1991 07 Smiths Record Collector

THESE THINGS TAKE TIME

Bedroom poster gods for a generation of dispossessed youth, or just Mancunian fashion victims with a nice line in twangly guitars? Either way, their generous use of gladioli did wonders for florists throughout the UK. Danny Kelly chronicles the first year of the band who pronounced The Queen Is Dead - The Smiths

FIRST TWELVE MONTHS - THE SMITHS

Along with the Jesus And Mary Chain, The Smiths saved rock from the limp grasp of the New Romantic fops; on their own, they were the most important British group of the '80s. And their first year in the public spotlight was, like that of so many great bands, a heady cocktail of fine music and rare old controversy...

SUMMER ’83

The Smiths spent their embryonic period realising how special they were and playing as many gigs as possible. The latter were extraordinary affairs (Morrissey, with his back pockets full of blooms, his torso swathed in women's blouses from Evans Outsizes, was a new kind of frontman) that saw them locked into a love/hate affair with the press that would last their entire career. Meanwhile, they trekked up and down to London (Marr sleeping on the floor at The The’s Matt Johnson's) to secure a
recording contract.

In May, attracted by the possibility of artistic control, they signed what was supposed to be a one-off deal with Rough Trade and released first single onto an unsuspecting world. "Hand In Glove’ (RT 131) had all the ingredients of a stunning debut. Its opening line “Hand in glove, the sun shines out of our behind' was a snook-cocking warning to all other bands that they were on their way. And this was no mere brag; it was backed up by Marr’s marvellous ability to conjure evocative, sensitive life from the old guitar/drums/bass format and Morrissey’s strangely direct yet ambiguous, uniquely delivered, lyrics. It was a fantastic, no-room-for-argument arrival.

It was also, incidentally, the first of many Smiths sleeves to cause trouble; first, the cover picture (an unidentified male nude in languorous mood) elicited its share of 'oohs' and added to the general air of dangerousness surrounding the band’s sexual politics. Second, Rough Trade’s first attempt at producing it went sadly wrong. The result was that the rejected, silver-on-blue (rather than the more familiar blue on silver) sleeve became a major Smiths collectors item.

The rest of the summer (while fans and press waited with barely-concealed impatience for the next record) was filled with activity. They supported Altered Images at the Hammersmith Palais in their first London showcase, withdrew from the Futurama festival in Leeds when the proposed headliner (ex-Buzzcock Howard Devoto) was replaced by the Bay City Rollers (!) and started work on their debut LP with Troy Tate producing. Most crucially, they turned their temporary relationship with Rough Trade into a longterm deal. This was despite the attention of all the majors, who would continue to hover (and cause endless, eroding, friction between the band and their label) until EMI eventually, and fruitlessly, snatched the group away in a million-pound swoop in 1987.

AUTUMN ’83

Suddenly, the pace quickened, and the band (astonishingly for one so new and relatively unknown) found themselves embroiled in the first of many scrapes with the national press. In October, they recorded a much-lauded Radio 1 session for the Kid Jensen show (the versions of 'These Things Take Time’, 'You’ve Got Everything Now' and 'Accept Yourself' were among the highlights of the Hatful Of Hollow compilation). Without warning, The Sun - egged on by the now-defunct Sounds music paper - was devoting column acres to a story which had the BBC wrangling over whether to broadcast 'Handsome Devil'. The song, it was being stated, would encourage the molestation of minors. For years, the party line has been that the track was never even recorded for the BBC, though in a recent interview Johnny Marr says he does remember laying it down. Whatever the ins and outs, it was the first (and a classic) example of the particular kind of grief that The Smiths seemed to magnetically attract. Luckily for them, it was aggravation that was increasingly being counterbalanced by critical acclaim and fannish fervour. So it proved here...

If Hand In Glove had opened people's eyes, then its follow-up left them spinning in disbelieving sockets. ‘This Charming Man' (RT 136, released on the last day of October and housed in a beautiful picture of French actor Jean Marais) was a revelation, an instant classic, a landmark. With its vaguely erotic lyric (including audacious quotes from the Sleuth film) and electrifying surge of guitar and rhythm, it was a signpost for a whole generation of bands that followed - synths were abandoned, and guitars had once again become respectable.

Its commercial success reflected its artistic importance. At a time when rock records were all but banned from the charts, 'This Charming Man' went top 30 and The Smiths' Top Of The Pops appearance was the start of a glut of TV (including Riverside and The Old Grey Whistle Test) which were as successful as the band's radio sessions with Jensen and John Peel had been in months before.

The Smiths even made a concession to prevailing fashion (their last, as it happened!) by issuing a now hard-to-get 12" remix by New York dance producer Francois Kevorkian. Appetites had now been seriously whetted. The LP was as keenly anticipated as any since Never Mind The Bollocks.

WINTER ’83/’84

But first there was another single ('What Difference Does It Make?'), a 20-date UK tour and another sleeve upset!

At the end of January, 'What Difference...' was released and became the band's biggest hit, making number 12 in the national charts. The sleeve featured a shot of actor Terence Stamp in the film The Collector. Stamp eventually took umbrage and the bag had to be redesigned with a mocked up, similar, picture of Morrissey. The Collector sleeve had become a collectors item!

If the grip the band had by then taken on the country's young minds isn't plain enough from the fact that February saw them named NME readers' Best New Act, then try this - at one stage in the month, 'Hand In Glove', 'This Charming Man’ and 'What Difference...' occupied the top three spots in the indie singles chart! Their debut LP could hardly fail, could it?

Well, maybe. The Smiths was released at the end of February, to the delight of the fans and a mixed critical response. The songs were brilliant beyond argument, a dazzling swirl of beautifully articulated angst, but the recordings themselves seemed to lack something. And these were the band's second efforts, the Tate sessions having been ditched and the songs redone with John Porter. To this day, the versions of these songs that were cut for radio sessions (and turned up on 'Hatful Of Hollow') sound better-realised , but nothing could diminish the impact of The Smiths. After half a decade of plastic, escapist pop, it was the record that allowed music to once again matter. They would make better LPs, but none more important.

SPRING ’84

The Smiths' fabulous first year came to a breathless conclusion with two more singles and the now seemingly inevitable controversy. In April, one of Morrissey’s old heroes, Sandie Shaw, joined the band for a recording of 'Hand In Glove' (RT130). Of her liaison with them, she said "I thought they were right nutters when they started writing to me..." Praise indeed.

The following month, ‘Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now’ (RT156) was released and provided the band with another hit (peaking at number 19 nationally) and another undesired thorn in their side.

WH Smith (ha!) and Boots were contacted by the families of the victims of Moors murderers Myra Hyndley and Ian Brady, complaining about the lyrical content of the single's B-side 'Suffer Little Children'. The situation was, by now typically, exacerbated by the sleeve. Originally, it was meant to have carried an image of actor Frank Finley; when he protested, he was replaced by eccentric '60s pools winner Viv "spend spend spend" Nicholson.

Her photograph, it was alleged, bore a resemblance to the still-jailed Hyndley. Morrissey tried to contact the aggrieved relatives to apologise, but the damage was done; after another furore in the national press, the two big record retailers refused to stock the record.

The Smiths' first, glorious year ended, happily, on a brighter note with inclusion of a live version of ‘Girl Afraid' on the NME's Department Of Enjoyment tape. It ended 12 months of frantic creativity - and living, often unwillingly, very, very dangerously.