BILLY BRAGG: ENGLAND, HALF-ENGLISH (2002)
1) St. Monday; 2) Jane Allen;
3) Distant Shore; 4) England, Half English; 5) NPWA; 6) Some Days I See The
Point; 7) Baby Faroukh; 8) Take Down The Union Jack; 9) Another Kind Of Judy;
10) He'll Go Down; 11) Dreadbelly; 12) Tears Of My Tracks.
Curiously, it took Billy almost twenty years to
do this, together with the experience of working with Wilco and then with his
own specially assembled band, The Blokes — but England, Half-English finally does the trick: here be a pretty
decent «political pop» record, where the majority of songs is given over to
liberal-political manifestos, and yet does not suck from a detachedly musical
standpoint. Yes, that's a very rare thing in general, and almost like a first
for Billy, whose best musical numbers up to now were usually of a lyrical
nature.
This may be, of course, due to active
collaboration with The Blokes, who, for this album, also included Ian McLagan
of the Faces on keyboards, and Lu Edmonds of The Damned and PiL on guitar — and
about half of the songs here credit them both or at least one of them as
co-writers. More than that, ʽSt. Mondayʼ, the spritely record opener, is
credited to Billy solo, but the cheery piano rolls that open and then dominate
the tune are prime McLagan — nothing like a true veteran of Brit-pop-rock
lending his spirit and good will to make a tune so optimistically infectious,
especially for all those who, like Billy, hate working on Mondays.
But who did what and why is all just
speculation; the pure fact is that I really like the record and think that it
hits home more often than it does not. Even the title track, which, as you have
probably already guessed, lashes out at anti-immigrant sentiments by
accentuating the perpetually mixed nature of English culture ("St. George
was born in Lebanon / How he got here I don't know / And those three lions on
his shirt / They never sprung from England's dirt") and could have allowed
itself doing and being nothing else whatsoever (Important Social Statement
being enough for liberal musical critics), is a fairly odd musical concoction
that deliberately tries mixing together elements of Latin and African rhythms,
with a little bit of vaudeville in between. It's danceable, it's catchy, it's
got a rippin' percussion track, and it makes some good culturological points —
what's not to like? Unless you're a member of the Enoch Powell fan club or
something. (Like Eric Clapton.) (Who would now deny it.) (But truth will out!)
Stuff like ʽNPWAʼ (ʽNo Power Without
Accountabilityʼ) is more trivial musically — just a straightahead mid-tempo
blues rocker — but it still sounds okay, as emphasis is made on the sternness,
harshness of the arrangement, with all the musicians (particularly the drummer
and the organ player) getting into the same accusatory spirit as Billy and
hammering out these largely familiar chords with meaningful determination. And
while most people will only comment on ʽBaby Faroukhʼ from an "Oh look,
here's a happy song about a pretty baby written from a pro-immigration
perspective!" (you never can really tell, though — it could be about
Freddie Mercury, for all we know), the song actually has a fun guitar melody
and a classy instrumental break, equally divided between pretty acoustic and
electric slide guitar licks. (The vocal harmonies are a little hicky, though —
a somewhat clichéd representation of the «Oriental ladies chanting a newborn
baby's praises» idea).
There's a couple really good songs here, too, where «good» means «deep-cutting»
rather than just «satisfactory». ʽHe'll Go Downʼ, for instance, is a subtle,
haunting ballad where Billy becomes Tom Petty when singing the chorus, but
usually tries to be Leonard Cohen, and the organ and the guitars play little
contemplative melodies off each other in spooky-midnight mode. And ʽAnother
Kind Of Judyʼ, following an almost Madchester-style rhythm, might be the best
fully arranged properly Eighties-style pop song Billy ever put on record — a
decade too late, perhaps, but then nothing is really too late in the 21st
century, where you can be anybody from Socrates to Kurt Cobain and still feel
at home with at least one target audience group.
Anyway, by the time he gets around to the
smarty-pants ʽTears Of My Tracksʼ — reverting a Smokey Robinson title to sing a
lament for his freshly sold vinyl collection — the record has fulfilled its proper
function and proven that yes, sincere
and straightforward liberal propaganda need not be defiantly anti-musical, no
matter how many hardcore artists try to convince you otherwise. A masterpiece
for the ages this might not be, but it gets its thumbs up anyway. Now it's up to
you, Ted Nugent, to take up the challenge!
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