After four long months – that’s over nineteen weeks, if you’re counting, or more than a third of a year – I have finally returned home. Just temporarily, for now, you understand: Steve Stevingtons has an important three week “Malcolm in the Middle” conference to attend, so the place is empty. But temporarily or not, here I am. And if I am back at my desk again, you know what that means: it’s time to grit my teeth and endure another dreadful album of unknown provenance. Today, we subject ourselves to Bobby Brown’s 1986 debut album, King of Stage, released when he was just 17.
Let us address the elephant in the room. You are so predictable. You are so absolutely boring when it comes to food and you know it; each and every time you wander into a supermarket, a corner shop, a Subway you purchase / order the same thing. They have a full menu of sandwich fillings and all of them are ignored so you can eat the same dull slice of nourishment.
You need to buck your ‘chude up, sunshine. You think your good lady wife is going to stay with you and your sluggish Ham ‘n’ Cheese forever? No way. Both of you are teetering on the edge of a marital precipice and the only way to tip it in the direction of the future is to fill your plate with something different. Grab your raincoat and follow me.
Nestled in the wonderful corner of the world that is somewhere nearby, Random Sandwiches offers a world of culinary perfection unseen in the rest of the country. Their list of fillings would blow your mind if you saw it in person and so everyone who wanders into the shop must wear a blindfold, and have it read to them by a woman with a posh voice.
The most popular flavours at the moment are as follows:
- Jagged glass and American irony;
- Rubber dingy, yeast and sun-bleached afternoons;
- Heron and scotch egg;
- Two lemons encased in a pagoda of dreams;
- Swordfish eczema on naan bread, smothered in forgotten dances from the 1920’s’;
- A fresh pair of stressed socks under a splodge of elk light bulbs and mayonnaise.
I don’t know about you but my mouth is already watering as I finished typing this. I can’t wait for them to re-open after the lockdown so I can grab a patronising handshake on rye and crisps for lunch.
Sometimes, when a deplorable CD arrives in the post, you’ve never heard of the artist or the album and you’ve no idea what you’re in for. Other times they’re known to you in some way. This one immediately rang a bell: “Kavana”, the 1997 album by Kavana. I remember him. He did a cover of “I Can Make You Feel Good”, the Shalamar song. He was a late 90s pop star. Yes. Him. Great, I thought: maybe this will be an easy one. Maybe this will be like Suggs where I remembered one or two songs and the others were just a bit of a laugh.
Today one of my colleagues was looking for me. I could tell because there was a voice from the corridor that said “where’s Chris?”. At that particular moment Chris was sitting on a chair in the office where he usually sits, so this was not a mystery that would take long to solve.
A moment later the owner of the voice came through the door and said “how did you get there? You weren’t here a minute ago”. This was true. A minute ago I had been in the toilet having a little wee. But discretion is the mark of a gentleman, so I chose not to mention it.
My colleague contemplated my mysterious and unexplained arrival, and declared that I was like the wind, moving about silently and without being seen. That is not a comparison that has ever been made before, and if I were to dispute it I’d say that all I’d done was call in to the bathroom while moving from one room to another, and it was just chance that my colleague had been trying to find me at the moment when I was not in one place or the other. But I chose not to dispute it because I like this idea.
Yes. I am like the wind.
We’re about to hear from Morrissey, which is a rare and special treat. But first we need an explanation.
Back in December, I posted Christmas mop-up, a list of things I had received. Ian asked who had got me the three things that were not for my new car. I replied that two were from parents and one from an aunt. Ian said I sounded like Essex Highway era Morrissey and asked if I could provide a sample of Morrissey’s voice saying those words.
Which brings us to where we are today, and the soft, crooning tones of the former Smiths frontman informing us where three of my Christmas presents came from.
After the recent celebration of the work of both the band and singer, both called Sade, on this website I think it is only fair that we throw open the doors and try to organise something to carry on the party. Most occasions are only occasions and therefore are only allowed to be a day of celebration or, when you behave nicely, a week. It is very rare when an event will be allowed to run for a full month.
That is what I am proposing though. Given the gifts that Sade, both versions, have provided to the world it is only fair that the entirety of December is used to give them a much-needed pat on the back. I am therefore wanting to gather the world together to organise ‘De-Sade-ber’.
We take one overused and busy month, namely December, change the letters around and what do you get? ‘De-Sade-ber’! A full thirty one days of smooth, sensual overtones and jazz-like lounge lizard silken sounds. There are only sixteen tracks on ‘The Best of Sade’ so we will have to double up if we play one song for each day of ‘De-Sade-Ber’. But won’t it be nice!
You’ll be Christmas shopping in some horrible, sweaty shopping mall and ‘The Sweetest Taboo’ starts playing to ease the tension.
You’ll be wrapping presents to the gloriously swirly ‘Your Love is King’.
You’ll be, I dunno, swigging eggnog to ‘Cherish the Day’.
I think it’s a good idea. I think that you will think that it’s a good idea. I also think it has a catchy name regardless of whether you pronounce Sade the correct or incorrect way. I also think that people need more Sade, both versions, in their life.
After a summer holiday, Four Word Reviews returns to look at another musical masterpiece. October’s choice is the classic compilation The Best of Sade, possibly the ultimate dinner party soundtrack album and without a doubt the single smoothest record ever produced.