Sound Of The Colourfield – Album Reissue Review

In the run-up to what would have been the late Terry Hall’s 67^th birthday on 19 March, moves to revive his back catalogue continue apace. This time, his third band, the Colourfield, comes under the spotlight with a comprehensive six-disc retrospective. Robert Plummer enjoys himself.

Terry Hall was a restless spirit, never staying with any band for more than two consecutive albums. Consecrated as a British pop legend for his work with the Specials at the start and end of his career, he also shone brightly as part of the Fun Boy Three. Until now, though, his time in the Colourfield has been less heralded: hopefully, this rewarding compilation will finally redress the balance.

When Hall, Toby Lyons and Karl Shale released their debut album in April 1985, the legacy of the 2-Tone movement was at a low ebb. Many of its original exponents found themselves trying to revive stalled careers: even Madness, the most successful hitmakers of the era, were running out of steam. But Hall looked well placed to float free of his ska frontman past, especially since FB3 singles such as Our Lips Are Sealed had given his vocal talents and songwriting skills new room to breathe.

Virgins And Philistines occupies the first of the five CDs in this set, and its delectable opening track is one of the best in Hall’s entire catalogue. Beginning with a dreamy haze of bossa nova guitar and pizzicato strings, Thinking Of You immediately positions the Colourfield in a classic lineage of timeless musical craft. Hall’s deceptively artless delivery, sweetened by the supporting voice of Katrina Phillips, eases the meandering melody forward until it suddenly soars: “If you ever think of me, I’ll be thinking of you.”

Of course, this is Terry Hall we’re talking about, so he has to slip in a sardonic, subversive middle-eight. “Let’s roll the dice in a fool’s paradise/Share moonlit nights breathing nothing but lies.” Undercutting cheery tunes with dour lyrics is a habit that he often returned to in later years, perhaps best heard on his second solo album Laugh, reissued last year.

As destiny would have it, Thinking Of You was the most successful song that the Colourfield ever released – start as you don’t mean to go on, maybe. But there are plenty of other gems to be appreciated on this collection, with ex-Swinging Cat Lyons’s sparkling music providing the perfect setting for Hall’s downbeat words. Minor hit Castles In The Air, heard here in a plethora of versions, is another case in point.

It starts like a Michel Legrand film soundtrack, with gently strummed acoustic guitar and violins, while Hall croons his tale of love’s illusions. Then it goes into a tango section, complete with clicking castanets. After that, there’s a sensitive 70s-style guitar solo, before the song drifts towards its conclusion.

The funky Hammond organ intro and disco bass of Take are at odds with Hall’s angst as he castigates an ex-lover: “You just take/And pile on the agony.” But again the middle-eight plays a mood-changing trick on us. Suddenly Hall is boasting that “me and the cat/Own the lease on the flat” – and unlike in the Herman’s Hermits song, the milk still gets delivered.

These are shape-shifting songs, apt to confuse the audience. But Hall is undeniably having fun – especially on the band’s cover of the Bobby Goldsboro-penned Little Things, on which he actually breaks down laughing. Other wayward moments from the two discs of B-sides and outtakes add to the intimacy of their sound: they may go to unusual places, but they carry you with them.

Although that debut charted modestly, it gave the Colourfield a listenership they could build on – something they perversely failed to do. Imagine the reaction of those listeners on hearing Deception in 1987, a record so unlike its predecessor that it sounded as though Hall was fronting a completely different outfit. This follow-up to a Top 20 album nearly missed the Top 100 altogether, spelling commercial doom for the band.

Did it deserve that fate? Well, there’s a strong argument that its merits were undersold. The choice of singles didn’t help: the first track released was a cover of Sly & The Family Stone’s Running Away, done in the bare-bones funk style of Cameo’s Word Up.

The only other UK single was the only other cover version, a rendition of the Monkees song She. The jaunty Goodbye Sun Valley came out on seven-inch in France, a move perhaps inspired by its prominent French-style accordion. That kind of audacity might have bolstered its parent album’s chart position.

Overall, Deception’s brittle 1980s production makes it a less engaging listen than Virgins And Philistines. Behind the scenes, there was tension in the band’s ranks, with Karl Shale quitting during the sessions. But there is still much to love about the record, once you reconcile yourself to its new electro-pop direction.

Opening track Badlands signals the changes: Hall’s lyrics show a new Americana fixation, but his wordplay is intact. “I’m colder now, a little older now, come watch me now as I smoulder now,” he sings before the addictive chorus kicks in. It ushers in an album seemingly made for cruising on the freeway and dancing in the club, activities mostly alien to the band’s indie-adjacent UK public.

Slow-burning ballad Miss Texas 1967 and juddering synth-pop stormer Heart Of America continue Hall’s new-found US obsession, sadly not reciprocated by record-buyers across the pond. But arguably the best song is Monkey In Winter, also present in an affecting version sung by the late Sinéad O’Connor. “I feel like a monkey in winter and you are a lizard in the sun,” sings Hall: the seasons turn, but the gulf between him and his ex-lover remains.

Superior outtake versions of the Deception tracks, previously unreleased, show how the record suffered through questionable production decisions. The Ian Broudie version of Heart Of America in particular is a revelation, showing how much warmth was lost from the band’s sound between albums.

The set is completed by a DVD of promo videos and TV appearances, plus a live disc that bears ample testament to the Colourfield’s popularity in their prime. In all, it’s a well-compiled set that does full justice to an underrated band. If you want to reacquaint yourself with the less remembered side of the 1980s, you should be thinking of them.

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You can read more about the Colourfield on Wikipedia here. You can also find Terry Hall’s Wikipedia page here.

All words by Robert Plummer. More writing by Robert can be found at his author’s archive. He is also on X as @robertp926.