A Matter of Record - Esther

In these times of branding, global marketing & the power of the logo, it is perhaps ironic that the easiest way of listening to music is via downloads. Ironic because despite the power of a clear & visible identity, you don’t have to pay much attention to album art anymore. Unless you buy a physical copy such as a CD or even a vinyl record (!), you’re frequently left with a thumbnail size image of the cover. There is the option on some to buy the accompanying “booklet” but that’s more unusual. In spite of all this, our particularly-beleaguered & marginalised musicians of today still put the effort in to achieving a visual representation of their work via the album cover. 

As a younger person, if the cover didn’t have a picture of the band on the back or the inner sleeve, I was disappointed. Pre-internet, you wanted to see how they were faring & what they were wearing. Nowadays, you can see what they look like now with a short search; isn’t the internet a constant reminder of our physical deterioration?

This week, I’d like to celebrate what I consider the proper art of the album cover from my own collection. As someone that has also produced artwork for records, I believe firmly in the specially-made art & working with the musician or their songs to work up an idea. Equally valuable however, is when bands find the perfect image in the art of others, such as in photographs, paintings or sculpture. 

Rather than being examples of fine art or even the best covers necessarily, here are some album covers that for me effectively capture the essence of the music inside the sleeve as well as projecting an impression of the band/musician’s self-concept. My selection represents this time of year in this part of the world - its darkness, autumn, October & even Hallowe’en. Whilst completely indulgently ramming my musical tastes down the reader’s throat. Other opinions are available.

Bauhaus, The Sky’s Gone Out (1982)

Is there anything more unsettling than the thought of the sun disappearing altogether? Coupled with the title the cover painting (by guitarist Daniel Ash), reminds us of an eclipse, the lack of colour creating an end-of-times vibe. Relentlessly & impressively image-conscious, even eschewing coloured lighting onstage for exclusive white, most Bauhaus records were encased in black & white art with strong, unforgettable visions.

The Damned, The Black Album (1980)

Strictly speaking, The Black Album has two covers. Either is a goth classic. Originally released as a double album, it depicted a black, ivy-covered grave with the words ‘The Damned’ sprouting demons from the ‘D’s at either end. The single version of the album was a plain black answer to The White Album. Wriggling free of the punk tag, they were setting out a new stall. With added cobwebs on the original cover & a range of dark lyrical themes & titles, it’s the ideal soundtrack to the autumn of any year, let alone one as warped as 2020.

Green on Red, Here Come the Snakes (1989)

The great thing about Green on Red was that the music, the lyrics, the emotional were a little bit off, suspect, dodgy. Here Come the Snakes (no thank you!) is no exception & the cover expresses it beautifully. Naff graphics aside, the photograph is immaculate: grainy & resembling a polaroid or evidence photo for police. You’ve seen that yard in every US horror film ever made. & why is that axe there? Where’s it been? What has it done…? You’re meant to wonder – about the photo, the music, the band members themselves. It’s all a bit wrong & it’s magnificent.

The Cure, The Head on the Door (1985)

Tim Pope’s video imagery of The Cure is legendary so it was perfectly sensible to use this to the record cover’s advantage. The album title is said to have come from one of Robert Smith’s dreams & the photograph is as indistinct & murkily obscure as his subconscious. Not to mention as disquieting as the lyrics & presumably the dream…

Tricky, Maxinquaye (1985)

Maxine Quaye was the name of Tricky’s mother who took her own life when he was four. This album is druggy, dark & impenetrable & the cover resembles a shut up treasure box hauled up from the damp soil of the English South West. Which it largely is.

Mudhoney, Superfuzz Bigmuff (1988)

The energy of Charles Peterson’s black & white live photo alongside the explosive hand-drawn frame of text belie the gritty sound & lyrics. There’s a lot of humour in Mudhoney’s music but with titles like Chain That Door & Mudride, you know it’s not the wholesome kind. An album cover classic that looks equally fantastic on a t-shirt.

The Fuzztones, Lysergic Emanations (1985)

It’s a cartoon of wobbly, skeleton-zombies in a swamp. It precisely depicts the music inside.

Mark Lanegan, Straight Songs of Sorrow (2020)

Lanegan oozes the authority & menace of a highly-qualified specialist in his field as well as someone that’s tidy with his fists. He’s seen it all, done a lot of it & does not need your permission. Urban horror is his expertise. The real star of this cover is that inky left hand but his barely-there facial portrait is akin to a warning. Personally, I recommend you enter but you do so at your own risk.

Suede, The Blue Hour (2018)

Once again the title (maybe from the French l’heure bleue or perhaps the 2015 film) combined with the image works perfectly. We all recognise that time of day - the dusk, the gap between day & night, when we’re all going home or are already home for our tea, when no-one’s about & especially in autumn when it’s still crisp & clear. The colour reference is obvious but the lyrics & clear, orchestral nature of the music fit the (Paul Kehra) cover’s disturbing scene of urban decay surrounding the natural world.

Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds, Your Funeral, My Trial (1986)

The Carny was the first Bad Seeds song I ever heard. I’d never heard anything like it & haven’t since. Folk horror themes & the claustrophobic threat of everything going awry in the lyrics & music are perfectly summed up by the vague, blurry cover photo (by Christoph Dreher) against a black background. It’s a will-o-the-wisp type image, almost casual & apparently incidental but weighty & undoubtedly the eponymous Nick nevertheless.

Strangelove, Time for the Rest of Your Life (1994)

Guitarist Julian Pransky-Poole’s dirty folk horror photograph reeks of the mouldy & rotten. The discarded, faceless tied-up dolly complements & enhances the songs within. It’s hard to tell but is it surrounded by a sacrificial circle of stones? The cover, the album laughs in the face of the gift of life yet it’s one of the most sustaining set of songs ever written.

This week’s blog is dedicated to all the musicians whose work has kept me afloat since childhood. I love you all & despite the current disrespect & under-appreciation you’re receiving from our governments, I’m forever grateful for your life-affirming, life-saving art.