The return of Everett True | 12. The Tuts
Damn. I stop listening to my heartland music for a few short weeks, and… damn. All this wonderful music rushes out through the cracks in the pavement and rushes to comfort me in its warm embrace.
I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I never should have doubted that music could ever stop making me so deliriously wonderfully riotously happily mendaciously salaciously happy.
I never should have listened to the chills multiplying in my heart (no, not nice chills – scary paranoid horrid chills).
First time I hear The Tuts I am so completely overwhelmed with a yearning for my home ladies Talulah Gosh (personal connection one: Amelia sung at our wedding).
Second time I listen to The Tuts, I’m thinking of Dolly Mixture and all who sailed in her, only with a little more WHOOOMPH!
Third time, I’m madly deeply wonderfully stupidly in love.
Fourth time, I’m thinking. Wait. WHY THE FUCK AM I LIVING IN BRISBANE (and then I remember these… and then I remember they’ve split).
Fifth time, I’m like GROOVING ON EVERYTHING.
Sixth time, I can’t help noticing I’ve reverted to capital letters in a somewhat futile attempt to convey my utter enjoyment.
Seventh time, I want to go back and listen another seven times.
Eighth time, and it’s all about this song… and memories of Kate Nash start to creep in (personal connection two: I once met Kate Nash and she was lovely).
Ninth time and it’s still about this song. Come on. Sing along with me. You don’t know the words? I don’t know the frigging words.
Tenth time, and I’m back where I started (but I can’t stop playing the above song and thinking of how much I miss Kate) and if you’re telling me you can’t hear Talulah Gosh in this then that’s probably cos you’ve never heard Talulah Gosh. It don’t matter though. Cos this song is SO TOTALLY WONDERFULLY indiscriminately ABSOLUTELY TOTALLY CRUSHWORTHY. It’s the way all the ladies come in for one shout at the end.
I mean, whatev’s, dude. I fucking love this shit. LOVE THIS SHIT. So, so wonderful.
Here. Here’s something I wrote for this blog, or rather not for this blog, but reprinted on this blog a month ago now.
It strikes me that the time has come to avoid theorising – LOOK, IF I WANTED TO CHANGE THE WORLD, I’D’VE GOTTEN A FEW BEERS IN FIRST, RIGHT? – floundering around without a direction to go in, people always searching for leaders to betray them, “What do you like Legend!, oh I’m sure they must be good!”, fanzines which all read like the writers have no wit or imagination present (WHY MISUSE IT – IF YOU’VE NOTHING TO SAYSAY NOTHING!!), about four too many bands on the C86 who sound like Orange Juice (it’s a lot easier to get away with jumping on a wagon of pop than a wagon of noise – even a half-blind goth can learn four chords, switch to an anorak and smile sweetly. How pointless – your scope is so limited)
If I had to call a halt to all this it’s be with the awesomely fresh-sounding TALULAH GOSH who, in embracing accusations of tweeness, femininity (how shocking!) and disrespect for their elders, overcome all that BRILLIANTLY and make you fall in love all over again for the Nth time.
It’s tempting to try and explain (it’s so obvious! It’s so obvious!) just WHAT makes Talulah Gosh, for RIGHT NOW, so wonderful. Futile, but tempting (stop! REVERSE!) for that’s be missing the whole instantaneous idea – futile, yet fun. Still, a few of you would-be pop stars out there could do with a few lessons I reckon, so listen…
(i) INSTINCT! Forget the guitarists, look to the drummer and singers. No rubbish attempts at being deep and meaningful here, just COLOSSAL slabs of raucous melodies, tunes which enter(tain) into medleys of guitarnoise, slow sad tremulous numbers, smiling faces and…
(ii) FUN! Y’know, funfunfunfunfun. Mmmmm.
(iii) TASTE! ‘The Day She Lost Her Pastels Badge’. Covering a Razorcuts song. Remember the guitarists and jump for joy! The best hand-painted guitar in the world. Two singers who both look like Aggi Beri-Beri. A bassist who (apparently) used to go to my school (er, taste?). The ‘O’ in the middle of Hobgoblins. Primal Scream, the Marine Girls, NOISE. Taste! You got it? They have!
(iv) STYLE! Imagine if the star of Bewitched had ever formed a pop group, or Girls At Our Best! hadn’t consisted of three musos and one punk, or that every group in the world had taken the lessons of Mary Chain, Shop Assistants, Soup Dragons et al to HEART (and not to HEAD) and were good because they didn’t know how else to be. No prima donna coolness here.
(v) DIVERSITY! GET SMART! (why dontcha’?) – nothing’s ever gained from copying others ideas wholesale. My attention gets easily distracted, must be this age of the television span they talk about or maybe sheer laziness – having proved a few things to myself I find difficulty in finding motivation amidst all the grey that surrounds me – Talulah Gosh are fab! Ain’t that enough for ya?
(vi) HOPE! Look to me children and I’ll laugh exactly the way you want me to laugh, paint the way we all paint, so don’t come round here looking for no scapegoat. The sign over the door reads FAB FAB FAB and the sign of the floor reads DANCE YOU BASTARDS DANCE and if you can’t get down to this and find the concept nauseating, then I guess you’re due for a serious going-over (carwash, I mean!).
(Excerpted from The Legend! #5, 1986)
As ever, this song is drawn from the source.