Review Summary: Reissued ‘lost’ '80s sad-synth opus survives the hype
Rewind to May 2014 and the hype machine’s in full effect, whirring away merrily, producing a deafening clamour regarding an unearthed ‘long lost classic’ from the vaults. Seattle based independent record label Light in the Attic had just reissued the debut album from Randall Wulff, a mysterious figure who’d recorded under the unassuming pseudonym Lewis. In terms of intrigue this album ticked all the required boxes; it boasts a classic retro monochromatic sleeve courtesy of LA punk scene photographer Ed Colver; there were rumours that Wulff lived an extravagant playboy lifestyle on borrowed money eventually forcing him to go on the run; and he was believed to have had relationships with a string of glamorous women including Christine Brinkley. Of course at the centre of all this excitement was the most essential mystery that held all the others together; so far no one had actually tracked down the man himself. This set alarm bells ringing in my head that all this hype was built on the flimsiest of foundations, the minute someone actually tracks down this supposed yuppie fruitcake surely the whole myth evaporates and all you’re left with is the half as interesting music.
Needless to say the inevitable happened in this modern world of smart phones and internet forums; Wulff was soon spotted in Canada and tracked down by Light in the Attic leading to an alleged ‘what a guy!’ exchange where he claimed total disinterest in his newfound fame and even declined a cheque from the record label. So now the bubble has been well and truly burst, surely a great point for me to exclaim ‘told you so’ and ‘what a waste of everyone’s time’, after all now 'L’Amour' had to sink or swim without the mystery propping it up. The strange thing was, between first spinning the album in May ’14 and Randall getting rumbled in a Canadian coffee house a few months later, I realised that I’d listened to Lewis more than any other artist in the intervening period. 'L’Amour' had worked some sort of magic on me; the music not only stood up to my initial scepticism but quickly sunk its hooks in to the extent it'd become a firm favourite.
This isn't to say musical first impressions were particularly strong, the album definitely gives off an initial whiff of amateurishness; the synth lines seem to move to their own logic with little regard for the other instruments, the vocals are mumbled in a barely audible drawl, and Wulff’s piano and guitar playing exhibit an awkward quality that’s hard to pinpoint exactly. It’s only after repeat listens that these ‘weaknesses’ transform into addictive qualities, all playing their part in building the nostalgic and wistful atmosphere that defines 'L’Amour'. The hazy, faded aesthetic recalls Fennesz’s ‘Endless Summer’ more than anything else; the sounds of long passed memories and the slow passage of time committed to tape. The album is romantic with melancholic overtones, Wulff’s vocals giving the impression of a man who lost the love of his life long ago, now rendered impotent to the extent he can’t even muster the energy to drive his white Mercedes over a cliff and end his suffering.
What cements 'L’Amour' as a bona fide gem are a number of surprising qualities that make for a hugely satisfying start to finish listen; it’s an incredibly well sequenced song cycle with the blissful opening six tracks working as a perfect mini suite and the beautiful ‘Romance for Two’ serving as a reward at the end of the disc; it effectively mixes up the instrumentation throughout with piano and guitar working equally well with the synths; and Wulff wisely includes a couple of well placed instrumentals to give the listener an occasional break from his one toned vocals. Obviously this is more of a night time affair, certainly it’s not one to try to break the land speed record to on the treadmill, but it remains an impressive gentle headphones listen and in particular the stand-out tracks like ‘Even Rainbows Turn Blue’ and ‘Like to See You Again’ have an appealingly all-enveloping soundtrack vibe to them.
The myth of Lewis might be somewhat deflated now we know the truth as to Wulff’s back-story and current whereabouts, but the real mystery remains; is this album an accidental classic or did Randall actually intend for 'L’Amour' to sound quite as it does, like the musical equivalent of a ghostly tear-streaked fading portrait. Perhaps at the time Wulff simply believed he’d composed a selection of pretty romantic ditties like so many other crooners before him, and certainly the more traditional song writing direction taken on follow up album ‘Romantic Times’ would add weight to such a theory. In any case it’s a question that’ll never be answered definitively and it feels right that an air of mystery lingers over this work.
