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Rating: The English underclass of the late Eighties manages to no longer be a "voice without an echo." In Italy, there was Lotta Continua, Parco Lambro, the Area... and I don't know if this helped or not the unfolding of our own militancy. In England, they are different, we are different, we could never identify with a gentleman of the working class. It’s a whole different situation, another mood, one might say.
The rogue Ryder brothers formed the Happy Mondays in 1981, but we mustn't forget that monkey Bez on percussion...
The disco is an alienating place, techno emerges with the fathers of the genre, and New Order and similar bands fuel the new wave/synth pop. Meanwhile, those most seduced by the Sixties psychedelic revival of the Madchester wave find their anchors in Stone Roses and Happy Mondays.
"Bummed" from 1988 is perhaps the "perfect" work. They had already announced it with "Squirrel And G-Man Twenty Four Hour Party People Plastic Face Carnt Smile." Then, with the nineties, we find the funky cocktail of "Kinky Afro," the whirlwinds of "Step On," "Hallelujah" and the "chemical" jingle jangle of "Loose Fit."
"Mad Cyril" and "Wrote For Luck" represent the boom and perhaps the zenith of the combo. Here is summarized all the lyricism, the story of what I said before. An essential photograph of the period, a paradise of the first raves. The album title means depressed, emblematic of which is the cover, consecrating themselves as banners of youth malaise. That mad mind of Shawn Ryder pours all his personality into the lyrics and his typical way of singing... a "synthetic" nonchalance in torments and ecstatic sensations. He said, "We are all children of Thatcher." Naturally, they contest the old national mummies...
The notes and arpeggios obscured by the trance equate to a strobe. "Country Song" and "Moving In With" are the emblems of Madchesterian dance. It all seems unstable, elusive, artificial, surreal. They perform obsessive progressions in a completely estranging ambient. "Brain Dead" is the pleasure of entering the tunnel of the sweet synths of "Temptation."
"Lazyitis" is like staring at water and glimpsing a figure slowly forming. The Beatles and the sitars that reappear with the pleasure of being garnished by Ryder's extravagant declamations.
A natural oasis of ethereal sounds immersed in a colorful nebula.
Tracklist and Lyrics
05 Performance (04:00)
One day he was admiring his reflection
in his favorite mirror
When he realised all too clearly
what a freakin' old beasty man he was
Who is? you is, you is now son
I took to hiding, I took to hiding
I took to hiding, hiding strange things
I took to dribbling, we took to dribbing down my front
I starting running, I starting running on the spot
Picture, picture, now i'm gonna eat your
Picture, picture, now i'm gonna eat ya
We're all food, your cake
We're all the food, your weirdos' cream
Quick quick, fast fast, quick quick, fast fast
I took to dribbling, I took to dribbing down my front
You took to hiding, you took to hiding strange things
One day she was touching her reflection
in her favorite mirror
when she relised all to clearly
what a freakin' old weirdo she was
Who was? She was, she is...
fast fast, quick quick, quick quick, fast fast
She took to hiding, she took to hiding strange things
I took to dribbling, I took to dribbing down my front
07 Wrote For Luck (06:02)
Happy Mondays -
"Wrote For Luck"
[ from the album "Bummed" (1988) ]
Lyrics
I wrote for luck
They sent me you
I sent for juice
You gave me poison
I order a line
You form a queue
Try anything hard
Is there anything else you can do
Well not much
I know, I've been trained
I can sit and stand
And beg and roll over
I don't read
I just guess
There's more than one sign
But it's getting less
And you were wet
But you had a dryer
You used to speak the truth
But now you're liar
You used to speak the truth
But now you're clever
And I wrote for luck
And they sent me you
And I sent for juice
You gave me poison
I order a line
You form a queue
Try anything hard
Is there anything else you can do
And you were wet
But you had a dryer
You used to speak the truth
But now you're clever
You used to speak the truth
But now you're clever
And when it's hot
You start to melt
'Cos you're not made of cheese
You're made of chocolate
And when it's cold
You tend to crack
You keep on piling out
Not putting back
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