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He is Nick Lowe, alias the Prince of Pop. a.k.a. the Titan of Trash and the Herald of Hip. Only this morning his dry wit, affable charm and eminently quotable bon mots had the college radio press eating out of the palm of his hand. But less than ten hours later, as the lanky bassist squints fixedly at the telegram tacked to the wall of his Boston Garden dressing room, a very different side of Nick Lowe begins to emerge. Slowly it dawns me that the feted paragon of insouciance, this self-styled Jesus of Cool, is – believe it or not – on the verge of tears. “I can’t believe he did this,” mutters Nick, his voice tinged with emotion. “Listen to this: “Dear Nick, Sorry I can’t be with you for this one. Know you’ll knock ‘em dead. Your buddy, Peter Wolf.” Aw, old Wolf didn’t have to do that,” continued Lowe, groping for another Heineken with one hand as he runs the other through his shaggy mane. “I mean here’s this guy I admire so damn much – he kept the old flag of R&B flying for all these years, and now they’re bloody number one; haven’t seen him in ages, and he takes the time out there on tour to send this. You shouldn’t really play R&B like I do,” he confesses to his beer.
“Those guys are the real thing. And I was so damned pleased when their song went to number one. I bought every bastard in the bar a drink!”
Wait a minute, is this genuinely warm, humble guy the same cool, cavalier popster that wowed the Adidas brigade at lunch?
You bet.
In fact, the real Nick Lowe is exactly that: a pleasantly paradoxical juxtaposition of passion and detachment. Unlike many of the post-punk English set who, in their rush to escape cliched forms and structures also reject the essential musical principles needed to create effective new rock vehicles. Lowe’s unerring command of traditional rock dynamics, coupled with his detached objectivity (conceptual, not emotional) enables him to reshuffle these musical elements into novel configurations at will, creating in the process a unique hybrid of rock, pop, R&B, reggae and country. Clever as all this may sound, Lowe is acutely aware that it’s his underlying passion for rock ‘n’ roll and his commitment to his craft that provide the depth and force that lend his efforts credibility.
Lowe developed his mastery of these diverse musical elements by way of a tough apprenticeship on the early 70s London pub circuit. As bass player and chief songwriter for country rockers Brinsley Schwartz, Lowe learned to switch genres effortlessly in order to satisfy the demands of the dance-hungry pubsters for everything from rockabilly to reggae. On any given night the band might open with the Band’s “Chest Fever,” then swing through a brace of Chuck Berry rockers and Beatle tunes before closing out with something by the Jackson Five. After a string of critically lauded but commercially disastrous albums of original material (disastrous in the U.S. way, anyway, where their entire catalog is out of print – you might scour the import bins for the excellent compilation Fifteen Thoughts Of Brinsley Schwartz [U.A. import], which contains the original version of their anthemic “What’s So Funny About Peace Love And Understanding,” later covered by Elvis Costello), the Brins decided to pack it in, at which point Brinsley Schwartz and Bob Andrews signed on with Graham Parker as members of his backup band, the Rumour. By now Nick had joined forces with guitarist / producer Dave Edmunds. Dave’s hollow, glassine leads and raw, locomotive rhythms effected an organic synthesis of the rockabilly and R&B moves of his heroes – James Burton, Carl Perkins and Chuck Berry. Edmunds’ straight-ahead playing soon helped to both ground and galvanize Nick’s nascent post-Brinsley style. If Lowe was the brains of the operation, providing most of the ideas, humor and detachment, then Edmunds was both the spirit and the brawn; his knotty fills and ringing leads supplied the heart and guts. Along with ex-Rutles guitarist Billy Bremner and Welshman drummer Terry Williams they formed Rockpile, an informal aggregation that served as both a touring and recording vehicle for Dave and Nick’s solo projects. “So It Goes” the latter’s initial release on the newly formed Stiff label, is considered by most authorities (including The Financial Times of London, Neue Zuricher Zeitung and the Chronicles of Zone III) to be the first new wave 45. In any case, there was certainly more overt passion, punch and sheer exuberance generated by the fat power chords of its majestic D-A-E chorus and descending chordal verse than anything the pubsted had been able to muster and Nick’s surrealistic tale of kids cutting off right arms and tired U.S. ambassadors on obscure missions set the tone for the twisted but topical tunes to come. Lowe’s first album, Pure Pop For Now People, was a bizarre collage of sights, sounds and characters, actresses getting eaten by their dogs and the Bay City Rollers share the limelight with Messrs. Hitler and Castro. Musically, traces of cheerfully lifted Jackson Five riffs (“Nutted By Reality”) rub shoulders with punkish two-chord wonder (“Heart Of The City”) and Paul Simonized ballads (the intro to “Tonight”). His followup, Labour Of Lust, signaled a shift in texture and structure. Gone were the crystalline power chords and chunky rhythms. Instead, Edmunds’ gnarled, linear leads snaked their way through a reverb-soaked matrix of chiming acoustics, fat bass lines and chattering drums. Finally, during the summer of ’80, the team of Lowe, Bremner, Edmunds and Williams recorded their first and only record as a bone fide group. Muscular yet melodic. Rockpile’s Seconds Of Pleasure was either greater or lesser than the sum of its parts, depending on your prejudices. It was basically a guitar-heavy collection of straight ahead 50s-ish rock ‘n’ roll, with Edmunds’ meat-and-potatoes, rock-a-Berry stompers offset by Nick’s Buddy Holly, Stax and Everly Bros. evocations. Sure it was a compromise, but it worked. And it might have taken off in some intriguing directions, had not personality and business disagreements between Edmunds and Lowe’s controversial manager, Jake Riviera come to a head, resulting in the band’s breakup, and the dissolution of all personal and professional links between Lowe and Edmunds.
Remaining text and scanner-error corrections to come...
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