Pale Fountains
Pacific Street

London 1991

A fire devastates the Star Street Studio with the masters of what was supposed to become Shack's second album inside. The only recording that survived the flames, a DAT copy, is in the hands of Chris Allison who produced it all. Unfortunately, the tape gets forgotten in a rental car by him during a trip to the United States. And it's miraculously found a few months later in New Mexico. Meanwhile, the Ghetto Recordings Company shuts down and the album will never see the light of day. At least until October 1995 when Marina Records, a small German label, releases "Waterpistol".
Listen to that untimely gem. They could have been (among) the first in that circus called britpop. Probably among the most influential. For the writer, undoubtedly the best. Just like ten years before, after all...

Liverpool (and where else) 1982

Virgin signs a group of spirited lads with a single released for Les Disques du Crépuscule, a Belgian label with Tuxedomoon and Josef K in their catalog (just like that). Pale Fountains is the name of the band. Michael Head, a highly talented songwriter, is their leader.
Legend has it that Richard Branson's label writes checks for 150,000 pounds as an advance for their performances. What is certain is that a good part of that advance will end up in the pockets of some pusher and the coffers of more than one pub.
After another couple of singles that barely see the charts, "Pacific Street" finally comes out on February 27, 1984.
Behind the vaguely "Smithsian" cover (a soldier's photo turned yellow and heavily packaged) lies a treasure chest of gems that, although in line with the sixties moods of that beautiful pop of those years, reveals unexpected loves. And so, in addition to the usual suspects (Beatles and Stones, Beach Boys, Byrds), here and there among the grooves appear Burt Bacharach, Jobim, and especially the Love of Arthur Lee.
It's the first two tracks, "Reach" and "Something on my Mind" (here presented differently from the debut single), that invoke the Californians. The jingle-jangle of guitars and the trumpet (Andy Diagram, whom we will find years later with James and Mr. Dave Thomas' Two Pale Boys) in the foreground in a pop fest that's as pop as can be. Pop (perfect) found again in "You'll Start a War" (here we are in Liverpool) and "Abergale Next Time" (old Burt is still smiling today) and you can't understand why they didn't sell records in droves.
But it's in the more ethereal moments that our guys truly excel. "Southbound Excursion", again Bacharach, the little flute (!), Dionne Warwick looking... and "Crazier", still the flute, something that sounds like a kalimba, Brazil, the melody stutters, then restarts and stutters again. Delightful.
And, last but blissfully among the first, the most precious gem, "Unless". A kind of bossa nova, leaden and suspended, the trumpet epically in the background and good old Mick telling us, of course, about a farewell.
"Pacific Street" will receive lavish praise. But sales won't cover expenses. Nonetheless, Virgin has them record a second album. Equally beautiful, certainly more mature, but it will sell even less. Then it's time to break ranks.
The Head brothers will resume as Shack. Exactly.
Michael will fall many times, struck by depression and various addictions. He will always rise again. Often thanks to music. Arthur Lee's call, taking him along on tour, is one of many resurrections... and a circle that closes.