The Associates
Sulk

THE REVIEW

Two Scotsmen with rather "charmant" biographical backgrounds (one a wandering singer, going as far as a mock marriage just to linger in New Orleans to grasp the secrets of soul singers, the other a scholar and practitioner of almost every gadget that produced music; together in their homeland, doing cabaret in the "Mental Torture," a group whose name was a complete paradox) great enthusiasts of soundtracks, '50s clothing, unrestricted sex, and not exactly legal substances... Globally eccentric and incredibly refined: there's enough here to make Alan Rankine and Billy MacKenzie, aka "The Associates," quite appealing.

But naturally, there is more: talent, in inventing melodies that astonish with ingenuity and strike to the point of being etched in the mind, talent in singing them with deep sensitivity and imagery that is sometimes raw, sometimes abstract, in other occasions just bizarre but always far from banalities and clichés, even though they deal "only" with feelings. This "Sulk", released in June '82 after a barrage of singles (recorded on Sunday nights to save costs and outsmart the record company of the moment) and a first LP that was somewhat run-of-the-mill, indeed contains simply extraordinary songs. Yes... "Pop Songs"... Which was what they played (alongside companions supporting the rhythm section and just a few choruses) with the likes of the White Duke and Roxy Music providing just the framework while everything else, from the bricks to the smallest decorative detail, was their thought; and specifically, meticulous attention to detail ("...When we recorded, we never had enough time or tracks...") and one of the most memorable male voices ever, are other distinctive features of the "trademark."

And so, let's head to "Top of the Pop": ...."No": a haunting slow motion, so intense it conveys an almost physical sense of frost; "Bapdelabap": rolling rhythm (here, as the bizarre experimenters they were, the drums consist solely of snares and no toms) and a melody that flutters like a classical dancer only to then confound everyone in the chorus; "Club Country": an elegant disco-rock with MacKenzie scaling impossible tonal leaps; "Skipping", another scintillating invitation to dance with that "Skip...Skip...Skipping" at the end sounding like the flight of a crazed kite...

Perfect album? The answer is implicitly negative as the strengths of their language paradoxically also represent its limits when the pathos of McKenzie's incredible talents becomes overly melodramatic (particularly "Party Fears Two", although splendid in the instrumental realm) and the richness of the arrangements overflows into an overabundance of overdubs and studio effects. Some uncertainties (beginning and ending with two instrumentals that feel somewhat lackluster) and rhythm (often deferred to drum machines) result in a generally monotonous whole, further preventing "Sulk" as a whole from being considered one of the great masterpieces. Nevertheless, as mentioned, the extraordinary value of certain tracks remains, placing these two dandies in the exclusive circle of those who truly knew how to write and interpret songs in the most intelligent and complete sense of the term.