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Best tunes of 2020: #20 Nation Of Language “On Division St.”

<< #21    |    #19 >>

The story goes this way. Ian Richard Devaney’s band The Static Jacks had recently come apart and he was in a car with his father when his father put on a song he hadn’t listened to in many years: “Electricity” by Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark (aka OMD). It evoked a great measure of nostalgia in him and he decided to try to write a song in a similar vein. He never meant it to amount to anything but this playing around with synths eventually brought us a new synth pop act out of Brooklyn. Nation of Language became a trio when Devaney added Aidan Noell for more synths and vocal support and former Static Jacks guitarist Michael Sue-Poi on bass.

They released a string of EPs and singles between 2015 and 2020 but I didn’t get to hear the group until they released their aptly named debut, “Introduction, presence”, in 2020. And even then, I didn’t catch up with this fine album when it was first released in the spring. It took a Spotify playlist, ‘made especially for me’ sometime in the fall, to include a song that made my ears prick up, had me reaching for my iPad to discover what song was playing, and then, had me googling a band name that had previously escaped my attention.

That song was “On Division St.” by Nation of Language.

“A song so sweet
From back when I was born”

Originally released as a single back in 2018, it was re-recorded for our collective “introduction” and it was well met, indeed. It is a lovely and sad thing that feels like I’ve known it all my life, grew up listening to it during my ansgty teen years. It is just over three minutes of romance unrequited, a rain soaked black and white photograph, discarded scarf, and a single dried rose. It is a drum machine set to weep and a flickering and fluttering arpeggio of synths. It is a solo form dancing and singing to him or herself in the middle of a long emptied dancefloor, still waiting and hoping for the appearance of a dream.

For the rest of the Best tunes of 2020 list, click here.

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Eighties’ best 100 redux: #95 The Nails “88 lines about 44 women” (1982)

<< #96    |    #94 >>

After all the talk about “99 luftballons” appearing at spot #98 on this list (close call, that one), I found myself looking ahead to see where The Nails’ “88 lines about 44 women” would land. As you can imagine, I found myself breathing a sigh of relief that it’s not track #88 but arriving a bit earlier at spot #95.

Nonetheless, I’m sure you’ll remember this one.

Of course, you do. If not when it was first released, you definitely would have heard it when it enjoyed a resurgence due to its use in a Mazda car commercial in the late nineties. If you’re not convinced, here’s said commercial:

The Nails were a 6-piece American new wave band that got a surprise hit out of this very track. It was first released on a 1982 EP called “Hotel for women” and then re-recorded for their debut LP “Mood swing” in 1984. They released another album two years later and then, recorded another that was released without the band’s approval in 1993. Both of The Nails’ proper albums were critically acclaimed but the band was never able break the “novelty” die cast by “88 lines”. To be honest, this is the only song by The Nails I have ever heard but from what I can gather, their other work is much darker than this.

“88 lines about 44 women” has always been a guilty/not guilty pleasure of mine and always reminds me of my friend Zed and dancing at retro night at Whiskey Saigon. It’s not only just a fun song to bop along to but it also has smart and funny lyrics: 44 rhyming couplets, each about a different woman, many of whom I think I would have been interested in meeting (and some, perhaps not). If you’ve never had a good listen to the lyrics, pay attention when you press play below.

Original Eighties best 100 position: #96

Favourite lyric:  “Terri didn’t give a shit / was just a nihilist”… We believe nothing, Lebowski!

Where are they now?: The Nails officially broke up many moons ago but frontman Marc Campbell released a solo album called “Tantric machine” in 2010.

For the rest of the Eighties’ best 100 redux list, click here.

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Tunes

Eighties’ best 100 redux: #97 The Box “L’affaire Dumoutier (Say to me)” (1985)

<< #98    |    #96 >>

My parents must’ve gotten tired of waking me up in time to go to school at some point a few years before high school because, one Christmas, I received as a gift my very own clock/radio. These are probably not in use as much these days with today’s youth, possibly opting instead for setting an alarm on their smartphones. However, it’s a gift I grew to love, not long after I got over the shock of unwrapping something other than games or chocolates or clothing. With the novelty of it, I plugged it in right away and placed it within arm’s reach of my single bed. I set the time and an alarm time around 7am and then, started playing with the other functions. I turned on the radio and found CFTR, an old AM radio station that has long since gone talk radio but at the time was playing current hits, and I likely didn’t touch the dial for quite a few years.

It was this clock/radio that started a habit that I didn’t break myself of until I moved in with my girlfriend, now wife, a decade and a half later. I discovered the sleep function and fell asleep to the sweet sounds of music every night, some nights I would have had to extend the sleep past the standard hour when it took longer. This is where I discovered a lot of music in my youth, some of which are still favourites and some appear on this list, including this song.

I definitely remember hearing “L’affaire Dumoutier (say to me)” quite often in the evenings while falling asleep or as the alarm went off in the mornings*. I didn’t know the name of it at the time, nor did I know who performed the song, I wouldn’t discover either of these until much, much later, during a period in the early 2000s when I started using the powers of the internet for good and ill and to reconnect with the long-lost favourites of my youth.

The Box was formed by Jean-Marc Pisapia in Montreal in 1981, a year after he left Men Without Hats**, and they released four full-length studio albums before disbanding a decade later. Little did I know that they were actually quite successful in the late 80s and had a string of hit singles on Canadian radio, many of which I actually knew and loved. I only discovered this last fact recently when I saw them advertised as touring here in Ontario with Chalk Circle, another classic Canadian alternative band, and decided to investigate songs other than “L’affaire Dumoutier”.

Although I can say now that I am more of a true fan of their work, this one is still my favourite. Based on a real news item that Pisapia had read that had haunted him, the song deals with mental illness and its dangers, a murder committed when its perpetrator was not in his right mind. The sound of the song is also haunting, the gonging of church bells interspersed with police sirens in the fog, the verses spoken as news reportage, including interviews and statements, both in English and French, and though I couldn’t understand it all when I was younger, I knew something dark was at play. Of course, the chorus as a counterpoint is a singalong and infinitely hummable, which I did at various points in my life whenever the song came back to me.

Original Eighties best 100 position: n/a

Favourite lyric:  “Non coupable! Pour cause d’aliénation mentale…” My French wasn’t strong enough for me to understand what this meant at the time but I still loved how this was spoken with such finality to end the song. Now that I can understand it, I appreciate it even more.

Where are they now?: Jean-Marc Pisapia revived the band back in 2004 with himself being the only original member. This new incarnation has since released two albums, an EP, and a bunch of singles and has toured quite regularly.

*Because, of course, I used to opt for radio rather alarm sound to wake me up.

**Another Canadian new wave group of whom some of you may have heard.

For the rest of the Eighties’ best 100 redux list, click here.