Furniture — She Gets Out The Scrapbook: The Best Of (compilation review)

FURNITURE
SHE GETS OUT THE SCRAPBOOK: THE BEST OF
(Survival)

IT'S nearly always the outsiders, the ones who don't fit in with the prevailing trend or 'movement' (usually a polite word for 'stasis'), who make the great records, the durable heartwarming soul-freezing songs. You can see this throughout history — from Gene Vincent to Peter Perrett, from Robert Johnson to Cave and Cranes. Not that Furniture were remotely like any of these. That's the point. They weren't like anybody. They could switch from Elvis to Elvira to Detroit Emeralds in the nervy twitching of an eyelid. Such versatility and ambition cost them dear, made them hard to sell. A series of fluke bad luck stories (labels folding, legal wrangles) ground their career to a halt. Aesthetically, however, they leave us an eloquent and admirable legacy, the kind of stuff which for years will cause two people in conversation to exclaim: "But I thought I was alone in loving that track! You know it? Oh yeah, isn't it just... eh?"

'Brilliant Mind', one of the most intelligent (not a criticism) hit singles of the Eighties, you will know. Its follow-up, 'Love Your Shoes' showed off an astonishing fusion of pop and bitterness, joie de vivre and pessimism.

Other nigh-perfect singles here include the sexual aftermath of "Slow Motion Kisses" and the haunted stomp of "One Step Behind You". Some dunce once called the zealous jealous "Make Believe I'm Him", "Motown for masochists", while "Dancing The Hard Bargain" is Stax for stuntmen in stilettos.

The torch songs, especially the epic which lends the compilation its gently weeping name, slowburn sweetly and savagely. Significantly, the previously unreleased tracks, "Farewell" and "How I've Come To Hate The Moon", are as lithe and moving as anything the quintet conjured up. The planet's finest rhythm section caress and coerce vintage-vocals. At the voluntary cut-off point their potential remained frightening, as beautifully frightening as a line like "We're going to have the best time, the time of our worthless lives".

Only a fool could ignore these songs; perhaps only a lovesick fool could fully appreciate them. "She Gets Out The Scrapbook" is about as magnificent a monument as the average Michelangelo.

CHRIS ROBERTS