THE BEST OF REVIEWS

The Times 21.3.98 8/10

MORE THAN your routine greatest hits compilation, this includes the next two singles and a second CD containing live acoustic versions of some of the best known songs by the nearest we ever came to a successor to the Smiths. All that is most admirable about James is here in its shimmering pop glory, from the Madchester anthem Sit Down, which features one of the all-time great sing along choruses, to the sensual rush of Laid. Yet there was always a darker psyche lurking in Tim Booth's lyrics which made James more interesting than many of their peers. The two new tracks Destiny Calling and Run Aground are mini- epics destined to become stadium favourites, while the live recordings possess a warm and energetic glow, especially the version of She's A Star. For once a "best of" that lives up to the billing

NME 21.3.98 by Simon Beaumont 8/10

IT WAS THE ANAESTHETIC JAB, the mild jolt that numbed us to the greater system shocks to come. Chumbawamba big in America, Cornershop at Number One, Ian Brown to headline Glastonbury - in the past few months pop music has become such a mockery of its past that they could knight Northside for their lifetime's contribution to music and we'd barely bat a disinterested eyelid. And why should we? After all, it's 1998 and people still like James...

Time to reopen the file, then. Let's see: rightly shunned throughout the '80s as The Useless Smiths. Fashionable for 15 minutes in 1990 thanks to their 'collect all the letters and win a Teasmade' T-shirt scam and their ability to condense the sprawling beast that was baggy into one easily chantable, Listener's Digest unity anthem. Then their "sit down next to me" became 'come share my spiritualist tofu flotation tank, ye earth brethren' and they became Simple Minds in a dress.

And now, after four years away, they return exactly the same (case note one: '97 single 'Tomorrow' was a regular feature of the 'Laid' tour in '93) but in suspenders and scary bondage masks, claim they're the kinky dominatrix of the cod-techno revolution and The Kids fall for it. Conclusion: either the CIA has flooded the water supply with heavy-duty nostalgia drugs or there's something seriously dodgy going on.

The defence calls 'The Best Of...', a damning witness which conclusively proves James guilty of 18 counts of Assault With A Deadly Chorus. For James are that most inveterate of Singles Bands who lure in a solid 20-something fanbase by diluting the reassured jangle of old indie into a watery mush on their album tracks while sneakily bashing out top-notch pop mercury as singles. It's become known as 'The Verve Method' and Martin Carr is currently crying in his sleep.

Obviously there's little here that will be unfamiliar to anyone who's ever walked past a university jukebox. 'Come Home' and 'Sit Down' are dispensed with immediately as an embarrassed prelude to a broader tale. Token '80s whinger 'Hymn From A Village' is tagged on the end in the hope you'll have forgiven them their past trespasses by then. In between we're treated to an angry guitar sound the size of Krakatoa and hyper-contagious choruses.

Under such intense consideration, the James oeuvre - previously defined simply as 'U2 for weeds' - begins to swim into catagorisational focus. There are the Lost In Windswept Desert Ones ('Ring The Bells', the awesome elegy to paranoia 'Out To Get You'). There are the Fast Ones About Rumpo ('How Was It For You', 'Laid'). There are the Oops, Sorry, Came Over All Jim Kerr There, Ones ('Born Of Frustration', 'Sound'). And there are the Contractually Obligational New Ones: the sleepwalking 'Runaground' and, more promisingly, 'Destiny Calling', in which Tim rails against the hypocrisy of production-line pop. "He likes the black one/He likes the posh one/Cute ones are usually gay", he growls while his band do a chunky impression of Shed Seven performing 'They Manufactured Us On Friday'. On a Greatest Hits package. Working title of 'The Pot, The Kettle And The Blackness', we presume?

Well, no. See, before the comeback success of 'Whiplash' this record would have been crucified as grave-robbing slaggery of the highest order. But now, with 'Whiplash' having secured James' position as the This Life producer's idea of 'alternative guitar music' while still putting out like high-society whores in the singles department, it's a timely reminder of how sweet old-skool, baked-bean indie can taste.

James: The Best Of  - Melody Maker 21.3.98

THOSE surgical collars and osteopaths must be costing Fontana a fortune. It's the only explanation for this wholly superfluous cash-in. One, irony fans, that's preceded by a wonderful single decrying pop's corporate manoeuvering. And to thing James were once laughed out of town for their ernest correctness (yoga, vegetarianism, giving songs to Greenpeace).

So, "Best Of..." - some singles thrown together in no particular order - is not James' full stop, it's not even a lovingly executed comma. "Hymn From The Village", their 1984 debut for Factory, is the final track, what's the betting it was the last track Fontana got clearance for? Tracing the threads of James' development, then, from sage mavericks to bloated rockers and back, is impossible. You'd have thought Tim Booth, of all people, would have know the importance of feng shui.

Context apart, however, what a glorious statement of intent "Hymn..." still is. Feverish tin-pot percussion play giddily with African pop-meets-Orange Juice guitars, as Booth hollers: "This language used is all worn out/A walking corpse that won't play dead". If Morrissey had kitchen sink couplets, Tim Booth certainly had the imagery and philosophical nous. But then whadda ya know - "Best Of..." jumps five years.

"Stutter" and "Stripmine", James' Sire albums, are totally ignored. There are bound to be notable absences, but a James "Best of..." without the intelligent, ragged, effervescent pop of "Charlie Dance", "What For", or "Johnny Yen" (oh sorry, a live version is included on the limited-edition CD) is like a 747 without wings.

Such ramshackle, indignant terrace anthems have always been James' forte, but, this compilation kicks in - 1990's "How Was It For You" - when their initial gusto was already at its peak. At that time, their gigs were stunning affairs where startlingly beautiful tales of human frailty (see "Out to Get You") could silence their devoted Manc hordes and the Balearic orgasm of "Come Home" would utterly possess them. "Sit Down" is till the perfect mass communion for those who find themselves ridiculous. Everyone under the age of 21, that is. But as Madchester ushered James in, their essential idiosyncrasies - Booth's "Nurse, he's out of bed" ranting, Buddhism, splenetic guitars, free gigs in Manchester bus stations and (yikes!) teaching the Inspiral Carpets how to live off T-shirt sales - already seemed to be ebbing away.

Two years later and, with America calling, things were seriously awry. "Born of Frustration", "Seven", "Sound", "Ring the Bells", the last three in one indigestible lump here, are just turgid, pompous, nonsense. The fire and brimstone ire had become a God complex.

Not that, as "Best Of..." accidentally proves, everything is lost. "Laid", which still too mature by half, produced the barber shop quartet apocalypse of "Sometimes" and who else would get the line "She only comes when she's on top", on "TOTP"? While last year's ferocious "Tomorrow" and new single "Destiny Calling" are perfect, rumbustious pop, the adrenaline is blunting their bombastic tendencies once more.

Buy the single, buy the old albums, but avoid "Best Of..." completely. Someone in Fontana's marketing department deserves their P45. Together we can make it happen.

Sit Down and Listen.... because you know you've always loved them by Nick Varley, The Guardian 23.3.98

Way back, when The Smiths were emerging as the greatest English talent of the eighties, they took another Manchester indie band out as support on tour. Now, 13 years later, all those who have come across James in a subsequent incarnation - from much-lauded indie kids to derided alleged Simple Minds soundalikes - can catch up.

The Best Of will hold few surprises for any fans of the unique combination of intelligence and emotion that James bring to a sort of Britpop. The recent single Destiny Calling and the next absolute beauty Runaground, are the only new songs. But those who remember Come Home or Sit Down should take the chance to feel the quality, in quantity.

On the most intense songs, such as the stunning Out To Get You, they combine to produce moments of fragile introspection not unlike the best Radiohead, circa The Bends - except that James were there first.

The 1992 album Seven was mauled by many critics, despite Born of Frustration - strangely omitted here - and the anthem to independence Ring The Bells, while the following year's Laid was criminally critically overlooked.

You'll be surprised how many of the 18 tracks you'll know - and love. Sit Down, the Tubthumping of its day, is the prime example, but others include Come Home, How Was It For You and Lose Control, all from the halycon days of 1990. The very best moments, however, are those from Laid, especially the epic Sometimes.

Destiny Calling was a pointed rant, perhaps justifiable after 13 frustrating years, against the Business. With Hymn From A Village it closes a compilation which could only be bettered by a literary classic. James, another classic, are the band you owe it to yourself to revisit.

Q Magazine 4.98 Stumbling Along *****

They rode with baggy, they were mates with Brian Eno and they sang about sex. Things never quite worked out...

They're in their eighteenth year now, old enough to vote, but for James it's been an unmitigated slog, with disappointingly little return. In comparison to most acts on the disastrously relaunched Fontana label (The Mystics or Kerbdog? Exactly), they are megastars, but they've never seeped into the consciousness of non-music obsessives. They've earned respect but it's the grudging, mealymouthed respect of sniggerers. Now comes the inevitable greatest hits, released to service James's South Korean-level debt to Fontana and, in theory, to finance their next proper album. Were it British Top 10 hits, this would be a three-track single featuring Sit Down, Sound and She's A Star. The American edition would be blank, but as there are no plans to release it there, that is actually the case. Poor old James, nobody's first choice band.

Yet - and this makes everything worse - James are dignified, brave, adventurous and melodious. They always have been and - good news at last - they still are. They wear pop's hair-shirt, but it looks fantastic draped over their weary shoulders.

A FORMER BEZ-LIKE DANCER, Tim Booth is easier to read than The Sun. He's a defrocked choirboy, expelled from Shrewsbury's ancient public school; he studied drama - how that shows - and he claimed to be celibate for a period, although presumably not while he sired baby Ben, with erstwhile James manager Martine McDonagh. He might still be a Buddhist, a religion made for western pop stars. Little wonder this walking paradigm's songs are laced with images of despair and redemption, of self-torture and ribald sex.

The Best Of - sequenced at random by an idiot - comprises Hymn From A Village from their Factory days, most Fontana singles and two new tracks. Sadly there's no chances taken and nothing from Booth's splendid collaboration with Angelo Badalamenti; but at least there's no room for anything from their nadir, 1994's unlistenable doodling with Brian Eno, Wah Wah.

Initially championed by Morrissey, James were the first New Smiths. Booth, as contrary as he would always be, had none of it. Hymn From A Village showed a band bitter before their time ('Oh, go and read a book') and immediately ready to leave Factory for an unhappy two-album stint with Sire.

They may yet come full circle. If The Best Of doesn't do a Carry On Up The Charts: The Best Of The Beautiful South and send James back into arenas and Fontana do cast them back into the wilderness, the smart money is on a re-emergence on Factory 2.

Like the Beautiful South's hits album, The Best Of has an incentive for early purchasers. Here, and acoustic seven-track CD recorded live in London earlier this year. It's cute - not a James word - especially the 10-minute Sound, and confirms the obvious: James write great songs.

The second Sire album, Strip-Mine, made Number 90 for a week and James found themselves files under Lost Cause, not for the last time. The band too their bank manager, Colin Cook, to a rapturously received, sell-out, 3000-capacity Manchester show. The subsequent loan fnanced a live from Bath CD-cum-CV, One Man Clapping in 1989 on Rough Trade. It featured Sit Down and Come Home so oviously strong that even Fontana noticed and signed them. Booth, bassist Ju Glennie and guitarist James "Larry" Gott deposed Gavin Whelan after the drummer had pysically attacked Booth and became a septet. The big time, with its forked tail, pointy beard and sharp horns, beckoned, although James would always make more money from their flowery T-shirts than their flowery records.

IN 1990, INEVITABLE COCK-UPS ensured that the initial version of the self-produced Fontana album, Gold Mother, omitted Sit Down. The live show Colin Cook had seen wasn't out of context. Sit Down had been a lost single on Rough Trade, but its uplifting chorus had seduced Jame's cult following a little more every time they played it. The burgeoning baggy movement liked it too and in March/April 1991 the re-recorded Fontana version was only kept off number 1 by Chesney Hawkes. All these years later, the linely "song from the darkest hour" still rings true, always James's most enduring and endearing quality.

The knock-on effect of Sit Down saw Gold Mother's gorgeous follow-up Sound, mostly produced by Youth, become their only million-selling album, but then James couldn't get major hit singles and subsequent album returns diminished. Wth a chorus to die for and typically superb verses, Ring the Bells (I can't see a thing through my ambition") out to have been the big one. It reached number 37 and worldwide success had slipped through James's hands like mercury.

Quickly they regrouped, hired Brian Eno as a surprisingly disciplined producer, and a few months later turned in their best work, Laid. The four tracks here display a band seemingly beginning not to care they would never fill stadiums. The title track presented a new James. It begins - as perhaps all pop songs should - 'The bed is on fire with passionate love/The neighbours complain about the noises above/But she only comes when she's on top' and repeatedly climaxed with David Baynton-Power's outrageously exciting drum tattoo. Lesser bands would have pasted in fiddly guitar, as Bread did when they used the same motif on Truckin'in 1971, although only the most curmudgeonly of souls could begin to care. In contrast, Sometimes (Lester Piggott) - the intriguing (Lester Piggott) seems to have disappeared from the title - and Say Something showcased Booth's elegiac side. These songs would have been outstanding on any other album. On Laid and The Best Of they're par for the course. They're never let down by Booth's gorgeous voice, imbued with unusual but constant pathos, part Warren G, part Sharleen Spiteri, part Space's Tommy Scott. Like that trio, he's not seen as a Yorke or Stipe, but like them, Booth's spine-tingling moments pop up in the least expected places, as when he confesses 'This body's young but my spirit's old' on Lose Control.

Ignoring Wah Wah - the public certainly did -James returned with Whiplash in 1997. They seemed renewed yet stagnant: Gott had left after recording, a tax bill of 50,000 had been settled when Born Of Frustration was used in an American television advertisement and Booth had exercised the project with Badalamenti out of his system. Producer Stephen Hague gave it a pleasing but conventional veneer, Booth wrote marvellous verses for She's A Star, which tried hard to burst into Go Now, but they were let down with an atypically feeble chorus and it seemed for a moment that James were just another early-'90s band looking to rekindle the spark. The handsome Waltzing Along and Tomorrow suggested otherwise, but it was close.

God only knows what they do now. 

They're as stubborn (another admirable James trait) as disenfranchised mules; their audience is not growing (Whiplash sold 150,000) and they've influenced precisely nobody, but every track here - including new songs Runaground and Destiny Calling, which unveil the mature James: 'Tell us when our time is up/Show us how to die well/Show us how to let it all go' - bristles with inspiration. The Best Of, quite fairly, is all many people will need. Born of frustration, indeed.

Post-Factory Product From Maverick Mancs - Uncut by Nigel Williamson 4.98

Following their disappearing act in the mid-Nineties, James risked becoming the forgotten chord in the guitar-based, alternative rock pantheon. This compilation is a timely reminder of their vaultingly epic, stadiumpfriendly classics.

It also emphasises the development of a band that has managed the difficult trick of retaining an identifiable sound without ever standing still. "Come Home" and "Sit Down" from 1990's 'Gold Mother' recall those carefree Madchester days of yore and sound as euphoric as ever. 1992's 'Seven' was different again, best represented here by "Sound" and "Ring The Bells." The title track from 1993's 'Laid,' and the hit single, "Say Something," benefit from the magic touch of Brian Eno's production.

'Whiplash' saw James back in the mainstream, with both "She's A Star" and "Tomorrow" sounding distinctly Brett Anderson-ish, as Tim Booth embraced the camp melodrama that was always yearning to get out in his voice.

Two new songs on 1998..., "Destiny Calling" and "Run Aground" - both ear-marked as singles - are typical James pop anthems, full of insistent melodies and energetic guitars. Some complain of a certain lack of irony about James which can make their epic pop sound overblown. The rest of us are content just to taste the power and the glory.

As If Punk Never Happened by Sam Steele, Vox 4.98

At a recent acoustic performance Tim Booth entertained the assembled media masses with funny little anecdotes, gentle A&R-men jokes and introduced 'Ring the Bells' with a poignant true story. After a gig in America two teenagers approached Booth and asked if he had ever been involved in a religious cult. Obviously, apart from the odd well-documented dalliance with holistic-style new age 'awareness-raising' aromatherapy stuff, our Tim has remained unconvinced by bonkers brainwashers and crypto-Christians. The kids, however, had been born into a cult commune and had so identified with the sentiments of 'Ring the Bells' (which they played endlessly), that they were inspired to escape the clutches of their over-zealous elders and run away into the wicked world.

Were the punk wars fought to establish the righteousness of jingly-jangly folk melodies? Did Kurt Cobain die for us to become inspired by such conformist words of positive affirmation as "Gotta keep awake to what's happening" and "I can't see the day through my ambition"? Ambition?!

This however, is possibly James at their most rebellious, as radical as a James song can be without exhorting all the loonies, losers and nobby-no-mates in the world to come out and, like, sit down (legs crossed, fingers-on-lips) next to them. Not that you have to be a groin-grinding, mascara-caked, leather-thronged, drug-addicted pantomime loon to be a successful rock'n'roll star. As James indisputably prove, a sober suit and a well-turned tune can work nicely too.

The evidence is all here, spanning some 15 years of finely crafted, tidy little songs that steadfastedly refuse to bow to fashion and ditch the fiddle and fol-di-dee bits. Their second ever single, 1985's Factory-released 'Hymn From A Village' (itself an earlier incarnation of 1994's chirpy 'Laid' without the yodeling bits), sits easily alongside two brand new songs written the better part of two decades later, the wiry wit of new single 'Destiny Calling' - wherin our Tim wants to be covered in chocolate and cloned for posterity, apparently - and 'Run Aground'.

The biggest difference the years have made to James, as New Order, The Smiths, Happy Monday, house music, E, electronic et al ebbed and flowed through their home-town of Manchester, is better production. Experimentation is most definitely not for them (collaborating with Brian Eno isn't exactly a bold step into the unknown): deviation from a flash of electric guitar here, a rumble of bass there and massed three-part choruses and lyrical rounds everywhere else is inconceivable. And this is no bad thing, if David Bowie's ill-advised fashion floundering and recent dips into bungle are anything to go by.

So the 'Best of James' segues effortlessly from 1985 to 1998, breezes by on the warm currents of songs from 1990's 'Gold Mother' (including the anthemic 'Sit Down' and stadium jaunt 'How Was It For You'), drifts across '92's horn'n'string-soaked 'Born of Frustration', the echo-effect 'Sound' and the aforementioned '...Bells', treats you to four tracks from 1994's 'Laid' and re-acquaints you with last year's tonsil-tickling 'She's A Star' and the treacly hubris of 'Tomorrow'. The problem is that while Booth & co undoubtedly write great singles, over the course of a career retrospective the similarities are far more noticeable than any differences. This 'Best Of' could easily be re-titled 'The One Great Big Hit And Loads of Songs That Sound Similar' which, minor teen cult rebellion or not, is hardly the stuff of crossroads, midnight devils and sold souls of legend.

"We may be gorgeous/So we may be famous/Come back when we're getting old", teases Tim. Well, if the first 15 years are anything to go by, one will expect nothing to have changed.

The Band 5.98

Some people would have you believe that James are earnest, middle-class vegan poseurs who make over-blown anthems for yuppies and/or students. These people talk arse. And miss the point. Cos at their best, James make great pop music: warm songs with big sounds and cool lyrics (who else kicks off songs with lyrics like "This bed is on fire with passionate love, the neighbours complain about the noises above, but she only comes when she's on top" and gets them played on Radio 1?). Sure, sometimes they are a bit too polite and predictable, but as the music press wets itself over lo-fi (hey! it's cool to sound crap!) and post-rock (hey! it's cool to have nothing to say!) and kitsch synth pop (hey! it's cool to sound like St Etienne, circa 1990), it's nice to find a band that aren't scared to sound BIG.

Westnet 4.98

Few bands have survived the UK's Madchester Movement better than James. But then again, like fellow Mancunians The Smiths and New Order, James weren't shaggy for the sake of cashing in on a scene (i.e. Soup Dragons, Northside, EMF - none of whom were actually from Manchester). Though they employed trademark Madchester rhythms and pyrotechnics, this consistently fascinating band has managed to change not with the times, but with their fancies, which sometimes weren't always successful (witness 1994's tedious Wah Wah or Gold Mother's "Walking the Ghost"). That's why this Best of is a welcome addition (or introduction) to one of Manchester's most artful pop bands.

Filled with tracks from their PolyGram years (the band was originally signed to Factory and then to Sire), The Best of compiles music starting with 1990's Gold Mother and concluding with two new compositions, the anthemic "Destiny Calling" and the semi-forgettable "Runaground" (the compilation, in fact, is arranged in a nonlinear fashion). The newer material - Whiplash's "Waltzing Along" and "She's a Star" - doesn't fare so well, especially when sized up next to such sparkling gems as Laid's "Sometimes" and "Say Something, Seven's "Born of Frustration" and "Sound", and their UK smash "Sit Down". But that doesn't diminish their art-popistry, since a not-quite-up-to-par song for James far surpasses what makes up current pop drivel. Even the anemic "She's a Star" is better constructed pop song than most everything found in Billboard's Top 40. As can be said of most best-of collections, there are some notable omissions from James' career such as the Inspiral Carpets-collabration "Gold Mother", the acoustic version of "Protect Me" (from the limited edition EP Set List ) and "Ya Ho" (from the Sire album Strip Mine ). But as a whole, this stands as a well-chosen collection that showcases their songwriting prowess. While their moniker may suggest something quite generic, James stands uniquely on its own. Madchester should be proud.

Select 4.98

Who?

Age old Mancunian hemp wearers whose career climaxed in post-baggy era and has been sliding ever since.  Occasionally diverting, although frequently suggestive of a health food Simple Minds.

Is it any good?

Sort of, although once past first two songs it begins to grate.  New single 'Destiny Calling' kills it stone dead.  (2/5)

Scotland Online

Not Born Of Frustration, but as Model Team International in '81, James have become a band dogged by capricious success, being the flavour of the month one month, being the black plague the next. From their first commercial chartbreaker (the exceedingly brilliant and anthemic re-release of 'Sit Down' in 1990), James have hit more lows than highs since with record buying lassitude towards them, ensuring that their place in the great hall of pop fame is not yet assured. It is a mystery as some brilliant songs have fallen by the wayside, hardly denting the national top 40 (if at all), with the likes of 'Lose Control', 'Come Home', 'Ring The Bells' and 'How Was It For You?' - in fact the band have only accumulated four Top 10 hits in their long career (including the recent 'Destiny Calling' which pokes tongue in cheek fun at themselves and their contemporaries Perhaps part of their problem is their (deliberate?) changing musical styles from poppy, catchy, upbeat numbers like 'She's A Star', 'Born Of Frustration', 'Sit Down' which are instantly likeable and melodic, to their more ambiguous 'Lose Control', 'Sometimes' and 'Seven' which were still good songs in their own right but failed to attain high and sustained chart positions. Yet, having said that, listening to this collection, it is amazing how many James songs you will know. Particular mention must go to the transcendent 'Sound' and phenomenal 'Laid'. The track listing bears no chronological order, hence there is a vagueness to how the band has evolved over the years for those who are not overly familiar with them. Jangling guitars are an almost permanent feature in their musical makeup of music which is very hard to classify, with many of their compositions happy-go-lucky summery smiling happy bouncy tunes, while others are more diverse and deep in their meaning and presentation.. Undoubtedly, James will never be fully accepted by the musical establishment, but as long as they produce songs of the calibre contained on this album, they will always be able to sell a respectable quantity to warrant their continued existence.