This Farm ain’t like any farm I’ve ever been on. Then again I’ve only been on one farm my entire life, and I spent 95 percent of my time there in my pal Billy’s double wide trailer smoking pot, drinking Rolling Rock pony bottles and Jack Daniels, doing industrial strength downers and taking LSD. The Farm, on the other hand, were a baggy pants dance rock band composed of Liverpudlians who never stepped in pig shit in their e-addled lives.
The Farm weren’t (aren’t, they’re still around) rave band A-listers, They were more like a baseball farm team whose members hoped to be called up to the big leagues. But that’s unfair. The Farm produced the occasional good song, and most can be found on band’s seriously flawed debut LP, 1991’s Spartacus. The Farm’s downfall was they sounded like a tamer, more sensitive, less talented, and far less loony Happy Mondays, and the Not Quite So Happy Tuesdays is no name for a band. Still, Spartacus hit the Brits (it went to No. 1!) where they lived, which last I checked is Great Britain. Although it’s possible they up and moved without giving me their forwarding address, the inconsiderate gits.
The Farm employed six farm hands on Spartacus, none of whom wore bib overalls or knew the difference between a Duroc pig and a Hampshire hog. So it was smart of its members—vocalist Peter Hooton, guitarists Keith Mullin and Steve Grimes, bassist Carl Hunter, synthesizer player and keyboardist Ben Leach, and drummer Roy Boulter—to moonlight as a rave band. Spartacus was produced primarily by non-agricultural worker Graham “Suggs” McPherson of Madness fame, although one track was produced by Paul Heaton and Stan Cullimore of the Housemartins. But all of this stuff is boring, especially to pigs, who would prefer we move straight on to the music. Your porcine types are great fans of the baggy pants genre. This is why you’ll always find hogs wearing baggy pants.
“Hearts and Minds’ has that shambolic Happy Mondays vibe, but the chorus is pedestrian and harshes the song’s ecstatic buzz. Another problem lies with Hooton’s vocals, which are on the thin side and lack that that tinge of Shaun Ryder madness: the E is there but the wizz is MIA. “How Long” is more like it—a nonstop dance number with a big guitar sound and a pair of far freaking out percussion breaks, marred only slightly but Hooton’s lack of a manic edge. “Sweet Inspiration” has the shuffle and a big guitar riff and that’s about it—it’s far too tepid a number with an uninspired melody, and Hooton vocals hardly exude charisma.
“Groovy Train” is the album’s best track, because I could listen to its nonstop dance beat, backed by synthesizer and a double jolt electric guitar riff, on a continuous loop all night long, putting it up there with the Happy Mondays’ better songs. I wish I could say the same for follow-up “Higher and Higher,” which also boasts a great dance beat but doesn’t take me any higher than I might were I to take a tab of ecstasy cut with Ambien.
“Don’t Let Me Down” opens with a synthesizer figure and electric piano and works despite its clumsy self, thanks to its richly melodic chorus, the sentiment of which (“Stand up and fight, and be counted”) flies in the face of rave culture’s promise of universal brotherhood. And it would be nice to know what The Farm are fighting against. “Family of Man” is a percussion-heavy rocker that sublimates its dance inclinations and isn’t the better for it, although the frenetic guitar solo is a definite plus.
“Tell the Story” is a wretched ballad that will make you spit out your pacifier and trade in your baggy pants and day-glo orange Kangol hat for sackcloth and ashes. It’s pretty enough, I suppose, but the space it occupies in the universe would be better filled with a mini-fridge filled with cartons of spoiled milk. “Very Emotional” takes us back to the rave in a very big way, and if its buzzsaw guitar riff and super-sized beat don’t make you want to dance your legs down to your knees (that’s Morrissey, I think) it’s because you’re in the freak-out tent rehydrating with UFOs buzzing your ecstasy-fried body-topper.
“All Together Now” starts off like the worst ever Foreigner power ballad, and what follows is a “We Are the World” slice of dance rock Kumbaya. It speaks volumes that England’s Labour Party played this slice of inspirational dreck at rallies during its general election campaign in 2017, which ended in a hung Parliament. There are those who argue “All Together Now” was the gallows.
No, The Farm were far from the cream of the crop of the British rave scene, which is why Spartacus, despite its UK commercial success, has long since fallen into a permanent K-hole. Alternate title: Sell the Farm. Best advice: Don’t buy it.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
D+
