I = I don’t own many I’s

I typically acknowledge the conclusion of each letter with a summary of my reviews, and some arbitrary ranking of the top 10 or so… but I only own 5 albums by artists in the I section, so such a list seems pretty redundant.

A few of my long time musical compadres and occasional readers may be prompted to ask “but what about Icehouse’s ‘Man of Colours’ which you owned on coloured vinyl??”.

Well, it seems a certain ex-girlfriend borrowed said record way back in early 1990 and never returned it. So I can’t share my erudite thoughts on this track (and many others), nor on the many, mnay fashion crimes contained in this classicly 1980s film-clip:

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One response to “I = I don’t own many I’s

  1. In the absence of your review of Icehouse, I think it’s fitting that I offer the review of Man of Colours myself and let it be known that I shall not rest until said album is found and back in your collection. So here goes – based on my cassette version “borrowed” from said missing blue vinyl.

    It seems that the trend of repeating musical trends has already brought back punk, new wave, new romantics and old school hip-hop for an early encore. But in amongst this all, there is that one rather hefty omission, the power balladeer, who as yet rests curled up on the tiled floor, crooning endlessly to make good of the strong acoustics but sadly trapped in the bathroom, by that vicious mix of hair dryers, hair product, warm air and time.

    If the name Iva Davies means nothing to you, think Richard Marx…, but hairy, well at least in the late 80’s as by then, Iva had it in spades. Icehouse (originally Flowers) were one of a number of bands, who named the album (Icehouse) and then took on the moniker of said album. Come to think of it, Moniker’s not a bad name for a band. In the early days, these boys could New wave it (think Walls), pop it, rock it, even new romantic it, but in Man of Colours, they pretty much just tanked it.

    If “I am a man, a simple man, a man of colours” rings your bells, you’d probably best rush off to itunes right now, or at the very least tune in to Commercial radio. There were a couple of singles (Crazy, Electric Blue) that were kinda catchy, but ultimately lazy, both in song structure and melody with enough cheese in there to fill a fondue set, but sadly, no Bo Derek lookalikes roaming the room for hairy chested men.

    Therein lies the problem – by this time, Icehouse were checking out their superannuation accounts and coming up a little short so the only answer was to crank out some formulaic fluffy pop (or flop) and appeal to desperate stay at homes who knew no better. Having said all that, I could probably sing along to every song, as I’m sure could you, Mr Albumaday, so I’ll leave you with this – don’t go denying your past or you’ll mislead the future.

    Seems surprising that you coincidentally “misplace” all the records I look forward to you reviewing. Need I remind you again of Colourblind James Experience.

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