XTC: Skylarking

With summer fast approaching, you might be thinking to yourself, “Gosh, if only I had some kind of summery music I could listen to? Something that really enlightens the soul and embodies all that is good with driving around late on a summer evening, just as the sun is going down, the warm air blasting through my hair as it invigorates the depths of my being, enriching every fiber of me?”

Go on, deny you weren’t thinking that to yourself.

XTC was a band I stumbled on more or less by accident, though I might have known about them sooner if it wasn’t for my own ignorance. For some reason, their name always reminded me of TLC, and that was enough to put me off listening to them forever; I had read their name many times in books and CD liners, but never thought to check them out until a few weeks ago. I got two of their better-known albums – English Settlement, released in 1982, and Skylarking, released four years later, all released during the period of their self-imposed exile from the stadium and touring circuit. (It wasn’t that they were fed up with touring; cofounder and songwriter Andy Partridge had a nervous breakdown after a Valium withdrawal, which directly resulted in intense stage fright.) Having not felt moved by English Settlement, except for maybe one or two songs, I decided to give Skylarking a try, and hope that my investment of time and patience into this unknown band would pay off.

From the very start, Skylarking is designed to be a summer album. The first sounds are of chirping birds and noisy crickets before the opener, ‘Summer’s Cauldron’, kicks into gear. Partridge, who wrote all but five songs here, goes into exquisite detail of a lazy summer’s day: “When Miss Moon lays down / And Sir Sun stands up / Me, I’m found floating round and round / Like a bug in brandy in this big bronze cup / Drowning here in summer’s cauldron”. The song merges effortlessly into ‘Grass’, a delightful double entendre of lying in the grass with a loved one while baked off your gourd (“Shocked me too the things we used to do on grass”). Written by the other major songwriter and cofounder Colin Moulding, it’s full of ringing acoustic guitars and a lovely orchestral arrangement, written by producer Todd Rundgren. ‘The Meeting Place’ continues that line of young love, with Moulding waiting for his girl to show up in the industrial sector of the city (confirmed with the odd percussive noises of pressure release valves and machinery).

The theme of love is expanded upon with ‘That’s Really Super, Supergirl’, a dumb but infectious pop song wherein the main character realizes, with some mocking sarcasm, that the girl he loves has more important things to do than to spend time with him (“That’s really super, Supergirl / How you stopped the universe from dying / But you’re never going to stop me crying”). ‘Ballet for a Rainy Day’ is a beautiful imagery song, with Partridge observing the goings-on of a bustling metropolis caught in a summery downpour: “Orange and lemon raincoats roll and tumble / Together, just liked fruit tipped from a tray / Pineapple wet heads watch new hairdos crumble / As scenery sunlight shifts away”.

Now, I find comparisons between a band’s more accomplished and adventurous albums and the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper to often be tenuous at best, and hilariously ill-fitted at worst; just because orchestrations are used does not automatically make it Sgt. Pepper, and it’s a disservice to both albums in question. However, Partridge and Moulding, with the help of Rundgren, had indeed crafted a complex and lightly orchestrated album that’s similar not exclusively only to the Beatles, but the influential psychedelic pop scene of 1966 and 1967: not only Sgt. Pepper, but also Pet Sounds and Face To Face. ’1,000 Umbrellas’, a continuation of the preceding song, is the polar opposite of the beautiful optimism of ‘Ballet’; the rain has now taken a turn for the worse, with the main character an emotional wreck by the breakup of his relationship, and being unable to find anything positive at all in the world; the rainy weather certainly isn’t helping. Dominated by an aggressive string quartet and Partridge’s sneering vocal, this is the ‘Eleanor Rigby’ or ‘She’s Leaving Home’ of the alb—oh right, I said I wouldn’t do that.

‘Season Cycle’ is another enjoyable pop song, evocative of the best of the 1960s eras Kinks, and seems to be another observational composition of seasons changing while Partridge wonders aloud who exactly is in charge of deciding when the seasons switch over. ‘Earn Enough For Us’, meanwhile, falls back on the earlier themes of love, with a hardworking couple trying to make ends meet throughout the week while earning enough money to let loose on the weekends. For some reason, this song really resonated with me, probably because of its anthemic ’80s sound, and the loud guitars; it’s less of a pop song and more of a jagged rocker, something which is in the minority on this album.

And it’s here that I feel the album’s consistency takes a turn in a weird direction. Not that the rest of the songs are terrible, but they don’t feel the same as the first half. ‘Big Day’ is decent enough, with a married man proffering advice to a soon-to-be-newlywed, and there’s some interesting imagery here (“Many fingers have been burned with the touch of gold”), but it comes off as a lumbering pop song otherwise. ‘Another Satellite’, at first listen, is a strange, psychedelic-infused song about the strains of love (though I later read that it was an open letter from Partridge to an American fan, who had fallen in love with him but wouldn’t have the feelings reciprocated as Partridge was married; incidentally, Partridge’s wife left him for another man, and Partridge essentially recanted on the open letter and hooked up with the American fan, eventually marrying her), though further listening reveals it’s a song about infidelity. The effects on this one are good, with an unusual instrument (sounds to me like distorted synthesizer), and it’s probably the last memorable song on the album.

‘Mermaid Smiled’ doesn’t do anything for me, despite the universal theme of childhood innocence, and evidently didn’t do anything for American fans at the time of release; ‘Dear God’, a far superior song about the presence (or lack thereof) of God, replaced the song on the album. ‘The Man Who Sailed Around His Soul’ sits completely at odds with the sound and lyrical imagery of the previous songs, with a jazz lounge feel to it. ‘Dying’ sounds a little like a Pink Floyd song, but not a typical Pink Floyd psychedelic song; this time, it’s like Roger Waters with an acoustic guitar, getting all introspective and gloomy. This is a better song than the previous ones, though if you want to be depressed and fear the inevitable, this would be the best method. The repeated “I don’t want to die like you” sounds disembodied and off-putting, while a subtle orchestral accompaniment swirls and lingers. ‘Sacrifical Bonfire’ brings the album full circle, and sounds a bit like opener ‘Summer’s Cauldron’ in musical approach, with a gentle acoustic melody and percolating drums; it’s not so much a song about the seasons, but more of the other theme that runs throughout the album, of the cycle of life. Rundgren adds a stately orchestra, with a false ending and a faded out coda. It’s a dignified way to end an inarguably strong album, despite some duds; there’s a sense of adventure here, but without the feel of a group of kids being let loose in a toy store and being told they can buy whatever they want. The lush arrangements complement the clever songs, and the perfect place to listen to this album is on a fine summer’s eve. Just don’t listen too closely to the songs about death and strained relationships.

Essential listening: Summer’s Cauldron, Grass, That’s Really Super Supergirl, Ballet for a Rainy Day, Earn Enough For Us, Another Satellite, Sacrificial Bonfire