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The Smiths, "Louder Than
Bombs" (Sire Records)
First, let's talk about economics
for a second. For a hardcore Smiths
fan like myself, this newly released
double LP is a rip-off. For those who
don't run out to their favorite record
store as soon as this English group
releases a single with a "previously
unreleased" B-side, this album is a
great deal.
The good thing about being a
Smiths fanatic is that the Manches
ter group loves to release singles
between albums. Most groups release
an album, then release a single off
the LP to promote the record. Yes,
the Smiths do this, but they also
release singles totally unrelated to
the LP just as the albums come out.
Which is just fine with me. A U2
fanatic has to wait 2 12 years just
for one album I've come to expect a
new release from the Smiths every
couple of months.
"Louder Than Bombs" contains
seven new songs, and 16 songs I
already had in my collection.
Many of the 16 songs were ob
scure B-sides, from the "Hatfull of
Hollow" LP, only on import but
available everywhere, or singles
they've released over the past few
years. For people who don't go out
and buy everything by the Smiths as
it comes out, this collection is a
great deal.
The reasons I love the Smiths so
much are very personal. When
Smiths-haters, and there are plenty
of them out there, attack the band, I
usually get very upset, feeling as if
they are attacking me. I sometimes
feel as if Morrissey, the singer and
lyric writer, is speaking for me. He
articulates thoughts and feelings I
didn't even realize I had.
"You leftYour girlfriend on the
platformWith this really ragged
notion that you'll returnBut she
knowsThat when he goeshe really
goes," Morrissey sings on "London,"
one of the new songs.
Morrissey sings of love, lack of
love and violence in a country where
disturbed and angry youths may
spend the rest of their lives on the
dole, never having a job until the
day they die.
Every word Morrissey sings is
quotable. He speaks for many peo
ple, and those he doesn't speak for
simply don't understand him.
"It's music for the terminally
depressed," they say. Sure it is, and
so what? Some people enjoy a little
depression now and then; some
people enjoy a good wallow in self
pity. Morrissey has heard these crit
icisms a hundred times, but still
keeps doing what he does best. Last
year, on a B-side, Morrissey sang
"Unlovable."
"I know I'm unlovableYou don't
have to tell me . . . And if I seem a
little strangeWell, that's because I
am."
While Morrissey sings of life's ups
and downs, guitarist Johnny Marr
often keeps the tempo and music
upbeat, making a beautiful juxta
position. So for hardcore fans and
passive fans, this LP is a must for
your collections.
Stew Magnuson
Psychedelic Furs, "Midnight
to Midnight."
It's a tragedy to see a good rock
band grow up. Some get rich, some
get married, some get tired of starv
ing for just a few vague ideals, and
some are simply felled by the inev
itable wisdom and maturity that
eventually ruins us all. It can be
rough on a 30-year-old, trying to
recall that intense juvenile hate
that made his band great in the first
place.
Once upon a time, seven young
Brits heard the Sex Pistols and
liked them so much that they decided
to form a band of their own. Seeing
as how none of them played any
thing, they all just picked an instru
ment and learned to play it. They
learned to play together as fast as
they learned to play at all. It worked.
It was not only the coolest idea ever,
but they became one of the greatest
bands ever. Where the Pistols were
snarling, screaming fits of anger,
the Psychedelic Furs were too cool
for that .The were more likely to
sneer out from the edge of the shad
ows and would never let you get a
good look at them.
The latest offering from the Psy
chedelic Furs, "Midnight to Mid
night," will disappoint fans of the
band, but will probably sound just
great to anyone who's never heard of
them. Sure, it sounds good, nice,
pleasant, and Richard Butler's voice
is still one of the most charming
sounds in the universe, but the
Furs' sound, and especially Butler's
indifferent rasp, is much better
suited to the caustic angst found on
the band's first two or three albums
than to the lush pop on the last two.:
The three Furs remaining from'
the seven who underwent that orig
inal experiment Butler, guitarist John
Ashton and bassistlittle brother
Tim Butler along with your friendly
neighborhood studio hacks here and
there, have come up with a sound
somewhere between "Forever Now,"
their last decent full album, and
Frank Sinatra. Apparently "Talk Talk
Talk" doesn't even exist in their
memories anymore.
In a song like "Shadow In My
Heart," Butler wants us to feel sorry
for a "poor little rich girl,. . .all she
wants is my silver and gold." What?
Is this the same band that wrote
"She Is Mine?" The answer can only
be no. Too many songs are about
hearts, and they probably all have
wives and girlfriends now, and even
get along with their management.
They've become the kind of fine
young men their parents would be
proud of, which just isn't what they
started out to be. No wonder the
rest of the band left:
One more thing. Call me picky,
'cause I know it has nothing to do
with the music, except as an exam-
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