rock and roll musings by Tim Byrnes

 Personal Jesi and Prefab Sprouts: The Personality of Cult

    There are too many fish swimming in the mainstream lately, so I, as a self appointed discerning consumer/wannabe rock critic have always looked to the undercurrents to find musical stimuli to help me feel hipper than though and just, well, cool. Not that I’m immune to the lure of the well crafted pop tune or even the occasional guilty pleasure. I mean I loved ‘Hey Ya’, I’m not made out of wood. I even have to admit to a morbid fascination with Britney Spears’ ‘Hit Me Baby One More Time (although I was appalled that I seemed to be the only person in my admittedly small circle that was disturbed by the image of a 17 year old girl, dressed like a hooker singing HIT ME BABY ONE MORE TIME! I mean masochistic kiddie porn-pop is OK but we have to crucify Marilyn Manson????) Anyway, I digress, which is what I do cause my synapses are just synappin’ all over the joint this morning. What’s percolating and moving it’s way toward the front of my cerebral cortex is the concept of the fan, as in short for FANatic, and how obsessive and possessive one can become of folks they don’t know, have probably never met (and probably never will) and how these proprietary feelings can approach the level of (you guessed it) religion.
    My ex wife (Hi, Lynn!) commented more than once that rock and roll was/is my religion or at least the closest thing. I have to admit she had/has a point. I remember feelings of personal investment in the success of both Paul Westerberg and Lou Reed’s early attempts toward sobriety. These attempts were essentially concurrent with my own attempt at sobriety (and, for the record, all 3 of us are still sober, thanks for asking) so THAT identification made at least a little sense. A spiritual bonding of sorts. Still ridiculous when you look past the surface though. Reed and Westerberg’s sobriety has no effect on mine and vice versa. Just a co-incidence, right?
    There is, of course, always the danger of over identification with any self appointed hero. There’s always the danger of putting too much stock in someone else, hooking yr own hopes and dreams and happiness onto someone else’s work. It gives you an out, in the short term, to reflect in someone else’s glory, be it Jesus or Prefab Sprout. Never heard of Prefab Sprout? You are one of many. Prefab Sprout have been making records of varying degrees of sublime beauty since 1982 for a small, but fervent cult of listeners. Their debut record ‘Swoon’ was described in a review as sounding like ‘Elvis Costello meets Steely Dan’, cheap critical shorthand but an appealing and intriguing enough comparison to make me seek the record out. I don’t remember who wrote that particular gem but he/she was right on the money. Intelligent, cryptic lyrics, labyrinthine melodies over smooth, jazzy (but not smooth jazz sterility) arrangements. Lithe, fluid instrumentation coupled with a stance of ‘reaching for greatness while not breaking a sweat’. There is no other band in the world, people, that will give you what you get from a Prefab Sprout record. In a time of cookie cutter sound alike bands on every corner this is a stunning accomplishment and the ability of these people (The incomparable Paddy Macaloon, Wendy Smith and Neil Conti) to continue to put out records of blinding originality over the span of 23 years -although sometimes you gotta go 6 years between records, not as long a stretch as Boston perhaps and talk about cookie cutter!- is nothing short of amazing. That they continue to do this in relative obscurity speaks to the dedication of both the band and their fans.
    I can’t imagine Prefab Sprout selling skidillions  of records out of the mouth of the mighty Wal-Mart, their essence being rarer than most, but it is heartening that they sell enough records to continue making them and having them pressed and distributed to a world wide audience. Back in the day when there was more than 3 record labels, such artists were kept on the roster as ‘prestige artists’. Meaning that while they weren’t expected to move the mega-units, the label felt that having said artist on their books was something of a feather in their cap. This doesn’t happen today and the music world is probably the poorer for it. If an artist’s 1st record doesn’t sell, there’s little chance for a 2nd record. This is a gripe that’s been covered ad nauseum on many a hate-metal and punk rock site that celebrates poor sales as a badge of honor (never stopping to think that maybe, just maybe, the music is bad) so I’m not gonna pour any more gasoline on THAT  fire. I prefer to see the continuing ‘success’ of a band like Prefab Sprout to be a good sign and some small proof of the power of positive support for a band well outside the mainstream.
     Do yrself (and Paddy Macaloon and company) a favor and go to amazon, check out a few sound samples and enjoy the sound of one of my personal Jesi (plural of Jesus- I love making up words almost as much as I do making up minds). Maybe if you got a spare $12 to $15 laying around buy one of their many beautiful records and score one for the little guy. It’ll make you feel GOOD.

Posted by: timbyrnes at 19:10 | link | comments (1)

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