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(Polydor, 1981)
Here’s the one! Here’s the reason I foolishly bought all those other Ian Dury records that mostly bored me to death! “SPASTICUS AUTISTICUS”!! The lone TRULY GREAT disc this dude put out! It’s some fucked Seuss-style lyric-spit over punchy new-wave discofunk, all of which is rhythmically supervised by real-deal Jamaican dubberfuggers Sly and Robbie. Sure, I could do without the geeky Spartacus reference at the end (“I’m Spasticus!” “I’m Spasticus!”), but this is otherwise a catchy, hilariously misunderstood party-yelp that’s both the best articulation of Dury’s physical discomfort (and attendant sense o’ humor) AND the finest SONG he ever put together. The B-side here is a not-too-radical dub version – nothing exciting. Still: Get! GET! GET FOR KEEPS! Especially in the extended 12” format!! A classic, absolutely.
(Stiff, 1980)
…Straight in the Jonathan Richman “I’m Straight” sense, that is. Dury was a man of large appetites, from the sound of things, and this is a boozy and not quite convincing expression of a desire to clean up (“I’m sick and tired of taking drugs and staying up late / I want to confirm, I want to conform”). Lotsa wailing saxophone and a non-dancey beat, so I can’t say there’s much to recommend the single, in spite of its snappy funk-bass, good humor, and textural grit – Dury was best when he was making tighter, loonier novelty songs you could really hoof it to. Similarly average is “That’s Not All,” which is laid back and comes across like a more cracked lounge-Bowie. If curious, an Ian Dury hits compilation is all (and more than) any American should ever need; focus instead on his son Baxter’s two unfairly forgotten albums, both of them wonders of sighing, melodic melancholy. Drugs seem to be a matter of some interest for the younger Dury as well, though his outlook is much gloomier than dad’s is here.
(Stiff, 1979)
BULLETIN! Pub rocker goes disco 12”-style with some funky sax skronk ’n’ cocaine danciness! “Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick” is a big improvement on the chummy rockarolla that makes up the first Ian Dury record, its mad vocal bark and mindless Blondie groove eschewing the self-conscious Bonzo Dog cleverness that makes the more “British” Dury material so painful and unfun. “There Ain’t Half Been Some Clever Bastards” falls into the aforementioned too-thunk trap on the B-side, its amiable music-hall toot being a total studied drag, but the A is freaked and funky enough to make the whole thing a fine use of vinyl. For those who want dancekicks, it’s better than mod bods like, say, !!!. Nighttime decadence with a goofy wink.
(Polydor, 1981)
