Sparks Still Have Some Left

Never loved by radio, Ron (b. 1945) and Russell Mael (b. 1948) AKA Sparks have managed to stay off the charts and working steadily since 1967. Their highest charting successes were in 1974. And even without charting, they’d gotten plenty of shout-outs from those that did: New Order, Depeche Mode, The Smiths, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Sonic Youth, Nirvana, and Björk have all credited them as influences. Their “quirky” sound, launched on the rocket fuel of darkly humorous and cynical lyrics, is like no one else’s. It’s a sound that spins on the axis of songwriter Ron’s melodies and the athletic castrato registers that vocalist Russ lifts them on.

Interesting note: The sound was born on Ron’s limited skills as a keyboardist which prohibited him from transposing the songs into keys more suitable for Russ’ register – by Russ’ admission – forcing Russ to accommodate.

A miniature Sparks history:

• As teens growing up in Los Angeles, they’d see The Doors, Love, The Byrds, Buffalo Springfield, etc. playing at the clubs in town.

• They moved to England to record second and third Sparks albums – Kimono My House, Propaganda – in 1974 where they enjoyed their greatest chart successes.  Their sound was exalted by the glam scene of the time. Since then, these albums have generally achieved classic status.

• In 1976 they returned stateside and retooled for a more “American,” hard rock sound. They appeared in a roller coaster disaster movie performing songs from the album.

• In 1977 they transitioned again, this time into a more electronic sound and recorded two albums with Giorgio Moroder

• By the 80s their sound transitioned yet again, getting tossed in with the New Wavers.  During this period they’d enjoy some of their greatest radio and television exposure. The songwriting would now be credited as collaborations.

• At the end of the 80s and early 90s they worked on collaborations with other artists and personalities and attempted to make a movie. The band concept was dispensed with entirely. Some songs got some chart interest in various European countries. They’d be compared to The Pet Shop Boys.

• In the 2000s they replaced the electronic club sound with a more orchestral sound, Russ’ vocals were presented in a wall of choruses. They received praise and attention. A very prolific musical period but nothing charting.

“Handcuffed to a Parking Meter” was their 2019 collaboration with French musician SebastiAn. Of his working philosophy, SebastiAn has said: “The brain is the enemy of music — you can use it, but way after you've finished working.”

As for the actual creation of “Handcuffed to a Parking Meter”: SebastiAn said that this line was something Sparks had come in with. Russ told him “...‘I don't need another sentence. This sentence is cool...OK, let’s go.’”

Sparks: Not Boomers; Old School.

A Charming Plastic Poser

For those of you too young to remember, Ça plane pour moi was a minor hit from the summer of 1978 which––as you shall hear––featured a bouncy plundering of the Ramones-karokeing-Chuck-Berry spiked with some Beach Boys styled woots all layered on top of a trendy disco beat. Here, the video presentation gets tarted up with all the trappings of its New Wave-ish time. A time that was, quite possibly, the last era––from a fashion perspective––that truly forged its own identity (IMHO).

Non-French speaking listeners may now unlock the mystery of the lyrics although I suspect something may've been lost in the translation:



Plastic Bertrand was a Belgian TV personality (whether he was prior to this record I can't tell) who Milli Vanilli'd his way (the vocal was the producer's) to a brief media success. This song may be one instance where such a thinly veiled attempt to pander to a market trend actually produced some decent results. (It was awfully catchy. Sonic Youth thought enough of it to produce their own cover.) The music itself was actually the backing track from the song Jet Boy, Jet Girl, a song with a frank gay theme that could've used a little more entendré and a little less of a 12 year old's clubhouse take of first time sex. Thanks to hip hop, U.S. radio is now loaded with similar sexual boastings (though not with gay themes, god forbid) and none of it nearly as jovial as this ditty. Even now U.S. radio has yet to tackle such themes on its airwaves (unless it's buried as cleverly as it was with Walk on the Wild Side). And the video on U.S. television? Not a chance. Take note of singer Elton Motello's t-shirt in the video below.



And then, someone had some fun with it:



And speaking of posers, here's some enthusiastic ire aimed at them from N.E.R.D. in 2001. (Though, arguably, the presenters may be doing some serious posing of their own here given the trendy paraphernalia. Still, forgivable given the results.)

Reconnecting with Tissue

Those of us growing up in Southern California during 1978-1983 may remember the Long Beach-based Suburban Lawns. Their rise accelerated and gained certain acutity when Jonathan Demme (Silence of the Lambs, Philadelphia) directed their first video Gidget Goes to Hell. A happenstance that no doubt had everything to do with it being aired on Saturday Night Live. Local radio airplay and print attention followed (their Slash cover at right) leading to a respectably successful album (by local band standards). The Lawns are also one of the few bands of the period that in retrospect don't come off as hopelessly dated. (Or, like all of 80s music, for that matter.) To prove the point, check the local bounty of material available at this site.

The Suburban Lawns sound eschewed the trendy posturings of digital synths and de riguer flanged guitars. making the sound practically classic rock by today's standards. And singer/keyboardist Su Tissue herself (nee Sue McLane), with all her quirks, conceits, vocal sound effects and coloratura—a kind of bottled-up Yoko Ono—still sounds innovative. Features that keep the band's sound as perky and collagen fresh as it was when it was recorded. You might think Tissue's vocal stylings were a mirror to her soul as her onstage persona radiated both an extremity of adorableness and a nerd-like unsocialized quality. Clearly, the band was far less interesting when she wasn't behind the mic. (She was a good piano player too.) Her personal style had its adherents: One fan described her as able "to pull off of a remarkable mix of Little House on the Prairie meets the Manson Girls, beautifully." (I don't agree with the sinister angle of the Manson family, but okay.) Google the band now and find a robust amount of ongoing interwebs activity: Their cult is still very much alive. A legacy that's owed all to her.



The band's complete canon included a couple of singles, an album, and a five song EP before the internal momentum fizzled out. The final recordings pointed toward interesting new possibilities, a kind of Cocteau Twins cum slightly funkier Bowie-Eno trilogy direction, but with more humor. Post-Lawns, Tissue continued studying at the Berklee College of Music (after earlier attending Calarts—poor little rich girl) and recorded a short album of ambient instrumental music—30 minutes of slight variations on a groovey piano figure with added layers of ambiance (done in the days before digital loops). It would've made an arresting soundtrack to a wistful French film at a seaside. All of this would've had us hoping for bigger things to come from her. Alas, it was not to be.

A recent interview with former member Frankie Ennui offers some insight. Find it here.
An original pic sleeve of Gidget Goes to Hell is on eBay for $55.

All of these should be long out of print now.
Download:

Suburban Lawns: Gidget Goes to Hell self-issued 7" inch single (1979)

Suburnan Lawns: Baby from Baby EP (1983)

Su Tissue: 2nd Movement from Salon de Musique (1982)

A personal note: Once, I was in a band. We had the opportunity to open for Suburban Lawns at the Cuckoos Nest in Costa Mesa, CA ca. 1981. The Lawns at the time were getting loads of local air play. As was often the case, I'd have school and work the next day (community college, no Calarts for me) so I'd gather up my equipment (an organ and electric piano/harpsichord [pre-digital], a guitar, an amp, cords and sundry other crap that'd require five trips to the car to load) and leave early as was my habit. (During my time we'd play with Jonathon Richman, Violent Femmes, X, The Go-Gos, and other bands long gone from memory. I'd leave before they all went on too. Yeah, I was a fool.) The club was quite packed that night (we didn't often get to play to full houses so it was very exciting—it was the peak of my very, very short musical career). We did very well that night. The audience was loud and enthusiastic and we were beside ourselves. (Our band was also co-ed: two girls and three boys.) Our success had apparently unraveled Ms. Tissue. She paced around the "backstage" loft before going on and talked to herself unconsolably in a kind of repetitive Rain Man way. (This was a secondhand account told to me by another band member.) I could only attribute her reaction to her highly creative and requisitely insecure artistic nature. I never got the chance to see her live but from what I've seen on YouTube, while the band was certainly interesting they could appear a little stiff on stage. As a young man admiring Tissue from afar, she was a nerd's lust fetish of a girl: Cute, physically awkward, unpretentiously brilliant (I'm guessing), socially clumsy, and just diffident enough in ways that young men can ruthlessly exploit (again, I'm guessing). I'm sure I would've loved her. Even now, imagining her in her overripe suburban middle-age with pictures of the kids covering the dust-covered piano she's still the thinking older man's bohemian heartthrob.