Love Like Rockets and Girls Who Glow*

Black Sea, XTC (1980)

"I would have made this instrumental,
But the words got in the way."

Saturdays when it's just me and the kids are great times to play old records really loud. This is a good one:


It came out in 1980, but I got it in about 1983. Still have the vinyl. Read about it here.

When I was in Diatribe, we used to cover "Respecatble Street." I sang and played bass, jumped around, screamed, and acted like a real idiot. Other really good tunes and lyrics here. I love "No Language In Our Lungs," and "Burning With Optimism's Flames." This record really hangs together.



* phrase ripped shamelessly from this funny review by Robert Christgau (Village Voice)

Virtuosos shouldn't show off--it's bad manners and bad art. I'm suitably dazzled by the breathless pace of their shit--from folk croak to Beach Boys croon in the twinkling of a track, with dissonant whatnot embellishing herkyjerk whozis throughout--but I find their refusal to flow graceless two ways. On what do they predicate their smartypants rights? On words that rarely reclaim clichés about working-class futility, middle-class hypocrisy, militarist atrocity--not to mention love like rockets and girls who glow. They do, however, show real feeling for teen males on the make and, hmm, the recalcitrance of language. B+

Lyrics for Respectable Street

It's in the order of their hedgerows
it's in the way their curtains open and close
it's in the look they give you down their nose
all part of decency's jigsaw I suppose

Heard the neighbour slam his car door
don't he realise this is respectable street
What d'you think he bought that car for
'cos he realise this is respectable street

Now they talk about abortion
in cosmopolitan proportions to their daughters
as they speak of contraception
And immaculate receptions on their portable
Sony entertainment centres.

Now she speaks about diseases
and which sex position pleases best her old man
Avon lady fills the creases
when she manages to squeeze in past the caravans
that never move from their front gardens.

It's in the order of their hedgerows
it's in the way their curtains open and close
it's in the look they give you down their nose
all part of decency's jigsaw I suppose
Sunday church and they look fetching
Saturday night saw him retching over our fence
bang the wall for me to turn down
I can see them with their stern frown
as they dispense the kind of look that says
they're perfect.

© 1980 Virgin Music (Publishers) Ltd