A Witness

Various Artists Commercially Unfriendly (Gott Discs)

There are lots of arguments why 1986 was the best year in the history of the world ever, one to which only 1976, the long hot and violent summer which heralded the emergence of punk, could possibly dream of comparing.

But. Looking back, perhaps the best thing of all were the "other" bands off the real C86. The ones that weren't the Primals or the Weddoes or the Pastels or even the wonderful Wolfhounds. The ones we didn't love because they didn't have the same mopey dewy-eyed indie pop perfection, but the ones that I'm beginning to treasure more and more as we approach the twentieth anniversary of, well, me being 13.

And, as we bask in the revisionism surrounding the first anniversary of John Peel's death, typified by some shockingly dreary and straightforward sub-Britpop tracks on the alleged tribute compilation (as if Peel listened only to Pulp and Blur and never listened to techno, hip-hop, dub, d&b, happy hardcore, grindcore, death metal, world music etc...), it's worth saying that those "other" bands (Bogshed. MacKenzies. A Witness. Big Flame. The Shrubs. You KNOW) were real Peel bands, and that "Commercially Unfriendly" to me is not only a tribute to Peel, but probably the best yet.

Track three. A Witness. It strikes me that this is the fourth posting in a row in which I've mentioned A Witness. But they are a band to truly merit such "acclaim". "I Love You, Mr Disposable Razors" is godlike, obviously, a work of skewed pop genius, full of hooks and glorious observation ("anaglypta on the staircase...") even before the bouncy, sarky middle eight that takes it effortlessly into all-time classic territory as Keith Curtis murmurs "no flat caps here... no miserable Yorkshiremen... I love you, Mr disposable income"; an ode to that smug, usurping Thatcherite dolt, 80s Gillette-man/ car-advert man, still managing with doe-eyed poppiness to wander into Fall territory. It's so galling to have someone like Alex Turner being feted as a lyrical talent (admittedly only by the NME as opposed to more seasoned commentators like pub drunks) when the Arctic Monkeys can't start to compete with the genuinely funny, satirical narrative of a song like this, tied to such taut, rippling, guitar inter-rhythms.  

Read the full review at kisschase.blogspot.com