I Am Kurious Oranj Rarlab
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Name of the album[edit]
Unless there is great uproar I am going to change the name of the album to 'I am Kurious, Oranj' (i.e. add a comma). I have always seen it referred to in this way, including, from a quick check, in The Great Rock Discography. I know that the front sleeve omits the comma but the 'spine' of the CD cover has it in, as does the CD itself. It also makes sense as the play was 'I am Curious, Orange'.
--WeAreSilver (talk) 23:01, 24 January 2008 (UTC)
- I would suggest leaving it be - the exact title is ambiguous because the comma is only included on some occasions and not others and, in such circumstances, it is best to keep it simple. I think the comma free version is more likely to be a search request and there's already a redirection page with the comma. Ac@osr (talk) 12:29, 26 January 2008 (UTC)
- As an aside, the nearest thing the group have to an official website does not carry the comma, nor does Beggars Banquet's website and nor does Amazon (.co.uk or .com).Ac@osr (talk) 12:32, 26 January 2008 (UTC)
Ac@osr - I have done a google search and you are right that most external references seem to be to be without a comma. I have, however, edited the article to make a reference to the different usages. WeAreSilver (talk) 10:06, 5 November 2008 (UTC)
Dog is life / Jerusalem

I'm pretty certain the Cassette version of 'Dog is life / Jerusalem' is the longer version (same as CD). The missed out part on the vinyl version is the 'I became a semi artistic type...' paragraph. I have the cassette, but no regular access to a cassette player. I will check, unless anyone else can before I get a chance to. —Preceding unsigned comment added by 86.173.202.46 (talk) 11:58, 18 January 2010 (UTC)
- IIRC, the cassette version mimics the CD exactly - I have a cassette deck so I can check easily but my memory tells me that I experienced no surprises when I bought the CD edition around 2003. Ac@osr (talk) 16:37, 18 January 2010 (UTC)
- I've finally managed to check the cassette and it is the longer version. —Preceding unsigned comment added by 92.12.173.124 (talk) 18:27, 25 July 2010 (UTC)
When the Fall released a greatest hits album in 2004, they called it 50,000 Fall Fans Can’t Be Wrong. The title’s wry twist on the supposed wisdom of Elvis Presley’s 50 million followers wasn’t wrong, either, but it was definitely an understatement. The band’s frontman Mark E. Smith, who died today at age 60, embodied the idea of the irascible cult hero. His music could be endlessly debated by a small set of obsessives while still appealing more broadly to outsiders. “We dig repetition in the music/And we’re never going to lose it,” he sang in 1978—an oft-quoted credo that originated, appropriately enough, on a B-side.
The Fall, with its ever-revolving lineup, would become a Manchester post-punk institution. “It wasn’t about me trying to get my picture in some paper or magazine or other—like it is with a lot of bands nowadays,” he wrote of the band’s formation. “It was because of sounds; of wanting to make something; combining primitive music with intelligent lyrics.”
Attract enough devoted weirdos and millions of “normal people” may be touched by your work without ever knowing it. Smith’s band left their mark on some of the most influential acts of the 1980s and 1990s, including Björk’s band the Sugarcubes and Pavement. Smith’s voice could be heard, like the late Tom Petty’s, in the 1991 horror-thriller Silence of the Lambs. On through the 21st century, his singular-uh speak-singing-uh can be heard in James Murphy’s anxious rants. His band’s name represented miscommunication in Jens Lekman’s reputation-sealing early single “Maple Leaves.” Despite an abiding association with guitars, his also made an impact on electronic music, working with everyone from sampling pioneers Coldcut in 1989 to Gorillaz more than two decades later.
Smith’s canny turns of phrase, though sometimes inscrutable, were like alternate-universe adages. (“You’re a walking tower of Adidas crap.”) And as the wealth of Fall box sets indicates, Smith’s reputation as an outsider idol for the record collecting faithful wasn’t unwarranted. Smith exalted a handful of fellow musicians in his memoir—Jerry Lee Lewis, Johnny Cash, Iggy Pop—and like those men, he was a true original.
Here are 10 tracks that show how this cult artist resonates beyond the cult. As Smith once sang, you don’t have to be weird to be weird.
“Rowche Rumble” (1979)
The Fall’s debut album, 1979’s Live at the Witch Trials, remains an essential listen beginning with the nervous gloom of “Frightened.” A better starting place for the uninitiated, and a signature Fall track, is “Rowche Rumble,” a non-LP single from the same year. “Well, this is a groovy number,” Smith deadpans in a contemporaneous live version. If jackhammer percussion, dive-bombing riffs, and a speed-freak critiquing Valium are groovy, then yes, this is definitely a groovy number.
I Am Kurious Oranj Rarlab Youtube
“How I Wrote Elastic Man” (1980)
One of the singles that originally preceded 1980’s Grotesque (After the Gramme), “How I Wrote ‘Elastic Man’” is another Fall milestone. It’s scuffed-up rockabilly with such quotables as “I’m a potential DJ” and “the only thing real is waking and rubbing your eyes.” Elastica fans may also recognize the title—the Britpop survivors’ final album, 2000’s The Menace, included a Smith collaboration called “How He Wrote Elastica Man.” A lesser-known but equally enduring song from this era is Grotesque’s raucous “A New Face in Hell,” where you can hear the budding of ’90s indie-rock.
“Totally Wired” (1981)
If you know only one phrase from Smith, it’s probably this song’s title. If you know only one song from the Fall, it’s probably “Totally Wired,” another pre-Grotesque single. The taut noise-pop here is full of bon mots for worried minds: “I drank a jar of coffee, and I took some of these,” Smith recounts. Hey, do you think this guy might be a little on edge?
“Hip Priest” (1982)
I Am Kurious Oranj Rarlab Hotel
This standout from 1982’s Hex Enduction Hour—the one that famously appears in Silence of the Lambs—is a more contemplative bit of warbled poetry. The hip clergyman seems like a dude who exists in the real world, for sure. Plus, who can’t relate when Smith sneers, “I just got my last clean dirty shirt outta the wardrobe”?
“Mr Pharmacist” (1986)
From 1986’s Bend Sinister, “Mr. Pharmacist” is a lurching installment in pop music’s ongoing conversation with drug dealers, illicit and otherwise. Actually a cover of 1960s garage-rockers the Other Half, it’s also a demonstration of how the Fall’s relatively unchanging style could bolster other people’s songs.

“Big New Prinz” (1988)
“Big New Prinz,” a “Hip Priest” reworking from 1988’s I Am Kurious Oranj, has the sort of jaunty bass line that would later emerge on Pavement’s “Two States” to Blur’s “Parklife.” When Smith utters “check the record, check the guy’s track record,” the words melt into glorious nonsense a la “Surfin’ Bird.”
“Lost in Music” (1995)
This magnificent cover of the 1979 Sister Sledge song written by Chic’s Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards illustrates how the Fall’s repetitions could fidget toward disco when given the right material. When Smith got the idea for this, was James Murphy there? Were Daft Punk?
“Theme From Sparta F.C.” (2003)
Smith is best remembered for the Fall’s 1970s and 1980s work, but he continued to ripple across broader culture into the 2000s. This soccer chant-worthy anthem from 2003’s The Real New Fall LP (Formerly Country on the Click) was used in the BBC’s sports coverage and led to Smith once being asked to read scores on the air.
“Blindness” (2005)
A further sign that the Fall hadn’t lost it in the mid-2000s was “Blindness,” which appeared on 2005’s Fall Heads Roll. Mesmerizing, churning, and defiant, it’s classic Fall from its opening “the flag is evil” to its closing “blind man, have mercy on me.”
“Glitter Freeze” with Gorillaz (2010)
There was more to the Fall than Smith, but he was the only permanent member, and his streak of collaborations with electronic acts—including an album-length partnership with German sonic explorers Mouse on Mars in 2007 as Von Südenfed—reflect how Smith’s influence still reverberates in a time when guitars have moved to the margins. He gained some of his widest exposure from a brief guest appearance on Plastic Beach, which he parlayed into a longer, dependably idiosyncratic performance at Glastonbury in front of 80,000 people.