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LIGHT FANTASTIC
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MANSUN don't have an indentity, they have a visage. Boilersuits reminiscent of "A Clockwork Orange", Sting and that caretaker bloke who shout behind bike sheds. Mansun dye their hair blonde in unison. Nobody dyes their hair blonde in unison (well, all right, two members of Dodgy and, er, Shampoo - hardly de rigueur company). Blonde hair in unison makes you think of The Police. This is all not only incongruous, it's uncool. So why are Mansun currently one of the "coolest" bands in Britain?
Mansun don't have a sound, they have a collage. They have a tapestry, an intricate weave of odd patterns, odder reference points (Echo & the Bunnymen, first and fifth album U2, "Dark Side Of The Moon"... Tears For Fears, Gene Loves Jezebel!), and weird juxtapositions. This is why Mansun are cool to me: because they are unburdened by the straitjacket of "hip". They'll take anything from anywhere - warning: this album includes a Bryan Adams riff - as long as it suits their scheme. And if that's unusual, this certainly is: in a year, Mansun have progressed from being Reni-hatted sneery Oasis soundalikes to make-up wearing Mick Ronsons and producers of the most enthralling, far-reaching rock debut in aeons.
"Attack Of The Grey Lantern" is a journey, a voyage, a watershed even. It's a subterranean, neon-lit landscape with a bizarre Paul Draper tale in every twist at every turn. It's strangled metal, trip hop, house, Eighties electro pop, post-rock, church bells, cows, air raid warnings, electronic whirrs and Beelzebub knows what else. It's as much about sampling as guitars. Mansun are one of the few current "rock" acts to grasp the possibilities of technology and the method of rhythm (see also Bowie's fab new "Earthling"). And, lyrically, "Lantern" is "Catcher In The Rye"-meets-the-"Forum"-letters-page, a storybook of stripping vicars, laddered stockings, crisis-addled teenage monologues and angst in tight pants.
It begins with classical tones, casually spreads out its wings across a Van Morrison-plays-"Midnight Cowboy" soundscape, then erupts into a honey-soaked, string-drenched bawl of confusion - "Am I Jesus?" And that's just the first track! Next up, "Mansun's Only Love Song" is The Verve gone swingbeat, as is "Disgusting". There are some glorious, glorious songs in Mansuns's sky-skape. "Tax Loss" ("Tax Loss lover, he's into kinky sex ... wears a cracking dress") casually and almost sarchastically echos The Beatles' "Taxman" (and Little Jimmy Osmond's "Long-Haired Lover From Liverpool"!) before blasting off into a harp-soaked character assassination, an A-bomb in a box of chocs. The sudden eruption into a monster trip-house groove will have your heart stopping like it hasn't since the "Resurrection" reprise on the immortal Roses debut. Yup, that good.
"You, Who Do You Hate?" is "Meddle"-era Pink Floyd playing Radiohead's "The Bends". "Stripper Vicar" and "Wide Open Space" you'll know, the latter surely the optimum alienation anthem since Joy Division's "isolation" and including what sounds suspiciously like an Ol' Dirty Bastard sample after that ice-bound middle eight. But the former's tranny vicar flashes again in "Dark Mavis" ("His tights are nylon, his nails by Revlon"), another typically sly, wry, glammy Draper fable and the purrfect plastic symphony.
Where Mansun do fall down, they're at their most conventional. "She Makes My Nose Bleed" is a bit too mid-Eighties "Friday Rock Show" for me, while early single "Egg Shaped Fred" is TFF's "Shout" with more guitars. But, if Mansun do occasionally disappoint, it's because of their own now sky-high standards.
Debut of the year? Expect a run on boiler suits, peroxide and, er, a surge of reporters to yer local church hall.
DAVE SIMPSON
Melody Maker February 15, 1997