Few musicians out there are unlucky enough to be involved in not one, but two long-running bands who should have, but never quite made that all-elusive breakthrough.
For Dave Jackson and Becky Stringer, however, being so near and yet so far must have become a familiar feeling. After all, despite considerable John Peel patronage, favourable column inches and run-ins with both the majors and the upper reaches of the indie charts, their band THE ROOM finally gave up the ghost in 1985 after releasing a certifiably classic album (“In Evil Hour”) which, if justice prevailed, ought to have been the one to elevate them from on-going cult status.
Instead, the Room folded after going 15 rounds with the inevitable record label hassles and internal tension and by the late summer of ’85, Dave and Becky had regrouped with ex-Passage drummer Joe McKechnie and (for first demo purposes only) Bunnymen guitarist Will Sergeant as BENNY PROFANE to cut a few tracks in Liverpool’s Amazon Studios.
Two of those early tracks, “Vain Profane” and “Credulous As Hell” are included in this typically exhaustatively-researched LTM re-issue of the bulk of BP’S recorded output. Even at this early stage, they showcase a band with style, panache and fully-formed songs to their credit, and – especially on the mad-eyed, rattling rockabilly of the vicious “Credulous As Hell” – suggest great things would soon be coming full-tilt down the track.
And, as their two ensuing studio albums, “Trapdoor Swing” (1989) and “Dumb Luck Charm” (1990) go on to prove, the quality of their music was never going to be a problem for Benny Profane. The fact that the band never really garnered an ‘image’ as such (other than simply being a terrific band) possibly contributed to their eventual lack of commercial success (as with The Room), but the fact that the majority of their output coincided with the ‘Madchester’ phenomenon and the ‘Baggy’ years (1988-90) probably – with hindsight – helped to inadvertently scupper them.
Regardless of commercial considerations, though, the two Bennies albums remain excellent records, and this two-fer-one CD re-issue (with the usual detailed LTM historical notes penned by Dave Jackson himself) is an absolute must-have for anyone remotely interested in quality indie pop produced over the past 25 years.
Indeed, at least to these ears, BP always seemed to have all the bases covered. In Dave Jackson they had that rarity: the indie guitar pop vocalist who could and can actually sing, while the Stringer/ McKechnie pairing remains one of the most unsung rhythm sections in rock history and guitarist Robin Surtees’ contributions (everything from wild’n’wicked slide to lush acoustic strums and all points between) suggest he’s a guitarist whose name ought to appear far more often in print even though he’s forsaken the plectrum for the classroom these days.
Throw in Jackson’s ability for storytelling and deft lyrical observation and it’s no wonder that these two albums contain an embarrassment of riches. Indeed, on “Trapdoor Swing”, the Bennies prove remarkably adept whether turning in memorable tunes like “Man On The Sauce” (an angular Scouse update of The Fall’s Northern rockabilly if ever there was), lush and melancholic indie pop (“Skateboard To Oblivion”, “Tear The Web”) or tapping brilliantly into a ‘Nuggets’-style vibe like they do on “Rob A Bank”, where ex-Room man Peter Baker’s stabs of Farfisa organ and Surtees’ fork-tongued slide support Jackson’s rich croon to perfection.
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Elsewhere, Jackson’s penchant for the memorable vignette comes into its’ own on the hilarious “Stitch That”, the supernatural aspect and murder most foul of “Pink Snow” and the sprawling and visceral “Here Comes The Floor”: a nightmarish tour-de-force involving alcohol abuse and insomnia which the band had been working up in the Room’s later days.
1990’s “Dumb Luck Charm” is every inch “Trapdoor Swing”s equal too. Once again, the Bennies swing from the sort of confident, immediate pop (“Time Bomb”, the wonderfully sardonic “Hey! Waste Of Space”) that requires a terminal bash over the head with a large concrete block to forget, through to exquisitely wonky ballads like “Perfect Girl” and intense, pulverising epics like “Beam Me Up” where Jackson howls feral stuff like “stay on the scene…like a psychopath!” and McKechnie’s drumming is truly seismic.
They keep one of the very best in reserve with the closing “Everything”: a tremendously catchy, age of impending greed anthem (“The shop’s just like a cathedral to me/ I queue up at the cash till altar”) which was a good decade ahead of its’ time and – along with “Rob A Bank”, “Time Bomb” and “Hey! Waste Of Space” had the chutzpah to have sold in droves had the wind prevailed, instead of doling out a fate of commercial indifference and a premature split in the summer of 1990 . Oh well: perfect world an’ all that.
Liverpool, of course, has such a rich heritage that it’s daft to try and pin ‘the great lost Scouse band’ on any group. Instead, let’s settle for Benny Profane being one of those suitable for the epithet and – more importantly – either enjoy it all once again or for the very first time, depending on your vintage. Trust me: if you’re in the latter category, then you’re really in for a treat.
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