Pitchfork

This music is what British rock geeks are talking about when they talk about "indie"-- the original 1980s boom generation of scrappy, homemade guitar-pop that followed in the wake of punk and post-punk. Judging by the songs he's picked for these two discs, the best I can figure is that Saint Etienne's Bob Stanley has a strange take on what that boom looked like: Either he's blinded by nostalgia, a hardcore stickler for absolute truth, or just more of a collector than a historian or genre partisan. Forget showing new generations that these bands were worthwhile; Stanley's set actually runs the risk of convincing old indie-pop kids that the music they spent their youths on wasn't that great. There are any number of terrific songs here, and the mastering leaves many sounding warmer and fresher than they have in years, but Stanley's version of what this stuff is turns out to be disappointing-- pretty, but awfully narrow.

The impetus for this package, of course, is the 20th anniversary of the NME's C86 compilation, a giveaway cassette that wound up codifying the sound of the new indie wave. The music that found itself being called by that name-- C86, anorak, "indie pop," whatever-- wasn't exactly a revolution: A lot of these bands went in for jingle-jangle 60s-styled pop songs, recorded roughly and sung in starry-eyed schoolkid voices. At times it was defiantly unsexy, and defiantly unambitious-- the sound of idealistic student slackers shambling their way through deliberately simple pop. But there was often something about that spirit that made the stuff spark and shine. At its best, it sounds suddenly free, and you can genuinely hear the bands' joy and excitement in plowing through it all: The punk acts tear in every direction like hyped-up puppies, the pop acts delight in being as much like wimpy librarians as they please, and amateur glee trumps high sights. (Just like the Ramones!) Better still, the scene managed to embrace not only a lot of interesting bands, but a lot of downright weird ones; one track on the original C86, Stump's "Buffalo", is as awesomely strange a pop song as anything I've heard.

The big disappointment with this recap is that it doesn't reach out to encompass much in the way of strangeness or fire, whether on the twee side or the punk one: Mostly it just coasts down the center, straight through the middling guitar-strummers who usually convince people indie wasn't that interesting. Maybe Stanley's just a stickler for accuracy, and would rather make a case for exactly what the music was than cherry-pick the parts that sound most interesting to today's ears. Maybe he just prefers his indie pop polished, pretty, and retro, just like his own band. Either way, a lot of the tracks here-- especially through the first disc-- feel more like a record collector's period pieces than anything really alive. It's something you're reminded of every time you hit a track that still snaps and pops: The Jesus & Mary Chain's giant fuzzbomb on "Upside Down", the Shop Assistants pounding happily through "Safety Net", or Big Flame's spazzy/funky post-punk on "Why Popstars Can't Dance". You're reminded every time you hit a strummy pop song that towers over the others: The Siddeleys' gorgeous twee on "What Went Wrong This Time" or the Sea Urchins' "Pristine Christine", already the long-running king of exactly the kind of happy 60s stuff Stanley keeps picking. And you're reminded every time you come across a band that's terrific in ways that have nothing to do with C86-- like McCarthy, whom far too few people remember.

Take this all on Stanley's terms, though-- as a ride through the heart of "middling" indie-- and you have to give him a ton of credit: A hell of a lot of these songs manage to charm, and he's collected some singles even pop geeks won't have heard. Given time and patience, you'll be able to see what it is about this music that's so appealing. It's laid back, homespun, and winsome, full of meek voices and comfy chord changes in an era where that actually came off daring; call it conservative if you want, but it's no worse an idea than listening to sweet old country songs. When the singer from the Loft asks, over melancholy Byrds-style jangle, "Why does the rain/ Why does it always seem/ To fall on me"-- well, you realize we're still listening to this stuff, only now with Travis-sized budgets and a sense of importance. Part of what makes this "indie" is how much that sort of thing matters: These acts have an unassuming grace that keeps everything sounding hard-won and personal. So Another Sunny Day bash their noisy way through a song called "Anorak City", singing happy-go-lucky tra-la-la in the chorus, and that's a treat; and the Hit Parade chime through a shiny number like "You Didn't Love Me Then", a song that makes the Monkees sound like a death metal band, and that's a treat, too. Great stuff: Just don't take Stanley's word that the roots of UK indie pop were all quite so comfy and boyish.