Do the La's really need a box set? This is a band that produced one self-titled LP in 1990 before their melodically gifted but cantankerous leader Lee Mavers declared he'd never release another record. Nevertheless, a few La's reunite live every couple of years, sparking rumors about new material...that never materializes. If nothing else, the optimistically titled and lavishly packaged Callin' All suggests that their record company has finally accepted what fans realized at least a decade ago: The cow’s run dry.
Supposedly, Mavers has squirreled away songs in the intervening years, but he doesn't share his stash here. In fact, the band didn't cooperate in any way on Callin' All. How then does Polydor/Universal fill four CDs? There's about a disc and a half worth of material fans might legitimately want, including all of the band's singles and B-sides and some decent demos that never made it into the studio. Then there are six versions of the La's one big cross-border hit. With its hooks, jangle, and now-iconic guitar intro, "There She Goes" is an undeniable classic. The La's render it with such gentle, genuine wonder (about a girl or smack, to name the best-supported theories), that 20 years on the song still gets play whenever an evocation of non-specific longing is needed. And, admittedly, the overproduced album track has aged badly, making a demo or two welcome. But six? "Timeless Melody", the band's truest statement of purpose, appears eight times, "Son of a Gun" six, "I.O.U." four, and so on.
The La's were a superb live act, and two of the set's discs round up concert and radio recordings. This might be cool if the same or similar material hadn't been available online for years for free or if the record company hadn't already released the definitive La's live collection, BBC in Session, in 2006. "Never before or since the La's has there been so much fascination and reverence for a band with so slender an output," journalist Will Hodgkinson opines hyperbolically in a glossy booklet padded with oversized photos and a month-by-month timeline of the band's active run. If this sounds like the bottom of the barrel being scraped, it is.
But even a disingenuous cash-grab can provide an opportunity for historical reflection. The La's one album is a near-perfect synthesis of scouse skiffle, early American rock'n'roll, and British Invasion sounds. Mavers had a genuine talent for earworms and economical song construction, and if he'd tried harder to play well with others instead of pissing them off, bassist John Power might have contributed more like the exceptional jangle-stomper "Alright" (two live versions of which make the box set).
Great art, the prevailing theory on the subject goes, forces the artists who follow it to think differently. By that definition, the La's aren't great, or even very good; Britpop, for example, would have happened regardless, in much the same way. For record companies, of course, great=profitable, and Universal would have consumers believe that the short-lived La's were the greatest band that never really was if it means they can sell the same material over and over. But you know what? Fuck greatness. It never adequately quantifies the intense relationship fans have with certain songs or the way they make them feel. On these terms, the La's own a small, glorious pop legacy. Bypass the bloated $60 set and buy their $12 album.
