Coitus interruptus
Texas - The Hush
Universal
D+
Late December 1997: Sharleen Spiteri, singer for British pop (not Britpop) band Texas, sits alone in a darkened room at her Glasgow home shortly before the sessions for The Hush, talking to no one in particular. Parentheticals remain unspoken.
Spiteri: White on Blonde (Texas' previous, a silky smooth blend of pop with occasional twinges of rock) was a huge record in terms of our career, having sold more than four million copies worldwide. Yet it didn't even make a dent into the American musical consciousness. (Stateside sales barely cleared six figures.) (An apparition appears.) Who the hell are you?
Apparition: I am the devil. Anything that you desire in this mortal realm, I can bring to you. I can make all you've ever wanted yours - all for a price, of course. But you knew that. You're a smart cookie.
Spiteri: I thought we'd dealt with one another before - all of our success in Western Europe was thanks to you, right?
Devil: Sadly, no. I did have a hand in your meteoric domestic rise -
Spiteri: Meteoric, my ass! It was our fourth record!
Devil (indignant): Well, I'm sorry, but you weren't on the "A" priority list until long after you released Ricks Road. Besides, I was busy inventing The Corrs.
Spiteri: Bollocks.
Devil: Anyway, as I was saying, I can be credited with your popularity here in the UK. But on the mainland, your success can be attributed to you and you alone. Granted, European fame isn't too terribly difficult, but you know.
Spiteri: But America's a tougher nut to crack. We put everything we had into White on Blonde, and it didn't even get within shouting distance of gold.
Devil: Which is precisely why I'm here. Do you want to be Radiohead-huge in America?
Spiteri: If not bigger. I want to crack the Top 40!
Devil: And are you willing to sell your mortal soul?
Spiteri: Where do I sign?
(Devil produces paperwork, which Spiteri immediately begins signing.)
Devil: Here ... and here ... and here ... please press hard, these forms are in triplicate ... and ... here. (Tears paper at perforation.) And your receipt.
Spiteri: Thank you! OK, so what are the secrets?
The above probably didn't really happen, but it could have. The aforementioned White On Blonde had a jagged-edged pop sensibility that justified their placement just below all of the Blurs and Oasises and Radioheads as part of that wave of great UK exports. Maybe it was a touch Top 40ish – the splendid “Black Eyed Boy” was a splice of the best of Motown and hard-edged pop – but shades of rock were also to be discovered, which made Texas quite promising.
The first seconds of “In Our Lifetime,” The Hush’s first single, crush any potential they’d shown previously, and the pace is set: humdrum cookie-cutter R&B without any trace of originality. No, the entire record isn’t as bland – the more upbeat tunes on this record, like “Summer Son” or “When We Are Together,” aren’t quite so frothy or trifling (in fact, damn danceable and memorable, especially the latter). But it’s clear the course Texas have taken – this is an obvious stab at popular acclaim, and while I can appreciate that, it still hurts like hell to hear that they’ve turned into the type of samey, underwhelming band that will be forgotten five years from now.
Read the press for The Hush, and you’d think that this is a record that screams “sexy” from note one. Sure, Spiteri is sultry – check out the cover art for verification – and she’s blessed with a voice that can bring nocturnal emissions back into vogue, but overall, this record is sexy in much the same way that a romantic date includes two bottles of grape Mad Dog and a swing through White Castle.
Which is to say not at all. The Hush is an uninteresting blend of hookless, hapless R&B. It’s a shame that this sort of thing is in demand, because this record is mostly devoid of any aural value whatsoever. Fans of TLC in particular, or anything you’d hear on Rick Dees’ countdown, would really dig this record, but I don’t have the patience.
--Brandon Grimes