The Dukes of the Stratosphear

25 O’Clock (1985)

(3 out of 4)

Psonic Psunspot (1987)

(3 ½ out of 4)

 

Review By Jordan Cronk: As a rock band, it’s one thing to filter your collective influences into your own sound. This is, after all, how most bands operate. Yet it’s another thing entirely to reinvent yourself with a whole new set of ideals, completely transforming the band from the inside-out. This is exactly what English art-rock titans XTC did in 1985, following the release of their rather jagged Big Express LP: After a number of years maturing their off-kilter brand of post-punk and new wave, Andy Partridge and the boys of XTC inexplicably donned their paisley prints and dowdy coifs, adopting an array of hallucinogenic names such Lord Cornelius Plum (Dave Gregory), The Red Curtain (Colin Moulding), Sir John Johns (Partridge) and E.I.E.I Owens (Ian Gregory, the only non-XTC member). They would shroud the project even further as they decided to work under the mysterious pseudonym The Dukes of the Stratosphear, thus birthing an alternate reality 60s psych-pop band smack dab in the middle of the Reagan-era. Now, nearly 25 years later, the band's only two records, the 25 O’Clock mini-album and the full-length Psonic Psunspot LP, are being given the long-overdue reissue treatment, marking the first time these two mid-80s gems are seeing proper CD release, only having been previously culled on the long out-of-print Chips from the Chocolate Fireball compilation.

While it would be rather difficult for Partridge to disguise those coolly intonated pipes of his, the Dukes as a band tap into something completely different here, as sort of acid-fried pop perfectionists with a world view that doesn’t extend too far beyond the Piper at the Gates of Dawn or Odessey and Oracle. You can certainly see the 1970s from here, but the view was rarely this good. Released in 1985 with no tangible links to its parent band whatsoever, 25 O’Clock updates the sun-streaked optimism of San Francisco psych for the Me Generation, playing as a confident re-creation of those LSD-addled days of yore (check that wonderfully kaleidoscopic album cover for even more proof). The songs on this 23 minute debut are a little beefier and more robust than what was to come, but what the band lacks in whimsy it more than makes up for in exuberance. The Electric Prunes-aping title track is a blistering statement of purpose, while “Bike Ride to the Moon” pulls up on the riffs to highlight an indelible melody. Still, it’s the lengthy closer “The Mole from the Ministry” that most effectively captures the charms of the Dukes’ first record, swirling a barrage of instrumental effects and odd-ball samples into a hypnotizing 6-minute close-out. 25 O’Clock is the more stylistically consistent of the two albums, and thus probably the more believable as a standalone work by a completely different band, but the songs were about to get a whole lot weirder—not to mention better.

After reverting back to the XTC moniker for 1986's monumental Skylarking, the Dukes returned as if from a bad acid trip for 1987's stellar Psonic Psunspot. The influences—from The Byrds to the Beatles to the Beach Boys—were more pronounced this time around, resulting in an album that covers an impressive amount of ground with little to no discernable effort. “Vanishing Girl” announces the arrival of this wispy and somehow even more charming Dukes of the Stratosphear, leaving behind the muscle of the band’s previous record in favor of a fey sort of pop ingenuity, resulting in, with all hyperbole aside, one of the single best pop songs I’ve ever come across. Full stop.

The record then jumps around in gleeful abandon at nearly every turn, even approaching the heights of “Vanishing Girl” on a handful of occasions. The Skylarking cast-off “Little Lighthouses” contradicts its left-over status with an insistent, Brian Jones-worthy rhythmic drive and yet another carefully plotted vocal melody. The goofily endearing “You’re a Good Man Albert Brown” is powered by the same weed that Ringo was smoking circa Magical Mystery Tour, and the self-explanatory “You’re My Drug” does The Byrds just about as competently as The Byrds themselves were doing at the time. The drifting horns of “The Affiliated” sound like Arthur Lee may have dropped by the studio to lend some insight, while the Beach Boys haunt every straining vocal harmony in closer “Pale and Precious.” All this stylistic diversity is even tied together by some cheeky, nymph-ish narration by Lily Fraser that sounds like something off a Blossom Toes record. 

As to be expected, not every song on these two records transcends its influences, but enough actually do to truthfully regard The Dukes of the Stratosphear as a supremely competent and successful band in its own right. I think the fact that the music of the Dukes, particularly that of the Psonic Psunspot variety, can stand up just as well, if not better, than some of the tunes from the era to which they pay homage, speaks to XTC’s mastery of the pop form more than anything else. The demos included as bonus tracks on both these discs show just how much of a work in progress their music actually was, making the fact that on record they sound so fully formed rather an impressive feat. Upon release, it may have been difficult to place these albums contextually, and maybe that was the point, but there’s no denying that this anonymous band of tie-dyed hippies kicked out some unforgettable jams. As always, it’s the music that ultimately endures, and after 25 years we can now definitively give to you XTC as The Dukes of the Stratosphear. Bring your rose-tinted sunglasses, it’s gonna be a trippy ride.

Last Word:

As if frozen in a 40 year time capsule, the only two documents of XTC alter-egos The Dukes of the Stratosphear are finally resurrected, making their proper debut as separate CDs.

Review By:
Jordan Cronk, Music Editor

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