ABC: The Lexicon Of Love II

ABC: THE LEXICON OF LOVE II (2016)

1) The Flames Of Desire; 2) Viva Love; 3) Ten Below Zero; 4) Confessions Of A Fool; 5) Singer Not The Song; 6) The Ship Of The Seasick Sailor; 7) Kiss Me Goodbye; 8) I Believe In Love; 9) The Love Inside The Love; 10) Brighter Than The Sun; 11) Viva Love (reprise).

Five or six years ago, perhaps, the very idea that a stylistically loyal sequel to ABC's «Eighties Rule Supreme!» masterpiece The Lexicon Of Love, could be anything more than ridiculous self-parody by a strapped-for-cash old geezer, would have seemed impossible to me. But as we move farther and farther into the 21st century, it seems that the dominant ideology is «anything goes»: in the face of a near-total lack of any true progression, 2016 is a good a year as any to put out a sequel not only to The Lexicon Of Love, but also to Revolver, Kind Of Blue, The Rite Of Spring, Hamlet, and the Code of Hammurabi — each of these enterprises has approximately as many chances of becoming a smash hit / bestseller as the next upcoming attempt by some «inno­vative» indie band to knock us off our feet with their unprecedented artistic vision.

So, therefore, do give old boy Martin Fry a chance and at least be merciful enough to hear him out. After all, he hasn't been completely washed up for all these years — both Skyscraping and Traffic were decent pop albums, and I cannot believe that The Lexicon Of Love II was made with money in mind: just how many people these days actually remember how popular the origi­nal was thirty-five years ago? On the other hand, if remembering the romantic punch of Lexicon could bring some extra inspiration to a much older Fry, why not give it a go? The worst thing that could happen would be another album that sucks, no big deal.

And, upon first listen, it does look like it could suck, because The Lexicon Of Love II truly does try to sound like the first record — the dance rhythms, the sweeping strings, the luscious vocals, the romantic hooks, all of that is quite consistent with the original, except the much smoother production that gives you a fuller, less cavernous sound, without all those un-organic echoes of the classic Eighties. You hear all that and it's like, «oh no, next thing we'll be having is the return of polyester suits». Or, at least, you go, «no no no, he's trying too hard, who is that guy to pull that ʽaging Casanovaʼ shit on us, how can anybody listen to such corniness?»

Yes, that was me for a short initial while. But two things managed to turn the emotional tide. First, the songs are written.... well, as scrupulously, I'd say, as possible. Fry really wants them to be as good as his best stuff — you can see how much energy he involves into finding the right kind of vocal hook for all of them. Yes, I do cringe at the song title ʽViva Loveʼ (it offends my linguistic taste as much as would something like ʽMake L'Amour To Meʼ), but I cannot deny that it's a well written pop stomper with some genuine feeling to it.

The second piece of good news is that there's no Lexicon Of Love without Anne Dudley — and now Anne Dudley is back, together with her orchestral arrangements that really make all the dif­ference. The album opens with an orchestral prelude, finishes with an orchestral finale, and care­fully and tastefully arranged strings are all over the place, including even a near-flawless simula­tion of a slow 18th century baroque menuet on ʽThe Love Inside The Loveʼ (for which she is dutifully co-credited together with Fry). It is, in fact, possible to forget all about Fry in the first place and just concentrate on the orchestration — yes, it is that good. The strings on ʽViva Loveʼ, for instance, seem to obey the general rules of disco, while at the same time retaining baroque elegance (I couldn't ever formulate that in strict musicological terms, but I'm old enough to have the right to trust my impressions). And on the slow ballads where Fry's hooklines are the most worn out, the strings are the only thing that saves the tunes from stinking (ʽTen Below Zeroʼ).

Subject-wise, Lexicon Of Love II breaks no new ground, and Martin never pretended that it would — he is merely revisiting the same topics (Endless Battle of Instinctive Feeling Vs. Rational Intellect) from the point of view of a much older man who is still capable of making the same mistakes (rephrasing here something he said himself in an interview), and the unabashed and downright simplistic (but turbulent) romanticism of it all may indeed sound antiquated for the modern ear, but give me a record full of decent pop hooks and beautiful orchestral arrangements over a quasi-serious post-modern statement of a nobody about nothing in particular any day, I say. In fact, it must kind of take guts for someone these days to release a song called ʽI Believe In Loveʼ (curiously, based on a hand picked acoustic pattern not unlike Lindsey Buckingham's ʽBig Loveʼ, before the synth-pop spirit takes over) — and not only that, but also (a) sing it without the slightest irony and (b) not be an Elton John or a Bryan Adams or somebody else who is fond of wrapping emotional platitudes in very boring music.

Fry's personal manifesto is perhaps best summarized in the last track — he admits that "I'm a man out of time, trapped in rewind", but "when all is said and done... our future's looking brighter than the sun", because, you know, them good old-fashioned values will never be gone completely, and might even return triumphantly. There's no scientific evidence, of course, why it should be so — it's a matter of belief, and ʽBrighter Than The Sunʼ perhaps succeeds better than any other song on here in convincing me just how strong his belief really is; Fry's personal charisma, picked up and magnified by the lens of Dudley's orchestration, might even radiate stronger here than on the original Lexicon, when ABC were still an actual band and their synth-pop hooks were more im­personal. For what this sequel lacks (in comparison) in grappling melodic patterns, it almost compensates with personality, and I, for one, am always ready to appraise a decent, not too overbearing, old-fashioned, nicely composed batch of romantic pop tunes. Most definitely re­commended — not just for veteran fans of the band, but for anybody; for my money, this is as good as any «average-good» record of 2016, regardless of whether it comes from a fifty-year old dinosaur or an eighteen-year old rising indie star. Thumbs up, and looking forward to The Lexicon Of Love III from a ninety-year old Fry, with predictable titles like ʽI Still Believe In It, I've Just Forgotten The Wordʼ and ʽVi(v)a Gra (The Flames Of Desire, Rekindled)ʼ.

ABC: Lexicon Of Live

ABC: LEXICON OF LIVE (1999)

1) Poison Arrow; 2) Stranger Things; 3) When Smokey Sings; 4) How To Be A Millionnaire; 5) Be Near Me; 6) Who Can I Turn To; 7) Show Me; 8) Skyscraping; 9) Rolling Sevens; 10) One Better World; 11) Tears Are Not Enough; 12) All Of My Heart; 13) The Look Of Love.

There is obviously so not much to say about this record that the current Wikipedia entry on it is marvelously laconic, and very much up to the point: «The Lexicon Of Live is a live album released by pop group ABC. Although Martin Fry was the only member left, he had a backing band, and came out in his trademark gold suit». I guess that pretty much says everything a layman needs to know, but just for the sake of I-don't-know-what, let's add a few extra details.

Apparently, ABC never toured all that much while they were still all together, which makes this Skyscraping-era «coming out» with a live album even more of an odd cash-in. On a video, at least, you could enjoy the gold suit in proper lighting, but as it is, all you have to do is sit through a bunch of ABC classics, interspersed with a few selections from Skyscraping, as they are faith­fully and professionally reproduced on stage by Martin and his then-current backing band. It's not as if Fry sounded too disinterested or anything — he gets all of those songs' original strengths through without any problems — but neither is he interested in letting the people experience anything above and beyond these original strengths.

The setlist is respectable, predictably concentrating on Lexicon Of Love material and the most popular hits that followed (ʽWhen Smokey Singsʼ, etc.), and the disappointing Up/Abracadabra period is represented only by ʽOne Better Worldʼ, which at least sounds a little better with real drums, and is also shortened by about a minute and a half. They also take the best material from Skyscraping, so, on the whole, no complaints in that direction. But ABC were so much of a studio band in all possible ways and manners that, paradoxically, only their bad songs would benefit from a live rearrangement — all the good songs inevitably suffer from poor mixing and lack of studio gloss that defines the ABC sound.

For reasons of politeness, we do have to thank the band for being tight, and Fry's backup vocalists for being appropriately sexy, but a live ABC album simply does not compute, let alone a live ABC album that only pretends to be an ABC album (at least it might have been vaguely interes­ting to witness original member Mark White play some guitar on stage). I guess you really have to be into gold suits in order to convince yourself to own it.

ABC: Traffic

ABC: TRAFFIC (2008)

1) Sixteen Seconds To Choose; 2) The Very First Time; 3) Ride; 4) Love Is Strong; 5) Caroline; 6) Life Shapes You; 7) One Way Traffic; 8) Way Back When; 9) Validation; 10) Lose Yourself; 11) Fugitives; 12) Minus Love.

The ABC anabasis continues into the 21st century with the help of VH1's Bands Reunited, a Me­phistophelian show that tried to bribe former bands into reuniting, but, for the most part, only suc­ceeded with those bands that were crappy in the first place. In the case of ABC, they only ma­naged to convince ex-drummer David Palmer to join up with Fry (understandably, drummers ge­nerally tend to be more pliable than band members that occupy the front of the stage), but some­how this led to a permanent reunion of the two, followed by a new «ABC» tour — and, in four years time, a new ABC album.

Because of all the «reunion» business, and also due to old friend Gary Langan also returning to pro­duce the album, Traffic got generally benevolent reviews, some even hinting that, finally, ne­arly thirty years after the fact, ABC managed to come up with a true successor to Lexicon Of Love. I honestly believe most of these people simply missed out on the much less advertised Sky­scraping. ABC is simply not ABC without a strong dose of the head-in-the-clouds factor, and Skyscraping had that in spades, starting from the album cover and all over the actual songs.

In comparison, Traffic is a grittier, more hard-rocking, heavy-beat-oriented affair that is very likely influenced by the post-punk scene — everything from Franz Ferdinand to Arctic Monkeys and beyond. After the ethereal atmosphere of 'Stranger Things' that ignited things in classic ABC mode on Skyscraping, the rough, almost garage-style 'Sixteen Seconds To Choose' that opens Traffic is the last thing you'd expect of Martin Fry — sounds more like modern day Alice Coo­per, if you ask me. It's not bad at all — it kicks some impressive ass in its bullying glamminess, even though the chorus line "Prestige, power, money, money, money" seems quite hammy. It simply tempts one into asking: WHY?

There are a few songs here that carry on little quanta of classic ABC frailty — 'Love Is Strong', for instance; 'Validation' and 'Minus Love', too... perhaps. But they are not very memorable. It is as if all the songs on here are strictly separated into those that are powered by instrumental hooks (most of the «rocking» stuff) and those powered by Fry's charisma (the «tender», «frail» stuff), but at their best, ABC could have both at once, and Traffic is not quite up to the task.

Still, it sounds good: guitars and keyboards are mixed in satisfactory proportions, and, of all the songs, only 'Caro­line' sounds dangerously close to «adult contemporary» — big, big kudos to Fry, actually, for not succumbing to the temptation of clouding his Mystifying Vocals in Enigmatic Synthesizer Clouds. 'Validation' may not be a great song, but it is so nice to be able to get to the instrumental break and hear an acoustic guitar solo underpinned by an electric organ rhythm track where a less taste-oriented guy would prefer Kenny G-ish sax against a background of Casios.

All said, I do not guarantee that fans of classic ABC will inevitably want to adopt Traffic, and it is also possible that big personal fans of Martin Fry will be disappointed with his modest prese­nce. But it's okayish, B-level 21st century pop that won't embarrass your 21st century speakers.

Check "Traffic" (CD) on Amazon

ABC: Skyscraping

ABC: SKYSCRAPING (1997)

1) Stranger Things; 2) Ask A Thousand Times; 3) Skyscraping; 4) Who Can I Turn To; 5) Rolling Sevens; 6) Only The Best Will Do; 7) Love Is Its Own Reward; 8) Light Years; 9) Seven Day Weekend; 10) Heaven Knows; 11) Far­away.

Six years later, ABC returns once again... as Martin Fry & A Bunch Of New Faces, confirming the idea that a «rock group» is driven by an ethereal musical spirit that can inhabit whatever ma­te­rial body it prefers. Or, if you wish, the idea that a «rock group»'s longevity is proportional to the degree of egotistic assholishness displayed by whoever was smart enough to pocket the brand name in the first place.

I believe it's both at the time: on one hand, Skyscraping could just as well be a Martin Fry solo album, on the other, it is as perfectly ABC-ish as a perfect ABC album should be. With Mark White disappearing on the horizon, Fry draws in his old competitor Glenn Gregory (from the synth pop outfit Heaven 17) and Keith Lowndes, and finally, in a long, long while, offers the world something decent.

Comparing Skyscraping to ABC's better albums like Alphabet City is somewhat useless, since the sound is much less grounded in electronics. Of all their previous LPs, only Beauty Stab made that much emphasis on guitars and other live instruments — and Skyscraping is a much stronger effort. This is not a «label» album; first time in ages, Fry is not attempting to jump on any band­wagon (having, no doubt, learnt the ugly lesson of Up and Abracadabra), but is simply writing and performing fine, solid, hookish, and quite pretty pop-rock material.

The opening track, 'Stranger Things', also released as one of the singles, is quite typical of the al­bum: if it is up your alley, there is more of 'em here. Acoustic guitar undergrowth, pianos, strings, quasi-Mellotron effects in the background, lyrics that wobble between the sentimental and the anti-social, and a beautiful vocal snare when Fry throws in a falsetto hook with "It's funny how it used to be...". By now, he has lowered just about all of the defenses — if 'Stranger Things' is not a declaration of slavish love to Roxy Music and Bryan Ferry in person, nothing could ever be — but who cares? At this point, the man is adequate enough to simply do what he pleases, and if it please him to write Roxy Music-style, why not? Especially considering that Roxy Music have not been around for fifteen years.

The title track is a little different, a conscious nostalgic nod to New Romantic days, but it was ano­ther great choice for a single: catchy, danceable, and utterly charming in its modest escapism. The mood is later reprised on 'Faraway', a classic case of how to build up an unforgettable five minutes on a single hook — this time, the chorus line "you're as faraway as faraway can be", which may seem silly on paper, but works astonishingly well on the air.

Many of the songs «rock» — in a compressed, glossy way, as faraway from true rock'n'roll as far­away from true rock'n'roll can be, but still fun when the melodies are strong, e. g. 'Seven Day Weekend', which takes the brass brashness of classic T. Rex and mixes it with vocals that seem to be influenced by 'Saturday Night's Alright For Fighting' (surely Martin's "seven day, seven day... seven day weekend" must be at least an unconscious homage to "saturday, saturday... saturday night's alright"). 'Rolling Sevens' adds threatening wah-wah roar; 'Light Years' adds astral-psy­che­delic lite; 'Heaven Knows' is simply first-rate power-pop with no blemishes; and so on.

Simply put, Skyscraping is one of the 1990's best pop albums from a 1980's survivor. Why does nobody seem to care? For a simple reason — the world is not interested in survivors, much less 1980's survivors. Even had there been some real marketing behind Skyscraping, with strong MTV rotation and such, chances are nobody would give as much as half a smile, because, well, we all know — ABC is that bunch of guys who gave us Lexicon Of Love, and we do not remem­ber ourselves giving them permission to give us anything else. But take a good, hard listen to the album, and you will know that, in many ways, this is the Fryest of all Fry albums that are not Le­xicon Of Love. And when it comes to cool-walking, smooth-talking ladies' men, I'd rather em­pathize with Fry at his Fryest than, say, Tom Jones at his Jonesiest. Thumbs up.

Check "Skyscraping" (CD) on Amazon

ABC: Abracadabra

ABC: ABRACADABRA (1991)

1) Love Conquers All; 2) Unlock The Secrets Of Your Heart; 3) Answered Prayer; 4) Spellbound; 5) Say It; 6) Wel­come To The Real World; 7) Satori; 8) All That Matters; 9) This Must Be Magic.

The sea horse on the album cover is just about the best thing about this album, if you favour exo­tic life forms in the first place. As for the music — there is hardly anything exotic about these songs. The duo's move to EMI accomplished nothing whatsoever, except providing them with one more kind chance to prove their usefulness in the post-New Wave era, and, accordingly, they blew it one more time.

Just like Up, this is a personality-deprived, instantly forgettable collection of dance tunes, not all of them entirely hopeless, but all of them eventually merging into a single mass of similar «mo­dern R'n'B» grooves. One of the singles, 'Say It', is «innovative» in that it combines a disco bass line with a techno rhythm — apparently, though, instead of finding a way to multiply two nega­tives, they add them up, and the results are predictable.

The music is pretty much non-existent — most of the «melodies» are just simple synth loops tacked on to drum machines — and Martin Fry, as a bleak shadow of his former personality, only maybe appears on one or two of the bleaker songs (the best moment, for me, is the itsy-bitsy roar he lets out on the chorus of 'Spellbound'; just a tiny thing, but, somehow, the most notably human moment on the entire record). But generally, the album strives way too much to be happy, and, as a result, is just cloying, like its lead single, 'Love Conquers All' (pretty discouraging title for a band who used to make its reputation with 'Tears Are Not Enough' and 'Poison Arrow').

Arguing about whether Up or Abracadabra should be considered the absolute low for the band would be a ridiculous activity, so I will just say that Up, at least, has 'Never More Than Now' and 'Paper Thin', which I could see gracing an anthology. On the other hand, Abracadabra got the sea horse, so it's up to you to decide in the end. But an egalitarian and, I believe, uncontestable thumbs down for both is in order in any case. Yuck, mainstream Nineties dance muzak.

Check "Abracadabra" (CD) on Amazon

ABC: Up

ABC: UP (1989)

1) Never More Than Now; 2) The Real Thing; 3) One Better World; 4) Where Is The Heaven; 5) The Greatest Love Of All; 6) North; 7) I'm In Love With You; 8) Paper Thin.

Well, there was every chance it would come to this, so why should we be angry at all? Toying with electronic dance-pop is about as risky as living in a «bawdy house» with no knowledge of «barrier devices», if you get my meaning; you're bound to catch something, sooner or later. On Up, ABC decided to go one step further about modernizing their sound, bringing in elements of house — which could only mean one thing: the boys were no longer cutting edge at all, and, ins­tead of coming to terms with it and continuing to live out their own dream, embarked on a pathe­tic recreation of somebody else's.

These here songs still have something ABC-ish about them, occasionally, but for the most part, it's just empty, lengthy, excruciatingly boring exploitation of a so-so dance groove. Forget about Anne Dudley's orchestration or Trevor Horn's quirky arrangements: even the return of «Eden» would have made Up a little less bland than it is. Worst of all is the dissipation of Fry's personal magic and charm, as the tri-unity of lyricist, singer and lady's man turns transparent against the background of beats, beats, beats and pretty much nothing else.

'One Better World' was certainly the band's most disappointing single release so far: the artistic content of the song laps at zero level, as the only thing it does is stimulate the wish to jump up and down in the utmost happy stupidity at the perspective of, one day, getting to live in "one bet­ter world", where "underneath the moon we are all the same" (why the moon, we never get to know; supposedly the song was to become the International Werewolf Anthem, but they couldn't quite understand where to mix in the howling effects).

If the other songs are slightly less yucky kiddie-happy, this does not mean they are in any way more deserving. Everything sounds plastic and silly, even stuff like 'Never More Than Now', which may be the only salvageable track here because of a classy saxophone arrangement and the only musical idea on the album which I'd call great — a hot, swinging jazz piano solo in the in­strumental part, the only short moment during which Up comes alive. Well, not quite: if you have the patience to wait for it, the closing number 'Paper Thin' is somewhat of a reminder of what it was that used to make ABC into ABC, with less emphasis on dance-dance-dance, dumb falsettos and one-finger-on-a-keyboard melodies and more on Fry's decadent-critical personality.

Even so, it did not need to drag on for six minutes; it is way to "paper thin" indeed to deserve that length. And neither of the two songs are respectable enough to justify the album title — this is ever so much a thumbs down record rather than a thumbs Up one.

Check "Up" (CD) on Amazon