Brian Epstein, in possibly one of the first genius music marketing moves, had The Beatles record a couple of vocal tracks in German, the idea being that the fans in the country where the group had served their musical apprenticeship would be rewarded with a Beatles hit or two in their native language. Abba did likewise, but in reverse. They opted to sing in the international pop language of English but re-recorded many of their vocals in Swedish. And Spanish. And German. And French. Ah-ha – la question c-est voulez-vous. Blur? They’ve had a go at French. Blondie? They did a verse of Sunday Girl in French too. Bowie? You’ll find his German version of ‘Heroes’ on these very pages. In more recent times, Charli XCX has seen the commercial value in dropping tracks recorded in Japanese. I’m pretty sure the K-Pop acts will be similarly bi/multi-lingual. It may be slightly novel, but it’s also very much cash-grab savvy.
And then there’s Billy Idol.
Yeah. Billy Idol. Fight me.
Billy Idol – Hot In The City
Billy’s Hot In The City has long-been something of a guilty pleasure to these refined ears. For years I’d assumed it was a cover version; it’s got that three/four chord, major/minor thing going on, it’s got a melody that’s instantly whistleable, it’s got a chorus of Spector-ish, Supreme-ish girls singing and sashaying behind him – it’s simply just a bit of a banger, as they say. And something as timeless and upbeat and catchy couldn’t possibly be an Idol original.
Yet it was, as it turns out, written wholly by Idol. Nice one, Billy!
Producer Keith Forsey, the man with the golden touch when it comes to 1980s FM-friendly unit-shifters, helped realise oor Billy’s grand notions for his song. In comes a see-sawing, woozy and wheezing keyboard riff. a rubber band bass line with a hummable, nagging full stop after the first chorus, jarring and stabbing pianos, LA rock guitars and those fantastic swooning backing vocals. All Billy needs to do, really, is sing it in his tough guy goes transatlantic voice and wait for the money to roll in.
Billy Idol, one of the original Bromley punks, whose pals went on Bill Grundy and famously wound the host up, who found initial fame as the snarly, punked-up retro rocker fronting Generation X, upped and left for California and, ridin’ in on the considerable surf created by MTV, projected himself as a Hollywood version of a punk rocker and ended up selling enough records to keep him in bleach and strong-hold gel forever. Imagine that.
Gone were the scuzzy, scratchy Gen X guitar solos. In were rapid and slick hair-metal lightning blasts of shiny, hedge fund rock. Gone was the London drizzle, the British greyness. In came a perma tan and spanking new rock star teeth. Gone too were the t-shirts and unnecessary top half clothing. New look Bill loved a bare chest and he got it out at every opportunity. Sensibly, Bill kept a hold of the hair. He could’ve chosen to grown it out, rock star long, maybe mullety or even semi-permed. That must’ve been tempting in the days when he was competing with Motley Crue for airtime. But, no. In reverence to those punk roots (and punk, eh, roots) there it still was; platinum white, stiff and spiky, that just out of bed look that now took a team of studio stylists hours to get just-so. Still there too was the studded leather jacket. And the perma-Elvis lip curl. And the chains and rings and crucifixes and things dangling from the ear lobes, shinier and longer and more plentiful than before, a subtle symbol of his new-found status at the forefront of faux dangerous, highly scripted pop rock. There goes Billy Idol – the original punk who’d eventually become as plastic as the work on his face. White Wedding and Rebel Yell were his big two tickets to a house in the Hollywood hills and a decent retirement plan. But Hot In The City was the real ace in his deck.
In a move as calculated as a Beatles/Epstein masterstroke, Hot In The City features a line that was re-recorded for all the major US territories:
I’m a-walkin’ ’til my brain pops
I will move with the beat now
I’m a chain ’round an 8-ball
I’m gonna really fell the heat now…
…Noo York!
(or L.A.!)
(or Bos-ton!)
(or Cleve-land!)
(or Phi-lly!)
(or Sioux Falls!)
or any other non two syllable Hot 100 town where Billy had a bit of traction:
(Minneapolis!)
(New Haven!)
(Chattanooga!)
DJs in those cities would play the relevant version and the locals would go nuts for it, record stores would be queued out the door as they lined up to buy the thing and the record would chart higher than the Saturday night clientele in the Viper Rooms.
The result? A number, er, 23, ‘smash’. What was wrong with those people?!
I know what was wrong. Hot In The City wasn’t pseudo-metal enough. In an era of long-form videos packed full of long-legged beauties with big hair and bigger bosoms, Hot In The City was just too polite, a Tiffany in a world of Madonnas. Too pop. Not enough metal. And the alternative/John Hughes-y scene of OMD and Flock Of Seagulls and Echo and the Bunnymen and so on was still far too edgy and credible compared to Billy soddin’ Idol. Even the Americans knew he was naff…even if they were deaf when it comes to the undeniability of Hot In The City.
Next week – why Eyes Without A Face is overdue for reappraisal. Don’t fight it, feel it.
Plain Or Pan 