Their paths had crossed for many years. After performing together with Nico and Kevin Ayers on June 1st 1974, Brian Eno worked on John Cale’s 1974 masterpiece Fear. Eno also appeared on 1975’s Slow Dazzle and Helen Of Troy and 1984’s Caribbean Sunset. In 1988 Eno set up his own label, Land, and one of his first signings was Cale.
After becoming a father in 1985 Cale had radically overhauled his life, eschewing his heavy drinking in favour of exercise and family stability. Cale had recently set a number of Dylan Thomas poems to music, a project that was recorded as “The Falklands Suite” in 1988 with a full Russian orchestra and Welsh choir. Eno produced the sessions and as the suite wasn’t long enough for a full album, suggested recording some additional songs. “The Soul Of Carmen Miranda” was the charming first result, which married Eno’s skewed pop sensibilities to Cale’s classical stylings and closed Cale’s 1989 Words For The Dying album on a pleasingly optimistic note. So delighted were the pair that a full-length album of grown-up pop songs was suggested.
Cale spent a couple of months in the spring of 1990 in Woodbridge, Suffolk as Eno’s houseguest. They worked office hours at Eno’s Wilderness home studio and at the end of each day Cale would take himself off to the squash court while Eno tinkered into the night. At first excellent progress was made. They wrote lyrics together by shouting out random words resulting in some interesting phrases (plus a fair amount of nonsense - what exactly is a ‘crow of desperation’?), and an enthused Cale encouraged Eno to sing on record for the first time in over a decade. ‘We were recording in a well-lit, comfortable upstairs room filled with equipment,’ Cale later wrote. ‘The sun shone in and the birds were singing. I thought - this is how records should be made.’
Sadly the idyllic start didn’t last. It soon became clear that the duo’s working practices created an awful amount of tension. Eno’s methodical, painstaking approach saw him spending hours perfecting a single drum sound or treatment, sharply at odds with Cale’s sometimes haphazard and chaotic methods. Despite claiming that ‘part of the charm of collaboration is to feel out of control’ Cale was bitterly disappointed to discover that Eno had been surreptitiously erasing sections of the music without his consent. Although many songs were still unfinished, an unhappy Cale returned to New York in July where he reworked a number of his vocals and posted the tapes back to Eno.
This falling out is clear from the finished album as some tracks are full-blown collaborations (“One Word” is a prime example), but others, recorded later, are performed almost exclusively by one or the other (Eno’s “The River” doesn’t feature Cale at all). The guiding force is mainly Eno – the complex rhythm tracks he created before Cale’s arrival demonstrate his love of unorthodox drum sounds which in turn gave rise to typically Enoid tunes. Cale dominates only on “In The Backroom” and “Cordoba” though both contain shimmering Eno arrangements. Working at Eno’s own studio also allowed Brian to utilise his choice of musicians. Many of them (notably Robert Ahwai and Nell Catchpole) continued to work with Eno on the abortive My Squelchy Life and 1992’s Nerve Net.
Nonetheless, Wrong Way Up was undoubtedly an artistic success. By not pandering to any current trends the album avoids becoming dated and today seems oddly timeless. Although some of the programming may seem a little clunky, the keyboard washes and gently chattering rhythm beds are superb. Cale and Eno’s voices complement each other harmoniously to the extent that on “One Word” it is appropriately impossible to tell them apart. “One Word” was also issued as single backed with a number of out-takes, including Cale’s emotional “Grandfather’s House.”
Other tunes range from the staccato opener “Lay My Love” via the engaging “Empty Frame” (basically an old-fashioned sea shanty, with telling lyrics about trying to turn a ship around) through the happy singalong “Been There Done That” to Eno’s beautiful song for his newborn daughter Irial, “The River.” It closes the album on a delicately positive note as some of Eno’s warmest vocals mesh with another heartrending Nell Catchpole string arrangement.
The highlight of Wrong Way Up is arguably “Spinning Away” – a gorgeously melodic adult pop song. As Eno whiles away the day sketching (deftly described as ‘my pencil turning moments into lines’), stirring strings and Cale’s mournful viola gradually work their way to a climax. The song takes an age to fade out, perfectly encapsulating the dreamy mood of a warm summer’s afternoon.
The cover, inspired by the royal playing cards, amusingly highlighted the personal tensions between Cale and Eno by inserting daggers between their photos. Even before the album was released Eno was asked if he would work with Cale again. ‘No way,’ was the succinct reply and, apart from a small Eno guest spot on a recent Cale album, they haven’t, which is a pity as Wrong Way Up is something of a creative highpoint for both. Eno hasn’t written such archly romantic or darkly catchy songs since and Cale’s careworn vocals have rarely had such sympathetic settings.
A few years back Eno’s label, now called All Saints, reissued Wrong Way Up (though intriguingly the revised cover has lost the daggers, implying a thaw in their relationship perhaps) with a couple of bonus tracks originally used on the “One Word” single, so it’s a good time to explore this overlooked gem.
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