Posts from 26th September 2001

26
Sep 01

SUM 41 — In Too Deep

New York London Paris MunichPost a comment • 360 views

SUM 41 — In Too Deep

Here’s a snotty little question: If (as suggested by some critics) Blink 182 is the new Replacements (and pardon my incredulity, but if Mark Hoppus & Tom DeLonge can even come close to approximating 1/100th of Paul Westerberg, then I’m the new Iggy Pop, and I’m in sore need of some peanut butter and broken Schlitz bottles RIGHT NOW), would that make Sum 41 the new Husker Du? (And, on an even less serious note, would that make Green Day the new Suicide Commandos? Oh, the mind careens like a coffin beset by roses‘) If they keep on pumping out smart little pop songs like this — ‘like this’ meaning ‘not as seemingly simplistic and three-chord happy as those Blink fellas; I could be a bit biased, yeah’ — then I might forgive them for rapping on their first single. Might.

LOVE HANGOVERS

New York London Paris MunichPost a comment • 516 views

LOVE HANGOVERS

Neither version of “Love Hangover” has anything very much to do with a hangover. The song, written for Diana Ross and then covered by The Associates, is in that cynical, wonderful tradition of soul songwriting where every metaphor – a moon landing, a jury trial, a police chase, a rainstorm – pointed straight at love. You can imagine one songwriter batting the title to another with a “Now, use that if you can” grin – how after all to match the bleary hammerings of the morning after with the thin, clean flutings of Miss Ross? Do divas even get hangovers?

Sure enough Diana’s version is a sun-through-windows reverie, a cloudy champagne buzz, and you doubt she is waking alone. Three or so minutes (or hours) of bubble and swoon in, Alka-Selzer is served on a silver tray and the song skips into the very lightest kind of sugar-spun funk. It’s tingly and infectious, it makes you want some of what she’s got (which is the idea) – it’s magnificent, mais ce n’est pas l’hangover.

But the Associates, oh! The Associates – their tumbling version is as far from the paralysed thunk of a drink-sore head as you can get, but only because it’s woken still doused and inflamed. Billy MacKenzie flips the original guitar-line into a hysteric’s giggle-riff and scats his way through the song accordingly – which would reduce it to babble, except Rankine keeps the music so tight and tightly wound. The whole is flushed, teetering, filled with a chaotic passion, perpetually bursting. Listen to Ross and you come out warmed – listen to MacKenzie and you come up purged. Neither has very much to do with a hangover – both have a great deal to do with love.