Tag Archives: raintreecrow

10 Classic 1980s Singles Featuring Brushes

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Some brushes, yesterday

When you think of 1980s pop music, which drum sounds come to mind?

They’re probably pretty loud and the infamous gated snare possibly looms large: ‘Let’s Dance’, ‘In The Air Tonight’, ‘Hey Mickey’, ‘Uptown Girl’, ‘A Town Called Malice’, ‘Born In The USA’.

But there’s a whole alternative world of 1980s hits where the drummer played very quietly, with brushes rather than sticks. Stuff like Buddy Holly’s ‘Raining In My Heart’, The Beatles’ ‘When I’m 64’ and Lou Reed’s ‘Walk On The Wild Side’ probably laid down the gauntlet, but you can’t imagine any producers or focus groups demanding that the drummer play brushes to create a hit (and when was the last hit that featured brushes?).

Here are some classic 1980s singles that somehow got away with it (all chart placings from the UK).

10. Echo & the Bunnymen: ‘Killing Moon’
Powered by Pete de Freitas’s subtle and unexpected brushwork, the classic single got all the way to #9 in early 1984.

9. George Michael: ‘Kissing A Fool’
The seventh and final single from Faith, written back in 1984, reached the top 20 and was initially mooted to be the title track of that 1987 album. Session player Ian Thomas, soon to play with everyone from Robbie Williams to Scott Walker, overdubbed some brushes on the snare after first recording a pass with sticks.

8. The Cure: ‘The Lovecats’
This stand-alone single was also the band’s first top ten hit, peaking at #7 in October 1983. Drummer Andy Anderson began his career with Hawkwind’s Nik Turner and Steve Hillage, then ended up on Robert Smith and Steve Severin’s The Glove side project. He found himself recording this song in Paris then joined the band for a year, playing on 1984 album The Top and playing brushes on another B-side, ‘Speak My Language’. He then toured with Iggy Pop throughout 1987. Anderson died in 2019.

7. Alison Moyet: ‘That Ole Devil Called Love’
This stand-alone single reached a heady #2 during March 1985, produced by ’18 With A Bullet’ singer Pete Wingfield. But who’s the drummer? Answers on a postcard please.

6. Robert Wyatt: ‘Shipbuilding’
Not much is known about drummer Martin Hughes, but he did a nice job on this classic single which reached #35 in April 1983.

5. Chris Rea: ‘Driving Home For Christmas’
Written in 1978, it was originally intended for Van Morrison. Rea first recorded it as a B-side to the 1986 single ‘Hello Friend’, with drummer Dave Mattacks playing almost with a country feel. But the most famous version features on Rea’s 1988 New Light Through Old Windows compilation album with drums by Martin Ditcham, best known for his percussion work.

4. Chris Isaak: ‘Wicked Game’
Kenney Dale Johnson played some very subtle drums on this classic single released in July 1989, going on to become a huge sleeper hit in the US and UK.

3. Elton John: ‘Blue Eyes’
Recorded at AIR Studios in Montserrat, this touching ballad was the lead-off single from John’s Jump Up! album, reaching the top ten in 1982. The very slow 6/8 groove was beautifully marshalled by Jeff Porcaro. See also Toto’s ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ and Ray Charles’ ‘Still Crazy After All These Years’ for some classic Porcaro brushwork.

2. Fairground Attraction: ‘Perfect’
It reached UK #1 in May 1988 – is it the only chart-topper to feature a drummer playing brushes? London jazzer Roy Dodds did the honours on this.

1. Rain Tree Crow: ‘Blackwater’
Cheating a bit here. It wasn’t released until 1991 but was recorded in December 1989 at Chateau Miraval in Southern France. It was the reformed Japan’s only single, reaching #62. In the band biography ‘Cries And Whispers’, drummer Steve Jansen makes the remarkable claim that his whole performance was pieced together using samples. Weird…

Any other 1980s hits that feature brushes? Drop us a line below.

Story Of A Song: David Sylvian’s ‘Pop Song’ (1989)

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Sylvo is not particularly known for his sense of humour, but there was surely an element of black comedy about the release of the ‘Pop Song’ 12-inch single.

It’s hard to read it as anything other than his ironic response to being asked by Virgin Records to come up with something a little more ‘commercial’ to promote the Weatherbox limited-edition box set (a collection that, in the event, didn’t even contain ‘Pop Song’!).

Imagine the ashen faces of the management at Virgin HQ when the needle hit the vinyl. ‘OK, there’s some kind of groove, but hang on – the synth bass is out of tune, the drums sound like Tupperware boxes and the piano has been flown in from a different song altogether…’

Yes, this was David’s ‘Jugband Blues’. And it was brilliant (the B-sides are well worth tracking down too). Cooked up alongside regular co-producer Steve Nye at Marcus Studios, Fulham, West London, during late summer 1989, ‘Pop Song’ was Sylvian’s bitter farewell to the decade, a vision of late-’80s Britain as a nation of clock-watching factory workers numbed by banal pop music and Sunday supplements. It’s fair to say that it wasn’t your typical feelgood summer single…

Musically, it was Sylvian’s version of ‘pop’ and pretty amusing at that, with some gorgeous ‘found sounds’, deliciously tangential piano work from ECM regular John Taylor and underwater drums/queasy synth bass courtesy of Steve Jansen. Sylvian delivers a great vocal too, full of cool, jazzy phrasing (check out the ‘But the money goes/And the time goes too’ line).

I bought ‘Pop Song’ on the day it came out (30th October 1989), and my memory is that it created quite a stir amongst Sylvian fans. It registered briefly at #83 in the UK singles chart and then promptly disappeared. Was it ever actually played on the radio? One doubts it.

But if ‘Pop Song’ proved a strange detour for Sylvian, life was about to get even stranger – next stop was the Japan ‘reunion’ Rain Tree Crow, of which much more soon.

Book Review: Cries And Whispers 1983-1991 (Sylvian, Karn, Jansen, Barbieri) by Anthony Reynolds

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Which ‘rock’ artists are the most likely to be subjects of not one but a series of biographies? The Beatles, The Stones, Dylan?

Japan are possibly unlikely recipients of such a legacy, but Anthony Reynolds’ superb new ‘Cries And Whispers’ – carrying on from where ‘A Foreign Place’ left off – holds the attention with ease.

His luxuriously-appointed new book takes an indepth look at all the protagonists’ (Sylvian, Steve Jansen, Mick Karn, Richard Barbieri) careers between 1983 and 1991, a mouth-watering prospect when you realise how scant the serious coverage of these groundbreaking musicians really is, Martin Power’s half-decent 1998 biography of Sylvian aside.

Here you get rigorous research, rare photos and unexpectedly candid interviews from producers, engineers, designers, record company execs, hangers-on and of course the musicians themselves.

There are fascinating glimpses under the ’80s pop bonnet, with details of record company correspondence, press releases, tour itineraries/diaries and testimonies from session players. There’s the odd unqualified muso revelation (did Mark King really get asked to play bass on ‘Pulling Punches’?!) and tasty gossip a-plenty, hardly surprising when you consider that the book covers the troubled Rain Tree Crow project.

In the main, Reynolds wisely keeps musical analysis to a minimum, letting the facts and musicians speak for themselves, and he also – admirably – is as interested in the murkier corners of Sylvian’s ’80s work (the one-off ‘Pop Song’ single, his involvement with Propaganda’s A Secret Wish album) as he is with the better-known stuff. Indeed, all the chapters on Sylvian’s solo work are terrific, particularly the lengthy portrait of his punishing ‘In Praise Of Shamans’ 1988 world tour. The Rain Tree Crow section is also gripping.

There are minor gripes here and there: some quotes from relatively peripheral figures – clearly cut and pasted from email correspondence – could do with trimming, and does anyone really want such a lengthy analysis of Dalis Car or The Dolphin Brothers? But even these longeurs have their fascinating moments.

This writer almost read ‘Cries And Whispers’ in one sitting, passing it from desk to sofa to dinner table to bath to bed, and you may well do the same. It’s another fine achievement by Reynolds and another classic music book to boot. We eagerly await the next instalment.

Japan: Oil On Canvas 32 Years On

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japan

First of all: the cover. As a teenager, I was instantly intrigued by Frank Auerbach’s artwork, and then the music very definitely lived up to the packaging.

But, though billed as such, it could hardly be called a ‘live’ album. In the recent band biography ‘A Foreign Place’, Jansen reports that the only ‘live’ elements on the album are his drums – everything else was replayed in the studio. Three excellent new all-studio tracks were added too. But Oil On Canvas was released six months after the band’s break-up and proved a near-perfect farewell from one of the key groups of the early ’80s.

The fact that it ended up as Japan’s highest-selling album (shifting over 100,000 in the UK and hitting #5) must have really irked manager Simon Napier-Bell – after year of toil, the band were calling it a day just as they were getting some commercial success (read ‘A Foreign Place’ for a full explanation of the split).

Tin Drum was great but who knows what they might have come up with as a follow-up given the giant strides they had made as musicians, songwriters and arrangers since ’81. Sure enough, within a few months of their split, Duran Duran were taking their sound and image to the bank.

The Oil On Canvas line-up, December 1982: Masami Tsuchiya, Richard Barbieri, David Sylvian, Steve Jansen, Mick Karn. (Photo by Fin Costello/Redferns)

The Oil On Canvas line-up, December 1982: Masami Tsuchiya, Richard Barbieri, David Sylvian, Steve Jansen, Mick Karn. (Photo by Fin Costello/Redferns)

There is so much to enjoy on Oil On Canvas. The Tin Drum tracks have added heft and a bit more air. David Sylvian’s vocals are warmer and more expressive than on the studio albums (though he has since virtually disowned this early singing style), and his Satie-esque title track prefigures the triumphs of his solo career.

‘Ghosts’ is extended with a superb Stockhausen-meets-serialism intro/interlude thrown in while ‘Canton’ becomes a mighty parade of musical colours, with clanging synths, whip-lashing china cymbals and the late great Mick Karn’s increasingly insane bass embellishments.

There has never been a rhythm section quite like Karn and Steve Jansen (drums) and probably never will be again. They revel in open spaces and ‘non-rock’ textures, typified by the deceptively simple and downright spooky ‘Sons Of Pioneers’.

Karn sounded like no one else on fretless bass, exploring Middle Eastern concepts and weird intervals to produce a sound both complex and hilarious. Jansen came up with several of the most ingenious backbeats in pop history while always making them danceable.

Together, they produced classic grooves like ‘Visions Of China’, ‘Cantonese Boy’ and ‘Still Life In Mobile Homes’, and Richard Barbieri’s creative keys playing always emphasises texture and mood over technique. His closing instrumental ‘Temple Of Dawn’ bids a fantastic album farewell first with a chill and then with a brief shot at redemption.

Sylvian escaped to a successful, innovative solo career, Karn also went solo and hooked up with collaborators including Midge Ure, Peter Murphy and, most memorably, Kate Bush. Barbieri and Jansen teamed up regularly in various projects and recorded together as The Dolphin Brothers in 1987 but didn’t enjoy much commercial success. Against all odds, they all got together again at the end of the ’80s for the intriguing Rain Tree Crow project.