Keith McDougallThe Tough Alliance
March 6th 2008 02:23
Sometimes I feel amazed that I'm old enough to remember a time when reviving "the eighties" seemed almost unthinkable, when synth-pop and electro were considered to be the naffest forms of music in history. But then, of course, they came back as kitsch and parody. If you used to be an Australian alt-rock kid who watched Recovery and listened to Triple J, then you may have first encountered this in Regurgitator's album Unit in 1997. But then the next thing you knew, the eighties revival was on, for real, and then suddenly it's 2008 and it's been the dull norm for what seems like forever.
So for a while I've been wondering when this boring old electro thing's going to disappear and make room for the early nineties revival. Usually there's about twenty years between revived and revival - that's the rule of revivals. Twenty years is the time it takes for kids who can't actually remember the bygone era to grow up and rediscover it. They're well aware of the music their parents used to listen to, and they remember the music from their childhood, but the gap in between is mysterious and fascinating, and therefore ripe for revival. So right now we're due for a late eighties revival, which will soon smoothly segue into the nu-nineties.
But what exactly is this "early nineties" (or "late eighties") that's going to reappear? It can't be grunge, house, techno, G funk, or jazzy hip-hop, because they never went away. For something to be revived it needs to have been forgotten. The sound that springs to my mind - one that, like electro in the nineties, disappeared and started to seem like the height of lameness - is not a genre, but a particular musical device: it's the piano vamp.
I'm talking about a specific kind of riff, not necessarily played on a piano, but always a keyboard, with syncopated soulful chords. You know, the ones that go dunka dunka dunk? In indie rock, think Primal Scream's Screamadelica album. In techno, Rhythim is Rhythim's 'Strings of Life'. In house and pop music, there are so many examples that I can't even think of one. Idunno, Dr. Alban? D:Ream? M People? They all blur together in my mind.
Piano vamps were invented long before the late eighties of course. I assume they originated in gospel music, and you can hear them in Rolling Stones songs. But in a dance music context, to me they're synonymous with the era. So why have they disappeared? On the one hand, they sound like they're really being bashed out on the ivories by some soulful dude, so they don't fit into this bleak dystopian future of soulless machine music and manufactured idols that we're living in. On the other hand, they're way too cheesy for all the techno-phobic "real musicians" who are too uptight, dull and conservative to dig dance and pop music.
I'm sure that heaps of music nerds far nerdier than I could think of a million noughties piano vamps, but the only one that crossed my radar before this year was in Westbam feat. Nena's brilliant 'Old School, Baby (Piano Mix)' from Michael Mayer's Fabric 13 in 2003. The title clearly indicates that the song's creators were extremely self-conscious about their use of such a dated device, and the song's overall vibe is quite nostalgic, rather than forward-thinking, optimistic and uplifting like real nineties piano vamps. Then there's Talib Kweli's even more brilliant 'Get By', produced by Kanye West, but that samples Nina Simone and has too much plinking and plonking on one key at a time, not enough chords, to be a late eighties/early nineties piano vamp.
Being a pretty half-arsed music nerd, I usually don't find out about what's going in today's music until I read all the critics' favourites lists at the end of year. After whining all year about wanting a nineties revival, I checked out the top singles list by Philip Sherburne, who is both Pitchfork and Wire magazine's go-to guru for all things techno, and lo and behold, number one is Noze's 'Remember Love', built on a big fat piano vamp. But even after this nothing could prepare me for the sheer awesomeness that entered my ears when I checked out one of great Australian critic Tim Finney's favourite bands of 2007: the Swedish indie-dance-pop band The Tough Alliance.
Now, these guys couldn't be more late 80's/early 90's if they tried. Not only do five of the eight tracks on their 2007 album A New Chance contain piano vamps, 'Miami' even has a stuttering sample of a diva shouting "ecstasy!" This and other wonderfully cheesy samples - tastefully sighing and moaning women, exotic Eastern singers - roll around on a bed of perfect "tribal" dance beats. As for the indie half of the indie dance equation, the singer sounds like a swooning Shaun Ryder on too many pills, and just when you think they can't get any more "Madchester", it turns out that they're inspired by Situationism, and their record label assigns catalogue numbers to everything from a bulletproof vest to a photo of a tennis player, just like Factory Records.
The indie and the dance parts of Tough Alliance are somehow perfectly balanced and integrated. There are never any blaring guitar riffs or pummeling beats battling for domination of the mix. They don't really rock, but they're not electro either, just awesome dance pop. They never turn anything up to eleven, but with their boisterous spirit and perfect sense of rhythm, they still manage to make me want to jump around and smash things. Instead of guitars or beats upfront, it's all about the keyboards, but not the kind that shout "I AM ROBOT!", and not the kind that generate monotonous dirty electro basslines. Their use of piano vamps, which are utterly melodic and utterly rhythmic at the same time, and the least monotonous thing in the world, guarantees zero chance of their grooves ever lulling anyone into a trance.
Instead, they generate constant euphoria. And when they're not using keyboards to get you waving your hands in the air like a loon, they're drenching songs like '1981' in heavenly synth ambience and dub echo, gorgeous enough to induce visions of Utopia. Not content to stick to a single early nineties genre, they've even released an entire ambient techno album called Escaping Your Ambitions.
The Tough Alliance are perhaps more early 90's than the early 90's actually was, or on the other hand, maybe they're just so good that time becomes irrelevant. Their music, like the music that inspired them, has occasional tiny hints of melancholy nostalgia (the chorus "You were something special" perhaps mourns lost love), but generally sounds so sincerely optimistic that the past seems to evaporate, leaving only the ecstasy of the present moment, and hope for a glorious future. It's the perfect music to cheer you up when you're heartbroken.
How do they manage this trick of being derivative and yet so in the moment? How do they escape the anxiety of influence, and the pitfalls our constantly recycling culture? The Alliance answer this in their song 'No Heroes' with a quote from the Redskins: "Take no heroes, only inspiration!" In their (unintentionally?) hilarious Pitchfork interview, they explain further:
"There are so many artists who are content with just producing art which they feel could have been done by someone they admire. So many artists who just want to be a part of something instead of going their own way. It may sound pretentious, but we want to contribute to society by expressing our situation as sharply and accurately as possible. And we can relate to and feel a lot of different things. And that reflects in everything we do, naturally also in our musical adventures."
In other words, being overly reverential towards one's influences only leads to boringly respectful music that says nothing about you and your current situation. Alternatives to revering past masters include parodying them, and "mourning" the past, hauntology-style, but Tough Alliance reject all of these approaches, taking "only inspiration" and leaving it at that.
Issues of authenticity in music are boringly over-discussed, but I think there really is an undeniable difference between reviving a sound to be clever or funny and doing it sincerely. The Tough Alliance are so damn sincere that sincerity seems to be their whole schtick. The philosophy of their label, which is called Sincerely Yours, includes the claim that "It has has never been more important to feel instead of trying to be clever. Sincerity has never been more subversive than right now." When Pitchfork asked TTA for their opinion about bands being ironic, they answered "It gives us a feeling of hopelessness. Let's change subjects before we commit ritual suicide!"
The Tough Alliance may just be a couple of very clever nerds who thought it would be hilarious to pretend that it's 1988 and they're soccer hooligans who've just taken ecstasy for the first time, but if that's the case, they've got me fooled. They sound real to me. Their music is unashamedly uplifting, expressing a pure, profound joy that maybe only the Avalanches have matched this decade, but there's also traces of snotty, bratty, thuggish attitude in their lyrics about violence and riots, as if they're saying fuck you to anyone who's cynical about their corny optimism. And this is probably what prevents them from sounding merely corny.
Finding out that their "take no heroes" line is a quote from the Redskins led me to pick up my copy of Simon Reynolds's Bring the Noise, which is the only place I'd ever heard of that band before. Reynolds says that the Redskins and similar soul-rock bands of the mid-eighties proposed a strategy of "offensive optimism" to counter the "defeatist" miserable indie music that was popular at the time, eg the Smiths and the Cure. "Offensive optimism" describes Tough Alliance's attitude perfectly. But what exactly are they optimistic about? The Redskins had a political agenda, but TTA are too loved up to care about anything so serious. Their lyrics are incredibly vague - the bridge in 'First Class Riot' goes "Something else, something bright and pure, something that you've never felt before, something you can't touch, something you can't see."
There's an even more appropriate Bring the Noise quote in the chapter on positivity in music, circa 1990: "Too often, all this perilously vague language communicates is a fervent belief in belief." But hey, who cares? I'm not looking to music for specific answers - I can figure that stuff out for myself. I just need music to express an attitude and provide some emotional colouring for my life, and right now the Tough Alliance are the guys for the job.
So for a while I've been wondering when this boring old electro thing's going to disappear and make room for the early nineties revival. Usually there's about twenty years between revived and revival - that's the rule of revivals. Twenty years is the time it takes for kids who can't actually remember the bygone era to grow up and rediscover it. They're well aware of the music their parents used to listen to, and they remember the music from their childhood, but the gap in between is mysterious and fascinating, and therefore ripe for revival. So right now we're due for a late eighties revival, which will soon smoothly segue into the nu-nineties.
But what exactly is this "early nineties" (or "late eighties") that's going to reappear? It can't be grunge, house, techno, G funk, or jazzy hip-hop, because they never went away. For something to be revived it needs to have been forgotten. The sound that springs to my mind - one that, like electro in the nineties, disappeared and started to seem like the height of lameness - is not a genre, but a particular musical device: it's the piano vamp.
I'm talking about a specific kind of riff, not necessarily played on a piano, but always a keyboard, with syncopated soulful chords. You know, the ones that go dunka dunka dunk? In indie rock, think Primal Scream's Screamadelica album. In techno, Rhythim is Rhythim's 'Strings of Life'. In house and pop music, there are so many examples that I can't even think of one. Idunno, Dr. Alban? D:Ream? M People? They all blur together in my mind.
Piano vamps were invented long before the late eighties of course. I assume they originated in gospel music, and you can hear them in Rolling Stones songs. But in a dance music context, to me they're synonymous with the era. So why have they disappeared? On the one hand, they sound like they're really being bashed out on the ivories by some soulful dude, so they don't fit into this bleak dystopian future of soulless machine music and manufactured idols that we're living in. On the other hand, they're way too cheesy for all the techno-phobic "real musicians" who are too uptight, dull and conservative to dig dance and pop music.
I'm sure that heaps of music nerds far nerdier than I could think of a million noughties piano vamps, but the only one that crossed my radar before this year was in Westbam feat. Nena's brilliant 'Old School, Baby (Piano Mix)' from Michael Mayer's Fabric 13 in 2003. The title clearly indicates that the song's creators were extremely self-conscious about their use of such a dated device, and the song's overall vibe is quite nostalgic, rather than forward-thinking, optimistic and uplifting like real nineties piano vamps. Then there's Talib Kweli's even more brilliant 'Get By', produced by Kanye West, but that samples Nina Simone and has too much plinking and plonking on one key at a time, not enough chords, to be a late eighties/early nineties piano vamp.
Being a pretty half-arsed music nerd, I usually don't find out about what's going in today's music until I read all the critics' favourites lists at the end of year. After whining all year about wanting a nineties revival, I checked out the top singles list by Philip Sherburne, who is both Pitchfork and Wire magazine's go-to guru for all things techno, and lo and behold, number one is Noze's 'Remember Love', built on a big fat piano vamp. But even after this nothing could prepare me for the sheer awesomeness that entered my ears when I checked out one of great Australian critic Tim Finney's favourite bands of 2007: the Swedish indie-dance-pop band The Tough Alliance.
Now, these guys couldn't be more late 80's/early 90's if they tried. Not only do five of the eight tracks on their 2007 album A New Chance contain piano vamps, 'Miami' even has a stuttering sample of a diva shouting "ecstasy!" This and other wonderfully cheesy samples - tastefully sighing and moaning women, exotic Eastern singers - roll around on a bed of perfect "tribal" dance beats. As for the indie half of the indie dance equation, the singer sounds like a swooning Shaun Ryder on too many pills, and just when you think they can't get any more "Madchester", it turns out that they're inspired by Situationism, and their record label assigns catalogue numbers to everything from a bulletproof vest to a photo of a tennis player, just like Factory Records.
The indie and the dance parts of Tough Alliance are somehow perfectly balanced and integrated. There are never any blaring guitar riffs or pummeling beats battling for domination of the mix. They don't really rock, but they're not electro either, just awesome dance pop. They never turn anything up to eleven, but with their boisterous spirit and perfect sense of rhythm, they still manage to make me want to jump around and smash things. Instead of guitars or beats upfront, it's all about the keyboards, but not the kind that shout "I AM ROBOT!", and not the kind that generate monotonous dirty electro basslines. Their use of piano vamps, which are utterly melodic and utterly rhythmic at the same time, and the least monotonous thing in the world, guarantees zero chance of their grooves ever lulling anyone into a trance.
Instead, they generate constant euphoria. And when they're not using keyboards to get you waving your hands in the air like a loon, they're drenching songs like '1981' in heavenly synth ambience and dub echo, gorgeous enough to induce visions of Utopia. Not content to stick to a single early nineties genre, they've even released an entire ambient techno album called Escaping Your Ambitions.
The Tough Alliance are perhaps more early 90's than the early 90's actually was, or on the other hand, maybe they're just so good that time becomes irrelevant. Their music, like the music that inspired them, has occasional tiny hints of melancholy nostalgia (the chorus "You were something special" perhaps mourns lost love), but generally sounds so sincerely optimistic that the past seems to evaporate, leaving only the ecstasy of the present moment, and hope for a glorious future. It's the perfect music to cheer you up when you're heartbroken.
How do they manage this trick of being derivative and yet so in the moment? How do they escape the anxiety of influence, and the pitfalls our constantly recycling culture? The Alliance answer this in their song 'No Heroes' with a quote from the Redskins: "Take no heroes, only inspiration!" In their (unintentionally?) hilarious Pitchfork interview, they explain further:
"There are so many artists who are content with just producing art which they feel could have been done by someone they admire. So many artists who just want to be a part of something instead of going their own way. It may sound pretentious, but we want to contribute to society by expressing our situation as sharply and accurately as possible. And we can relate to and feel a lot of different things. And that reflects in everything we do, naturally also in our musical adventures."
In other words, being overly reverential towards one's influences only leads to boringly respectful music that says nothing about you and your current situation. Alternatives to revering past masters include parodying them, and "mourning" the past, hauntology-style, but Tough Alliance reject all of these approaches, taking "only inspiration" and leaving it at that.
Issues of authenticity in music are boringly over-discussed, but I think there really is an undeniable difference between reviving a sound to be clever or funny and doing it sincerely. The Tough Alliance are so damn sincere that sincerity seems to be their whole schtick. The philosophy of their label, which is called Sincerely Yours, includes the claim that "It has has never been more important to feel instead of trying to be clever. Sincerity has never been more subversive than right now." When Pitchfork asked TTA for their opinion about bands being ironic, they answered "It gives us a feeling of hopelessness. Let's change subjects before we commit ritual suicide!"
The Tough Alliance may just be a couple of very clever nerds who thought it would be hilarious to pretend that it's 1988 and they're soccer hooligans who've just taken ecstasy for the first time, but if that's the case, they've got me fooled. They sound real to me. Their music is unashamedly uplifting, expressing a pure, profound joy that maybe only the Avalanches have matched this decade, but there's also traces of snotty, bratty, thuggish attitude in their lyrics about violence and riots, as if they're saying fuck you to anyone who's cynical about their corny optimism. And this is probably what prevents them from sounding merely corny.
Finding out that their "take no heroes" line is a quote from the Redskins led me to pick up my copy of Simon Reynolds's Bring the Noise, which is the only place I'd ever heard of that band before. Reynolds says that the Redskins and similar soul-rock bands of the mid-eighties proposed a strategy of "offensive optimism" to counter the "defeatist" miserable indie music that was popular at the time, eg the Smiths and the Cure. "Offensive optimism" describes Tough Alliance's attitude perfectly. But what exactly are they optimistic about? The Redskins had a political agenda, but TTA are too loved up to care about anything so serious. Their lyrics are incredibly vague - the bridge in 'First Class Riot' goes "Something else, something bright and pure, something that you've never felt before, something you can't touch, something you can't see."
There's an even more appropriate Bring the Noise quote in the chapter on positivity in music, circa 1990: "Too often, all this perilously vague language communicates is a fervent belief in belief." But hey, who cares? I'm not looking to music for specific answers - I can figure that stuff out for myself. I just need music to express an attitude and provide some emotional colouring for my life, and right now the Tough Alliance are the guys for the job.
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Comment by Anonymous
nev
Comment by Anonymous
Keep writing!
Comment by Keith McDougall
Beats Review
hey you're right, it hadn't even occurred to me, 'Miami' is even more amazing than I'd realised - there's just so much going on.
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