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The Stranglers: The Raven LP (United Artists, 1979)
Compared to most of the other ‘77-era UK punk bands, it’s been a long road with me and the Stranglers. As I’ve mentioned before, my earliest education in 70s UK punk came from the many books about the scene (particularly the Clash and the Pistols) that came out in the mid- and late 90s, and certainly the Stranglers got mentioned in all those books as an important band in that first wave of punk. I’m sure I checked out Rattus Norvegicus a few times during my teens and early 20s, but two things kept me from embracing the record fully: misogyny and mustaches.
To a kid like me, for whom Kurt Cobain’s words were the keys to the underground kingdom, there were hardly two things less cool than misogyny and mustaches. No doubt influenced by the feminist Olympia punk scene that shaped his politics, Kurt Cobain made it clear you should take women seriously... artistically, intellectually, and in every other way that a human being deserves to be heard. I’m not sure how I absorbed this message so throughly, but I did my best to put it in practice (imperfectly, I’m sure). The lyrics to Stranglers songs like “Peaches,” “London Lady,” and “Bring on the Nubiles” all gave off the impression these guys were creeps… leering at, mocking, and brazenly sexualizing women. It reminded me of the misogynistic antics of bands like Guns N Roses and the Rolling Stones, and it was a vibe I just couldn’t hang with.
Obviously facial hair is a lot less important than the marginalization of half the world’s population, but it’s hard to overstate how deeply out of fashion mustaches were in the 90s. While even Kurt himself occasionally sported a goatee, the mustache had become the symbol of the politically regressive 70s burnout. The word “mustache” rarely appeared without the modifier “porn star” preceding it, which invoked the deepest kind of chauvinism. Of course, Nirvana had the song “Mr. Moustache” on bleach, and while the lyrics were opaque, I felt like I knew what Kurt was getting at. And then on the cover of Rattus Norvegicus was Stranglers keyboardist Dave Greenfield’s soup strainer, loud and proud. It made the record look like a relic from another era, more Foghat or Bad Company than the angular, futuristic fashions of the Sex Pistols and the Buzzcocks. Greenfield’s keyboards themselves also evoked a bygone era, linking the Stranglers’ music with the prog era that punk notoriously reacted against. That was particularly hard to hear in the 90s, which was, after all, the era when huge-sounding electric guitars reigned supreme.
Sometime around a decade ago, though, I heard Black and White, the Stranglers record that broke the ice for me. I think I happened upon it when I was falling in love with the more glam-influenced end of the ‘77 spectrum, and bands like the Only Ones, the Rich Kids, early Cock Sparrer and the like were dominating my listening. While Black and White has a lot of that proto-punk sound, it also has hugely catchy, energetic songs. “Tank,” “Sweden,” “Toiler on the Sea,” “Death and Night and Blood...” it’s an unstoppable album, its meticulous major-label production only enhancing its charms. “Nice N Sleazy” called back to the band’s earlier misogynistic vibes, but it didn’t feel like that dank, smoky atmosphere pervaded the entire record as it did on the Stranglers’ earlier material. After falling so thoroughly in love with Black and White, I went back and spent due time with Rattus Norvegicus and its follow-up, No More Heroes, which I like even more. While the creep factor still gives me the willies, I have to admit I’m now fully on board with the music.
Then, a year or so ago, after a late-night listen to No More Heroes, it occurred to me I should probably check out the record after Black and White. I dialed up The Raven on streaming and my immediate thought was, “this is really fucking good.” I waited to immerse myself in the record until I could find a copy on vinyl, which I figured wouldn’t be too long. We’ve had many copies in the store over the years. However, as always seems to happen, once you look for something, it’s nowhere to be found. Eventually this summer, while in LA for Lie Detector, I visited Radiation Records and found a later pressing without the 3D cover. I was quite happy with that, but then within the next several weeks we had 3 copies come in at the store, and I think all of them had the cool 3D cover. I think we still may have one or two of them if anyone reading this is local and wants a copy for themselves.
As I mentioned on my last appearance on What Are You Listening To?, I’ve really been enjoying what Mike calls “Sunday night punk.” So much of the music I listen to as part of my Sorry State duties is abrasive and/or primitive, so when I’m winding down at night I like I find music that still has some of punk’s energy and liveliness, but also has subtler textures and a broader tonal range. The Raven certainly fits the bill. “Nuclear Device” and “Sha Sha A Go Go” are energetic singalongs that would have fit nicely on Black and White, but they anchor more out-there moments. On “Dead Loss Angeles,” the Stranglers go “Big Bottom,” with Hugh Cornwell putting down his six-string and teaming up with JJ Burnell for a gnarly two-bass attack. “Don’t Bring Harry” is a swirly piano ballad about heroin, and “Duchess” is a bona fide chart single. The other songs are even weirder, but the album has a perfect sense of balance that keeps me engaged the whole way through.
Join me in a few years when I take the next step on my Stranglers journey...