Classic_Pop_Issue_30_July_2017

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W

e lost so many pop

musicians in 2016

• Prince, Bowie,
  George Michael,
  Maurice White –
  that the death, last
  October, of Caroline
  Crawley, lead singer
  with Shelleyan
  Orphan, was
  inevitably overlooked. But then,
  they were largely ignored during
  their only modestly successful
  career. They were an atypical

80s act, even if they did support

The Jesus And Mary Chain, sign

to Rough Trade and tour with The

Cure. A duo comprising Crawley

and Jemaur Tayle (who met on

Bournemouth beach in 1980),

augmented by quasi-classical

instrumentation (oboe, cello,

flute, bassoon, strings), they

were probably better suited to

the 1780s.

A sort of pop chamber group,

they were notable for Crawley’s

voice – one of the decade’s best,

as striking as Billy Mackenzie’s

and Björk’s – and their often

breathtaking, sumptuously sad

circuitous melodies. Imagine

Dollar if they were around before

the Industrial Revolution.

Named after a poem by

Shelley, they used to have an

artist onstage creating impromptu

paintings, although their live

shows – in art galleries, churches

and theatres – weren’t so much

prim as powerfully moving.

This box comprises the studio

albums – 1987’s Helleborine,

1989’s Century Flower, 1992’s

Humroot – plus a 19-track bonus

CD of unreleased material and

a DVD of videos, as well as a

20-page booklet and poignant

posthumous letter handwritten by

Tayle to Crawley.

The music is as ravishing as

ever. With sleeve art by Lord

Of The Rings artist/illustrator

Alan Lee, Helleborine has a

surface prissiness, and their

language was at its most mimsy

and arcane, with titles including

Jeremiah and Midsummer Pearls

And Plumes, but the latter, with

its hooks and handclaps, could

be a single from a Medieval

Motown. Epitaph Ivy And Woe

is arrestingly pretty (Crawley

and Tayle bonded early over the

symphonic soul of The Chi-Lites),

while Melody Of Birth is quietly

devastating, where pop meets

Gregorian chant.

They did have commercial

instincts, and by the second

album were writing songs like

Shatter and Timeblind that

weren’t a million miles from the

sort of ethereal, cute racket then

being purveyed by The Sundays.

Self was an exquisite apotheosis,

Crawley’s voice soaring and

dipping like a bird. Humroot was

less rarified, with what sounded

like concessions to early-90s

indie. There was a moment when

Burst threatened to become a hit,

but Rough Trade were having

problems and despite the brief

interest of MTV, it fizzled out.

There is nothing from 2008’s

lovely comeback album We

Have Everything We Need – the

box really misses I May Never,

which reduced Crawley, and

the engineer, to tears during

recording -– but there is enough

esoteric beauty here to last all

summer, if not a lifetime.

Paul Lester

SHELLEYAN ORPHAN

BOXSET

ONE LITTLE INDIAN

THEY SUPPORTED THE JESUS AND MARY CHAIN LIVE AND WERE SIGNED TO THE SMITHS’

LABEL, BUT THEIR ORNATE CHAMBER POP COULDN’T HAVE BEEN LESS “INDIE-80S”...

94

© LFI/Photoshot

CLASSIC

BEST REISSUE

JULY 2017

CP30.Reissues.print.indd 94 08/06/2017 11:13