One week at number one on w/e 5th May 1984
While they were generally acclaimed, the early-to-mid eighties landscape in music journalism was a lot more confused and inconsistent than that, featuring writers who had cut their teeth during the “punk rock wars”. Most disapproved of anything which might seem even remotely like a retrograde step back into stoned hippy “atmospheres” or spangly psychedelia. “How dare we sit around burning joss sticks and smoking dope while THATCHER is in power?” seemed to be the central crux to many of these arguments, to which the answer (always, whether the individual is Thatcher, Reagan, Blair, Trump or even Hitler) should be: well, why not, at least occasionally? Should we stop eating ice cream and tending beautiful flowerbeds in our parks and gardens while we’re at it? Are those also distractions put in place by The Man to quell the possible revolution? Is it an act of treachery to appreciate beautiful things when we can get them?
There were also others who felt that the group were miscast; a flimsy New Age noise slyly rebadged as something more revolutionary than that. Across the water, the US critic Robert Christgau was typically brashly dismissive on this front - “Harold Budd records in their studio,” he exclaimed in outrage as his opening “need I say more?” salvo, before eventually underlining the key point: “These faeries are in the aura business. So what are they doing on the alternative rock charts? Ever hear the one about being so open-minded that when you lay down to sleep your brains fall out?”
I strongly suspect, whether any journalist would admit it or otherwise, one other point of frustration about the Cocteaus is the fact that unless you want to be insultingly glib about their output and yell “Hippies!” before spitting at the floor, they’re actually a tough band to write about too. The lyrics are frequently flooded by the arrangements and feel incomprehensible, and when some coherence does seep through, it doesn’t appear to have any tangible meaning to possibly anyone except the group. This allowed listeners to weave their own narratives and ideas around their work, but doubtless snookered writers searching for something to hook a review on to.
Nor does the sound really fit the traditional language of eighties music journalism. It’s a consistently soupy, waterlogged arrangement and production which lacks the technically dazzling flash and scream of progressive rock, while also lacking the sharp whip-crack rebellion of punk or rock and roll. Anyone trying to interview the group was also often left with nothing much to go on; they weren’t big on explaining themselves.
“Pearly Dewdrops’ Drops” was actually their commercial peak on 45, reaching number 29 in the national singles charts, but didn’t offer any sops to either radio playlist programmers or the press to get there. They refused to appear on Top of the Pops and remained determinedly themselves, meaning the lyrics – of which numerous interpretations are available – are repetitive slices of twee bucolic imagery. There are several noble attempts to pull the delicate silk strands together into something meaningful online, but none (even one from an alleged insider who seems to claim that PDD is a coded poison pen letter to 4AD boss Ivo Watts-Russell) convinces me that what they’re doing here is even average lyricism, least of all complex poetry. What it means feels as if it shouldn’t matter to us, whether it’s comprehensible to the group or not.
Instead, Liz Fraser’s voice, filled with high pitched hiccups, breathlessly rushed and repetitive lines, and lingering hollering, is just another element in the mix. Intertwining with it, surprisingly jangly guitar lines emerge as well as that thundering post-punk bassline, but Fraser is the most flexible and impressive element – working overtime, jabbering, stretching her vocals and howling, the restless magician who both stops the track from seeming too hypnotic and delirious (imagine it without her singing to get what I mean) and also makes it feel somehow exotic.
Despite that, I have to be brutally honest at this point and admit that while I think it’s perfectly pleasant and technically a huge accomplishment, it’s not communicating anything breathtaking to me; I’m getting no urge to return to this one, and my heart doesn’t soar and my fancy isn’t tickled by any aspect of it. I’m the wrong person to be writing about it, in short, but at least with the benefit of over forty years distance and no professional reputation to uphold, I can admit that without having to get angry about whatever it is I’m not understanding. Unlike the suspicious Christgau, I don’t think the Cocteaus were trying to slyly con with the public with audio equivalents of New Age gift shop trinkets. I just think that they were producing something deeply unorthodox which either chimed with you deeply, or didn’t move you at all. In this case, it’s a zilch from me, but obviously enough members of the public disagreed to push the group to prominence.
New Entries Elsewhere In The Chart
10. The Three Johns – Do The Square Thing (Abstract)
Peak position: 8
The Three Johns big cult breakthrough moment, “Square Thing” is more in tune with the times than any of their previous singles, taking reverb heavy growling vocals, metronomic drum patterns and moody riffs into the higher reaches of the indie charts where they seemed totally in place. There’s a bit of everything here, from the group’s punk roots to the current waves of gothic melodrama, even if, for the time being, they’re being stingier with obvious melodic hooks.
16. Fad Gadget – One Man’s Meat (Mute)
Peak position: 10
Once again, Frank Tovey moves closer towards something approximating pop here. Tinkling cocktail bar pianos meet funky rhythms, bongo clattering and a chanting chorus which isn’t a million miles away from Shriekback at their most accommodating (though it’s not as if they had any hits either).
Also once again, Tovey’s own growling, chilly vocals pour water over any chances it has of connecting with the pop kids, but its funky undertow is nonetheless invigorating.
20. Under Two Flags – Masks (Situation Two)
Peak position: 20
The second and last single from here-today-gone-tomorrow post-punk/goth adjacent act Under Two Flags. The fact they only briefly dipped their toes into recorded music despite having a fierce live reputation begs major questions, which I’m afraid I don’t have any answers to – nonetheless, “Masks” points towards a group whose energy and presence perhaps wasn’t effectively captured in the studio.
It’s a haunting number with ominous, creeping guitar lines and an admirable commitment to subtlety in an indie chart filled with acts with axes to grind, but perhaps too understated for its own good.
28. Serious Drinking - Country Girl Became Drugs And Sex Punk (Upright)
Peak position: 8
Britain’s most successful alcohol themed punk band are back, only this time they’re singing about drugs, the sell-outs. “Country Girl” is a surprisingly twangy piece of New Wave storytelling, focusing on a town runaway whose city life was turned upside down by a night at the 100 Club, snogging members of The Clash and The Pistols before ending up with a job at the Virgin Megastore. How they didn’t sell this script to Channel 4 at the time is beyond me.
For a band who seemed so trashy and unserious on their previous releases, this appears to be a genuine attempt at musical growth, albeit with the same flippant and cheeky lyricisms of their previous releases. It paid off by providing them with their biggest indie hit, but it seemingly wasn’t enough to keep them going - this would be their last release before they reformed in the nineties. Never mind, though, this is my favourite new entry this week.
29. Major Accident - Respectable (Flicknife)
Peak position: 29
For the complete charts, please go to the UKMix Forums
Number One In The Official Charts
Duran Duran: "The Reflex" (EMI)
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