They were strange days (no pun intended) in Kinkland as 1970 dawned.
After beginning their career six years before with a run of incomparable hit singles, The Kinks, the most mercurial of the bands to emerge from the 60s explosion of English rock groups, had been absent from the top twenty for 18 months. Worse still, their last two albums, despite being rich in artistic merit had barely registered with the critics or record buying public.
While guitarist and principal songwriter Ray Davies sat with Lennon, McCartney, Townshend, Jagger and Richards at a table reserved for songwriting genius, his exalted position as a creative maestro counted for little as successive masterpiece albums ‘The Kinks Are The Village Green Preservation Society‘ (1968) and ‘Arthur, Or The Decline and Fall of the British Empire‘ (1969) had sunk without trace – their prospects further diminished by having to relaunch themselves in the US after a four year ban from the country imposed for disreputable behaviour during a 1965 tour.
On being allowed into America once more, The Kinks found themselves in the dispiriting position of opening for old London club circuit rivals The Who, whose high energy stage shows had made them a major concert draw, their reputation as the best live act around cemented by breathtaking performances of the rock opera ‘Tommy‘ – a concept album that had taken the charts by storm, while The Kinks watched ‘Arthur‘ (a record of no less wit and ambition) generate barely a murmur.
If that was not bad enough The Kinks were still locked into a recording contract that offered the most punitive return in royalties, on top of which Ray was involved in a dispute over publishing dues that showed no sign of being settled.
And yet there were still grounds for cautious optimism (not that The Kinks had ever shown much caution in their career affairs).
With the affable John Dalton replacing original bassist Pete Quaife the previous year (Quaife tiring of the constant conflict between Ray and lead guitarist younger brother Dave), Dalton adding to a buffer between the squabbling siblings that now included newly recruited keyboard player John Gosling and drummer Mick Avory.
With the most stable line-up of their career (this five-strong unit together until 1977), gigs began earning positive reviews, the well-honed nature of such shows evident when they next came to record.
Taking his current preoccupations of life on the road (no pun intended there either) and music business hassles, Ray Davies forged an album around these themes.
Indeed, at some point in the fifty years to have since elapsed, most songwriters have reflected upon the travails of touring and being screwed by record companies. But before ‘LOLA VERSUS POWERMAN AND THE MONEYGOROUND PART ONE‘ (November 1970) nobody had addressed these subject matters on the same record – or with such insight and irritation.
Which is not saying ‘Powerman‘ is one of the great Kinks albums, it is not (there are at least four superior) – but away from conceptual designs and thematic narratives, it stands as a fascinating representation of how Ray (and Dave) Davies viewed the current state of the United Kinkdom.
Originally conceived as a double album (hence the ‘Part One‘ and also an indicator on where Ray would soon be heading on works such as ‘Preservation‘), there is a sense of decks being cleared and scores settled, The Kinks deciding not only to fight on – but taking the fight to their adversaries.
If their fortunes are to be restored (literally and metaphorically speaking), then they desperately needed a hit, the record containing not one but two as The Kinks make a triumphant return from the wilderness.
With a melody and performance so irresistible it is inconceivable ‘Lola‘ might have failed to reach the top five – until that is the subject matter comes under scrutiny, Ray delving into a world of enigmatic sexuality and androgyny, his tale of twilight ambiguity in circulation some months before David Bowie began dressing the part.
The other successful 45 is ‘Apeman‘ an amusing rumination on a world wracked by ‘over-population, inflation and starvation,’ the song containing just enough satire to prevent it becoming a novelty.
Although neither hit falls into the general framework of road/record industry observation, it is worth noting Ray and ‘Lola‘ come across each other, not on the Davies brothers stomping ground of Muswell Hill N10, but in the wanton West End (‘I met her in a club down in old Soho‘), home to all manner of strange and suspicious characters – and not just those who walk like women but talk like men.
Over a jaunty ‘Roll out the Barrel‘ piano riff he opens ‘Denmark Street‘ with ‘Down the way from the Tottenham Court Road/And just round the corner from old Soho/There’s a place where the publishers go,’ Ray describing the piranha-like ways of those who inhabit the music publishers pool:
‘I hate the tune, I hate the words, but I’ll tell you what I’ll do/I’ll sign you up, take it round the street to see if is makes the grade.’
On ‘The Moneyground‘ he is even more specific, his frustration slightly offset by another cheery melody. Stating the case for his creative energy being sapped by legal entanglements, there is weariness in the way he sings: ‘I went to see a solicitor and my story was heard and the writs were served.’
If the melodies of ‘Denmark Street‘ and ‘The Moneygoround‘ down play their darker overtones, the ‘Louie-Louie’ style guitar work of ‘Top of the Pops‘ give it a more acerbic feel, Ray leaving little unsaid as he skewers the hit making process.
Long on belligerence short on subtlety, as this forceful piece draws to a close the manipulated artist sneers: ‘It’s strange how people want you when your record’s high/Cos when it drops down they just pass you by.’
But even then, Ray cannot resist one final twist of the knife. On being told the record has reached Number One, Davies adopts the shyster-voice of Ron Moody’s ‘Fagin’, in the guise of his agent, to say, ‘this means you can make some real money.’
John Gosling, John Dalton,
Ray Davies, Dave Davies, Mick Avory;
There is no respite for the greedy, self-serving moguls who are seen to run rings around their acts, on ‘Powerman‘ Ray compares their lust for control with that of ‘Napoleon,’ Genghis Khan,’ ‘Mussolini‘ and ‘Hitler,’ while himself remaining unbowed, ‘he’s got my money and my publishing rights, but I’ve got my girl and I’m alright.’
He finds an unlikely ally in his feud with the corporations in Dave, who offers a supportive voice on the tough rocking ‘Rats‘ (‘once he was warm and kind/Now he has a pinstripe mind‘), one of the most downcast songs in the Kinks canon.
Young Davies is heard to more beguiling effect on ‘Strangers.’ This superb example of the ensemble playing of which they were now capable, the lyric depicts confusion at every turn – but even allowing for the differences between the brothers grim, the only certainty in the shifting world around them is to be found in one another: ‘Strangers on the road we are on,’ states Dave, ‘we are not two we are one.’
Big brother returns the compliment (of sorts) on the equally enchanting ‘A Long Way from Home.’ No matter how far they travel beyond Muswell Hill, they have ties that run deep, ‘You’ve come a long way from the runny-nosed and scruffy kid I knew/You had such good ways/I remember the little things that always made you smile.’
Their North London birthplace, like the rest of the world is ‘seven miles below‘ in the positively serene ‘This Time Tomorrow.’ Close to a ‘Waterloo Sunset‘ of the sky ways, Ray creates poetry from the mundanity of a long-haul plane journey, no other writer on earth (or above it in this case) capable of making it sound so compelling.
With ‘Get Back in Line‘ Ray casts himself as a working man at the behest of someone with the power to decide, ‘if I starve or I eat.’ In this superb meditation on trade union power (it cannot be coincidence Britain was riven by industrial disputes that would continue through the new decade), all Ray wants to do is work and please his wife – or as he puts it: ‘Make some money and bring you home some wine.‘
Excellently played and credit where it is due, beautifully sung (in an affecting voice-acting way), the simple country-rock arrangement makes this a hugely effective track.
Listening to the record virtually half a century on from its release, there is an occasional sense of Ray overplaying the ‘hacked off with the music business’ card, although in fairness it subsequently came to light how badly The Kinks had suffered from ills of the pop industry.
Throughout the album there is a pleasing sense of unity, Ray and Dave appearing to suspend their feud in discovering a common enemy in the form of record labels and publishers, any notion either of them was about to leave or The Kinks reaching the end of the line, dispelled in opening song ‘The Contender‘ (‘We’re not the greatest when we’re separated/But when we’re together I think we’re going to make it‘) – this statement of intent coming in a track where they sound like an Islington version of Poco.
Having two major hit singles helped their cause no end, ‘Lola‘ and ‘Apeman‘ charting high on both sides of the Atlantic. On the strength of them, ‘Lola Versus Powerman and the Moneygoround,’ became the first, non-compilation, Kinks LP to crack the US Top 40 – but in their homeland it made no headway whatsoever and disappeared into the same void as their previous two albums.
Oh The Kinks – and their glorious kontradictions.
Lola Versus Powerman And The Moneyground (Part One) – Released November 1970:
The Contenders/Strangers/Denmark Street/Get Back In Line/Lola/Top Of The Pops/The Moneygoround/This Time Tomorrow/A Long Way From Home/Rats/Apeman/Powerman/Got To Be Free;
Personnel: Ray Davies: vocals & guitar; Dave Davies: vocals & guitar; John Dalton: bass & backing vocals; Mick Avory: drums; John Gosling: keyboards;
Written and produced by Ray Davies; ‘Strangers‘ & ‘Rats‘ written by Dave Davies;
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