Young Marble Giants
Colossal Youth (Rough Trade)
Words: Everett True
The sleeve to "Colossal Youth" - Young Marble Giants first and only album
- shows three faces, shadowed against the light, faces seemingly hewn
out of granite. Two angular boys flank an equally mysterious girl. It's
a black and grey, almost brutal, minimal picture that gives no sense of
the beauty hidden inside the cover. I was 19 when I first heard "Colossal
Youth" in 1980. To say it tore my world apart is an understatement. Never
before had I heard such unsettling, eerie, wonderful music. (And rarely
since.) The trio's formula was outrageously simple. Over drum machine
tapes, the odd throb of bass and occasional keyboard, Alison Statton would
sing in a curiously disconnected, melodic style. The bare bones of music,
fleshed out by brothers Stuart and Philip Moxham's considered, mannered
arrangements. The beat never sounded out heavier than a faint click, guitars
were kept to an absolute minimum. You could draw parallels between Young
Marble Giants' hurt alienation and the spooked, dark sound of Joy Division,
but I never did. The latter were clearly almost crazed. The former were
endearing precisely because they were so ordinary. Lyrics spoke directly
of disaffection and despair: the mundane made extraordinary by the focus
applied. "It's nice to hear you're having a good time," sang Alison, almost
supernaturally dispassionate, on "N.I.T.A", "But it still hurts 'cos you
used to be mine."
Who couldn't relate to a stiff upper lyric like that?
There was an all-consuming darkness surrounding Young Marble Giants -
not just on the album sleeve, but in the music itself. It's strange how
something so frail, so fragile and solemn, so commonplace can give off
such an aura of bleakness. You could almost hear the emptying pits of
Wales' mining villages as Alison sang about a girl painting her nails
on the chilling "Eating Noddemix", as Alison denied all charges of being
neurotic on "Music For Evenings". It's not a claustrophobic darkness like
Joy Division and all the bands that followed (right down to Marilyn Manson)
engendered, however. There's too much beauty shining through - like a
lighthouse beam in a storm, Alison's voice was always there to guide us
home. And when it wasn't (as on the instrumental "The Taxi") there's an
upbeat, Casio keyboard sound, a burst of static radio.
I soon became besotted with this most unassuming of bands. Indeed, I was
privileged enough to see all six or seven of their six or seven London
dates - including one which clashed with The Slits. I must have been besotted.
On stage, the trio were even more unsettling and beautiful. Alison always
wore white. The band always stood in shadows, with the barest of instrumentation
around them. Phil and Stuart were lanky, and how I envied them standing
next to someone who could sing with such purity of voice. Always, the
drum machine would start up, and then would come the song… perhaps the
album's opening song of desire "Searching For Mr Right", perhaps the single
"Salad Days" with its brief ending burst of longing from Alison, perhaps
"Nostalgia". The latter was certainly the finest song YMG never recorded
- an emotional look back at old friends and past-times sung with all the
naivety of youth. (It later ended up on the debut Weekend album, the post-YMG
nouveau cool jazz band formed by Phil and Alison.)
Sure, I would be down the front, cheering. Dancing even, to the barest
of dance patterns.
Listening to "Colossal Youth" now, the record still sounds as mystery-laden,
poignant and life affirming as it did all those years ago. Side one is
edgier and more brittle. Side two is more rounded off. Indeed, "Colossal
Youth" possibly sounds even more poignant now, with the passage of time
and memories added. There are three scenarios I would like to share with
you now.
1) A photo of me with shoulder-length hair, badges covering both lapels
on my wide-brimmed jacket, standing outside Rough Trade record store in
1980, holding up an autographed Young Marble Giants single. I was so besotted
I phoned up Rough Trade and, claiming to be writing an article for a fanzine,
got to interview the band alongside the NME (oddly - but perhaps that
was Rough Trade policy back then). I didn't ask a single question, just
shuddered with delight. It was my entrance into the music business. I
never wrote the article - this, then, is my belated tribute. Thanks guys.
2) 1989, Melody Maker reviews room. Someone has just passed me the new
single from Devine & Statton, a cover of New Order's "Bizarre Love Triangle".
It's so beautiful it almost breaks my heart all over again.
3) Seattle, some time in the early 90s. I have no idea how Courtney Love
came to hear of Young Marble Giants, even less why she picked upon their
sadly cynical "Credit In The Straight World" to desecrate. I have a nasty
feeling I might have been raving about the self-same Devine & Statton
single. Anyway. I apologise. Sorry.
That's it. Young Marble Giants only released one album, and it's almost
surreally beautiful. That's more than enough reason to cherish their memory.