Happy 25th Anniversary to McAlmont & Butler’s debut album The Sound of McAlmont & Butler, originally released November 27, 1995.
It is very difficult to look back on 1995 as anything but filled with fond memories. I was in my final year at University, bothering to work hard but not at the expense of having fun. The UK itself was gripped culturally—a rich seam of myriad musical genres blossomed, aided and abetted by a broadcast landscape that differed drastically relative to today’s multitudinous platforms.
In the UK, there were only four TV channels (two of which were BBC), Radio 1 was the monolithic arbiter of sounds (at least in my neck of the woods) and a thriving music press gorged on the, at least partially, fabricated phony war between Blur and Oasis. Of course the Britpop landscape was littered with the remnants of poor haircuts, severed guitar strings and discarded eyeliner—the only real winners were the British public who lapped up the servings of this epochal movement along with dance music from the likes of Faithless and The Prodigy and pop perfection courtesy of boyband behemoth Take That (and, of course, others).
As ever though, there was one genre that never really got its share: soul music. Forever neglected by large parts of the UK, soul music is always the one that requires the most dust to be blown off it when the history books are lifted from their shelves. For me, in the grips of peak Prince fandom and a burgeoning interest in D’Angelo and his peers, the pickings were slim.
That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy those (musical) days, after all I’ve written here of my love for Pulp and Radiohead albums from that era. But as far as soul went, the media available to me neglected it by and large. But one voice changed all that for me. A falsetto that sent (and still sends) shivers down my spine and through my entire being, accompanied by a musical style roughly akin to soul—I was sold.
That voice belongs to David McAlmont. Taylor Parkes (writing for Melody Maker) once wrote of his vocal abilities thus: “One day he will open his mouth and a cathedral will fall out.” Voluminous, ecstatically pitched and heavenly in its effect, the description is perfect to a tee. Having signed a publishing deal with Chrysalis music in 1992 though, the next couple of years were tumultuous. Starting out as part of the band Thieves, splitting up and searching for a way forward were his formative experiences in the industry.
The musical partner he struck gold with in this glorious venture was Bernard Butler. Butler had been anointed by the music press as the finest guitarist of his generation for his work with Suede before he walked out on them at their peak, after second album Dog Man Star. Indeed, McAlmont told The Irish Times in 2015 about Butler’s reputation preceding him on their first meeting when McAlmont was playing The Jazz Café. “My guitarist was really nervous, I said ‘What’s wrong with you?’ and he said ‘Bernard Butler’s in the audience.’”
Never one to shy away from a challenge though, McAlmont accepted the offer to sing one song —a song that had been waved in front of others but was meant for an angelic voice like no other. That song was “Yes” (much more of which later), but such was McAlmont’s vocal prowess that Butler could serve up other things to him and find them returned with aplomb. An album’s worth of material soon materialized in the shape of The Sound of McAlmont & Butler.
Ostensibly a song about post break-up rejuvenation, “Yes” becomes much more than that in the masterful hands of McAlmont. At the time it made no difference to me that the flamboyant singer was black and gay, I just recognized the incredible delivery. But now, breaking free of my self-centered, hetero-white understanding of it, it makes the song even more monumentally powerful. When he sings “Yes, I do feel better / Yes, I do, I feel alright / I feel well enough to tell you what you can do / With what you’ve got to offer” to the soaring, “wall of sound” accompaniment that Butler prepared, is to feel at once uplifted and capable of anything. The fact that it comes from a member of one of the most marginalized groups in society is exceptionally powerful and multi-layered in meaning. It is, perhaps, one of the most joyously uplifting songs of all time—a spurned lover’s underdog anthem for all time.
There is more than a slight purple hue to “What’s The Excuse This Time” with its playfully snarky lyrics and McAlmont’s glorious voice. Here, he gets to show his gargantuan range, ad-libbing down deep from the soles of his shoes to the spiraling upper reaches of his impossible falsetto. And then there are Butler’s delicious guitar lines that weave in and out between the pounding drums of Makoto Sakamoto and the playful piano.
The beauty of McAlmont’s voice lies not just in its incredible range but also in its ability to communicate such a variety of moods and feelings. From his preening triumphalism on “Yes” and his winsome mischievousness on “What’s The Excuse…,” he slides right into dark, brooding obsession on “The Right Thing.” Eerie piano and swampy slide guitar conspire to create a landscape for McAlmont to pour his all-consuming sensuality into.
Starting as a low-key, belly crawl of desire, it explodes with Butler’s guitar and McAlmont’s voice both sliding up as he sings “Anyone try, come on, yeah, it’s me and you / None of them could ever drive a wedge no, no / Between we two” until it peaks with a disorienting fuzz of feedback, spent.
There’s more relationship breakdown with “Although,” but this time there’s the acceptance that things are over, but that life is better for the experience. Yet there is another aspect to the relationship revealed in the lyrics. As if building and maintaining a relationship isn’t hard enough, to be a gay man is to have an added layer of difficulty needlessly inserted into the process. McAlmont sings thus: “Those who say we deserve this thing / Them boys living in their sin / An Angry god, well, what the hell did we do? / So while your head is still clear / And I can find the words / Know that my life’s been better for you.” At the song’s climax (around the 3.19 mark) there is a quite staggering note from McAlmont that is enough to send the listener to rapture; it is like my love for this album—seemingly endless.
“Don’t Call It Soul” offers more evidence of the sonorous joys of McAlmont’s lower register and spiraling, freewheeling falsetto and the restrained ferocity of Butler’s guitar playing. At the halfway point of the album though lies another masterpiece.
Banks of Butler’s brilliant guitars and fearsome, loose-limbed drums burst into the forefront alongside the vocals until there’s a break and a surging storm of saxophone, guitar and the frankly astonishing voice threaten to consume everything in their way. “Disappointment” it may be named, but it is the exact polar opposite. It thrills in every way imaginable.
A swaggering blast of rock & roll in the shape of “The Debitor” breezes through town before a (necessary) downward shift in gear showcases the tenderness of both the vocals and the musical arrangements both parts of the partnership are capable of. “How About You?” is filled with louche lyrics like “And you’re not exactly what I want / I’m overwrought and you seem keen / One more night alone and no appeal / I need a drink / How about you?” and an angular guitar solo that befits a man with the epithet mentioned earlier.
“Tonight” shimmers with subtle glimpses of organ on a testament to self-confidence and the ability to rebound (“I know you thought of me as vulnerable / Just something else I can disprove?”), but that sanctified sound really comes to the fore on the cover of Barbara Lynn’s “You’ll Lose A Good Thing.” It is, by far, the simplest piece on the album, but one of the hardest hitting. Elevated to spiritual levels by the solitary use of the organ and the startlingly intimate quality of McAlmont’s voice, it is sublime and deeply affecting.
The structural integrity of the album is maintained by album closer “You Do.” To be able to sit as the bookend opposite “Yes” requires similar strength and it has it here. Yet again, as across the whole album, the balance between McAlmont’s voice and the musical backdrop is perfectly balanced. Other singers would struggle to be heard over the fullness of sound Butler provides, but McAlmont has no such worries—he has the strength of voice, character and lyrics to cut through and be heard.
Things were far from plain sailing post-release though. The duo barely performed twice together before they split acrimoniously—a partnership seemingly stillborn, albeit with an impeccable album to show for it. And yet, the magnetism between them was hard to resist. Butler wrote songs and couldn’t picture anyone else singing them and McAlmont recognized the unwavering ability of Butler to give him the good stuff. Seven years later, they recorded again (2002’s Bring It Back) and to celebrate the 20th Anniversary of their debut in 2015, they played a triumphant series of concerts.
Having ordered tickets for one of those concerts, I was unable to go due to a bereavement close to me, but there’s always hope that I’ll see them at some point in the future. This album alone makes it worth celebrating for many, many years to come—I’ll get there one day.
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