Brian Eno
Here Come the Warm Jets
Virgin EG, 1974 (EGCD11)

I consider myself influenced by Brian Eno, but I have very few Eno recordings in my collection. This is because of money. Twenty years ago, when I looked through the Eno section in the record store, I dreamed of owning ‘Another Green World’ or ‘Music for Airports’ or anything with ‘ambient’ attached to it. But they were all brand-new, and then – as now – my record budget only took me as far as the second-hand bins. It’s a testament to Eno’s importance that people tend not to get rid of his records: good for him, but bad for me. So far, I’ve bought one Eno record new: ‘Taking Tiger Mountain (By Strategy)’ (Editions EG, 1974). I don’t recall exactly when or where I bought it, but I chose it because it features the original recording of ‘Third Uncle’ – at the time, the only Eno song I knew. Now, at last, I’ve come across a second-hand CD of his first solo record: ‘Here Come the Warm Jets’ (Virgin EG, 1973). These are vocal, as distinct from instrumental, recordings. Eno’s voice is appealing. ‘Here Come the Warm Jets’ shows it at its most flexible, probably because Eno himself had yet to work out what he wanted to do with it. As it turned out, he wanted to turn it off. Subsequent Eno features the voice backing away from the foreground until, in the late 1970s, it backs off the record entirely. Of course this is a pity – assuming, as I think we can, that Eno still has a fine singing voice – but we can hardly expect, or want, him to keep writing songs in the same style for thirty or more years. Some day, I’ll get hold of ‘Another Green World’ – the ‘bridge’ album between Eno’s vocal and instrumental modes – and that should be that for vocalising. Certainly not the end for Eno: there’s a world of interesting music available under his name, if one can only afford to buy it.

Various Artists
A Tribute to the Music and Works of Brian Eno
Cleopatra, 1997 (CLP 0016-2)

We enjoy frequent second-hand CD bargain fairs here in Fukuoka. A number of recordings on this first ‘Playlist’, including this Eno tribute album, came from one such fair back in August this year. I don’t know most of the musicians on this record, but it’s clear they know and value Brian Eno. The version of ‘Here Come the Warm Jets’ included here is remarkably faithful, to a point. There is also a fine version of ‘Third Uncle’: it uses sequenced rhythms to good effect, not exactly replicating Robert Wyatt’s percussion from the Eno original, but reconfiguring it in a different context. The angry urgency required by the song is present throughout. I measure it against both the ‘Taking Tiger Mountain’ version, and the Bauhaus cover, on ‘The Sky’s Gone Out’ (Beggars Banquet, 1982). This isn’t fair, because the former is perfect, and the latter has Peter Murphy singing – this new version can’t help but suffer in comparison. But it recovers, along with everything else on this record: once the musicians get over being in awe of their material, they do a good job reinterpreting it to suit their own purposes. If, in the end, the result is to make you want to listen to Eno again, that’s not far removed from the reason we have tribute albums. Cover versions are an excellent way to assess a musician’s ability: if they do something interesting with a piece they admire, there’s a good chance they’ll do well in their own music. This doesn’t always hold true, of course, and it could be that the Eno covers on this album are the best we can expect from some of the groups represented here. They are faithful reproductions more than inspired reinventions. Then again, there isn’t much reinvention going on in the Bauhaus ‘Third Uncle’, and it’s still a good introduction to an exceptional band. Perhaps these tributes can serve the same function for the musicians collected here.

Peter Murphy
Dust
Metropolis Records, 2002 (MET 238)

‘Dust’ is Peter Murphy’s most accomplished album, and as such is probably not the best introduction to his solo work. There’s nothing quite like it in his catalogue, or anywhere else. Turkish influences are everywhere, and everywhere worn lightly and comfortably. The music is graceful, dignified, and powerful. Few singers in popular music can match Murphy’s power as a vocalist, and his voice is in particularly good form here. One never quite knows what to make of him as a lyricist, but he avoids being arch, pompous, or downright silly – real dangers for all musicians associated (accurately or not) with pop music’s ‘gothic’ mode. We might not always be able to make sense of what Murphy is on about, but he can usually convince us it’s worth our attention. ‘Dust’ suggests narratives and observations; it works with emotions, images from dreams, and different levels and kinds of faith. The album was recorded in Montréal and Istanbul: an odd combination of venues, which results in Murphy being accompanied by Turkish musicians and a number of Canadian studio stalwarts. I admit to being in two minds about the idea of Hugh Marsh – who I think of as Bruce Cockburn’s violin player – having an extended role on a Peter Murphy record. There is a bit too much electric violin on ‘Dust’, but it doesn’t sink the project: Marsh does a fine job keeping up with the Turkish musicians, and producer Mercan Dede keeps the mix on the right side of Toronto. Murphy includes two covers here of his own songs: one from ‘Love Hysteria’ (Beggars Banquet, 1988), the other from ‘Cascade’ (Beggars Banquet, 1995). They demonstrate how versatile and flexible Murphy and his songs can be. They also relate to the work of love and family, and to the difficulty of being – that’s a grand, philosophical ‘being’, and also a ‘being in place’. Peter Murphy has been discovering, trying to understand, and living well in his Turkish life. ‘Dust’ is a lovely evocation of this theme, as well as being musically lovely.

Robyn Hitchcock and the Egyptians
Globe of Frogs
A&M Records, 1988 (CD 5182 DX 2746)

I went to see Robyn Hitchcock perform solo back in 1989, but unfortunately I remember nothing of the concert except that I enjoyed it, and that he was formidably talented and oddly charming. I don’t think I saw Hitchcock with his Egyptians, but this band was my first introduction to his music. I quickly jumped back from ‘Fegmania!’ (Midnight Music, 1985) to Hitchcock’s great early contribution to odd pop music: the Soft Boys’ ‘Underwater Moonlight’ (Armageddon, 1980). I suppose this is a not-so-distant cousin of psychedelic pop: developing ideas we first meet in early Pink Floyd, the later Beatles, and anyone else who did strange things with Rickenbacker guitars and lyrics from somewhere south of Lewis Carroll and Edith Sitwell. Robyn Hitchcock can be made to fit in this tradition, although it’s not the whole of his genius. Better to say that he has adapted material from psychedelia, British folk music, Bob Dylan, and who-knows where else to craft a musical idiom unique to himself. It’s a very good kind of music, too. Hitchcock’s reach and influence is as wide as unclassifiable personal genius ever can be. Fortunately, I don’t come across many people trying to be like him, despite the many artists who admire and enjoy his work. ‘Globe of Frogs’ emerged near the height of a late 1980s Hitchcock boom, and I’m sorry to say I passed it up at the time. I’d been listening to him too much, I think; and the (apparently) sudden upswing in his popularity was (stupidly) annoying – it rankled to hear everyone praising someone I’d been quietly supporting for ages. So I took myself back to the Soft Boys, and left current Hitchcock to the winds of fashion. That was very silly of me, as I’ve missed out on a great deal of enjoyable music. Among his other talents, Hitchcock is a fine guitar player; he also knows how to use his voice, at both ends and the middle of his range. ‘Globe of Frogs’ is splendid, and I know now that I should have bought it fifteen years ago. Hitchcock continues to record and release interesting-looking material, and I don’t plan to wait another fifteen years before buying one of his more recent releases.

Pet Shop Boys
Bilingual
Parlophone, 1996 (7243 8 53102 2 5)

This set of reviews manages to move from Brian Eno to the Pet Shop Boys in five very loosely connected steps. Not everyone would take pride in that, I suppose, but I do. Since the Pet Shop Boys are far and away the poppiest of the pop groups on this month’s Playlist, and since this album generated honest-to-goodness hit singles, there may not seem to be much point in mentioning it here. After all, my intention is to draw attention to things you might have overlooked, or not yet encountered. You’ve probably found it hard to avoid the Pet Shop Boys in one form or another. Well, have you ever thought of them as the perfect end to an evening’s listening, after all the other albums on this month’s list? The Pet Shop Boys usually manage to be more powerful, and more meaningful, than one might take them to be at first sight. ‘Bilingual’ is tightly constructed; it seems to possess a narrative under the surface, and what it narrates isn’t always sweet. There’s unity and mutual reinforcement among the songs, with musical and lyrical phrases introduced in one context and cleverly reintroduced and altered in another. There are moments of assertion and moments of sentiment, and quite a few beautiful patches. It’s a stimulating package for mid-evening listening – good for when you’re tidying up the kitchen, or to accompany a few stretching exercises. The latter we attempted a few times in September: they seem to have gone away now. But ‘Bilingual’ is still right next to the stereo, and still rewarding after repeated listening. Our copy came from a second-hand chain store, which is noted in Japan for bright lights, ghastly greetings, a good point card system, and a highly individual approach to alphabetising. Prices drop automatically if an item remains unsold for a few months, and this CD was down to rock-bottom – filed under ‘B’ for ‘Bilingual’, of course. In situations like this, I feel distinctly sheepish about having bought most of my records on the used market: the musicians involved aren’t making a penny off me. In this case, I’m cheating even the second-hand shop: copies of ‘Bilingual’ filed under ‘Pet Shop Boys’ were three times the price of this copy. Hopefully these little reviews will encourage interest in the musicians I discuss, and I hope that interest eventually translates into record sales. The Pet Shop Boys don’t really need my help, and Brian Eno is likely to be doing all right, but I’m not so sure about Peter Murphy and Robyn Hitchcock. So let me encourage you to get out and buy their records; and don’t be like me: buy them new.

–CR, November 2004

Date posted: 2004-11-27