Of all
the many aliases adopted by
Simon Fisher Turner,
few have proved as endearing
as the foppishly
aristocratic King of
Luxembourg. The character
was one of many devised by
the él label's eccentric
svengali
Mike Alway
as part of his mission to
create a kind of sunshine
fantasy pop whose creators
would be forever swathed in
mystery and intrigue.
As
with all of
Alway's
inventions, however, the
character was inspired by
the real life personality of
the person playing it.
Turner had been a teenybop
idol and he was a
well-spoken middle-class
chap from something of an
exotic background (his
father was a submarine
captain, his mother an
archaeologist): the rest of
his backstory was down to
fanciful press releases and
the services of a good
costumier.
As the
King,
Turner
recorded two albums and a
number of singles aided and
abetted by él's in-house
arranger/composer
Louis Philippe.
He also played a small
number of live gigs,
accompanied by his dancing
manservant Clovis, and went
down especially well in
Japan, where
Turner
was astonished to find
himself being treated as a
major star.
However, when
Alway
attempted to persuade
British audiences that the
él stable could cut it live,
the results were little
short of catastrophic.
Topping the bill, the King
was part-way through an
improbable extended cover
version of
Marvin Gaye's
Sexual Healing when the plug
was ignominiously pulled,
effectively putting an end
to not just the gig but the
King of Luxembourg's career.
His reign had lasted only
two years, but the two
albums he left behind are
among the most satisfying
expressions of Alway's
vision.
Royal
Bastard (1987)
Anyone
for whom the name
Simon Fisher-Turner
evokes the somewhat
daunting soundscapes he
composed for the films
of
Derek Jarman
or his own
ambient/avant-garde
recordings might be
surprised to learn that
he also briefly plied
his trade as the foppish
and fey-voiced King of
Luxembourg. Behind the
elaborate façade,
however, lay not just
Turner's
considerable
intelligence but the
mischievous pop smarts
of él label boss
Mike Alway
and the ingenious
arrangements and
compositions of
Louis Philippe.
Royal Bastard
opens with a sprightly
cover of the
Monkees
hit "Valleri": released
as a single, it probably
attracted more attention
in the music press than
the rest of
Turner's
output combined, not
least because it flew so
flamboyantly in the face
of the prevailing
fashion for all things
dour and authentic. Like
most of él's releases,
however, it failed to
make any impact
whatsoever on the BBC,
with one insider
claiming that the
track's total lack of
bass made it virtually
unlistenable through a
portable radio. Anyone
thus led to expect an
album of conventional
sunshine pop might have
been a little
disoriented by what
followed. Admittedly
there were more '60s
covers in the form of
the Turtles'
"Happy Together,"
the Castaways'
"Liar, Liar," and the
delightful but
little-known
Mirage
single from 1967 "The
Marriage of Ramona
Blair." But there was
also a
characteristically wispy
treatment of the
decidedly unwispy
Public Image
song "Poptones,"
anticipating the King's
foray into
Beefheart
territory on
Sir.
But it's
Louis Philippe
who provides two of the
album's finest moments
with the heavenly
chamber pop of "The
Rubens Room" (apparently
written to order at
Mike Alway's
request) and the
insidiously catchy
"Smash Hit Wonder."
Nevertheless, though
Alway
is known to prefer the
ramshackle charm of the
King's debut, many
listeners might find
that its follow-up is
the more fully formed of
the two.
Sir (1988)
One
of the most extraordinary records released during the all too short
lifetime of el records, Sir is a delerious amalgam of effete bubblegum
pop, Carnaby Street psychedelia, wacky wordplay (titles include Turban
Disturbance and Virgin On The Rocks) and post-punk weirdness, all given
an often remarkable degree of shape and coherence by arrangers/composers
Louis Philippe and Dean Brodrick. The only thing that hadn’t improved
since its predecessor was Turner’s limp rag of a voice, which listeners
will find either endearing or infuriating. Yet if you can live with it,
this is a joy. Again, the choice of cover version – Beefheart’s Her Eyes
Are a Blue Million Miles – alerts you to the fact that this is no mere
Sixties-sodden pastiche. And if that weren’t enough, there are the
sophisticated harmonies and arrangements for woodwind on standout songs
like Penny Is a Tomboy and The Queen of Luxembourg, both of which throw
in the kind of chord progressions you’re more likely to hear on a jazz
album than anything by the 1910 Fruitgum Company. Label boss Mike Alway
felt that Philippe and Brodrick got a little carried away by their muso
tendencies, yet the result is an album that resembles no other. Most
impressive of all is how such a densely-textured album was brought in on
such a minuscule budget.
Of all
the many aliases adopted by
Anyone
for whom the name
One
of the most extraordinary records released during the all too short
lifetime of el records, Sir is a delerious amalgam of effete bubblegum
pop, Carnaby Street psychedelia, wacky wordplay (titles include Turban
Disturbance and Virgin On The Rocks) and post-punk weirdness, all given
an often remarkable degree of shape and coherence by arrangers/composers
Louis Philippe and Dean Brodrick. The only thing that hadn’t improved
since its predecessor was Turner’s limp rag of a voice, which listeners
will find either endearing or infuriating. Yet if you can live with it,
this is a joy. Again, the choice of cover version – Beefheart’s Her Eyes
Are a Blue Million Miles – alerts you to the fact that this is no mere
Sixties-sodden pastiche. And if that weren’t enough, there are the
sophisticated harmonies and arrangements for woodwind on standout songs
like Penny Is a Tomboy and The Queen of Luxembourg, both of which throw
in the kind of chord progressions you’re more likely to hear on a jazz
album than anything by the 1910 Fruitgum Company. Label boss Mike Alway
felt that Philippe and Brodrick got a little carried away by their muso
tendencies, yet the result is an album that resembles no other. Most
impressive of all is how such a densely-textured album was brought in on
such a minuscule budget.