Britain at the tail end of the 1980s was a fertile ground for a band like Lush: pioneering acts like Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Smiths, and New Order laid groundwork for a new wave of bands to arrive without going the traditional route to fame, while small labels popped up all over: 4AD, Factory, One Little Indian, and Creation, among others. And the musical press hotly anticipated new scenes: from Madchester to C86, almost any similar grouping of acts was getting treated like it was the new punk.
Usually these crazes amounted to nothing much, but one actually latched to the public’s attention: Shoegaze, a not-so-clever joke about how bands were likely to be looking at their feet while playing on-stage. This scene was built largely on the reputation of acts like My Bloody Valentine, Slowdive, and Lush. All of whom mixed sweeping, swirling guitar sounds with moody singing, creating a slow-moving storm of fuzztone and guitar pedals.
As a scene, shoegaze was over not long after it broke. Not that it’s ever gone away entirely: My Bloody Valentine have proven vastly influential to a generation of indie rockers and even released a new record a few years back. However, it’s other bands are largely left in the dust: Slowdive broke up in 1995 after releasing three albums and veering into electronica, for instance. In the years since, they’ve been anthologized three times and seen their albums get the reissue treatment.
It’s not so for Lush, who are only now getting a reissue campaign. It’s too bad it took so long, not just because of their importance in a long-dead scene, but because they were a good band getting even better when everything crashed to a halt.
The foursome of Miki Berenyi, Emma Anderson, Chris Acland, and Steve Rippon formed Lush in 1987. Rippon played bass, Acland handled drums, and both Berenyi and Anderson sang and played guitar. 1989’s Scar, their debut EP, was a critical hit and showed them as a strong act even right out of the gate: both “Etheriel” and “Thoughtforms” showed their knack for combining melodic vocals with a duel-guitar sound. Even now, it’s arresting music.
By 1996, they’d evolved into a tight, melodic rock band: songs like “Ladykillers” still had rough edges, but Anderson and Berenyi’s songwriting had been honed to a fine point, full of pop hooks and clever lyricism. They should’ve been poised to be as big as peers like Pulp, Oasis, and Blur. Instead, the band was done before the year was out, done in by frustrations with the music industry and Acland’s suicide.
Earlier this year, 4AD issued the 5-CD box set Chorus, which contains just about everything Lush recorded between 1989 and 1996. There are all three records – Spooky, Split, and Lovelife – plus Gala, a collection of early EPs and singles, and Topolino, a B-sides compilation. Here, it’s possible to chart their path from indie scenesters to Britpop vets.
Of the three, Spooky stands out as an overlooked classic: it’s ringing guitars, pounding rhythm section and hushed vocals still sound fresh in 2016, not to mention almost like a blueprint for artists like Warpaint and Wild Nothing. On songs like “Nothing Natural,” Lush’s layers of guitars and vocals come up out of haze, building the tension until it’s released in the final third. There are shades of what’s to come: “Superblast!” oozes energy, and “Tiny Smiles” is a pop tune buried under layers of guitar effects.
However, this isn’t a slight to the other records here. Split shows a band in transition: the effects have been toned down, but the songwriting is sharper and the music seems more confident. On songs like “Blackout” or “Hypocrite” they’re moving towards a more straightforward rock sound, while elsewhere (“Never-Never,” “Desire Lines”) they push themselves to new lengths; both songs clock in at nearly eight minutes each.
And finally, on Lovelife, everything came together for Lush. Even now, about two decades later, it remains a tight collection of sharp lyrics, good playing, and pop hooks. Songs like “Ladykillers” still sound like they could’ve been written last week. “I don’t need you practiced lines, your schoolyard mentality… when it comes to men like you, I know the score, I’ve heard it all before,” goes the chorus. It opens the record and sets the mood: other tunes, like “500,” or “Single Girl,” are also strong, immediate songs.
Lush should’ve had a hit. But like they sang on “500,” “when things are looking good, there’s always complications.” That summer they toured the states with bands like The Gin Blossoms, The Goo Goo Dolls, and The Spin Doctors. About a month after the tour ended, Chris Acland hung himself. He’d just turned 30 the month before. Stopping the moment of Lush in its tracks.
Chorus goes above and beyond is with all the extras and bonuses. As noted, it includes just about everything Lush recorded: BBC sessions, stray cuts from compilations and other artist’s records, demos and alternates, and even a few acoustic versions. There’s almost nothing of importance missing here. Some of these stray tracks are among their best: I especially dig their cover of Wire’s “Outdoor Miner,” and the BBC sessions show them as a rough, tough live band. Others, like a cover of Elvis Costello’s “All This Useless Beauty,” are fun for diehards, but hardly essential.
All in all, Chorus is a welcome revamping of Lush’s back catalogue. Really, the only drawbacks are with the box itself: aside from details of the songs themselves, there’s almost no information here; it would’ve been nice to have some photos of the band or perhaps an essay from Anderson or someone looking back at these records. That’s a small gripe, though.
A five-CD set could be a little too much for someone who’s never heard Lush before, but for some who’d rather have the original records over the best of collection Ciao!, this is as good as place as any to start – or to rediscover.