GOD'S ON HIS LUNCHBREAK (Please Call Back)
RADIANT FUTURE RFVP007CD
UK RELEASE: MAY 2006
ORDER NOW!
'One of the greatest British songwriters of recent years is back in town...' Dave Thompson / Goldmine
POP MUSIC FOR GROWN-UPS
After making a full recovery from a fatal attack of Chinese bird flu, composer/bassist/producer Martin Gordon continues his adventures in pop wonderland with his third solo offering in as many years. (Three). A former member of US band Sparks, he later formed Jet and Radio Stars before embarking on a long period as record producer and sideman to an endless array of stars, nonentities and idiots (see list below which includes the Rolling Stones, George Michael, Kylie Minogue, the Tiger Lillies, Blur, Sezen Aksu, Primal Scream and Asha Bhosle). But enough of that, he decided recently, and began to concentrate upon his own creations once more. His first solo release (The Baboon in the Basement/2003) gained ecstatic reviews, the second (The Joy of More Hogwash/2004) gained more ecstatic reviews and major airplay, even in the supposedly indie-proof USA. Who knows what the fates have in store for this, the corybantic third part of the so-called Mammal Trilogy? Not he.
Assisted by singer Pelle Almgren from Stockholm (apparently it is in Sweden), Chris Townson on drums (he depped for Keith Moon in the Who, once upon a time) and boy wonder Enrico Antico making his debut on guitar on guitar and terminal vowels, it's service as normal for our happy-go-lucky purveyors of why-oh-why-must-we-fling-this-filth-at-our-pop-kids.
During a consideration of the enduring oddities of life in this topsy-turvy world, Gordon touches upon foreign holidays and cargo cults who worship Queen Elizabeth's consort Prince Phillip as a god, warns against relaxation of the thinking laws in the UK; he considers age as a cricketing metaphor, he obfuscates the delicate matter of gay smoking, he marvels at miracle babies from Ghana and he scarfs down fast food whilst scoffing at fat people; he wonders that the British are never foreigners and muses over the lack of interest currently shown by God in anything at all. There are also two covers, one of the evergreen 'Captain of the Pinafore', from Gilbert & Sullivan's (that's &, please note, not O') operetta HMS Pinafore; the other is Paul and Linda McCartney's treatise on moles, 'Too Many People'.
Mindful that swimming through his musical paddling pool are such disparate role models as Noel Coward, Todd Rundgren, Gilbert & Sullivan, the Beatles and Frank Zappa, Gordon continues to plough the same pop furrow as on Baboon and Hogwash. Critics called it 'pop music for grown-ups', and that description seems to do the job admirably. Those who wigged out to his last efforts, and there were many, will be able to continue their out-wigging activities to this one. Those who didn't, won't, of course but - well, there we are. Sometimes you can't win 'em all. Sometime you can't win any of 'em.
A unique selling point that makes this sophisticated audio item even more desirable to the credulous is the inclusion of an authenticated sliver of the True Cross with each of the first 250,00 copies.
SONGS
1 FICKLE
I can't decide whether I should make my mind up or not... What do you think? An up-tempo debate about the delights or otherwise of a non-specific paramour.
2 ALL DAY THINKING
It's all very well just changing the British thinking laws willy-nilly but consider the outcome, for heaven's sake! What about the traditional suspicion of intellectuals, anyway? Long live the working classes with their ferrets, handkerchieves used as sunhats, steak and kidney pies and newspapers with lots of pictures in them. A dollop of Small Faces-style rumpty-tumpty goes a long way.
3 MIRACLE BABY
Brought to you courtesy of the Blessed Order of the Bleeding Cheese Sandwich of the Holy Virgin (Accra branch). Sign here, Bob's yer uncle, bish bash bosh, here's yer kid. Archetypal riffs are brought out of the closet in this jangly rock-thing.
4 A PORTION OF PARADISE
A trip to warmer climes provokes a minor outbreak of xenophobia. What ARE all these people doing here, anyway? Are you calling me a cargo cult, mate? An uptempo verse devolves into a refreshing waltz by the time the chorus comes around.
5 BAD LIGHT STOPS PLAY
As the light fades and night draws in, our thoughts turn unbidden to the long slow walk back to the pavilion... This Beatles-esque ballad takes a darker turn as the end draws nigh. Appropriately enough, I suppose.
6 THE CAPTAIN OF THE PINAFORE
have never recorded this song before. What, never? No, never. What, NEVER? Well, hardly ever... Legendary, scintillating period piece from the operetta HMS Pinafore.
HOW AM I DOING SO FAR?
Channelling the spirit of music hall? You're having a baby, right? (Tedious Cockney rhyming slang interpolation by anally-retentive editor - baby giraffe / laugh). Life on the Streets has never been up to much, and still ain't. You'll have to speak up, love, I can't hear yer... where are yer..? and so forth.
HERE COMES THE FAMILY
The joys of unilateral action and visits from the nearest and dearest. A beer-drinking waltz, which should ease the pain somewhat...
GIMME FOOD
If I don't get some calories, I'm gonna come unglued. Quick, sue someone. Or get some stretch pants. A light-hearted look at the idiosyncrasy of some consumers of fast food and death.
GOD IS ON HIS LUNCHBREAK
He must be. He's taken his eye off the ball, that much is clear. He's probably watching Big Brother. A soulful, singalong ode to the End of Time.
TOO MANY PEOPLE
Paul McCartney's infamous tirade against the nocturnal mole, unwarranted but dead catchy. Shambling rockist rendition of one of his coolest tunes from Ram, his second solo album.
THE END OF THE LINE
What have the Huns, Micks, Krauts, wops, dagos, spics, frogs, Polaks, etc. etc. ever done for us, you tell me that..... Man the barricades and defences, corral the lunatics and lock the asylum door after they have all escaped. Jolly rumpty-tumpty again.
FAGS
Horrible habit, ought to be banned. In fact IS banned, in the Old Testament and public spaces. And Texas, I think. Veers somewhat unpredictably between System Of A Down style neurosis and something like Tony Bennett. Unfortunately, the band all seem to get rather ill by the end of the piece.