A hefty and rewarding collection can be amassed in solely corralling the output of cult acts, and the reemergence of the evening visits…and stays for years by Brisbane Australia’s The Apartments has eased the procurement of a key entry to that shelf. Closely associated with The Go-Betweens and led by songwriter Peter Milton Walsh, the group’s ’85 effort has been awarded a freshly expanded reissue; also included are a pair of early singles and a batch of illuminating demos. The set’s available now on 2LP/CD from Captured Tracks.
For years this writer mainly knew of The Apartments through the appearance of “The Shyest Time” on the soundtrack to the John Hughes-written (though like Pretty in Pink, Howard Deutch-directed) ’87 film Some Kind of Wonderful. A few years later and a bit wiser, The Apartments impacted my consciousness as part of the story of The Go-Betweens, with Walsh recruited into the group in ’78 by Robert Forster and Grant McLennan.
Differences in temperament made the union a brief one, and shortly thereafter in ’79 The Apartments cut “The Return of the Hypnotist,” their self-financed 7-inch debut bearing the logo of The Go-Betweens’ Able Label. Featuring two tunes penned by Walsh and one from co-guitarist Michael O’Connell, the single sits alongside “Lee Remick” and “People Say” from Walsh’s ex bandmates and “Sunset Strip” by The Riptides as the picks of the Able Label litter.
Altogether, “The Return of the Hypnotist” is a fine strum-pop specimen, frankly an unsurprising scenario given the use of dual guitars. If accessibly catchy, even at this juncture Walsh’s writing is ambitious; each of his songs eclipse three minutes, with “Help” nearly attaining four. Just as interesting is how his voice’s edgy emotionalism imparts “Help” and especially “Nobody Like You” with a weight they’d otherwise not possess; he’s equally engaged during the bruised heart achiness of O’Connell’s “Refugee.”
The inaugural edition of The Apartments (the name taken from Billy Wilder’s classic film of 1960, a nice yin to the yang of The Go-Betweens swiping as their moniker the title of L.P. Hartley’s novel of ’53) apparently broke up before “The Return of the Hypnotist” hit store racks. Subsequently, Walsh formed the intriguing Out of Nowhere and then in ’82 relocated to New York City. Prior to his return to Australia in ’84 he toured and recorded with countryman Ed Kuepper’s post-Saints outfit Laughing Clowns.
Back down under Walsh reformed The Apartments with some of his Out of Nowhere mates; this produced “All You Wanted”/”Fever Everywhere,” initially pressed on home-country imprint Hot Records. Rather than attempting to pick up where they left off, the 45 is a considerable step forward both compositionally and in terms of execution.
“All You Wanted” retains the strum angle, though less prominently, the tune’s contents layered and tending toward the lush. Tangibly sophisticated, the rhythm section keeps things grounded. The flip sets a brisker pace, and while the string-bending in “Fever Everywhere” is a tad tougher, the maturation remains absorbable in the driving presence of Gary Warner’s piano.
It was quite the impressive follow-up, but meanwhile The Apartments were cutting demos, and in short order those tapes grabbed the attention of Rough Trade in the UK. Signing with the label prompted Walsh’s move to London in ’85, and the LP that resulted, the evening visits…and stays for years, persists as the centerpiece of his critical esteem and cult following.
When asked about their friend and peer’s quick departure from The Go-Betweens, Forster and McLennan are on record making day/night and sun/rain comparisons. And this might seem a simple observation on incompatible personalities, but time spent with the evening visits…’ nine songs make clear there’s really more to it than that.
Forster and McLennan served as the collaborative core of The Go-Betweens, but they did benefit from stable lineups over extended periods; in the case of The Apartments, whoever gets drafted into the roster is more than hired help, but Walsh is still clearly the show; it’s a situation comparable to his Kiwi cohort in Advanced Pop Studies Martin Phillipps (he of the Chills).
However, the evening visits…’ first cut “Sunset Hotel” does a nifty job in forecasting the arrival of The Clientele, the tune airy and slightly folky in disposition as the piano (by Eddhu Nan, replacing Warner) lends an air of refinement. It’s a swell opener, and even better is the contemplative chamber pop of “Mr. Somewhere.” The gently plucked notes and the melancholy timbre of Audrey Riley’s cello envelops the warm intensity of Walsh’s voice, and Bruce Carrick’s drum accents the tune’s ethereal la-la-la crescendo (it was later covered by This Mortal Coil).
“What’s the Morning For?” increases the tempo and places the chiming notes front and center; it affirms Walsh as a pop auteur in the league of not just Forster, McLennan and Phillipps, but Roddy Frame and Edwyn Collins. Those in doubt need only soak up the baroque grandeur of “All the Birthdays,” its template of acoustic, cello, and Chris Eyre’s flugelhorn unfurling exquisitely as the songwriter’s voice summons the edge found on “Help” and “Nobody Like You.”
Eyre sticks around for the decidedly effervescent side closer “Great Fool,” though the root of the piece is a man and his six-string; while sophisticated, Walsh doesn’t succumb to tony atmospherics, and likewise he relents in applying too much polish to the evening visits…. Side two’s opener “Speechless with Tuesday” even sports a little post-punkish electric guitar.
Following is “Cannot Tell the Days Apart,” which after a gradual awakening erupts into a hunk of pure jangle-pop and a simultaneous showcase for Walsh’s talent as vocalist. “Lazarus, Lazarus” then takes a small misstep into faux-rootsy territory familiar from college radio playlists concurrent to the platter’s release.
But it appears the album didn’t receive issue in the US until ’97 on compact disc. Had it come out here in ‘85 through the distribution muscle of Sire (for one instance) I can’t resist thinking those university airwave jockeys would’ve spun it with an ample degree of frequency and relish. And in faltering, “Lazarus, Lazarus” is no botch; it leads into “The Black Road Shines,” the closing number utilizing its predecessor’s forcefulness more productively, particularly in its leftfield dark-and-stormy-night canned sound-effect.
Captured Tracks’ reissue comes with six demos of material debuted on the evening visits…and stays for years; sequenced on side four, they offer great insight into the creative evolution of this highly worthwhile LP. Side three gathers the five tracks from the 7-inches detailed above and delivers a similarly instructive excursion.
Overall, the nine selections comprising sides one and two have aged well and the entire package, flaunting accompanying liner notes by Walsh, Forster, and Steven Schayer (former guitarist for The Chills), fully vindicates The Apartments’ cult stature.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A-
