#daily reminder stan ridgway's full name is stanard

[passionate-reply]

I swear, you get caught eating barbequed iguana once, and you absolutely never live it down. That’s what happened to Wall of Voodoo, who are known almost exclusively for their quirky novelty hit “Mexican Radio.” But the rest of the album it appeared on is surprisingly serious, and actually rather dark. Find out all about it by watching my video review, or reading the transcript below the break!

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! On today’s episode, I am once again diving into the realm of alleged “one hit wonders” who had a lot more going on than just one song. This time, it’s Wall of Voodoo, and their 1982 LP, Call of the West. It’s a shame, if you ask me, but most people who have heard anything at all by Wall of Voodoo know them for what is probably the least interesting song anywhere on this album: “Mexican Radio.”

Music: “Mexican Radio”

Get caught eating barbecued iguana once, and you never live it down, I suppose. “Mexican Radio” isn’t a terrible song, but I do think it’s the least effective expression of this album’s core themes on offer. As its title implies, Call of the West is a semi-concept album, focused around the mythic image of America and the Far West. It was actually Wall of Voodoo’s second LP--a followup to their 1981 debut, Dark Continent. Despite that title, it isn’t an album about Africa, but rather one that has a lot of thematic common ground with Call of the West: blue-collar angst, disaffected and brutal masculinities, and a whiff of things strange and surreal.

Music: “Two Minutes Till Lunch”

Aside from the themes, the basic musical structure of tracks like “Two Minutes Till Lunch” is reminiscent of the style of Call of the West as well: dense, clattering mechanical rhythms, ghoulish flourishes of harmonica, and frontman Stanard Ridgway’s unmistakable, dipthonged speak-singing, seemingly delivered exclusively through the side of his mouth at an odd angle. But Dark Continent is a bit harsher overall, with more of a foothold in the punk side of post-punk. Call of the West is an album in the full flush of New Wave: quirky, tongue-in-cheek, and not afraid to lay down a bit more synthesiser. While “Mexican Radio” reads as almost disposably gimmicky, like a musically competent novelty song, I think the other tracks on the album strike more of a balance between wicked irony and being unironically enjoyable.

Music: “Tomorrow”

“Tomorrow” is, by far, the track on this album that I think most deserves to have been its big hit single. Despite its privileged position as opening track, an affable, lightly electronic soundscape, and rather singable pop hookiness, it was actually never released as a single at all! I think “Tomorrow” does a great job at being something very fun, but also something a bit daring and artistic. It’s easy to love a sort of relatable, goofy song about procrastination, but its “apocalyptic” finish turns it into something a bit more profound. I think Call of the West shines even more once we get away from three-minute pop songs and into the album’s more atmospheric tracks.

Music: “Hands of Love”

While the heavy use of rhythm machines is a hallmark of the album overall, and stands out given its rarity on such an early and rock-oriented album, “Hands of Love” is probably the composition centered most tightly around the instrument. Aside from that, what I think always brings me back to this track is the vague, shadowy quality of its lyrics--some details are familiar, but the overall picture is hauntingly unnerving. Several tracks on Call of the West present the theme of loneliness and social isolation, toying with the American myths of rugged individualism and the empty expanse of the West. “They Don’t Want Me” tackles outright rejection by others in a direct manner, whereas the narrator of “Tomorrow” ruins their own relationships through fecklessness. “Mexican Radio,” of course, introduces a character so desperate for companionship that they seek it in a language they don’t even understand. But I think “Hands of Love” reigns supreme here, with its motif of hands losing their grip...perhaps losing their grip on reality.

Besides the loneliness resulting from the spread-apart American landscape, other tracks on the album address the lifestyles of the down and out--people who have put their faith in an “American Dream” of independence and self-reliance, but failed to achieve prosperity. We meet compulsive gamblers in “Lost Weekend,” a doomed secret agent in “Spy World,” and, on “Factory,” perhaps the album’s most riveting character of all: a factory labourer whose work has disabled him both physically and mentally.

Music: “Factory”

Like so many exploited workers in America, the narrator of “Factory” has no class consciousness, and seems unable to imagine a better or different life for himself, or strive for anything more than the banal comforts of consumerism. But he tells of a phantom itch in his missing thumb, which we might interpret as a metaphor for the vague, gnawing idea of other possibilities...particularly as he remarks that as a child, he was told he could be anything he wanted. The arrangement of this track buries Ridgway’s lead vocal to an extent, though never so much that we can’t make out its harrowing lyrics. I imagine it’s a representation of how suppressed the narrator’s internality and sense of self has become.

On the cover of Call of the West, we find a mysterious, crooked door, which is just slightly ajar, inviting us into this album’s strange world. It’s the only feature in a desolate red desert-scape, besides the outline of some bluffs against its horizon. It could be the landscape of Mars just as easily as it could the wide-open emptiness of the Far West. Just as the album’s title implies being welcomed or beckoned into the mythic West, the cover art is darkly inviting to the viewer.

While I don’t normally discuss the visual identity of albums outside of their front cover, I do want to make an exception for Call of the West, whose liner notes show the interior of the implied dwelling, decorated with a slew of peculiar trinkets: a taxidermied crocodile, a spilling bottle of liquor, a statue of a buffalo, and what appear to be antique slave shackles. There’s a lot of rich symbolism here, and I think it’s a beautiful addition to the album’s themes, but I never saw it until I owned this album on vinyl! In the age of digital music, we often lose some of these more complex touches when “album art” is reduced to a single square image, and that’s quite unfortunate.

Despite having a relative breakout hit, Call of the West would prove to be the final album Wall of Voodoo released with their original lineup. Frontman Stanard Ridgway would pursue a solo career, scoring a surprise hit in Germany with his 1986 single “Camouflage,” a ghost story set during the Vietnam War. He’s remained active as an independent artist through the 2010s. The rest of the band kept the name Wall of Voodoo alive for the remainder of the 1980s, replacing Ridgway with Andy Prieboy.

Music: “Camouflage”

My favourite track on Call of the West is its title track, which is the final track on the album. Like a lot of title tracks, it’s lengthy enough that you can really sink your teeth into it, and serves as a sort of summation of everything that’s happening throughout the album. It’s got cowboyish guitars, yipping coyotes, and a striking transition to a spoken-word bridge, which flows naturally from Ridgway’s unmannered vocal style. That’s all I have for today--thanks for listening!

Outro: “Call of the West”