Although never the biggest Living Colour fan, I nonetheless think they are skilled musicians. It’s just that their songwriting is generally not all that memorable. When rating a band, we tend to lump these two sentiments together, but they’re not the same thing whatsoever. Still, when they first came on the scene, I must admit to going through a phase of checking out their discs from the library, and dubbing them onto cassette, in an effort to pretend I listened to them more than I actually did.
They were considered extremely cool, therefore I had to remain brushed up on my knowledge of their oeuvre. Except, well, tapes are at a premium when you are a jobless teen living at home, I eventually found more compelling music that I positively had to copy over these with, and nobody cared anyway. Which somewhat ironically means that, by virtue of these shenanigans, I did wind up actually listening to them more than most or all of my peers.
But let’s take their story from the top. Based out of New York City, Living Colour is the brainchild of guitarist Vernon Reid. He initially assembles the group in 1984, blowing through a revolving door of musicians in short order. Though American, he adopts the UK spelling of Colour/Color, which admittedly does look cool on paper and could be the first in a series of astute decisions. If so, then the second was for him to try out for Mick Jagger’s band.
Reid subsequently winds up playing a smidgen of rhythm guitar on Jagger’s Primitive Cool album, recorded in late ’86 — early ’87. He seems to harbor some resentment that it took this endorsement from the Rolling Stones’ mouthpiece for Living Colour to gain much interest from industry tastemakers, to which I would say — eh, this is pretty much how it’s always worked, and it’s not necessarily a race thing. The lesson here is that it’s rarely a bad thing for a major name to take up your cause, particularly as few are ultimately aware of or much interested in these details later.
And they appear to have agreed themselves, in the early going if nothing else, for after he catches Living Colour live, they are totally fine with letting Jagger produce their early demos. Though immortal rock club CBGB is basically past its prime as a major cultural driving force, it’s here that Mick first sees them, and they could be the last significant act to break through from that scene. By this time, the lineup has solidified with vocalist Corey Glover, bass player Muzz Skillings, and drummer Will Calhoun, skilled performers all, who even more crucially are versatile executing a wide range of styles.
These demos will lead to a deal with Epic Records, and their subsequent opening for the Stones during the Steel Wheels tour. And in truth, though inclined to give their eventual debut album, Vivid, only a lukewarm review, probably not enough has been made of the fact that this made it all the way to #6 on the Billboard charts, a remarkable achievement in any era, by any artist, but all the more so by a serious minded black rock band in this climate of the mighty ridiculous late 1980s music scene.
Vivid’s artwork is clearly a product of its era, and has already aged not so well. About the best thing you say for it is that this is an intricate work, and there’s plenty here to look at — it’s just that the end result is an unholy clashing of styles. Almost as though someone was determined to take a Pollock and paint a Haring over top of it, in places, then affix some Warhol above that, with maybe a couple other famous NYC artists on the fringes. This is an artifact which could basically only ever exist in the 1980s. The Living Colour logo itself is at least memorable and unique, if reminiscent of something a bored classmate might have scribbled on his textbook cover in class. But I really believe my favorite precinct of this nightmarish hellscape is the top right corner, where it just says Vivid in plain white letters, easily the least garish of the two title references and a safe space for the eyes to land.
Of course, cover art is essentially meaningless, outside of those rare albums that have been elevated to holy status. Consistently in the plus side of the ledger are the production values, with the drums sounding especially killer, like the foundation shaking intro to Desperate People. Reid’s fretwork is of course often stunning, and is surely enough on its own to command legions of devotees who don’t necessarily care about the songs supporting it. Glover can belt out these jams like nobody’s business, and I would imagine that these cuts all work better live than they do on the album.
Even then, however, lyrics are somewhat questionable, although maybe we should commend the nerve to utter a couplet comparing oneself to Stalin and Gandhi both, in their biggest ever hit, Cult Of Personality. And in many places, Vernon gets carried away with the shredding where it plainly doesn’t fit. As any of us who groaned through the likes of Yngwie Malmsteen and really the 1980s as a whole can tell you, just because you can shred your ass off doesn’t mean you should, not on every single song. Especially when many of these guitar solos begin to resemble one another to a strong degree. My final verdict on this front, in fact, is a strange one I’m sure they don’t commonly hear: Vernon Reid might be the mastermind of this ensemble, but I wonder what they would sound like with a different guitar player, if he’s not the most incongruous and overall weakest element here.
Finally, for Jagger fans, the lips that launched the Stones does wind up with producer credits on two tracks, contributes his musical talents to same. On the catchy highlight Glamour Boys he mans the controls and provides backing vocals, then produces the slightly less effective yet plenty rocking Which Way To America. One which once again features some fret burning antics which have begun to sound suspiciously like previous runs, marring Muzz’s extremely nimble licks and everything else that came before. Finally, the ol’ Mickster also donates a passable harmonica solo to the aforementioned Broken Hearts.
Lyrically, though often cited as a politically charged group, the evidence is somewhat lacking on Vivid. Listeners will frequently take your most popular song and run with it as emblematic of your entire output, however, and that’s certainly a factor here — but even so, although the big single namechecks and provides soundbites of some famous political figures, the commentary itself amounts to thin sketches at best. Don’t get me wrong, though, it’s great hearing some different subject matter on the radio, making this a far cry better than the competitive fare from outfits such as Winger. Glamour Boys has much more to say, though, railing against the flashy, surface obsessed, street hustler lifestyle which was for example threatening to overtake the hip-hop scene, if it hadn’t already.
I’m going with that as today’s cut, when combining all these elements, the stealthy inclusion of a rock legend producing it, and its overall status as the best song on their debut album.
