PURE POP FOR NOW PEOPLE

 

Peter Townsend coined the popular term "Power-pop", joined with a not-so-raucous rock backbeat. That was over ten years ago, and Townsend's term, intended no doubt as a throwaway term, like those  elements of conceptual sophistication wherein Lowe takes a cue from other artists (Warhol, Stuart Davis) who have taken the artifacts of a throw-away culture and have transformed them into objects of art. Except for some catchy tunes ("Breaking Glass," "Heart of the City"), most of the material was no more convincing than the average Sha-Na-Na sendup. Pure Pop, in general, was contrived and too deliberate in execution, the old case of an artist being more interested in form than substance.On one level, the title was a perfect parody of the dumb products record companies used to release for consumers they perceived as witless and gullible. I

n a 1967 interview, where he was trying to describe the music of the Beach Boys, Townsend, an ashamed Beach Boy zealot, explained that the Beach Boys were in the vanguard of a new movement of pop music. A pop music that eschews the traditional needs of white rockers to emulate their black mentors and produce a kind of rock and roll that was indigenous to the white, middle-class experience. Brian Wilson, the Beach Boys' primary songwriter, merged creamy, smooth-as-glass harmonies of the Four Freshmen, the rhythm and blues guitar work of Chuck Berry, and wrote lyrics about surfing, fast cars, puppy love, staying true to your school, and so on. Townsend's point about power-pop was this: it was sleek, professionally rendered music that never ventured beyond the banal in its subject matter.

Spearheading the new Power-pop movement is Nick Lowe,  Lowe, a founding member and songwriter in the sadly departed Brinsley Schwartz and best known to rock fans as Elvis Costello's producer, released a record last year that laid out Lowe's methodology in the title: Pure Pop for Now People. On one level, the title was a perfect parody of the dumb products record companies used to release for consumers they perceived as being witless, gullible, and bereft of any sense of discrimination. Yet on another level, it reveals an  transformed them into objects of art. Lowe the conceptualist, wanting nothing to do with the priggish high-toned pretensions of "art-rock" (ELP and Kansas, let us say, not Roxy Music or Steely Dan or Robert Fripp), nor with the knee-jerk anarchy of most punk-rock acts, wanted to produce music that had the same clean, self-contained aesthetic values of the Beach Boys and the early Who, and yet retained a smart-assed, snot-nosed, wise-guy cynicism. The result, Pure Pop, was just that: a smorgasbord of borrowed riffs and chord progressions, vocal arrangements lifted from any number of vocal bands from the sixties, a plethora of musical styles that ranged from rockabilly, boogie-blues, to Phil Spector. Pure Pop, though, was far from the knockout it could have been. Lowe's production was cluttered and muddy. Lowe, though, has made a sizable step forward with his new record, Labour of Lust. Like Pure Pop, the record is a mélange of contrasting styles and attitudes where Lowe demonstrates an impressive

 character and nerve. Lowe's new material sounds better as well. The songs are better arranged, sound more complete, sound more like real songs rather than effete parodies. Lowe's humor is set in a sharper context. "Big Kick, Plain Scrap," featuring one of those James-Brown-style bass lines that defines the essence of funk, is overlaid with a mumbling, sleepy voiced vocal that utters a word salad of lyrics sounding like Captain Beefheart (if the Captain were the lyricist for K.C. and the Sunshine Band). "Dose of You," a perfect Buddy Holly emulation, puns relentlessly about VD, mixing up the tired theme of a young man trying to woo a woman with a seldom-spoken element of what can happen with love.Lowe remains a bright minor talent who has yet to show that he can break out of his narrow confines, but the improvement on Lust indicates that his will be a career that will warrant attention.

Nick Lowe's Power Pop Gem from the 70s

 
Who guitarist and principal songwriter Peter Townsend coined the now-popular term "Power- pop" in a 1967 interview where he was trying to describe the music of the Beach Boys. Townsend, an unashamed Beach Boy zealot, explained that the Beach Boys were in the vanguard of a new movement of pop music, a pop music that eschews the traditional needs of white rockers to emulate their black mentors and produce a kind of rock and roll that was indigenous to white, middle-class experience. Brian Wilson, the Beach Boys' primary songwriter, merged the creamy, smooth-as-glass harmonies of the Four Freshmen, the rhythm and blues guitar work of Chuck Berry, and wrote lyrics about surfing, fast-cars, puppy love, being true to your school, and so on. Townsend's point about Power-pop was this: it was sleek, professionally rendered pop that never ventured matter, joined with a not-so- raucous rock backbeat." That was a decade ago, and those abounding in enthusiastic chats about pop culture, have now settled firmly into the lingo of the 70s rock critic. Spearheading the new Power-pop movement is Nick Lowe. Lowe, a founding member, and songwriter in the sadly departed Brinsley Schwartz and best known to rock fans as Elvis Costello's producer, released a record last year that laid out Lowe's methodology in the title: Pure Pop for Now People. 

On one level, the title was a perfect parody of the dumb products record companies used to release for consumers they perceived as being witless, gullible, and bereft of any sense of discrimination (i.e.., Jackie Gleason Presents Music for Young Lovers, The Ventures Play the Batman Theme and Other TV Hits). Yet on elements of conceptual sophistication wherein Lowe takes a cue from other artists (Warhol, Stuart Davis) who've taken the artifacts of a throw-away culture and have transformed them into objects of art. Lowe the conceptualizer, wanting nothing to do with the priggish high-toned pretensions of "art-rock" (ELP and Kansas, let us say, not Roxy Music or Steely Dan or Robert Fripp), nor with the knee-jerk anarchy of most punk-rock acts, wanted to produce a music that had the same clean, self-contained aesthetic values of the Beach Boys and the early Who, and yet retained a smart-assed, snot-nosed, wise- guy cynicism. The result, Pure Pop …, was just that: a smorgasbord of borrowed riffs and chord progressions, vocal arrangements lifted from any number of vocal bands from the 60s, a plethora of musical styles that ranged from rockabilly, boogie-blues, to Phil Spector. Pure Pop, though, was far from the knockout it could have been. Lowe's production was except for some catchy tunes ("Breaking Glass," "Heart of the City"), most of the material was no more convincing than the average Sha-Na-Na sendup. Pure Pop, in general, contrived and too deliberate in execution, the old case of an artist being more interested in form than content.

Lowe, though, has made a sizable step forward with his new record, Labour of Lust. Like Pure Pop, the record is a mélange of contrasting styles. and attitudes where Lowe demonstrates an impressive knowledge of hackneyed pop- music forms. Lust, though, fares much better. Lowe's production is sparer this time, unencumbered by unlimited overdubs or an excess of instruments. The musicians on the tracks (unnamed on the jacket, though I suspect it's Dave Edmunds and Rockpile, whom Lowe tours with) sound like a unified band, a unit who've worked out the particulars of each song, and gave performances that, unlike character and nerve. Lowe's new material sounds better as well. The songs have better arrangements, sound more complete, sound more like real songs rather than effete parodies. Lowe's humor is set in a sharper context. "Big Kick, Plain Scrap," featuring one of those James-Brown- style basslines that defines the essence of funk, is overlaid with a mumbling, sleepy voiced vocal that utters a word salad of lyrics sounding like Captain Beefheart (if the Captain were the lyricist for K.C. and the Sunshine Band). "Dose of You," a picture-perfect Buddy Holly emulation, puns relentlessly about VD, mixing up the tired theme of a young man trying to woo a woman with a seldom spoke element of what can happen with love. Lowe remains a bright minor talent who has yet to show that he can break out of his narrow confines, but the improvement on Lust indicated that his will be a career that'll warrant