Connells - A Shining Melancholy
The nostalgic "'74/'75" is a piece of Nineties pop history. But the North Carolina band has a career spanning three decades and deserves to be rediscovered. In Reagan's America of plastic and excess, five kids dreamed of England...
by
Marco Sgrignoli
![OndaRock Logo]()
Raleigh, the capital of North Carolina, is one of those sprawling 400,000-strong towns that could only exist in America. Here, in the mid-Eighties, a band looked to England, because the "American dream" was already there and all that greatness didn't seem to amount to much.
The two Connell brothers – bass and guitar in the band – were interested in expressing their own unstable twenty-something emotional universe and escaping the provincial reality that surrounded them. Having moved to Raleigh from Georgia during their college years, they felt like fish out of water. In the music of Smiths, Echo & The Bunnymen, New Order, however, they found their own way of being; far more than in the ordinariness of countless local bands, or in the intellectualism and ferment of the "real" American cities – a world so distant and incomprehensible that it made even the ocean separating them from Her Majesty's realm seem like nothing at all.
They found a singer, Doug MacMillan, and a drummer, John Schultz. They became the Connells, and paid their dues on college radio and in van tours. That experience would inspire, ten years later, the film "Bandwagon", the directorial debut of Schultz himself, who left the band early on and was replaced by Peele Wimberley. George Huntley, second guitar, joined, and the story began in earnest.
These Weren't Such Dark Times
In the beginning, the songs were a contradictory blend of gloom and brightness. The sound wove together nostalgia for an adolescence irretrievably lost, utter insecurity about the present, and a utopian faith in the future. Far from any rock-star ambition, Mike Connell and George Huntley armed themselves with twelve-string Rickenbackers and coined an unmistakable jingle-jangle style, in which ringing harmonics are enhanced by reverb but thrown slightly off-kilter by a tuning that's just a touch out. Bass and drums married the angular interlocking of post-punk with a brisk, almost festive pace, while Doug MacMillan's voice – in its awkward attempt to emulate Ian Curtis's baritone timbre – conveyed the same endearing self-consciousness as Bernard Sumner in the early days of New Order.
Inexperienced, naive and even a little clumsy, the Connells seemed like kids determined, at all costs, to wear their parents' oversized clothes; yet their songs still sound incredibly real today, brimming with hope, uncertainty and passion. Listening to them, you feel the thrill of that no-man's-land that is one's twenties, precariously suspended between an adolescence now over and the slippery unknown of adult life.
Despite their intimate soul, the songs reached an epic, universal dimension. That sense grew stronger when Mike Connell began introducing Celtic elements into his guitar style, borrowed from bands like Jethro Tull and Fairport Convention. Triumphant melodies with an ancient flavor combined with melancholy atmospheres, giving rise to a unique, enigmatic style: inextricably tied to the present and past of Albion's land, yet unmistakably American all the same. Because those were the years of early emocore, of R.E.M., of college rock, and of countless bands carrying forward a style built on jingle-jangle guitars and a shy, proto-indie melancholy entirely centered on youth and its passing.
Hats Off (1985) is the band's first release, an EP collecting three songs that would later appear on the two following albums. The recording quality is demo-level: not worth dwelling on.
Darker Days (1986) is a restless album, yet shot through with an elusive optimism. "Oh I have seen darker days," goes the title track: these times are dark, but there have been far worse ones. A kind of hope-in-the-negative that illuminates the shadowy tones of the tracks, essentially "botched" imitations of the likes of Siouxsie And The Banshees, early New Order, and Echo & the Bunnymen. The quotation marks are deliberate, because it's precisely in unmistakably betraying the "true", spartan spirit of their college-rock roots that these songs find their compelling, elusive power.
There are plenty of memorable moments. The fiery "Hats Off", an anti-Reagan invective whose lyrics unwittingly offer a vivid snapshot of the "lost adolescence" mood running through the album (“You can’t have it back/ No you can’t have the world as it once was/ With cowboys and Santa Claus”). Then "Holding Pattern", an unprecedented post-punk piece in which the bass-drum interplay weaves through showers of crystalline arpeggios; "Seven", at once fiery, tender and nostalgic; "Unspoken Words", which builds up agitation before briefly opening into a clear, liberating melody. But the album's true emblem remains the "out-of-tune" arpeggio that opens the title track "Darker Days". In those awkwardly interlocking notes – and in the "choral" openness of the chorus – lies the full urgency of overcoming embarrassment and shyness to express oneself, however it comes out, because holding it all in is no longer an option.
Released in the United States and the United Kingdom with slightly different tracklists, it's best heard in the UK edition, which opens with "Darker Days". The version circulating on peer-to-peer networks also closes with the New Order-esque "Dial It", found only on the American edition.
Boylan Heights (1987) is the band's masterpiece. Two major innovations stand out: the substantial introduction of Celtic elements into Mike Connell's style, and the more epic sweep of the songwriting. The use of centuries-old guitar phrasing certainly helps place the songs "outside of time", but the particular atmosphere permeating the record is vaguer and more intangible than pure folk spirit. What one senses is an aura of inevitability, the awareness that time doesn't turn back: passages that are in themselves clear, even elegiac, thus take on a nostalgic shadow, subtle and hidden. At the same time, the emotions reach a universal dimension, transcending the intimate stance from which they spring. Whether it's the backing vocals, or the keyboards and reverb that heighten the emphasis – the fact remains that in "Choose a Side", "Try", "Pawns" you can hear much more than the insecurity of five young men from North Carolina: you can feel the restless soul of a generation, of every generation that, somewhere in their twenties, realized a wonderful age was gone for good, and that in the one opening up before them, everything had to be written from scratch.
Although a melancholy mood pervades every track, the album is remarkably varied. The opening "Scotty's Lament" is energetic, and emblematic in its alternation between Celtic flourishes and nervous, almost spectral verses. "Elegance" leans furthest toward the wave side, with jagged, incandescent guitar-bass-drum interplay and a more disruptive pace than ever. "Over There", by contrast, is a luminous, largely instrumental opener, dominated by a placid bassline and triumphant trumpet blasts. But it's only in the closing track that the album's most precious gem is revealed – "I Suppose", in which everything converges: joy and desolation, serenity and drive, the bass's diagonal lines and the guitar's ancient, ringing embroidery. And the lightness of the final backing vocals, and the extreme, categorical seriousness that marks every definitive moment of self-awareness. In this song's five minutes lies everything that makes the Connells a band worth rediscovering and never forgetting again.
Play, Fun and Simple Words
With time, adolescence receded, the weight of English role models grew less decisive, and Doug MacMillan began singing in his natural register, revealing a far sunnier, more melodious voice than in the early days. As his voice opened up into higher octaves, the song structures shed their dark-wave influences and drew closer to a more spirited power-pop: dazzling guitars, energetic rhythms and a decidedly more optimistic outlook. What remained, however, was the desire to be true to themselves above all, and an unconditional love for Celtic-flavored lines – especially on the part of Mike Connell, the band's main songwriter. So, even in this airier phase, the songs retained a distinctive flavor, on one hand increasingly American and tied to their own lived experience (with the first hints of a "revival" of classic rock patterns), and on the other still steeped in a magical, timeless quality. Melancholy, however, hadn't entirely gone away, and surfaced like a watermark even in the most radiant songs, aided by the return of a few old tricks devised by the Byrds and later adopted by generations of indie-pop musicians.
Fun & Games (1989) is the first step of this new phase. A light, lively, even sparkling record, right from the opener "Something To Say", festive and liberating, elevated by Mike Connell's exceptional soloing flourishes. Echoes of the past are nonetheless never far away: while in the opening track only the backing vocals recall the "universal intimacy" of Boylan Heights, the title track is a burst of shining melancholy, more serene than ever but as moving as always. Doug MacMillan's voice is brighter, finally at peace with itself, and allows for pop flourishes previously unthinkable: "Fine Tuning", "Hey Wow", and the sweet ballad "Uninspired" touch on emotions new to the band, showing an unexpected confidence with catchier choruses and structures. In a different way from the two previous records, this too is an excellent album.
One Simple World (1990) came out shortly after and shares with Fun & Games a similar mood and sound. The difference lies in the sheer number of songs, which is simply excessive relative to the band's inspiration. Alongside some astonishing tracks there are also a few weak ones, a first in the history of the Connell brothers. Certainly not belonging to the latter category is the electrifying "Stone Cold Yesterday", which marks a further peak in Mike Connell's ability to combine Celtic inflections with exultant tones (without ever giving up that always-welcome nostalgic note). Perhaps even better is "All Sinks In", which moves along similar lines while directly tying back to the immortal Byrds style, launching into unpredictable instrumental "ascents to the heavens".
Other tracks venture into a more muscular, occasionally orchestral sound, beginning to visibly nod toward Seventies American rock. Pleasant as they are, they prove less convincing. Even "Too Gone", an enjoyable neo-psychedelic experiment, sits a bit outside the usual "Connells style" of past and future, though it's well-handled and measured.
On the Verge of Success
Success finally came for the band. A fleeting recognition, limited to that one hit for which "The Connells" are generally remembered: "'74/'75", which went unnoticed in America only to "explode" in Europe two years later. Their musical style had changed, becoming smoother and more radio-friendly. Having shed their rough edges and insecurities, they had embraced a more "adult" composure and a fuller sound closer to the classics of old American rock. This, for the moment, without renouncing their distinctive traits: the very song that brought the band success was, after all, a tender ballad with a pronounced folk aftertaste, doubly tied to the nostalgic memory of "college days", the same ones so deeply reflected in their early records.
Fate, however, played a cruel trick on the Connells: unaware of the impact "'74/'75" would have in Europe, they carried on along the path of their music's growing "Americanization". These were the years of the long grunge tail, and they seized the chance to recover some good old Seventies rock. The guitars grew heavier, the sound more saturated, but paradoxically it was the edge that got lost: that emotional instability which had always fueled their music was now entirely absent, and the calm of adulthood had failed to translate into an equivalent compositional balance. In an interview, they would later admit: "If we'd known '74/'75 would be a hit in Europe, we'd have written five or six more: maybe a '73/'74, or a '75/'76...".
Ring (1993) is, if not the band's most celebrated album, certainly their best-selling one. The lion's share goes to the obvious "'74/'75", the ballad that definitively crowns Mike Connell's ambition to write an anthem to nostalgia. Memorable from its opening arpeggio onward, it is paradoxically one of the band's most compositionally essential songs: few layers, a soft and restrained orchestral bed, a brief, measured solo, a few timid piano notes. Perhaps, though, the song wouldn't have been as successful without the accompanying video, in which photos from a 1975 Raleigh high school yearbook mix - mercilessly, yet with boundless tenderness - with images of the band members as adults.
There's no shortage of other standout tracks either. "Slackjawed", the now-familiar euphoric, Celtic-tinged opener; "Burden", built on a feisty, circular folk-like arpeggio as sturdy as a genuine hard-rock riff; "Running Mary", which from its title alone seems to want to tie back to the most classic British traditionals. And then there's the poignant "Spiral", a sort of "'74/'75" staring into the abyss. A bitter track, probably the first truly sad song the band ever wrote, curiously enhanced by the clean, radio-ready production chosen for the album: it is, at heart, the heartbroken song of someone who, having found comfort and stability, realizes that the thrill of adventure has died along with the insecurities of their past life.
New Boy (1994) is the band's second and final EP. It contains two versions of the same "New Boy" already featured on Ring, a live recording of "Fun & Games" and two other pleasant tracks with a rougher sound than the previous year's album. More interesting, though, is the cover of Jethro Tull's "Living In The Past", not exactly outstanding, but certainly indicative of the deep connection between Mike Connell's style and the sharp rhythmic flair of the Anderson/Barre guitar duo.
Weird Food And Devastation (1996) is without a doubt the weakest album of the Connells' career, the only one in which passable tracks are a small minority. The sound is needlessly monolithic, saturated with distortion, overblown keyboards and every other kind of ornament meant to reinforce the wall of sound and mask the substantial emotional emptiness of the songs. For a band that has always staked everything on the transparency of feeling, this amounts to an inevitable misstep - confirmed by their inability to replace the emotional element with anything beyond sheer sonic bulk. On top of that, Weird Food... is once again an overly long album, where the few worthwhile passages are smothered by a flood of uninspired sections. Hard to salvage whole songs here.
Not So Bad After All
In the years that followed, the Connells honed a more balanced and genuine pop-rock, still centered as always on memories of youth, but now with the voice and lyrics given particular prominence and a musically more inspired and mature outlook compared to the recent past. In the band's later work, all the styles and emotions that marked its history coexist: there's the carefree flair of power-pop and a melancholy that's now subtle, now bitter, then the love for Seventies British and American rock, the occasional nod to the most classic Beatlesque style... And the good old Celtic-tinged guitar jangle, by now also "reconciled" with that country soul always kept hidden, yet ever-present in the band's deeply Southern geographic roots. What's missing, certainly, is the restlessness of years past; passion and humility, however, remain unchanged, and the years have also brought a touch of self-deprecating humor, never out of place.
Still Life (1998) marks a partial "homecoming" for the Connell brothers and their band. Emotion is once again at the center, if somewhat toned down, and that interplay of joy, tenderness and melancholy the band has always held dear resurfaces. Still, some traits of Weird Food... don't entirely disappear: the sound is often muscular and Seventies-flavored, and the Hammond organ has by now become an essential background ingredient. The songs are solid, with a few - somewhat formulaic - callbacks to days gone by ("Bruised", "Still Life"), some country/Beatles-esque divertissements ("Glade", "Curly's Train", "Gauntled"), at least one excellent southern rock episode ("Soul Reactor") and even an instrumental in a vaguely Explosions In The Sky style ("Pedro Says").
Old School Dropouts (2001), working along similar lines, is arguably even a bit better. The songs are inspired, if not exactly passionate, and quite varied. "Gladiator Heart" is one of their finest ballads, with the usual instantly gripping arpeggio and an engaging build that leads into a sixties-style chorus. There's also room for stylistic tributes to Fairport Convention ("Back In Blightly"), thoughtful tracks a step away from Sunny Day Real Estate ("Radio" above all), and pieces blending AOR, sullen indie-pop and even a touch of surreal irony ("Washington"). You almost don't expect a closer like "The Bottom": bleak and very brief, it's the fleeting backward glance of someone who has realized they've reached the end of the road and can no longer avoid it.
The Connells' recording career could have ended right there, with the members returning full-time to those "normal" lives they'd never really left behind. Mike Connell works as a lawyer, his brother David paints, while second guitarist George Huntley has released a solo album, "Brain Junk". Doug MacMillan has also started several side musical projects; moreover, he's appeared in virtually every film made by former drummer John Schultz, including the "Bandwagon" mentioned at the start, where he plays the road manager of the ramshackle indie-rock band at the center of the story.
And yet, the band never truly quit: over the years there have been live appearances, sometimes sporadic, at other times more frequent, always concentrated in the southern United States. There have also been a few line-up changes: Rob Ladd took over on drums, while longtime guitarist George Huntley handed his role over to Mike Ayers. In 2020, however, news began to circulate more frequently about a new, possible album: after a few delays, it materialized in 2021 under the name Steadman's Wake, released once again on the original Black Park Records. The album finds the Connells in good shape: the sound is still the same, MacMillan's voice holds up well against the passing years, and Mike Connell's songwriting remains as delicate and recognizable as ever. Across the record's eleven tracks, eight new and three re-recordings, there's certainly a lack of the impetuousness of their early days - though, to be fair, that had already been missing well before the twenty-year creative hiatus. In its place - and this is perhaps where the real interest lies - is a consciously reflective outlook, in keeping with the luminous spleen that marked the unforgettable "'74-'75", the biggest hit of their career. There's plenty of Hammond organ and a good deal of Mellotron feeding, alongside the usual jingle-jangle, the pensive mood of the delightful "Fading In (Hardy)", "Gladiator Heart" (from the earlier "Old School Dropouts"), and "Stars". And it's a thoroughly convincing echo of their old guitar muscle that makes the album's opening and closing tracks so dynamic and engaging: the energetic "Really Great" and the calmer, but still compelling, "Helium". It took them a long time to get back on the road, but they clearly wanted to do it right.
Final note for completists: an unofficial (but authorized) online compilation of the band's b-sides and assorted material is available, symbolically titled Not So Bad At All (from the lyrics of “Slackjawed”). Among other things, it collects the two EPs and an oddball cover of Cypress Hill (!), “Insane In The Brain”.
Ride the wave of great music
Add OndaRock to your favorite sources on Google Discover. Don't miss our reviews, milestones and latest news straight in your feed.
This article is an English translation of the original Italian text, published on OndaRock.it. It was translated with the help of artificial intelligence, under the editorial responsibility of OndaRock's editor-in-chief, Claudio Fabretti.
Connells on OndaRock
Discography
| Hats Off (EP, Black Park, 1985) | 5 | |
| Darker Days (Black Park/Demon, 1986) | 8 | |
| Boylan Heights (TVT, 1987) | 8.5 |  |
| Fun & Games (TVT, 1989) | 7.5 | |
| One Simple Word (TVT, 1990) | 7 | |
| Ring (TVT, 1993) | 7 | |
| New Boy (EP, TVT, 1994) | 6 | |
| Weird Food And Devastation (TVT, 1996) | 4 | |
| Still Life (TVT, 1998) | 6.5 | |
| Old School Dropouts (TVT, 2001) | 6.5 | |
| Steadman's Wake (Black Park, 2021) | 6 |
MilestoneRecommended by ORReviews
Connells
Steadman's Wake
original design & development by
Edoardo M. Cappuccio
Edoardo M. Cappuccio
redesign by
Gabriele Brombin
Anna Quaranta
Gabriele Brombin
Anna Quaranta