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Record Mirror Above - Sounds Below
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It's rather appropriate that you can buy a hideous dung coloured
version of Wreckless Eric's first album. Like the person who reminds
you that the Queen defecates, Eric's an obsessive debunker,
constantly pricking holes in the sanitised skin of life and pointing
out imperfections underneath. A 20 century Kasper Hauser in some
respects. It's a picture which doesn't come across on the singles,
where Eric's somewhat twee, "untutored innocent" side is emphasised
- although "Reconnez Cherie" does have that great balloon-bursting
couplet "Do you remember all those nights in my Zodiac playing with
your dress underneath your pacamac?"
Even the cover to-"Wreckless Eric" is disquieting: there's this
circle bearing the legend "ONLY '69/11 d", which serves as a
frightening reminder that this album costs more than twice as much
as, say, "John Wesley Harding" did when first released. And it's not
a "removable" (ha ha) sticker - it's a permanent reminder.,
The brown ten-inch version is for those mugs who place
collectability over content, seeing as how they pay the same 69/11 d
and get two fewer racks, these being the classic "Whole Wide World"
and a captivating little tale called "Telephoning Home" about a
teenage girl who leaves home, finds that The Big City ain't Canaan,
tries to telephone her parents, and ends up committing suicide (or
getting murdered?) by strangling herself with the telephone cord.
The ostensible reason for their non-inclusion is that they use
different musicians to the other eight tracks, which all feature
Erie on guitar and vocals, Davey Payne on saxes, Dave Lutton on
drums, Charlie Hart on keyboards and Barry Payne of bass.
The album's highlights, for this listener at least, are the closing
trio of "Personal Hygiene", "Brain Thieves" and "There Isn't
Anything Else", the latter an apt closer worthy of single release
and - featuring a smart guitar part by Larry Wallis (who also
produced the album). "Personal Hygiene" is probably the
best-realised piece on the record, a catalogue of cosmetic
cover-ups culminating in the cautionary couplet "Sluice yourself
down in the bath, and pray God your souls keep clean ", all set to a
slow, melodramatic plod over which Davey Payne blows some
appropriately dirty sax.
I suppose parallels could be drawn with the working-class obsessions
of Ray Davies and Ian Dury but, unlike Davies, Wreckless Eric
doesn't romanticise situations which are lacking in finery. Like the
fool dangling faults in front of our faces, he peeks behind the
finery to reveal those embarrassing understains - a similar process
to some of Dury's work, but Eric employs a humour that's blacker and
didactically nastier than Dury's. (Incidentally, the only
non-original on "Wreckless Eric" is Dury's "Rough Kids").
It's the most eminently , quotable album I've heard since Talking
Heads `77" and Wire's "Pink Flag", and, like those, it's also
sufficiently idiosyncratic musically to 'set it at a distance from
all other albums. Of course it's flawed and rough in places: what
would be the point of harping on about imperfection and then tarting
it up in God's Own Arrangement? As it is, it's got a reckless (Ha,
ha, Ed) vitality reminiscent of the Kilburns, which may be due in
part to the presence of Davey Payne, but which seems to stem from
something deeper. It's spirited rather than spiritual.It's an album
which grows on you, but it's so initially off-putting (I hated it
the first time round) that it'll probably be remaindered before
long, to be hailed as a masterpiece in three years' time. Me, I
reckon it's pretty important already, and I think it speaks volumes
about the revitalised state of music in Britain that a genuine but
unorthodox talent like Wreckless Eric can have the chance he
deserves.
And even if you don't reckon his acute observation of imperfections
is reason enough to buy the album then at least you've got to admit
it goes some way towards explaining why he bites his nails as badly
I do. Are you satisfied with things? Andy Gill NME 11.3.1978 |
