Mick Middles' review of The Distractions' The End Of The Pier album on The Quietus is such a wonderful piece of writing that we're immensely proud to have made the album that inspired it. You can read it in situ, of course, but we thought we'd also reproduce it in full below:
The Distractions
The End of the Pier
Mick Middles
August 10th, 2012 07:00
Distractions singer Mike Finney stood - literally - at the end of the
pier. It was August 1983 and the location? Unlikely Skegness. Finney
was choosing to escape the urban traumas of Stockport and the vulturous
critical circle that hovered menacingly above the convoluted demise of
the band… a band that flickered so brilliantly amid the debris of post
punk Manchester before crumbling beneath the weight of expectation.
What had happened here? Finney knew that the ungovernable gods of luck
and timing had fled the scene. He knew too, that something special had
been allowed to drift from the spotlight. The game was up. That evening,
in the 50s-throwback town of Mablethorpe, Finney and co-singer Julie
entered a talent show in the hall of a downbeat caravan park swilling
with noisily inebriated Nottingham miners. They sang 'This Old Heart of
Mine' and finished closely behind a rotund Elvis impersonator. Lost in
the symbolism of the moment, Finney dropped his guard for once and
submitted to beery banter. "I have reached the end of the pier," he
joked. Soon he would leave his musical memories behind and escape to a
welcoming family life in Pennine Yorkshire.
Although they formed in 1975, it took three years for The
Distractions to shuffle nervously into position. While Buzzcocks jostled
into the rush of chart success and Joy Division attained unprecedented
cult status, The Distractions' sweet flow of songs gained them a
dedicated local following. Here was a heartfelt pop soul brimming with
angst and tender lyrical twists. Here was a lovely natural songwriting
that soared about the pretentious howl of low-brow funk of the day.
While less talented acts successfully courted the inky music press and,
in years to come, would gain ludicrous appraisals in lofty journals and
tomes, The Distraction would drift into the shadows.
The band's biog might appear typical. After releasing one raw and glorious EP (You Are Not Going Out Dressed Like That
on Tony Davidson's TJM label) and arguably the most perfect single in
Factory's chequered history ('Time Goes By So Slow'), they decamped for
fame and fortune via a serious record deal with Island. The resultant
album Nobody's Perfect, (and disappointing cover version single,
'Boy's Cry') failed to capture that momentum and, at the very moment
they should have been surging on to Top of the Pops, the cute
little juggernaut stalled. Suddenly, all was shambles. Chief songwriter
Steve Perrin, the man responsible for infusing the irresistible melodies
that gained them the contract in the first place, jumped ship, to form
the shaky though aptly-named Escape Committee, to little effect. Opting
to put their promotional force behind the embryonic U2, Island dropped
The Distractions who, post Perrin, simmered for a while with the
cerebral addition of Ex Ludus man Arthur Kadmon before splintering into
Finney's ironic 80s pop act, The Secret Seven. Even here, there was a
bubble of success via a bizarre record deal with the metal label Bronze,
a strange home for lilting pop. One single in, that dream folded,
leaving Finney and Secret Seven co-singer Julie to record vocals for The
Art Of Noises' 'Close to the Edge'. Alas, again, bad luck saw the
single emerge as charting instrumental.
That is the nutshell; the remotest tip of an iceberg that barely merited a mention in. say, Simon Reynolds' post punk Bible, Rip It Up and Start It Again.
Perhaps that should be the end of the story. Nothing more, nothing less
that one of the great lost Manchester bands (Easterhouse, Dub Sex, The
Chameleons, The Freshies etc).
Had it not been for Nick Halliwell, the guiding light behind the
perceptive and intelligent label, Occultation, all would remain a
memory. This guitar playing, song writing, uber-enthusiast of great lost
bands – The June Brides are also under his wing – managed to somehow
rekindle this extinguished flame. Without his energetic input, The
Distractions story would have ended there… well, save for a brief
revival in an unwelcoming 1995.
It didn't help that Finney and Perrin had decamped to Holmfirth and
New Zealand respectively, seemingly linked only by memory and Facebook.
Even this was not enough to deter Halliwell from his quest and, last
year, saw the release of two Distractions EPs which merged new Perrin
and Halliwell written material plus intriguing leftovers from that
fleeting 1995 session. The results strongly indicated a 'maturing' of
Finney's voice that would now sit sweetly on top of a prediction of
contemporary clarity. Old press allegiances – David Quantick, yours
truly – returned with vigour and, within months rumours of an all new
Distractions album – the first in 32 years – began to circulate around
the small gathering of admirers. And, make no mistake about it, this IS a
miniscule fan base. Halliwell's quest is simplistic and difficult. Get
the world to listen. Even the prospect of two Manchester gigs at the
back end of August will not necessarily cause a sufficient dent in the
city's currently rather disconnected and disparate local scene.
However, the resultant album, The End of the Pier, has already started to turn heads. Everett True's punchy appraisal on Collapse Board
among them. This is not surprising, for it is arguably the most
reflective and illuminating collection of songs one has stumble across
this year and will delight those with hazy memories of inebriated
dancing in Manchester's Mayflower Club in 1979. Curious thing is that it
is unmistakably a Distractions record, even if only Finney and Perrin
remain from the original gaggle of Mancunian oiks. Quite why it is
unmistakably so is an intriguing point. For gone is the young man
angst…the state of semi-sexual development and sheer force of yearning
that governed their previous songwriting – well, if you have sussed that
by the time you reach your mid–50s you might as well give up. But what
we find here is a swarming maturity, indeed, a sense of rapid ageing. It
is an 'oldie' album that nods to Leonard Cohen ('Tower of Song') and
even Dylan ('Not Dark Yet'). I mention those two songs because, if
consumed late at night, half-way down the Merlot, perhaps, they take you
to a place of serene reflection. It also faintly echoes the classic
albums of Lucinda Williams. (Essence, Car Wheels on a Gravel Road)
in that a staunch 'believability' seems to flow from every line. Well,
between lyric writers and singer here lies a great deal of life
experience. Why shouldn't it be allowed to feed back into the music?
The very first line, expressed with a degree of soulful anxiety,
states "We are running out of time…." While, nine songs later at the
album's conclusion, Finney claims "This is the last song I will ever
sing." In between lie eight more of them, all of which sit within that
state of rapidly ageing angst. Oddly enough, it is almost comforting to
hear someone expressing this stuff on your behalf. One thinks of a
middle age man, wandering around some sunny enclave, wholly lost in a
swirl of thought. "Though we may not live long I will write just one
more song and we will try out luck again," he states on 'Wise', while,
one song later, he intones, " Who would have thought that coming back
would be so hard?"
All of which might appear to lack the exuberance on which the small
Distractions legend was initially built. However, as reflective as the
lyrics may seem, this is still a record that can occasionally bump along
like a young 'un. This might be attributed to Finney and Perrin's
partners in crime here. Halliwell's inventive guitar twists and the
lovely pumping bass of Arash Torabi remains distinctive throughout.
Further credits go to the keyboards of producer Nick Garside and Mike
Kellie, resurrected from the ghost of The Only Ones to hold down the
beat during these Exeter-based sessions.
The differences between this oddly assembled ersatz unit and the
original band are wholly positive. Back in the post punk gloom, The
Distractions glory belonged to the lovely musical naiveté that typified
their live attack. Once they had assembled in a quality studio – and,
with respect, under the guidance of producer John Astley – their
precocity noticeably faded. Today's Distractions are a different beast,
brimming with confidence and freed from former expectations.
Did I mention Lucinda Williams, back there? That might be more of a
'feel' thing rather than actuality. That stated, there are moments on The End of the Pier
where elements of country-esque forlornness start to creep in. Such a
thing might have been unforgivable back in 1978, when existential
downbeat loser fayre was never on the menu. Well, not in the NME,
anyway. However, Distractions young and old both enjoy drifting apart
from the pack. There was always something rather incongruous about
seeing the name 'Distractions' on a bill that might feature Section 25,
Joy Division, The Fall and Blurt. It was by chance that Finney's soul
boy threads seemed to blend with the ragged suits and
short-back-and-sides favoured by the Ratios and Pop Groups. When on
punkier bills, their joyous normality became paradoxically weird. The
same might be said today, both in sound and visuals. Nothing really
edges close to this. Not now. Not then.
There is nothing to fear anymore. There is no possibility of failure.
This is a ship sailing serenely into the mists and, from that greying
undertone; a curious joy can be glimpsed. As hinted, this is probably
the most emotionally affecting album I have heard in many years. It
nudges your perception, leaves you feeling somewhat blurry from the
experience. All in all, peculiarly dreamlike and, as Charles Shaar
Murray once succinctly noted, The Distractions are good for dreams. All
is surreal and normal and weird at the end of the pier.
