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Regrouping in the 'teens for 2012's The Age of Reason, and 2016's Climate of Fear, B-Movie were a going concern again, and have been an intermittent live presence ever since. Even with a successful reboot under their belts, the hunger to give the album-that-never-was a formal release never completely subsided. It took some legwork, but upon finally obtaining the rights to these aforementioned vintage recordings they've finally arrived under the umbrella of the ten-song Hidden Treasures. Despite a copious amount of New Romantic pigeonholing (both during and after their '80s halcyon era), B-Movie's nascent efforts in the studio revealed a quartet distinctly separate from the A Flock of Seagulls and Naked Eyes of the world, conceding much to the post-punk sphere, occasionally even wandering off further from the reservation than that. Case in point, would be Treasures' opening salvo, "Citizen Kane," has more in tandem with the Psych Furs and the Teardrop Explodes than say, Depeche Mode. Treasures... is bejeweled with no shortage of keyboards, rather moderation is the key watchword.
Further in, the going gets even better, with the driving "Marilyn Dream," and the lusciously melodic "Crowds" weaving in plenty of deftly crafted panache. Naturally, signature B-Movie numbers "Nowhere Girl" and "Remembrance Day" make an appearance, without necessarily dominating the proceedings. Treasures... bears no small semblance of diversity ensconced within it's ten proper cuts, and furthermore there's a phalanx of supplemental material to be had, entailing remixes and some abandoned but promising song ideas. B-Movie conjured up something aesthetically satisfying here without succumbing to the gratuitous extravagances their era was all too infamous for. Absolutely no small feat in my book. Hidden Treasures is available from Bandcamp, Rough Trade, and Amazon, and check out the band's official site here.
I've never been a huge mark for "singer-songwriters." I'm not sure how/why my wet noodle has a tendency to differentiate, scrutinize, and perhaps even prejudice me to steer towards "bands" as opposed to solo-endeavors. Ultimately several have broken through over the past few decades Laura Veirs, Mike Viola, Emm Gryner, and the dearly departed Nick Drake and Tommy Keene. Substantial as the catalogs of those go-it-alone troubadours are, I'm still naturally inclined to gravitate to full ensembles. In 2023, I enthusiastically added Chris Church to my informal roster of reliable singer/scribes, thanks to his then-current sleeper LP Radio Transient. Perhaps it was because that record not only bore the heft of a full-fledged 'combo,' so to speak, the compositions in themselves were resonant and thoroughly engaging.**Please do not reveal artist in comments!**
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The loss of Passions guitar-chitect Clive Timperley, whose crisp, crystalline chords colored so much of "I'm in Love's..." atmospheric persuasion, prior to the recording of Sanctuary, did virtually nothing to stifle the newly whittled down core-trio's ability to devise memorable, moving vistas. Not as allegiant to the noir post-punk air of relatively close sonic contemporaries Siouxsie and the Banshees, the Passions didn't make a play for mystique, so much as depth - and they were all the better for, even if long-term success eluded them. Sanctuary found them leaning into the nuances of the New Romantic movement with subtlety being the key watchword. No, this wasn't quite your little sister's garden-variety "pop" setup, The Passions were considerably more advanced than that, yet they boasted a melodic allure and sophistication that should have roped in devotees by the millions. Instead, they settled for a few thousand hangers-on, who were no doubt dazzled by plush, sublime propositions, "Small Talk," "Into Night," and Sanctuary's title piece. Though not necessarily flawless, you won't encounter any filler amongst these grooves, and it's almost startling to realize the band would be defunct in merely another year.
And speaking of defunct, so is the label that curated the first digital release of Sanctuary, Rubellan Remasters. In addition to a bright, resonant remastering of the album in question, this reissue boasts all surrounding singles and b-sides, as well as appending the contents of a four-song live ep that was bundled with certain original pressings of the LP. Rubellan's somewhat tortured and occasionally heartbreaking saga has recently been laid out in nearly six-hours worth of narratives on YouTube, which you're encouraged to partake in, that is if you have any interest in learning how the sausage is made before it's submitted to the marketplace. It's quite an enlightening tale.
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For the uninitiated, Richard Barone was the front-man and bona fide fulcrum for the aforementioned Bongos, a guitar-pop, mini-maelstrom based in Hoboken, NJ who circa the early '80s released a blush of inspired singles and eps, that were consistently critically lauded. As if 1983 wasn't an eventful year enough with the Bongos making a leap to a major label via the Numbers With Wings ep, Barone's creative juices were loaded for bear, so much so that a small body of songs were set aside from his meal primary ticket and dedicated to another endeavor Nuts and Bolts. His partner in rhyme, James Mastro had only jumped aboard the Bongos express midway through the band's career, but had already served as a backing guitarist on Richard Lloyd's excellent solo debut, 1979's Alchemy.
The premise for Nuts and Bolts was democratic with each singer/strummer compiling their respective songs on one side apiece of the record. Furthermore, it was a logical choice for Barone to put his six numbers here under a separate umbrella from the relatively rambunctious Bongos, given the more contemplative tenor of acoustic-enhanced pieces "Lost Like Me" and "I Threw a Falcon." Elsewhere on his side of this proposition, "I've Got a Secret" would have slotted in nicely with what the dB's were finagling with around the same time. As for the other side of the coin, Mastro's contributions are considerable, yielding the bouncy "In My Pocket" and the driving power-pop aplomb of "Jamais." If he wasn't already a consummate songwriter in his own right at this point, Mastro would in the near-future lend his talents to the likes of Marti Jones, Tim Lee (Windbreakers) and Jill Sobule, among other pursuits like the Health and Happiness Show whom I extoled about just a few months ago.
As for the more current release I mentioned, read on - although it entails music that's not particularly "current." 1985 was a good year, and if you were The Bongos it was even better. That’s when the release of the quartet’s first bona-fide album of unique material, Beat Hotel, landed on the heels of half a decade’s worth of lauded singles and eps (not to mention the crucial compilation thereof, Drums Along the Hudson). The overdue live document The Shroud of Touring captures them at the peak of their collective powers, churning out a generous amount of what was then newer material, yet still attacking the mic and their respective instruments hungry-as-all-get-out on established setlist faves “In the Congo,” “Telephoto Lens,” and their renown remake of T. Rex’s “Mambo Sun.” The Bongos wouldn’t be long for the world after this tour, but Shroud… stands as a compelling testament to their indigenous stripe of deftly crafted power pop that hasn’t traversed the Earth since. Ironically, it's seeing the light of day on the the revived Jem Records imprint, who were also responsible for the aforementioned Nuts and Bolts way back when. It's available this coming week on Amazon.Nuts and Bolts
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