Despite claims to the contrary, the early nineties were abundant with new and exciting musical lifeforms, on both sides of the Atlantic and down here in Oz and Un Zud, there was a return to honest, no bullshit, melodic rock+roll, big hair and mullets, shoulder pads and effete leather jackets and totally suspect metal head blokes in lycra died overnight like the idiot dinosaurs they were . . . . flannels, jeans and sneakers regained their right and proper place along with tunes focused much more on songcraft and simplicty rather than smartarse, clever-dick musical masturbation that had, by and large, blighted the late eighties like a global dose of the clap.
Out of this state of mind came The Teenage Fanclub, a bunch of Scots lads with a knack for penning tunes that proudly showed their influences [Beatles, Byrds etc] as much as it did their not inconsiderable talents, fantastic, catchy and instantly memorable hooks and melodies, straight up, universal lyrical content and the appropriately earthy visual appeal, the whole fucking sheboinker . . . . pretty huge success and popularity immediately ensued and quite deservedly so, it was a complete package and a nice counterpoint to the big guns firing from the Pacific North West, Soundgarden, Nirvana, Mother Lovebone, Tad et al, everything was peachy keen.
Then you started to see interviews and articles titled with shit like 'Bigger than the Beatles' and 'The Next Big Thing' or 'Teenage Fanclub set for world domination' as the press, ever vigilant in the hunt for copy moving predictions and the chance to say 'I picked it' started what has been traditionally the voodoo doll pin sticking ceremony of slow death and disappearance for any band unfortunate enough to be both credible and flavour of the month . . . . the exact fucking opposite of The Knack, Right Said Fred and Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians. Sure enough, the vibe subsided, the band stagnated to a degree and eventually time and taste moved on and all we are left with is a collection of songs that at least justifies both their popularity and their capabilities. Sometimes the 'hipper than hip' musical press and management/A+R teams need to just back the fuck up and let stuff happen.
Out of this state of mind came The Teenage Fanclub, a bunch of Scots lads with a knack for penning tunes that proudly showed their influences [Beatles, Byrds etc] as much as it did their not inconsiderable talents, fantastic, catchy and instantly memorable hooks and melodies, straight up, universal lyrical content and the appropriately earthy visual appeal, the whole fucking sheboinker . . . . pretty huge success and popularity immediately ensued and quite deservedly so, it was a complete package and a nice counterpoint to the big guns firing from the Pacific North West, Soundgarden, Nirvana, Mother Lovebone, Tad et al, everything was peachy keen.
Then you started to see interviews and articles titled with shit like 'Bigger than the Beatles' and 'The Next Big Thing' or 'Teenage Fanclub set for world domination' as the press, ever vigilant in the hunt for copy moving predictions and the chance to say 'I picked it' started what has been traditionally the voodoo doll pin sticking ceremony of slow death and disappearance for any band unfortunate enough to be both credible and flavour of the month . . . . the exact fucking opposite of The Knack, Right Said Fred and Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians. Sure enough, the vibe subsided, the band stagnated to a degree and eventually time and taste moved on and all we are left with is a collection of songs that at least justifies both their popularity and their capabilities. Sometimes the 'hipper than hip' musical press and management/A+R teams need to just back the fuck up and let stuff happen.
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