Pop music
Rhythms divine
Marcus Berkmann
After the best and most over-rated books of the year, the best and most over- rated albums. It has not been a bad year for new rock records, and the few records that actually sold well appear to have done so Omarily on merit. REM's Out of Time (WEA) was their most consistent, tuneful and accessible recording to date and has accordingly revealed their worth to an audience rather wider than their previous `cult' following (students, rock critics, pre- senters of The Late Show et al.). Among other consistent sellers from earlier this year, Seal (Zr!') introduced a singer whose understated vocals and eclectic songwriting talent benefited hugely from Trevor Horn's subtle and imaginative production, while Eurythmics' Greatest Hits (RCA) deserves mention as a definitive record of one of the Eighties' supreme singles bands. MY favourite generic compilations also flour- ished before the current pre-Christmas lunacy. Rhythm Divine (Dino) was a quite sparkling collection of cheesy Seventies disco hits that obviates the need ever to record a party tape again; and The Sound of the Suburbs (Columbia) collected togeth- er all the punk and new wave hits that peo- ple actually liked — 'Ant Music', 'Echo Beach', 'Turning Japanese' and a host of great singles. (Beware, though, of Rhythm Divine 2, which has recently been released on the coat-tails of its immaculate forerun- ner and isn't a fraction as good.) There were also some excellent albums from that hardy but still derided breed, the sensitive American singer-songwriters. Marc Cohn sings about Elvis and motor cars and even has a beard, but the immacu- lately crafted piano-driven songs of Marc. Cohn (Atlantic) promised much. Jon] Mitchell too was on top form: her 17th album, Night Ride Home (Geffen), was her best since Hejira and very possibly one of the best 17th albums pop music has yet produced. In the end, though, it was the big star names which produced the year's biggest surprises, in that they produced some of the year's best albums. Simply Red's Stars (East West) was a work of entirely unex- pected maturity, with some marvellous songs, superb singing and virtually no sign of Mick Hucknall's once customary self" indulgence. And Dire Straits' On Every Street (Mercury) was, for me, the album of the year: a consummately professional, beautifully judged piece of work. Critics hate the band, more for what they repre- sent than anything they actually do, but Mark Knopfler has relaxed into his fame over the years, and this was an unobtrusive- ly excellent record — grown-up rock at its most proficient. And the most overrated albums? None could possibly surpass Elvis Costello 's Mighty Like the Rose (Warner Bros), which collected the usual batch of swooning breathless reviews but which, with its dense production and turgid arrangements, vas, all but unlistenable. As a Costello fan °I old, I sat through the din for hour after hour, desperately hoping that I'd identify something in there I might want to plaY, again, but after a couple of impassioned conversations with similar sufferers and a happy trawl through his back catalogue one Sunday afternoon, I finally had to conclude that the old beardie had finally lost it. Even a rambling self-indulgent mess like The King of America sounds positively concise compared to this latest disaster. Also strangely adored was the first album by Electronic (Factory), who as Barney Sumner of New Order and Johnny Marr o the Smiths made some of the most distinc- tive and durable British music of the Eight- ies. The single 'Get The Message' I thought Inspired, but the rest was staggeringly dull. The reviews were ecstatic. Even worse were the two double albums by Guns N' Roses, the American hard rock specialists whose general excesses have so far proved rather more entertaining than their records. Use Your Illusion I and Use Your Illusion II (Geffen) were amongst the most dismal recordings I have heard, but other critics loved them. Needless to say, both records have sold in quantities to teenage boys with severe hygiene problems. As for 1992, the omens are far brighter. New albums are on their way from Bryan Ferry and Leonard Cohen, and even Don- ald Fagen is apparently ready to release a follow-up to The Nightfly, produced by his Old Steely Dan chum, Walter Becker. Well, if you believe that. . . .
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