0 Kiss (1992)

Shocking, in a way. It's been more than 20 years since I have read from the 87th Precinct series of police procedurals by Ed McBain (Evan Hunter, which was not his real name either), which means that even a book published in 1992 I have to take more or less as new, all further developments as yet unknown beyond a certain point in the late '80s. By this time McBain was writing them pretty fat—"fat" as in big, not indulgent. Not that this couldn't have stood some judicious cuts. But it's reasonably lean and swift, focusing largely on a plot about a wealthy investment banker who hires a hit man to murder his wife. This is interwoven with a soap opera storyline about one of the detectives, Steve Carella, observing the trial of the man who killed his father. So one thing I see is that Carella's various woes continued apace at least to this point. Kiss is not a best effort in many ways. Even the title turns out to be a hunk of nothing that simply molders there. The twist ending is too cute by half, stepping all over some otherwise intriguing plot points, offering up a kind of Double Indemnity narrative line that I think would have been better developed in the light. The court case and Carella thread may or may not be slightly belabored (I think yes), but it's interesting to read now among other reasons because of its close proximity preceding the OJ Simpson case. A snapshot of a certain historical moment in criminal justice, if you will. I also wonder how well McBain might have been familiar with Law & Order at that time, still in its early years but already achieving excellence with its second season. Maybe I'll find out more about that as I read more of the later ones. McBain often rambles on in discursive fashion, as usual, and the sidebars are often as interesting as the investigations because they are all so skillfully integrated. Also interesting to come back and find points that are so vivid now—such as the general unpleasantness of Andy Parker (nonetheless a pretty good cop, though lazy)—but which don't ring much of a bell from the earlier encounters.

In case it's not at the library.

Detail: Kiss (1992)

0 O(+> (1992)

Prince does not always make albums the length of feature films, but it does seem to be a default position. This so-called Love Symbol Album is another, featuring the lively New Power Generation band and road-testing his new "name" (the symbol reproduced emoticon style with O(+>). Part grand joke, part deranged reaction from a legal dispute with Warner Bros. over rights to the master recordings of his material, it's about as exasperating and hilarious as anything he has done. Talk about passive aggressive. Warner Bros. was forced to send floppy discs to all its media contacts with the custom font. Flailing for direction, PR and fans took to referring to him as "The Artist Formerly Known as Prince," "TAFKAP," "The Artist," or "glyph," all of which seemed infinitely more silly than anything yet. "My name is Prince," he announces in the first seconds of this album, on a song of exactly that name. I took that as meaning the issue of pronunciation had been reasonably clearly addressed. At any rate, it's a pretty good song, and it's followed with an even better song, "Sexy M.F." Early indications were thus that this would be a worthy follow-up to the preceding Diamonds and Pearls, which was very good. But O(+> soon wanders off into the great caverns of its 18 total tracks and some narrative "rock opera" concept that periodically surfaces, mostly in connection to the short and baffling (and annoying—please, everyone, stop these skits) spoken-word "segue" tracks. For what it's worth, Wikipedia reports that many more of the segue tracks, clarifying the story, were tossed in favor of a late addition, "I Wanna Melt With You." It's a good song and I applaud the decision to backbench the story. On recent visits, in fact, the more I hear of this album the more I like these songs, so take this if you will as a positive recommendation and not just a cautious one. It's a strong entry in his second tier. As is usually the case, I prefer the songs with more tempo over torchy turns at ballads, but it's all good. TAFKAP has always known what he's doing when it comes to the art and science of entertainment, and the pacing here is flawless. It's the case even on what most consider his weaker albums, such as Rave Un2 the Joy Fantastic, so easy to take for granted perhaps. But no one puts together a 75-minute album better than glyph.

Detail: O(+> (1992)

0 Beautiful South, "We Are Each Other" (1992)

(listen)

I gave it a try, but never connected with the Housemartins, who sounded all right but nothing to do with me, maybe a bit narrowly British. So it did come as a surprise much later when this follow-on band with Paul Heaton and Dave Hemingway impressed so much with this song. I picked it off a promo CD incidentally selling vodka, Stolar Tracks Vol. 1, which in turn came from ... somewhere. I don't remember how I got it exactly. It is clearly flailing for a 1992 Now sound, with tracks from Arrested Development ("Tennessee," no less), EMF, Jesus and Mary Chain, Lush, Screaming Trees, etc., etc. I will point out that "We Are Each Other" is buried at #11 of 16 so it had to do some work to win the attention. It insinuates by pieces, and though it takes its time the pressure is steady. Mostly what I like is how it moves and sounds like just another poppy happy declaration of love (bearing also a certain production aesthetic of the '80s and '90s). As the details emerge and pile up, however, in the aggregate it somehow crosses a line into a notable case of bad boundaries, wandering into fields of the vaguely unsettling, sometimes almost alarming: "Closer than a sister to her baby brother / Closer than a cat to the child that she'll smother" in the chorus, "I shaved all my legs and you grew hairs upon your back" noted in a verse, for examples. But you wouldn't know any of that from just hearing the song blasting into the air somewhere. It can be almost annoyingly chipper. Thus it became a mix tape staple and I kept coming back to it, and come back to it still on occasion, looking for relief to this fascinating tension. But there's no relief.

Detail: Beautiful South, "We Are Each Other" (1992)