Tag Archives: The dB’s

Jul 08 2019
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CD, reissue, Skratchdisc, vinyl

Katrina and the Waves • Katrina and the Waves [An Appreciation] [LP]

[This review was first published 7/7/2010 on Skratchdisc]

Those of you who already know me can blow me. ’Cuz I know what you’re thinking: “I always knew he was a pop wimp.” Well, I don’t care what you say because I’ve always loved this band, even before they had that ubiquitous pop hit 25 years ago with “Walking on Sunshine,” so there.

If there ever was a band with a sound that epitomizes what I’d call summer rock ’n’ roll, this is it. Anchored by Kimberley Rew’s muscular-yet-tuneful guitar and Katrina Leskanich’s hard-edged vocals, KATRINA AND THE WAVES’ [eponymous release] shot the band to #1 all over the globe. And though there was no followup hit as big as “Sunshine,” the album had at least five (5!) tunes that could’ve should’ve been hits. The 1985 album, released on Capitol Records and somehow so hard to find on CD today, was made up of songs that first showed up on the band’s two Canadian releases on Attic, Walking On Sunshine* (1983) and Katrina And The Waves 2 (1984). Some were re-recorded, some were bolstered by more guitar, horns or whatever, but almost all of ’em were brilliant. “Do You Want Crying?”—I can’t believe this jangle rock power pop epic didn’t make it to the top. “Red Wine and Whisky,” another brilliant tune. Wanna slow it down some? Then try Katrina’s blue-eyed soul on “The Sun Won’t Shine.” And don’t even get me started on “Going Down to Liverpool,” which most people know from the Bangles’ first album (but which was written by Rew)! Of course, no album is perfect. There are a coupla tunes here that have some pretty silly lyrics, and I don’t mean “fun” silly but more like “kinda dumb, really,” such as “Machine Gun Smith,” but when it comes along with quality hard pop like “Que Te Quiero,” you should be willing to forgive a little.

If you wanna go back a ways, those two Attic LPs are available separately on CGB (a tiny US independent) and as a 2fer on Canada’s BongoBeat. The first one contained a few great tunes that didn’t make any of their Capitol releases, most notably “Brown Eyed Son” and “Dancing Street,” while 2 had “Maniac House,” for 1. They’re a little thinner sounding, but you really get a feel for where the classics came from. And actually, if you wanna become a bona fide Waves scholar, you need to get Shock Horror! by The Waves (1983), recorded before they put Katrina’s name on the marquee. Also out now on CGB, this 8-song EP had the first versions of “Liverpool” and “Brown Eyed Son,” but also “I Caught the Milk Train” and “You Can’t Stand Next to Judie.” Rew was handling most of the lead vocals while Katrina sang along and played rhythm guitar, and the raw indie vibe is fully apparent and kinda kute. (The reissue CD has 4 bonus songs on it.) Finally, if Rew’s songwriting really floats your boat, besides his more recent solo releases, The Bible of Bop (again, on CGB) features songs he cut with The Waves, The Soft Boys (who he played with prior to mega stardom) and even The dB’s, such as “My Baby Does Her Hairdo Long,” “Nightmare,” and “Hey! War Pig.”

Alright now, back to the beginning. Go ahead, throw all the insults at me you can think of. I don’t care. I’ll stand by my appreciation of Katrina and the Waves until the end of time, and I will listen to their records until that scary man with the scythe comes knockin’ on my door, because every time I hear “Walking on Sunshine” I can let go of every freakin’ care I’ve ever had in the world and for three minutes just get carried away. And don’t it feel good!

* Now called Katrina and the Waves, in order to confuse and amuse.
5/5 (Katrina and the Waves [Capitol]; Katrina and the Waves, 3/5; Katrina and the Waves 2, 3/5; Shock Horror! 3/5; Bible of Bop, 4/5 [Attic/CGB])

And for those of you who weren’t around in the ’80s, here’s a bitchin’ video of Katrina and the Waves lip syncing their colossal hit, just to make you feel good!

 

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May 05 2018
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book

Chris Stamey • A Spy in the House of Loud [Book]

Memoirs by rock ’n’ roll stars are a dime a dozen these days. That’s great for those of us who devour them, but the more of them we read, the more we realize that these books fall generally into one of two boxes. There are books that give us revelatory information on how our favorite albums or songs were created and read as if they were written by someone who can actually write (few and far between); and then there are those that sound like someone related a bunch of anecdotes into a tape recorder, had someone transcribe them, and then gently edit them into a semi-cohesive “book.” A Spy in the House of Loud by CHRIS STAMEY, luckily, mostly falls into that first box.

Stamey, one of the founding members of the late ’70s indie band The dB’s, somewhat misleadingly subtitled his book New York Songs and Stories. True, the North Carolinian guitarist/songwriter spent a good portion of this memoir in NYC, chasing down his muse by witnessing and creating music by and with people as diverse as Television, R.E.M., Alex Chilton and more. But his college town upbringing in Chapel Hill plays a pretty big part in his story, too. I’m guessing the New York appellation was more of a marketing decision than one of “accuracy in reporting.” Whatever.

What I like about A Spy in the House of Loud is the nice mix of stories – the Chapel Hill scene of the ’60s, how he met fellow dB’s Peter Holsapple, Will Rigby and Gene Holder, his work with legend Mitch Easter – and his personal takes on songwriting, music theory and record production. Stamey started recording his early bands’ rehearsals on rudimentary reel-to-reel decks, figuring out ways to overdub and create sounds by overriding or rejigging his recorders, at least until the venerable (and semi-affordable) TEAC 4-track decks came out. The way he tells it, though, he was always equally as interested in the technology of how songs were recorded as he was in how the instruments used on them were played and how those songs were written in the first place. The author actually takes a few minor detours in the book by dissecting what he thinks is the crux of the biscuit on songs he didn’t even write (and some he did), so-called “Jukebox” mini-chapters that talk about R.E.M.’s “Radio Free Europe” as well as, for instance, Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five’s “The Message,” the first crossover rap song (written about life in NYC in the early ’80s). His descriptions give us a unique look at how all of these disciplines interconnect to create the records and CDs we’ve been listening to all of our lives.

A Spy in the House of Loud has a generous selection of photos, most from Stamey’s or his fellow musicians’ archives, and a reasonable discography and footnotes at the end. My only nitpick – besides the subtitle one – is that he sometimes comes across as stuffy and intellectual, typically when discussing advanced music theory. Maybe that’s me being bugged that I don’t know music theory as well as he does, but I prefer the passages discussing the basic writing and recording of the songs, the musicians he created them with, and the glimpse of what the climates for creating music were like in ’60s Chapel Hill and ’70s/’80s NYC. That being said, Chris Stamey has written a book that reads like it was written by someone who can actually write. And by a musician, even!

3/5 (University of Texas Press, Austin, 2018)

 

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