Fine Young Cannibals
The Raw & The Cooked

THE REVIEW

There is a small treasure chest buried at the bottom of the '80s. It was 1988, the Bush Sr. era, and every day stores were flooded with tapes of Tracy Chapman and Prince, while the more alternative crowd went wild for Sonic Youth and R.E.M. The Gulf War hadn't arrived yet and Roger Rabbit seemed unbeatable, forget Shrek. One day, the new single by Fine Young Cannibals was played on the radio, a super-trio from Birmingham consisting of the former English Beat members Andy Cox (guitar) and David Steele (bass and keyboards) and the charismatic vocal-jazzer Roland Gift. It was called “She Drives Me Crazy”, a "little song" that you may not remember by the title but certainly by that unmistakable, irresistible syncopated rhythm, the electronic drums, and the distorted funky guitar riffs. And that voice, unique, sexy, and utterly normal, intense yet unpretentious.

I started going crazy for that song, for the charming video that Cecchetto (that rascal) promoted every day, and I decided to take the big step. I bought the first CD of my life. It had a perfect sound, and it said it was made in West Germany. Well, it was a great, unconscious choice. The FYC were a small yet active project that with their first album (“Fine Young Cannibals,” 1985) and the superb single “Johnny Come Home” had already showcased the admirable features of their sound, a background of white-soul enriched by well-crafted dance-rock and a marked sense for melody. With the second album, “The Raw & The Cooked,” they made what Rolling Stone called "the decisive leap." Once they achieved the perfect synthesis between Cox and Steele's ska-rock-dancehall soul and Gift's jazz-swinging vein (he came from an R'n'B band, where he was also a saxophonist), they created a wonderful family album. The FYC express a perfect and stable sense of lightness in composing pop diamonds to be set into any kind of composition. From the joyous soul-mod of “Good Thing” to the reflective and sultry “I’m Not The Man I Used To Be”, from the retro-Motown of “Tell Me What” (with powerful gospel choirs and organ reminiscent of Percy Sledge) we are increasingly surprised by the compactness of an album we assumed was full of fillers only meant to support the aforementioned hit single. On the contrary, the ten tracks were crafted with love and respect for music, its world, its faithful followers. Not only does it manage to maintain high standards of a chart-topping album, but it also elevates it to a small pop masterpiece, with never banal lyrics that take advantage of the big visibility of the moment to give us real messages, complaining about the society of the time (“I’m Not Satisfied”), launching heartfelt encouragements (“Don’t Let It Get You Down”) or wise advice (in “Don’t Look Back”, with splendid jangle-pop guitars and emotional vocal rhythms by Roland, who tries to bring Joe Strummer and Cyndi Lauper together). The sound inventions are of the highest level, Gift seems to enjoy experimenting with new timbres and tonal ventures from track to track, going from falsettos to descents like an experienced crooner as in the '50s pastiche of the wonderful abandonment story “As Hard As It Is.” Accompanying him is a very personal sound, happy but with a subtle vein of sarcasm, which ends up simply becoming "the Fine Young Cannibals sound": delicate yet sharp arrangements, a revival of soul and classic rock, namely the roots of popular (pop) music respectively black and white, fused together in a fresh and modern concentrate, mindful of the new wave revolutions and the emerging house music, with a predisposition to very sensitive, syncopated tracks full of groove and catchiness.

The effort to unite pop history in a relatively disadvantaged album destined to be snubbed by those already busy worshiping U2 or Smiths (to make two illustrious examples) does not deter the band from creating a great, humble work. They are simple music enthusiasts who made us dance, the carefree bunch that still wanted “something more.” But it was one of those albums that, while aging with difficulty (guys, it was that time period) manages to gain greater value as time goes by. Like a book we were given as kids, loved only for its beautiful illustrations, and then when we're older we discover it also contained an important, beautiful story that we couldn't appreciate back then. And who knew at the time that the fantastic “Ever Fallen In Love” was a transformed (and equally delightful) tribute to the Buzzcocks??