If you want to encapsulate the Uno SD listening experience in a single album, look no further than Elvis Costello’s astonishing debut, My Aim Is True. It’s possible to make a strong case that the late ‘70s, which saw the conjoined the vibrant energy of New Wave with the autumn of analogue recording, represented a high-point for UK rock and pop recording. The musical attack, attitude and unleashed talent of the artists was captured on two-inch tape, with the result that the recordings still sound just as fresh and pointed today. The Unos deliver tracks like ‘Welcome To The Working Week’ or ‘Blame It On Cain’ with all the expected snap, vigour, intent and impact you’d expect. But it’s the more reflective ‘Alison’ and the haunting, sardonic, reggae-tinged ‘Watching The Detectives’ that show the Unos’ uninhibited expressive range and more sensitive side. When the music calls for a dynamic jump or a metaphorical slap in the face, the Unos are only too happy to oblige: just witness the jagged guitar licks and rolling cannonade of drums that announce the opening track. But from the opening bars of ‘Alison’ you are suddenly in a very different emotional and musical place. The deft subtlety of the sparse percussion work, the gently insistent pulsing of the bass guitar and the mournful elegance of the beautifully figured guitar line dove-tail perfectly with the vocal, accenting and underlining, offering support and emotional emphasis by turns. It’s a beautiful song that is beautifully played and, on the Unos it reaches the level of connection and emotional intensity normally reserved for far, far more expensive rigs.
Endeavour?
In this pre-Attractions recording, ‘Watching The Detectives’ steers you in a different direction again, the musical fabric resting firmly on the pitch-perfect, tactile, Trenchtown trip of producer Nick Lowe’s bass guitar. Would anyone but a bass guitarist have taken this path? Who knows – but it certainly ranks as one of Lowe’s finest moments. The halting, gappy rhythm and undulating melody he lays down creates the space for occasional guitar and keyboard interjections, all working around the central vocal. But it’s the clarity and intelligibility in the voice that is really arresting, a lyric that really hits home, given that strange combination of space and support by the carefully constructed arrangement. But as impressive as the musical performance and impact is, it’s only half of the story here. In this case, what I’m playing is not the original, fresh, crisp sounding Stiff Records release (remember the slogan, ‘If it isn’t Stiff, it isn’t worth a ****!?). What I’m playing is the Mo-Fi 200g reissue (MFSL 1-329) with its heavy, turgid, murky sound and constipated dynamics. Yet the Unos manage to excavate and resuscitate the performance, projecting it whole, vivid and brimming over with angst and attitude, straight into your listening room. It’s an ability that’s not to be underestimated or dismissed. For all the musical excitement they can generate, the effortless volume they can produce, the sheer substance of the musical performance they deliver, what marks the Uno SD apart from other amplifier/speaker systems at its price point, is their ability to squeeze the musical juice from even the most unpromising pressing or recording. Time and again, they breathed life into discs I’d all but abandoned (but in the way of these things, never got around to discarding) until, after a while it became a challenge, even a crusade to discover some forgotten disc that might upset the Unos’ musical equilibrium. I’m still searching…
