Jesus, how many more half- assed '80s bands still have yet to get their catalogs reissued and remarketed to my aging, jaded generation? This was the generation of listeners that, at one point, had supposedly condemned cruddy '80s bands like the Icicle Works, Pet Shop Boys and Men at Work to a virtual non- existence in the 1990s. In fact, the only out- of- print slices of '80s ephemera that, in my humble opinion, should ever be re- released for public consumption are the Vapors' 1980 LP New Clear Days, and Wall of Voodoo's Dark Continent from '81. So there.

I ask you, fellow inhabitants of the 26-32 year- old demographic: have our lives become so empty that we can do nothing but listen to Motley Crue, Haircut One Hundred, Saga, and other shit that brings back memories of those good old public school days of endless lunch lines, perpetual wallflowering at the school dance, satanic bus drivers, soyburgers and milk, parking lot poundings by bullies, public humiliation by the school snobs and being reprimanded and belittled by mentally- unfit teachers? I can only hope we'll all eventually realize that our recent purchases of the new remastered edition of Billy Squier's Emotions in Motion is simply a waste of hard- earned cash. I mean, hey-- fuck the dire social consequences of resisting pop culture's current retro- conformist "uncool" is "cool" mindset.

Sorry, I know I keep harping on this issue. But it's really pathetic how shitty movies like "The Wedding Singer" and "200 Cigarettes" foist their dopey revisionist history upon our easily- impressionable pea- brains-- attempting to cajole the entire late- twenty- something population into believing our '80s adolescence was gloriously spent in some kind of magical, carefree cultural renaissance period equal in historical significance to the Jazz Age of Fitzgerald and Hemingway in the 1920s. Junior high sucked, and so did the '80s.

Truth is, most everyone will rightly continue to ignore the Icicle Works or, once again, forget them very quickly-- just like back in the fantabulous Reagan Era. But that's not to say that, way back when, the Icicle Works didn't have the potential to be more than just a one- hit wonder. The poor blokes tried several different musical styles and approaches on for size, none of which ever seemed terribly appropriate. Their output resembled, among others, Aztec Camera, Echo and the Bunnymen, the entire goth- metal genre, Led Zeppelin, and OMD or Depeche Mode.

This "best of" does actually begin with the best-- the surprisingly strong, soaring Byrds- meet- New Order pop of "Hollow Horse." Truthfully, the vocals and lyrics tend to ruin much of this material. Frontman Ian McNabb indulges in shameless vocal histrionics and pretentious irony- laced lyrics without a trace of charm. He's the kind of singer that's blessed with a decent voice, but croons so ironically and over- emotes in such a ridiculously exaggerated way that the old bugger simply sounds foolish. Actually, the liner notes complain that the general public's inability to warm up to his odd sense of humor was really the deciding factor in the band not becoming the next Rolling Stones. Keep pretending, guys.

This shaky body of work soon begins to reveal its flimsy foundations with the generic pop- rock clunker "Love is a Wonderful Road." Then they unveil their heavy- metallurgic propensities. There's a pretty pathetic attempt to "rock out" on "Understanding Jane," with a slight pop- punk guitar crunch, and a big ol' cliched, anti- climactic wimp- rock chorus. There's the absurd "Shit Creek," which I suppose could be nothing more than a vehicle for McNabb to prove himself a heavy metal guitar hero, as well as a sensitive New Wave puss. And dig, if you will, the Prince- inspired disaster of an Anglo- soul song called "The Kiss-off."

On "Evangeline" McNabb does a lousy impression of an Englishman pretending to be a Tennessee hillbilly. "Blind," the title track off their final studio album, is classic K-Tel soft- rock reminiscent of the Eagles, or the Little River Band. The cheesy synth parts, the impossibly glossy production values, and the stereotypically overwrought '80s studio- band sound-- it's all here in spades.

I mean, it seems fairly obvious that these guys lusted after that big prize of consummate million- selling pop success. And the harder McNabb tried to write the perfect new wave rock song, the more he missed the mark. Plenty of others were after the same trophy-- only many of the Icicle Works' peers benefited from catchier songwriting and a knack for the knee- weakening hook. Icicle Works sort of plodded along pleasantly enough, referencing a number of different popular bands at any given time. And sure, McNabb's taste for extreme style- hopping could easily be mistaken for non- conformist diversity and a mastering of many musical idioms. But in McNabb's case, I'd say it's more lack of focus, complete and total inability to blend divergent styles and influences into a single coherent song, and the failure to hit upon a signature sound, and subsequently build upon and innovate within that particular framework.

But, of course, the Icicle Works did get a taste of American Top 40 success, however fleetingly, with the misunderstood underdog mini- anthem "Birds Fly (Whisper to a Scream)," from the band's eponymous 1983 debut. It's kind of a blatant Smiths theft, lacking Morrissey's songwriting talents, and some near- perfectly executed Johnny Marr- style guitar accompaniment. Oh, and I was just told by a particular Icicle Works expert, that the first release was really a concept album of sorts, and that when a song like "Birds Fly" is estranged from its rightful conceptual context, one cannot possibly be affected by the song in the same way.

In actuality, McNabb is, from a purely technical standpoint, a better axeman than most, with the kind of repitoire of slick, familiar- sounding licks that could land you high- paying studio hackwork for conventional- rocking dudes like Billy Idol, Paul McCartney and Robert Plant. Basically, though, this Icicle Works collection is about as dated as that mildewing pair of bright orange parachute pants and sadly neglected desert boots still hidden away in your closet.

If you just didn't get the Icicle Works back in the day, or if you've never heard them at all, I'm not so sure that buying this mediocre "best of" collection is the most genius consumer move. As a teen coming of age in the '80s, I didn't need the Icicle Works, because I had Echo and the Bunnymen, the Fall and Bauhaus. Now, in the '90s we have, well... Echo and the Bunnymen, the Fall and Bauhaus. Plus there's a great little band called Pavement that learned a hell of a lot from the Fall, and enjoy covering Echo and the Bunnymen. So now, lemme see a show of hands, people: how many out there can't live without this compendium of the Icicle Works best, eh? ...Whoa! Hey. Put down all those hands, you guys!

-Michael Sandlin