Everything But The Girl
The Language Of Life

THE REVIEW

Ben Watt would have hardly believed, 20 years ago, a fortune teller predicting a decent commercial success linked to a dance production of quality (though not essential). How could he, anyway? After a solo effort boasting none other than Canterbury school maestro Robert Wyatt among its guests (the interesting "North Marine Drive," 1983), fortified by a refined musical sensitivity disinclined to compromise, by 1985, the English composer had already steered his Everything But The Girl toward a notable milestone: establishing the band’s first two albums, "Eden" (1984) and "Love Not Money" (1985), as breakout records of the "new cool" era. The winning formula showed its simplicity: letting the warm and languid voice—one of the most appreciated of the decade—of Tracey Thorn glide over soundscapes borrowed from soul and certain jazz. How much of the pop production to come would be nothing more than stolen kisses from "Each And Everyone" or "When All's Well"? The fact remains: the duo owes their fame, paradoxically, to the massive success of the remix of "Missing"—originally a splendid acoustic ballad from an equally enchanting album (a real homage to the art of Simon and Garfunkel, "Amplified Heart," 1994)—and the subsequent birth of this new wave for the duo (the fluctuating "Walking Wounded," 1996, the embarrassing "Temperamental," 1999).

The 'dance' turn finds foundation and, so to speak, "justification" when seen as a consequence of the severe health problems that had affected Ben in the early '90s: aware of the risk undertaken, the musician deliberately adopted a "get loose" philosophy. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be explained how only a few years earlier, at the end of '89, the duo had actually shut the door on producer Tommy Lipuma’s proposal to record an "all American" album. Closed in that peculiar musical purism all 'English'—the same one that loves musical contamination but knows the step is short from citing to emulating—the two would take some time to grasp the genius of Lipuma's intuition: lending Ben's agile melodic writing and Tracey’s precious vocal cords to a hyper-production project worthy of Steely Dan. And indeed—once the reserve was lifted—the intuition would give life to "The Language Of Life" (1990), an extraordinary compendium of blending and refined pop songs, with almost disarming formal impeccability and compositional complexity when compared to the musical landscape of their contemporaries. Never had EBTG dared so much, never again reaching such heights. Suffice it to say that the moving trumpet of Stan Getz in the concluding "The Road" is just an appetizer at a banquet offering much juicier courses: from the debut of "Driving"—one of the best pop songs of the decade (also a victim of a brutal remix)—to the rising rhythm of "Letting Love Go," from the delicate ballad of "Meet Me In The Morning" to the bluesy piano (Greg Phillinganes…) of the title track, the album is a continuous crossing of citations from the best of American “all time” cultured music. The questionable lyrical content of "Me And Bobby D." (a sarcastic critique of Dylan and Beat Generation philosophy) or even the preachy title track definitely takes a back seat to the fine craftsmanship of the sound and the interpretation of the songs, where Tracey’s voice seems to melt, an inimitable instrument of a superb orchestra.

"Take Me" by Womack and Womack, "Imagining America," the keyboard play of "Get Back Together," and the exhilarating horns of "My Baby Don't Love Me" close the circle of an overly-arranged, clean, utterly engaging, and unique album, yet another happy demonstration that sometimes the best choices come to artists from unexpected paths. Class.