SONGS THEY NEVER PLAY ON THE RADIO
5. Blisters and bruises; Icerink records.
PART 1
COINCIDING WITH my first real taste of introspection, the Icerink label, run by the boys from Saint Etienne, and a subsidiary of Creation, came into being. Unlike Sarah records, this label had some reprobates on its roster and was all the better for it. John Robb was a Sounds journo who I was used to seeing frequently and the promo of his band's Sensuround debut Blind Faith contained a Doors sample which was given a Creation records catalogue number. It's as rare as hen's teeth, but somewhat imperfect.
However, once plugged by Justin Robertson, the Icerink version lost the sample but gained a whopping Dean Thatcher remix. The oscillating swing between guest vocalist Tracey Carmen and Robb's voices, dark and light, euphoria and gloom, night and day, was made starker, and it became arguably the most epic progressive track of the era. Robb, with an apology to Jon Savage, penned some memorable sleeve notes that also infused a bit of energy in what was a pretty drab time to be alive.
I saw them support MBV at the Ritz and thought pop stardom awaited. With such a strong stage presence, it was little wonder that he was feted by Jockey Slut to grace the cover of their second edition. Had entertainment been preoccupied with intensely glorious oddballs and not the exploitation of labour, their story could've been very different.
Alas, their second and final single When I Get To Heaven pushed hard on the euphoria button without letting in the dark forces until the third track. Had they been from continental Europe and not Mancunian, they may have got away with it, but as it was, they sank without a trace. The overlooked third track Deep Inside Your Love (Hulme mix) crawls and snakes out of the woodwork and the blurb got it right by noting that it sounds just like The Residents covering Hank Williams.
Golden was this seemingly fey girl band but there was something a little darker at work below the surface. They had Micky Finn remixes when he was a buzzword on jungle cassettes and covered Pulp long before they became a household name. Debut standout Don't Destroy Me stands up with the best of the era.
There was something similar going on with Andrew Loog Oldham and Marianne Faithfull in 1964, but she had Jagger / Richards penning her hit, making her an overnight sensation. Anglo-American (Finn Family Dub) is a little less subtle and is a relentless piece of twisted dance-floor pop. An essential salvage from any mid nineties bargain crate. When reading the liners you get the feeling that after a few shandies all these by the wayside musical references were the brainchild of Saint Etienne too, but I did think they were dead cool at the time, because of it, before the cynicism set in.
 |
| I-D Aug 91 |
I'm reminded of the time Natalie, who always gave Most Excellent related nights a bit of glamour, later confided in me that promoter Ross had to buy her dresses to keep her attending his nights. On the one hand, I thought 'yeah, genius', but on the other hand I'd have liked a night off myself. Reminding myself that it's the 'time of my life.' Luckily, it wasn't.
PART 2
THE LABEL was allegedly committed to the glittery pop dream and creating pop stars, and in a weird way, that is what it did. Shampoo were a bit like the Monkees in that they were manufactured, but, whereas the sixties band tried to wrestle control from the poppy producers and session players, they instead rebelled against the pure punk aesthetics imposed on their debut. Arguably the most snarly song of the nineties, Bouffant Headbutt with its line 'you're fucking dead' sort of scared the pants off me.
Co-written with Lawrence, the follow up Blisters and Bruises injected a pop influence that made them sound like Chequered Love era Kim Wilde. The blueprint for their success was formulated. Unfortunately, not on Icerink as Lawrence was/ is still the unluckiest man in pop. He put out a single on the label that was a precursor for his Novelty Rock album under the guise of Supermarket. Ray Keith turned in a remix that unsurprisingly still rocks but predictably it too sank without a trace.
Massive kudos to Bob for releasing Earl Brutus's skull-fuck of a glittery stomper Life's Too Long, on the label. Not least because it is. He saw the remnants of World of Twist and If? And had his own mind blown and so kindly decided to blow ours. If this was twinned on a good sound-system with The Fall at their deranged best, people would go insane. And I do mean insane.
For me, the story ends with the dubby majesty of Oval. Love Hour wrestles a great Human League song out of the hands of Martin Rushent and instead hands it to Burt Bacharach. Creating something saccharine yet somehow elegant in the process. A future pop classic even. Ginger Kilburn is the opus that plays like a swan-song for the label itself. Brilliant, but should be longer.
The genius of Icerink was that (Lawrence excepted) it captured everybody at the zenith of their musical powers. John Robb and Shampoo may disagree, but in order to stay in the public consciousness, they had to become caricatures of themselves. Not even necessarily themselves. Whatever they first tested out on this label. That potency to my mind marks their musical zenith. Whilst their roster was falling to pieces, a compilation CD surfaced as a footnote featuring the usual suspects. If it ever gets a vinyl pressing, I might dive in. Icerink both looked at the past and future to create a scene inside a scene.
Like Natalie, and Most Excellent, it tried to distance itself by putting a bit of sparkle into a landscape otherwise swamped in beige and the constant talk of excess.
