Scritti Politti “Cupid & Psyche 85”

I remember this band from the Eighties—it’s likely that when I worked in the record store (Kent, Ohio, 1983), one or two of their early singles came through—we used to get import orders of UK stuff—a huge variety. We’d sample everything, sometimes not for more than a few minutes—and something like this wouldn’t make it very long. We’d say, “Another one of THOSE bands.” Meaning in this case, synth pop, with an emphasis on JAUNTY. I’ve since become a lot more accepting of a much wider variety of music, particularly pop music—whereas, if I find something catchy, I find it catchy. There seems to be some R&B and funk influences here—at least on some songs—that win me over a bit. Apparently, the band is still out there, playing, possibly at a venue near you—perhaps with very few original members. I’m not delving into the lyrics this time around, no lyric sheet, and I’m tired. This is, I guess, their second and most successful LP. I used to live with a black cat named Psyche, so I’ll always like that name. Cupid, however, is a mixed bag. 1985 is the year I first moved to NYC, so that’s a memorable year for me, but I don’t have much fondness for most of the music coming out of that decade. I scoured the internet tirelessly to find out something about the album art—it’s credited to “Art-O-Matic”—could that be a distant cousin to the MAMA art movement’s Art-O-Fuck? On the back cover, there’s what looks like a loaf of bread wrapped in white cloth that has three gold stars pinned to it. A butterfly has landed on it, as well. Somebody knows what this means. The front cover has a couple of round ink stamps that might almost say “Scritti Politti”—but the funny thing is, as this album was kicking around my “on deck” area, I kept thinking they were clocks. Why two? I thought. And if you live in Milwaukee, like I do, you can’t but help think of the George Webb restaurants who famously display two clocks. The story goes, at one time it was illegal for a place to be open 24 hours, so this “we never close” establishment set one clock a minute apart from the other, so they could officially close one minute a day. Yes, that sounds like bullshit to me, but then so are their hash-browns.

Psychedelic Furs “Midnight to Midnight”

The Psychedelic Furs were a band I liked a lot at one time but never bought any of their records. Why was that? I have to ask myself about these bands who I remember liking a lot in the Seventies and early Eighties, when I bought a lot of records, but never bought any of their records. I can’t figure that one out. Anyway, I only remember seeing one album (maybe their first), from sometime in the early Eighties—and I feel like that was it for me—I either got sick of them, or just made the executive decision that they began to suck on record number two and never recovered. I had pretty unmovable opinions back then, often wrong even more than I am now. I pretty much despised “new wave” bands—though I suppose there were a few exceptions. By the time this record came out in 1987, I would have dismissed it just because the cover looked like an ad for hair gel. Who was my favorite band around that time? I remember liking Half Japanese a lot. Certainly nothing as slick as this record, had I heard it. But I do have this vague memory of being kind of haunted by that guy’s voice, the singer, Richard Butler. I have no idea of what he’s all about. What a distinctive voice, though—who would I compare him to, as a singer? Maybe Lou Reed? It’s not like he’s singing opera, but there’s no one in the world who’s going to sing like Richard Butler better than Richard Butler. What else could the guy do, anyway, be a telemarketer? You’d answer the phone and just have to say this is too surreal. I wonder what he’s doing now? Hopefully not pushing up daisies. Anyway, that’s a lengthy introduction just to say that I really like this record. It kind of surprised me, actually, because of the big sound, the Eighties production, etc.—not something I’m nostalgic for, but the songs are just really good—some of them, anyway—some way better than others. I don’t like everything about it—like some of that sax, yikes—that guy Mars could find himself on the sax offender registry. But I’m generally pretty forgiving about all the parts, here, as the whole is listenable, and sometimes even compelling. I wonder what the guys are doing now—maybe working at haberdasheries. Maybe one owns a corner pub, and maybe one runs an ice fishing camp up here, like the one I’m visiting tomorrow. I’ll be buying bait… “Wait, weren’t you in that band? For a while, back then, you made me believe in love.” “You and me both,” he says. “You want some wigglers?”