Eligible Bachelors

FULL PAGE advertisement in The Tatler: 'Monochrome Set reform. New LP out this week.' Uproar in St John's Wood. Record shop riots in Knightsbridge. Sloane Rangers trampled under foot.

Among the finer things in life, alongside caviar, the best brandy and curly cigars, are the Monochrome Set. A four piece beat combo who are the very essence of good taste and sophisticated elegance. Solid and dependable, the epitome of decency and educated, civilised behaviour.

Once, long ago, there were the Rough Trade singles. Records that were almost bewildering in their diversity, sometimes sublime in content (ie 'Eine Symphonie Dies Grauens'). Leaving the ragged trousered collectivists of Blenheim Crescent behind, the group lurched into the dodgy (business wise) Dindisc phase. Two albums were released; both attractive but faulty.

The first was a bounteous collection of ideas thrown together, sometimes stimulating but often with the total effect masked by cluttered soundscapes and the hard to-decipher vocals. The second was more refined and controlled but too hollow sounding for lasting appeal. And now the re birth.

'Eligible Bachelors’ is the Monochrome Set in blazing techicolour. The high flying humour gets a firmer, finer focus, the vocals gell solidly with the music. Gone are the agonising lapses into in song pondering which prompted the common accusations of pretence and tweeness. In short, this is a damn good show.

Bid’s lyrics are crafty masterpieces. Hefty does of sharp wit spliced with helpful quantities of straight-faced cynicism. Preoccupied with the upper class English at play, and sporting a Lewis Carrol-type world view, this man of lyrics strolls unhurriedly across the village green of life.

Instinctively, he senses the plate of cucumber sandwiches and pot of Earl Grey tea awaiting him. All the while, the pleasing click of willow striking leather can be heard in the distance, along with the occasional cry of ‘howzat!’.

He rests for a moment in the shade of an oak tree. Opening a hard-backed notebook, he begins jotting down words of eternal wisdom and acute social observation: ‘My old man’s a Viscount and he wears a Viscount’s crown’.

This LP begins with our suave quartet striding purposefully across the tarmac at “Monte-Video” airport fetchingly attired in Saville Row suits and packing gleaming rods concealed in shoulder holsters. This is ‘The Jet Set Junta’, like a hi-tech hitmen version of the Monkees riding on a glamorous crest of espionage and big-time power plotting, seeking a quick round of Russian roulette and a little dabbling with electrodes before overthrowing the dictator and retiring for an early night.

The record continues with the horror of horoscopes, ‘I’ll Scry Instead’, a plea for financial pity of the quid-hungry wallet of the all-seeing astrologer. ‘13th Day’ is a tasty abuse of a Christmas carol. It features “double jointed black men playing leap frog on the moon”. ‘Cloud 10’ is a crazy-’bout-Jesus linguistic mix-and-mangle of religion and romance and the importance of being on the guest list at the pearly gates.

These true blue Setters even include their crest and motto on the sleeve: “Per Ardua ad hoc” -- through hardship to this. Being cheeky bounders they also have a collection of some of their better reviews reprinted on the rear.

At their recent well attended, well received Venue outing, Bid strode around the front of the stage tossing out gratis discs to the eager throng. He muttered “I want to give one to the guy who spat at me. He's my kind of man.”

Such spirit and resolution! The Monochrome Set are my kind of band.