Barry Adamson Album Reviews

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Moss Side Story (1989)
Soul Murder (1992)
The Negro inside Me (1993)

Moss Side Story (1989)

8

On the Wrong Side of Relaxation / Under Wraps / Central Control / Round up the Usual Suspects / Sounds from the Big House / Suck on the Honey of Love / Everything Happens to Me / The Swinging Detective / Autodestruction / Intensive care / The Most Beautiful Girl in the World / Free at Last / Alfred Hitchcock Presents / Chocolate Milk Shake / The Man with the Golden Arm

If you’re looking for something special, look no further, because when you’re in Barry’s hands, you never know what’s going to happen. Even though he started out playing bass for seminal post-punk band Magazine and then joined The Birthday Party and its transformation into the Bad Seeds, his solo career is something completely different. Although … the ominous nature of his work isn’t that surprising – Howard Devoto and Nick Cave weren’t exactly the cheeriest people to work with, I presume – but the format is decidedly different, as most of his releases revel in cinematic atmospheres and soundscapes – no surprise he’d eventually create some soundtracks (Gas Food Lodging, while also being a key collaborator to David Lynch’s Lost Highway – check out his site for movie samples) and TV commercials. Moss Side Story, named after the district in Manchester where he grew up, bears the telling subtitle “In a Black and White World Murder Brings a Touch of Colour…” and is exactly as noir and sinister as the title suggests. What makes the concept even more intriguing, is that it’s actually considered a soundtrack, albeit for a non-existent movie. The consequence of this is that you’ll have to be the imaginative type to fully appreciate the album, because significant titles and musical hints only get you so far. That said, its three main parts (‘The Ring’s the Thing,’ ‘Real Deep Cool’ and ‘The Final Irony’) make up an intriguing trip through the ‘50’s and ‘60’s that is as much indebted to avant-garde (it’s basically not that far removed from some of John Zorn’s film works) as it is to popular culture, often resulting in a dazzlingly conceived, multi-faceted aural painting.

Take the first part, for instance, which opens with the hisses, purrs and hiccups of vocal gymnast Diamanda Galas and a bunch of samples (or ‘treatments’) with a retro feel that serve to enhance the gloomy ambiance. But then, after you’ve buckled the belt and prepared yourself for another disorienting onslaught, you’re treated to “Under Wraps,” a slab of bossa that’s as lush as Quincy Jones’ “Soul Bossa Nova” (remember the opening credits of the first Austin Powers movie?), but replaces the exuberance with a more intimidating tone. Some of these tracks feature a bunch of guest musicians (ranging from several other Bad Seeds, to the Fall’s Marcia Schofield and Magazine’s John Doyle) and heavy arrangements, others are mood pieces featuring only minimal instrumentation, like the marimba-dominated “Central Control.” So it goes on: the insistent piano hammering of classic cinema is alternated with jazzy, late night piano ballads in the vein of early Tom Waits, baroque pop arrangements out of the Bacharach/Walker-school and even neo-gothic ambient (“The Swinging Detective”). Occasionally, the music becomes fairly challenging, like on the cut & paste-styled “Autodestruction” or the Bernard Herrmann-meets-Tex-Avery of “The Most Beautiful Girl in the World” – so if Robbie Williams is your idea of a challenging Brit, you’d better stay clear of this – but Adamson proves himself to be a skilled puppeteer who intervenes when necessary and carefully guards the ties that bind. There’s also a fourth part, which comes as a sort of bonus and serves to remind you where his allegiances are. The theme to “Alfred Hitchcock Presents” is kept recognizable, but the highlight is undoubtedly the grinding, distorto-lounge of Elmer Bernstein’s “The Man with the Golden Arm.” The lack of visual accompaniment (would Clint Mansell’s work on Requiem for a Dream be as successful if you weren’t reminded of the shitload of terrifying images?) is a bit frustrating, but once in a while it’s not a bad idea to wake up from that catatonia and cooperate for a change. Invite your friends, play this album when they arrive, and the evening just can’t go wrong anymore.

Soul Murder (1992)

7.5

Preface / Split / The Violation of Expectation / Suspicion / A Gentle Man of Colour / Trance of Hatred / Checkpoint Charlie / Reverie / Un Petit Miracle / 007, A Fantasy Bond Theme / The Adamson Family / Cool Green World / On the Edge of Atonement / Epilogue

Soul Murder lacks the cohesion of Moss Side Story, offering a mix of soundtrack-pieces and more ‘substantial’ songs, but ends up sounding less intriguing and consistent. Even though it took Adamson nearly four years to come up with his sophomore album, the result is much lighter and scattershot. Over the length of the record, he’s spread out a few winners, but for each one of ‘em, there are one or two mood pieces that don’t add much to the overview. As for the best stuff: it’s really good: in the smart-ass, self-conscious “Split,” Adamson not only pokes fun at himself and his image (“I’m El Deludo, Oscar de la Soundtrack, Mr. Moss Side Gory, From Rusholme with Blood”), but delivers his lyrics in a near-rap style over a strutting, jazzy backbeat with trombone and sax solos, that’s somewhat reminiscent of “Audrey’s Dance,” the sleazy Twin Peaks-theme you’d hear whenever Sherilyn Fenn filled up the screen. Several other tracks contain a similarly neurotic atmosphere, whether it’s the lengthy “Checkpoint Charlie,” which boasts a cold climax like there’s ever been one, and several unsettling sound pieces (“Trance of Hatred,” “The Violation of Expectation”). Apart from this, Adamson has also been credited with influencing some of the ‘darker’ trip-hop bands out there (Portishead and Tricky, to name the most popular examples), which is quite credible when you hear the rock/dance synergy of “Suspicion,” a combination of spy movie-lushness and Madchester-vibe.

As if it weren’t already obvious were his allegiances lay, Adamson also tackles the familiar Bond-theme, adding a length introductory monologue, setting the tale in Jamaica and adding a ska-ambiance. Peculiar, but smart as hell. Even though most of them are enjoying, it’s hard not to consider the remaining tracks elevated filler. “Un Petit Miracle” sounds like a silly, Fisher Price throwaway (with child vocals) Blur might’ve added to Modern Life Is Rubbish or Parklife, while “The Adamson Family” sounds like, indeed, the campy theme to a shitty series. It weren’t a Barry Adamson-album of course, if it didn’t contain some polar opposites: while “Cool Green World” has more in common with Nathalie Cole’s atrocious “Miss You Like Crazy” than with Lalo Schifrin’s ultra-cool, “A Gentle Man of Colour” is a horrifying, detailed spoken word piece (a fake news report narrated by Marcia Schofield) about a public execution of a black guy, unfairly accused of the attempted rape of a white woman. While it’s mostly an instrumental album, Soul Murder is quite far removed from the near-avant garde of Moss Side Story, and by consequence also much more accessible. It also points to his subsequent direction, which was more concerned with the ‘dance’ ingredient and may have been more influential, despite the fact it never got the critical rave reviews of his earliest work.

The Negro Inside Me (1993)

7

The Snowball Effect / Dead Heat / Busted (Michelangelo version) / Cold Black Preach / Je t’Aime … Moi Non Plus / A Perfectly Natural Union

On The Negro Inside Me, Adamson’s cinematic dark soul further moves into dance territory. Of course, it’s still firmly rooted in the soundtrack-tradition, as horn arrangements and use of organ are at least as important as the dance vibes, but you can actually shake your booty to most of this stuff. Even though the album (or EP?) is already more than a decade old, it has aged pretty well (contrary to most other dance). “The Snowball Effect,” for instance, nearly sounds like a collaboration of Moby and the Propellerheads, with sparse, hip hop-derived beats, extended organ and flute soloing and smartly used answering machine messages. It’s a combination of retro and contemporary elements that swings like hell. The two next songs basically follow the same pattern: throw analogue and digital in a blender, spice up with feverish horns, vague references to the Bond-theme (“Busted”), occasional vocals (“Cold Black Preach”) and the obligatory solo(s), et voila, you got yourself a platter of cool that’ll benefit your hipness credentials. The two final tracks are somewhat different though, the first being a cover of Gainsbourg’s soft-sex duet with Jane Birkin that doesn’t work particularly well (the moaning and panting doesn’t blend very well with the beats, if you ask me), the second a mellow jazz ballad that could’ve been performed by the Modern Jazz Quartet. Far from essential, The Negro Inside Me is a fine stop-gap release that’s not very likely to make much of an impact on your personal life, but that won’t disturb anyone either, unlike the previous releases.