Cherry Red 1980 / Think Like A Key 2025
Still young, yet tired, dudes try to roll away their filigreed stone and find it too heavy to move.
Trouble With Women
Blaming the period of punk on the failure of this band’s sophomore effort is easy, if wrong, because punks would appreciate the inherent roughness the former members of MOTT THE HOOPLE and MEDICINE HEAD retained no matter how well they scrubbed up. Attributing their second album’s deferred release to inferior songwriting is unfair, if also easy, because the set of pieces the combo recorded soon after their first and only American outing was just as fine, in terms of memorability, as the cuts of the ensemble’s eponymous debut. When “Trouble With Women” eventually saw the light of day, and could have ridden new wave, the quintet, frustrated and exhausted by personal issues, didn’t exist anymore, and thus the platter fell through the cracks of time only to be later reevaluated and reveal its true gem-encrusted nature. In retrospective, it fares rather alluringly, even though it offers a half-conscious attempt on the collective’s part to repeat and round off what they started earlier.
This, however, will not become apparent before the album’s jolly finale “(Won’t You Give Him) One More Chance” affectionately connects with both “One More Chance To Run” which opened the “British Lions” LP and, as a cover, the “Wild In The Streets” single which introduced the band to the “Billboard” charts – and there’s no need for anything to be obvious, as the title track of “Trouble With Women” lands a no less effective blow. But while the rumble of Overend Watts’ powerful bass and the intensity of Ray Majors’ guitar riffs are impressive on their own, bolstered by Buffin’s punchy drumming, Morgan Fisher’s synthesizers that craftily stride the stereo imbue the number with cosmic strangeness. It’s a feature John Fiddler’s predatory vocals and harmonica draw towards glam and drench in blues in the absence of infectious refrain like one of the piano-sprinkled “Any Port In A Storm” whose heavy stomp, sleek veneer and simple groove are resolved in a singalong phrase. No adhering to any genre’s standards, the group whip up smoking reggae on the Farfisa-smeared “Lady Don’t Fall Backwards” and turn the piece’s flaming motif into a prog panorama, and make “Lay Down Your Love” throb in a boogie-to-surf manner and go for a barely controlled wigout. The veterans also locate pop magnetism in “High Noon” where their ’60s-influenced twang is menacing enough to qualify as hard rock, as would the organ-steamrolled “Waves Of Love” that embraces the AOR bombast and prepares the audience for “Electric Chair” which switches from tender balladry to ferocious attack in the most organic way.
With the addition of a smattering of onstage performances, a Chuck Berry perennial and an ancient Fiddler tune among them, a few demos, including, a bit illogically, the aforementioned classic from the band’s eponymous album, and “The Studio Song” that captures, in its spur-of-the-moment improv, the recording atmosphere, this reissue should shine a favorable light on the unjustly forgotten ensemble.
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