar riff, harmonica and three-part harmonies, the song starts on a very intriguing wordless ‘ooh’ from Clarke and Nash that nicely sets the tone for this rather serious song. One of the highlights of the album, both for its unexpectedness and the sheer commitment of the performance, this is The Hollies at their early peak before they fully hit their stride in the psychedelic years. If you’re lucky enough to own the mono-/stereo version of this album listen out too for the completely different endings to the song on the two mixes – whilst the stereo version ends fairly normally, the mono version ends with a barrage of sound effects, from gunfire to what sounds like the dropping of weapons after a ceasefire.

‘Lawdy Miss Clawdy’ is the old style Hollies doing what they do best, updating the slightly dark and edgy Little Richard-recorded original so that it sounds bright and perky. This song couldn’t be more different to the last track if it tried, being a bit of light fun in contrast to ‘Too Many People’s sad realisation of the inevitability of death, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad, its just that this album shows off all sides of The Hollies’ characters. Barring the last track of this album, its also the group’s last gasp hurrah for the rock and roll covers they’d been playing ever since forming the band and it sounds like a load of fun for a bunch of early twenty-somethings, already nostalgic for their youth before the music business got deep and heavy. Tony Hicks apes Chuck Berry nicely on the guitar part while Clarke tries to reinvent Little Richard’s histrionic vocals for his own, rather more laidback persona and Nash and Hicks add some typically nonsense Hollies harmonies (possibly speeded up here), although even these are inventive for their day, being comprised of fourths and fifths rather than the more common harmony thirds. A lot of fun, if not quite up to the sterling rock and roll covers on ‘In The Hollies Style’.

‘When I Come Home To You’ is another Hollies original that seems to sum up this album’s schizophrenic nature well. The song starts off as a moody bluesy rocker a la ‘Down The Line’, suddenly twists on an unexpected key change into a higher-pitched style more akin to the first albums’ ‘Candyman’ and ends up uncomfortably modulating back again into a poppy chorus that’s one part pop and one part vaudeville. That’s quite a journey for one little song and this one goes through the same journey three times over, an uncomfortable listen if you’re hearing this song casually as background music (not that I ever hear any music as background music!) but a thrilling one if you’re listening to and living with the song. The difficulty of this song might also explain the rare example of a Hollies mistake on this track, when on the second verse Nash and Hicks enter with ‘I...we...’ before finally hitting the lines ‘you’ve got to come on home...’ In those early primitive days of recording, when re-doing tiny mistakes like this meant days on end in the editing room, this would have been a major dilemma for any producer, but luckily the Hollies’ longterm boss Ron Richards saw sense and realised the rest of the performance was such a good one he’d let it pass. This very complicatedness also fits the lyrics of the song about the narrator looking forward to coming home to his loved one, until he suddenly remembers the betrayal she caused him on their last meeting and wonders how he will react before deciding to forgive her if she comes home when he will ‘take you in my ar-r-rms’ (ending the song on a display of harmony and one of the best examples around of the three-part Hollies harmony technique, a magical sound rivalled only by Nash’s later partners in CSN). This complicated and convoluted song is never one you’d want to place on a best-of but it is impressive for a song so early in the writers’ run of material and the middle eight, especially, is tremendously exciting like The Hollies of old (well, this is only the third album but it sounds like an ‘old’ style suddenly) , catching fire as only the best recordings can.

‘Fortune Teller’ is my favourite of all the covers on this album – indeed, I listed this composition as one of my five favourite ‘pre-Beatles/Beach Boys’ rock and roll songs on our top five for issue 27. This now sadly forgotten track was popular in its day, gracing an EP by The Rolling Stones and several live concerts by The Who among others (the latter’s ‘Live At Leeds’ Deluxe Edition’ features Roger Daltrey reading an even longer list of people who have covered the song). And deservedly so – the tight rhythmic hook is the perfect platform for some guitar riffing and some eccentric drumming from Bobby Elliott on particularly fine form, while the lyrics are both touching and hilarious. For those who don’t know the song, the narrator is a lonely teenager so desperate to meet the girl of his dreams he visits a fortune teller, is told that he’ll meet the love of his life very soon and mopes when he fails to meet her within the next 24 hours. Rushing back to the fortune teller to complain, he suddenly realises how lovely she is and they fall in love (letting him get his ‘fortune told for free!’) The Hollies rattle off the song like they’ve been performing it for years (though to the best of my knowledge it never made it to their stage act and I think I’ve heard performances of every Hollies tour there ever was up to the late 60s), singing the song much straighter than the Stones though not with the deadly earnestness of The Who. Fans who love their music deep and purposeful might not ‘get’ it, but for those of us who enjoy a quick chuckle now and again, this song is one of the funniest of the lot, all tied together with another great Hollies performance.

You cannot say the same for ‘So Lonely’, one of the most exquisite, heart-breaking and deep songs The Hollies ever recorded. Not many people know about this song but they should – vaguely intended as the follow-up to the band’s own composition single, the marvellously catty ‘We’re Through’, the band were dissuaded from releasing any more of their own songs when the single ‘flopped heavily’ and only made #7 (no 7 is deeply impressive in my eyes in a chart made up of Beatles, Beach Boys, Kinks and Stones hit that week or the week after). In the end, the band sat on the song before releasing it as the B-side of ‘Look Through Any Window’ and as much as I love that song this B-side beats it hands down on every level.

There’s a series of Hollies songs, originals and covers, generally B-sides, that are truly spine-tingling in the way they sum up a heartbreaking situation in just a few simple lines with a connection and power that no other band can manage (well, maybe CSN and the Beatles on a good day) – ‘The Air That I Breathe’ is the most famous one but there are plenty of rarer examples, from the 1973 B-side ‘I Had A Dream’ to the so romantic it hurts 1976 B-side ‘Love Is The Thing’. All of these songs have a power that’s hard to convey in words – on print a song about the narrator seeing his loved one without another and ‘feeling lonely’ sounds trite and unoriginal. But oh the record – Allan Clarke’s searing voice, perfectly placing every line along with Graham Nash’s poignant middle eight, Tony Hicks’ shimmering guitar work – all but metaphorically shutting the singer out of the song – and Bobby Elliott’s increasingly desperate drum fills all add to a magic performance. When the song finally moves on it’s way, onto that middle eight of Nash’s, finding him ‘waiting...to keep you satisfied forever’, the detached feel of the song dissolves into one of the most splendid examples of harmony you will ever hear, tugging at the notes in tight tricky harmonies as if trying to get the girl to change her mind. This isn’t just a pop song about sadness, this is an oh so believable song that throws everything into the pot to try to show us just how heartbreaking this event in the narrator’s life is. No wonder Peter Doggett – the highly respected editor of Record Collector Magazine, back in the days when it really was the best publication in the UK on music – pulled out this song for special praise in an end-of-year focus on the late-80s Hollies CD re-issues, calling it one of the best songs The Hollies did – and The Hollies one of the world’s best and most overlooked bands. Magical. You can hear The Hollies backing The Everly Brothers on this song from the latter’s ‘Two Yanks In England’ LP but, good as it is, it doesn’t break your heart the way this performance does.
[54] ‘I’ve Been Wrong’ (when this song was re-recorded with the ‘Everly Brothers’ they added a  ‘(Before)’ to the title) suffers by direct comparison to the last track, being a rather more pedestrian Hollie original better suited to the Merseybeat years than the folk-rock ones. It’s still a lot of fun, though, despite the rather sad message of yet another narrator being betrayed for reasons unknown. Where the song truly comes alive is with the middle eight sung by Nash once more, turning the song on its head with a message of hope that he’s now in a position to offer his partner ‘everything’ if she’ll come back. This part of the song is much more in keeping with the ‘folk rock’ elements of the album, a sweet little section that sounds suspiciously like Nash’s later solo songs with its quiet but determined philosophy of winning the girl over and cautious but optimistic hope. That Everly Brothers recording is one of their better Hollies covers on the ‘Yanks’ album and is much more suited to their slightly retro 1950s sound, with its long drawn-out vowels and rocky feel, though again not quite up to The Hollies original. The sleevenotes for the CD of that album, incidentally, dismisses the Hollies material as being ‘quite good’ and scratches its head over why the duo should want to work with this band above all others (their original plan of working with The Beatles being unfeasible). As we said before, the answer is consistency – this is a workmanlike song that nevertheless hits all the right buttons.

The album ends on a curious note with the truly retro [55] ‘Mickey’s Monkey’, a novelty song similar in feel to ‘Rockin’ Robin’ (but better – The Hollies did that too on their first LP and its one of their few tracks to be truly toe-curling). But even though the lyrics to this odd little song are among the most banal the band ever did (a ‘lum-di-lum-di-lum-di-e, lum-di-;lum-di-li-aye’ chorus for instance and lyrics that detail a dance where the partners have a ‘monkey on their back’, similar to the twist and the rug so I’m told, not that I’d ever know with my allergies to the dance floor), musically this is another tight little performance as raucous as any The Hollies ever did. With better lyrics, this would have been the perfect send-off to The Hollies part one, with Bobby Elliott’s wild and frantic drumming the model for all of Keith Moon’s later recordings, Tony Hicks at his most off-the-wall and spontaneous and breathless vocals from Clarke, Hicks and Nash driving up the excitement levels far higher than they deserve to go. Clarke especially excels himself on this track, growling deep in his register for much of the song and giving such commitment in both his vocals and harmonica playing that its hard to realise this song is really just about a stupid dance. The song ends on a truly backward note as well, with a curiously old fashioned sign-off chord that will never be heard again in the post-Merseybeat chords (and sounds suspiciously like the end of ‘She Loves You’ that caused George Martin apoplexy when he first heard it). Still, as trivial as the song might be and odd as parts of it are, this song might well be the Hollies’ finest band performance, as tight as they comes and with all five players bouncing off each other to tremendous effect.


 So, in retrospect it’s fitting that its this third album that became known simply as ‘The Hollies’ for, like the reunion album of the same name in 1974, this is the band finally discovering their true identity after a few early attempts at aping other bands’ sounds. It contains some of the best and deepest of all Hollies songs, along with some of the silliest covers they ever did and manages that extraordinary and very 1960s feat of pointing in lots of different directions at once. Not everything on this album works, but when its good it’s very very good and when it fails – well, it just shows how fast the music movement of the decade was moving that songs as tremendously moving as ‘So Lonely’ can sit side by side with such good fun fluff as ‘Mickey’s Monkey’. A fine and overlooked album by a fine and overlooked band, ‘The Hollies’ is more than worthy of a place in your collection if you collect any of the many styles this album covers (and let’s face it, other than later movements like rap and disco, this album covers pretty much everything!) 




A NOW COMPLETE LIST OF HOLLIES ARTICLES TO READ AT ALAN’S ALBUM ARCHIVES:

'Stay With The Hollies' (1964) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/12/the-hollies-stay-with-hollies-1964.html

'In The Hollies Style' (1964) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/the-hollies-in-hollies-style-1964-album.html
'Would You Believe?' (1966) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.com/2016/06/the-hollies-would-you-believe-1966.html

'For Certain, Because' (1966) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2015/08/the-hollies-for-certain-because-1966.html

'Evolution' (1967) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2008/07/review-11-hollies-evolution-1967.html

'Butterfly' (1967)  http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2008/07/review-14-hollies-butterfly-1967.html

‘Hollies Sing Hollies’ (1969)  http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2012/09/the-hollies-sing-hollies-1969.html

'Confessions Of The Mind' (1970) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2008/07/review-39-hollies-confessions-of-mind.html
'A Distant Light' (1971) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.com/2014/01/the-hollies-distant-light-1971-album.html

'Romany' (1972) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2008/07/review-52-hollies-romany-1972.html

'Out On The Road' (1973) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2010/06/news-views-and-music-issue-62-hollies.html

'Headroom' (Allan Clarke solo) (1973) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2008/07/review-57-allan-clarke-headroom-1973.html
'The Hollies' (1974) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/06/the-hollies-hollies-1974-album-review.html
'Another Night' (1975) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2015/05/the-hollies-another-night-1975.html

‘Write On’ (1976) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/04/the-hollies-write-on-1976.html
'A Crazy Steal' (1978) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2016/02/the-hollies-crazy-steal-1978.html

'5317704' (1979) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2011/08/news-views-and-music-issue-110-hollies.html
'What Goes Around..." (1983) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.com/2016/10/the-hollies-what-goes-around-1983.html
‘Then, Now, Always’ (2009) https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/07/the-hollies-then-now-always-2009.html

'Radio Fun' (BBC Sessions) (2012) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2012/05/news-views-and-music-issue-145-hollies.html
The Best Unreleased Hollies Recordings
http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/06/the-hollies-rarities-ii-best-unreleased.html
Surviving TV Footage 1964-2010 http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2015/08/the-hollies-surviving-tv-footage-1964.html
Non-Album Songs Part One: 1963-1970 http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2015/08/the-hollies-non-album-songs-part-one.html
Non-Album Songs Part Two: 1971-2014 http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2015/09/the-hollies-non-album-songs-part-two.html

Live/Solo/Compilation/US Editions/Covers Albums Part One 1964-1975 http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2015/09/the-hollies-livesolocompilationouttakes.html
Live/Solo/Compilation/US Editions/Covers Albums Part Two 1976-2014 http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2015/09/the-hollies-livesolocompilationouttakes_21.html

Tuesday, 30 November 2010

News and Views and Blue Suede Shoes



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Saturday, 27 November 2010

Belle and Sebastian "If You're Feeling Sinister" (1996) (News, Views and Music 82, Revised 2014)


Available To Buy Now: 'Rollercoaster Ride' - The Alan's Album Archives Guide To The Music Of Belle and Sebastian'. Get It By Clicking Here







Belle and Sebastian “If You’re Feeling Sinister” (1996)

The Stars Of Track and Field/Seeing Other People/Me And The Major/Like Dylan In The Movies/Fox In The Snow//Get Me Away From Here I'm Dying!/ If You're Feeling Sinister/Mayfly/The Boy Done Wrong Again/Judy And The Dream Of Horses

The sleevenotes for 'Tigermilk' have Stuart Murdoch commenting that 'Sebastian' 'wrote all his best songs in 1995' ('many of them with the words '1995' in them') and his fear over what would happen in 1996. He needn't have worried: while I don't quite rate 'Sinister' as high as 'Tigermilk' there are millions of fans out there who do and the first Belle and Sebastian album to be released by a 'proper' label and could actually be found in some shops is another great album that's still loved by fans more than anything else they ever did.There are some groups that were born for the centre-stage, that flourish in the attention of multi-million record deals, appearances on prime-time TV shows and endless lists of touring dates that only end after one of the band is in rehab or given an MBE or both. And then there are others, real word of mouth groups who live in the fringes on recognition and risk a long horrible musical death every time they are let out of the can labelled ‘cult’. Many of our readers seem surprised that Belle and Sebastian are part of our great website journey at all, coming from a different time period and a different mindset to pretty much everyone else on this list (apart, perhaps, from the still under-rated behind-all-that-hoohah Oasis). But good music is good music whenever it comes from and whoever makes it. B+S do so belong on the list, with their music a timeless blend of instruments and production values that have been around since time immemorial and albums that could have been recorded at any time in the past 50 years. They also sound like I hoped music would sound in the future when I grew up, lyrical and detailed but full of great tunes and casual performances that leave all the rough elements in. To read a Belle and Sebastian lyric booklet is akin to reading a novel or a philosophy tome – to hear them is like hearing a collection of haphazard demos for the best songs you’ve never actually heard on the radio but feel you should have done. B and S are the kind of folk heroes, content to exist by word of mouth rather than sell out, that we grew to love in the late 60s and haven’t really seen since. As the band’s typically opaque sleeve-notes almost put it, they are legends in their own postal-code. And they are exactly the sort of word-of-mouth, have-you heard-the-buzz about bands that this website was set up to promote to like-minded souls, not to mention the fact that their fans pioneered what I’m doing now, using an early version of the internet to connect between fans around the globe and turn people on to pretty much the only band of the self-conscious 1990s that didn’t care what their record label or general public thought of them. I’ve also had a soft spot for the band since I even heard a single note of their music, thanks to various plugs by my old friend Record Collector Magazine (back in the days when the genius Peter Doggett was editor and it was built for genuine collectors, not people who like photos) where B and S advertised records from their own collections for sale in the classified ads. Even the album covers, you see, are wonderful, as random as Hipgnosis’ artwork for Pink Floyd, but done on a much lower budget and in a much less self-conscious way. So, in short, I have no qualms about dusting off the odd one of their records now and then for curious readers and hope that those of you who’ve loved most of the other albums on my 60s/70s list are intrigued enough to give them a try.

Things can’t last that way forever, of course. Belle and Sebastian are almost respectful among hip and trendy things nowadays, thanks to a series of three ‘mainstream’ albums with big name producers and the typically rough diamond gems of songs transformed by poppy arrangements and gutsy productions, sometimes to each songs’ merit and some to their detriment. Their albums have also declined little by little over the years, with the band’s early work standing head and shoulders over their later product (hence the fact that we’ve already discussed 1995 debut album ‘Tigermilk’ ist and the EPs from 1995-96 collection ‘Push Barman To Heal Old Wounds'). But back in their early days, back in the mid-90s when B and S were, well not that young by debut album standards (most of them were pushing 30 when debut album ‘Tigermilk’ came out and most of the members had, individually, given up their early dreams of stardom by the time the band formed) and not all that hungry (‘Tigermilk’ could have been a million seller with the right record company push behind it – instead the band put it out via their website as a limited edition of 1000) they were the band to watch, even if only a enviable handful of people had discovered them that early on.

‘If You’re Feeling Sinister’ is the band’s second and most famous album, the starting point for most fans by way of reputation even if very few of us had actually discovered the band back in 1996 on its release (I have to confess I came to the party a couple of years later, somewhere around the 'charades and drinks' stage after the main course had already been served). B and S even gave way to public demand for once, playing the album in its entirety during their concerts a few years back, in a feat they’ve never managed before or since. However even before I heard the band I'd heard of this album with its mysterious all red cover and a model whose just put down Franz Kafka's book 'The Trial'). Everyone seemed to love this album: Indie lovers, 60s music lovers, 80s music lovers, even some contemporary music lovers. In fact 'If You're Feeling Sinister' must be at least a candidate for the most discussed album of the 1990s that never actually made the charts. Ask the average music fan in the street and after passing by the first two hundred people or so (who won't have heard of the band at all, even now) chances are the next person will quote this album as his favourite.
However, strong as 'Feeling Sinister' is, poetic as the lyrics are, three-dimensional as the characters are, warm as the music is and well played as everything on the album happens to be, for me this album doesn’t have the rough-hewn charm of the early EPs or the consistency of the glorious ‘Tigermilk’. I have a theory for this: it's not that everyone thinks this second album is better - its simply that unless you were very on the ball and liked trawling websites for bands you'd never heard of back in the days when most people didn't know what the internet was then you wouldn't have known about this album. You see, most people never got to hear 'Tigermilk' in 1995 or 1996: despite being recorded and released first, it was made for a University record label where only 1000 copies were ever printed. The few that weren't sold through the University was indeed one of the world's earliest examples of website marketing (as created by Stuart David during off-time from the band and a degree). Unless you were one of the lucky 1000 people who owned the original, chances are you never got to hear 'Tigermilk' until 1999, when Jeepster finally bought up the rights to re-issue it as part of the band's longterm back catalogue. And the first EP 'Dog On Wheels', though recorded second, wouldn't be released until after 'Sinister' came out. Therefore, 'If You're Feeling Sinister' was the first time anybody really heard Belle and Sebastian and Murdoch's songwriting especially is so remarkably different and new it couldn't fail to set the world alight - even if sales trickled rather than poured in as the few people who bought it on first release told friends, family and probably their pet felines about it. Most fans disagree of course - music collecting wouldn’t be fun without a few little arguments along the way- but for me the decline of B and S starts here, as early as the second album, specifically on the second side which sounds like a bunch of leftovers from sessions for the first.

Odd as it seems for an album that never made the charts and came out on a tiny label, though, Belle and Sebastian have already done that tiny bit of selling out that made the honest verve of the first album so successful. That of course is inevitable: 'Tigermilk' was a college project recorded for fun in between exams, even if everyone secretly hoped it would become more. 'Sinister' is a more concerted effort to get a career. For a start the band signed with a 'proper' record label, Jeepster, founded by Mark Jones and Stefano D'andrea in 1995 that could sell records in actual shops and everything. The choice was a good move: Jeepster were new and hungry for talent and despite having a headquarters in London like every British record label they specialised in acts from Scotland, particularly Glasgow. Although talks took place with other bands simultaneously B and S' 'If You're Feeling Sinister' became the very first album on the label (with Snow Patrol the second act signed - talk about starting a new label with a bang!)

The other big move since 'Tigermilk' is the growth of the band. Long termers Stevie Jackson, Sarah Martin and Chris Geddes all join the band here and were clearly all good choices because they're still with the band now. At the time Stevie was hired as a sort of second focal-point for the group, having been part of another semi-big Glasgow group 'The Moonglows' before being coerced (some would say badgered!) to join the band by Murdoch (even so, it's curious that while Stevie sings from the opening song he doesn't get a composition on the album till record number three). Chris played all the tricky piano parts that Stuart couldn't cover at the same time as singing. And Sarah was simply a violin player added to beef up the string section, in the days before her vocals and songs became such an integral part of the band. Isobel also becomes a full-time member here too rather than just the singer's girlfriend, adding some lovely harmony work as well as some cello parts (she recalled in an interview years later that after so many years of being just 'the girlfriend' to musicians she was rather shocked to actually officially join a band for the first time - although like Stevie she only really comes into her own on album three). Mick Cooke, who guested on 'Tigermilk', is also officially merely a guest on this record too but has much to do here, with Murdoch now fresh from actually his ad hoc band on 'Tigermilk' eagerly seizing Cooke's trumpet parts as exactly the sort of melancholy voice he needs for the band.

However, for now, something very much stays the same: Murdoch's songwriting. This is the very last time a Belle and Sebastian project is made up entirely of Stuart's songs and, despite his typically witty sleevenotes claiming to have 'cursed work before ever actually trying it' Murdoch's hard work ethic is all over this album as the highlights of this record, as on all B and S records, are Stuart Murdoch’s hypnotic voice, hypnotic lyrics and hypnotic tune. Those who haven’t heard the band might wonder what on earth I’m on about, but hopefully fans will be nodding their head at that – Murdoch’s voice is innocence personified, even down to the deliberately left in mistakes and voice cracks, even when the lyrics are cynical and all knowing. To my mind Stuart is second only to Noel Gallagher in being able to craft rounded, lyrical songs that an audience recognises and responds to (and before all you Oasis haters go off on one, try and tell that to the crowds I saw sobbing along to Oasis songs in the mid-90s before it was ‘uncool’ to like them). As ever on these B and S albums before they started getting a bit more democratic, there’s not much sign of another ‘voice’ in the B and S group yet, which is a shame in the case of the under-rated Sarah Martin whose song ‘Family Tree’ might is one of the highlights of the whole B and S catalogue, and it is still very much Stuart’s vehicle in these early days.

We’ve said this before on our occasional looks at music from the last decade, but the problem with 1990s music isn’t that it was pompous and badly dated a few months on (as in the 1980s) or all glitz and glamour and no substance (as happened on occasion in the 1970s), but that it was split into so many categories. Back in the 60s you either liked ‘Motown’ or ‘Soul’ or ‘Merseybeat’ forming into ‘Psychedelia’ but even then there was a crossover between the three groups of fans. In the 70s and 80s there was a small number of big-time stars (Madonna, Duran Duran, Shakin’ Stevens, perhaps AAA friends The Human League for a brief time) that if you were a music collector you selected early on and then stuck by till the bitter end or if you were a more casual collector you bought the songs you liked on the radio. By the 1990s there were hundreds of genres all producing thousands of groups and nobody could have collected them all, even if they wanted to (and few people wanted to, even an anorak like me, seeing as the divisions between genres grew bigger and bigger). The real achievement of a group like Oasis was in connecting people again, being winningly catchy for the pop crowd without selling out their selves for the masses (at least, not for a while). Seemingly every group got hooked into this concept, that you had to either appeal to a mainstream audience or you had to stay true to whatever genre you found yourself in – and stay there under pain of death.
B and S are the only group to my knowledge that successfully navigated the whole of this generic mess. Their music is unusual for the period in that it doesn’t tie itself down to any particular style or genre but ties itself to its own distinctive sound, built up from gentle percussion, a bit of guitar, lots of piano, and smothering strings and occasional brass, a sound which is difficult to describe unless you’ve actually heard it. It’s the perfect backing for these quiet, whimsical songs about life’s struggling losers and under-dogs, a theme which reached its peak on ‘Tigermilk’ but can be heard here as well, culminating in the character ‘Judy’ from the first album who has transformed from a teenage rebel into a miserable depressed adult. Alas B and S drop the characters they invented for these first two albums (Lisa from the first album is mentioned here as well, although sadly Sebastian himself – clearly representing Murdoch’s hapless alter ego – is not) and the EPs so we never get to hear what happens to them afterwards. Perhaps we’ll hear on a future album, who knows?

One thing that’s always interested me about this album is the theme of sports equalling the ‘mainstream’ which starts here and follows B and S on other albums occasionally thereafter – with a runner in ‘Stars of Track and Field’ and a cyclist in ‘Fox In The Snow’ both questioning why have dedicated their lives to a ‘training’ that will probably leads to nothing in their ‘real’ future lives. Both seem to be metaphors for the working world which plays a big role on Murdoch's songs (perhaps because he couldn't experience it for himself during all his years ill in bed while his friends told him about it). The rough theme of 'If You're Feeling Sinister', then, is do what you want any way you can - because that's a reward in itself; doing things the usual way might reward you with a wage but your boss will never acknowledge and probably never notice all those extra hours you put in and sweat and toil. It could well be too that, after several years struggling for success (individually at least, Belle and Sebastian seem to have taken off remarkably quickly after getting together) and being told by various record companies that they will never ‘make it’ without jazzing up their act, this is B and S’ gentle put-down of the industry and business worlds we are all told we have to belong to. After all, the employment youth training scheme the band was formed on isn't really there to create art - it's there to get youngsters with no other futures off the streets long enough for the fat cats in suits to look good, as the sleevenotes make clear.

The other big linked 'theme' is regret. Like 'Tigermilk', many of the narrators in these songs are wishing that their lives could be different. However that album takes place in near-real time and with a third-person narrator looking on: 'Sinister' is more personal and spoken in the first person (by and large anyway; that theory falls apart on the last track I know, perhaps it was written the same time as the 'Tigermilk' songs? Sometimes the 'regret' is for other people; 'Me and the Major' is an anti-war diatribe from someone with a completely different point of view trying to understand theirs.  'Fox In The Snow' switches between pity for a fox out in the cold and a friend metaphorically facing the same: a song of regret and pity for anyone going through troubled times. 'The Boy Done Wrong' is an apology set to song (for what we never quite find out). The title track is a confessional (spoken to a minister who probably has more reason to feel guilty than the narrator and is thus a waste of time). 'Get Me Away From Here, I'm Dying' is self-pity at facing a life of disaster and loss of face, regretting even being born. 'The Stars Of Track And Field' is jealousy at someone living a different kind of life tinged with the thought that sports records are there to be broken and forgotten while art is for life (or the life of a record, at least). 'Seeing Other People' is two people clearly deeply in love but unable to tell each other so they 'experiment' and chase others they don't actually fancy just because they feel that's what they 'should' be doing. Even Judy only 'dreams' about the horses that offer her the escape she needs from her lacklustre life - she doesn't have that freedom in real life and clearly regrets it. All these characters are suffering and looking for changes, but Murdoch doesn't have any answers for his listeners yet - just empathy.

Overall, then, it's easy to see why 'Sinister' caught on with the public imagination so much, even if took a long long time for word of mouth to spread. This record just sounds so different from anything else (well, except 'Tigermilk' but no one really knew that album yet) that it had to succeed and while musically timeless (and more like a record from the 60s than 90s) it captures what seems now on reflection to be the early-pre-Oasis 1990s sound so well: a period of meekness, worry and hope. Even the band don't know how long this fairytale story is going to last and Murdoch's sleevenotes are full of the same mix of meekness, worry and hope. They speak of the dole, of trials to drive busses, of art degrees that will never lead to future careers, of Chris Geddes not wanting to leave his canteen job because they've just got a new dishwashing machine that makes life easier. They speak of real life in all its shades and that is why 'If You're Feeling Sinister' is so popular an album: it's not a band on the make, ready to take over the world and dominate the charts as Oasis did. It's music as an escape and solution to problems taken up by the band to see how far they can get before picking up the pieces of the real world, going back on employment training and then signing on once more. The front cover of a girl whose just put down Kafka's 'The Trial' and is daydreaming into space rings as true as the lyrics: like that book this is the sound of a man put on trial for a crime he probably didn't commit and isn't even told what he did wrong by a society using him as a scapegoat. The band clearly feel like that too, thrown together at the deep end in one desperate attempt to escape a life in the doldrums. The brilliance of the album is that they make it: all these songs written when no one knows who the band are and couldn't care less, written from a bed that Murdoch must have thought he would never escape have a happy ending. Throughout this album the band are clearly aware that signing with a 'proper' label (albeit one that hadn't released anything by anybody yet) might be a risky decision and that chances are the band will end up back in their dull-as-ditchwater lives sometime soon. It's this we're-like-you feeling of hopelessness and frustration that appeals to people and has made 'Sinister' such a special record for many. However the sad truth is that this album's very 'success' (if you can call a non-charting album a 'success' in terms of sales) effectively ends that road: from here-on in the band and Murdoch in particular will struggle to come to terms with writing about failure while being successes. Take nothing away from this record though: like 'Tigermilk' its the glorious sound of failure and hopelessness that sounds so right, so honest and truthful and moving, that this album was always going to be a 'hit', even if took the rest of the world at least another couple of years (and a third album) to fully realise it. Enjoy it while you can.

The Songs:

This seems a good place to talk about the opening track ‘Stars Of Track And Field’. You all know the sort of people this song talks about – the so-called ‘beautiful people’, popular effortless athletes, usually rich, for whom everything in life comes easy and are spoofed several times elsewhere on the site (The Kinks’ merciless attack on ‘David Watts’ for one). However, the character’s easygoing nature merely hides the steely determination of someone adamant about getting her way and converting people to become clones of herself. The charisma even spreads to the most unlikely of candidates, with Murdoch telling us how he ‘liberated a boy I never rated’ (adding in a throwaway for my old bugbear of a town Widnes, the only place in the UK where it rains more than in Carlisle, last heard about in Paul Simon’s get-me-out-of-here-quick song ‘Homeward Bound’). To all intents and purposes, the character is a hero – until, as a sarcastic sounding Murdoch reminds us in the third verse, this super hero has to live his life with other people pulling his strings, with ‘emptiness in your training’ and the lonely, barren days with little reward. Some hero he turns out to be, especially after he started the training in order to be ‘free’ and to ‘wear your Terry underwear and feel the city air past your body’ (John Terry is a footballer, so I’m told, for those of you who, like me, avoided training sessions like the plague at school and wouldn’t know a footballer from a fish, providing both were wearing the same coloured shorts). Like many a B and S opening track (‘Tigermilk’s glorious ‘The State I Am In’ and the under-rated ‘Fold Your Hands, Child’s ‘I Fought In A War’), 'The Stars Of Track And Field' starts off so quietly it’s hard to tell at first whether your CD is actually playing or you’ve pressed the wrong button (a common hazard on my machine) and takes a full three minutes to build to full volume. This use of an under-stated opening sums up the B and S philosophy of sucking in listeners gradually rather than banging them over the head with a hook well and suits this song’s gentle pathway to success, with the track becoming distinctly overblown and out of control by the time of the last verse. Even whilst getting out all of his venom on those who outshone him in youth, however, Murdoch is gentle with his satire here – certainly compared to Ray Davies in the example above – and the listener feels sorry rather than angry at the lead character. Indeed, the song ends with a couplet about how the runner had ‘the knowledge to get her into college’ – a common Murdoch metaphor for thinking for yourself rather than as part of a pack - and how her life was wasted by the ‘empty’, pre-determined life she chose. Listen out, too, for the twist as early as the third line when the character ‘kissing girls in English at the foot of the stairs’  is revealed to be a girl, a ‘honey’, ‘with a ‘following of innocent boys’, a typical Murdoch writing trait that turns a scenario on its head and challenges our pre-conceived ideas of what the next line will be (it shows just why the ‘boys’ following her are ‘innocent’ too!) All in all, a complex but ear-catching track typical of B and S’ ambition in these early years.

‘Seeing Other People’ is the quiet highlight of the album, another subdued and almost deliberately understated song  that says so much about the narrator’s relationship with his on and off partner in just a few simple lines. The listener is, as ever, in on the realities of the situation even if the pair are in denial – reluctant to tie themselves down to a partner they are obviously in love with, each one pretends to the other that there’s is an ‘open’ relationship with both parties free to see anyone else they wish. Only, all the partners they come up with are ‘invented’ and they only have eyes for each other. It’s tempting to see this song as another in a long line of Murdoch songs about his own on-off relationship with band member Isobel Campbell, a source of inspiration for many of the band’s finest songs that reached it’s angry peak on a series of 2005 recordings (mostly B-sides) but one that’s all but been cut off now that Campbell has left the band for good. However, there’s another typically dubious line about the narrator’s sexuality with the line ‘it’s plain you’re gonna have to change or you’re gonna have to go with girls’, along with a line about covering it up with a ‘ahdn over my mouth a hand over the window’, underlining the criminally backward prejudiced mentality of people even as late as 1996 (we’re used to hearing about prejudice on the 1960s albums on this list, but it always amazes me how common the theme has been in the last couple of decades too). The lyrics to this song, then, are excellent, but it’s the tune that impresses most.  It’s full of short, snappy phrases that sound like someone having an abrupt conversation, only for the tune to run slightly ahead of itself and sounding like the narrator is letting the words run away with him and he’s revealing more about his relationship than he intends. I love the long, slow graceful piano lick on this track, which sets out the song’s theme already before a word has been sung, wandering lost up and down the keys, sounding like its coming to an end only to go off again. Murdoch again sensitively handles a quite complex set of words and the typically sympathetic B+S backing adds some lovely touches, especially the haunting string arrangements that hold one steady note while the tune around it dances, saying the un-sayable about a gay relationship neither party can admit to.  An excellent and brave song, that grows with every listen.

‘Me and The Major’ is another highlight of the record, with the liberal narrator sticking up for his peace-loving lifestyle against a battle-hardened Veteran who tars all the youth of the day with the same brush and can’t understand the idea of them having their own identities after spending so long with a monolithic-thinking regiment. In other hands this song would have been a huge anti-war diatribe but in B+S’ hands it merely sounds cheeky, complete with a huffing, puffing full-of-hot air harmonica part that enters every time the Major tries to talk. The first two verses show how little the world has moved on from the great ‘generation battles’ of the 1960s that we’ve talked a lot about on this site already, with many songs refusing to go down the same paths as their predecessors. This song shows how depressingly little has changed, with the Major convinced that press-ganging the youth into army uniforms will help turn them into ‘men’ (as we’ll hear elsewhere on this album, the whole idea of having someone doing your thinking for you is dismissed as being juvenile) and dismissing one whole generation because a small handful of them are on drugs and giving the others a bad name. The fault doesn’t lie with the young, Murdoch claims, but with the ‘elders’ who failed to learn the hard lessons of the 60s and who ‘doesn’t understand – and doesn’t try’. For such a peace-loving, quiet band there’s a real rabble-rousing feeling in the line ‘they’re taking it out on us’, with Murdoch really drawing an ‘us and them’ line and showing what side he is on. Again, though, there’s some sympathy at work on this song, with the Major shown to be living alone, swapping his ‘tent’ of freedom with sheltered accommodation where he becomes just another anonymous citizen without any rights – like the very youngsters he is attacking. Murdoch at his angriest, with a fast pace unusual for the typically laidback B+S, with Murdoch saving his biggest venom for the line about class, with the classic pay off ‘when I get stuck in a lift it’s always with a toff who looks down on me like I was never born’ – even though both are equal in their predicament.

‘Like Dylan In The Movies’ is a curious track, starting off with a typical B+S retro rock and roll riff that wouldn’t be out of sorts on an early Elvis record, before sweeping strings and piano come in and take the song to a completely different place. The words are among the strangest on the record, with the line about Dylan referring to the slow moody I’m-not-looking back glance given by the actors in Pat Garrett and Billy The Kid (for which Dylan does the soundtrack). It all sounds very romantic and lovely, but it’s actually a serious warning about what less respectable people than the character in the song might be after and is about the darker, dangerous world of sex – and not the sanitised account we see in films at all. The story follows Lisa, a troubled soul from the ‘Tigermilk’ record, whose own experiences in life thus far have consisted of being ‘used’ by teachers, laughed at by fellow pupils and a series of embarrassing sexual experiences. Murdoch always has a real affection for his characters and just as he tells Lisa not to ‘worry’ and that she is ‘not alone’ on the first album, here he tells the now sexually active Lisa to beware of the men who are now interested in her and not to mistake their sudden interest in her for life. By the last line, it’s also hinted that Lisa is now working as a prostitute, a far reach for the character starved of human contact in her earliest songs. The narrator may himself be a customer (his first line to her is ‘take a tip from me’), although he’s of the kind, worried sort concerned about her safety last heard on this list on The Who’s ‘Trick Of The Light’ (see review no 72). Murdoch drops his brotherly warnings on the fourth verse, comforting his favourite character with the thoughts that she is not alone and that ‘you’re worth the trouble and you’re worth the pain – if we all went back to another time, I would love you over’. As you can tell, this is a very complex song, switching from the sudden rush of adrenalin courtesy of the song’s central riff to a sort of soporific sound, courtesy of the strings and echoey pianos, as if the whole thing is some sort of nasty dream. It’s certainly not what we imagined the outcome of the character from the song ‘She’s Losing It’ to be which suits this sometimes nasty but ultimately hopeful little song. Listen out too for a typical B+S ‘mistake’ left into the finished product: the violin ‘squeal’ when the strings come in at the wrong place about a minute or so before the end.

‘Fox In The Snow’ is, in its third verse at least, a return to the ‘athlete’ in training song heard in the opening track, but this time the mix of anger, envy and sympathy has been rejected for a purely sympathetic look at the life of a cyclist. Although it’s very obviously a ballad, this lovely song does have a repetitive rhythm that mimics well the sound of a cyclist repeating his training sessions and developing his technique over and over, underlying the boring routine he has. Asking why he carries on with legs ‘black and blue’ – because ‘it’s not as if they’re paying you’ – the narrator is clearly concerned for the athlete, adding the memorable line that even though he’s going up and down hills emotionally he is ‘going nowhere’. The sudden snowfall, heard affecting different people in the different verses of the song, is a metaphor for some sudden problem that comes out of nowhere, making their hard routines that bit harder. If I remember rightly, the snowfall of 1995-96 was pretty bad – the worst for quite a while (it even got us a day off school that year so it must have been bad for that to happen!) so it’s easy to imagine Stuart Murdoch the writer keeping his eyes out for what was happening to the people around him. The other verses are a bit more cryptic, with each of the four dealing with a different character caught out by a sudden snowfall. The first is about a fox – a running gag from the band which is often heard in the monologues made for the band by Stuart David (who also records his own records under the pseudonym ‘Looper’). The second is a girl caught in a troubled situation – we never find out what, although it sounds very like the pregnant teen from the band’s EP song ‘Lazy Line Painter Jane’ – covering up her situation with a false laugh and looking to books for advice rather than admit to her friends and family she has a problem. Only in the fourth verse do we have a character who isn’t down and out and this time its a child playing in the snow and enjoying every minute of it – although even this song ends with the warning that it’s the highlight of your life after only birth and ‘dying too’ and that  ‘it only happens once a lifetime, make the most of it!’ The result is an elusive but utterly beautiful song, with the band’s single most depressing lyric matched to a tune so lovely and uplifting the listener truly doesn’t know what to make of it all.

So far the first side of ‘Sinister’ has been exemplary, building on the impressive sonic sound of ‘Tigermilk’ and adding to it a much more polished and ‘tighter’ sound. Alas, things go downhill on the second side, which is generally just the band without the horn or string section and as a result sounds like the simple home demos of the ‘Push Barman’ compilation without the charm of the rough edges or the delight of hearing magic being made clumsily but enthusiastically before our ears. ‘Get Me Away From Here, I’m Dying’ is a case in point, with a sing songy melody that only shines when it suddenly folds in on itself and switches from major to minor keys and lyrics that are by far the simplest and most generic heard so far, although seen in a certain light this song is fascinating. The narrator of the song is lonely, afraid and panicking over something we never hear about, on his own ‘after hours’ on a bus. As time wears on its clear that, rather than using a character as he so often does on B+S records, Murdoch is talking about himself. The song opens with the realisation that ‘nobody writes songs anymore’ that sum up the hopelessness of the narrator’s current situation so Murdoch decides the writer ‘might as well be me’, putting down on paper his thoughts about the band. Telling us that we have a choice in life, that ‘you could either be successful – or be us!’, Murdoch is actually talking to himself here and wondering whether B+S’ growing career ought to be channelled properly through a major record company or whether the band should continue as the ramshackle but loved band they were. Dismissing most of his already great catalogue of sympathetic loner characters, Murdoch tells us he’ll just write ‘the same old story’ about ‘a boy who’s just like me’ and ‘thought there was love in everything and everyone’ (‘you’re so naive!’ he turns on himself, dropping his pretence at talking about another character) before criticising his own art with the line ‘oh, that wasn’t what I meant to say at all!’  For what should be such a sad and angry song, with Murdoch wondering whether his work is really worth the fuss or not, it’s not half a jolly, sprightly song, taken at quite a fast lick compared to the other tracks on the record, perhaps as if Murdoch is spoofing his own trademark at writing sad but uplifting songs. The result isn’t a song you’d want to play too often and doesn’t have the staying power of the earlier songs on the record, but in the context of B+S’ catalogue it’s a fascinating and revealing song, with Murdoch ending with the oh so true observation that even if he can’t be the hero in his life at least ‘I could make you cry with these words’.

‘If You’re Feeling Sinister’ itself is an oddball track, even for Belle and Sebastian. It’s another juxtaposition of painful, hurt-ridden lyrics matched with a rattling pop tune but one that works less well than elsewhere, leaving the listener feeling truly schizophrenic by the end of it! The opening character – Anthony – won’t be heard of again until 2005 when he becomes the target of many a school bully, but here he’s out of the picture in just five lines, committing suicide out of ‘boredom’. Like ‘Tigermilk’, every character on this track is suffering because they’re daring to be ‘different’ and staying apart from the status quo – but this time around the stakes are higher, with each character choosing to end their life rather than suffer the indignities of life in the then-modern world. The only way out seems to be by becoming a TV celebrity, rescuing yourself from poverty and a meaningless existence at the cost of your sanity and having your private life picked over by the people ‘watching on the telly’. What a choice, Murdoch seems to be saying, although he saves his biggest anger for the mainstream’s answer to everyone’s problems, sending them to church to see a Minister. But they don’t have the answers for the modern age, with the character Hilary finding that the talk of saints doesn’t ‘interest’ and that, in one of Murdoch’s best lines, all she wants to know is ‘how and why and when and where to go/where to follow’. These characters are directionless, unwilling to submit themselves to the grinning falsehood niceties of the capitalist world but not being sure what to use as a substitute. Round and round in circles it goes, with Murdoch unable to offer a solution to ‘take away the pain of being a hopeless unbeliever’. Alas, the song is simply too complex to take in at first, with one of the bounciest melodies Murdoch ever wrote for once a poor substitute for a ‘proper’ melody which complements rather than contradicts the sentiments. The opening sounds of children pkaying were taped by Murdoch on a portable tape recorder while on a walk around Glasgow - the band 'think' it was the school that became 'the gaelic one on Berkley Street' when quizzed about it later on their website.

‘Mayfly’ is the album’s half-hearted attempt at writing a pop single, although to the best of my knowledge B and S didn’t start releasing singles until the millennium. Taken on its own terms, it’s a lovely little song that’s very similar to Paul McCartney’s ‘Single Pigeon’ (from the ‘Red Rose Speedway’ album), with an insect rather than a bird the only companion keeping a lonely narrator company. The song has a lovely catchy melody, a million miles removed from the moody songs of the album’s first side and an ear-catching instrumental break played on what sounds like the simplistic synthesiser predecessor the ‘stylograph’ from the 1960s as advertised by Rolf Harris! The arrangement is nice, too, with guitars and organ work complementing Murdoch’s scratchy voice and Sarah Martin’s sweet harmonies. Where this song goes wrong in its rather hurried, haphazard air, as if the band are trying to get rid of what, for them, is quite a shallow and simple song out of the way for the record company so they can go back to making ‘proper’ music! While it’s not the best song here by a long chalk, having none of the depth or beauty of the first few tracks, it’s a shame the band didn’t spend just a tad more time working on the performance side of things as the melody, particularly, is quite lovely.

 My favourite song among the simpler pieces on the album’s second side is undoubtedly ‘The Boy Done Wrong Again’. In ‘Dying’ we looked at how Murdoch undermined his own credibility with a throwaway song about him writing the same old stuff. ‘The Boy’ is that idea writ large, with the surely autobiographical line that ‘All I wanted was to sing the saddest songs’ and one of the most mournful melodies and vocals of his career. The theme of the song is one that will surely be understood by every AAA reader, the times in our life when everything seems to be going right and we get too sure of ourselves, only to see one single thoughtless comment or thought come back to bite us. Stevie Jackson, whose presence isn’t felt much on this album, sings the counter lines to Murdoch’s misery, intoning like a demon headmaster how the narrator has messed things up yet again in his life while the poor hapless narrator pleads tries to allay his guilt in all sorts of ways, recognising that the ‘shine’ of his victim puts his ‘to shame’. The string arrangement on this track is thought to be cloying by some fans and I know what they mean, because it’s certainly more obtrusive on this track than elsewhere on this album, but to these ears its the very overdone dripping melancholy in this track that makes it work. The piece ends on the uplifting thought that things will only go right again if the listener understands and recognizes the sentiments, agreeing to ‘sing along’ and thus freeing the narrator of the fear that he’s the only person in the world whose ever felt like this. Of course, we’ve all felt like that too at one stage or another and Murdoch is at his observational best here, reminding us of all the times we’ve been in the same boat.

For such a ‘classic’ album ‘Sinister’ doesn’t half end on an unsure note. ‘Judy And The Dream Of Horses’ is a return to the character-driven tales of ‘Tigermilk’, but this time around the character has changed, grown older and sadder and not all the interesting if flawed heart-of-gold mischievous rebel of before. It’s as if the world has gotten a hold of the beloved character and made her conform – an absolute no-no in the B+S universe. The sexual chemistry of the earlier songs have by now given way to a worldly wise character who knows that, even before they do anything, she will be ‘disappointed’ by the narrator. Murdoch isn’t ready to let his character go, however, telling her that if she ever falls into a depressed state all she has to do is writer about her life and use her creative gifts and her old world will be revealed to her again: an act that, peculiarly, he likens to having a dream about horses (erm, because they best represent our idea of being ‘free’? I’m not sure on that one, especially as horses are mankind’s earliest domesticated friend). The tune of this track, with its rolling catchy horn lick which gradually gets out of breath as the song wears on, is a memorable one but for once on this album the lyrics can’t match the content and the whole song ends up as a rather frustrating mess.


Still, the vast majority of ‘Sinister’ is deserving of this album’s accolades, managing the rare achievement of being brave and original without being off-putting or unlistenable. Murdoch’s gifts as a songwriter were at their peak in the 1995-96 years and his long list of characters on this album are among his most sympathetic and believable, suffering from a wide range of troubles and tribulations the listener can sympathise with. Where this album falls down is with its consistency, with ‘Sinister’ seeming to run of steam and things to say far quicker than ‘Tigermilk’ and, even as early as this second album, repeating ground the band had covered before. But, as with all Belle and Sebastian records, this album will always be special because it provides a ‘voice’ for those otherwise don’t have one and is the perfect antidote to the days when you feel isolated and out of sorts with a world that normally doesn’t care. So if you’re feeling sinister, don’t run off and see a minister (well, not unless you want to of course), you’ll probably be better off if you stay in and listen to this record (while reading Alan’s Album Archives at the same time, of course!)  


A Now Complete Link Of Belle and Sebastian Articles Available To Read At Alan’s Album Archives:
‘Fold Your Hands, Child, You Walk Like A Peasant’ (2001) http://www.alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/belle-and-sebastian-fold-your-hands.html
'Storytelling' (2002) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.com/2017/02/belle-and-sebastian-storytelling-2002.html

'Push Barman To Open Old Wounds' (EP compilation 2003)
http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2008/07/review-100-belle-and-sebastian-push.html

'Dear Catastrophe Waitress' (2004)
http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2012/03/news-views-and-music-issue-139-belle.html
'The Life Pursuit' (2006) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/09/belle-and-sebastian-life-pursuit-2006.html

'Write About Love' (2010)
http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2011/01/news-views-and-music-issue-86-belle-and.html
'God Help The Girl' (Stuart Murdoch Film) (2014) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2015/02/belle-and-sebastianstuart-murdoch-god.html
Girls In Peace Time Just Want To Dance (2015) http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2015/06/belle-and-sebastian-girls-in-peacetime.html

Belle and Sebastian: Existing TV Clips http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/09/belle-and-sebastian-existing-tv-clips.html
Belle and Sebastian: 12 Unreleased Songs http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/09/belle-and-sebastian-12-unreleased-songs.html
Belle and Sebastian: Non-Album Songs http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/09/belle-and-sebastian-non-album_29.html
Belle and Sebastian: Solo/Live/Compilation/Rarities Albums http://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2014/10/belle-and-sebastian-assorted.html
Essay: B and S Talkin’ ‘Bout My Generation https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2017/12/belle-and-sebastian-essay-talking-bout.html
Five Landmark Concerts and Three Key Cover Versions https://alansalbumarchives.blogspot.co.uk/2018/02/belle-and-sebastian-five-landmark.html