An Album For Every Year I've Been Alive: 1985

The Full Roster

Ray Davies, Return to Waterloo
Echo & the Bunnymen, Songs to Learn and Sing
The Pogues, Rum, Sodomy & the Lash
Toy Dolls, 'A Far Out Disc'
Tom Waits, Rain Dogs

Still running short on candidates, and in this case even shorter than it looks. Songs to Learn and Sing is a solid compilation, but a compilation nonetheless; meanwhile, Return to Waterloo is a soundtrack that features old songs along originals. It's decent, but even if it weren't for its pseudo-album status, it wouldn't crack the upper echelons. That's because, thankfully, the three remaining options are all pretty solid.

Favorite Album: The Pogues, Rum, Sodomy & the Lash

Despite its lack of competition, Rum, Sodomy & the Lash has plenty to recommend it besides being the best of a small bunch. In many ways superior to Red Roses For Me--the band had improved its songwriting, and the blend of styles and influences is more seamless on their sophomore effort--Rum, Sodomy & the Lash is, song for song, just about a stone-cold classic. The album sacrifices a bit of coarseness for a dash of sympathy, and despite my general distaste for such things, it does the album good. "A Pair of Brown Eyes" has a sweet, gentle melody that belies its dark and somewhat cryptic lyrics; Cait O'Riordan is wisely handed the mike for a version of "I'm a Man You Don't Meet Every Day;" while Shane MacGowan ably evokes the life of a bitter street-dweller on "The Old Main Drag." Elsewhere, "Navigator" is a fine tribute to the men who built the railroads, and a cover of Ewan MacColl's wistful ode "Dirty Old Town" is lent a bit of edge due to MacGowan's gruff delivery.

But it's another cover--this one of Eric Bogle's eight-minute folk song "And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda"--that provides the album's signature moment, closing out the record with MacGowan mustering all his limited diction skills to do justice to a bittersweet depiction of warfare through the eyes of a crippled Australian World War I veteran. It's a song seemingly written with MacGowan's gravelly, half-spit delivery in mind, and it's probably his finest moment, recorded several years before his drinking would strain his abilities to their breaking point, and find him turned out of the band altogether.



Honorable Mention: Toy Dolls, 'A Far Out Disc'

This Honorable Mention was a close-run thing indeed, but in the end, I went with the Toy Dolls' 'A Far Out Disc.' There seems to have been a youthful fad in mid-'80s Britain that consisted of acting "nutty," and perhaps no group epitomized it more than the Toy Dolls, the long-lasting if ever-changing punk rock outfit fronted by Olga Algar. The Toy Dolls took punk rock and turned it into childish fun, incorporating brief, comedic bits of dialogue into their songs and converting their choruses into football-style chants. Brief and simple, A Far Out Disc's song titles are a good indicator of its tone: "We're Mad," "You and a Box of Handkerchiefs," "Modern School of Motoring," and the delightful "My Girlfriend's Dad's a Vicar."

It might not be the deepest, most meaningful album ever recorded, but it's a hell of a lot of fun to listen to, and there's a lot to be said for that. In the end, it comes to down to enjoyment, and honestly, I just like listening to 'A Far Out Disc' more than Rain Dogs, even though I'll recognize that Rain Dogs is likely more accomplished.



Narrow Miss: Tom Waits, Rain Dogs

Rain Dogs probably suffers somewhat for emerging in the shadow of Swordfishtrombones, which as I've mentioned before I like quite a bit. Rain Dogs continues in much the same vein, perhaps even with a bit more variety than its predecessor. But because of that, it doesn't quite stick with me the same way, despite its obvious quality. "Hang Down Your Head" is a cleverly disguised, straight-ahead rocker, while "Big Black Mariah" and "Union Square" are Howlin' Tom at his best. On the other side of the spectrum, "Jockey Full of Bourbon" and "Gun Street Girl" maintain a more even keel, with Waits sounding like a smoother-voiced version of Beetlejuice, spinning tales of New York nights. Perhaps my favorite song is "Clap Hands," which seems to straddle the various tones of the album simultaneously. I'm nothing if not equivocal, and "Clap Hands" hits the sweet spot on a pretty sweet album.



Most Ridiculous Song: Toy Dolls, "Florence Is Deaf (But There's No Need to Shout," from the album 'A Far Out Disc'

It couldn't be anyone other than the Toy Dolls, and it couldn't be any song other than "Florence Is Deaf (But There's No Need to Shout)," which is essentially one long joke featuring a repeated doorbell-ring, some knocking, and shouts of "Florence!!!" all to set up the corniest of punchlines at the end. The Toy Dolls, ladies and gentlemen. This is what I'm talking about when I say it's a fun listen.



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