I kicked off a new video channel in June where I discuss some of the favorites in my collection; talk about bands that are a bit under the radar that I think deserve some attention (Mr. Gnome definitely is among those artists); and every now and again, something new I've added.
In this outing, I am discussing a "box set" ordered from Mr. Gnome in 2011. This Cleveland-based band is still active, and released a new album in 2018. This box set contained all available material they had released at the time of purchase, and is hand-constructed by the band's vocalist. She continues to provide variations of these hand-crafted box sets as well as some fantastic art, t-shirts, and of course music. Check out their site here: Mr. Gnome (Official Website)
Thirty-Eight Years of waiting to review this album; an LP, a cassette, a compact disc, that I only ever manipulated to hear that song. I probably pawned or traded that compact disc at least a half-dozen times; whenever needs exceeded novelty. This weekend however, I decided to sit down with the lads from Liverpool and give their debut album a proper listen.
Let's begin with the liner notes and packaging. It's no less an enigma to me now than it was to my 12 y.o. self. Cryptic, first-person (Frankie?) stream of consciousness told in a handful of paragraphs invoking a question about morality and then bleeding that into the roster of artists that built '... The Pleasuredome'. With lessons learned from the previous decade, these darlings of the world then glow when bemusing us with a tale about how horrid their fans are; and then leave us with allegories about Caligula, croquet, and 'Outland'. This was probably precious to their fans in the 80s, a new rebellion against society's intolerance. Let's be crystal clear - FGTH were paying attention when the Sex Pistols did naughty things. The liner notes also dare to give us a peek into the minds of each member; which flows like the tunnel part of the boat ride on Wonka's chocolate river. Our path begins with humility; I thought to myself, "Ok - we're going to get real now, and shed the pretense..." But this is where the flashing lights and sinister music kicks in, and we're told, "people keep telling me that I'm their favourite"... ummm, did I just stumble upon the entire reality that is Donald Trump? Did he build his entire fantasy world based on Frankie Goes To Hollywood liner notes? He continues, listing for us, all of the things he doesn't care about, and concluding with, "I just have some nice clothes". Mark O'Toole tells us immediately that he lies about everything, and pulls the veil from the mystery meaning of "Relax". Holly Johnson shares that people like things, he may or may not like the same things, and no one has a right to tell him what he can like. Our final provocateur doesn't care about much, Bryan Ferry included and people respect him for that. Brilliant. Equally stunning had they said nothing at all and offered us 6 blank pages. But, alas, we must talk about the last page, where our song list exists. For whatever reason, let's play devil's advocate and call it the infancy of compact discs; we get phrases such as, "COMPACT DISC MASTERING ORDER", and "SMPTE time code". Each track is represented by the song title and subtitle, and a Start Time and End Time. Maybe manufacturers were uncertain how we would use CDs - maybe we'd play them like a cassette? Inexplicably, Track 1 begins at 2:13.26 - well, that's just not right?! Is there a track 0? Nope. If these track times are correct, the album manages to present 72 1/2 minutes of music, a feat that should have been boasted about, but wasn't. In fact, no one would brag about it until Metallica's, '... And Justice For All'. The publishers also felt it necessary to share Sampling Rate, Pre-Emphasis and Maximum Peak. "No, we are not done." Beneath the track list is a panel elucidating the defects on the disc?! "Unwanted clicks" ... "Not give cause for concern" and provides the exact disc times of said clicks. This is magnificent. A biography, auto biography, bibliography, table of contents, index, and appendix. Already, the $1.99 I paid for this copy has succeeded where my 8th Grade English class failed.
In the year previous to '... Pleasuredome's' release, FGTH recorded "Relax" as a single for ZTT Records. In another scenario befitting of the 70s, the salacious cover art and snippet of lyrics resulted in the single being removed live on air from the BBC Radio 1's broadcast. The BBC promptly banned the single, and Europe as a whole could not throw enough money at the band. Awards and nominations began to rain upon the group, and the prescriptions for egomania and arrogance were filled. If narcissism and self-promotion go hand-in-hand, Frankie pioneered a phenomenon that bridged generations and cultures. Long, long before Sean John, or Weezy; before Wham! asked us to "Choose Life", Frankie was telling us to, "Relax" - and everyone from grand-mama, to Ethiopian refugees, to baby whatzit were pimping a wave of merchandise associated with a song about fellatio, and for those in the know, homosexual fellatio. My brain can't fathom the intensity of the snickering Frankie must have been doing on his way to the bank. In an age of The Iron Lady and Reaganomics - this was popular culture.
Should we discuss the music? Have I not given you enough reason to throw your own $1.99 it's way? Fine, let's do this.
With liner notes so saturated with self-indulgence and snarkiness, I imagine there are those who will say that the music on this album is an extension of that attitude, while others will say, attitude is fine but I also want to enjoy what I am listening to. We are all familiar with Sid Vicious doing, "My Way"... is it iconic because Sid really showed us his strengths while giving us something to think about, or is it's reverence steadfast because that debauched young man hated by society pissed all over something representing the oppressive generation? This is my internal debate with 'Welcome To The Pleasuredome'. I think for many, thumbing one's nose at standards is enough, and I don't have an opinion on this. For my personal tastes, I need to enjoy the music that accompanies the joke, otherwise, I don't care to hear the punchline. It's with this in mind, that I can offer uniform thoughts on '... Pleasuredome', regardless if the album is meant at times to be irascible or if FGTH served us it's best shit sandwich.
I probably don't need to describe the sounds of FGTH; but perhaps "Relax" hasn't taken residence in the recesses of your brain as it has for anyone 10 years of age or older in 1983; you're also probably straight, and thinks nostalgia is a waste of time. You likely were born in an era when Music Television and Video Hits meant everything but what the name suggests. So for you, person that is definitely not reading this review, Frankie Goes To Hollywood is often classified as new wave, synthpop, or eurodance. Equal parts Duran Duran and Thompson Twins, with moments akin to Oingo Boingo and Information Society. They employ sweeping synths that sound like they belong in Blade Runner; thick and precise bass rhythms; bursts of electric guitar snarls; a healthy databank of political sampling; and cascading keyboards that fuel the emotional tug of war. If you are willing to brave the deep album dive past "Two Tribes", the striking realization that Frankie Goes To Hollywood is capable of crafting a hard rock song comes into focus; a scenario that would repeat itself a decade later by Gloucestershire band, EMF, who were paying as much attention to Frankie as Frankie was paying to The Pistols.
In Frankie's mind, they are embroiled in a maso-sadistic ren faire a la 'A Clockwork Orange', and in an effort to perpetuate a Kubrick-esque world, '... Pleasuredome' is at it's surface, violent, sexual, political, and an expose on a fucked world of classism and manipulation. Maybe that's all it is. My personal take on 'Welcome To The Pleasuredome' is that it possesses a duality, and the band attempted to construct a linear narrative of Man goes to club, man finds lust and burns bright in the fire of that passion and tumult, the man inwardly reflects, the man desires love, bang.
I remain committed to this narrative, despite the little hiccup that happens right around the end of track 7, "Fury". An abrupt dialogue leads us into a "Born To Run"; yes, that "Born To Run". After the three seconds transgress where you are impressed at the musical chops of FGTH, you are willing to sell your soul to satan for the momentary power to hurl something into the sun. You truly want to die. If Google existed in 1984, the top search would have been: "how to deface your Pleasuredome record so that it skips Born To Run". The inclusion of this cover is sarcasm, surely? I'd like to reassure you and say, "it's a momentary lapse of judgment, and our conceptual paths resume", but sadly, I cannot. Our road out of New Jersey has a layover at a calypso bar called, "San Jose". This detour is one that's so bad, you'd be forgiven if you jumped from the moving car in which this song is playing. Whatever your personal take on '... Pleasuredome', after "Two Tribes", Frankie has lost it's bite; it's retreated back into the club where it's safe amongst it's peers, and it's too busy dancing to engage with you. I am by no means suggesting that '... Pleasuredome' isn't worth the journey past "Two Tribes", it indeed is, and I think if you are willing to invest yourself in the well-being of Frankie, you will find a haunting and beautiful collection of tracks following "San Jose".
Though "Born To Run" is a bewildering cover choice, FGTH do demonstrate their ability to effectively cover the powerful Edwin Starr song, "War" as a lead in to "Two Tribes". This provocative pairing of songs would easily be the most celebrated part of any album, however, on '... Pleasuredome', we are introduced to Frankie's world via the title track and "Relax". Not enough can be said about "Relax" - it's not dancing around it's intent (no pun intended). Bronski Beat was willing to flirt with suggestions of homosexuality in their videos and lyrics, FGTH simply asked you to come and made a video about it in case there was any confusion. Where "Relax" is a full-on orgasm, "Welcome To The Pleasuredome" is a slow-burn. Chirping birds, lilting flutes, and subdued instrumentation; it's a full two-and-a-half minutes before Holly Johnson enters as ringmaster, and sets the tone for what will follow. He vocally stabs with precision, as a tribal "Hoo Haw" suggests that whatever follows is going to be taboo. Five minutes in to the nearly 14 minute title track, the song takes structure and it's suggested that you are finally entering in to this world. However, Frankie is not quite ready for the exchange to end, he demands that you "Don't Stop", and he ushers you back into the center ring of this sexual circus. He breaks often, synths cry in ecstasy, acoustic guitars give you moments of pause for reflection, but the foreplay is unyielding. Over and over, a promise of finish seems so close, but "Welcome To The Pleasuredome" teases; building upon itself with female choruses, Middle Eastern strings, and increasing percussion. By the time you reached the thirteen minute-forty second finish, you welcome the release that "Relax" will offer. Holly Johnson is so pleased with himself in having brought you this far, his mocking laughter ushers you to the full course. I am incapable of believing this was not an intentional coupling of songs, FGTH knew precisely what they were creating. "Tag" is less than a minute long and furthers the visuals perpetuated by the '... Pleasuredome' narrative. Paired with "Fury", these act beautifully as a segue from the frenetic world of sex and violence into a deeper, reflective Frankie. Instead, we are painfully subjected to "Born To Run" and "San Jose". "Wish The Lads Were Here" embodies the sound of FGTH, and is a sufficient track that relies heavily on it's funk-inspired bass lines, and harmonized vocals. Perhaps the most striking track on the album is "The Ballad of 32". Without any context to it's meaning, I have to rely on the emotions it evokes. It seems mournful, as an electric guitar wails into the void, while an acoustic guitar provides the song's rhythm. My mind sees Sonny Crockett driving his Ferrari through the early morning streets of Miami after a rain shower. The vocals are only the sounds of passion, which should flow into "Krisco Kisses" fluidly, but the contrast between these two songs is jarring. Tribal drums, driving guitars, and a chorus of shouts are only out-paced by Holly Johnson's vocal delivery. It's a fine track for this album, but it's location in the mix is disruptive, and would have been best paired with "Wish The Lads...". The next song could have easily been a very successful single, and maybe would have provided the public a broader view of the band's capabilities. "Black Night White Light" may be a quintessential 80s song with it's xylophone and slowly pulsing bass, it's most sinister in it's construction. Frankie calls out "the pleasure seekers", and leads a chorus of religious hypocrisy, while an angelic voice sings "black night white light". This track is on par with Duran Duran's "Save A Prayer" in it's haunting delivery. If I had never heard "Relax" or "Welcome To The Pleasuredome", I may have bought this album on the strength of "Black Night" alone. "The Only Star In Heaven" is a return to the Frankie formula of thick bass hits, symphonies of synth, and simple percussion. Following the previous track, the tone here feels like an awakening, filled with the light and spirit, offering a promise of true love. "The Only Star In Heaven" is the perfect introduction to the single, "Power Of Love" at the close of the album. It's lush, sweeping synths are beautifully paired with Holly Johnson's vocals. It proves that FGTH is capable of power-pop greatness, while the video reminds us that Frankie won't comply. "Bang" ends the album, a roughly one-minute exit from the "... Pleasuredome". It's crashing cymbals, and near-"glory to god"-keyboard, build in to a cacophony, and then Frankie tells us, "No More".
There's so much I could create in my head regarding these final four songs starting with "Black Night White Light" and ending with "Bang". The religious tones, paired with the religious visuals are as equally measured as the album's introductory title track and "Relax". What's less clear to me as the listener, is whether I am trying to build some narrative from that and tie the whole album up in into a provocative and cynical concept album with some ill-fitting bits in the middle; or if FGTH were a couple of proud gay men, a couple of straight men in a band pushing the buttons that they had learned from the bands before them, while also marketing themselves into a part of popular culture. I think the world may remember FGTH as the latter... certainly, the only quality our collapsed Music Empires (MTV and VH-1) can recall of Frankie, is that they were a one-hit wonder. Even if "Relax" had been their only charted single, (it wasn't), I'd hardly call a band that was a brand all over the world as a one and done. That brand was not simply a band shirt; I would suggest that 85% of the population that wore a RELAX shirt didn't even know it was related to FGTH, or what FGTH even was. Thankfully, I am a music-lover, and if you are like me, I hope you won't simply take my word or anyone else's word for it about a particular album. If you are curious, dive in, and go to the bottom of the pool. If you only know that one single and liked it; chances are good that song was selected by the label to be the single. That same album may hold a surprise. In this prolonged return to '... The Pleasuredome', my bombshells were the mess of "Born To Run" and the absolute perfection of "Black Night...". Being re-introduced to this song after many, too many, years for this review, was inspiring and I am going to add it to some playlists I frequent.
After multiple passes through the album this weekend, I am willing to hit on 16, and set up camp in the FGTH was substantial, smart, and provocative. "Relax", as a brand, may detract from the band's legitimacy, and certainly, FGTH brought the entire bag of tricks from the previous decade of music that pushed all the buttons, all at once, as loud as they fucking could. If that was all it was for FGTH, why then be so open about their sexuality when other bands were just starting to be suggestive about the subject. There's a few things I think I know for certain: whether intended or not, FGTH kicked-open a closed door to a club where they only shared the dancefloor with Elton John for far too many years. I also know that '... Pleasuredome' has much more than it's singles to offer, and there is a depth in those outlying tracks showcasing more than the spectacle of the band found in their liner note quotes, or the simulated homosexual orgy a la the banned "Relax" video. My point being, FGTH is a good band, and this record, despite it's inconsistencies, is worth a full listen. It's because of this miscue in song selection and song order, that I needed convincing if this album was conceptual, and I needed to determine if my appreciation of the album was contingent of that belief. I've decided that even if I am full up my own ass with my theory, this is still an album that deserves to be heard. The first LP is what we are all familiar with, it's our collective memory of FGTH. The second LP is likely the one that looks unplayed in that used copy of 'Welcome To The Pleasuredome' you found in the $4 LP bin. I've found copies that have two LP2s and no LP1s - that's someone who wanted to be absolutely certain they would never hear FGTH's "Born To Run" again, not even by accident. It's on Side B of that second LP that FGTH showcases their talents and surpass the theater. I've enjoyed this visit to '... The Pleasuredome' enough that I am going to seek out 'Liverpool'; the band's sophomore release and final full length album. Will it suggest a tamer Frankie; will it showcase more "Black Night..." maturity, or will I find in it's tracks the recipe of hemlock leaves that ushered Frankie's demise?
