Every Saturday, Paste will be revisiting albums that came out before the magazine was founded in July 2002 and assessing its current cultural relevance. This week, we’re looking at XTC’s ninth studio album, which would help usher in a beloved, new era for a band on the brink of implosion or worse, total irrelevance.
English Settlement should have settled the debate on XTC once and for all. After years of peeking over the hedge from the margins of success, the critics and charts finally concurred that the 1982 double LP from these Swindon lads demonstrated that not only were they far more than the sum of their idiosyncrasies or, as some had claimed, a poor man’s Talking Heads, but also a viable pop act. If 1979’s Drums and Wires and 1980’s Black Sea hadn’t offered enough evidence already, English Settlement made it clear that XTC had outgrown their restless youth and learned enough restraint as songwriters and musicians to sustain a sprawling album that had something to say in a language no other band had in their lungs. And then, in a matter of months, it all came undone.
Principal songwriter and guitarist Andy Partridge had to step down from performing in the aftermath of a nervous breakdown caused by the band’s grueling touring schedule. This decision effectively relegated an increasingly popular live band to a studio recording project, much to the devastation of bassist Colin Moulding, drummer Terry Chambers and guitarist Dave Gregory. Chambers was so disillusioned by the shifting dynamics of being bound to the studio that he walked out of the Mummer sessions after playing on only two tracks and a B-side. Facing mounting financial woes due to ongoing litigation and debts incurred from canceling tour dates—not to mention pressure from label Virgin Records to chart some singles—XTC’s next two records, Mummer (1983) and The Big Express (1984), failed miserably to rekindle the pop-going public’s imagination. While these efforts would find camps of admirers in the decades to come, the general consensus at the time was that XTC had fallen out of touch entirely. As critic Michael Azerrad of Our Band Could Be Your Life fame would put it, XTC had become “the dean of a group of artists … who make unpopular pop music.”
As Partridge and his bandmates coped with their identity crisis, a fellow Virgin labelmate emerged knowing exactly who they were. The Dukes of Stratosphear brushed their teeth with ‘60s psychedelia, donned paisley clothing and sported veddy veddy British names like Lord Cornelius Plum. Their unearthed six-song EP, 25 O’Clock, hit record shops in Britain on April Fool’s Day 1985 and quickly doubled the sales of XTC’s last studio album. Of course, it was soon learned that the Dukes were actually Partridge, Moulding and Gregory (along with Gregory’s brother, Ian, on drums) having a bit of a lark as they took a break from the pressures of being XTC and embraced the psychedelic music they had adored as boys. Partridge referred to the quick, low-budget sessions as “the most fun we ever had in the studio,” and XTC would even thank the Dukes in the liner notes of their next album for lending them their guitars. While it must have bruised the ego a bit to learn that their ruse of a spin-off band was actually more popular than XTC proper, the Dukes might also have been the deep, reverb-heavy exhale that allowed them to lean into their next recording project, 1986’s Skylarking, an album that would help usher in a beloved, new era for a band on the brink of implosion or worse, total irrelevance.
So much of the legend of Skylarking revolves around producer Todd Rundgren—both his contributions to the shape and sound of the record and his inevitable run-ins and lasting rift with Partridge. XTC settled on Rundgren after being urged by Virgin to opt for an American producer this time out—one who could tame Partridge’s temptation to tinker as studio budgets ballooned and, more crucially, help the group shift units overseas. The band quickly discovered that Rundgren had no intention of merely nodding politely from the booth and pressing the record button. Before XTC even set foot in Rundgren’s studio in Woodstock, the producer had already gone through the demos submitted to him by Partridge and Moulding, selecting songs, trimming the fat from several and sequencing the tracks in a way that loosely made Skylarking feel like the passing of a day, a season or even a lifetime. Partridge and the others were surprised (read: annoyed) by such a bold power move out of the gate, one that ultimately left XTC, like it or not, pinning their faith on a producer they had never worked with before.
An entire article could be dedicated to Skylarking’s majestic opening track, “Summer’s Cauldron,” and how it perfectly rolls out lush grounds for the rest of the album to fool around on. Sampled sounds of insects and birds chirp and tweet in rhythm as Rundgren’s melodica wafts in like an idyllic summer morning beginning to stir. It’s all airiness, nature and rippling heat as Partridge observes, “Trees are dancing drunk with nectar / Grass is waving underwater,” the tranquility of the moment only interrupted by his accenting wails and the nudging, dubbed rolls and fills of Tubes drummer Prairie Prince. As part of his vision, Rundgren saw “Summer’s Cauldron” as a natural preamble to “Grass,” so he had the band play directly into the latter as the former dissolves. When “Grass” finishes, the cycle completes itself by returning to the natural sounds that began the record. These are such small production details, but they cue even the halfhearted listener into understanding that something unusual, perhaps even wondrous, may be unfolding before them.
Rundgren chose five of Moulding’s songs to appear on Skylarking, the most the bassist has ever contributed to an XTC album before or since. On prior records, Moulding reflected that he might have tried too hard to mirror Partridge’s writing, possibly to the music’s detriment. Here, though, it sounds like the two songwriters are playing on the same pitch, even if it’s a slightly different game. Moulding’s best work on Skylarking captures the romantic moments that manage to seep into a warm summer afternoon. The psychedelic “Grass” describes the type of parklife and youthful lust that can lead to a tumble and fumble between excited, little animals. On “The Meeting Place,” we take a bird’s-eye view of a courtship taking place between shifts in a small, industrial town. Like sampled sounds from nature provide the baseline for “Summer’s Cauldron,” industrial noises, including the work whistle from the Swindon Works, act as a rhythm track and mark the time until the lovers in question can punch the clock and rendezvous again. It’s a poignant tribute to a sweet, innocent time and place that we already suspect can’t last as seasons change and years pass.
Just because we eventually shift away from the village green and adulthood enlists us into its ranks doesn’t mean Skylarking forgets how to still have a good bit of fun. Gregory’s guitar superheroics lift “That’s Really Super, Supergirl” over tall buildings in a single bound as Partridge brilliantly borrows from the comics of his youth to describe being on the outs with a girl who can alter the Earth’s weather patterns but can’t be bothered to make their relationship work. “Ballet for a Rainy Day” paints a lovely window on a watercolor world being washed away before Partridge’s eyes just before the baroque “1000 Umbrellas”—tip-toeing between Gregory’s string arrangement—reveals the raindrops to be heartbroken tears. Never has scratching out a living at a soul-crushing job sounded more tolerable (and danceable) than on everyman anthem “Earn Enough for Us,” and “Season Cycle” flawlessly cribs from the vocals on every Beach Boys song ever as Partridge wonders “who’s pushing the pedals” that keep the world turning. This entire stretch of pop perfection reminds us that so much of XTC’s gift was their ability to take their many influences and reach out in strange, beautiful and new directions.
If Skylarking does wander off its path a bit, it’s during Partridge’s trio of “Another Satellite,” “Mermaid Smiled” and “The Man Who Sailed Around His Soul.” That’s not entirely surprising given the uncertainty around these tracks. When “Dear God” got pulled (we’ll get to that), Partridge brought in “Another Satellite” to take its place. He’s long called it his favorite track off the record while Rundgren has thought its inclusion makes no sense in the album’s cycle. While “Satellite” definitely has its merits as a pop song, its length, placement and topic do make it feel as if it’s orbiting its fellow songs rather than aligning with them. “Mermaid Smiled,” on the other hand, conjures all the sights and sounds of the seaside as a man reconnects to his childhood through a simple image. It works perfectly as Skylarking begins to look back as much as it looks forward or remains present in the moment. Unfortunately, the song has been sirened away at times to make room for, you guessed it, “Dear God.” The secret agent jazz of “The Man Who Sailed Around His Soul,” more than anything, draws attention to the fact that no two tracks on Skylarking dip into the exact same palettes.
The proceedings darken, as do days and lifetimes, as Skylarking nears its conclusion. Just as “Grass” and “The Meeting Place” are largely responsible for conveying a sense of carefree youthfulness at the cycle’s onset, the album ends with another pair of songs from Moulding, these examining the heaviness of life’s final gasps. The brief, tick-tocking “Dying” recalls the sudden, slack-jawed death of an elderly man in a shopping line. “I don’t want to die like you,” repeats Moulding, shaken by the frightening way Death came for him and how an otherwise dignified life ends in a pitiful state of abandoned pets and the seemingly trivial memories of sweet jars and multicolored tea cozies. Partridge initially didn’t think much of “Dying” until his own grandfather passed away, which made him realize that his bandmate had nailed the sentiment. “Sacrificial Bonfire” closes Skylarking with all the pomp and celebration absent from “Dying.” Strange as it might be to revisit England’s pagan past for a ritual that may or may not include a human sacrifice, Moulding does tap into the timeless hope that darkness leads us to light and old becomes new again. Rundgren’s uplifting strings underpinning Moulding’s observations of how “Smoke prayed and pranced / And sparks did their dance / In the wind” give us reason to believe we might all drown in summer’s cauldron once more.
Of course, no discussion of Skylarking would be complete without talking about “Dear God.” Initially left off the album’s first run due to its controversial subject matter, it would appear on future pressings as American college radio preferred it to the album’s actual singles. Partridge’s scathing examination of God’s existence (or wretched job performance) and mankind’s penchant for evil perks ears from the opening epistolary verse sung by young Jasmine Veillette to Partridge’s final, fiery indictment that threatens to pound through the doors of a church with his bare hands. While the songwriter has called this polemic a failure at tackling such a complex subject, there’s no denying the power and appeal of its dynamic musical shifts. The song did receive some backlash and stir some misguided passions—including one student who held a faculty member at knifepoint while the song played over his school’s PA system—but more than anything it drew attention to Skylarking. As Rundgren argued at the time, it never should have been pulled from the tracklist of an album that doesn’t shy away from asking big questions. Sadly, too many listeners have only ever known the song as a tacked-on final track that robs “Sacrificial Bonfire” of its due denouement and subsequent reset.
While Skylarking didn’t turn the music world entirely on its head, it sold well enough to restore some of Virgin’s faith in the band as a commercial asset. It also emphasized the fact that XTC were better received in America than at home, made even more evident as the band topped the modern rock charts in the United States twice more by the early ‘90s. Skylarking has only grown in stature over the years as publications tout it on “best of” lists and music nerds discover it all over again as they sift through the fascinating trove of work left by Partridge and company. As for the band, none of them may ever line up to work with Todd Rundgren again, but time has allowed them to come around to appreciating what the pairing created together. Even Partridge, who openly trashed the record when it came out, eventually praised Rundgren, writing: “Time has humbled me into admitting that Todd conjured up some of the most magical production and arranging conceivable. A summer’s day cooked into one cake.” A confection that remains as delectable as ever nearly 40 years later.