Thursday, April 2, 2015

Life's Little Victories: Record Collecting #6 (UB40's "Present Arms")

On one of my recent lunchtime forays to my favorite used record store near work, I came across a very good plus copy of UB40's Present Arms (with the 12" of "Don't Walk on the Grass" b/w "Dr. X" included) for a mere $5.00! I'd never owned or known much about this 1981 album, apart from its amazing "One In Ten" single--so I snatched it up (the price was certainly right). In a fortuitous coincidence, Present Arms has been on my radar lately, as I'd seen that it's scheduled for a deluxe, three CD re-issue in the near future (though no firm release date has been announced yet); obviously, it was time to become acquainted with the album.

I was one of the many teenage Americans who were introduced to--and became crazy about--UB40 (and reggae) through their 1983 album, Labor of Love, which, as everyone knows, was a phenomenal tribute to many of the JA reggae artists who had inspired them as they were growing up in the 70s in the UK (if I remember correctly, the tracks that WLIR played heavily in their new wave mix were UB40's covers of Eric Donaldson's "Cherry Oh Baby" and--of course--Tony Tribe's version of Neil Diamond's "Red Red Wine"). I read somewhere that UB40's homage to their musical heroes ended up significantly rewarding many of the original composers; I wish I remembered which artist it was, but he was able to buy a large house with the songwriting royalties. I have a distinct memory of first listening to Labor of Love (back when you scoured the record sleeve for clues/info about the band and music) and being kind of delighted when I figured out that each part of the album's cover illustration referred to a song therein (I wasn't always so quick on the uptake...). Perhaps most momentously, Labor of Love marked the first time I'd heard a Laurel Aitken cut, as he wrote, originally performed (as the deejay Tiger), and produced the bittersweet "Guilty" ("...of loving you"). A little over a decade later, I'd have the incredible honor and pleasure of working with Mr. Aitken while I was at Moon Records.

From 1983 through 1986, I caught UB40's fantastic live show every time they performed in NYC (usually outdoors on Manhattan's Pier 54 on the Hudson River, right next to the U.S.S. Intrepid, always in a massive cloud of cheeba, cheeba, y'all) and eagerly bought each new US release: Geffery Morgan, Little Baggariddim, and Rat in the Kitchen (all of which contained great material and received strong airplay on WLIR). But, in the first half of the 80s, Signing Off and Present Arms hadn't been given proper US releases and I never came across imports of them at that time. I did pick up the North American-only compilation UB40 1980-83 right after buying Labor of Love, but only some of the songs connected ("King," "One in Ten," "I Won't Close My Eyes," and "Dubmobile"). Overall, UB40 1980-83 seemed disappointingly gray and dour (at the time, I didn't fully appreciate just how bad things were for the working class and poor in the UK under Thatcher after she privatized many government services, made deep cuts to the social safety net, and waged war on the unions), and not all of the songs included were winners (particularly in contrast to the ace material they covered on Labor of Love). So, in my adolescent rush to judgement, I wrote off UB40's first two albums as hit-or-miss affairs.

Listening to Present Arms today, I'm struck by how much the band had progressed since Signing Off. The songs, performances, and production on Present Arms are much improved--and it's as politically incisive as their debut, if not more so. When Geffery Morgan and Rat in the Kitchen were released, I loved finding that UB40 were writing sharp and catchy songs about political, social, and economic injustice that, like the music of 2 Tone, made you want to dance. But after this period, the fire in UB40's collective gut seemed to go out and they mostly produced albums of reggae pop covers (which did bring them many hits and financial success--over the years, they've sold over 70 million records!). Having said that, 2005's Who You Fighting For? (the anti-Iraq war title track is one of the best songs they've ever written) and 2008's TwentyFourSeven (see "Middle of the Night," which may be an anti-extraordinary rendition song) contained a lot of good-to-terrific original material and showed that the band hadn't completely abandoned their original mission statement or forsaken their concern for the wider world. Sadly, after much internal strife, UB40 recently fragmented into two versions of the band...(which may be the the reason the re-issue of Present Arms is delayed).

Present Arms' angry/mournful title track was certainly not an attack on British soldiers, but decried the terrible lack of opportunity--brought about by Thatcher's policies--that left many young men with no other way to earn a living than to join the army, become dehumanized in the process of learning to obey and kill, and not necessarily being used to defend England, but to shield the interests and do the bidding of the rich and politically-connected.

"You got no job, you got no pay
Join the military, sign today
They'll take you off to fight on foreign shores

Be your mother's pride and joy
Her armed and dangerous golden boy
They're paying to protect what isn't yours

Be your mother's pride and joy
Her armed and dangerous golden boy
A uniformed hero shows no fear

The khaki ranks of flesh and steel
Learning how to smile and kill
They'll teach you to ignore the screams and tears

Be your mother's pride and joy
Her armed and dangerous golden boy
A uniformed hero shows no fear

The khaki ranks of flesh and steel
Learning how to smile and kill
They'll teach you to ignore the screams and tears"

The character of Sardonicus comes from the 1961 William Castle B-horror film, "Mr. Saronicus," whose face becomes frozen in a "horrifying grin" after he robs his father's grave for the lottery ticket that was buried with him ("sardonicus" comes from the Latin medical term Risus sardonicus, a symptom of untreated tetanus manifesting itself through involuntary muscle spasms in the face, which can result in a rictus or "sardonic smile"). In January of 1981, a few months before Present Arms was recorded, Ronald Reagan was sworn in as the 40th President of the United States and his hard-line stance against the Soviets (several neo-cons in his administration--including Dick Cheney--who were disdainful of detente, increased defense spending to such a degree and implemented provocative polices that ended up re-igniting the arms race with the Soviets, since they were convinced that America was preparing for a nuclear first strike against them), his use of end-of-days evangelical language (Reagan told TV preacher Jim Bakker in 1980, "We may be the generation that sees Armageddon"), and itchy-trigger gunslinger image exacerbated Cold War relations between the nuclear superpowers to such a degree that millions of people throughout Western Europe and the U.S. (and one had to imagine the Soviet Union) were very worried that they might die in a nuclear war (I was one of them). At the time, the caricature of Reagan was of this perpetually sunny and smiling actor-cowboy-madman who blindly believed his anti-Soviet/Commie rhetoric and would take all of us with him to oblivion in WWIII. Like many new wave and post-punk bands of this era, UB40 expressed this Cold War dread in the taut, tense, and somewhat spooky "Sardonicus"--Reagan as all cheery exterior distracting everyone from the perniciousness within:

"A human statue made of living stone
A paradox etched in human bone
If you could see behind the thin disguise
There's a hidden glint of madness in his eyes

Many men are fooled by his smile
His superficial grace, his charm, his style
Sardonicus is everybody's friend
Sardonicus keeps smiling to the end

A human statue made of living stone
A paradox etched in human bone
If you could see behind the thin disguise
There's a hidden glint of madness in his eyes

Many men are fooled by his smile
His superficial grace, his charm, his style
Sardonicus is everybody's friend
Sardonicus keeps smiling to the end"

The powerful and insistent "One in Ten" was directed at Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher and her policies that favored the rich and powerful at the expense of the working class and poor. It's a potent protest song that gives voice to the disenfranchised and conveniently forgotten and, in doing so, reminds the more fortunate of us that we're not off the hook. But it's also a pointed commentary on how the process of categorizing people by the problems they're experiencing and tallying them up can numb/distance us from the real lives and horrific suffering behind the figures. This, in turn, can allow policymakers and those with power to think of large groups of people in great need as abstract construct--which can be more easily ignored while the resources that could help them can be diverted elsewhere.

I am the one in ten
A number on a list
I am the one in ten
Even though I don't exist
Nobody knows me
But I'm always there
A statistic, a reminder
of a world that doesn't care

My arms enfold the dole queue
Malnutrition dulls my hair
My eyes are black and lifeless
With an underprivileged stare
I'm the beggar on the corner
Will no one spare a dime?
I'm the child that never learns to read
Because no one spared the time

I am the one in ten
A number on a list
I am the one in ten
Even though I don't exist
Nobody knows me
But I'm always there
A statistic, a reminder
of a world that doesn't care

I'm the murderer, the victim
The license with the gun
I'm the sad and bruised old lady
In an alley in a slum
I'm a middle-aged businessman
With chronic heart disease
I'm another teenage suicide
In a street that has no trees

I am the one in ten
A number on a list
I am the one in ten
Even though I don't exist
Nobody knows me
But I'm always there
A statistic, a reminder
of a world that doesn't care

I'm a starving Third World mother
A refugee without a home
I'm a housewife hooked on Valium
I'm a pensioner alone
I'm a cancer-ridden specter
Covering the earth
I'm another hungry baby
I'm an accident of birth

I am the one in ten
A number on a list
I am the one in ten
Even though I don't exist
Nobody knows me
But I'm always there
A statistic, a reminder
of a world that doesn't care

Even though it was a charting single in the UK (#16), I'd never before heard the fantastic "Don't Let It Pass You By," which is a reality check/sympathetic and urgent call to action: you've only got one life to lead and a limited amount of time to live it, so don't be passive and complacent--particularly if you find yourself downtrodden and feeling powerless. (The track then segues into a fantastic dub with toasting that suggests that one should "burn two spliff, play Ital riddim" to help get in the right frame of mind to accomplish this...)

There's no one coming with that freedom train
There's nowhere you can go where you feel no pain
Take the blinkers off your eyes
The power's in your hand
Stop waiting for your ticket to the promised land

Don't let it pass you by!
Don't let it pass you by!
Don't let it pass you by!

There ain't no heaven and there ain't no hell
Except the one we're in and you know too well
There's no one waiting on
Waiting on a higher high
Don't let the only world you're ever gonna live in
Pass you by

"Don't Slow Down" (the flip side to the "Don't Let It Pass You By" single) is cut from the same cloth, but explicitly concerned with mortality--you have an expiration date ("Impatience is a virtue/Catch me if you can/The seconds have been ticking by/Since your life began"). Despite the song's beauty, "Silent Witness" documents the bleak life on Maggie's farm--things are so bad that the mannequins--who "see" everything that goes down on the street--would flee if they could:

"The neon haze of city lights
The tribal sound of marching feet
Cuts through the gloom on cold dark nights
The tired and homeless roam the streets

The sirens wail, engines roar
A shadowed man just glances around
A victim of life's mindless toil
Lies cold and helpless on the ground

The window dummies' silent stare
Bears witness on the nights
If they could move, what it would prove
To see them all take flight

The neon haze of city lights
The tribal sound of marching feet
Cuts through the gloom on cold dark nights
The tired and homeless roam the streets

The walls shout loud with angry words
The people air their views
The poor can scream but no one hears
The concrete jungle sings the blues

The window dummies' silent stare
Bears witness on the nights
If they could move, what it would prove
To see them all take flight"

The irresistibly cheery, singsongy "Lambs Bread" is a plea of sorts for the legalization of marijuana (and elimination of the criminal drug trade) and the excellent "Don't Walk on the Grass" presumably makes the same case. The mysterious "Dr. X" (named after this movie?) is another incredible, bubbly, and lushly melodic instrumental reggae cut.

Maybe you can't stay angry and young (and poor) forever--the road to success is full of compromise that can eat away at one's mission and subtly corrupt one's noble ideals--the pursuit and acquisition of money absolutely has this effect. (I certainly struggle with being a good and decent person in a society that doesn't necessarily value these qualities.) But I miss this hungry and pissed-off version of UB40 and believe that we need these kind of catchy, socially-aware protest songs more than ever...

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Next on my list to (hopefully) find in the bins: Present Arms in Dub!

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