Mossman on music: So '80s!

The 25th anniversary of Peter Gabriel's classic album.

Peter Gabriel says he was advised to do the iconic black and white cover for So because “my usual obscure LP sleeves alienated women”. His four previous records were all called Peter Gabriel, written in an identical font, with various parts of his face melted or obscured. The makeover in 1986 marked his transition from the lofty realms of experimental music to jacket-and-jeans mainstream pop. Eighties music fashions were so pervasive that if you wanted hits, there was nowhere else to go.

All these heavyweight musicians of the ’60s and ’70s emerged, one by one, into the pop video age and a whole generation of us didn’t know them any other way. To a five-year-old child, Paul McCartney was the man who sang the Frog Song. Paul Simon was the funny man in the video with the big man, singing about the “roly-poly little bat-faced girl”. Peter Gabriel had dancing chickens in his video, and a toy train that drove right round his head!

You knew instinctively that much of this stuff was serious music; through the half-understood lyrics of "Call Me Al", I came to ask the adults why you weren’t supposed to buy the apples with “Cape” stickers on them. Looking back, there was something truly heroic in these venerable musicians rolling their sleeves up and clowning around with puppets while other bands – hello, Stones – looked like they wanted to crawl under the duvet and wait till the ’80s were over.

Peter Gabriel left Genesis and went solo in 1975. There were collaborations with the cerebral Robert Fripp (on the first and second albums called Peter Gabriel), early excursions in world music (on the third) and pioneering experiments with digital recording and the Fairlight sampling computer on the fourth. But he wasn’t overburdened with hits. Significantly, it was a video that gave him his first number one – "Shock The Monkey", with the white face makeup and the funny macaque – which only got to number 58 in the UK charts but topped the MTV chart for nine weeks.

For a while, videos sold music (remember that Not The Nine O’Clock News spoof “Nice Video Shame About The Song”) and Gabriel was happy to go there. He’d always been the visual one in Genesis – the band often had no idea what costume he was going to walk on stage wearing: The Flower? The Magog? The Slipperman? Brittania? The dress-wearing, fox-headed beast from the cover of Foxtrot?

"Sledgehammer", which still remains the most-played music video of all time, featured claymation and stop motion by Aardman Animations, who went on to make Wallace & Gromit – the dancing chickens were Nick Park’s early outings in plasticine. Gabriel lay under a sheet of glass for 16 hours and filmed the video one frame at a time. It wasn’t so different from the meticulous, painstaking way he put his records together, sampling, deconstructing and rebuilding sounds.

From the interest in “world music” to his hunger for new technology, the ’80s was Gabriel’s age, he just had to wait for it. His clean melodies and high, constipated voice sound pre-tooled for the decade now. Solsbury Hill (from 1977) would sit comfortably alongside the songs here on So – Gabriel took shades of English pastoral from prog rock and simmered them down into a pure, pagan pop tune. You can hear the same minimalism on "Don’t Give Up" (with Kate Bush), which he describes as “the story of a man and a woman faced with losing a job”. This is an timeless protest song, all hooded multitudes and burned forests – more Lord of The Rings than Arthur Scargill, and infinitely more powerful, especially if you’re five.

For more precise Gabriel politics, turn to the Live In Athens gig included in this box set and listen to him dedicating "Games Without Frontiers" to “the 43,000 victims of a totally unnecessary war in Nicaragua”. Elsewhere – dish that he was – I’m not sure anyone’s going to want the five picture postcards of Pete in various states of close-up and crowd surf. As with all box sets the most valuable disc here remains the plain old album – short by today’s standards, just nine songs, but still powerful. These enduring, philosophical, grown-up pieces of music will always be coloured by the crazy visual world that accompanied them. Gabriel made the most of the ’80s, even if he knew he’d never be a real, proper popstar like Nick Kershaw or A-ha.

"So" [25th Anniversary Edition] is out now on Real World Records

 

Peter Gabriel at the Hop Farm music festival, Kent. Photo: Getty Images

Kate Mossman is the New Statesman's arts editor and pop critic.

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The worst Oscar-winning films of all time

How hated movies have grabbed their space in the spotlight. 

Whilst the biggest surprise at last night’s Oscars was undoubtedly the part where they weren’t sure who’d actually won Best Picture, Suicide Squad also raised a few eyebrows. The critically-panned superantihero non-classic managed to take home an Academy Award, albeit in the category of Best Makeup and Hairstyling. Which raises the question: is Suicide Squad the worst film to have ever won an Oscar?

Obviously, the quality of a film is an ultimately subjective measure. Suicide Squad is someone’s favourite movie; every film is someone’s favourite movie, except for Sex Lives of the Potato Men. But if we want to get an "objective" view, one was is to look at a measure of the critical consensus, like Tomatometer on the website Rotten Tomatoes, which counts the percentage of good and bad reviews a film has received from critics.

Here, Suicide Squad ranks at a lowly 26 per cent (with such glowing lines as the Wall Street Journal’s “an all-out attack on the whole idea of entertainment”), which is one of the lowest scores an Academy Award-winning movie has ever received. But not the lowest.

Michael Bay’s historically dubious epic Pearl Harbor, which managed a win for Best Sound Editing, has a rating of just 25 per cent. As well as its Oscar, Pearl Harbor won Worst Picture at "anti-Oscars" The Razzies, the first film to do so that also had one of the real awards.

This kind of "technical" award is a good route to unlikely Oscar glory. Middling John Lithgow-meets-Bigfoot comedy Harry and the Hendersons isn’t remembered as an award-winner, but it took home the gold for Harry's makeup job. It can sometimes be overlooked that most films are a massive team effort, and there's something heartwarming about the fact people can get still be rewarded for being very good at their job, even if that job is working on a mediocre-to-terrible movie.

Still, if no-one working on the actual film does their job right, you can always get someone decent to write a song. The not very good (score: 33 per cent) eighties "steel welder wants to learn ballet" movie Flashdance took an award home for the Giorgio Moroder-composed title theme. He would also later bring home a much better film’s sole award, when he penned Top Gun’s Take My Breath Away.

Picking the right song is how what may be the lowest-rated Oscar winner of all time did it: The Richard Burton/Elizabeth Taylor melodrama The Sandpiper has a Rotten Tomatoes rating of just 10 per cent, but win it did, for the song The Shadow of Your Smile (which isn’t even actually very good; Burt Bacharach’s What's New Pussycat? was robbed.)

Even an Oscar winner that is praised by contemporaries can be undone by the cruelty of time. One of the lowest-scoring winners is 1936’s Anthony Adverse, at just 13 per cent - not only did it win for Best Cinematography, Best Supporting Actress, Best Soundtrack and Best Editing, it was nominated for Best Picture. But however praised the historical epic might have been at the time, because Rotten Tomatoes aggregates reviews from online media, it does not appear to have dated well.

Perhaps awards can only ever reflect the critical mood of the time - Singin’ In The Rain has a 100 per cent Tomatometer score, but took home no Oscars. Best Picture that year went to The Greatest Show On Earth, now judged a 44 per cent mediocrity. Perhaps by the 2080s film critics will be stunned that the newly re-appreciated acting masterclass Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest only won for its visual effects, be baffled that the lauded classic Suicide Squad wasn’t a Best Picture contender, and be absolutely 100 per cent certain that Jared Leto was the finest actor of his generation. Maybe the apocalypse wouldn’t be so bad after all.