In My Family

Not enough individual Sparks songs on the net. Nevermind, here’s a whole album. Which you probably already own on the original vinyl, but if you don’t, you’re welcome. As you can easily guess from the image, Sparks have never been about pleasing the lowest common denominator. They’re kind of an acquired taste, most appealing to fans of camp, satire and musical parody. They’re simply too sophisticated and weird for common audiences.

Hospitality On Parade

I’ve long been trying to make sense of this song, and all I can come up with is it’s probably some kind of satire of consumerism. That much is clear. But I suspect there may be something deeper. I don’t get the part about the coastline and the part about the shot heard around the world. There’s only one ‘shot heard around the world’ – the Kennedy assassination. What does that have to do with anything? Are they talking about something political? Sparks are famously clever and satirical, but politically topical they never have been. If they were the type to get political I’d almost think this was some kind of commentary about the Civil Rights movement. But it’s not like them to get that serious minded. Let’s assume they’re talking about consumer culture and leave it at that. It’s certainly a relevant topic for us today, more so that when they actually wrote it.

Here In Heaven

Ok, so Sparks might possibly be an acquired taste. Their records might sound like a weird novelty to the uninitiated. But I challenge you not to be charmed by their appearance. Russell’s clunky chicken dance. Ron’s deadpan glare. Those curls. That mustache. They’re adorable. Plus, they wrote a song about Romeo moping around  heaven, waiting for Juliet, which all kinds of clever and hilarious. Sometimes the world needs reminding that there are so many more things to sing about than drinking and booty. This is your antidote when you’re going crazy from all the mindlessness you’ve been exposed to.

Hasta Mañana Monsieur

The American pop group Sparks may be an acquired taste for most Americans. American audiences are famously averse to complexity in their music. Give ‘em their rock’n'roll straight up, no ambiguity, and not too many big words please. Everything about Sparks is catnip for the British, anathema to Americans; their elevated sense of camp and their jokiness, to their ambiguous appearance, with Russell resembling a taller, more effeminate Marc Bolan, and Ron looking like that creepy guy you see on the bus sometimes whose mustache hints at dark pastimes.  In other words, Americans don’t want to buy records from a guy who sings like a girl and a guy with a Hitler mustache. It’s too confusing. If only hipsters had been around in the seventies things would have been different. Now there could conceivably be a market for an ironic pop song about dumb American tourists trying to bang foreign girls while name-dropping Immanuel Kant, if only for novelty value. Think of Sparks songs as little humorous vignettes with music. If it sounds as though enjoying Sparks requires a very high degree of sophistication, that’s partly right. Their music certainly works on many levels. Some of the jokes are more sophisticated than others, but no sophistication is required to appreciate the music itself, which is unfailingly catchy and uptempo. In fact, on a basic level, it’s music that would appeal, and does, to a small child. It’s full of peppy beats, simple melodies and Russell’s voice, which is reminiscent of a cartoon animal’s, high-pitched and genderless – all of which are things small children adore. I adored it as a small child and only years later grew to understand the content, some of which is mildly adultish.

Happy Hunting Ground

I’m wishing for a Sparks tour of the United States, but it seems that no one over here wants to hear them. They’re  constantly doing cool stuff in Europe, like playing their entire back catalog live. Then again, Europe is where people buy their records, so why would they bother coming over here? The Maels were just born on the wrong continent. Sometimes Russ even affects a bit of an English accent. Never say never, though. Looks like they’ve got plenty of steam left in them. Age hasn’t done Russell’s impishness any favors, but he can still hit high notes at the outer limits of the human falsetto, while Ron still has the stage presence of a very sarcastic block of wood. And I’m sure old fans are charmed and delighted that the boys are happy to pull out some classic songs from their early, guitar-based parody-glam-rock era. I loved them when they went all Giorgio Moroder on us, yes, but it wasn’t as good as the Kimono My House, Propaganda and Indiscreet years. Sparks were, unquestionably, the world’s greatest parody glam rock duo. Of course, glam rock itself went down the tubes around the time Bowie cut his mullet off, so the world’s need for a glam rock parody duo plummeted. There’s plenty of musical styles left to poke a little friendly fun at, and Sparks have had a blast with disco and EDM. The key to making a good parody is to be genuinely as good, if not better, than the original subject, and at that they excel. They played some of the best glam rock ever, hilarious or not, and the best disco, too.

The Ghost of Liberace

I’ll admit I actually find this song a bit grating. But it represents very well late-career Sparks. In which they’ve come to rely on a specific formula. Maybe I’m wrong about their creative process, but it seems like they first come up with the randomest song title they can think of and work from there. Sometimes it’s just Russ chanting the song title/joke over an endlessly repetitive synth melody. Here there’s a full set of lyrics in narrative formation, and they’re pretty damn funny. Love the formula or hate it, those guys have never lost their sense of humor. Sometimes they can be annoying but there’s always a good joke in there somewhere. I do miss early Sparks, when they were a full band with guitars and drums. They must have figured out keeping a stable of supporting players was too much trouble when all they ever needed was Ron’s keyboard and a mic for Russell. Now they’re the world’s only electronic music parody duo. But they’re not parodists in the Weird Al sense. They’re not interested in deflating whatever the next big thing is. They just write whatever they think is amusing. The youngest among you might not understand what makes this song funny. It’s funny because Liberace is such an absurd personality. If you don’t remember, for a few decades starting in the 1940′s he ruled Vegas as a kind of smarmier version of Elton John. That is: flamboyant, sparkly, tacky, and piano-based. Also gay, but unlike Sir Elton, never out with it. I read that he’d force his toy-boys to have plastic surgery so they’d look more like him, something Elton John would never dream of doing, because Elton John is married to someone his own age, for one thing, and also because Elton John isn’t a total freaking lunatic like that. Though that whole story may not even be true, who knows. Anyhow, Liberace was a talented showman and pianist, but his horrible taste in everything you can imagine and slimy Vegas persona has made him into a figure of high hilarity, even without anyone coming along to write a song about him.

Get In The Swing

“I ain’t no Freud, I’m from L.A.” sings Russ Mael whilst flouncing about in tiny shorts. Why Sparks never caught on in America I can’t imagine. Maybe because Americans like their pop stars less flouncy? Then there’s another one where the shorty shorts are different color. Throughout, Russ looks cherubic and fey, Ron looks like an  Springtime For Hitler understudy. And fey. In 1975 the world desperately needed a parody of all those horny glam rock sagas, with a lesson about salmon tossed in. Sparks made their name with glam rock parodies, then went on to parody disco and electronica. With the distinction that everything they did could easily stand on its own, and was in fact frequently much better than whatever it was making fun of in the first place.

Falling In Love With Myself Again

“I bring home the bacon/I eat it myself/here’s to my health/hope that I am feeling well.”

A satire on love songs (see below) and a paean to narcissism. Sparks were one of the great things to spring from the glam revolution, for a while, until they decided instruments were a bother and switched to Moroderesque synths exclusively. When they were a band with instruments they had some bright musical moments, but when they went synth, honestly the musicality went downhill. But even if they choose to rely on some cheesy-ass canned beats, it doesn’t matter because the whole point is to make satire on bands who rely on cheesy-ass canned beats. Sparks are a good band, but they’re an even better comedy duo. From the visual contrast of flouncy Russel Mael and brother Ron, bearer of a mustache few could pull off, to their understanding and willingness to make fun of popular pop styles, and to their endlessly cheeky lyrics, there’s no question the music is a vehicle for the comedy. And so good too – every song is hilarious. Just take a peek at the lyrics if you need convincing.

Eaten by the Monster of Love

I always took it for granted that Sparks have never made the slightest blip on the American radar. These guys were simply born on the wrong continent. Well, a while back my friend  Mikey announced that Eaten By the Monster of Love was one of her favorite 80′s songs. I figured it must be some random fluke, or a mistake – it’s not as if her knowledge of 80′s songs is unusually encyclopedic. Turns out the song was on the soundtrack of some 80′s teen movie called Valley Girl, from back in the days when Nicolas Cage was considered some kind of sex symbol. So it elicits reactions of “Omg, I love this song! ….what? No I don’t know what it is.” That’s some kind of cultural relevance, in however small a form.

Don’t Leave Me Alone With Her

Sparks, not to be confused with the natural phenomenon, or the sports team or the now-defunct candy-flavored alcoholic beverage. Think of Sparks as a comedy duo with music. Um, like, maybe, think glam-rock-and-synth-Flight-of-the-Conchords? If you’re having trouble wrapping your mind around their musical identity, that is. Yeah, little brother Russel sings like a castrato Freddie Mercury. No, you shouldn’t take it too seriously. Sparks music is meant to be absolutely-tively funny fun times. And like the best comedy always does, there’s space in there to smuggle in some astute observations about this human life of ours, and the culture we’re stuck in.