Even when set against the peculiar circumstances that usually accompanied a 1970s album release by The Kinks, the backdrop to ‘MISFITS‘ (May 1978) is uniquely complex.
Bear with.
Through recording of their seventeenth studio album in a career at this point stretching back 14 years, (through roughly the same period contemporaries The Who had made seven, indication of just how productive The Kinks had been), the group were often reduced to a core of founder members – namely songwriter extraordinaire/guitar player Ray Davies and his younger brother, lead guitarist Dave.
The process of recording a follow-up to the satisfyingly successful, (in the U.S. at least), ‘Sleepwalker‘ LP of the previous year became so arduous as to precipitate the departures of Andy Pyle, bass player for the past 15 months and long-serving keyboardist John Gosling.
Such was the lack of constancy attached to the ‘Misfits‘ sessions, drummer Mick Avory a redoubtable survivor from day one in 1964, found himself in a studio job share with Clem Cattini and Nick Trevisik. The the bass credits were shared among Pyle, Ron Lawrence and John Dalton, who made a temporary return to help out after calling time on his eight year tenure as a full-time Kink in December 1976. Dalton headed for the exit door on completion of ‘Sleepwalker‘ and was gone altogether by the time of a U.S. tour a few months later.
Between 1970 and 1976 The Kinks had been the recognisable entity of Ray, Dave, Avory, Dalton (who replaced original bass player Pete Quaife in April 1969) and Gosling (recruited 1970). The line-up was often extended by a three-strong brass section, their horns providing decoration to the thematic material Ray began to write as the decade unfolded.
Indeed, the succession of albums that carried them into the mid-70s , while different in theme (with the exception of ‘Preservation‘ and its Part II successor), had the common denominator of each being wrapped in an overarching narrative.
This sequence of conceptual pieces, that when performed on stage involved members of the band donning costumes as well as playing their instruments, might have pushed the boundaries of rock theatre, but when it came to chart activity were nowhere to be seen.
On enticing The Kinks from RCA, the label for whom they had recorded since 1971, head of Arista Records Clive Davis made the stipulation that concept albums were off-limits. Ray dutifully adhered to the instruction on ‘Sleepwalker‘, (their debut on Arista), the reward for a likeable collection of ten melodic, unconnected pieces being a high position of 21 on the Billboard charts. It was their highest ever placing by some distance and consolation no doubt for the record sinking without trace in their homeland, The Kinks having long since failed to make any headway on the U.K. album listings.
By 1977 it was fair to say a non-concept album from The Kinks was a concept in itself. Buoyed by the fact an upturn in their fortunes had arrived through the simple construct of populating a record with songs that for the most part were snapshots of everyday life, something Ray had done to better effect than anyone before the concept bug bit as hard as it did, the stories he wanted to tell were again being played out within a four minute framework.
Even as the ’70s slipped passed, Ray Davies could justifiably claim to have had the last word when it came to writing the pop vignette – ‘Waterloo Sunset‘ (1967) remaining for many the most eloquent 45 ever recorded. So if that is what it took in putting The Kinks back before a mainstream audience, there was nobody better blessed in coming up with the goods.
Those he wrote for ‘Sleepwalker‘ while not especially memorable did the trick as means of making some Stateside commercial headway. True, some ‘Misfits‘ selections were hardly top draw, yet taken as a whole there was enough substance to make it a commendable Kinks album of the period. In keeping with the glorious contradictions of their career, it was superior to ‘Sleepwalker‘ but sold less – and in truth better than ‘Low Budget‘, the album with which they hit paydirt in 1979.
With the lyrics Ray cast his gaze on the lost and bewildered who live among everyday people, in other words, misfits. He implores everyone feeling forced into subservience to reject extreme politics no matter if it comes from the left or right. England may have come to disregard The Kinks in relation to record sales and widespread attention, but the old country still stirs a compunction in Ray to remark upon its defects and deficiencies – the U.K. locked into a cycle of political inertia, social conservativism and economic instability as the 1980s fast approached.
Of the ten track collection produced by Ray – which rolls along in relative comfort despite the background upheaval – all bar one is written by Davies snr. Dave with the polished ‘Trust Your Heart‘ makes his first songwriting contribution to a Kinks album since ‘You Don’t Know My Name‘ from ‘Everybody’s in Show-biz‘ back in 1972. Ray sets his observations to melodies that embrace the soft-rock sensibilities of mainstream radio and the pop-punk overtones being aired by a host of new wave acts, serving as reminder of where such a sound originated from.
The opening title track captures the essence of what he is aiming for in depicting those feeling a disconnect with society. Their plight is set against an engaging folk-rock melody built upon the delicate platform of his shimmering acoustic guitar. Davies appears to recognise a trait in people who feel uncomfortable with conformity, taking one to know one perhaps given his previous insistence The Kinks stay beyond the confines of making straightforward albums in the manner of say Rod Stewart or Elton John.
‘You say your summer has gone/Now the winter is crawling in/They say that even in your day/Somehow you never could quite fit in/Though it’s cold outside/I know the summer’s gonna come again/Because you know what they say/Every dog has his day.’
In the engaging chorus Ray cannot help but wonder what benefit there is to being on the outside looking in (‘You’re a misfit/Afraid of yourself, so you run away and hide/You’ve been a misfit all your life/Why don’t you join the crowd‘), but at the bridge turns the focus around and asks conformists to pay more attention to the people they live among, the loner someone passed in the street or fellow commuter:
‘Look at all the losers and the mad-eyed gazers/Look at all the loonies and the sad-eyed failures/They’ve giving up living ’cause they just don’t care/So take a good look around, the misfits are everywhere.’
Indeed they are, with Davies about to summon up a selection of disparate characters, each of whom is either out of sync or at odds with conventional living of the time. In the amusing, if lightweight ‘Hay Fever‘ which is closer to comedy sketch than social comment, the protagonist is blighted by the ailment of the title, romantic intentions thwarted at every turn by his condition:
‘The pollen count’s getting higher and higher/My eyes are sore and my nose is on fire/My throat’s dry now and I’m starting to perspire/My stuffed up head’s killing all of my desire’.
From a sedate start the song gathers pace, but extending it to six verses in becoming a Beach Boys pastiche brings the sense of being overdone, Ray conveying the gist well before the halfway mark.
The narrator of ‘Black Messiah‘, revealed to be the only white man ‘living on an all black street‘, begins this reggae-flavoured cut with opening lines that come across as a disclaimer, ‘Everybody got the right to speak their mind/So don’t shoot me for saying mine.’
At times the lyric, delivered in the affected West Indian accent he had previously used on the 1970 hit single ‘Apeman,’ comes across as deliberately provocative (‘But if I told you that God was black/What would you think of that?’). It ends, however, as a plea for greater tolerance between races, ‘Everybody got to show a little give and take/Everybody got to live with a little less hate/Everybody got to work it out/We gotta sort it out‘ – this at a time when racial tension had become a prevalent issue in several English cities.
In side two opener ‘Permanent Waves‘, an energetic number with layered keyboards and pushy electric guitar work by Dave, Ray creates a figure at his wits’ end due to the pressures of life. Visiting a doctor brings the unexpected remedy of a change in hairstyle, receiving the medical assessment of:
‘Your body functions, but your hair’s a disgrace/You shouldn’t let it hang all over your face/Change your image ‘cos you look out of place/Comb your hair, put on weight, try to look up to date.’
The diagnosis initially seems to work, a trip to the hairdresser providing salvation. But the ‘permanent waves’ of his new styling lasts only as long as a change in the weather, Ray sending the misbegotten fellow back to where he started:
‘I was really up but now I’m down once again/I went out walking and it started to rain/My perm washed out it just got flushed down the drain/My neurosis returned, I’m a wreck once again.’
The pick of these curious episodes from human existence is ‘Out of the Wardrobe‘ the country-tinged tale of a middle aged, cross-dressing man who ‘married Betty Lou back in ’65‘ – the ensuing years bringing change to his perception of marriage and more pertinently, preferences in attire:
‘But lately he’s been looking at his wife with mixed emotions/You see, he’s not a commonplace closet queen/He shouldn’t be hidden, he should be seen’/Cos when he puts on that dress/He looks like a princess.’
While following a similar course to the magnificent ‘Lola‘ from eight years before, after making the discovery about her husband Betty Lou overcomes her shock and embraces the difference in his persona, (‘Now his life is rearranged and he’s grateful for the change/He’s out of the wardrobe and now he’s got no regrets‘), eventually at ease with the surprise development to their union:
‘But she’s learning how to cope at last/She’s got the best of both worlds/And she’s really in a state of elation/She says it helps their relationship/She says a change is as good as a rest.‘
From marrying a man ‘six feet tall and his arms are all brown and hairy‘ Betty Lou now finds herself living a life where, ‘She wears the trousers and smokes the pipe/And he washes up and she helps him wipe.’
To varying degrees Ray conveys a sense of compassion for all the various eccentrics existing within these episodes, even finding an ounce of sympathy for the man forced into exile by the Inland Revenue – his troubles documented in the fast-paced ‘In a Foreign Land.’
The central figure is quick to admit, ‘all of my debts were causing me to defect.’ His hand has been forced by the tax man wiping out what wealth he had, which naturally evokes ‘the tax man’s taken all my dough‘ from the 1966 Ray-written Kinks masterpiece ‘Sunny Afternoon.’
With no hope of returning to Blighty without being chased by ‘my debtors and the money collectors‘, he is resigned to living out his days in ‘a land of bananas and sand‘ and having said, ‘Goodbye champagne and the caviar set’, has no desires other than, ‘I wanna slum and drink all the rum I can get.’
From using tongue-in-cheek whimsy, (and guitar progressions not out of place on a Cheap Trick record of the time), to depict a new and relatively small group among the populace, the tax exile, Ray finds little to his liking in ‘Live Life‘ – an up tempo, yet downbeat state-of-the nation address.
What little the U.K. has going for it is the spirit to be found among (most) of the people, who he pleads with to hold steady and not be swayed by vacuous politicians or self righteous malcontents. In stating the need for salt of the earth types to remain just that by staying immune to extremism, Ray cannot resist incorporating a phrase he has previously used, once to describe the fashion conscious, only now aired to condemn supporters of disunity:
‘Trendy intellectuals always take action/For every cause that’s ever been in fashion/Weekend revolutionaries protest and sing/Because they’re dedicated followers of any old thing/They got every solution for every revolution.’
Bolstered by stinging guitar lines from Dave, as a rant it is pretty effective. Ray has rarely had a bee in his bonnet to this extent, Elvis Costello and The Clash not the only ones offering a dissenting, contemporary voice. Yet even then he urges perspective no matter how big the temptation to fear the worst:
‘Don’t get depressed when you read in the press/About world revolution and social unrest/Try not to panic when you switch on the news/And see crooked politicians and the unemployment queues.’
He extends the notion of the world being held together by the unassuming and unheard in closing track ‘Get Up‘ – a Springsteen-styled tribute to unsung folk, who receive an appeal to be more assertive:
‘Here’s a song for all the little men, who get forgotten time and time again/Here’s a message for the little guy/Don’t let this situation pass you by/You’re in the middle while the big mouths fight/You get it from the left and the right.‘
Propelled by rampant piano and the vibrant fusion of acoustic and electric guitars, the melody remains slavishly radio friendly, Ray insistent the silent majority make their feelings known:
‘Somebody’s got to get up and shout/Somebody gotta give us some clout/You’re the ones to make it all work out/It all depends on you.‘
With one Davies brother urging people to stand up to the autocrats, the other goes one step further to ask ‘What on earth do we need government for ?’ in ‘Trust Your Heart‘ – a presentable piece constructed primarily for Dave to offer reminder of his virtuosity as a guitarist.
The writer uses the title as a message of advice, making the case for trusting gut-feeling irrespective of whether the decision is being made for personal or professional reasons. The opening couplet of verse three, ‘Why bear malice just let it go/So what of pride it will swallow you whole,’ has broader context than the combustible relationship with his brother, who puts their compatibility as fellow Kinks under scrutiny in the poignant ‘A Rock ‘n’ Roll Fantasy‘ – that along with the title track towers above all else on the record.
Built on similar foundations to the serene ‘Celluloid Heroes‘ from 1972, Ray begins with observations on how he and Dave have arrived at the present juncture. Their differences, while constant, ‘Isn’t it strange, we never change/We’ve been through it all yet we’re still the same,’ not divisive enough for the course of action Dave seems intent on taking, judging by the second verse:
‘Hello me, hello you/You say you want out/Want to start anew, throw in your hand/Break up the band/Start a new life, be a new man.’
Into this story of Davies brother division comes Dan, a neighbour of Ray, who when feeling low ‘He turns his stereo way up high,’ which allows him to live ‘in a rock ‘n’ roll fantasy‘ when playing his records. But he is not the only one, Davies by his own admission, doing much the same – the connection between them taking a new twist when, in this public conversation with Dave, Ray reveals Dan to be a dedicated follower of the group his younger brother has designs on leaving:
‘Dan is a fan and he lives for our music/It’s the only thing that gets him by/He’s watched us grow and he’s seen all our shows/He’s seen us low and he’s seen us high/Oh, but you and me keep thinking/That the world’s just passing us by.’
Through a record where Ray makes any number of calls for unity the most impassioned is to his brother, whose belief of ‘You say you’ve got nothing left to prove,’ is met with the riposte of, ‘You might be through but I’ve just begun‘ – the ultimate assertion in the face of departing members and uncertainty over Mick Avory’s continued involvement being The Kinks always survive, to which we said amen to that.
Their survival chances received a boost when ‘A Rock ‘n’ Roll Fantasy‘ became a modest U.S. hit single and were further enhanced with recruitment of accomplished bass player Jim Rodford. This mild-mannered maestro remained in post until The Kinks finally ran aground in the late-90s with Ray and Dave drifting into solo careers.
Meanwhile reviews for ‘Misfits‘ reflected their current standing on either side of the Atlantic. Rolling Stone loved it, ‘The Kinks aren’t getting older, they’re getting better,’ but in London Melody Maker weighed in with ‘Guilty of a heap of musical and lyrical lightweights,’ and neither was Sounds impressed:
‘Had this LP been released under a different group name it admittedly would not have been quite so offensive, but this is The Kinks.’
Suffice to say it charted in the United States (reaching number 40), but scathing reviews aside, came and went barely noticed in Britain. Nevertheless, ‘Misfits‘ for all its highlights and thin spots, served its purpose in maintaining for The Kinks a U.S. chart presence. Clive Davis was proved right in enforcing the concept album ban and Ray once again displayed his forte for writing about flawed fellow citizens, fantasists and fans – managing to encompass all three in one endearing song.
Almost 15 years on from their breakthrough, Ray infused ‘A Rock ‘n’ Roll Fantasy‘ with the comment ‘And I know it’s a miracle, we still go,’ only for the next line, ‘For all we know we might still have a way to go,’ to prove somewhat prophetic – The Kinks shortly to embark on the most lucrative period of their career.
THE KINKS – MISFITS (Released May 19 1978):
Misfits/Hay Fever/Live Life/A Rock ‘n’ Roll Fantasy/In a Foreign Land/Permanent Waves/Black Messiah/Out of the Wardrobe/Trust Your Heart/Get Up;
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