Fruit of the Tune: When William Pears' eponymous American debut came out three years ago, I was ready to inscribe them just above Frank Bango (and under the Rooks) on my list of "Bands Most Likely to Save Power Pop (From Itself)". The mysterious quartet of Frenchmen, who sang in English, had two kinds of songs: dizzyingly witty lyrics saved by deliriously simple hooks, and mind-numbingly obvious lyrics carried by the most gorgeous--and tricky--melodies this side of Rod Argent. No, it didn't always work, but, when it did, it was that rarest of creations: a pure pop record that sounded like no other artist under le soleil.

The song that charmed me the most had the most unlikely title: "Johnny Rotten". In it, the singer, warbling like Ray Davies in full Edwardian regalia, described seeing the Never Mind the Bollocks album in a department store for the first time. Fascinated by the album's sleeve, he asked the shop assistant to play it. "She looked annoyed, but she did it." The story was highly personal, yet utterly universal. Countless writers have set out to describe the excited rush of hearing a life-changing record for the first time, but few have captured so perfectly how it feels when the ordinary world is invaded by the sublime.

It was in such an aurally intoxicated state that I visited William Pears' Website and read something that sent me weeping back to my Frank Bango albums. I don't remember exactly what it said--I must have blocked it out--but it was some sort of diatribe about how they were sick of trying to please listeners by singing in English and playing pure pop music. Their next album would be "harder-edged" (a musical term that, in its least common meaning, means "like the Move," and, in its most common meaning, means simply "bad"), and, of course, en Francais.

This is known as farting in your fans' general direction.

After such discouraging news, when an advance copy of William Pears' second U.S. release, Big Bang (Permanent Press), arrived in the mail last month, I had every reason to expect it to stink worse than last week's escargot. Instead, I am happy to report that the album (which is all in English save for two French tunes) sounds like a natural follow-up to their debut. Perhaps they decided that English-speaking pure pop fans weren't such a bad lot after all. Or they just couldn't shake the Kinks, the Hollies, and the Beatles out of their systems. Either way, Big Bang, despite the tackiest cover to come along in a long while, is loaded with as much jangle and wit as its predecessor, and nearly as much charm as well.

The leadoff track, "Good Old Sun," a close cousin of the Kinks' "Lazy Old Sun," has that welcoming side-opener feel rarely heard since the days of LPs. Its upbeat feel is amplified by the second track, "Big Bang," a wistful look back on an exuberant Mod past: "It felt so good in desert boots with our polo shirts and worn-out suits, we looked sharp!" Think "The Kids Are Alright," with the Purple Hearts replaced by Prozac.

The theme of retrospection continues throughout the album. The title cut leads into "Forever Punk," which, like William Pears' "Johnny Rotten," incongruously combines a decidedly non-punk (almost folk-rock) backing with lyrics romanticizing the heaven that was '77. "I miss the scene, I don't know what to wear," bemoans the song's protagonist, who admits to losing his hair (which "used to be green, but no one seems to care").

As the album progresses, it appears that William Pears has a definite idea of its audience: pop music obssessives, mid-30s and above, who long to hear new music that excites them as much as the albums in their precisely-alphabetized collections. Such an approach is bound to have its critics, but William Pears is only too eager to skewer naysayers. They did so on the very first track of William Pears, "Sound Advice," where they noted, "Well, if the Beatles came today/Who would sign them anyway?" On Big Bang, they get even more direct, with "Oh No (No More of That Song)": "I believe that I should thank you, my friend, for giving me such bad press. I quote: 'Who needs a teenage symphony?'"

By this point, you may be thinking that William Pears are too self-conscious for their own good. It is true that they say so much about themselves that they leave little for a critic to add. Big Bang could use a few more straightforward numbers (like William Pears' irresistible "Crying Pop Tears") that don't carry cleverly-articulated social messages. Still, even with these reservations, the album has enough unadulterated ear candy to make it eminently listenable. So, yes, good things still come in Pears.

Listen People: Just received a copy of Graham Gouldman's second solo album, which appeared late last year on England's Dome Records and has yet to be released Stateside. Its title, And Another Thing, is a witty reference to the fact that the album is the follow-up to The Graham Gouldman Thing, which came out all the way back in 1968. (I guess his Animalympics soundtrack doesn't count.) Now, there are a number of things here that should be of immediate interest to Fufkin readers, aside from the mere fact that we're talking GRAHAM GOULDMAN here, 10cc member and composer of the godlike "Bus Stop," "Look Through Any Window," "Heart Full of Soul," "No Milk Today," and "East West," to name a few. For one thing, the album was done largely in collaboration with Gouldman's former Wax UK partner Andrew Gold (who, with his Dukes of Stratosphear-ish Fraternal Order of the All, has made the rare transition from overground to underground notoriety). For another, he dusted off a glorious chestnut for the album's opener: "You Stole My Love". The freakbeat classic was originally recorded in 1966 by Gouldman's beat group, the Mockingbirds. Gouldman's new version retains much of the original arrangement, but replaces its troublesome 6/8 bridge with the one from another gem he wrote at the same time, the Mindbenders' "Schoolgirl". He also layers it with acoustic and electric six-string guitars, plus an electric 12-string solo that shows he has lost none of his skill for masterfully melodic playing.

Other than "You Stole My Love" and a straightforward arrangement of "Heart Full of Soul," And Another Thing contains mostly the sort of VH1-ready balladry that those familiar with Wax U.K. and latter-day 10cc would expect. The songs are greatly aided by Gouldman's appealing voice, which is in top form (and still one of the most distinctive ones in pop). The most uptempo numbers evoke Crowded House, who themselves were heavily influenced by Gouldman's baroque take on Beatles song structure.

True to its title, And Another Thing actually does include another thing besides the tracks listed: a fab bonus track in which Gouldman, accompanying himself with an acoustic guitar, sings the top five questions people ask him about 10cc. He also answers one of them, sort of: "'Where did you get your name from?' Go and ask Jonathan King."

Let Me Be--the first to tell you that Varese Vintage's P.F. Sloan collection Child of Our Times: The Trousdale Demo Sessions, 1965-1967, is finally out after a delay of only three years or so. The tracks have already circulated among Sloan collectors, but Child of Our Times presents them in album-quality sound for the first time. Historically, the most interesting cut is "Danger Man," Sloan and co-writer Steve Barri's original demo of "Secret Agent Man," but there are also demos of other tunes that made the charts--"You Baby," "Can I Get to Know You Better" (both of which hit for the Turtles) and "Another Day, Another Heartache" (the Fifth Dimension) plus songs later recorded by Peter & Gordon, the Grass Roots, and others. If you have never heard Sloan before, picture a Dylan fan blessed (or cursed) with a distinctly non-Dylanesque Everly Brothers-style voice (minus the twang), who wants very badly to write socially significant songs but keeps coming back to the almighty hook. Much of the pleasure of listening to Child of Our Times comes from witnessing the tension as Sloan attempts to bridge the divide between his high artistic principles and his need to land the next Shelley Fabares A-side. At the time, he got hell for it (Jimmy Webb would later encapsulate his suffering in "P.F. Sloan"), but 35 years' hindsight makes it clear that he succeeded.

Conflict of Interest Dept.: I have no business writing about Nixon's Head, because I'm contributing a track (backed by N.J.'s fabbest faux Brits, the Anderson Council) to their upcoming Stiff Records tribute CD. Still, if you have read this far, it is my public duty to inform you that they are yet another band playing clever, hook-laden music with two "p"'s and an "o" in the middle. On their Website, they spell out their "Heavy Pop Values," such as, "Thou shalt not abuse echo as a vocal device," and, my favorite, "Thou shalt not allow Mitchell Froom, his 'exquisite taste,' his vintage instruments, and his 'spiritual compressor' to produce [thy] major label debut." Amen to that.

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