March 31, 2011

This is 1980’s “Seconds of Pleasure,” the only album ever released by the semi-legendary British quartet known as Rockpile…unless you’re counting the other three albums they recorded together.

Nothing about Rockpile was easy to pin down, up to and including which of the albums they appeared on were actually “Rockpile albums.” “Seconds of Pleasure,” at any rate, was the sole lp that had the band’s name emblazoned on the cover. Beyond that, you need a decoder ring to figure out what’s going on.

Here’s Rockpile in 1978, stomping through Nick Lowe’s catchy-spiteful rocker, “So It Goes,” in front of an enthusiastic audience on a European TV show (this wouldn’t have happened in America.) That’s Lowe singing lead and playing bass, Dave Edmunds is on guitar on the right hand side, and Billy Bremner, who cranks out the solo, is on the left. Terry Williams mans the drums. These guys, in case you’re slow on the uptake and can’t tell from the clip, are legitimately great rock & roll musicians.

That’s a truly entertaining song, one of my favorites from the 1970s. And I’ve always loved this verse:

In the air there’s aftershave lotion
In the wake of a stinky Persian
On his arm is a skintight vision
Wonder why she ain’t mine, she is his

Deft turns of phrase like that, and winning senses of both melody and humor, are why Lowe was the key writer in Rockpile’s lineup…beating out Edmunds, who was so deep into Phil Spector and twangy roots rock he verged on being an exceptionally talented throwback artist. The psychedelic era did little to remove the grease from his spiritual D.A.

It makes perfect sense that Edmunds went on to produce the Stray Cats, a genuinely smoking band that refused to challenge its audience as a matter of self-definition, while Lowe manned the boards for Elvis Costello’s first five records, all of which are rancorous, sometimes hilarious classics, and still the best things Costello has ever recorded. (Lowe also wrote the Costello hit, (What’s so Funny ‘bout) Peace, Love and Understanding?,” although nobody seems to realize it anymore.)

Rockpile’s misfortune was that they pretty much defied categorization. Critics often grouped them with the post-punk New Wave, since that’s what so many other British bands were up to in the late 70s and early 80s. In reality, though, they were a hell of a lot closer to Chuck Berry produced by Paul McCartney. They weren’t Richard Hell and the Voidoids, that’s for damn sure.

An even more debilitating stroke of bad luck, however, was a twisty contractual bind that forced Rockpile to hide in plain sight during what should have been the peak of their popularity.

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See if you can follow this, but I won’t blame you if you get lost. The word “Rockpile” goes through an amazing number of permutations.

In 1970, Edmunds recorded a solo album called “Rockpile” that featured Terry Williams on drums, in a band billed as Dave Edmunds and Rockpile. That band quickly fell apart, however, so Edmunds went back to playing studio sessions and producing other groups, which is how he met Lowe.

After the break up of his own group, Brinsley Schwarz, Lowe appeared on the next Edmunds’ album, and the two men discovered they worked well together. Then, in 1976, Edmunds recorded a pretty fantastic record called “Get It” (Marshall Crenshaw cites it as a big influence on his classic, self-titled debut), with both Lowe and Williams appearing on many of its tracks.

Soon thereafter, Lowe, Edmunds, and Williams decided to form a brand new version of Rockpile, with Bremner joining on rhythm guitar.

Unfortunately, both Lowe and Edmunds were signed to airtight solo contracts with different labels, and thus couldn’t legally release music as Rockpile without somebody getting sued. So, rather incredibly, they started taking turns releasing albums and touring under each other’s names, with either Lowe or Edmunds handling all the lead vocals on “his” album, and Rockpile serving as the “backing band.”

The first of these records was Edmunds’ “Tracks on Wax 4”…which actually included a live version of a song called “Heart of the City,” in which Lowe’s original vocal was erased and replaced with one by Edmunds!

Whew.

So Rockpile became a legitimate hit-making band (both Edmunds and Lowe had “their” successes) that seldom got its name mentioned on the radio! The apotheosis of this utterly bizarre career trajectory, however, wasn’t “Seconds of Pleasure” (which, as I’ve mentioned already, was the only official Rockpile album, and really sort of a letdown), but two records released in June of 1979— Edmunds’ “Repeat When Necessary” and Lowe’s “Labour of Lust.”

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As one might expect, “Repeat When Necessary” isn’t quite as inventive as “Labour of Lust,” because Edmunds isn’t quite as inventive a writer as Lowe. But it still contains four or five really terrific performances from a guy who obviously knows the music’s history, and can be a passionate singer.

Like Bruce Springsteen (who would write a tune specifically for Edmunds several years later), you can easily hear that Edmunds is a rock & roll fan as much as he’s a rock & roller, although Rockpile delivers his music with a decidedly poppy tinge.

The album’s opening track, a cover of a Costello b-side called “Girls Talk,” actually eats Costello’s version for breakfast. (This, by the way, is supposed to be second-tier Costello from the period, but it’s always been one of my favorites of his songs. The puns just keep on coming, as was his habit back then, but they’re amusing puns, and the tune rocks.)

“Girls Talk”

The most spectacular “Repeat When Necessary” track, however, is a Phil Spector homage called “Take Me for a Little While,” that starts with a strumming acoustic guitar, adds Lowe’s dramatically rumbling bass-line, and finally explodes into a full-blown Wall of Sound that's heavy with sleigh bells, echoing pianos, and pounding percussion. And Edmunds just sings the hell out of it.

“Take Me for a Little While”

If I had heard that in 1979, instead of 10 or 11 years later when I was already starting to slow down emotionally, I would have had a heart attack. That’s grade-A teenage heartbreak music right there. But “Repeat When Necessary” only made it to #54 on the Billboard albums chart, which means Casey Kasem didn’t even hear it when it was originally released, let alone me.

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Not so for Lowe’s “Labour of Lust,” which peaked at #31 in the States, and boasted an unbelievably catchy hit single called “Cruel to be Kind” that shot all the way to #12. At that point in time, I don’t think even Costello had pushed a single that far in the U.S.

I was all over “Cruel to Be Kind” in 1979, thinking it sounded like the best George Harrison song that Harrison would never write (the simplified guitar solo is an obvious nod to Beatle George.) I remember hearing an interview on the radio when the song was on the charts in which Lowe said he wrote it in about five minutes, that the tunes you struggle over tend to never connect with a wider audience.

But that’s part of “Cruel to Be Kind”’s incredible charm— there’s nothing especially radical about it, but it sticks in your mind like a big wad of aural Hubba-Bubba. It's arguably Rockpile's single greatest achievement, and shouldn't be discarded simply because it's disposable.

“Cruel to be Kind”

I’ve listened to a lot of pop music in my time, and I’ll be damned if can name many songs with a more immediately singable chorus than that one. If this was all Lowe ever did in his career, he’d still be able to brag a little bit.

Another memorable “Labour of Lust” track is “American Squirm,” the title of which implies a new dance craze, but is actually just a funny phrase connected to a bunch of rolling, McCartney-esque non sequiturs. Again, though, the good humor of the entire undertaking, and Rockpile’s spirited performance, scores major points.

“American Squirm”

Lowe titled his previous album “Jesus of Cool” (in England, anyway), and, with music like this, you can see how he might have developed that opinion of himself. And he grew even cooler for a few years there, when he was married to Carlene Carter and was actually Johnny Cash’s son-in-law!

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After a while, Lowe and Edmunds started to irritate one another, because that’s how these partnerships always play out in rock & roll. “Seconds of Pleasure” was tight enough, I suppose, but it was possible to hear the tunes becoming a little bit rote, and the licks less inspired. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the title is a snide commentary on how much fun it was to make the record.

But the two musicians, who apparently aren’t particularly fond of one another to this day, pulled off a lovely coda to their time as musical co-conspirators, and it was included as a bonus e.p. with the “Seconds of Pleasure” album. Mine fell out of the sleeve and right into my lap, and I played it until the grooves wore out.

“Nick Lowe and Dave Edmunds Sing the Everly Brothers” is exactly that, nothing more than an off-the-cuff session in which a couple of guys strum some tunes that helped turn them on to rock & roll in the first place. It’s disarming in its simplicity and lack of guile— you can’t help but love both the idea and the execution. Here’s is my favorite track, “Crying in the Rain.”

“Crying in the Rain”

The clapping at the end always reminds me of the cheering that finishes off the Beatles’ “Let it Be” album. I’m sure Edmunds and Lowe would have no problem with that.

Download: “Repeat When Necessary” by Dave Edmunds and “Labour of Lust” by Nick Lowe (both 1979), but they’re really Rockpile records. The band had a good year, and didn’t get sued in the process. (You can also find the Everly Brothers cuts as bonus tracks on the “Seconds of Pleasure” re-issue. They’re well worth having.)

Paul Tatara