Review of Strangeways, Here We Come
Good day to you all! My name is Lee Bedrouni and I’m the former RPM Director and current DJ for two of KZSC’s radio programs this summer, Wandering Stars (which I’ve been doing for over a year now) and Louder Than Bombs, the Smiths tribute show. I decided recently that it’s about time I contribute to the KZSC.org blog, and what better way to do so than to talk about a record that I feel isn’t given enough credit. The record in question is <i>Strangeways, Here We Come</i> by The Smiths.
Back in 1986, the wheels were already coming off the rails of the Smiths’ metaphoric “train”. For starters, the move from their original record label, Rough Trade, to major-league EMI had it’s complications, add that to the fact that the band’s lead singer, Morrissey, had systematically chased off every single manager that the band had had (which resulted in the business side of things being dumped on guitarist Johnny Marr) and the tumultuous, embittered friction emerging between the once-insperable writting duo (reportedly over Moz’s desire to cover 60s British kitsch pop acts like Cilla Black) and it’s surprising that we even got a fourth Smiths record. It’s a testament to the group’s tenacity (especially Marr who, on top of all that, got in a minor car accident prior to recording the album) that we got to cherish this record. That being said, <i>Strangeways</i> is, in my experience, looked on as the bastard child of the Smiths’ LP work, despite both Morrissey and Johnny Marr having claimed it as their favorite work. Why is that?
Well, let’s take a track by track approach to the record. Side one of <i>Strangeways</i> starts off rather differently from any other Smiths release with the song titled “A Rush And A Push And The Land Is Ours”. It’s different in the sense that the main melody of the song is provided by Johnny Marr on piano, rather than guitar. This, at the time in the UK press, was something akin to Eddie Van Halen trading in his Frankenstrat for a synthesizer, but thankfully this song is nowhere near the kind of cheese you’d fear coming from a guitar god tooling around with a newfangled toy. It features some of Morrissey’s most creative songwriting, taking the perspective of the embittered spectral remains of “Troubled Joe” who passed away 18 months ago (a timeframe shared with “I Started Something”), still claiming that he’s alright on his own despite being unable to deal with the idea that “uglier” people can find love where he can’t. It’s no “The Queen Is Dead” but it’s still worth it’s merit in the Smiths’ extensive discography.
Next up is the glam tinged “I Started Something I Couldn’t Finish”. Released as the second single from <i>Strangeways</it> due to the unfortunate controversy surrounding “Stop Me”, this song benefits greatly from drummer Mike Joyce’s snare, which gives the song a distinct snap as it grooves along Johnny Marr’s snarling, T. Rex-informed guitar. However, Morrissey’s tale of an unfortunately grave mistake (one warranting “18 months hard labor”, that was “fair enough” to Moz) made concerning the object of his affection suffers at the very end, when, as the track fades out, the listener can hear Morrissey distinctly asking producer Stephen Street if they can re-do the song. Why, given all the studio trickery and such that the Smiths are known for, did they keep this weird bit in the track?… No idea. =/
Following “I Started Something”, we find a song that, much like “A Rush And A Push” features something distinctly unique to the Smiths’ canon: Morrissey actually being credited as playing piano on a track. “Death of a Disco Dancer” plays like a 5 minute descent into madness; initially starting out as slow and mellow (courtesy of bassist Andy Rourke’s stirring bassline) and eventually evolving into a guitar and piano-laden frenzy. Morrissey uses this backdrop to mock those he percieves as naive and pollyanneish in their pursuit of an agenda of “love, peace and harmony” and does so near prophetically, for in the years that followed the Smiths’ demise, the Madchester scene (chracterised by acts like the Happy Mondays) and the rise of the ecstacy-fueled drug scene lent creedence to the idea that this world isn’t suited to those ideals. The whirring guitar sounds, akin to a haphazard blend of sirens and cries, that Johnny Marr produces throughout the climax sends chills down my spine whenever I listen to this song. Absolutely marvelous.
Fourth off of <i>Strangeways</i> is the perennial jukebox favorite, “Girlfriend In A Coma”. Why everyone and their mother prefers this as their favorite Smiths song is beyond me, however, it is a fascinating 2-minute long, incredibly bouncy (thank you, Andy Rourke) jaunt concerning a lover’s possible regret (or satisfaction) over his partner’s current state. I guess people just really sympathize with the idea of assaulting their loved ones then being sad about it… Who knows?
Next up is the song that SHOULD have been released as a single, “Stop Me If You Think That You’ve Heard This One Before”. Probably the most straightforward song on the album (that I care about) in terms of the melody, it definitely showcases the Smiths at their rockin’ best. Marr’s guitar line is deceptively simple, as he is said to have writen it as though he were “an amateur punk rock guitarist”. How the hell that explain the bell sounds throughout the song is beyond me. In terms of the lyrics, however, Morrissey just goes to town. The title itself has a double meaning, addressing both the singer’s critics (and there were/have been/always will be many) and the person for whom Morrissey, within the song, is singing to about his alcohol-fueled madness. Despite being brilliant metaphor for the pain Moz felt, the line about a buddist priest with murderous intent caused EMI to shelve any plans of releasing this song as a single due to the then recent Hungerford Massacre, which is rather unfortunate.
So… 5 songs in and this sounds like a pretty damn good record, eh? Well, when it comes time to critique the album, the critics tend to lambast the second side more so than the first.
“Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me”, the first song on the second side of the LP and the 6th track overall, is a precursor to the guitar-driven torch songs that would (*cough*PLAGUE*cough*) follow suit in Morrissey’s solo career. It opens with a sound collage of sound effects from the BBC library that give the impression of a mod attacking some building far in the distance, with only the cries of anguish and pain audible from the rest of the chaotic mess, and follows suit with one of Morrissey’s most dramatic vocal turns yet with the Smiths. Mike Joyce’s drum rolls keep with the melodrama of the song, and Marr’s restraint on guitar is enough to keep the song from going overboard. Also, trivia tidbit, this is David Bowie’s favorite Smiths song.
Despite being lyrically off, in some respects, “Unhappy Birthday” is a catchy little ditty that fits quite nicely after the dirge of “Last Night”. I feel that, because Morrissey gets caught up in a revenge fantasy, most people overlook Marr’s incredibly catchy guitar melody. Granted, Morrissey might have wanted to use more evocative imagery than killing his own dog and shooting himself… It’s kind of the “Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others” of Strangeways, in that respect.
Thankfully things pick right back up with “Paint A Vulgar Picture”. Another glam rock-esque tune, this song brilliantly tackles the evils that artists face when dealing with salaciously criminal record labels (especially post mortem) while simultaneously echoing the desires and disappointments that fans face when meeting their hero-like artists. Granted, it’s a bit unfortunate that Morrissey sang, sardonically, “reissue, repackage repackage” given that he’s overseen the release of… I think the count is 13 greatest hits or otherwise compilations (when combining both his solo material and the Smiths stuff) since then. Aside from that unfortunate lyrical choice, however, this counts among some of Morrissey’s best vocal work, dashing between the dueling perspectives of being a dead artist and an adoring obsessive fan. Also, Marr’s solo during the lyric-less refrain is pretty badass.
Track 9, “Death At One’s Elbow”. What can I say about this song? Well… The Smiths are my favorite band, but even they make mistakes. That’s all that need be said.
As the last song committed to LP for the Smiths, “I Won’t Share You” reads pretty much plainly as a last chance olive branch from Morrissey to Johnny Marr in terms of trying to repair their working relationship. It is a softly sweet guitar ballad that makes for quite the poignant end to the Smiths’ 5 year run, and a great end to Moz and Marr’s song writing partnership. Producer Stephen Street is remarked to have said that, upon hearing the completed track for the first time, he cried. Granted, I doubt you will have the same reaction as him, but the harmonica melody at the end of “I Won’t Share You” definitely stirrs up something inside me.
Released in 1987, some months after the official disbandment of the Smiths, <i>Strangeways, Here We Come</i> may suffer from the obvious strain on Morrissey and Marr’s songwriting partnership, as well as the dubious circumstances on which it was released, but I feel that it’s very much like their 1985 release <i>Meat Is Murder</i> where, rather than cementing the guitar-driven jangle pop the Smiths are known for, the quartet focused on expanding their sound, using piano (“A Rush And A Push”, “Death of a Disco Dancer”), expansive vocal samples (“Last Night I Dreamt”), organ-like flourishes (again, “Death of a Disco Dancer”) and other such ingenuities to push our buttons. And for that, I am grateful.
Final Rating: 8/10
If you’d like to hear songs off of <i>Strangeways, Here We Come</i> and other work by The Smiths, tune in every Wednesday morning at 10:30 for Louder Than Bombs where you get the best and brightest of the Pope of Mope, Morrissey!
