Go-Betweens
Punk’s democratization of rock ‘n’ roll in the late 70s is perhaps the single most romantic moment in the history of the music–at least to those of us who weren’t there to step in the vomit. With the birth of DIY came a support system of fanzines, labels, small clubs, and adventurous friends that gave bands time to evolve at their own pace, and more fascinating still, it was a worldwide phenomenon. And few bands in the world made their evolution the center of their music so plangently as the Go-Betweens, from Queensland, Australia, half the world away from New York and London alike. Over the course of six albums the band’s two songwriters, Robert Forster and Grant McLennan, charted their struggle for self-awareness, documenting the process of self-discovery once characterized by the Feelies as the act of becoming what you are. What they became was the most interesting pop band of the 80s, rivaled only by R.E.M.
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Extrapolating from their main influences–mid-60s Dylan, the Velvet Underground, Jonathan Richman, the Only Ones, (very) early Cure–they began thin, angular, and rarely overtly tuneful. Over the years, they smoothed out their sound, writing airy, elegant ballads gorgeous enough to redeem lyrics like “I got hired but I got tired of draining the pool for you / I got tired but not so blue to see the cracks in you.” And on their two late-career classics, Liberty Belle and the Black Diamond Express (1986) and Tallulah (1987), Forster and McLennan, bassist Robert Vickers, drummer Lindy Morrison, and (on the latter) violinist-oboist Amanda Brown hitched their increasingly resonant tunes to a bare naked emotionalism that was refreshingly distinct from R.E.M.’s early mumblings, the Dream Syndicate’s retro-inactive psych rock, the Cure’s drear, or the lo-fi obscurantism of the neighboring New Zealand scene.
The predominant sound of “Lee Remick,” and of The Lost Album in general, is the sound of isolation. The bedroom demos alternate between 60s power-pop rave-ups and self-consciously gloomy ballads, played by kids as precious and naive as lines like “Sailing boats of red and blue glide across the sea / Like the wind that blows their sails / Summer’s melting my mind.” Forster’s liner notes remind us: “For people that don’t dig it, it can sound coy, derivative and annoyingly camp. That comes from a closed environment. That comes before Grant and I leave Brisbane, confront the world and realise we have to start over again.” Indeed, the three poseurs on the album’s cover define themselves by their pretensions: they’re standing in front of pictures of Bob Dylan and Che Guevara and a sign that reads “The Pied Piper Follows Us,” and McLennan’s wearing a “Get Outta the Car Ochs” T-shirt. But Forster is only half right: when they did hone their skills and brighten their sound, the sentiments may have matured beyond something as petty and peppy as “Lee Remick,” but that initial isolation was part of the Go-Betweens’ brilliance, and it stayed with them throughout their career.
