The Dreaming.
The first album produced by Kate Bush alone, The Dreaming is a unique, experimental release that blends styles, samples and lyrical themes, resulting in an overwhelming experience that may need to be tackled in parts to avoid exhaustion. There’s a very 80s and yet very unique intro in “Sat in Your Lap”; followed by the playfully joyful, jaunty cockney jig about a failed bank heist, “There Goes a Tenner”; not to be confused with the joyfully playful and bouncy “Suspended in Gaffa”; the antithesis of this joyous pair is the David Gilmour featured Vietnam War track “Pull Out The Pin”, the reverberating string bass, helicopters, crickets and piercing screams create a morbid, solemn mood, even more relevant considering the Falklands War of a few months before this album’s release. The title of the album is taken from Australian Aboriginal mythology, reflected in the title track where Bush appropriates an Aussie accent and his accompanied by a certain someone on the didgeridoo (can you tell who it is yet?). “Night of the Swallow” is the only track that threatens to be traditional, beginning as a piano ballad before shifting to non-traditional Irish folk. The predecessor to Hounds of Love, The Dreaming acts as something of a prelude, foreshadowing aspects of the later release; Bush experiments with sounds here before making them more accessible in a few years time. That is not to say that this is anything less than a brilliant album in its own right, every track here is memorable and is an absolute joy to listen to time and time and time again.
Peter Gabriel.
It was a good year for sales of the Fairlight CMI. Used extensively by Kate Bush on The Dreaming, Peter Gabriel again samples a whole host of sounds on the bit of kit that he helped to introduce to the industry: his 1980 self-titled album being one of the first to use the CMI. Gabriel continues his rhythm-first approach on this his fourth self-titled release, but his lyricism is not merely an afterthought, it is filled with provocative themes and imagery. Prepare yourself as I go through every song now: the experience of Carl Jung being overwhelmed and entranced by Kenyan drummers is recounted on the ominous (the longer the note the more dread), slightly terrifying “The Rhythm of the Heat”; the powerful yet minimalist “San Jacinto” continues the dread while contemplating a young Native American’s anguish at their stolen land and appropriated culture, struggling to maintain their heritage; the upbeat, synthesiser heavy, minimalist electronica of “I Have the Touch” reflects the isolation of the subject longing for human contact (is that you Marty Mauser?), while also being a dance inducing banger; “The Family and the Fishing Net” sounds like a 70s crime B movie that follows a strangler prowling the streets, while musing on wedding traditions and marriage itself; the very 80s “Shock the Monkey” reveals anxiety, jealousy and a need for protection; the progressive, Pet Shop Boys-esque “Lay Your Hands on Me” deals with themes of faith and healing; the joyous, Graceland reminiscent “Kiss of Life” is about that guy who coulda stopped that other guy from drowning, and did; but perhaps the most important is the piano ballad “Wallflower”, where Gabriel protests against the political persecution and human riots violations that were rife in the 1980s (how things have changed). Peter Gabriel does it again. Masterpiece.
1999.
Yet another artist (not yet formerly known as Prince) enjoying playing around with sounds, samples, drum machines and synths in 1982. This mega double record (the first studio album to feature The Revolution) is not only quintessentially 80s, with Prince once again proving he is a master songwriter with an endless supply of catchy songs, but was highly influential at the time in terms of promoting black artists in the music industry. 1999 roars into life with two of Prince’s most iconic tracks: the groovy apocalyptic disco party of a title track, with its anti-nuclear sentiment foretelling an ominous future; and the feel good synth rock-pop “Little Red Corvette”, Prince’s trademarked double entendres on full display as he paints a picture of a promiscuous, reckless, young woman. The innuendos keep coming (oh Matron) on the ear worm “Delirious”, there is some parental advisory recommended for the gratuitous imagery of “Let’s Pretend We’re Married” and “Lady Cab Driver”, while a menacing undertone is woven throughout the album. The whopping 70 minute run time of 1999 is something of a hurdle; after “DMSR” the tracks begin to blend, not helped by the overly long “Automatic” and “Lady Cab Driver”, though the second half is refreshed by the piano ballad of personal independence, “Free”, that highlights Prince’s natural talent as a singer. Regarded, by some, as not only the best Prince album, but among the greatest albums ever made; considering the two albums above (and potentially the two below), this isn’t even the greatest album of 1982.
Bad Brains.
As alluded to by the lightning bolt striking the Capitol Building on the cover of Bad Brains debut, self-titled album (and more explicitly by it’s fifth track), Bad Brains were banned from clubs in their hometown of Washington, DC. Bad Brains was recorded instead in their new base of New York City, and was released as a cassette in February 1982. The sound quality of most of its tracks have a rough, homemade feel that contrasts with the cleaner textures of the other albums in this selection; the more fundamental approach of Bad Brains (just vocals, guitar, bass and drums) also contrasts with the more elaborate setups (no synthesisers or drum machines here). The album is chock full of chaotic, noisy energy: the frantic anti-consumerist “Don’t Need It”, the anti-authority “The Regulator”, the anti-capitalist “Fearless Vampire Killers”, the assimilation of black and white people on “Big Take Over”. But it’s not all politics: the break up song “Sailin’ On” reflects on an abusive relationship and moving on from it, while “Attitude” muses on the power of positive thinking and how it can manifest success. There is also respite from the hardcore punk thrashings: the instrumental reggae “Jah Calling” comes as a shock on first listening, but by “Leaving Babylon” and the ethereal 6.5 minute epic “I Luv I Jah”, the fusion is fully embraced; that first note of dub signalling time to get a pint after taking out your frustrations at Reaganomics in the pit. Groundbreaking. Unique. Sublime.
Garlands.
Ah the 80s. A decade synonymous with bright, joyous imagery: colourful leg warmers, neon, Anneka Rice. Cocteau Twins obviously never got the message; their debut album Garlands (their only album with original bassist Will Heggie) is dark, gloomy and morbid. Our first introduction is the atmospheric guitar of the opening track “Blood Bitch”, punctuated by the clean, crisp drum machine, is simultaneously dreamy and nightmarish. The layered “Wax and Wane” follows; each element is interesting individually yet meld together for a wonderful, harmonious wall of noise. It’s at this point that Elisabeth Fraser’s vocalisations really become noticeable; her almost operatic quivers bring to mind the vocals of Yma Sumac (I wouldn’t know who that is without this blog, see 1953). Fraser’s words are equally as unrecognisable as Sumac’s (the latter is let off somewhat because I don’t speak Spanish), yet even with the lyrics written down in front of me they’re not easy to decipher; I just don’t have the literature intelligence. When making the album, the fresh-faced, naive new kids in the studio were told by sound technicians the “rules” in making music, hence the squeaky clean drum beats; it’s a shame, but also interesting to think how it would have sounded if the Twins had full artistic control. This is still a seriously impressive debut however, and Garlands has made me take note of Cocteau Twins as one to listen to in future (blog years not reality years that is).
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