Jobriath - 'Lonely Planet Boy' (Attack Records)
4/5
By: Kevin Molloy
Dread was expressed upon first encounter with this LP. A name we'd never heard from the 70s, a reissue of this name's two albums compiled down onto one CD (Elektra dropped him after just those two records)? To make it even scarier, this unknown took a quirky name and looked just like Ziggy Stardust. The groan was escaping our lips, until our anxiety was eased upon discovering the compilation and sleeve-notes were courtesy of none other than Morrissey, modern mogul of misery, but at least credible and (perhaps) trustworthy.
Yet still with an initial horror did we listen to the opening track spill its path of 70s production decadence, with a mixture of Elton John and David Bowie grating on our post-2000 attuned ears. Catching sight of the forthcoming track-titles almost sealed the album's fate as 'unlistenable': 'Space Clown', 'Morning Starship' and 'Earthling' seemed far too Ziggy wannabee to prove bearable. How glad we are now of the obstinacy with which we persevered.
Dear reader, how wrong initial reactions can be. Far from inspiring, pained expressions, Jobriath's blend of Bowie and Elton takes the best bits of both, and crafts them into a carnival of impenetrable personality in sound. In fact, despite our prejudice, genius shows its head above the horizon of insanity throughout. Listening with fresh (70s) ears the first two tracks now pass with a warm nostalgia, but the third is the frankly glorious 'Be Still'. The anthemic chorus implores the object of his affections to 'be still, I love you'. To this day we're unsure whether the loved one is being reassured with love and understanding, or more sinisterly being told to stop struggling. And the lyrical confusion is just one facet of the sublime songwriting and off-kilter vocals.
Bringing Jobriath under the microscope is probably the most satisfying piece of Voyeurism you'll get this year (sod 'Big Brother'). The man was clearly a little sex-obsessed (and, apparently also, the first openly gay rock star). He makes full use of the pun at many a juncture, 'I Love A Good Fight' (another awesome rock 'n' roll anthem) entails more than mere fisticuffs, according to our lyrical analysis team. We're inclined to agree, as he slopes off to apparently 'turn the other cheek' It's his joke, not ours, but an unflinchingly bold one. Perhaps it was this attitude that earned him so little recognition. Whilst he openly demanded 'give me more than your gay personality', other homosexual stars weren't even admitting to their leanings.
It's unfortunate that praise has to come posthumously for Jobriath (he died in obscurity in the mid-80s), but here shall his praise be sung unreservedly. The man was supremely capable of perfecting and parodying a genre simultaneously (much as Bowie did on Ziggy... the comparison was a plague in his own lifetime also). 'Scumbag' has as much grit in its teeth as any current upstart from the Bronx, but still finds time to revel in a spot of 'medieval' organ work, 'Movie Queen' eloquently demonstrates what the majority of music-hall spends its life attempting, whilst sitting next to the dirty, hulking rock 'n' roll of 'Street Corner Love' and the operatic jazz of 'Dietrich/Fondyke'. The whole affair is sung in that disingenuously honest voice, in an inimitable, yet strangely imitative style.
'Nobody tells him what to do, I'd like to live like that now, wouldn't you'. A man's own words will often describe himself, whether he knows it or not... Jobriath certainly fills the description he seemingly longed after, never realising he'd attained it, making this LP an hugely rewarding side-interest to the accepted musical history of his hallowed era.
Artists in this article: Jobriath
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