It's been a long journey (though comfortable; the railway line here knows this journey is long and can be ardurous, so they go out of their way to make it as pleasant for you as they can --- assuming you can pay, of course) south through Greater Boybandland, and as we've travelled I've occasionally looked up from my research and noted with disapproval the many shanty towns dotted along the route, where guitarists, keyboard players and other session men who have fallen down on their luck eke out a meagre living, perhaps busking in the street for coins, or desperately trying to cash in on long-faded glories. “Hey, I used to play with Boyz II Men” or “I taught the guys from Nsync all they know” are familiar claims around these parts, my guide tells me, and similarly disbelieved, ignored or simply not cared about. Most of these session musicians can lay claim to having played, either on stage or in recording sessions, at least once, with often more than one successful boyband, but it's a familiar story and no-one is impressed, more interested in trying to stay above the poverty line, while some vainly write songs (and often good ones) that nobody here will listen to. Were this a rock town, sure, they could make it big, but all across GBBL, from north to south and from east to west the story is the same: unless you can sing and harmonise and dance, and unless you look and sound pretty, nobody cares.
The guttering lights of each successive shanty town are soon left behind in the dust though. This train does not stop at any of them: there is no need. For anyone who has been lucky enough to have had their services procured by a boyband and is travelling my way, it's a fifty-mile or more trek to the nearest rail station, where shiny new plastic train tickets (one-way only: it's an expensive trip) are clutched in hand like bars of gold, quite literally the lucky musicians' ticket to the big time.
I reflect on the unfairness of it all. There is great talent here, but nobody will give them a chance. Unlike the streets of, say, Chicago, where though the blues are king they'll listen to any music, give anyone a chance, here in GBBL you HAVE to be boyband material to be even listened to. In my time here I've heard guitar solos that would make your hair curl, listened to aspiring rock singers that would make Coverdale or Bon Jovi green with envy, and heard people do things with keyboard, sax and violin that I would not have believed possible. Anywhere else, they would be well on the way to fame and stardom, but not here. Here, the boyband is king, and there is no room for any other type of music.
As day turns to night and the train ploughs on like an arrow into the gathering darkness, I notice that the landscape is changing subtly. The large, clustered skyscrapers I encountered in the north of the country, both in Chicotania and later in New Southland, gradually drop away, being replaced by lower, less cluttered buildings that spread out across the approaching skyline. Hills and meadows are lusher, somehow; greener and more rolling, and there's a certain something in the air that I can't quite put my finger on. Tired, blinking my eyes against the night, I give up trying to figure it out and turn in.
On rising the next morning I notice that cattle begin to appear along the route: sheep and cows mostly, with a few red and green tractors barely visible, chugging along as they till the fields. The sky here, too, is somehow bluer and clearer, fresher, not so smog-choked as was the case further north. As the train hurtles past a small town (village really, it's only a few shops and pubs and houses, with a church and what looks like a cemetery at the far end, almost invisible) I hear a sound I haven't heard for what seems like, and probably is, months now: church bells.
And then it hits me what's different about the landscape here. There's no other word for it, and it explains and indeed ties in with what's happening. The countryside has become more English. We have left behind the Americanised north, with its boybands from Florida and are heading south, into what must be the heartland of the English side of GBBL, where I will encounter bands like Take That and Boyzone. The landscape is changing accordingly, and there is, to quote the old poem, “a little (large) piece of England” that takes up the southern half of this country.
By the time we reach our destination it's clear that they have, to reverse the quote, builded England in Jerusalem's green and pleasant land. Tak'Thatten is a microcosm of English culture, a sterotypical one to be sure, with people passing by in bowler hats and with umbrellas tucked under their arms or being used as walking sticks, grey tube trains carrying people around the realm, while black taxi cabs honk and jostle for position on overcrowded roads overlooked by huge neon signs promising everything from a cure for headaches to holidays in the sun at rock-bottom prices. There's even a facsimile of Big Ben towering over a mockup of the Houses of Parliament. The sense of mimicry and the tawdriness of it all mirrors what to my mind epitomises boybands, and I shake my head, hailing a black cab to take me to my hotel.
Not long afterwards I'm down in the local archive, reading about and sampling my next target in this article, the most successful British boyband ever, Take That. Again formed by an impresario, this time Nigel Martin-Smith, I believe I may be kinder to these English boys that I have been to their US counterparts, and predecessors. This is mostly due to the fact that I discover that, unlike their cousins across the water (or indeed due north) Take That wrote all their own material. This is quite a revelation to me, as I've come, over the course of the two parts (so far) of this article to expect that the boyband in question is little more than a tool for the producer/manager/promoter, and that he always seems to exercise the tightest of control over his charges, usually making sure writers are drafted in to pen their hit singles, and most of the tracks on their albums. Occasionally, the boys will be allowed write, or participate in the writing of, a few tracks, but by and large these are in the minority.
Take That appear to be different, with all of their material initially written by group founder Gary Barlow, a process that continues right up to the present day. This by itself is enough to make me sit up and take notice, although the fact that they were, ultimately, another manufactured group, created to take advantage of and capitalise upon the success of bands like New Kids on the Block, is disappointing. Bands should grow organically, not be cultivated in a test tube, and they should be primarily concerned with the quality of their music, not satisfying a particular demographic. But, such is the world of the boyband. Perhaps Take That were able to break the rigid, constricting, strangling mould a little. We shall find out.
But first, who exactly
are Take That? Well, they were formed by, as you've already heard above, Gary Barlow, and you surely need no introduction to one Robbie Williams, but who make up the rest? Well the full band membership is as below:
Gary Barlow
Robbie Williams
Howard Donald
Jason Orange
Mark Owen
Of the above, only Barlow does anything other than sing; in addition to being the main songwriter for the band, he is also an accomplished pianist.
Take That and party --- Take That --- 1992 (BMG)
To be honest, it starts off more like a jazz or soul track than a dance one, which I have to say is encouraging. “I found Heaven” is apparently universally hated by the band, so that would give me hope that there is much better to be found on the album, as I quite like this. Boppy, uptempo with a lot of jazz and absolutely no synth stabs or it sounds drum machines. Quite catchy, and indeed was a hit single for them, but one of the very few not written or co-written by Gary Barlow. One of seven of his solo efforts on the album is up next, but “Once you've tasted love” is, in my opinion, far inferior to the opener, with a lot more emphasis on dance rhythms and something akin to the dreaded SAW (Stock/Aitken/Waterman) drumbeat that permeated everything they put out in the eighties, from Rick Astley to Kylie.
Their cover of Tavares' “It only takes a minute” is well removed from the original, almost unrecognisable, very in that Nsync/Backstreet Boys vein, with twiddly, sparkling keyboards and that annoying drumbeat again, another fast dancer, which has my heart sinking. I thought these guys were going to be different, stand out from the pack? Then, all of a sudden, to quote the title of their second album, everything changes with “A million love songs”. Another solo Barlow effort, this finally showcases what an incredible burgeoning talent was there, with a sweet, beautiful ballad that somehow manages to stay just the right side of saccharin and doesn't stick between your teeth. Treading a careful line between formulaic ballad and proper love classic, the track falls easily on the side of the latter, and was to become one of Take That's best known and loved songs, and with good reason.
From the beautiful piano --- played by Barlow himself, affording him another string to his bow, unlike the boybands we've looked at up to now --- and sax opening to the motown-style rhythm, the excellent backing vocals, the tender sentiments familiar to any struggling songwriter as he tries to write a song to the woman he loves, to the breakout sax ending, it has everything. Add to that the fact that Barlow was only fifteen when he wrote this, and you have a song that has been, rightly, voted in some circles as the best ballad of all time. It really is that good, and if there's a turning point in this album, and in my view of Take That, this has to be it.
It's the first of three consecutive Barlow solo offerings, the second of which, “Satisfied”, is a dancy number but not too bad, certainly nothing like the pap we endured listening to Nsync. It's light and breezy, a little throwaway, but then, they can't all be classics like “A million love songs”, can they? The third in this triumvirate is in fact another beautiful ballad, and like many --- almost all --- boybands, Take That would build their career on such ballads, and they would form the bedrock of their music. “I can make it” is nowhere near as good as “A million love songs”, but it's a good ballad, showing again what an emerging writing talent Gary Barlow was at that time.
On the next two, he collaborates with other writers, and it shows. “Do what U like” is a house/trance-influenced boppy uptempo number, sounding more than a little like Wham! It's not surprising that when released as the lead single from the album it utterly failed to chart. “Promises” is not much better, kind of the same sort of thing, then we have another one where Gary goes solo, and it's another superb ballad. “Why can't I wake up with you” features again lovely piano and sweeping synthesiser lines, with a simple, understated vocal and some nice sax parts. He's involved in the last three tracks too, two of which he pens solo again, with “Never want to let you go” being a mid-paced, almost reggae-style track, with some soul influences in the melody, while “Give good feeling” opens on a breathy choral synth, but quickly morphs into another high-energy (I refuse to use the acronym) dance tune, though there are some good ideas in there, and it's not too generic.
I hated their version of Barry Manilow's classic “Could it be magic”, and that position will never change. Although it was a huge breakout hit for them, the song was changed from a tender, passionate and often faltering love song, sometimes unsure and then getting more powerful and dramatic as the piano lends Barry courage and strength and conviction, Take That turned it into a dance number, robbing it of all its emotion, tension and pathos, and reducing it to the level of something to shake one's booty to. I've always hated them for that, and even should this article end up with my having a greater appreciation of their work, that will always be between us, like a love affair that has been forgiven, but never forgotten, always in the background, waiting to be used/accused, ammunition for any future argument.
The album ends on the title track. Whether it would have been better to have ended on Manilow's mangled classic or this I don't know, but I would hate both of them probably equally. As an example of what the band were, or stood for, or were capable of, this is not it. It's a throwaway, easy ending to what is in essence not that bad an album, that doesn't leave me dreading listening to more of their output.
But a better closer would have helped.
TRACKLISTING
1. I found Heaven
2. Once you've tasted love
3. It only takes a minute
4. A million love songs
5. Satisfied
6. I can make it
7. Do what U like
8. Promises
9. Why can't I wake up with you
10. Never want to let you go
11. Give good feeling
12. Could it be magic?
13. Take that and party
Only a year later and they were back with their second album, which would prove to be their breakout one, hitting the number one spot on its release. With songs written almost exclusively by Gary Barlow, it brought Take That to the attention of mainstream music buyers and made them a household name, and one of the most popular, if not
the most popular pop bands in the UK, a mantle they would retain till the late nineties.
Everything changes --- Take That --- 1993 (BMG)
Opening this time with the title track, a soul/disco effort in the mould of bands like Earth, Wind and Fire and the Spinners, it's a mid-paced dancy number with sparkly keyboards (except in ballads, keyboards always tend to sparkle when used in boyband music!) and a nice little bass line, certainly a dancefloor filler, but it was the Gary Barlow-penned “Pray” that gave them their first UK number one, a feat they would repeat three more times with this album. Despite its ballad-like title, it's another mid-paced dancer, though a little slower than the title track, and again retaining the motown/seventies disco keyboard melodies.
“Wasting my time” has a sort of jazz/calypso feel to it, with lots of brass and bongo-like percussion, with a hint of cabaret and just a little shot of Phil Collins to it, then they reignite Dan Hartman's disco classic “Relight my fire”. Never liked this, and Take That don't make me like it any better, but I guess it's a decent version, then the first Barlow ballad comes with “Love ain't here anymore”, slow and swinging with very soul-style vocals, and no doubt the cigarette lighters were out in force when this was played live.
Borrowing a tiny little phrase from Madonna's “Borderline”, I find “If this is love” a little generic, nothing terribly great to write home about, and perhaps it's telling that it's one of only two on the album into which Barlow has no songwriting input. “Whatever you do to me” is a big, brash, ballsy soul rocker, lots of brass and guitar, and works very well. It's followed by “Meaning of love”, which again sounds like it should be a ballad and again isn't, though it is a Barlow song. Sub-disco tripe, I have to say, very disappointing. There's another outing then for “Why can't I wake up with you?”, though it's given a real kick up the arse and turned into an uptempo popper, which personally I think neither works nor was necessary.
“You are the one” opens with strings-like keyboards, then goes into another fairly low quality disco song, quite throwaway I have to say, but all is forgiven with the arrival of another fine ballad, the Barlow-penned “Another crack in my heart”. Or is it? No, scratch that: it's not quite a ballad, and it's nowhere near as good as we know he can write, but at least it's better than the awful “Broken your heart”, another dancy piece of nonsense. Sigh. At least it has a nice keyboard solo. The album closes strongly with one more solo Barlow effort, the lovely ballad “Babe”, but in general I like this album less than the debut, which I have to admit is not something I expected to happen.
TRACKLISTING
1. Everything changes
2. Pray
3. Wasting my time
4. Relight my fire
5. Love ain't here anymore
6. If this is love
7. Whatever you do to me
8. Meaning of love
9. Why can't I wake up with you?
10. You are the one
11. Another crack in my heart
12. Broken your heart
13. Babe
Take That became a four-piece after their third album, when Robbie Williams was faced with an ultimatum by the band: kick the drugs and drink or get out of the band. He chose the latter, and few would have believed that he would stage a huge personal comeback and go on to become one of the highest-grossing solo acts ever, becoming a household name in his own right and a huge star. That, of course, was once he got into rehab and sorted himself out.
The boys, meanwhile, continued on without him, and so it makes sense that we then look at their first album
sans Robbie, although to be honest I don't see him as having made a huge contribution to the band while with them: he didn't write any of the songs, he sung some but other than that he didn't look to be the kind of creative force Gary Barlow was, which makes it all the more surprising that Gary's later solo career bombed --- in comparison --- while Robbie's took off like a rocket. And the proof was then seen that, although he had not written any songs for or with Take That, Mister Williams was a dab hand at the old art of penning tunes.