The Brit Box
Label: Rhino
Media: CD
Format: BoxSet
WorkNameSort: Brit Box, The
Of all the recommendations one might make for crafting a better version of Rhino’s The Brit Box: U.K. Indie, Shoegaze, and Brit-Pop Gems of the Last Millennium (for instance: Include pop predecessors the Creation or the Kinks somewhere; there is no feasible reason for excluding Slowdive; dump the Sundays), the set needs little improvement. A vast four-CD bulkload of pop riches, The Brit Box charts a course from the airy bounce of the Cocteau Twins’ “Lorelei” to the room-filling, wall-of-sound groundlessness of Spiritualized’s “Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space.” A Q&A with producer Stephen Street in the 80-page liner notes finds the star producer postulating that although most musicians who were branded with the “Britpop” moniker by the country’s feverish press wished it away repeatedly, “the attraction to this type of music will never really die away.” Again, a sweeping cross-section of this revered era would never be perfect, but nitpicking about presentation is futile. “Would have,” “should have” and “could have”-type remarks hold no water here.
The Brit Box is christened with the Smiths, whose legacy is weightier than any other band who formed in the wretched 1980s, and having lasted only a half-decade, that’s some feat. Such status was to be affixed post-haste for their “How Soon Is Now?”; its wafts of immediately recognizable guitar tremolo are only part of a wondrous arrangement. Listen to guitarist Johnny Marr offer only understated Rickenbacker stabs during the verse and bridge, and ponder for a minute that in the United States at the exact time of this anthemic single’s issuance, Huey Lewis & the News was trying to sue Ray Parker Jr. for alleged plagiarism with regard to the theme song for Ghostbusters.
Disc one of The Brit Box’s glassy synthesizers peeks capably back at mix tapes and love letters retired to the closet (or the trash), but incidentally, mightn’t “This Charming Man” have been a better opener? The blatant optimism of “Charming’s” playful bass versus Morrissey’s dampened main character bodes for more staying power. Nevertheless, the Cure, Primal Scream and a Farfisa-heavy “The Only One I Know” from the Charlatans U.K. in the Brit Box’s first 40 minutes encompass a crisp musical map, while disc two’s cast dabbles in multilayered psychedelia.
The shoegazers who coded their guitars in mounds of Boss pedal effects and stared at said pedals while performing are the subjects of disc two of The Brit Box. Although this pack is labeled with an umbrella term, there is considerable diversity within the subgenre. Line up the beat programming and the campy synth woodwind sounds that Curve used for “Coast Is Clear” against the driving, maniacally dense “Only Shallow” from My Bloody Valentine: Both tracks were dubbed “shoegaze,” both surfaced in 1991, and they couldn’t sound less alike. Side note: Slowdive would have fit nicely in this spot; Rachel Goswell’s vocal contribution to Chapterhouse’s swirling and masterful “Pearl,” though obviously worthy of countless listens, is no substitute. For Christ’s sake, “Machine Gun” should’ve bumped Catherine Wheel, no question.
When Oasis members weren’t cribbing from John Lennon’s legacy, they mimicked Manchester’s Stone Roses, either on the frontman-swagger end or in subtle guitar nuances. On disc one’s part psych/part pop/part dance-floor confection “She Bangs the Drums,” Stone Roses singer Ian Brown’s near-whispered vocals make for one of the sunnier moments of their timeless self-titled LP. Brown unknowingly paid tribute to Oasis with threatening behavior toward the crew of a flight from Paris in 1998, after his countrymen contemporaries had done the same months earlier; “Some Might Say” might arguably have been a better pick for disc three’s Oasis contribution rather than “Live Forever.” A classic track, but the Invention Prize Ribbon goes to longtime rivals Blur, for Parklife’s “Tracy Jacks” is quintessential character-driven Britpop: jangly guitars, perky backups and violins – it doesn’t get much better. Echobelly does a Blur impression well on disc three, with a trebly bass line and jubilant choruses on “Insomniac.” A song called “Call Me Names” from Echobelly’s colorful Everybody’s Got One LP finds singer Sonya Madan directing a poignant discussion of racism, and it should have been included, damn it.
The Verve’s “Lucky Man” is the jewel on their truly epic Urban Hymns album, and its place on the final disc of The Brit Box will warrant no argument from me. Four gaping acoustic chords make up this sparse but lifting work, with a string section tacked on the end that mirrors “Bittersweet Symphony”; it would’ve made a nice choice, had it not been soiled by a frivolous publishing rights lawsuit for its miniscule sampling of an orchestral version of the Rolling Stones’ “The Last Time.” While Sleeper’s “Sale of the Century,” with its ’80s-esque scaly riffs at the prechorus and piano-bounce thereafter, doesn’t mar The Brit Box in the same way that ABKCO marred Richard Ashcroft’s checking account for years to come, perhaps “What Do I Do Now?” from the Stephen Street-produced The It Girl would have been more obvious for the set. Fronted by the confident, much-tabloid-abused Louise Wener, Sleeper was an underrated outfit, and any song from It Girl or its debut would’ve been a snug fit, but the laser-edged keyboard swirls and adept scene-painting of “What Do I Do Now?” … yeah, that’d do it.
This article appears in Oct 31 – Nov 6, 2007.