(In case you don't know "Yeah, Yeah, Yeah" is a pop music magazine.)
It's par for the fucking course that last year's most beautifully created pop album is still an import with no set US release date in sight. Back around the end of May, the Trash Can Sinatras came out of a hibernation that seemed far too long to us who adore such magnificently crafted pop music. It's even worse because there's no one around anymore to remind us why Johnny Marr and Roddy Frame had such angelic force---that is...except these guys.
In Scotland there's something in the air, or water, that breeds musicians like this. Sometimes they come from remote places in England, or maybe in Sweden. If they're Aussies you can usually notice the difference. The mood of the music captures something within themselves that their surrounding environment creates. From the natural poetic grace of the lyrics, and the way they choose to phrase them, these Scots articulate a connection with beauty that escapes most American bands. Now, an opposite argument can be made for an American band like the Replacements. Such a band would never ever be spotted cutting their teeth in Glasgow or Oslo nor would they be seen on a scooter on the wrong side of the road. This isn't an account of xenophobia, this is a statement of reflection and truistic sense. Sorta the way one realizes how a kid from anytown Wisconsin will never get a scholarship at Notre Dame for cricket nor dream of it.
In Scotland, kids may listen to the Replacements and watch football, but deep down, the creative spirit of the pop band is more originally expressed through music like the Trash Can Sinatras. It's definitely a voice of a more sensitive and literate Scotsman, but there is an alchemy which captures a strength and energy only found there.
Now what the fuck does this have to do with a pop record? Well...a lot. If it wasn't for the elements and the creative spirit, nothing would happen. Of course the song must originate from one man's head and thus find its way onto record through the band. But it seems like everyone underestimates the presence of simple magic, and that's what separates the good from the great.
Some of the good bands taste greatness while most meander around on middle ground. Those who are great usually grow as they mature and inevitably fade a bit with age. A band has a different run at it than the solo artist. You know...Elvis can go Attraction-less without losing much momentum. He can also experiment with more freedom. So, realizing the constraints that 'band-dom' thrusts upon one's muse, the idea of a band like these Trash Can Sinatras reaching such heights, in the late '90's no less, is a tall tall order. They could have broken up so easily, or have lost their record deal, because no one cares about 'em. Well that sucks because this is a grand-scale pop masterpiece with nary a flaw. The production is impeccable and breathtaking.
The album starts with a five minute swirling instrumental---beautiful movie music. It then moves forward with the obligatory pop hit, 'Twisted And Bent.' That is if your idea of a hit has the lines 'Should I embrace you or embalm you?/You're so lackadaisical-upsadaisy girl/Beauty is sin deep/and when you scratch me it shows you remember Joe/I knew Joe well.'
OK. Here's where the review would tailspin into the cheesy song highlight hyperbole schpiel that everyone gets bludgeoned over the head with when the writer is in love with the record. Well, here goes. I'm in love with this record and song three makes me fucking cry because it's the most beautiful and haunting song I've heard all year---distant piano to die for. Then comes a version of 'To Sir, With Love' that seems as if it was sent down from the mountain. Thus, again, the flood gates of emotion are opened---staggering, moving. Tell Lulu the news. Now comes the part that determines the good from the great---deep middle album cuts. Some of these fall into normal TCS territory while some experiment with new wave a la Blur ("The Pop Place"). The rest is your not-so-typical majestic pop, which, these days, is as scarce as an honest politician---melodic and varied, deep and intoxicating. Let's hope their US record deal hasn't been squashed. For now, though, you're gonna have to scour the landscape, and save a few more pennies to purchase it. It's one of those imports where your well-spent cash is worth it. And how many times can you say that about a record?
Other appearances by the Trash Can Sinatras in the issue:
In the Editor's Picks list for 1996, TCS appear at #1 on the list for
Top 10 Cover Versions ("To Sir, With Love"), "Unfortunate Age" is #3 on the Top 10 Songs, and "A Happy Pocket" is his choice for #2 album of the year.
If you have any questions, comments, etc, e-mail me at jdimaria@gis.net