XTC are a frustrating band. Founding members (and at this point, the only ones left) guitarist Andy Partridge and bassist Colin Moulding are at once highly idiosyncratic, obsessively formal, brutally honest as songwriters, and yet suspiciously self-aware. When Partridge references, in ten separate interviews, the same "exorcism of influences" in regard to his fondness for the music of Brian Wilson and the Beatles, or Moulding spins his bandmate's decision to stop touring as the best thing to ever happen to their writing, their old record contract with Virgin isn't the only thing that seems fishy.
Though XTC could rave it up, most fans will tell you that their strengths probably were closer to the studio than the dressing room. However, it might have been nice not to read about the "quirky, cult heroes from Swindon" for the last twenty years, but rather to see headlines proclaiming the great bringers of creativity and classic pop back to the Top 40. I can't even imagine what Andy and Colin would look like on the cover of Spin-- these guys deserved more than they ever got. From the press, the public, their label, and various managers, XTC have been a tragically under-appreciated band in every sense. End sermon.
Coat of Many Cupboards celebrates two things: the first being the history of XTC, as told through their own viewpoints, and with an extensive essay by super fan (and fellow obsessive-- Chalkhills regulars, you know what I'm talking about) Harrison Sherwood. The second is to raise the joyous flag for XTC's final chapter involving Virgin Records. The band left this label in the late 90s, and started up their own mess. Partridge, especially, has been quite happy to expound on the plethora of injustices and molestation brought against him by the label (who, ironically, are probably in worse shape now than he is), and this set collects material recorded during the band's residence under their no-good wing. Sound bitter? Tell me about it.
The four discs of this set are roughly divided into the periods of 1977-79, 1979-81, 1981-86 and 1987-1992. Now, many bands half XTC's age already have career retrospectives in box form, so this set shouldn't really be special in and of itself. What's odd, though, is that when Partridge and Moulding were plucked their choices for the set, they decided that, rather than compiling a selection of singles and choice album tracks, they'd fill the majority of the box with demo versions and live recordings of their songs. Bam! Now you see why this set is so necessary for the devoted XTC fan. In fact, this set is another in a growing line of collectible paraphernalia for dedicated fans (along with recently issued demo recordings of their proper studio records), as the uninitiated will most likely prefer the studio albums over a set of rare rarities and alternate takes.
The first disc showcases the only era in the band's history when they might possibly have been confused for punks. Tunes like "Science Friction," "Traffic Light Rock" and "Radios in Motion" are fast, a tad out of control (for XTC, anyway), and certainly not without their own charming irreverence. But even at this early stage, XTC were more DC Comics than CBGB's. And how many punk bands put Beach Boy sopranos in their songs like Partridge did in "Radios"? These boys cast themselves much nearer the new-wave camp with the Farfisa spunk of the previously unreleased "Fireball XL5/Fireball Dub" and the buoyant "Are You Receiving Me." Of course, the best songs are the ones that sound like they're too hard for real punks to play at all, like the single version (featuring way more funky clavinet than an English band in the late 70s should have been able to get away with) of Partridge's wonderfully lucid "This Is Pop" or Moulding's sophisticated acoustic jaunt, "Ten Feet Tall."
The second disc picks up the story wherein XTC were making the transition from attention deficient rowdies to something altogether brainy (and yet, still rocking hard enough to be mentioned in the same breath as the Jam). "Life Begins at the Hop" is a peppy piece of ska-pop (reportedly featuring Sting on "lead handclaps"), and one of the last times XTC could claim to be addressing the "boys and girls" on record. The finest moments are during the room-clearing zeal of "No Language in Our Lungs" and the wonderfully quaint demo version of their minor 1982 hit "Senses Working Overtime." There's also an excellent, early live version of "Snowman" which is almost worth the price of admission, if only to show what kind of band they might have been had Partridge not suffered a crippling (and apparently permanent) bout of stage anxiety. The band sounds invincible, tearing through a song that sounded almost ambient at times on the English Settlement LP, yet never loses grasp of its whimsical atmosphere.
Disc 3 begins with an unused single recording of the non-album track "Punch and Judy." "Punchy" is a good word to describe the rocky ping-pong groove of the tune, though it's clear that even by 1981, XTC were already more interested in working in the studio (check the nifty piano line, and subtle, panned guitar work) than onstage. "Fly on the Wall" is more processed pop strangeness (and as legend has it, a song which Virgin was planning as a single, only to listen with devastation at the rather impenetrable thing which XTC had produced), and the live "Yacht Dance" is a pretty convincing argument for the band not touring-- its refined arrangement, and emphasis on acoustic rather than electric textures wasn't the kind of thing that could ever rile up the concert crowds. Of course, the band would venture further into progressive pop craft and studio experimentation than most people ever might have predicted in 1978. 1983's gorgeous "Ladybird" and "Love on a Farmboy's Wages" sparkled with such delicacy and fine craftsmanship that you'd have a hard time besting it outside of classic Beatles or Kinks. A modest demo version of their biggest American hit, the controversial "Dear God," points toward their increasingly baroque tendencies, while at the same time showing that, despite the fact they'd given up the music biz game, XTC were hardly becoming complacent.
The final disc captures the band at its most overtly Beatlesque (with a fair amount of Beach Boys and Burt Bacharach as well), and even features a couple of gems by their psychedelic alter egos the Dukes of Stratosphear. However, fans will probably want to check previously unreleased tunes like "Terrorism" (an aggressive, mildly Middle Eastern rocker), "Find the Fox" (a mild-mannered, loping acoustic song that wouldn't have sounded out of place on Skylarking) and "The Troubles" (a South African-styled, straight pop number). XTC will reportedly release several more discs of previously unreleased songs and demos over the next few years (with the project moniker of Fuzzy Warbles), but for now, these will do nicely. The disc also features an interesting home demo of "The Mayor of Simpleton" that's very stripped down, and with largely different music altogether from the Oranges & Lemons version. XTC's final entry for the set is a modest live version of "Books Are Burning," which closes things on a solemn yet hopeful note, just as it did on 1992's Nonsuch.
Of course, things have turned out okay for XTC. After leaving Virgin, they released the acclaimed (and very nice, if I may say so) Apple Venus, and followed it with the more straightforward Wasp Star. If this box set demonstrates anything, it's that there really has been a clear journey imbedded in their music. Just as Partridge is fond of detailing the cycle of life in many of his songs, so too can you hear the growing pains and heady mixture of angst, joy and awkwardness of change in XTC's music at various moments. You know, they were (and are) a pretty fucking cool band, so far be it from me to dock them for staying home on weekends.
