The Records - Biography
By Jeff Hunt
You read in more than one description that the Records were “the British Big Star.” That’s sort of a contradiction, given that Alex Chilton and Chris Bell of Big Star were obsessive anglophiles who genuflected before British Invasion acts in general, and the Beatles and Badfinger in particular, but let’s not quibble. The comparison is meant to indicate that the Records were: (1) a criminally underappreciated act that deserved a much longer career and far more fame than they actually received; (2) an all-time great power-pop band; and (3) able to write riffs and hooks like nobody’s business. All of this is completely accurate. Sure, they were one-hit wonders, but who cares. So were the Raspberries (a much better comparison than Big Star, who never had any hits; at least the Raspberries had one), but if a band can write and record three fleeting minutes of absolute brilliance, longevity and fame no longer matter. That’s what rock ‘n’ roll is all about: perfection, in three-minute spurts. The Records came and went in a flash. But for three minutes, they achieved power-pop immortality.
The group was formed in 1977 after various and sundry line-up changes that don’t really merit mentioning; it’s the same old rock ‘n’ roll story, the ups and downs of past and future obscurity. They were just another pub band in the soggy, late-70s, trash-strewn United Kingdom. One member had been in some atrocity called the Rat Bites from Hell. And you thought the Lost Pandas was a hideous band name. Anyway, the group settled on a name, and solidified as follows: John Wicks was the vocalist, rhythm guitarist and the author of most of the music; Will Birch was the drummer and lyricist (it’s always refreshing to find a drummer who can read and write). Huw Gower played lead guitar and Phil Brown was the bassist. They made a demo; they caught a break as the backing band on a tour with Stiff Records artist Rachael Sweet; as a reward, they were allowed to open with a set of their own. And they were great. They got signed to Virgin Records. Their first single was a big hit in the UK, and the Records had, for a moment, fame. They never repeated the success. And that, my friends, is rock ‘n’ roll.
But again, who cares. That single was called “Starry Eyes,” and while it went completely unnoticed in the States, in the UK it’s considered a rock classic, on a par with, say, “Surrender” by Cheap Trick. It really is a fantastic song. John Wicks had a preternatural ability to pen crisp, angular, soaring hooks, and all four members were models of utility. There’s no flab or fat or gristle with the Records, not a moment of wasted space or self-indulgence; these guys attack their material with the sort of determined militancy that makes for elevated, first-class, taut pop. And it’s not just on “Starry Eyes.” The Records’ entire debut album, Shades in Bed (1979 Virgin) is irresistibly catchy, and at least two tracks, “Teenarama” and “Girls That Don’t Exist,” are equal to or even superior to “Starry Eyes.” Throughout, Will Birch’s lyrics are intelligent, devious, mischievous, caustic, and full of arch, British humor.
The Records would release two more albums: Crashes (1980 Virgin), in which Huw Gower was replaced with Jude Cole, and Music on Both Sides (1982 Virgin) in which Cole, in turn was tossed in favor of Dave Whelan. Both have some exquisite riffs and hooks, but they didn’t find an audience. Then the Records broke up, and that was that. Will Birch did quite well for himself as a music critic (of course), and “Starry Eyes” entered the pantheon of fabulous songs by one-hit wonders. That’s quite all right. These things happen. The Records had more of an edge that the Raspberries; they were more consistent than Cheap Trick; and while they weren’t quite as conceptually deep or musically adventurous as Big Star, they still give Chilton and Bell a run for their money. The Records were just a pop band: nothing more; nothing less. But for three minutes, they were the best pop band on the planet. They were perfect.
