Flaming Pablum

'But From the Skin Out I'm ....'

Yes, I’m still banging on about the passing of Pete Shelley. Deal with it. Here's a bit I'd meant to mention in my last post on the subject of poor Pete's passing.

Possibly taking cues from where Bowie’s “Oh You Pretty Things Left Off,” Pete Shelley’s 1981 solo single “Homosapien” was a slyly-worded rebuke of prejudicial marginlisation, asserting basic commonality over staid preconceptions of sexual preference. It’s also a love song on par with Bronski Beat’s “Why?” but with a tone of unblinking defiance, as opposed to persecution. Pete is celebrating his difference here, not asking for clemency.

Also, being an avowed fan of the lore of mutation as documented in Marvel’s “X-Men” and the songs of Devo, I’ve always loved the line, “Homo Superior in my interior/But from the skin out I’m Homosapien, too.” That line got the song banned by the BBC, evidently. 

Beyond all that though, this single just fucking ROCKS. Between that chugging, synthesized bass line, those chiming guitars and Pete harmonizing with himself in the choruses, it's a perfectly realized slice of quintessential synth-pop with an edge that is fiendishly catchy. I was 14 years old when this record came out, so was thus too young to hear it played to any dance floor of its era, but I can't imagine anyone sitting still for it. 

It should be an anthem. Crank it accordingly and raise another glass to Pete. 

Goodbye, Pete Shelley

They arguably lacked the spittle-drenched fury of the Sex Pistols or the alleged political acumen of The Clash, but The Buzzcocks were, quite simply, the perfect band. They struck a precise balance between the adrenalized sprint of the purest punk rock and an always-melodic brand of shiny, candy-colored pop. In frontman/guitarist Pete Shelley, they had an adept songwriter who could effortlessly pen shrewdly non-gender-specific lyrics that were immediate, universal and astonishingly nuanced. Simultaneously sweet, pugnacious and irrepressibly catchy, the songs of the Buzzcocks were and will always remain nothing short of total genius.

Pete Shelley died today at 63. I first heard the Buzzcocks courtesy of their deceptively prurient single, “Orgasm Addict,” which prompted me to pick up their seminal (pardon the awful pun) compilation, Singles Going Steady and was instantly smitten by their sharp, funny and inimitable brand of rock ‘n’ roll. One of the most exciting live shows I’ve ever been lucky enough to witness was when the band reformed in 1989 and played the New Ritz on West 54th Street. When the Buzzcocks assumed the stage and burst straight into “Everybody’s Happy Nowadays,” that storied room -- formerly Studio 54 -– burst wide open in a veritable explosion of joy.

I went on to see them several more times, though tapered off in more recent years. Pete was starting to look a little worse for wear and seemed to be less enthused the last time I saw them play at Irving Plaza a few years back. I am saddened I will never get to see them perform again, and heartbroken that yet another musical hero whose songs have meant so much to me since I first heard them several decades ago has left us.

Pour one out for Pete. Go buy every Buzzcocks album you can get your undeserving hands on. Thank me later.

Please Please Please Don't Let the Rumor Be True

There are some heartbreaking rumors about Pete Shelley.

Idles

Hey all. It's another crazy-busy, bugfuck insane pre-holiday week at the office and on the home front. Lots going on, so not always enough time to post my usual brand of silly shit here. Lengthier, arguably more substantial content is coming, but in the short term, here's a clip of a band that would make the top of my "Favorite New Music of 2018" list, ... if I bother making one. They're IDLES from Bristol, England, and as you'll see, they're kinda bananas. Enjoy.