Jukebox Junior: Playing records to a girl called Junior
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Lucky 7s
Whitney Houston, 'I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me)' (1987)
At least Peter Gabriel meant there to be no soul or warmth in his record. I reckon Whitney thought she oozed those qualities, when what we really have here is the first example of the clusterbomb target-marketing of modern American machine-tooled corporate megapop, all humanity excised, every note polished, every blemish wiped from the visage of the primped mannequin. It was a relief when she jettisoned her marbles.
So, no, I don’t know why I own this. I suspect it was bought as a crowd-pleaser for those mid-teenage parties. As with other Whitters records- ‘I Will Always Love You’, anyone?- you can take the title as a threat.
My lack of enthusiasm must have been catching. Junior denied there was a record playing at all, and channelled her efforts into shaking water all over the living room floor. Try and dance on this, Houston.
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Peter Gabriel, 'Sledgehammer' (1986)
One of many great things about ‘Sledgehammer’ is the way it can deafen the impatient. You’ll remember a few quiet flute notes played at the start, before the horns and bass kick in; more than once I’ve seen someone put their ear to the speaker to check it’s working, only to be blasted away. Brilliant. Even Junior had a close shave, the flute drawing her towards the stereo, but the horns and bass just made her dance. No shocks.
It’s still a beefy record from a still good album. ‘Sledgehammer’ has no real warmth or soul, but it has the brass balls and bluster to trample roughshod over namby-pamby notions like that. Old Pete’s in fine voice and rude form.
No review of this single would be complete without mention of its video. There.
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Toto, 'Africa' (1983)
There’s not one person alive who doesn’t love Soft FM AOR Rock (I know that effectively says ‘rock’ twice, but so it should), it’s just that many don’t admit it. ‘Africa’ has a rousing chorus, which made me snap it up as a ten year old, long before I realised how unfashionable it was. Similar dubious chestbeaters gradually snuck into my collection over the years, until about five years ago when I started grabbing any I could find at car boot sales, foisting mixtapes on unsuspecting friends and even performing an entire soft rock DJ set.
I’d be one of those ‘ironic’ bores, if I wasn’t serious about it.
Junior’s reaction was a little less wholehearted. She spent most of the record’s running time attached to me, as if escaping the distinctive essence of bearded man wafting out of the speakers. She’ll understand one day. Oh- I know- I should protect her, sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus/Mount Everest/whatever above the Seee-ren-ge-tiii.
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Eels, 'Mr E's Beautiful Blues' (2000)
Head start for this, being a picture disc. Junior had it out of the sleeve and rolling across the floor before I’d had a chance to put the rest of the handful back. The crate’s too tightly packed- I have to take out a handful each time, for her to delve into.
This record has the driving rhythm that Junior loves so much, so she was up and strutting her turquoise-trousered stuff in seconds. She edged ever closer to the stereo and had a little hand on the turntable before long, for some impromptu pitch changes. There’s something endearingly wonky about the record anyway, so it didn’t matter.
I love it. It’s one of those that sound just nice at the time before quietly becoming an all-time favourite. Eels are unassuming like that. They, well, he sprinkles his albums with sparing good bits that reward further listening. The scarcity stops him becoming truly great, I think, but finds him a place in the heart.
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Camera Obscura, 'Lloyd, I'm Ready To Be Heartbroken' (2006)
I can never remember what this sounds like. I listened to it only this morning with Junior- and made the now de rigueur mp3 from it, so listened again on the commute- but it’s slipped again. When I grasp for it in my mind, I only hear the Concretes’ ‘You Can’t Hurry Love’. Worse things could happen.
Some Camera Obscura bits seep through. I’m getting a catchy guitar signature, a propulsive tempo, some churchy organ at the start, breathy vocals and a rousing chorus. And it fired up Junior’s dancing feet from the first thrum of the bass. Oh, she chose this single by crashing Heffalump down on top of it.
It is, of course, one of those ‘answer’ records. Well, in part, anyway. We had to rush out of the house, otherwise I’d have played Lloyd Cole & the Commotions’ ‘Are You Ready To Be Heartbroken?’ to herself. As a consolation, I sang it to her at the bus stop. Odd song to croon to your 14 month old daughter, but she was impressed I could still remember all the words.
What other ‘answer’ records have there been? There was that Furry B character a couple of years back, replying to Eamon’s sweary little ditty; I also remember some young lady claiming to be Billie Jean, harping on about Wacko Jacko’s baby. At least he didn’t dangle it over a balcony, luv.
Any more?
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Stevie Wonder, 'Uptight (Everything's Alright)' (1965)
Stevie. He’s ALWAYS on Jukebox Junior. The young lady chose this 7” peach by stamping on it on the bedroom floor, and then gave it a round of applause when it started playing. I’ll test her love for Steveland when we inevitably find ‘I Just Called To Say I Love You’ in the next few weeks.
If this feature gets that far. I’m kind of thinking we need the focus of the Top 20s. Do any of our dwindling readership agree?
Speaking of focus, ‘Uptight…’ is of course sparky, ace and clean outta sight.
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Psychic TV & The Angels Of Light, 'Godstar' (1984)
In a parallel 1984- not dominated by Frankie, Wham! and Matt Bianco- Psychic TV were No.1 for a month with this touching tribute to Brian Jones, ‘one of the Rolling Stones’. It’s a chugging, indie-psychedelic pop sweet with lazy Keef-like riffs submerged in the wall of sound, and a little treasure I’m glad to own.
Junior has discerning fingers at the moment, then, but it can only be days before she chances upon the dog-eared Howard Jones records. This found her in meddlesome mood, trying impromptu turntablism and spitting the figurative dummy when I stopped her. She found a satisfactory middle ground in being picked up and danced with.
According to various sources, Psychic TV and their Throbbing Gristle veteran mainman Genesis P. Orridge have kickstarted every musical trend and genre there’s ever been. Well then.
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