Melody Maker
July 24, 1993
Robyn Hitchcock And The Egyptians
Respect
(A&M)
by Paul Mathur
In much the same way that the French inexplicably champion the dubious Jerry Lewis and Mickey Rourke, American college radio has always had a soft spot for English "eccentric" popsters. And so -- while they can't get arrested over here -- the likes of Thomas Dolby, Swell Maps' Nikki Sudden, and ex-Soft Boy Robyn Hitchcock are lionised Stateside. It could be admirably open-minded. It could be parochially patronising. It's probably a bit of both.
So Hitchcock's seventh album (name the other six and you can be President) is already essential listening for the likes of R.E.M., who have already covered one of the tracks, "Arms Of Love" on the B-side of their "Man On The Moon". Indeed, listening to Respect, you can see the parallel furrows being ploughed by both Hitchcock and Stipe. A bit winsome, a bit oblique, far too often just plain kooky. Sure, there's neat harmonies and splendidly rolling tunes -- even some healthily off-kilter language (the opening "The Yip Song" manages to bring both the words "Vera Lynn" and "septicemia" into its chorus, for heaven's sake), but you can't help visualising its appeal stopping just outside the bedroom door of a tortured adolescent Midwesterner.
It's music to keep the top button of you shirt done up to. Robyn and his boys doodle in the margins, playing at the we-aren't-weird-but-we-wish-we-were thing.
Obviously he occasionally pulls a silver sixpence out of the plum duff and, on the likes of the gorgeous "Railway Shoes" and "Then You're Dust", you can begin to see what the fuss is all about. Elsewhere it simply shuffles. And the daft rambling "short" story that bafflingly graces the sleeve could turn Mother Teresa into a cynic.
Until he shapes up and plays to his strengths, the Americans are welcome to him.
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