Cover Classics takes a closer look at all-cover albums of the past, their genesis, and their legacy.
Jimmy Somerville, should you need reminding, was the idiosyncratic voice of both Bronski Beat and the Communards, a high and pure countertenor, falsetto even, frayed at the margins. His was an altogether extraordinary instrument, capable of drawing an emotive heft other ranges can’t always supply. With Bronski Beat very much derived within an electro footprint, the Communards cast a much wider musical palate, with textures freely shared out between HI-NRG, R’n’B and chanson, all with an ear on commercial hooks and sheer joyous exuberance. Which, given some of their subject matter, was a feat in itself.
It is somehow galling to appreciate that “Smalltown Boy,” likely Somerville’s most recognized song, stems from all of 40 years ago. He left Bronski Beat the following year, the duration of the Communards then merely three years. While his solo career never quite hit the heights of either of those two bands, the six albums he released between 1989 and 2015 showed he was still in the game. He has also dabbled in acting and busking, and he’s remained the political firebrand, often for gay causes. Indeed, his last recorded work was a 2021 cover of “Everything Must Change,” for London-based charity End Youth Homelessness, which shows his voice remains as striking as ever.
Somerville released a cover album, Suddenly Last Summer, in 2009. It didn’t chart anywhere, even in France, the French aways holding his torch reliably until then. It is both easy and hard to see how it sank with such little trace. Easy? Well, with little to trouble any sweaty clubbers, the acoustic format and the choice of material might prove too demanding for casual fans. Hard? Maybe my bias, but the eclecticism of the songs, featuring songs better known by The Doors, Deep Purple, Cole Porter and Patsy Cline, amongst others, is dauntingly brave, the often spare arrangements starkly impressive and, how can I put this any more simply, his voice. He nails ’em. Or the vast majority of them.
The chances are that many readers will be unfamiliar with Suddenly Last Summer. The songs on it were all chosen by Somerville personally, all songs close to his heart, rather than the ideas of his producer or management. This, and the evident passion from within the grooves, make it one that should at least invite curiosity.
It is the sound of tinkling vibraphone that opens proceedings, possibly a step too far for those unused to the splendor this instrument can offer, sadly found only too often within the exclusivity of jazz. But it is a glorious sound, conjuring all sorts of smoky dive-bar scenarios. Piano and a walking stand up base slot in, brushed drums skim and a semi-acoustic slyly strums, before Somerville chimes in. It is “It’s Love,” and despite it being from a 1953 hit musical, it overrides any sense of camp or kitsch, just by being true to the lyric and the Leonard Bernstein-penned melody.
To a sweetly unreconstructed “I Just Don’t Know What To Do With Myself,” up next, an acoustic guitar and piano give a feel of bed-sitter land. A sense of syncopated urgency creeps in as the Bacharach staple unfolds, and it is a triumph. So is a deft and unshowy version of “Hangin’ On The Telephone.” Rather than duplicating the original’s urgency, Somerville strips that all away, leaving only a sense of resignation. It is a world away from the Blondie cover. A swath of cello adds a maudlin ennui to the middle eight that is wholly enticing.
Next up is folk gem “Black Is The Colour of My True Love’s Hair,” via Nina Simone. The song is deemed of Scottish traditional lineage, even if the tune is a later thought, from John Jacob Niles, in 1941. If Ms. Simone imbued the song with a sense of loss, Somerville is positively distraught. The piano is grand, in all senses, and the scene painted is all very Jacques Brel, in a gaslit Parisian loft, rather than any Clydeside crofter’s cottage. The melancholy is ramped up so well as to need something lighter, this duly delivered by a jostling jug band rendition of “Hush,” enlivened by a piano riff that rolls rivetingly through the chorus. (See also.) It is Andrew Worboys, the album’s producer, who is playing the piano throughout, and he deserves a mention.
“Sweet Unknown” is the first song necessitating a need to capture the original. The others are either too famous or likely to be in a style I do not wish to hear. Cranes, a shoegaze/dreampop outfit from the south of England, issued this song on their 1997 album Population Four, with the chamber folk style of the song a little at odds with their more usual indie punch. Singer Alison Shaw imbued a Hope Sandoval/Mazzy Star ambience to it, with the backing a languid and lazy slow strum of acoustic guitars. Somerville imparts maximum choirboy to his, the mood similar if with Worboys’ piano as sole backing. It is a quietly beautiful midpoint to the record.
A similarly elegiac piano welcomes in one of the more surprising songs here, Pete Seeger’s venerable “Where Have All The Flowers Gone.” A difficult song to avoid images of earnest CND parades of the 60s, and the blunt edges of Peter, Paul and Mary or the Kingston Trio. But he manages it, evoking, in part, the passion of a school choir soloist, in part with just sufficient soul to give the song some balls fit for the current world, fifty-plus years on. More importantly, it makes you listen to the words, discovering the power old Pete had, all those years ago.
Annoyingly, the message becomes immediately diluted by the vaudeville of “My Heart Belongs To Daddy.” With a jivey jazz bass arrangement, it is the first song to steer too dangerously close to camp supper club performance. His voice protects it a little, however, leaving me wondering quite how Rufus Wainwright might approach it (and wincing slightly at the thought).
I fear the same sentiment spoils “Was That All It Was,” the Jean Carn cover that follows. The disco chic of the original, electronic drums and all, is diluted down into an anodyne cabaret ballad. If “Daddy” is allowable as a knowing tongue in cheek nod, this is the only real misstep on this project. More successful is the fairly straight (N.P.I.) rendition of “Walking After Midnight.” Stand-up bass is the main accompaniment, and I feel Patsy Cline would relish his delivery. I’m uncertain if it is Suddenly Last Summerhe who whistles through the middle, but it is, anyway, a master stroke.
A totally bonkers reconstruction of “People Are Strange” closes the set, starting as a twangy lonesome stardust cowboy struts his stuff. Pitched at a lower register than we are used to from Somerville, it slowly picks up an essence of Brecht and Weill, courtesy the piano. It then goes totally batshit, leaping into a middle European polka frenzy, ahead winding back to the opening gambit. Truly bizarre, but in a good way. It makes for a sterling finale to a record that deserves greater attention than it got at the time. I wonder if we are now more forgiving and accepting than we were, or whether I am just older. Either way, give Suddenly Last Summer a go. Surprise yourself.
Suddenly Last Summer tracklisting:
- It’s Love (Edith Adams, George Gaines & the Village Chorus cover)
- I Just Don’t Know What To Do With Myself (Chuck Jackson cover)
- Hangin’ On The Telephone (The Nerves cover)
- Black Is The Colour Of My True Love’s Hair (John Jacob Niles cover)
- Hush (Billy Joe Royal cover)
- Sweet Unknown (Cranes cover)
- Where Have All The Flowers Gone (Pete Seeger cover)
- My Heart Belongs To Daddy (Mary Martin cover)
- Was That All It Was (Jean Carn cover)
- Walking After Midnight (Lynn Howard cover)
- People Are Strange (The Doors cover)
FYI, there is a deluxe edition that includes 8 more songs (including 3 more covers, “By Your Side,” “Walking After Midnight” and “Motherless Child.”
Thanks, Joe; indeed, but I thought I’d stick to the basic edition. I am not sure the world needs yet more Motherless Childs, am not so keen on the pedestrian Walking After Midnight, but I do rather like the cover of Sade.