BEATS OF LOVE 

82. Vanishing Point by New Order

I RECALL Peter Hook friend requesting me on Facebook and thinking that he must be a really shit DJ. 

His latest creation, Hacienda gin, also looks shit. That the two bands most synonymous with his name are by far the most celebrated amongst folk I know sort of irks. They had their moments for sure, but were fashion victims. That his cement slab style bass is possibly the most distinctive is testament to him. He looked and acted like a welder but definitely gave their sound an edge. 

I fell in love with Low-Life but struggled thereafter. Gillian Gilbert helped steer them away from a pure dark introspection that added to their mythology and toward a more colourful radio friendly synth-pop sound. I fucking hated True Faith, their first stab at lyrical compromise to garner radio-play, because it was too obvious. And it rendered Hook's unique bass sounds pretty pointless.  

However, by the time Technique came out, they fully comprehended the pulsating electronic beats that rendered Hook's unique bass sounds pretty redundant. And more importantly, so did we. This track is the exception and like some monolithic being, Hook wields his semi-redundant bass like an early agricultural farmer with a scythe, not knowing whether there'd ever be another meaningful moment. The rest of the band looks like they're in Ibiza with all the latest technology at their fingertips and the contrast is magnificent. 

I saw them play it in Reading in 1989 in the pissing rain when we tried to surrender to their dynamism like we were still in Manchester. Needless to say, the Sugarcubes went  down better where I was perched. Unlike True Faith, this album track is given proper space to breathe. It makes the contrasts more exciting; it makes the lyrics sound more meaningful, and it makes the overall effect quite dizzying and overpowering. New Order never came close to recapturing its brilliance. 

Perhaps if Hook hadn't snidely bought the Hacienda trademark rights in 2001, he'd still be in some form of working relationship with New Order and not feeling so royally shafted. But then there'd be no gin. 

  

BEATS OF LOVE 

81. You're Gonna Need Me by Dionne Warwicke

MUST THANK Lawrence for not just turning me onto the mighty Peddlers but for inadvertently turning me onto the racks, I found their records in and charity shops. 

When Fat City opened up in Afflecks, many of the records I found in these racks and in charity shops appeared with inflated price tags in their breaks section. What was a cheap record shopping aside was becoming costlier in its own right.

Dionne Warwick was a staple growing up with mum. Her sunlit interpretation of What the World Needs Now was the song mum's partner chose as her final funeral song. Not that I recall it being played. I also managed to buy with ease her Bacharach and David catalogue from these racks and charity shops, but this has proven elusive until now. 

An acrimonious split with the duo resulted in a move to Detroit's finest writing/production team, Holland-Dozier-Holland. She added an E onto her name nd relinquished creative control on her album Just Being Myself.  A name that had been changed on the advice of an astrologer to realize the chart success that had been proving elusive also failed badly. She was losing heart after her move to Warners and the album sold poorly, which explains why it's hard to find. This B-side is an incredible track and should've been the lead track. Since the turn of the millennium, it has been sampled no fewer than 23 times in the fractious hip-hop community. 

I still find myself more drawn to the originals, and this is a case in point. What's not to love about the soothing, soulful delivery and Gene Page's dramatic arrangement? A more concentrated delivery with Holland-Dozier-Holland producing one of their rawest masterpieces which has more than stood the test of time. Many recordings have two lives. The life of unfulfilled artist's intent or harsh criticism at the time of its making. Or, the life of its re-appraisal by people unborn at the time of its making, which is often much more forgiving. Life is simply too short when there is so much brilliance to wax lyrical about stuff you don't like anymore.    

What is magical is that those who loved it the first time around, and those who love it today, more than likely felt and feel the same joy in the same passages, creating the sweetest harmony on some form of metaphysical level. 

 BEATS OF LOVE 

80. I Feel You (Mudd Remix) by Payfone &  Kyd Nereida

UNSURPRISINGLY, I was writing about Brown Fang x Torn Sail until Dr Rob posted his own blog piece and absolutely nailed their efforts. Rendering my own attempt to convey a need to buy it on sight, absolutely pointless and futile. Just buy it on sight. 

However, like the club golfer honing their practice swing and dreaming of a 22 handicap, I picked up this twelve and went somewhere incredible enough to sit typing again, dreaming of the day. Somebody I don't know from Adam will engage. 

In the meantime...

Payfone first came to my attention on Phil's peerless Golf Channel label. Subcoinscient Lamentation was and is a bass-burbling stone cold classic. It was only eclipsed in 2019 when the vocal delivery became more prominent with the stunning I Was in New York. To be fair, I didn't think they'd ever eclipse it. I certainly didn't when I first heard Kyd Nereida's voice on last year's outing Put Your Face Away, but here, with more prominence, she sounds compellingly emotive. And more than a little sultry. 

No point saying she sounds like such-and-such crossed with such-and-such coz her voice is unique. She's a special talent for sure. I was initially drawn to the A-Side with its darker stabs but over the loud speakers this warmer slo-mo mix teases in the highest peaks and adds Michele Chiavarin's wondrous piano, creating something truly amazing. The woozy delirium creates sensations akin to experiencing a guilty pleasure. It's that satisfying.  

Sometimes experiencing music completely lost in the moment with a little less reckless abandon can feel superb. Fuck the handicap, let's dance.